Mark watched Heather’s eyes go white, then brown, then white again, changing color so rapidly he could almost convince himself that he’d imagined it. But he hadn’t.
She shuddered, shook her head, and grimaced. “Screw it!”
“What?” Mark asked, taken aback by Heather’s unusual descent into vulgarity.
Her angry eyes centered on his. “Sometimes I make myself so mad I can’t stand it. In a few minutes we’re going to get a chance to chat with our parents, something I want so bad I can taste it, and all I can do is second-guess our decision.”
“Understandable,” said Mark.
“Bullshit! If we can’t trust our parents, whom can we trust?”
Mark paused for several seconds. “True enough. But we know that both our houses were bugged by Jack and Janet. Who’s to say those bugs aren’t still active?”
Much to Mark’s relief, Heather nodded and calmed down. “That must be it. What’s been worrying me, I mean.”
“We’ve taken appropriate precautions, made a backdrop for our camera position with plastic sheeting, dressed ourselves in these white sheet togas. As long as we stay focused on not revealing anything about where we are, and remember we might be monitored, we’ll be fine. It’s impossible to trace our subspace signal.”
Heather’s eyes momentarily faded to gray, staying that way just long enough to concern Mark before they refocused. “You’re right. No reason to worry.”
Just then Jennifer entered the lab, the outside door letting in a breath of summer night air, thick with humidity and smells that signaled the gathering storm.
Her eyes swept across them. “You guys all right?”
“Fine,” said Heather, putting on what Mark knew was a forced smile. “Just a little anxious.”
Jen smiled back at her. “No kidding. Me too.”
Sitting down at her laptop, Jennifer logged in, then engaged the program that would connect them to Linda Smythe’s laptop. Her middle finger paused just above the ENTER key.
“Well, here goes.” She tapped the key, activating the subspace transmission.
Nothing happened for several seconds, then a video window filled the screen. There in front of them were the visages of their parents, crowded together in front of the computer camera.
Sadness engulfed Mark as he saw the tears streaming down Heather’s face.
She still managed to be first to speak.
“Hi, Mom, Dad. I miss you so much.”
“We miss you too, baby.” Mr. McFarland’s voice brought a rush of memories to Mark, memories centered in more comfortable times, better days from the past. Mrs. McFarland stared into the screen, eyes misted, rendered completely speechless.
Then everyone spoke in a rush, Mark, Jen, and Heather competing for airtime even as all of the parents stepped all over each other’s words on the far end. The expressions of love gave way to questions about how each of them was doing. Gradually talk shifted to questions about their situation. Where were they? Did they need help? Could they come home?
Although they’d talked through these likely questions, Mark found them difficult to answer. With every question they dodged, their parents pressed for more details. If they needed help, they would get it. If someone was holding them against their will, just list the demands. Everything could be made all right again. Home was still home.
Then, seemingly before they’d even started the conversation, the wall clock indicated the time they’d agreed on had expired and Mark found himself taking the lead in telling his mom and dad good-bye. Another round of tears from the girls and their moms, another round of sad good-byes from their dads, and then Jennifer terminated the session.
Jennifer leaned forward on the desk, elbows on the table, face in her hands. Heather’s white eyes seemed to stare right through him, tears cutting narrow trails down her cheeks. As Mark stared down at the blank computer screen, the distant rumble of thunder marred the silence that had descended on the computer lab.
Standing there next to Heather and Jennifer, listening to the gathering storm, he couldn’t remember ever having been so depressed.
Fred Smythe put his arms around his wife, pulling her into a bear hug that was joined by Gil and Anna, a tiny huddle sharing the most difficult game of their lives. When he finally released her, he smiled.
“Darling, why don’t you take Anna and Gil down to the kitchen and put on a pot of tea. I’ll shut down your computer and be right down.”
Linda glanced at Anna, nodded, and led the other two out into the hallway and down the stairs.
Fred steadied himself, took in a great gulping breath, and took a seat in front of the laptop. Reaching under the table, he removed the listening device the FBI field agent had given him earlier in the day. Shoving it into his pocket, Fred grabbed the mouse, clicked the START button, selected Shutdown, and waited.
After several seconds, a new window appeared on the laptop:
Please do not power off or unplug your machine.
Installing update 1 of 2.
Fred shook his head. Damned Microsoft automatic updates. He’d have to remember to disable those next time he logged on to Linda’s computer.
Rising to his feet, he walked out of the room. Time to go visit with Linda and his friends, to spend some time talking about their kids. And as bad as the situation seemed, their kids were still alive. That certainly made the world feel a whole lot more manageable than it had just two days ago.
That damn laptop could take its sweet time shutting down.
Balls Wilson leaned over Dr. Mathews’s shoulder, his eyes scanning the rapidly scrolling computer screen.
“So Bert, did we get the data dump or not?”
“Don’t worry, sir. It’s streaming in right now.”
Dr. Donald Stephenson stared out at his audience, his eyes sweeping across the seated assemblage. The auditorium was completely full, eighteen hundred scientists shifting uneasily in their seats, staring up at him as if he were the Antichrist, hated, but too frightening to ignore.
As Dr. Stephenson watched them watch him, feeling their emotion radiating out, he smiled inwardly. That which you don’t understand, you fear. That which you fear, you hate. Dr. Stephenson understood that feeling and relished it. During his humiliating stint in prison, he had made those sentences his mantra. If his warped childhood had taught him anything, it was an abhorrence of imprisonment. It didn’t really matter whether it was in a bedroom closet or an eight-by-twelve-foot steel-barred cell. For a moment, he wanted nothing more than to make every person in the audience experience what he had had to experience, but it would have been lost on them. For one thing, he was a genius while most of them were morons. It was hard to make a moron understand anything, even with a tactile demonstration.
He realized all of a sudden that they were waiting for him to speak, that in a few more moments he would have introduced what might be called an awkward silence. Dr. Stephenson cleared his throat.
“Fellow scientists, distinguished guests. It is truly an honor to stand before you on this momentous day, a day that represents the dawning of a new age for humanity.”
A soft muttering swept through the crowd, like a soft wind stirring autumn leaves.
“Let me be clear.” Dr. Stephenson’s amplified voice echoed through the auditorium. “Our world hangs in the balance. At this moment, an unstable anomaly lies at the heart of the ATLAS detector, spiraling inexorably out of our control, spiraling toward the end of all we know, toward the end of this fragile existence we treasure.”
He paused to let his words take effect, already beginning to treasure their frightened reaction. “This anomaly, this horrible thing, cannot be slowed, it cannot be stopped. In nine months, thirteen days, four hours, and thirty-two minutes, it will become a black hole. And there is nothing anyone in this world, or the next, can do to stop that from happening.”
A low moan arose from the audience, an ethereal entity that coalesced into physical form. Dread incarnate. Just as satisfying as he had thought it would be. Now, time to play the hero...
“Take heart!” Dr. Stephenson smiled, his thin lips curling reluctantly upward. “Humankind is not yet lost. While my calculations show that the anomaly cannot be stopped, it doesn’t have to happen here. Not on planet Earth.”
“And how is that?” The voice of Dr. Kai Wohler rang out through the auditorium.
“Thank you for that question, Dr. Wohler.” Yes, thank you for those four words, Doctor—so artfully phrased, so erudite. “As you all know, my background for the last couple of decades has revolved around the study of alien technologies under what has been dubbed the Rho Project. As a result of that study, the American government has spawned two minor technological initiatives. The first of these was the cold fusion initiative, the second being the nanotech formula that shows great promise in eradicating all forms of human disease, potentially extending the human life span to hundreds of years.
“Notice that I referred to each of these revolutionary technologies as minor advancements. That is because I have uncovered something on the alien spacecraft that contains far more potential benefit to humanity. In our current predicament, it offers hope where otherwise none should lie.”
Dr. Stephenson inhaled deeply, letting the still air of the Swiss auditorium infuse his lungs as he strolled across the stage, wireless microphone clutched firmly in his left hand. His audience had gone completely silent, an aura of expectancy hovering about them. He wouldn’t make them wait for long.
“What we will now commence is a project of epic proportions, a project to save our planet from complete and utter destruction. If any of you doubt the cost of doing nothing, I will be happy to share my analysis of the data for peer review.”
Dr. Stephenson made sure that his smile left little doubt that he found the idea that he had any peers in this group comical. Then, as if a cloud had passed in front of the sun, Stephenson’s brow darkened again. He was, after all, a mercurial god.
“Let me be clear. We have but one chance to save our world. If the anomaly cannot be stopped, and it can’t, the black hole must happen elsewhere. In order for that to occur, we must build a machine capable of generating a wormhole that will transport the anomaly into empty space, far from our solar system.”
The room erupted into bedlam, scientists talking over other scientists, their feeble efforts effectively drowning each other out.
Dr. Petir Fois, an angular Dutch physicist, stood on his chair so that he rose above his compatriots. “What Dr. Stephenson proposes is madness. Even if we take him at his word that he understands this alien technology, it is still madness. Creating a wormhole here on Earth could set in motion an incalculable sequence of events, possibly even a cataclysm worse than what it is designed to cure.”
Fois was the kind of Dutchman who’d stand there with his finger in a dike all afternoon long, refusing to recognize that everything was crumbling around him.
“Would someone please help Dr. Fois contain his emotions?” Dr. Stephenson’s voice dripped contempt. “Clearly they have colored his reasoning so that logic is no longer an option. In his world, a black hole consuming our entire planet is less dangerous than attempting to create a wormhole to transport the anomaly into empty space.”
Dr. Fois’s face turned red on its way to purple. “There are other options.”
“Enlighten me.”
“We could launch the anomaly into space.”
Dr. Stephenson laughed. Once again, Fois hadn’t failed to disappoint. “Could we? The only thing keeping the anomaly from becoming a black hole is the magnetic containment field and the most perfect vacuum chamber we’ve been able to create. That would have to be maintained throughout the launch. To do that we would have to build a very large launch vehicle around it right here in this cavern, probably something like the Saturn V. Assuming we could do that, the containment apparatus would have to also have its power supply transported with it.
“By the way, it’s not good enough to just launch the space vehicle out of Earth orbit. At some point the power and therefore the containment field would fail, and the anomaly would eat its spacecraft. Then it would continue to travel within our solar system, its event horizon expanding with every bit of matter ingested, a growing black hole beyond anyone’s power to stop. Assuming the containment field could survive the trip, if you think the anomaly will remain stable long enough to exit our solar system, with all the gravitational slingshots that such a trip requires, you aren’t qualified to be in this room.”
Dr. Stephenson paused, his eyes once again scanning his audience. “Someone said there are no stupid questions. It should be plain to everyone in attendance that Dr. Fois has just disproved that assertion. In fact, the person who made that assertion is clearly a moron. I don’t expect anyone in here to like me. I don’t want your adoration. But I do demand your attention.
“I’ve arranged for a copy of my proposal to be placed on each of your desktops, ready for your perusal upon your return to your offices. I recommend you take a long, hard look at that material as soon as you depart this auditorium.”
Dr. Stephenson walked to the podium, swept the space with his lifeless gaze one last time, then set the mike on the lectern, turned, and walked offstage.