The War of Immensities (66 page)

Together they
had watched it all on the news, CNN by satellite, and it seemed
that the news was all about them and yet, strangely, it wasn’t.
Because it was happening in America, Lorna Simmons came first,
along with items concerning President Grayson’s budget problems and
difficulties with policing the world’s trouble spots. A
spokesperson expressed a fear that a new Waco, or worse, Jonestown,
incident was brewing, based around Lorna’s plea to all the
Californian pilgrims to proceed to Brazil. An FBI chief assured the
nation of his agency’s readiness to move in take appropriate
action. There was a medical man who declared that the pilgrims were
medically normal and that their pilgrim status was almost certainly
a mass delusion.

Two items later
was a brief mention of Joe Solomon and how a judge had been unable
to find any charges against him sustained. However, Mr. Solomon was
still in custody, while another line of inquiry was being pursued
regard in purchase of properties elsewhere. There were two other
crooked billionaires who received similar treatment, and there was
no mention of a possible connection between the activities of Lorna
and Joe.

“Can they
really be that stupid?” Felicity wondered.

“No,” Harley
Thyssen said. “They know exactly what they’re doing.”

Deeper in the
bulletin, the death of an aging movie star was reported, and then
that of Christine Rice, an Italian nun who was being considered by
the Vatican for Canonisation, had died under suspicious
circumstances. A funeral appropriate to so saintly a person was
planned, and a few words from a Cardinal Valerno saying what a
great loss to humanity she was. And, toward the end, graphic
pictures of the mass migration of the Malawi people from their
war-torn homeland across Africa. Professor Daniels of the
Smithsonian pointed out that such migrations were common in the
history of Africa.

There was
discussion of whether the US should send food-aid. Andromeda
Starlight appeared in the manner of those movie stars who visit
starving regions on behalf of aid agencies. She said regular
supplies of food were getting through for the moment. There was no
indication that she might be more than a casual observer of the
event.

The sports
reports took them out of the spotlight for a few minutes, but then
they were back again with the weather, unseasonably smoggy due to
the high levels of dust in the atmosphere from the volcanic
eruptions in Java, displayed against the backdrop of one of the
remarkably brilliant sunsets being seen all around the world. There
was even a meteorologist there to explain that such periods of
excessive vulcanology had been noted throughout Earth’s geological
history.

“They got
through it all without a single mention of either Project
Earthshaker, or the Shastri Effect,” Felicity said in
amazement.

“Nor any
suggestion that these matters might in some way be connected,”
Thyssen pointed out.

“Why are they
doing it, Harley?”

“They’re still
hoping to get away with calling me a crack-pot.”

“If only it was
true,” Felicity said without thinking, and then turned in horror as
she realised.

“It’s all
right,” Harley said sadly. “I’d like it to be true myself. Better a
padded cell or academic odium than what really lies before us.”

What the news
broadcast didn’t mention was the events presently taking place in
Iran, despite continual footage being shown on the local Kuwaiti
network for which you didn’t need to understand the language to
grasp the essentials. The word had spread of the coming disaster
and the population of northern Iran was scattering in all
directions, but such was the nature of their history that they
found enemies waiting no matter what border the refugees tried to
cross. Massacres were taking place everywhere, including inside
Iran as the military strove to maintain control. The Islamic
Fundamentalist government cursed the Americans for the chaos they
were trying to create in their country with their vicious rumours
and malignant lies.

And, denied
permission to enter Iranian airspace, the Orion waited it out in
Kuwait, and Harley and Felicity with it. “I feel so helpless,”
Felicity said.

“You imagine
there is something you can do to prevent this madness?” Thyssen
asked her.

“If we can’t do
anything, what the hell are we doing here?”

“Just in case
there’s something we can do, that will help a little bit.”

Felicity was
stirring her tea again. She looked at him from under her brows and
spoke very slowly and determinedly.

“Harley, stop
being so bloody pragmatic for a moment, and tell me how all this
effort is somehow worthwhile.”

“You mean the
whole project, don’t you?”

“Yes. Tell me
that Chrissie and Jami died for some decent purpose.”

“I can’t do
that. The most probable outcome is that those people who believe me
to be a charlatan have about a ninety percent chance of being
proven right.”

“Oh, thanks
Harley. Thanks very much. So how the hell do you go on?”

“I’m in the ten
percent, most of the time.”

“Is that the
best you can do?”

“On the face of
the evidence, yes.”

“Well fuck you,
Professor Thyssen. Only let’s drop the professor charade for a
moment and let’s have good old Harley, decent human being. What’s
he think?”

“He doesn’t
think because he doesn’t exist.”

“Don’t evade
me, Harley. I need this. Come on. Tell me about the ten percent.
Tell me what you think might happen, or what you hope might
happen?’

“I can’t do
that.”

“Bullshit,
Harley. You won’t do it. But you must have some idea because you
certainly do have a plan.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. You plan
to manipulate the Focal Point so it falls inside the Zone of
Influence and cram as many pilgrims into the spot as you can. That
much I know.”

“Fine. I admit
that.”

“That’s why you
dumped Lorna in Sulawesi. You needed to be sure a pilgrim could
survive a double dose of the Shastri Effect.”

“That’s
right.”

“And you got a
better result that you expected, because in fact it cured her.”

“Actually,
we’re not sure it did. We have to wait and see if the participants
in the next linkage are also cured, not to mention unknown long
term effects.”

“Rhubarb,
rhubarb. You can’t tell me you don’t believe it, Harley. You’ve
dumped all those Japanese on Joe’s Ranchos in Brazil. And I know
you planned to move the Italians there as well...”

“Which is
probably why they killed Chrissie,” Thyssen said coldly.

“Oh no, Harley.
You can’t have it both ways. There’s no evidence that anyone killed
her.”

“I killed her,”
Thyssen said. “Just as I also killed Jami.”

“There’s no
proof that Jami is even dead.”

“Still my
responsibility...”

“Oh no, Harley.
You couldn’t have known how Jami would behave, and you have no idea
how or why Chrissie died. I’m sorry. You just don’t get away with
blaming yourself all the time.”

“I got them
into this...”

“They got
themselves in. And they both knew the risks. You coerced no one,
and it wasn’t your fault.”

“I was giving
the orders. I sent Jami up the mountains. I instructed Chrissie to
move the Italians. My orders. My fault.”

“One minute you
try and tell us you’re not in charge of the project, then you take
full responsibility when it goes wrong. I’m sorry, Harley. You’re
being inconsistent.”

“I thought you
wanted my unscientific opinion.”

“I do. But
let’s drop the maudlin crap and get back to the point. You’re
piling pilgrims into Brazil. Lorna is busily exporting every
Californian she can into the place. Come on, Harley. What do you
expect to happen?”

“They’ll be
cured.”

“Cured merely
to die three months later when the planet comes apart at the
seams?”

“And to see
what other effects might take place.”

“Like
what?”

“Like whatever
happens.”

“Not
convincing, Harley. You aren’t interested in curing pilgrims. That
was just a fortuitous side-effect. That wasn’t why you did it
because you didn’t know it offered a cure. There was some other
reason why you did it.”

“Anything we
learn might help...”

“Help do
what?”

“Whatever we
can.”

“Don’t give me
the run around, Harley. Brian told me all about it.”

“What did he
say?”

“That you’re
planning to try to kill a black hole. All by yourself. Super-Harley
versus a planet-eating singularity.”

“If it’s a
black hole...”

“Which is an
interesting way of not denying it.”

“Well, if there
was some way of stopping that thing, it would be a pity if we
didn’t try and find it.”

“Do you really
think you can?”

“No. I
definitely think I can’t. Neither me nor anyone else.”

“Then why are
you bothering?”

“Because, if
you haven’t noticed, its the only chance we have.”

“So you believe
there’s a connection between the Event and the Effect.”

“That’s the
possibility I’m exploring.”

“And you hope
that somehow you can reverse the Shastri Effect and turn it back
against it’s source.”

“No. I don’t
think that.”

“But that is
what you’re setting up here.”

“I guess.”

“Without
believing in it.”

“Haven’t you
noticed that it’s the only game in town?”

“Thank God for
that.”

“Felicity. This
is no time for believing in miracles.”

“Yes it is. You
just said so. If a miracle is the only chance you have, then all
you can do is go for it.”

“Elegantly
put.”

Felicity drank
her tea in a single triumphant gulp. And then leaning back in her
chair, she smiled. “You’ve heard that theory, haven’t you, that
rocks are actually living things but just with too slow a
metabolism for us to be able to recognise it for what it is.”

“Yes. I’ve
heard the theory.”

“Well, Harley
Thyssen. I think we’ve just seen the living proof of it.”

“Oh really?
How?”

“Because, in
case you didn’t notice, I just managed to get some blood out of a
stone.”

It is possible
to live in California without a house, but not without a car. Even
those who still prevailed in tents on farm properties in the
general area between Mexicali and Mojave Desert, and the region
around San Francisco, first needed a car to fetch the tent.
Detroit’s surplus was swallowed at a single gulp, and any caravan
for sale anywhere in the United States was snapped up and towed to
the increasingly crowded beauty spots on the San Joaquin or the
California Aqueduct and all along the San Luiz Canal. All
settlements doubled and tripled their populations, all
accommodation was devoured and extended and the outskirts were
swallowed by enormous shanty towns. Four million refugees were
housed wherever it was possible to house a person, everywhere
except the one region at the centre.

There was a
circle that swung from just south of Bakersfield to just north of
Fresno, and from Coalinga on the coast to Coyote Peak in the Sierra
Nevadas, around which the National Guard and the US Army had joined
forces to throw a cordon and very hurriedly built a cyclone wire
fence and barbed wire entanglements. When the sleepers awoke, they
found they were prisoners in their own homes. Thousands of aid
workers prowled amongst them, keeping them comfortable and
maintaining drips until they woke. Then the sleepers were free to
go about their lives, provided they stayed within the 440 mile
diameter circle that encompassed them. For most, after they had
repaired the earthquake damage to their homes, not a lot changed.
Except they paid very close attention to the things Lorna Simmons
said on television.

“When the time
comes,” she told them over and over, “get in your car or ask your
neighbour for a lift—it’ll be okay because you’ll all be going the
same way. We’re heading due north by the compass because the Focal
Point is up near the Magnetic North Pole but there’s no need to go
that far. Head out toward Yosemite National Park where we can have
some nice picnics along the road, and then it gets a little
complicated but all that volcanic dust in the atmosphere means the
snows are melting early and we can get over Tioga Pass and onto
US395, heading for Carson City and Reno. You’ll know when the time
comes. A day and a half later, you’ll just turn around and come
home again, if you want to. Don’t forget to have a nice time.”

Just ten miles
outside Fresno, the Highway Patrol stopped them at the road block
and refused to let them pass. The stationary convoy built up back
beyond Tulare. Lorna watched it all happening from a helicopter as
she was flown to the scene. In her mind were sad thoughts of
Chrissie as she prepared to lead her own pilgrimage.

“You just stand
yourself ahead of them, the people at the front see you and the
word spreads like wildfire and they all follow. It’s amazing,”
Chrissie had said. The words gnawed at Lorna’s brain as much an
anxiety clutched her stomach. It was so much easier doing these
things through the filter of a television camera—facing a mob of
real people was something else again.

The helicopter
banked in toward the twin black belts of the highway. The vast
clutter of people, vehicles and trailers piled with belongings
obliterating the roadway and spilling off the edges on one side,
the clear open road on the other. The Highway Patrol had made a
barricade of twenty cars, and they huddled behind them with their
guns drawn. Already, the pilgrims had dropped the trailer off a big
rig and were positioning the prime mover up to the front to ram
their way through. The helicopter was equipped with a loudspeaker
and Lorna was shouting into the microphone.