There is another use of the cloning technique mentioned in my last post. According to the NYT article, the idea would be to inject elephant eggs with mammoth DNA, and over the generations breed a pure mammoth from pure elephants.
Well, if we can do that, what's to stop us, say, breeding more Yangtze river dolphins from all those bottlenoses we have in water parks? The Yantze dolphin has been declared functionally extinct, which means there's no longer a large enough population to allow them replenish their numbers. Just stick a few dozen of our home-grown cetaceans in there with them, and maybe they'd have a shot.
Actually, I acknowledge that the Yangtze dolphin probably isn't the best example, since even if it is functionally extinct as oppose to literally extinct (the last confirmed sighting was four years ago, apparently), we'll never make new ones in time. But there are three other river dolphin species, none of which are doing so hot right now, and hundreds of other mammalian species who are far, far closer to shuffling off this mortal coil than we'd like. Why regrow extinct animals when we can add to the breeding populations of the critically endangered. It seems to me that this would also navigate at least some of the thorny moral issues in all of this, since in effect all we're talking about is growing suitable sperm/wombs for the actual population to avail itself of.
Sunday, 23 November 2008
We Really Can't Just Superglue Rugs To Regular Elephants?
Long version: assuming this NYT article isn't just the wearyingly familiar contraction of scientific progress (it's strange how "We can't entirely rule out that one day we might be able to X" always seems to morph into "Top scientists now say they can X tomorrow!!!1!"), the idea of getting close to being able to clone species extinct for up to 60,000 years brings mixed feelings.
Obviously, the idea of humanity actually being responsible for increasing the bio-diversity of the planet is quite an attractive one. Not only could we bring back some of the species we are directly or indirectly pushed out of existence (I feel particularly bad about the passenger pigeon, if anyone has some spare DNA from those lying around), but we could bring back stuff that got screwed for totally different reasons. I know that on any rational level that makes no sense, but my inner tree-hugger quite likes the idea of there being at least one species that's back because of us.
On the other hand, if we do decide to grow ourselves some new tarpans or indefatigable Galapagos mice (apparently not so indefatigable as claimed), what the hell do we do with them? We have enough trouble fiddling around with the populations of the animals we have now. Any species that went extinct without our interference did so for some reason or other, we can't just stick them back in the same place they came from and hope this time they get their shit together. Plus, a lot of the damage we've caused was from messing up habitats (it's no coincidence so many entries in Wikipedia's list of extinct mammals are creatures that lived on islands), which again raises the question of what we're going to do with our brand new giant tree rat. Maybe there's an animal here or there that we just brutally, directly fucked, by hunting the crap out of it or something, and we might be able to reinsert them into the wild without knocking over a huge chain of dominoes.
Otherwise, we'd just be talking about bringing these creatures into captivity, and beginning breeding programmes. Which, in fairness, is something we're already doing with a number of species that are now extinct in the wild, but the fact that such wild extinctions have been relatively recent and that the creatures are still alive and kicking makes it easier to justify releasing them if and when we have enough to make it worth trying.
I'm not sure where I stand on the morality of bringing back extinct species just so that we can point to them in zoos. Breeding programmes to keep species alive is one thing, but maybe we shouldn't be considering the hi-tech cloning equivalent of grave-robbing.
Short version: I want to see a quagga fight a thylacine and none of you motherfuckers are going to stop me!
Obviously, the idea of humanity actually being responsible for increasing the bio-diversity of the planet is quite an attractive one. Not only could we bring back some of the species we are directly or indirectly pushed out of existence (I feel particularly bad about the passenger pigeon, if anyone has some spare DNA from those lying around), but we could bring back stuff that got screwed for totally different reasons. I know that on any rational level that makes no sense, but my inner tree-hugger quite likes the idea of there being at least one species that's back because of us.
On the other hand, if we do decide to grow ourselves some new tarpans or indefatigable Galapagos mice (apparently not so indefatigable as claimed), what the hell do we do with them? We have enough trouble fiddling around with the populations of the animals we have now. Any species that went extinct without our interference did so for some reason or other, we can't just stick them back in the same place they came from and hope this time they get their shit together. Plus, a lot of the damage we've caused was from messing up habitats (it's no coincidence so many entries in Wikipedia's list of extinct mammals are creatures that lived on islands), which again raises the question of what we're going to do with our brand new giant tree rat. Maybe there's an animal here or there that we just brutally, directly fucked, by hunting the crap out of it or something, and we might be able to reinsert them into the wild without knocking over a huge chain of dominoes.
Otherwise, we'd just be talking about bringing these creatures into captivity, and beginning breeding programmes. Which, in fairness, is something we're already doing with a number of species that are now extinct in the wild, but the fact that such wild extinctions have been relatively recent and that the creatures are still alive and kicking makes it easier to justify releasing them if and when we have enough to make it worth trying.
I'm not sure where I stand on the morality of bringing back extinct species just so that we can point to them in zoos. Breeding programmes to keep species alive is one thing, but maybe we shouldn't be considering the hi-tech cloning equivalent of grave-robbing.
Short version: I want to see a quagga fight a thylacine and none of you motherfuckers are going to stop me!
Saturday, 22 November 2008
Comment Commentary
My astrophysics expert Pause was good enough to school me last week on some of the finer points of what is known about the Big Bang, and upon being asked kindly placed his explanation in the comments section of the relevant post.
I asked him to do that, aside from the fact that smart people who know their stuff should always be listened to, so that I could ask a question that reading his thoughts inspired, which I don't think I've ever considered before. I hope Pause doesn't mind me hacking up his words (well worth reading in their entirety):
I have a more fundamental point than that, though. Why is the idea of infinite universes problematic at all?
When I was a kid I had a friend whose father had a PhD in astrophysics. One day, whilst driving us to the cinema, he told me that there was a theory being batted around that the universe might be curved, so that if you set off in a shuttle craft and never changed direction, you would theoretically eventually return to the same point.
My puny ten year old brain refused to accept this. As far as I could see, if the universe was curved, we were inside a sphere, which meant there was something outside the sphere, which must also be the universe, since the universe was everything. My friend's father was kind enough not to completely disembowel me on the subject, simply saying "You're taking observations you've made in your life and applying them to situations you shouldn't possibly expect them to apply to".
I still don't get the whole curved universe idea (though I have progressed to not understanding the theory, rather than thinking it's obviously wrong), but that isn't the point. The point is, if we can accept that just because we see the world in three dimensions and Cartesian geometry (unlikely as we are to consider it in those terms) it doesn't mean they can be applied to the mind-shredding immensity of our universe, then what other preconceptions are we bringing to the table that are entirely reasonable from our perspective, but idiotic on the scale of the universe, or even multiple universes?
I would argue that one unnecessary restriction we might place upon our thinking in this regard is that chains always have a start. We're born to a mother who was born to a mother who was born to a mother, on and on and on. But everything we see in this world leads us to know that there had to be, in one sense or another, a "first mother", who was created in some other way. Whether God placed her on the Earth having grown her from a rib-bone, or sprung from the womb of the last of the creatures that could still be considered our antecedents rather than ourselves, there was a time before human women existed, and a point at which that situation changed.
It is tempting to think of the universe in the same terms. Sure, maybe our universe was created by the destruction of another universe. Or maybe not even its destruction, perhaps one universe gives rise to another in some way that lies beyond our understanding right now. The point is that the idea that this should lead to us to the conclusion that there must have been a time before the "first universe" is based entirely on our observation that a system of repeated processes must necessarily have a first step. Stuck atop our cosy little globe we have witnessed that cause follows effect, and that time flows in only one direction, and so we assume the same is true across the history of the universes. Even just using the word "history" betrays the difficulties inherent in considering what goes on on the inter-universal level.
It might be tempting to apply this same thinking to the existance of a God. If we break away from the assumption that the chain of universes has a beginning, why can't we get away with imagining God simply was always there?
The key difference in the two ideas is that we already know the universe exists. We continue to make progress towards working out what processes brought our reality into being. Once we get to that point, the question of "Where did the first universe come from?" is relevant only because we believe it is relevant. "It had to start somewhere." Why? God, on the other hand, has a host of other valid questions attached to him/her/them, the most pertinent one of "Why should a God exist at all?". That's not a question limited by our observations, that's just an application of logic, which is different.
At least, that's where my head was at on Thursday night. I'm sure bigger and better thinkers than I am have come up with this idea long ago, and may or may not have already shot it down in flames, but I thought it was something worth pondering. I mean, if you're reading my blog, it's not like you have anything more interesting to do.
I asked him to do that, aside from the fact that smart people who know their stuff should always be listened to, so that I could ask a question that reading his thoughts inspired, which I don't think I've ever considered before. I hope Pause doesn't mind me hacking up his words (well worth reading in their entirety):
There are two things to say here. The first one is that, whilst I agree with Pause that the infinite regression problem is common to the scientific and religious views of universe-creation, the latter has another problem associated with it, namely the explanation of the complex by reference to greater complexity. Whilst the idea of infinite universes stretching in both "directions" might be unconvincing absent further information, it does at least avoid the need to keep upping the stakes with each iteration.However, there is one deeper problem, and that's what created the manifold/brane/hypersurface/field that the universe itself was created from. You can already see the problem: it leads to the same infinite regression as 'who created the creator' (or even 'if this is a simulation, so are the people who made it').To the best of my knowledge (which is very limited at this level of quantum cosmology), no one's made a significant attempt to go back a step further than what created the universe (yet); we have enough trouble just supposing (read: inventing) various fields and branes in order to explain all we can see rather than worrying about why they were there already. (There are some people with loose suggestions - not least science fiction writers - but nothing you would ever want to call a theory.) The current theories are too incomplete to do more than worry about which one is right, never mind what's behind it. In essence, I guess we're still too busy trying to figure out what 'god' is before we get to what created it; religious/philosophical thinking has a few millenia head start on science.
I have a more fundamental point than that, though. Why is the idea of infinite universes problematic at all?
When I was a kid I had a friend whose father had a PhD in astrophysics. One day, whilst driving us to the cinema, he told me that there was a theory being batted around that the universe might be curved, so that if you set off in a shuttle craft and never changed direction, you would theoretically eventually return to the same point.
My puny ten year old brain refused to accept this. As far as I could see, if the universe was curved, we were inside a sphere, which meant there was something outside the sphere, which must also be the universe, since the universe was everything. My friend's father was kind enough not to completely disembowel me on the subject, simply saying "You're taking observations you've made in your life and applying them to situations you shouldn't possibly expect them to apply to".
I still don't get the whole curved universe idea (though I have progressed to not understanding the theory, rather than thinking it's obviously wrong), but that isn't the point. The point is, if we can accept that just because we see the world in three dimensions and Cartesian geometry (unlikely as we are to consider it in those terms) it doesn't mean they can be applied to the mind-shredding immensity of our universe, then what other preconceptions are we bringing to the table that are entirely reasonable from our perspective, but idiotic on the scale of the universe, or even multiple universes?
I would argue that one unnecessary restriction we might place upon our thinking in this regard is that chains always have a start. We're born to a mother who was born to a mother who was born to a mother, on and on and on. But everything we see in this world leads us to know that there had to be, in one sense or another, a "first mother", who was created in some other way. Whether God placed her on the Earth having grown her from a rib-bone, or sprung from the womb of the last of the creatures that could still be considered our antecedents rather than ourselves, there was a time before human women existed, and a point at which that situation changed.
It is tempting to think of the universe in the same terms. Sure, maybe our universe was created by the destruction of another universe. Or maybe not even its destruction, perhaps one universe gives rise to another in some way that lies beyond our understanding right now. The point is that the idea that this should lead to us to the conclusion that there must have been a time before the "first universe" is based entirely on our observation that a system of repeated processes must necessarily have a first step. Stuck atop our cosy little globe we have witnessed that cause follows effect, and that time flows in only one direction, and so we assume the same is true across the history of the universes. Even just using the word "history" betrays the difficulties inherent in considering what goes on on the inter-universal level.
It might be tempting to apply this same thinking to the existance of a God. If we break away from the assumption that the chain of universes has a beginning, why can't we get away with imagining God simply was always there?
The key difference in the two ideas is that we already know the universe exists. We continue to make progress towards working out what processes brought our reality into being. Once we get to that point, the question of "Where did the first universe come from?" is relevant only because we believe it is relevant. "It had to start somewhere." Why? God, on the other hand, has a host of other valid questions attached to him/her/them, the most pertinent one of "Why should a God exist at all?". That's not a question limited by our observations, that's just an application of logic, which is different.
At least, that's where my head was at on Thursday night. I'm sure bigger and better thinkers than I am have come up with this idea long ago, and may or may not have already shot it down in flames, but I thought it was something worth pondering. I mean, if you're reading my blog, it's not like you have anything more interesting to do.
Friday, 21 November 2008
Bow Before The Intellectual
I found a blog analyser over at Dan Larison's blog, and thought I'd give it ago (apparently the h/t should go to Alex Massie). Both Larison and I are apparently "thinkers", the logical and analytical type.
As to the other blogs for which I have contributed, OurFrontRoom constitutes a blog of "doers", always talking and joking (thus at least some of the posts there have been impartially analysed as being jokes); and The Player's blog is of the mechanic type, independent and problem-solving.
So now we know.
As to the other blogs for which I have contributed, OurFrontRoom constitutes a blog of "doers", always talking and joking (thus at least some of the posts there have been impartially analysed as being jokes); and The Player's blog is of the mechanic type, independent and problem-solving.
So now we know.
Best Phone Call Ever
SpaceSquid is relaxing in Calamari Castle when the phone rings. Caller ID warns him that it is his sister, and thus he may have to explain the next hour explaining trigonometry, or what an integer is.
SpaceSquid: Whaddup, little sister?
Lil Sis: Guess what?
SS: You know we're not allowed to play that game, since I always start off assuming you've become a prostitute, or possibly murdered someone.
LS: True. Actually, I found a rare species of stone fly this morning. I think. It's hard to tell, they all look the same.
SS: Was it just on your pillow when you woke up, or was there some kind of search involved?
LS: It turned up dead in an ice core. I'm going to be famous!
SS: Are you sure that's the right adjective?
LS: Absolutely. Only six people before me have found this thing.
SS: You think international glory awaits person number seven?
LS: It's very rare. Unbelievably rare. This could be one of the only remaining examples of an almost extinct species.
SS: And you killed it.
LS: ... Shit. I hope it wasn't a pregnant female.
SS: One day I have to sit you down with Baby's First Book Of Animal Reproduction.
LS: You know what I mean.
SS: That you hope it wasn't a female with a bag full of fertilised eggs slung over her shoulder?
LS: Actually, I'm pretty worried now. What if I finished them off? I could be prosecuted for genocide.
SS: I'm not sure it counts if it was just the once, and by accident. Still, you will have to bear the knowledge that you ended an entire species.
LS: No! They were so precious and so unique!
SS: You said they all looked the same.
LS: The abdomen was fractionally longer. The little things are important.
SS: Unless you include insects as little things, in which case you massacre them by the thousand in order to infinitesimally increase mankind's understanding of how rivers flow.
LS: Are you mocking my job? Because I seem to remember you telling me your research revolves entirely around taking an almost totally useless branch of mathematics and making it more vague.
SS: Good point.
LS: They may not let me go back into Alaska if they find out I'm wiping out entire species up there.
SS: I think Palin will be fine with it. Although she may only let you get away with killing the species large enough to be brought down with a twelve-gauge.
LS: Plus, once word gets out, all my equipment will be demolished by people desperate to get their hands on these bugs themselves.
SS: Rare dead insect theft is a big problem up on the Last Frontier, is it?
LS: Can I tell you about a rare beetle my friend found the other day?
SS: I'm hanging up now.
SpaceSquid: Whaddup, little sister?
Lil Sis: Guess what?
SS: You know we're not allowed to play that game, since I always start off assuming you've become a prostitute, or possibly murdered someone.
LS: True. Actually, I found a rare species of stone fly this morning. I think. It's hard to tell, they all look the same.
SS: Was it just on your pillow when you woke up, or was there some kind of search involved?
LS: It turned up dead in an ice core. I'm going to be famous!
SS: Are you sure that's the right adjective?
LS: Absolutely. Only six people before me have found this thing.
SS: You think international glory awaits person number seven?
LS: It's very rare. Unbelievably rare. This could be one of the only remaining examples of an almost extinct species.
SS: And you killed it.
LS: ... Shit. I hope it wasn't a pregnant female.
SS: One day I have to sit you down with Baby's First Book Of Animal Reproduction.
LS: You know what I mean.
SS: That you hope it wasn't a female with a bag full of fertilised eggs slung over her shoulder?
LS: Actually, I'm pretty worried now. What if I finished them off? I could be prosecuted for genocide.
SS: I'm not sure it counts if it was just the once, and by accident. Still, you will have to bear the knowledge that you ended an entire species.
LS: No! They were so precious and so unique!
SS: You said they all looked the same.
LS: The abdomen was fractionally longer. The little things are important.
SS: Unless you include insects as little things, in which case you massacre them by the thousand in order to infinitesimally increase mankind's understanding of how rivers flow.
LS: Are you mocking my job? Because I seem to remember you telling me your research revolves entirely around taking an almost totally useless branch of mathematics and making it more vague.
SS: Good point.
LS: They may not let me go back into Alaska if they find out I'm wiping out entire species up there.
SS: I think Palin will be fine with it. Although she may only let you get away with killing the species large enough to be brought down with a twelve-gauge.
LS: Plus, once word gets out, all my equipment will be demolished by people desperate to get their hands on these bugs themselves.
SS: Rare dead insect theft is a big problem up on the Last Frontier, is it?
LS: Can I tell you about a rare beetle my friend found the other day?
SS: I'm hanging up now.
Thursday, 20 November 2008
SpaceSquid vs. The X-Men #10: Chaos Theory
To start off with, I didn't think an article on Alex Summers would really take up all that much room. My planned introduction ran something along the lines of "Alex can't ever become his brother, and he hates himself for it. We're done; go away."Certainly, one could consider Havok's entire history from that one perspective alone, and find overwhelming evidence for the hypothesis. If there exists a Marvel writer, past or present, who has gotten their hands on Alex without at least one reference (sometimes earnest, sometimes askance) to the fact that big brother is soooo much more dedicated and capable and level-headed, then I've yet to see any evidence. Comparing Havok to Cyclops is one of the biggest X-cliches of them all, which is fucking saying something.
Of course, where lesser commentators might be content to simply scribble down "sibling rivalry" in wax crayon, MotCC believes in going the extra mile. The endless comparisons between Alex and Scott might be our jumping-on point, but only because it works so effectively in hiding from view what's really interesting about Havok's character.
The first thing to note about the repeated consideration of the Summers brothers' similarities and differences is that, far more often than not, it's Alex himself doing the comparing. Not long after taking control of X-Factor after the X-Tinction Agenda, Havok admits to Dr Samson (the team's psychiatrist, who also helped Polaris as mentioned last week) that he is sick of having to work so hard to command respect, something Cyclops seems to be capable of without any apparent effort. A few years later, whilst trapped in an alternate dimension (after a makeshift time-machine explodes and apparently kills him, but that's another story), Havok passes up a chance to return home, in part for fear of being once again lost in his brother's shadow. Apparently risking being sutck forever in a messed-up reality whilst surrounded by twisted mockeries of his former friends is a more palatable option than risking going back to being the second best Summers boy. In the Age of Apocalypse reality, Havok's jealousy over his sibling's apparent ability to get everything without even trying ultimately leads to fratricide, though in fairness that particular incarnation of Alex was just too dumb to realise that trying to whine your way to the top is unlikely to work even before you factor in having Mr Sinister for a boss.
The relationship with his elder brother is clearly very much at the front of Alex's mind, then. Even when he isn't directly considering it, he has a tendency to subconsciously carry himself in a manner as similar to Scott's as possible. Lorna points this out to him soon after they have joined X-Factor:
Don't you see what you're doing? You're trying to be like Scott again. Scott's so deadly serious about everything, so you feel you have to be too. If Scott smiled, his face would crack. Some role model.She might be totally useless 99% of the time, but if nothing else she knows Havok pretty damn well.
There are two problems with Alex's attempts to copy his brother as closely as he can. The first is obvious. Trying to base your personality upon someone else's is a fairly bad idea to begin with, generally speaking, but I'm not sure that's exactly what we're talking about here. There is good reason to believe that Scott himself is constantly trying to base his personality on Xavier's, which means Alex ends up as a copy of a copy. Moreover, it means that every time he fails, he fails twice, since he hasn't managed to live up to either Scott or Xavier. Given this, it is likely little wonder he has questioned his abilities as a superhero so often.
There's another problem with Alex's attempts to ape his older brother, though, and whilst it may be somewhat harder to spot on initial viewing, it is arguably a more fundamental issue: Havok and Cyclops are obvious opposites.
It was Mr Sinister of all people who first cottoned on to this, albeit only on his own selfish terms. Sinister had been keeping track of the Summers boys since they were infants, and had concluded that Scott was the most powerful. Whilst this leads Scott to be tormented inside an orphanage under Sinister's malign control, Alex isadopted by a foster family who had lost their own son to a kidnapper. When that kidnapper takes Alex too, along with his foster sister, Alex accidentally uses his powers to burn their assailant to a crisp.
It was at this point that Sinister realised he has misjudged the younger Summers. Scott might have more control, but it was unquestionably Alex that has the greatest power. This is the crucial metric by which the distance between the brothers should be measured.
There are two ways you can consider Scott Summers. One of them is to assume that his truly frightening degree of humorless inflexibility is a direct side-effect of his inability to control his powers (itself a result of brain damage he suffered as a child); that the constant need to keep his eye-beams under control has left him unable to let go in any other aspect of his life either. It's not a bad theory, by any means, and a number of writers over the years seem to have been operating under that assumption. On the other hand, there are several instances (as mentioned in his entry) in which Cyclops apparently uses his powers as an excuse for inaction. To me it seems just as likely that Scott's inability to control his mutation is simply an ironic curse laid upon a man who wants complete control over his life at all times.
His problems with his eyes aside, Scott is perfectly designed to fulfil the role as the unquestioning, dedicated team leader. He may need to wear a visor, but his powers still give him a precision instrument. After all, how can you hope to have a better aiming system than simply looking at your target? And how much easier can regulating you potential damage potential than by choosing how wide to open your eyes?
Alex, though, has no hope for such accuracy or restraint. His powers are as chaotic as they are devastating (there's a reason for his codename); there have been several instances in which Havok has lost control of them almost completely. In battle he is often as much a risk to his team-mates as to the enemy (this is seen most clearly when he is believed to have killed Storm in UXM 248), and his attempts to fit into teams often prove problematic. Scott thrives on the order and co-ordination necessary to effectively fight within a group. Alex seems almost custom-made to fight alone. Perhaps it was this that persuades him to infiltrate the Dark Beast's brotherhood, pretending to shift his loyalties to an "any means necessary" philosophy which led to him crossing swords with former allies on several occasions.
But how much of that was pretense? Whilst battling Cyclops, Havok tells him:
For the first time in my life - NOTHING IS HAPPENING TO ME! No Living Monolith or Erik the Red ! No Malice or the Genoshan Magistrate! No Dark Beast! I'm not living under the wing of Professor Xavier -- or in the shadow of my brother anymore! Don't you get it, Scott -- for the first time in my life, I am free! FREE!Whilst his loyalty to the Brotherhood itself is later revealed to be false, it's hard to shake the suspicion that Alex relishes the opportunity to lead a group according to his own vision, rather than those of his brother or his former mentor. Certainly his fears regarding cutting loose with his powers seemed to dissipate. This was fighting for mutants with chaos, not with order. Alex was finally within his element, dealing with crises the way he thought best, and in the manner most appropriate to his skill-set.
It didn't last. Once Havok broke cover, he returns to X-Factor right up until that time-machine blasts him across dimensions. Eventually he is dragged back into his comatose body by Carter, the mutant son of his care nurse, Annie (see Polaris' entry and its comments for more on the resulting love triangle of tedium and bullshit), and he attempts to reintegrate into the X-Men. This proves tricky when Annie leaves and the old Polaris/Ice-Man issue once again rears its head (and they say X-Men has run out of ideas), but ultimately he finds himself in outer space, fighting his insane brother Vulcan, who has taken control of the Shi'ar Empire.
Leaving aside the niggling problems of being stranded light-years from home fighting an unstoppable mutant killing machine and two-thirds of the armed forces of the most powerful alien race in the galaxy, Alex might well be back in the best place for him. Inster-stellar war requires a somewhat different approach to intra-mutant battling on Earth, and Havok's digital power setting of "OFF/BURN TO DEATH" might not cause so much of a problem. On the other hand, Havok has joined up with the Starjammers, who were led by his father right up to the moment Vulcan killed him. Rather than being surrounded by allies who considered his brother a natural leader, Havok keeps company with people who considered his father their master. Whether this will lead to a new crisis of confidence, whether (as seems likely) Havok finds it easier to step into Christopher Summers' role than he ever did Scott's, or even whether he finally chooses to go his own way, time will surely tell.
Right, that's the Sixties done. Next time, we begin to investigate the mysteries of "The Secret Team". That will have to wait a couple of weeks, though, until I get round to reading Deadly Genesis. Have no fear, though, true believers, SS v X will return...
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