'If these fellows are right,' replied the General, gesturing with a thumb towards Isaacs and Drefke, 'we may not need to worry about future relations.'
'And if that is the case,' rebutted the Secretary, 'there is certainly no point in maintaining your cold war mentality towards the rest of the world. On the contrary, we can throw out the historical constraints and solicit the aid of the world community to tackle this common menace.'
'Rot!' said the General, heatedly. 'If knowledge of this situation becomes widespread, it will just put more pressure on everyone. There will be an every-man-for-himself scramble, and the world political situation will go to hell in a handbasket.'
'If we sit on this until it is too late,' the Secretary insisted, 'and then spring the problem on the world, something like you describe may well occur. That is why it is of the utmost importance to proceed immediately and discreetly to inform others of the situation so that a cooperative and measured response can be orchestrated.'
'Mr President,' the Security Advisor cut in, 'I think we must make a guarded release of information to the Soviets. We must make them understand we are aware of the problem and taking active steps to explore the facts. I believe we must also inform our closest allies of the basic situation. They deserve to know what has caused the Soviets to react so dangerously. I confess I would proceed gingerly in spreading this information any further than absolutely necessary. I would suggest holding off with the Chinese and the Third World countries.'
While the Security Advisor was speaking, an aide came in and banded the President a message.
'Hold it!' he said, cutting off the Secretary of State, whose mouth was open to reply. The President read the message through again, then looked around the table.
'We may not have the luxury of designing our response to the Soviets. I have here a message from Colonel Grigor Zamyatin, head of Washington KGB.' He turned to fix first Drefke and then Isaacs with a steely glare. 'It says that fifteen minutes ago Paul Krone and Maria Latvin were put on an Aeroflot flight from Mexico City to Moscow.'
Isaacs felt the room spin and his hurriedly consumed meal congeal into a knot.
'Colonel Zamyatin would like an audience,' the President continued. 'He's waiting at the front gate.'
'You can't have him in here,' General Whitehead protested.
'Show him in,' the President addressed his aide.
The room was deathly quiet as they awaited the arrival of the Russian. Isaacs strained to understand what had happened. Had Latvin been a spy? How could she have known what Krone was up to when his own government didn't? Or was she put onto Krone on general principles and just happened to hit the jackpot?
The door opened and the aide ushered Zamyatin in. He walked to his left along the wall until he was directly across the table from the President. The President nodded and there was some shuffling to vacate that chair. Zamyatin sat in it with deliberate calm.
'Colonel.' The President greeted him. 'I'm rather surprised Ambassador Ogarkov is not bringing whatever message you bear.'
'When the river reaches floodtide, new channels are carved,' Zamyatin replied. 'I assure you my authority comes from the highest levels.'
'That will, of course, be checked,' the President responded. 'Am I to understand, Colonel, that you have openly confessed to the abduction of an American citizen?'
'Ah, you attempt to seize the initiative,' Zamyatin replied, unruffled. 'But you have a weak hand. Of course we have taken him, and the event pales next to the heinous act the individual committed, the one for which you are ultimately responsible.'
'What act are you talking about?'
The Russian left the question hanging for a long moment. 'If you are going to be stubborn,' he finally said, 'this discussion can be carried on in a more public forum.'
The President met his hard gaze, and again there was silence.
'Why did you take him?' the President asked.
'We intend to know everything there is to know about this crime against humanity. Paul Krone is the ultimate source of that information.'
'He must be returned to us.'
'Ah,' said Zamyatin, 'precisely what we had in mind.' He enjoyed the look of surprise that flashed on the President's face. 'We would like to return Dr Krone to you along with his charming companion.'
'You just kidnapped him: now you want to return him,' the President said, with mild scorn. 'What's the rest of the deal?'
'The deal,' Zamyatin said carefully, 'the deal is an exchange. The two people for the complete set of those.' His eyes went to the charred lab book that still sat, momentarily overlooked, beside the President. 'Krone is of no use to us in his present state. We want those lab books and any other written or computerized records.'
'Mr President,' General Whitehead said in a low warning voice, 'we don't know what sort of valuable information may be in those.'
'Of course you don't,' Zamyatin snapped, his gaze fixed on the President, 'not the way you have bungled this affair. Mr President, there is undoubtedly information in those books that would be considered priceless for defence matters under ordinary circumstances. We are not concerned with that now, nor can you afford to be.
'Mr President,' the Russian's voice turned cold and hard, 'you have delivered a mortal blow to my country, your country, the very planet itself. There is the merest wisp of hope that the peril can be removed. The Soviet Union is prepared to take any steps that may rescue us from the monumental insanity which you have visited upon us.
'First,' he continued in a matter-of-fact tone, 'we must understand the problem in minute detail. That means knowing what is in those books and other records, and in the mind of Paul Krone. We have Krone, you have the records and the sophisticated medical techniques that may restore Krone's health. We will swap.'
'You must return Krone,' the President said firmly, 'but we do not need your spy: you can keep the woman.'
'Spy?' Zamyatin cracked a small smile. 'Yes, she is one of us, an illegal escapee, but no spy. Let us say she was merely susceptible to persuasion, a family in the old country, you understand? And you do need her. She is the only contact with the man. Yes, we could keep her, exact the usual punishment, but we believe her presence will hasten the day that Krone becomes rational and useful. You see we are trying to be reasonable.
'Of course,' the Russian shrugged, 'we will also send a more reliable representative to monitor your progress with Krone. We expect you to relay to us every scrap you learn from him.'
'That's outrageous,' the President said, 'you can't expect us to put one of our citizens under a microscope for your pleasure.'
'The outrage has already been committed,' Zamyatin replied. Godly. 'You will put Krone under that microscope to serve your own ends. We are merely asking you to share the proceeds.
'Mr President,' Zamyatin continued, his voice suddenly friendly, 'I think you do not adequately appreciate the spirit of the offer we are making. There is no shrinking from your ultimate responsibility here, but the problem is immense and complex. We do not demand Krone and his records. You will have Krone and his machine, and, of course, you will keep a copy of the records. We must share this information and seek a common solution to our common peril.
'The seeds of cooperation on this problem have already been planted.' The Russian glanced for the first time at Isaacs. Although no one else seemed to notice, Isaacs felt as if a spotlight had just been turned on him. His heart raced, and he could feel his face flush.
'To further this spirit,' Zamyatin continued, 'we will make the following additional offer. Mr President, you know Academician Korolev, our distinguished scientist?' 'Yes, of course I do,' the President replied tentatively. 'Academician Korolev took an early and active interest in this problem. You know that he is crucial to our defence effort and has never been allowed to travel to the West. Mr President, as a gesture of good will and of our intention to hasten the day when a solution may be devised, we are prepared to place Korolev at your disposal as our scientific ambassador.
'Mr President,' Zamyatin continued, cordial and reasonable,
'I do not expect a reply to our offers just now. I deduce you have only just learned of the problem. You will need some time to fully appreciate the situation, and the generosity of the proposals I have presented. I would remind you that there are factions in my government that are not amenable to such a cooperative approach. There are some who would advocate immediate public exposure, an attempt to wrest full propaganda value from your predicament. Others would contemplate far more serious and direct reprisals.
'Before I go, there is one other thing. I stress that we have proposed a cooperative approach to the problem at hand. We presume that you do not want the situation and your role in it to become widely known. We will follow your lead in such matters if you will but cooperate with us in one other regard. The problem with which we are now faced arose from a certain line of investigation.'
The Russian paused, holding the eyes of the President.
'We ask that you immediately cease all research and development on beam weapons and related technology.'
The room filled with a crescendo of outrage. General Whitehead was among the loudest, shouting, 'I knew it, I knew they'd turn this against us.'
Zamyatin rose and departed, as if oblivious to the uproar his demand had caused.
'Mr President,' General Whitehead continued to shout, 'we cannot even think of responding to that crap. If we make the slightest concession there, they'll come after our nuclear arms.'
The President cracked a loud palm down on the table, resulting in a rapid, strained silence.
'It's nearly one A.m.,' the President said. 'I'm going to adjourn this meeting. I want you all on call by six. In the meantime,' he addressed his National Security Advisor, 'I want to know precisely the line of authority Zamyatin represents and the makeup of the other factions he mentioned.' He turned towards Drefke. 'Howard, I want you, Isaacs and Professor Phillips to stay. I need a little more perspective on this.'
The President led them to an upstairs study and poured brandy all round. They sat in silence for a while, each man trying to assimilate the rush of events in his own perspective. For Isaacs, the shock of Zamyatin's announcements had waned, and he could feel the deep fatigue again, but he carried a burden he knew he must unload. He appreciated Drefke's attempt, not completely altruistic, to avoid mention of Isaacs's communications with Korolev. For that matter, Zamyatin could have roasted him, but chose not to. He knew, though, that the President could not reach a cogent decision without knowing all the background. From a strictly personal point of view, he would be better off confessing his involvement with the Russians rather than having the President discover it, as he surely would. He broke the silence.
'Mr President.' The eyes of the three men swivelled to him. 'I have been in on this affair from the beginning. There are some things about Zamyatin and Korolev you need to know.'
Drefke lifted his eyebrows in surprise, but remained silent.
'Let's hear what's on your mind,' the president said.
'I have been aware for some time,' said Isaacs, searching for the right words, 'that there is a contingent in the Soviet Union which has some sympathy for our situation. I believe Academician Korolev is a key person in that contingent. I think that he has led them to the understanding that we are dealing with a black hole and that it was made here, but I think he recognizes the true nature of the problem, that it transcends geopolitics. Korolev is under pressure; he had to tell them what he knew. But he is sympathetic to us, and he had influence there. I believe the offer to have him work with us is highly significant, both scientifically and politically. Mr President, I think it is crucial that we reach out to the people Korolev represents.'
'Even though they demand we abandon our research on beam weapons, giving them full head to develop an antimissile technology unilaterally?'
Isaacs had no reply to that.
The President looked sharply at Isaacs. 'How can you be so sure that this one man can and will be of help to us?'
Isaacs knew what was coming. He looked at the floor and then back at the President. 'I've been in touch with him,' he mumbled.
'What was that?' the President demanded.
'I said, I've been in touch with him,' Isaacs replied.
Phillips stared at Isaacs in surprise. Isaacs vividly recalled his private conversation with the physicist in La Jolla , his suppressed desire to confess his communications with Korolev.
'You mean the Agency has?' the President asked.
'No sir, it was a personal correspondence.'
'Personal?' the President blurted. 'You mean to say you've been communicating with Korolev directly? On the most sensitive issue of the decade? Goddamnit, Howard,' he turned to Drefke, 'don't your people know what channels are for? I've got black holes in my back yard, laser cannons in the front, and hired hands sending postcards back and forth discussing policy!'
'At the time there were extenuating circumstances,' Isaacs attempted to explain.
'Extenuating?' the President exclaimed. May I ask just what you and Korolev were discussing behind my back, that you didn't care to have me know?'
'I knew that Korolev was in charge of the Novorossiisk investigation, that he was puzzled and frustrated by it. That much was clear from official communications. Our effort was bogged down after the Stinson was sunk.
'Frankly, sir,' Isaacs continued, 'I was frightened. I thought something was smiting ships, triggering a global confrontation. For a variety of reasons, my efforts were stymied. I thought that Korolev might have more luck getting to the bottom of things.'
Isaacs rolled the brandy snifter in his hands. 'I told Korolev about the seismic signal and my suspicion that it was related to the damage to both ships.'
'You told him that?' The President was angry and bewildered. 'You gave us away? Virtually inviting him to look for and find the black hole and pin it on us?' He rose and paced to a window, peering into the dark outside.
Isaacs spoke to his back, trying to explain more than defend his actions. 'I had no idea we were dealing with a black hole at the time, certainly not that we were in any way responsible.'
The President turned from the window and spoke to Drefke. 'My god, Howard, you sandbagged me! Did you know your man had been talking to the Russians? This borders on treason.'
'Jim,' implored Drefke, falling into old, first name habits, 'it was a lot more complicated than that. Yes, I did know it, and I had already had it out with him. It's not what it seems. You can't take it out of context.'
'Why don't you just put it into context for me then?' The President was still angry, frustrated at events that had spun so rapidly out of his control.
'The simple fact is that we wouldn't be anywhere on this thing if it weren't for Isaacs here,' Drefke continued his appeal. 'The black hole would still be there, eating away, and we wouldn't have the faintest idea. This thing was bound to blow up in our face one way or another. We know that after the Novorossiisk, one thing led to another and we've got into a fine jam over it, but we would still have no idea why. Isaacs broke every rule in the book to reach out to Korolev, but I agree with him that that contact is probably our only way out of this problem. Without Korolev, we could be dealing with a bunch of generals ready, anxious, to finger the button.
'As it is,' he continued, 'there is some evidence that the Russians have been calmer to react than they would have been if Isaacs hadn't been in touch with Korolev.'
'Calmer?' The President was incredulous. 'They just blew our nuke out of the sky!'
'They were on the verge of it six weeks ago, when they first put up the hunter-killers. Cooler heads prevailed, and we have reason to believe that Korolev was instrumental.'-
'How do you know that?'
'We got it from Zamyatin.'
'From Zamyatin? What the hell is his role in all this?'
'We don't fully understand. His appearance this evening was a total surprise to us. But he does seem to be in Korolev's camp. He's been the liaison between Korolev and Isaacs.'
'Oh, for crying out loud!' The President returned and dropped back into his armchair, slopping brandy over the side of his snifter and onto the carpet. 'Honest to god, Howard, how am I supposed to run this country if things like this are going on behind my back.'
'Jim, this has been a complex and rapidly changing situation. We have only begun to appreciate the stakes in the last couple of weeks, to see how it all ties together. You've got to look at the signals,' Drefke implored. 'There are people over there trying to understand, trying to keep a lid on things. Sure, they're trying to get some advantage from it: they have to cover their own asses internally. But we still have to seek them out, appeal to the rational ones who see the common danger if we're going to keep the crazies in check. We need to pacify the Russians and figure out what to do with this damnable black hole, but we must tackle both problems together. We've got to open up and work with them on this thing. If we don't, they'll cram it all down our throats, the black hole, their laser, everything.'
Drefke stared at the familiar figure, unsure whether his arguments were effective.
Isaacs had scarcely breathed during the intense discussion. He appreciated Drefke's stout support and thought that the Director had established his moral motivation as well as possible. Still, his breach was massive. There were immutable political forces once such things came to the attention of the President. Without seeing the specifics, Isaacs numbly recognized that his career at the Agency was over.
The President got up and went to the serving cart. He put down the sticky glass and poured some more brandy into a fresh one. He sat and took a reflective sip. After a moment he said, 'Let's put aside the political factors for now. I need to get some feeling for the broader perspective.
'You say,' the President continued, looking at Drefke, 'that this black hole is consuming the earth, that the earth is falling into it, as you remarked previously. But apparently there is little directly noticeable effect now. How soon before we have an emergency on our hands? That is to say, a public emergency?'
'That's a difficult question to answer,' Drefke said, glancing quickly away from the President to Isaacs and Phillips and then back. 'The ultimate danger is apparently many generations away. But let me stress that although that is farther in the future than we are normally used to dealing, the threat is real and implacable.'
'But what is the future course of this flung?' the President asked. 'Professor Phillips, I haven't heard from you. What is your prognosis?'
Phillips set aside his brandy and clasped his fingers in his lap before replying.
'If it continues on its course,' Phillips said, 'there will be a phase of increasingly violent earthquakes. As the object grows bigger it will be able to trigger large earthquakes by releasing stress already stored along fault lines. At a somewhat later stage the tunnels themselves created by the passage of the object will be so large that their collapse will engender a continuing series of major earthquakes. As the hole grows even larger, the earth will begin to orbit it. The oceans will be sloshed from their basins by huge tides. The earthquakes will grow in magnitude until the whole earth is rent by them and totally uninhabitable. In the final stage, all the material of the earth will be consumed, and only the black hole grown to about this size will be left orbiting the sun.' He made an OK sign for illustration.
Silence filled the room as Phillips finished his description. The President stared into his glass. He gave his head a small shake and looked up towards Phillips. 'I must ask again how long it will be before this thing becomes overtly dangerous in the way you have just described? With the earthquakes and tidal waves?'
'Such a thing could happen now,' Phillips said, 'particularly in the Far East or along the coast of California where the orbital plane intersects regions of tectonic activity.'
'But when will such things begin to occur with regularity? ' the President inquired.
'Very difficult to answer,' Phillips shook his head, 'perhaps a hundred years, maybe as much as a thousand.'
'In a sense then, we have that long before we must cope with this thing directly,' the President asserted, 'that long before massive deaths begin to occur.'
Phillips thought for a moment. 'Yes, the hole will become a deadly menace at some point, but that may not be a measure of our grace period in terms of taking active steps against it.'
The President raised an eyebrow in question. Phillips unclasped his hands to draw an elliptical path in the air with his finger. 'As the hole follows its orbit, it is subject to drag forces as the inevitable adjunct of its consuming the matter of the earth. These drag forces will slowly cause the hole to spiral to the centre of the earth. After a certain period of time, the orbit of the hole will no longer carry it above the surface of the earth. After that it will be totally inaccessible to us and our fate will be truly sealed. Right now it is difficult to say whether the hole will disappear beneath the surface before or after the massive earthquakes begin. We will not have to rely on theoretical estimates for long, however. Observations currently under way will tell us directly how fast the settling is occurring even if we have no accurate way of predicting when regular extensive damage will begin.'
The President rested his forehead against his hand, leaning on the arm of the chair. He rotated his head from that position and once more inquired of Phillips, 'There remains one more major question then, doesn't there?' He looked straight into Phillips's eyes. 'What can we do about it?'
Phillips returned the President's gaze forthrightly.
'Mr President, on this issue I must be perfectly candid. So far none of our discussions have produced a glimmer of cause for optimism.'
Phillips glanced at the other two men and then returned his attention to the President. 'Understand that I do not mean that we must accept defeat. We have only just begun to study the problem, and it would be foolhardy to suggest that because a possible solution is not apparent now that one will not be forthcoming in the future, if enough ingenuity and manpower are brought to bear. But it would be equally foolhardy to minimize the magnitude of the problem. This object is so tiny and so massive that it cannot be moved except by the most titanic of forces. My colleagues and I are far from ready to give up on the problem, but we must all be prepared to concede at some point that there is no solution. It certainly is conceivable that the earth is doomed.'
The President absorbed the gloomy assessment. 'Well, we can't give up without a fight. You spoke of manpower and ingenuity, Professor. What can this office do to provide the resources necessary to find a solution to this problem, presuming one exists?'
'Just now the stress must be more on ingenuity than brute manpower,' replied Phillips. 'At the present stage we need an idea, or set of ideas, some hint of a useful programme. Then I imagine that a massive engineering programme such as the Manhattan Project or the Apollo programme would be called for.'
'From the scientific point of view,' the President rubbed a hand over tired eyes, 'can we proceed without the Russians?'
Phillips pondered his answer. 'I appreciate the dilemma you are in. You cannot lightly submit to coercion. We have many great scientists in this country, men and women who would gladly give up careers of research to work with you on this. Perhaps, no, we don't need the Russians in that sense. But you ask me as a scientist. I will tell you this. I do not know the depths of Korolev's political connections, although I have every reason to believe that he has great influence. But I do know that there is no brain on 'earth that I would rather have working on this problem than that of Viktor Korolev.'
The President nodded, then spoke. 'Gentlemen, I have much to think about. Please keep yourselves on call.'
They left the White House by a side exit and climbed into Drefke's waiting limousine which whisked them away through the quiet Washington streets.
Chapter 19
'And if that is the case,' rebutted the Secretary, 'there is certainly no point in maintaining your cold war mentality towards the rest of the world. On the contrary, we can throw out the historical constraints and solicit the aid of the world community to tackle this common menace.'
'Rot!' said the General, heatedly. 'If knowledge of this situation becomes widespread, it will just put more pressure on everyone. There will be an every-man-for-himself scramble, and the world political situation will go to hell in a handbasket.'
'If we sit on this until it is too late,' the Secretary insisted, 'and then spring the problem on the world, something like you describe may well occur. That is why it is of the utmost importance to proceed immediately and discreetly to inform others of the situation so that a cooperative and measured response can be orchestrated.'
'Mr President,' the Security Advisor cut in, 'I think we must make a guarded release of information to the Soviets. We must make them understand we are aware of the problem and taking active steps to explore the facts. I believe we must also inform our closest allies of the basic situation. They deserve to know what has caused the Soviets to react so dangerously. I confess I would proceed gingerly in spreading this information any further than absolutely necessary. I would suggest holding off with the Chinese and the Third World countries.'
While the Security Advisor was speaking, an aide came in and banded the President a message.
'Hold it!' he said, cutting off the Secretary of State, whose mouth was open to reply. The President read the message through again, then looked around the table.
'We may not have the luxury of designing our response to the Soviets. I have here a message from Colonel Grigor Zamyatin, head of Washington KGB.' He turned to fix first Drefke and then Isaacs with a steely glare. 'It says that fifteen minutes ago Paul Krone and Maria Latvin were put on an Aeroflot flight from Mexico City to Moscow.'
Isaacs felt the room spin and his hurriedly consumed meal congeal into a knot.
'Colonel Zamyatin would like an audience,' the President continued. 'He's waiting at the front gate.'
'You can't have him in here,' General Whitehead protested.
'Show him in,' the President addressed his aide.
The room was deathly quiet as they awaited the arrival of the Russian. Isaacs strained to understand what had happened. Had Latvin been a spy? How could she have known what Krone was up to when his own government didn't? Or was she put onto Krone on general principles and just happened to hit the jackpot?
The door opened and the aide ushered Zamyatin in. He walked to his left along the wall until he was directly across the table from the President. The President nodded and there was some shuffling to vacate that chair. Zamyatin sat in it with deliberate calm.
'Colonel.' The President greeted him. 'I'm rather surprised Ambassador Ogarkov is not bringing whatever message you bear.'
'When the river reaches floodtide, new channels are carved,' Zamyatin replied. 'I assure you my authority comes from the highest levels.'
'That will, of course, be checked,' the President responded. 'Am I to understand, Colonel, that you have openly confessed to the abduction of an American citizen?'
'Ah, you attempt to seize the initiative,' Zamyatin replied, unruffled. 'But you have a weak hand. Of course we have taken him, and the event pales next to the heinous act the individual committed, the one for which you are ultimately responsible.'
'What act are you talking about?'
The Russian left the question hanging for a long moment. 'If you are going to be stubborn,' he finally said, 'this discussion can be carried on in a more public forum.'
The President met his hard gaze, and again there was silence.
'Why did you take him?' the President asked.
'We intend to know everything there is to know about this crime against humanity. Paul Krone is the ultimate source of that information.'
'He must be returned to us.'
'Ah,' said Zamyatin, 'precisely what we had in mind.' He enjoyed the look of surprise that flashed on the President's face. 'We would like to return Dr Krone to you along with his charming companion.'
'You just kidnapped him: now you want to return him,' the President said, with mild scorn. 'What's the rest of the deal?'
'The deal,' Zamyatin said carefully, 'the deal is an exchange. The two people for the complete set of those.' His eyes went to the charred lab book that still sat, momentarily overlooked, beside the President. 'Krone is of no use to us in his present state. We want those lab books and any other written or computerized records.'
'Mr President,' General Whitehead said in a low warning voice, 'we don't know what sort of valuable information may be in those.'
'Of course you don't,' Zamyatin snapped, his gaze fixed on the President, 'not the way you have bungled this affair. Mr President, there is undoubtedly information in those books that would be considered priceless for defence matters under ordinary circumstances. We are not concerned with that now, nor can you afford to be.
'Mr President,' the Russian's voice turned cold and hard, 'you have delivered a mortal blow to my country, your country, the very planet itself. There is the merest wisp of hope that the peril can be removed. The Soviet Union is prepared to take any steps that may rescue us from the monumental insanity which you have visited upon us.
'First,' he continued in a matter-of-fact tone, 'we must understand the problem in minute detail. That means knowing what is in those books and other records, and in the mind of Paul Krone. We have Krone, you have the records and the sophisticated medical techniques that may restore Krone's health. We will swap.'
'You must return Krone,' the President said firmly, 'but we do not need your spy: you can keep the woman.'
'Spy?' Zamyatin cracked a small smile. 'Yes, she is one of us, an illegal escapee, but no spy. Let us say she was merely susceptible to persuasion, a family in the old country, you understand? And you do need her. She is the only contact with the man. Yes, we could keep her, exact the usual punishment, but we believe her presence will hasten the day that Krone becomes rational and useful. You see we are trying to be reasonable.
'Of course,' the Russian shrugged, 'we will also send a more reliable representative to monitor your progress with Krone. We expect you to relay to us every scrap you learn from him.'
'That's outrageous,' the President said, 'you can't expect us to put one of our citizens under a microscope for your pleasure.'
'The outrage has already been committed,' Zamyatin replied. Godly. 'You will put Krone under that microscope to serve your own ends. We are merely asking you to share the proceeds.
'Mr President,' Zamyatin continued, his voice suddenly friendly, 'I think you do not adequately appreciate the spirit of the offer we are making. There is no shrinking from your ultimate responsibility here, but the problem is immense and complex. We do not demand Krone and his records. You will have Krone and his machine, and, of course, you will keep a copy of the records. We must share this information and seek a common solution to our common peril.
'The seeds of cooperation on this problem have already been planted.' The Russian glanced for the first time at Isaacs. Although no one else seemed to notice, Isaacs felt as if a spotlight had just been turned on him. His heart raced, and he could feel his face flush.
'To further this spirit,' Zamyatin continued, 'we will make the following additional offer. Mr President, you know Academician Korolev, our distinguished scientist?' 'Yes, of course I do,' the President replied tentatively. 'Academician Korolev took an early and active interest in this problem. You know that he is crucial to our defence effort and has never been allowed to travel to the West. Mr President, as a gesture of good will and of our intention to hasten the day when a solution may be devised, we are prepared to place Korolev at your disposal as our scientific ambassador.
'Mr President,' Zamyatin continued, cordial and reasonable,
'I do not expect a reply to our offers just now. I deduce you have only just learned of the problem. You will need some time to fully appreciate the situation, and the generosity of the proposals I have presented. I would remind you that there are factions in my government that are not amenable to such a cooperative approach. There are some who would advocate immediate public exposure, an attempt to wrest full propaganda value from your predicament. Others would contemplate far more serious and direct reprisals.
'Before I go, there is one other thing. I stress that we have proposed a cooperative approach to the problem at hand. We presume that you do not want the situation and your role in it to become widely known. We will follow your lead in such matters if you will but cooperate with us in one other regard. The problem with which we are now faced arose from a certain line of investigation.'
The Russian paused, holding the eyes of the President.
'We ask that you immediately cease all research and development on beam weapons and related technology.'
The room filled with a crescendo of outrage. General Whitehead was among the loudest, shouting, 'I knew it, I knew they'd turn this against us.'
Zamyatin rose and departed, as if oblivious to the uproar his demand had caused.
'Mr President,' General Whitehead continued to shout, 'we cannot even think of responding to that crap. If we make the slightest concession there, they'll come after our nuclear arms.'
The President cracked a loud palm down on the table, resulting in a rapid, strained silence.
'It's nearly one A.m.,' the President said. 'I'm going to adjourn this meeting. I want you all on call by six. In the meantime,' he addressed his National Security Advisor, 'I want to know precisely the line of authority Zamyatin represents and the makeup of the other factions he mentioned.' He turned towards Drefke. 'Howard, I want you, Isaacs and Professor Phillips to stay. I need a little more perspective on this.'
The President led them to an upstairs study and poured brandy all round. They sat in silence for a while, each man trying to assimilate the rush of events in his own perspective. For Isaacs, the shock of Zamyatin's announcements had waned, and he could feel the deep fatigue again, but he carried a burden he knew he must unload. He appreciated Drefke's attempt, not completely altruistic, to avoid mention of Isaacs's communications with Korolev. For that matter, Zamyatin could have roasted him, but chose not to. He knew, though, that the President could not reach a cogent decision without knowing all the background. From a strictly personal point of view, he would be better off confessing his involvement with the Russians rather than having the President discover it, as he surely would. He broke the silence.
'Mr President.' The eyes of the three men swivelled to him. 'I have been in on this affair from the beginning. There are some things about Zamyatin and Korolev you need to know.'
Drefke lifted his eyebrows in surprise, but remained silent.
'Let's hear what's on your mind,' the president said.
'I have been aware for some time,' said Isaacs, searching for the right words, 'that there is a contingent in the Soviet Union which has some sympathy for our situation. I believe Academician Korolev is a key person in that contingent. I think that he has led them to the understanding that we are dealing with a black hole and that it was made here, but I think he recognizes the true nature of the problem, that it transcends geopolitics. Korolev is under pressure; he had to tell them what he knew. But he is sympathetic to us, and he had influence there. I believe the offer to have him work with us is highly significant, both scientifically and politically. Mr President, I think it is crucial that we reach out to the people Korolev represents.'
'Even though they demand we abandon our research on beam weapons, giving them full head to develop an antimissile technology unilaterally?'
Isaacs had no reply to that.
The President looked sharply at Isaacs. 'How can you be so sure that this one man can and will be of help to us?'
Isaacs knew what was coming. He looked at the floor and then back at the President. 'I've been in touch with him,' he mumbled.
'What was that?' the President demanded.
'I said, I've been in touch with him,' Isaacs replied.
Phillips stared at Isaacs in surprise. Isaacs vividly recalled his private conversation with the physicist in La Jolla , his suppressed desire to confess his communications with Korolev.
'You mean the Agency has?' the President asked.
'No sir, it was a personal correspondence.'
'Personal?' the President blurted. 'You mean to say you've been communicating with Korolev directly? On the most sensitive issue of the decade? Goddamnit, Howard,' he turned to Drefke, 'don't your people know what channels are for? I've got black holes in my back yard, laser cannons in the front, and hired hands sending postcards back and forth discussing policy!'
'At the time there were extenuating circumstances,' Isaacs attempted to explain.
'Extenuating?' the President exclaimed. May I ask just what you and Korolev were discussing behind my back, that you didn't care to have me know?'
'I knew that Korolev was in charge of the Novorossiisk investigation, that he was puzzled and frustrated by it. That much was clear from official communications. Our effort was bogged down after the Stinson was sunk.
'Frankly, sir,' Isaacs continued, 'I was frightened. I thought something was smiting ships, triggering a global confrontation. For a variety of reasons, my efforts were stymied. I thought that Korolev might have more luck getting to the bottom of things.'
Isaacs rolled the brandy snifter in his hands. 'I told Korolev about the seismic signal and my suspicion that it was related to the damage to both ships.'
'You told him that?' The President was angry and bewildered. 'You gave us away? Virtually inviting him to look for and find the black hole and pin it on us?' He rose and paced to a window, peering into the dark outside.
Isaacs spoke to his back, trying to explain more than defend his actions. 'I had no idea we were dealing with a black hole at the time, certainly not that we were in any way responsible.'
The President turned from the window and spoke to Drefke. 'My god, Howard, you sandbagged me! Did you know your man had been talking to the Russians? This borders on treason.'
'Jim,' implored Drefke, falling into old, first name habits, 'it was a lot more complicated than that. Yes, I did know it, and I had already had it out with him. It's not what it seems. You can't take it out of context.'
'Why don't you just put it into context for me then?' The President was still angry, frustrated at events that had spun so rapidly out of his control.
'The simple fact is that we wouldn't be anywhere on this thing if it weren't for Isaacs here,' Drefke continued his appeal. 'The black hole would still be there, eating away, and we wouldn't have the faintest idea. This thing was bound to blow up in our face one way or another. We know that after the Novorossiisk, one thing led to another and we've got into a fine jam over it, but we would still have no idea why. Isaacs broke every rule in the book to reach out to Korolev, but I agree with him that that contact is probably our only way out of this problem. Without Korolev, we could be dealing with a bunch of generals ready, anxious, to finger the button.
'As it is,' he continued, 'there is some evidence that the Russians have been calmer to react than they would have been if Isaacs hadn't been in touch with Korolev.'
'Calmer?' The President was incredulous. 'They just blew our nuke out of the sky!'
'They were on the verge of it six weeks ago, when they first put up the hunter-killers. Cooler heads prevailed, and we have reason to believe that Korolev was instrumental.'-
'How do you know that?'
'We got it from Zamyatin.'
'From Zamyatin? What the hell is his role in all this?'
'We don't fully understand. His appearance this evening was a total surprise to us. But he does seem to be in Korolev's camp. He's been the liaison between Korolev and Isaacs.'
'Oh, for crying out loud!' The President returned and dropped back into his armchair, slopping brandy over the side of his snifter and onto the carpet. 'Honest to god, Howard, how am I supposed to run this country if things like this are going on behind my back.'
'Jim, this has been a complex and rapidly changing situation. We have only begun to appreciate the stakes in the last couple of weeks, to see how it all ties together. You've got to look at the signals,' Drefke implored. 'There are people over there trying to understand, trying to keep a lid on things. Sure, they're trying to get some advantage from it: they have to cover their own asses internally. But we still have to seek them out, appeal to the rational ones who see the common danger if we're going to keep the crazies in check. We need to pacify the Russians and figure out what to do with this damnable black hole, but we must tackle both problems together. We've got to open up and work with them on this thing. If we don't, they'll cram it all down our throats, the black hole, their laser, everything.'
Drefke stared at the familiar figure, unsure whether his arguments were effective.
Isaacs had scarcely breathed during the intense discussion. He appreciated Drefke's stout support and thought that the Director had established his moral motivation as well as possible. Still, his breach was massive. There were immutable political forces once such things came to the attention of the President. Without seeing the specifics, Isaacs numbly recognized that his career at the Agency was over.
The President got up and went to the serving cart. He put down the sticky glass and poured some more brandy into a fresh one. He sat and took a reflective sip. After a moment he said, 'Let's put aside the political factors for now. I need to get some feeling for the broader perspective.
'You say,' the President continued, looking at Drefke, 'that this black hole is consuming the earth, that the earth is falling into it, as you remarked previously. But apparently there is little directly noticeable effect now. How soon before we have an emergency on our hands? That is to say, a public emergency?'
'That's a difficult question to answer,' Drefke said, glancing quickly away from the President to Isaacs and Phillips and then back. 'The ultimate danger is apparently many generations away. But let me stress that although that is farther in the future than we are normally used to dealing, the threat is real and implacable.'
'But what is the future course of this flung?' the President asked. 'Professor Phillips, I haven't heard from you. What is your prognosis?'
Phillips set aside his brandy and clasped his fingers in his lap before replying.
'If it continues on its course,' Phillips said, 'there will be a phase of increasingly violent earthquakes. As the object grows bigger it will be able to trigger large earthquakes by releasing stress already stored along fault lines. At a somewhat later stage the tunnels themselves created by the passage of the object will be so large that their collapse will engender a continuing series of major earthquakes. As the hole grows even larger, the earth will begin to orbit it. The oceans will be sloshed from their basins by huge tides. The earthquakes will grow in magnitude until the whole earth is rent by them and totally uninhabitable. In the final stage, all the material of the earth will be consumed, and only the black hole grown to about this size will be left orbiting the sun.' He made an OK sign for illustration.
Silence filled the room as Phillips finished his description. The President stared into his glass. He gave his head a small shake and looked up towards Phillips. 'I must ask again how long it will be before this thing becomes overtly dangerous in the way you have just described? With the earthquakes and tidal waves?'
'Such a thing could happen now,' Phillips said, 'particularly in the Far East or along the coast of California where the orbital plane intersects regions of tectonic activity.'
'But when will such things begin to occur with regularity? ' the President inquired.
'Very difficult to answer,' Phillips shook his head, 'perhaps a hundred years, maybe as much as a thousand.'
'In a sense then, we have that long before we must cope with this thing directly,' the President asserted, 'that long before massive deaths begin to occur.'
Phillips thought for a moment. 'Yes, the hole will become a deadly menace at some point, but that may not be a measure of our grace period in terms of taking active steps against it.'
The President raised an eyebrow in question. Phillips unclasped his hands to draw an elliptical path in the air with his finger. 'As the hole follows its orbit, it is subject to drag forces as the inevitable adjunct of its consuming the matter of the earth. These drag forces will slowly cause the hole to spiral to the centre of the earth. After a certain period of time, the orbit of the hole will no longer carry it above the surface of the earth. After that it will be totally inaccessible to us and our fate will be truly sealed. Right now it is difficult to say whether the hole will disappear beneath the surface before or after the massive earthquakes begin. We will not have to rely on theoretical estimates for long, however. Observations currently under way will tell us directly how fast the settling is occurring even if we have no accurate way of predicting when regular extensive damage will begin.'
The President rested his forehead against his hand, leaning on the arm of the chair. He rotated his head from that position and once more inquired of Phillips, 'There remains one more major question then, doesn't there?' He looked straight into Phillips's eyes. 'What can we do about it?'
Phillips returned the President's gaze forthrightly.
'Mr President, on this issue I must be perfectly candid. So far none of our discussions have produced a glimmer of cause for optimism.'
Phillips glanced at the other two men and then returned his attention to the President. 'Understand that I do not mean that we must accept defeat. We have only just begun to study the problem, and it would be foolhardy to suggest that because a possible solution is not apparent now that one will not be forthcoming in the future, if enough ingenuity and manpower are brought to bear. But it would be equally foolhardy to minimize the magnitude of the problem. This object is so tiny and so massive that it cannot be moved except by the most titanic of forces. My colleagues and I are far from ready to give up on the problem, but we must all be prepared to concede at some point that there is no solution. It certainly is conceivable that the earth is doomed.'
The President absorbed the gloomy assessment. 'Well, we can't give up without a fight. You spoke of manpower and ingenuity, Professor. What can this office do to provide the resources necessary to find a solution to this problem, presuming one exists?'
'Just now the stress must be more on ingenuity than brute manpower,' replied Phillips. 'At the present stage we need an idea, or set of ideas, some hint of a useful programme. Then I imagine that a massive engineering programme such as the Manhattan Project or the Apollo programme would be called for.'
'From the scientific point of view,' the President rubbed a hand over tired eyes, 'can we proceed without the Russians?'
Phillips pondered his answer. 'I appreciate the dilemma you are in. You cannot lightly submit to coercion. We have many great scientists in this country, men and women who would gladly give up careers of research to work with you on this. Perhaps, no, we don't need the Russians in that sense. But you ask me as a scientist. I will tell you this. I do not know the depths of Korolev's political connections, although I have every reason to believe that he has great influence. But I do know that there is no brain on 'earth that I would rather have working on this problem than that of Viktor Korolev.'
The President nodded, then spoke. 'Gentlemen, I have much to think about. Please keep yourselves on call.'
They left the White House by a side exit and climbed into Drefke's waiting limousine which whisked them away through the quiet Washington streets.
Chapter 19
On the evening of January 5th, a taxi made its way from Logan Airport , skirting the Charles River along the edge of Boston. Eventually, it came to Newton and slowed on the tortuous suburban streets. The air was noticeably colder outside the city, and the snowflakes fell more thickly. The passengers huddled in the corners of the flat Checker seat listening to the wheels plough through the slush. The smaller figure tried to ignore the stream of frigid air which came from his window which would not quite close. He wore a topcoat, but shivered from lack of natural insulation. The man was in his early forties, of average height, thin to the point of frailness. His head was round in profile, but thin so his face was a flattened oval. His sparse hair was combed straight back; a trim Vandyke adorned his chin. He wore old nondescript hornrim glasses, the temples of which showed the grey corrosion of long exposure to facial grease.
The other passenger was a large, hulking man. His coarse Slavic features were broken by a relaxed smile as he looked out at the snow. His bulky winter coat was undone to display a grey suit of plain utilitarian cut. His mind spun with the excitement of his first visit here, and his eyes had captured all the details — from the gross flashing signs atop Kenmore Square to the fine old houses with large yards they now passed by.
The taxi finally pulled up in front of a large white house on which the porch light signalled welcome. The Gabble flicked the plexiglass partition open without looking back, disgruntled at the thought of the long trip back to the airport without a fare and scheming for a way to cover that loss. The slim passenger grimaced at the figure on the meter despite it being covered by his expense account and shoved some bills through to the driver, waving for him to keep the change. The driver showed his gratitude by remaining immobile while his passengers worked the doors open and stepped out. The smaller man's left foot landed ankle deep in water in the gutter. He uttered a quiet exclamation of dismay, shoved the door shut and stepped gingerly to the ploughed walkway leading to the front door. He navigated the cleared path, waited for his companion, then pushed the button as he stamped his wet shoe.
Inside Wayne Phillips rose quickly from the couch and got to the door just before his wife who had come in from the kitchen. He opened the door and greeted the men on the stoop.
'Clarence! Viktor! Come in.'
He turned to his wife, 'Betsy, you remember Clarence Humphreys from Princeton ? And I would like you to meet my good friend and colleague, Viktor Korolev, from the Soviet Union. They've been working together in Moscow on our project.'
'Of course,' she nodded, 'how are you? I'm afraid we've welcomed you with rather dismal weather.' She spoke with a British accent, being a lifelong cherished companion from Phillips's youth at Oxford.
Helping Humphreys off with his topcoat, Phillips was too close to notice the soggy shoe. From her vantage point a few feet off and blessed with an eye for such things, his wife saw it and gave a small gasp.
'Oh, my! You've stepped in a puddle!'
Humphreys acknowledged this misfortune sheepishly.
Betsy Phillips immediately took complete control.
'Here. You sit down before the fire and get those wet, cold shoes off. Professor Korolev, won't you sit here? I'll fetch a pair of Wayne 's slippers and fix you both a nice hot toddy.' She guided her guests towards chairs in front of the fireplace. Alex Runyan arose from the couch, his right arm encased in a sling.
'Viktor, welcome to the United States.' He pumped the Russian's hand awkwardly, backward, with his left hand.
'After all these years — such a delight to have you here. When your name came up in La Jolla , I never actually thought I'd see you working with us.' He turned to the other scientist. 'Clarence, how are things in Moscow ?'
'Hello, Alex,' Humphreys returned the greeting. 'Well, it's snowing there too, but the rivers are still in their banks.' He lifted his wet foot and both men grinned.
Humphreys sat and with a disdain for propriety which belied his academic standing, quickly removed his shoes and socks. He extended white, blue-veined feet towards the fire and wiggled his toes. Korolev looked around the room. It was large and tastefully decorated, mostly in colonial, in keeping with the house which dated back to shortly after the Revolution. The floors were original, wide planks held down with wooden pegs. He was admiring a large heavily decorated Christmas tree in the corner when Betsy Phillips returned with a pair of faintly scruffy slippers and a tray upon which she balanced two steaming concoctions in tall glasses. Humphreys slid his feet into the slippers and smiled gratefully. The Russian feasted her with his glass and smiled his broad smile.
'I'm glad you could stop over before we have to go to Washington ,' Phillips said, after his wife had discreetly retired. 'That is when the real work will begin, but Alex and I are anxious for a chance to hear your ideas while there is still a little peace and quiet. I understand Krone's notes have been useful?'
'Absolutely! They're invaluable,' said Humphreys enthusiastically. 'The man understood an incredible amount, and there's an even greater wealth of information implicit in the computer data that will require years to completely analyse. We've only had time to scratch the surface.'
Humphreys looked at his Russian colleague.
'Things have been so hectic. We've been under tremendous pressure to digest those notebooks.'
He spoke to Phillips and Runyan.
'I want both of you to know what an immense help Viktor has been. More than that, most of the time I have foundered in his wake.'
Korolev nodded in silent sober acquiescence at the praise.
'I don't know what bolt of enlightenment hit the Soviet hierarchy,' Humphreys continued, 'volunteering his services for this project when he was not even allowed to attend a conference before. Anyway, we should all be grateful.'
'Ho,' said the Russian in his deep rumbling baritone. 'I explain certain facts to them. Sometimes they understand. But this is a complicated thing. Your government. My government.' He waved a hand in dismissal and tossed down a healthy slug of his drink.
'The fire was unfortunate,' Korolev said. 'Some important things are missing.'
'Viktor has filled in most of the missing parts,'
Humphreys explained, 'but there are a couple of awkward gaps. The books weren't the only casualty. I'd heard you'd been hurt, Alex. How's the arm?'
Runyan flexed his fingers slowly. 'I had surgery again a month ago,' he said. 'Damn tendons are tough to heal.' He leaned back and fingered his beard to show the scar on his jaw. 'Got me in the chin and arm with one blow. Tough lady, let me tell you.'
Humphreys shook his head in sympathy.
'Where is this man Krone now?' Korolev inquired. 'I must talk with him.'
'Unfortunately, he's in no condition to talk even yet,' Runyan explained. 'He's in Walter Reed Hospital , and they're doing everything they can to bring him round.'
'How about the woman?' Humphreys asked.
'Well, under the circumstances, I didn't press charges. Everything she did was under coercion. She's got an apartment in Washington I hear and visits Krone daily. The doctors think she is a beneficial factor.' Runyan stared into the fire, recalling his encounter with Maria Latvin, and shivered slightly.
'Listen,' Runyan brightened, shaking off his reverie, 'we want to hear more about this idea of yours. You think you have some way of attacking the hole?'
'Well, it's not fully worked out yet,' said Humphreys, 'but we do have a proposal. I wish we had a bit more time. I'm not so sure how we will fare trying to convince the President and his advisers of its workability.'
'Try it out on us,' encouraged Phillips. 'You suggested in your letter that stimulated emission was involved?'
'That's right. You know how the principle works in lasers. Atoms are energized and ready to emit a photon of light. Then if a seed photon is sent in, it stimulates one of the atoms to emit an identical photon. The two photons then induce the emission of two more identical photons, the four become eight, the eight, sixteen and so on, leading to a chain reaction.
'The same process can be made to work on any system which radiates. If a thing emits photons spontaneously, then it can be induced to emit photons on cue under the proper circumstances. Viktor pointed out that, in particular, this applies to black holes. We know that because of the quantum mechanical uncertainty principle, the event horizon of a black hole is slightly fuzzy and that light leaks out. Every black hole slowly radiates away its substance. The question is, can our black hole be stimulated to radiate away its mass and disappear faster than it would ordinarily?'
Humphreys stopped and took a sip of his drink. Runyan, his mind churning, fixed him with a stare.
'You would need an intense source of light then,' said Runyan, gesturing with his good left hand as if trying to conjure up such a scource on the spot.
'Yes,' answered Humphreys, 'and it needs to be focused since the target is so small.'
'A laser then,' said Phillips quietly.
'Right,' Humphreys addressed him. 'We think a super powerful laser could be fashioned which could siphon off some of the mass of the hole. Even more,' he paused, 'there are hints from Krone's notes that such a process could be even more efficient than the basic first order theory would indicate. We haven't worked it all out yet, but certain of his data suggest the existence of non-linear effects which could improve the efficiency of the stimulated emission dramatically.'
'Just how dramatic is that?' asked Runyan. 'You don't want to liberate too much energy too fast — Me' for that hole is a lot of E.'
'There is no way to eliminate the hole in one step with any foreseeable technology, and, indeed, we would not want to if we could, as you rightly point out,' replied Humphreys. 'If what I'm suggesting works at all, the best we can hope for is to peel a little bit of mass off at a time and to repeat the process many, many times.
'Viktor has also devised an interesting variation on that theme. A properly shaped initiating blast may cause the bulk of the energy to be liberated in one direction. We might be able to guide the impulse in such a way as to offset the drag and keep the hole from settling prematurely completely into the earth. Our hope is to boost the orbit so that it is totally outside the earth. Then little by little we could widen the orbit and eventually set it adrift into interstellar space.
'If the process must be repeated a thousand times to gain control, we have hope. A million times? Well, we should begin looking for a new home.'
'Do you have any idea how effective the process will be?' inquired Phillips, maintaining his quiet demeanour.
'It depends on the relative efficiency for the production of photons and particles with mass: electrons, protons, neutrons. There will also be neutrinos. The particles are the most efficient repository for mass and momentum, from our point of view. The neutrinos can in principle carry off a large amount of energy. If the process works at all, there should be a large explosion.
'To answer your question, Wayne,' Humphreys continued, 'our current estimates are that the hole could be nudged out of the earth with about a hundred thousand repetitions, each releasing about the explosive energy of a ten megaton bomb. Those numbers are very tentative. They could be off by a factor of a hundred either way.'
'Your recommendation then?' Phillips wanted to know.
'Put every talented scientist available on the analysis of Krone's notes, and begin the design and engineering of the necessary laser. The first goal is to run a field test to see whether it works. Then go into full scale mass production. The lasers will be immense and expensive, and, if the process works, you'll destroy them every time.'
'We must also worry about the others,' rumbled Korolev, 'the three he made first.'
'As I understand it,' Runyan said, 'our government and yours are analysing every scrap of seismic and sonar data available. I think one of them has been found.'
Phillips swirled his drink and took a reflective sip of it.
'Viktor,' he said, 'I think there's no question that you and Clarence are to be congratulated for coming up with such a clever and positive sounding approach. What about the practical problems, though? It strikes me that what you have suggested is going to be fiendishly difficult to accomplish in reality.'
Korolev gave Phillips a long frank look devoid of the self— effacing geniality he had been displaying.
'This frightens me,' he said. 'I can think of no other way to proceed, but what we ask, to hit a rapidly moving, vanishingly small particle in just the right way — this is very difficult. By comparison, the moon is huge, your Apollo programme a trivial exercise.'
The Russian paused to rub his chin. 'The stakes are very much higher now,' he said in a ruminative tone. 'If we fail, it is not just the prestige of a country that is at risk, but the future of all life.' His head sunk on his chest, and he lost himself for a moment in the flicker from the grate. 'We must try,' he continued, 'but some projects are too-complex, too difficult, to be solved by any number of talented people, any amount of resources.'
He was silent again for a while. Then his head came up, and he leaned forward with a more earnest air. He gestured with an extended forefinger.
'Here are some of the problems we face. How do we make a laser which works at the energies most destructive to the black hole? The lasers must be huge, but they must swivel rapidly while maintaining infinitesimal accuracy. How do we do that? The operation must be computer controlled, but the task is monumental. I fear a new generation of computers must be invented just for that purpose alone.'
The four men talked late into the night, analysing the strengths and weaknesses of the plan and solutions to unprecedented engineering problems. The next morning they caught an early shuttle to Washington.
Four months later on a Saturday afternoon. Pat Danielson shouldered her way through the door other new condominium, kicked the door shut with her foot, and set the bulky box of kitchen utensils down in the middle of the disarray. The room was piled with cardboard boxes pilfered from liquor and grocery stores. The only piece of furniture was a sofa bed which would have to do double duty until she could buy more furniture. She walked down the hallway to the left, sniffing the acrid, clashing odours of new carpet and paint, past the small bedroom she would use as a study and the bathroom opposite, and into the larger bedroom with its own bath and dressing area. She walked the length of the room to the curtainless window which faced the front of the complex and opened it to the fresh spring air. Looking straight down six storeys, she could see the security guard structure at the front gate. Craning her neck to the right she could see, just past the small balcony jutting from her front room, the swimming pool sauna complex, and the tennis courts beyond. What a swinger, she kidded herself.
'Coffee's on!' she heard Janine shout from the kitchen.
Coffee? 'How are you making coffee?' she called back as she retraced her steps down the hallway. Her old coffee pot was in the box she had just carried in. As she entered the front room she inhaled the delicious aroma and followed it into the kitchen. The cabinets were bare except for a new automatic drip coffee maker and a bag of freshly ground mocha java.
'Where did that come from?' Pat marvelled.
'House present,' Janine said. 'From Alex Runyan. He stopped by while you were gone. He tried to call the apartment, but I guess you weren't there yet, or had left. Did you know he was in town?'
'I'm not too surprised. There's a meeting next week that I thought he'd be involved in, but he's not a great one for advance notice.'
'He said he had some business this afternoon, but would call you later.'
'Great, and I'm supposed to hold my Saturday open until the last minute in case he shows up.'
Janine was embarrassed by her friend's predicament and covered up by grabbing a couple of glasses off the counter.
'Well, at least we can drink his coffee. I couldn't find the cups. Can we make do with these?' She brandished the tumblers.
'Sure,' Pat conceded. 'It smells marvellous.'
Janine filled the glasses three-quarters of the way to the top. 'Watch out,' she warned, 'they'll.be hot with no handles. Hold the top.' She banded one to Danielson, and they moved through the tableless dining area into the living room.
Pat looked around at the piles of boxes, the sofa heaped with clothes, laughed and sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, crossing her legs in front of her. Janine perched on the edge of a box. She lifted her glass, held gingerly by the upper rim.
'Here's to your promotion and new home, ex-roomie; may it become the den of iniquity you've always wanted.' Pat chuckled, 'Fat chance of that.'
They sat quietly, sipping the rich coffee, each lost in her own thoughts.
'Pat?'
'Um?'
'What's the matter between you and Alex? He's always seemed so charming to me.'
Pat was silent for a moment.
'Would you go out with him?'
'Sure, I guess so.'
'That's the problem. He'd take you up on it. Roommate or not. The truth is, of course, that I still find him fascinating. He knows so much about so many dungs. He's warm and engaging and can focus some sort of personal intensity that makes it easy to fall into the illusion that you're the only interesting person in the world.'
Pat stopped to take a drink of coffee. 'I think he really does like me. But he's got enough "like" to spread it around pretty liberally. He separated from his wife, but, as they say, the chances of him settling down are between slim and zero.'
Janine took a sip of coffee and rolled the glass between her palms.
'Is he good in bed?'
'Hey!' Pat laughed. 'What kind of question is that?' She leaned her head back against the wall staring at the white ceiling. She could feel Runyan's hands on her waist, his lips near her navel. 'Yes, damn it,' she said with resignation, 'he's pretty good.'
'Well, then,' said Janine, with an impish sidelong glance at the sofa, 'I suggest that we prepare yon piece for its proper initiation.'
She drained her glass, set it down, and went to grab an armload of clothes off the sofa.
Pat laughed again as Janine disappeared down the hall.
'Thank you, lord,' she said in a loud stage voice, 'for delivering me at last from nosey, interfering roommates.'
Then she stood and looked around. The last shall be first, she decided. She betted the box of utensils she had most recently deposited and headed for the kitchen, bent on the task of imposing order in her new abode.
The following Friday, Robert Isaacs put the finishing touches on his report to Drefke as the setting sun sent lances of light through the blinds of his office windows then dropped below the wall of trees. He was tired, but exhilarated. The report concerned the epochal meeting which had begun early Monday and wound up after lunch Friday, a complete success. A small coterie of scientists from both sides of the Iron Curtain and a larger group of diplomats had come to unprecedented, unanimous agreement. The public confrontation would continue, but driven to a close and desperate cooperation, the two countries would, in complete secrecy, launch a massive joint effort to rid the world of Krone's creations.
The other passenger was a large, hulking man. His coarse Slavic features were broken by a relaxed smile as he looked out at the snow. His bulky winter coat was undone to display a grey suit of plain utilitarian cut. His mind spun with the excitement of his first visit here, and his eyes had captured all the details — from the gross flashing signs atop Kenmore Square to the fine old houses with large yards they now passed by.
The taxi finally pulled up in front of a large white house on which the porch light signalled welcome. The Gabble flicked the plexiglass partition open without looking back, disgruntled at the thought of the long trip back to the airport without a fare and scheming for a way to cover that loss. The slim passenger grimaced at the figure on the meter despite it being covered by his expense account and shoved some bills through to the driver, waving for him to keep the change. The driver showed his gratitude by remaining immobile while his passengers worked the doors open and stepped out. The smaller man's left foot landed ankle deep in water in the gutter. He uttered a quiet exclamation of dismay, shoved the door shut and stepped gingerly to the ploughed walkway leading to the front door. He navigated the cleared path, waited for his companion, then pushed the button as he stamped his wet shoe.
Inside Wayne Phillips rose quickly from the couch and got to the door just before his wife who had come in from the kitchen. He opened the door and greeted the men on the stoop.
'Clarence! Viktor! Come in.'
He turned to his wife, 'Betsy, you remember Clarence Humphreys from Princeton ? And I would like you to meet my good friend and colleague, Viktor Korolev, from the Soviet Union. They've been working together in Moscow on our project.'
'Of course,' she nodded, 'how are you? I'm afraid we've welcomed you with rather dismal weather.' She spoke with a British accent, being a lifelong cherished companion from Phillips's youth at Oxford.
Helping Humphreys off with his topcoat, Phillips was too close to notice the soggy shoe. From her vantage point a few feet off and blessed with an eye for such things, his wife saw it and gave a small gasp.
'Oh, my! You've stepped in a puddle!'
Humphreys acknowledged this misfortune sheepishly.
Betsy Phillips immediately took complete control.
'Here. You sit down before the fire and get those wet, cold shoes off. Professor Korolev, won't you sit here? I'll fetch a pair of Wayne 's slippers and fix you both a nice hot toddy.' She guided her guests towards chairs in front of the fireplace. Alex Runyan arose from the couch, his right arm encased in a sling.
'Viktor, welcome to the United States.' He pumped the Russian's hand awkwardly, backward, with his left hand.
'After all these years — such a delight to have you here. When your name came up in La Jolla , I never actually thought I'd see you working with us.' He turned to the other scientist. 'Clarence, how are things in Moscow ?'
'Hello, Alex,' Humphreys returned the greeting. 'Well, it's snowing there too, but the rivers are still in their banks.' He lifted his wet foot and both men grinned.
Humphreys sat and with a disdain for propriety which belied his academic standing, quickly removed his shoes and socks. He extended white, blue-veined feet towards the fire and wiggled his toes. Korolev looked around the room. It was large and tastefully decorated, mostly in colonial, in keeping with the house which dated back to shortly after the Revolution. The floors were original, wide planks held down with wooden pegs. He was admiring a large heavily decorated Christmas tree in the corner when Betsy Phillips returned with a pair of faintly scruffy slippers and a tray upon which she balanced two steaming concoctions in tall glasses. Humphreys slid his feet into the slippers and smiled gratefully. The Russian feasted her with his glass and smiled his broad smile.
'I'm glad you could stop over before we have to go to Washington ,' Phillips said, after his wife had discreetly retired. 'That is when the real work will begin, but Alex and I are anxious for a chance to hear your ideas while there is still a little peace and quiet. I understand Krone's notes have been useful?'
'Absolutely! They're invaluable,' said Humphreys enthusiastically. 'The man understood an incredible amount, and there's an even greater wealth of information implicit in the computer data that will require years to completely analyse. We've only had time to scratch the surface.'
Humphreys looked at his Russian colleague.
'Things have been so hectic. We've been under tremendous pressure to digest those notebooks.'
He spoke to Phillips and Runyan.
'I want both of you to know what an immense help Viktor has been. More than that, most of the time I have foundered in his wake.'
Korolev nodded in silent sober acquiescence at the praise.
'I don't know what bolt of enlightenment hit the Soviet hierarchy,' Humphreys continued, 'volunteering his services for this project when he was not even allowed to attend a conference before. Anyway, we should all be grateful.'
'Ho,' said the Russian in his deep rumbling baritone. 'I explain certain facts to them. Sometimes they understand. But this is a complicated thing. Your government. My government.' He waved a hand in dismissal and tossed down a healthy slug of his drink.
'The fire was unfortunate,' Korolev said. 'Some important things are missing.'
'Viktor has filled in most of the missing parts,'
Humphreys explained, 'but there are a couple of awkward gaps. The books weren't the only casualty. I'd heard you'd been hurt, Alex. How's the arm?'
Runyan flexed his fingers slowly. 'I had surgery again a month ago,' he said. 'Damn tendons are tough to heal.' He leaned back and fingered his beard to show the scar on his jaw. 'Got me in the chin and arm with one blow. Tough lady, let me tell you.'
Humphreys shook his head in sympathy.
'Where is this man Krone now?' Korolev inquired. 'I must talk with him.'
'Unfortunately, he's in no condition to talk even yet,' Runyan explained. 'He's in Walter Reed Hospital , and they're doing everything they can to bring him round.'
'How about the woman?' Humphreys asked.
'Well, under the circumstances, I didn't press charges. Everything she did was under coercion. She's got an apartment in Washington I hear and visits Krone daily. The doctors think she is a beneficial factor.' Runyan stared into the fire, recalling his encounter with Maria Latvin, and shivered slightly.
'Listen,' Runyan brightened, shaking off his reverie, 'we want to hear more about this idea of yours. You think you have some way of attacking the hole?'
'Well, it's not fully worked out yet,' said Humphreys, 'but we do have a proposal. I wish we had a bit more time. I'm not so sure how we will fare trying to convince the President and his advisers of its workability.'
'Try it out on us,' encouraged Phillips. 'You suggested in your letter that stimulated emission was involved?'
'That's right. You know how the principle works in lasers. Atoms are energized and ready to emit a photon of light. Then if a seed photon is sent in, it stimulates one of the atoms to emit an identical photon. The two photons then induce the emission of two more identical photons, the four become eight, the eight, sixteen and so on, leading to a chain reaction.
'The same process can be made to work on any system which radiates. If a thing emits photons spontaneously, then it can be induced to emit photons on cue under the proper circumstances. Viktor pointed out that, in particular, this applies to black holes. We know that because of the quantum mechanical uncertainty principle, the event horizon of a black hole is slightly fuzzy and that light leaks out. Every black hole slowly radiates away its substance. The question is, can our black hole be stimulated to radiate away its mass and disappear faster than it would ordinarily?'
Humphreys stopped and took a sip of his drink. Runyan, his mind churning, fixed him with a stare.
'You would need an intense source of light then,' said Runyan, gesturing with his good left hand as if trying to conjure up such a scource on the spot.
'Yes,' answered Humphreys, 'and it needs to be focused since the target is so small.'
'A laser then,' said Phillips quietly.
'Right,' Humphreys addressed him. 'We think a super powerful laser could be fashioned which could siphon off some of the mass of the hole. Even more,' he paused, 'there are hints from Krone's notes that such a process could be even more efficient than the basic first order theory would indicate. We haven't worked it all out yet, but certain of his data suggest the existence of non-linear effects which could improve the efficiency of the stimulated emission dramatically.'
'Just how dramatic is that?' asked Runyan. 'You don't want to liberate too much energy too fast — Me' for that hole is a lot of E.'
'There is no way to eliminate the hole in one step with any foreseeable technology, and, indeed, we would not want to if we could, as you rightly point out,' replied Humphreys. 'If what I'm suggesting works at all, the best we can hope for is to peel a little bit of mass off at a time and to repeat the process many, many times.
'Viktor has also devised an interesting variation on that theme. A properly shaped initiating blast may cause the bulk of the energy to be liberated in one direction. We might be able to guide the impulse in such a way as to offset the drag and keep the hole from settling prematurely completely into the earth. Our hope is to boost the orbit so that it is totally outside the earth. Then little by little we could widen the orbit and eventually set it adrift into interstellar space.
'If the process must be repeated a thousand times to gain control, we have hope. A million times? Well, we should begin looking for a new home.'
'Do you have any idea how effective the process will be?' inquired Phillips, maintaining his quiet demeanour.
'It depends on the relative efficiency for the production of photons and particles with mass: electrons, protons, neutrons. There will also be neutrinos. The particles are the most efficient repository for mass and momentum, from our point of view. The neutrinos can in principle carry off a large amount of energy. If the process works at all, there should be a large explosion.
'To answer your question, Wayne,' Humphreys continued, 'our current estimates are that the hole could be nudged out of the earth with about a hundred thousand repetitions, each releasing about the explosive energy of a ten megaton bomb. Those numbers are very tentative. They could be off by a factor of a hundred either way.'
'Your recommendation then?' Phillips wanted to know.
'Put every talented scientist available on the analysis of Krone's notes, and begin the design and engineering of the necessary laser. The first goal is to run a field test to see whether it works. Then go into full scale mass production. The lasers will be immense and expensive, and, if the process works, you'll destroy them every time.'
'We must also worry about the others,' rumbled Korolev, 'the three he made first.'
'As I understand it,' Runyan said, 'our government and yours are analysing every scrap of seismic and sonar data available. I think one of them has been found.'
Phillips swirled his drink and took a reflective sip of it.
'Viktor,' he said, 'I think there's no question that you and Clarence are to be congratulated for coming up with such a clever and positive sounding approach. What about the practical problems, though? It strikes me that what you have suggested is going to be fiendishly difficult to accomplish in reality.'
Korolev gave Phillips a long frank look devoid of the self— effacing geniality he had been displaying.
'This frightens me,' he said. 'I can think of no other way to proceed, but what we ask, to hit a rapidly moving, vanishingly small particle in just the right way — this is very difficult. By comparison, the moon is huge, your Apollo programme a trivial exercise.'
The Russian paused to rub his chin. 'The stakes are very much higher now,' he said in a ruminative tone. 'If we fail, it is not just the prestige of a country that is at risk, but the future of all life.' His head sunk on his chest, and he lost himself for a moment in the flicker from the grate. 'We must try,' he continued, 'but some projects are too-complex, too difficult, to be solved by any number of talented people, any amount of resources.'
He was silent again for a while. Then his head came up, and he leaned forward with a more earnest air. He gestured with an extended forefinger.
'Here are some of the problems we face. How do we make a laser which works at the energies most destructive to the black hole? The lasers must be huge, but they must swivel rapidly while maintaining infinitesimal accuracy. How do we do that? The operation must be computer controlled, but the task is monumental. I fear a new generation of computers must be invented just for that purpose alone.'
The four men talked late into the night, analysing the strengths and weaknesses of the plan and solutions to unprecedented engineering problems. The next morning they caught an early shuttle to Washington.
Four months later on a Saturday afternoon. Pat Danielson shouldered her way through the door other new condominium, kicked the door shut with her foot, and set the bulky box of kitchen utensils down in the middle of the disarray. The room was piled with cardboard boxes pilfered from liquor and grocery stores. The only piece of furniture was a sofa bed which would have to do double duty until she could buy more furniture. She walked down the hallway to the left, sniffing the acrid, clashing odours of new carpet and paint, past the small bedroom she would use as a study and the bathroom opposite, and into the larger bedroom with its own bath and dressing area. She walked the length of the room to the curtainless window which faced the front of the complex and opened it to the fresh spring air. Looking straight down six storeys, she could see the security guard structure at the front gate. Craning her neck to the right she could see, just past the small balcony jutting from her front room, the swimming pool sauna complex, and the tennis courts beyond. What a swinger, she kidded herself.
'Coffee's on!' she heard Janine shout from the kitchen.
Coffee? 'How are you making coffee?' she called back as she retraced her steps down the hallway. Her old coffee pot was in the box she had just carried in. As she entered the front room she inhaled the delicious aroma and followed it into the kitchen. The cabinets were bare except for a new automatic drip coffee maker and a bag of freshly ground mocha java.
'Where did that come from?' Pat marvelled.
'House present,' Janine said. 'From Alex Runyan. He stopped by while you were gone. He tried to call the apartment, but I guess you weren't there yet, or had left. Did you know he was in town?'
'I'm not too surprised. There's a meeting next week that I thought he'd be involved in, but he's not a great one for advance notice.'
'He said he had some business this afternoon, but would call you later.'
'Great, and I'm supposed to hold my Saturday open until the last minute in case he shows up.'
Janine was embarrassed by her friend's predicament and covered up by grabbing a couple of glasses off the counter.
'Well, at least we can drink his coffee. I couldn't find the cups. Can we make do with these?' She brandished the tumblers.
'Sure,' Pat conceded. 'It smells marvellous.'
Janine filled the glasses three-quarters of the way to the top. 'Watch out,' she warned, 'they'll.be hot with no handles. Hold the top.' She banded one to Danielson, and they moved through the tableless dining area into the living room.
Pat looked around at the piles of boxes, the sofa heaped with clothes, laughed and sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, crossing her legs in front of her. Janine perched on the edge of a box. She lifted her glass, held gingerly by the upper rim.
'Here's to your promotion and new home, ex-roomie; may it become the den of iniquity you've always wanted.' Pat chuckled, 'Fat chance of that.'
They sat quietly, sipping the rich coffee, each lost in her own thoughts.
'Pat?'
'Um?'
'What's the matter between you and Alex? He's always seemed so charming to me.'
Pat was silent for a moment.
'Would you go out with him?'
'Sure, I guess so.'
'That's the problem. He'd take you up on it. Roommate or not. The truth is, of course, that I still find him fascinating. He knows so much about so many dungs. He's warm and engaging and can focus some sort of personal intensity that makes it easy to fall into the illusion that you're the only interesting person in the world.'
Pat stopped to take a drink of coffee. 'I think he really does like me. But he's got enough "like" to spread it around pretty liberally. He separated from his wife, but, as they say, the chances of him settling down are between slim and zero.'
Janine took a sip of coffee and rolled the glass between her palms.
'Is he good in bed?'
'Hey!' Pat laughed. 'What kind of question is that?' She leaned her head back against the wall staring at the white ceiling. She could feel Runyan's hands on her waist, his lips near her navel. 'Yes, damn it,' she said with resignation, 'he's pretty good.'
'Well, then,' said Janine, with an impish sidelong glance at the sofa, 'I suggest that we prepare yon piece for its proper initiation.'
She drained her glass, set it down, and went to grab an armload of clothes off the sofa.
Pat laughed again as Janine disappeared down the hall.
'Thank you, lord,' she said in a loud stage voice, 'for delivering me at last from nosey, interfering roommates.'
Then she stood and looked around. The last shall be first, she decided. She betted the box of utensils she had most recently deposited and headed for the kitchen, bent on the task of imposing order in her new abode.
The following Friday, Robert Isaacs put the finishing touches on his report to Drefke as the setting sun sent lances of light through the blinds of his office windows then dropped below the wall of trees. He was tired, but exhilarated. The report concerned the epochal meeting which had begun early Monday and wound up after lunch Friday, a complete success. A small coterie of scientists from both sides of the Iron Curtain and a larger group of diplomats had come to unprecedented, unanimous agreement. The public confrontation would continue, but driven to a close and desperate cooperation, the two countries would, in complete secrecy, launch a massive joint effort to rid the world of Krone's creations.