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 source 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 that 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
nonlinear effects that 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—Mc
2
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 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
demeanor.
“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 analyzing 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 program 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 sank 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 awhile. 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 that 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,
analyzing 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 of her 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 that
would have to do double duty until she could buy more furniture.
She walked down the hallway to the left, sniffing the acrid,
clashing odors 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 that faced the front of the
complex and opened it to the fresh spring air. Looking straight
down six stories, 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 marveled.
“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
marvelous.”
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 handed 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 things. 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 her 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 hefted 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 that 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.
If all went according to plan, in three or
four years an international armada of ships would form a circle a
hundred miles in radius in the expanse of the north Pacific. In the
center of the circle would float an artificial, portable island. On
the island would be an immensely powerful and complex piece of
machinery designed for a suicide mission. The product of a
dedicated, cooperative effort between the superpowers, it would
produce intense beams of laser light, finely tuned and aimed by the
gravitational pull of the black hole itself. Since there would be
no way to control the orbit of the hole, the device would be
located where orbit perturbations by irregularities in the Earth
were minimal. The position of the device would be precisely fixed
by accurate orbital calculations to be steadily refined over the
years.
In addition to settling on the basic
engineering attack, there had been a host of ticklish political
problems to resolve. Paramount had been the continuing demand by
the Russians that the United States cease work on beam weapons.
Isaacs had admired the consummate skill of the team from the State
Department. They had pointed out how item after item that the
Soviets wanted banned was, after all, related to the massive effort
before them. Other projects they discarded spontaneously,
activities that had to take second seat to the main effort anyway.
Neither country had the resources to devote to full scale
development of beam weapons when faced with the resource-devouring
assault on the black hole. In the final analysis, the Soviets had
enough concessions to feel they had accomplished their goal, and
the United States did not feel significantly weakened politically
in the process.
Another issue had been the manner in which to
treat the results of the test. If the project were successful, an
explosion of considerable violence would ensue. Technically, it was
not in violation of the Nuclear Test Ban Treaty, but in certain
quarters all doubt must be forestalled, and that in turn called for
an explanation of the predicament that demanded the undertaking.
The NATO allies and Japan would be notified and sworn to secrecy
and certain aid would be solicited from them. All would be allowed
observers stationed at the site.
Dissension over the role of the Chinese had
nearly split the meeting, but a precarious accord had been reached.
When the time came, the Chinese would be informed of the test, but
the underlying reason would only be hinted. The Soviet Union had
chosen to inform none of the countries in its orbit, and the U.S.
had not demurred.
Isaacs gathered up the report with its final
corrections and headed for the outer office. His eyes skimmed the
brass letters on the doorway—Deputy Director of Scientific
Intelligence—and the ones below—Robert B. Isaacs. The report was
virtually his last official act in that capacity. There had been no
scandal, no public condemnation, just the gentle irrefutable
suggestion. He thought of his new position with the Georgetown
University Center for International Studies, amused at the irony.
After years of suspicion and mistrust of academics, he would join
their ranks. He was actually looking forward to it. Time to do some
thinking. Some writing. “Forget it,” Martinelli had said. “You’ll
be as busy as ever.”