by Paul Anlee
Greg ignored the objection. “Only a small amount of Hawking radiation is left behind to mark the transition to the new universe. We’ve outlined the theory in the briefing material provided. Our supervisor, Darian Leigh, originated the theory, and we’ve validated it through the Reality Assertion Field generator.
“I’ll be happy to address any questions about the theory. Dr. Liang is the expert on the device, itself.” He pointed to Kathy, who was monitoring the test from the main console.
“The removal of matter from this universe leaves nothing behind. As the metal plate passed over the Eater, there was no flash of light, and our instruments indicated no significant emission of radiation.”
He scanned the faces in the room. They were astonished by what they had just witnessed but still skeptical.
“The Eater isn’t a singularity,” he continued. “It has no gravity field of its own. It does not draw matter to it. It only ingests whatever comes into contact with it.
“We have two other tests to show you. In the first, we’ll discharge the most powerful industrial laser available to us. We borrowed a Super HAPLS, near-continuous, petawatt laser from the Triumph experimental fusion facility and set it up inside the isolation chamber. If you’ll turn your attention to the monitor, please.”
He nodded to Kathy. She introduced a stream of microscopic smoke particles into the vacuum chamber and manipulated a series of small metal blocks between the laser and the Eater. A sensitive photon detector rose in line with the laser, but on the opposite side of the Eater.
Kathy explained as she fine-tuned the setup, “The smoke particles and metal blocks will help us see the beam’s path. Nothing will be reflected from the Eater. The photomultiplier on the opposite side will show that nothing is transmitted through the Eater.” She reached out and activated the laser.
Inside the chamber, a bright green beam leaped from the far right-side, punched through the several blocks of metal in its path, and struck the Eater. The photo-detector picked up nothing other than a tiny bit of background reflection from the light-dispersing smoke.
“If we ran this test without any smoke inside the chamber, the light detector would not have budged,” Greg said. “Light is absorbed by the Eater as readily as matter. Because of this, we usually keep the viewing port into the isolation chamber closed.”
The scientists talked in hushed tones among themselves.
“We have one last test.” Greg cut short their murmurs by holding up a 45 caliber bullet. They snapped to attention. He had had a hunch that a little showmanship was needed with this group.
“This is no ordinary bullet. It’s an advanced, armor-piercing design we had specially made from depleted uranium with a soft-steel cap. When shot from this rifle,” he indicated a stock projecting outward from the side of the isolation chamber, “it can penetrate an inch-thick titanium plate, like this.” He held up another plate of dull metal, and knocked twice for effect: thunk, thunk.
“I don’t expect you to take my word alone for this, so I’ve loaded the clip with bullets identical to this one.” He pulled a five-shot magazine out of the rifle and showed it to everyone.
“I’m going to ask one of you to shoot me. Well, try to shoot me. We’ve set the aiming mechanism to shoot at only two targets. I’m going to enter the isolation chamber and place this armor plate in a rack one meter to my right. Our volunteer will take the first shot at the plate so you can see the effectiveness of the bullets. Then, I’ll go stand behind the Eater, while the rifle is repositioned to fire at the Eater. On my signal, the volunteer will fire a second shot. If the Eater fails to absorb the bullet, I’ll be hit, and killed instantly.”
The scientists exchanged shocked glances. “It’s okay,” Greg quickly continued. “I know the Eater will absorb the bullet, regardless of its density and muzzle velocity which, with this particular rifle, will be somewhere in the neighborhood of a thousand meters per second.”
He looked around the room, making eye contact with everyone except Kathy. He licked his lips, which had gone unexpectedly dry. In the calmest voice he could muster, he asked, “Could I get a volunteer to shoot me, please?”
Near the back of the room, a hand shot up. “I’ll do it.” Greg recognized the voice as belonging to the same scientist who’d objected over the Law of Conservation.
Figures—he thought.
Greg donned a vacuum suit and breathing apparatus. A camera sight on the rifle displayed the target on a monitor. He nodded at the eager volunteer and gave the thumbs up sign to Kathy.
She managed a weak smile in response. She was against the theatrics, but Greg had insisted the show would be incomplete without it. Even scientists were susceptible to a bit of good theater.
Greg picked up the armor plate, entered the airlock, and waited for the green light indicating the cycle was complete and he could proceed into the vacuum chamber.
Entering the eerie silence, he was keenly aware of the target on his back. He glanced back a few times toward the rifle with its high-powered, armor-piercing bullets and tried to reassure himself that it wasn’t going to fire spontaneously. Correction, it wasn’t likely to fire spontaneously. He took a few steps to the side so he wouldn’t be in line with one of its two permitted trajectories.
Standing well aside of the clips, Greg guided the armor plate into the waiting stand. “Is that lined up okay?” he asked Kathy through his suit radio.
She checked her monitors. “Looks good here.”
Greg walked behind the metal block, turned to face the rifle, and stood a meter to the left, placing the Eater directly between the muzzle and him. He took a deep breath. “Okay. I’m ready to go.”
“Roger. Copy that,” said Kathy. Greg smiled. Somehow, situations like this always made people talk like they were in the military. “First shot on its way,” Kathy reported. She nodded to the volunteer who squeezed the trigger.
Greg looked up to see a distant muzzle flash and the plate beside him shook as a hole appeared through it. In the vacuum, it all happened without a sound. The bullet left a ragged hole in the armor plate behind it before hitting the newly installed reinforced concrete beyond.
They’d calculated the strength and depth of the concrete as well as the force of the bullet several times over before attempting the demonstration. It wouldn’t do to inadvertently punch a hole in the vacuum chamber.
The isolation chamber didn’t implode. That’s a relief—he thought, and let himself breathe again. Now for the second shot.
Greg’s attention was riveted on the rifle as it repositioned to line him up in the sights. Despite their calculations and previous tests, he swallowed uncomfortably. “Ready…” his voice rasped. He cleared his throat. “Ready for next test,” he said.
“Copy that,” Kathy replied.
Greg looked down the rifle barrel which, from his vulnerable position, appeared significantly longer and larger-bored than he remembered. Seconds ticked by. A bead of sweat trickled past his left eye. When the flash came, he flinched instinctively.
“Are you alright, Greg?” Kathy’s voice was calm but concerned.
Am I alright? I don’t know—he thought. Would I feel an armor-piercing bullet go through me, or would it take a few seconds for pain to register? Would I hear the whistle of air leaving my suit, or feel the blood flowing down my leg first?
He focused his senses on his body. Nothing hurt; that was a good sign. He stepped out from behind the Eater. No problem. Everything normal. He realized he hadn’t breathed for a while.
“Everything’s fine,” he exhaled and walked to the airlock door.
An armor piercing bullet was prevented from killing me by a microscopic universe that instantly incorporates everything it touches, and all I can say is, “Everything’s fine.” Greg laughed. His knees felt a bit wobbly, but he was happy to be walking and breathing at all.
He joined the others watching the high-speed video of the bullet. It had encountered the Eater at one thousand fifty mete
rs per second and disappeared from the universe as if it were no more than a shadow.
The demonstrations were convincing. If anyone had harbored any doubt about the Eater after reading the briefing material, Greg’s showmanship had provided the visceral proof they needed.
The final step of the presentation was to compare before and after measurements of the Eater’s diameter. The sphere had grown exactly as he’d predicted or, to be more precise, within a respectable five decimal places of his calculation.
Greg invited any remaining doubters to enter the chamber and touch the Eater. No one took him up on the invitation. He was half surprised.
For the past few days, he’d been expecting, bracing himself, to face angry skepticism and distrust. He’d even decided—If some insufferable fool steps forward bent on losing a finger in order to check it out for themselves, well, I’m prepared to let them do it. At this point, people need to realize the danger and get everyone working together on a solution.
The group listened attentively to the rest of the presentation. He and Kathy took turns explaining the nature of virtual particles, how the Eater continued to feed on them in the chamber, and how there seemed to be no way to stop it. They did their best to balance the presentation to meet the needs of scientists and laypersons.
Kathy shifted the group’s attention to the new RAF generator, and created a few sample microverses to demonstrate how physical properties changed inside them. Showing them the microverses in action would make the science much easier to grasp than laying out the math.
Greg tried not to look annoyed, or away, through this part of her demo. They’d been fighting about it all week long. He didn’t want to show them the RAF device. “Then everyone will want one,” he’d joked, but they both knew it wasn’t a joking matter.
"Isn’t the damage done by the original RAF generator reason enough?” he’d argued, but Kathy wouldn’t budge.
“How can we call ourselves scientists if we can’t let others objectively verify our results?” she’d challenged.
“How can we risk anyone building more of these and unleashing them into the world knowing that even one was enough to threaten that world?” he’d shot back.
Kathy held steady to her conviction that only a compelling and accessible demonstration, one that could be verified through observation, would convince the visiting specialists. In the end, Greg gave in.
Now, as he watched the acceptance set in on the faces of those watching, he was glad she hadn’t relented. She was right. They had to get everyone up to speed as fast as possible, and her demo was effective.
“Wait a minute,” someone objected, near the end of her presentation. “Everything you’ve shown us suggests that these microverses can only exist so long as the RAF generator is activated. How was a stable microverse created? Why can’t you just switch the Eater off like these other ones?”
Greg and Kathy exchanged a brief glance. You’re the theoretical quantum physicist—Kathy sent. You explain.
Greg grimaced. “Right before Dr. Leigh disappeared, he set up a number of experimental conditions that, theoretically, should have been able to create stable microverses. Apparently, the Eater is one such microverse. We haven’t experimented with any of those settings yet.
“Dr. Leigh was about to share his findings with us when he vanished. We’ll probably never know the conditions of its creation. We don’t understand its properties, how it persists, or how to collapse it.”
A soft murmur rose but, to Greg’s relief, the questioner seemed satisfied with his answer. The relief was short-lived.
“Has there been any update on the disappearances of Dr. Leigh and Dr. Rusalov?”
Greg swallowed. “No, I’m afraid not.”
He knew none of this was going to be easy, the questions would keep coming. And after the scientists, they still had to face the politicians.
The plan was to get the scientists up to speed, and they could help advise and pressure on the respective governments. So far, it appeared to be working. Skepticism was giving way to acceptance, if not understanding.
The complexities of the details of RAF theory would be beyond almost everyone for quite some time. Nonetheless, to the scientific mind the conclusion was clear and irrefutable: the Eater was an exigent threat.
Kathy squeezed Greg’s shoulder as she watched the scientists file out of the lab at the end of the morning session. “Well, done, Dr. Mahajani.”
“Thank you, Dr. Liang. To you, too. If only this afternoon’s presentation to the politicians goes as well. I don’t want to jinx it, but I’m pretty sure it’s going to be a nightmare. Even if they believe us, and that’s a long shot in itself, how do you spur world leaders into collaborative action? I’m serious. I can’t even imagine it.”
“I hear you. They all put on a good show of hiring scientists to advise them. They sit through the demos and explanations patiently enough. But do they believe it? Deep down, believe it? Fear it?”
“Yeah, I can see it now. All through the meeting, they’re going to be thinking about how to lay the blame and responsibility, how they can dodge it themselves, how to use this for political gain, how to avoid shelling out money or making any real commitment. Oh, and above all, how to save their political reputations once things turn nasty. And things are going to turn nasty. Very nasty, very fast.”
21
“Okay, okay. Let’s call this meeting to order.” Prime Minister Hudson rapped the gavel sharply against a worn square of mahogany. This was her first time hosting the G26—the reconfigured version of the old G20 that incorporated the newer developed nations of the world. She was not going to let it run out of control.
Greg surveyed the room. He recognized most of the faces at the head table without the aid of his lattice. They represented an impressive array of prominent figures regularly featured on worldwide news feeds and accustomed to dealing with the world’s problems.
And yet, despite their many years of political and public experience, their eyes and facial micro-movements belied they were uniformly on edge, still reeling from their briefings of the morning’s lab demo and wondering what other surprises might erupt from this unassuming young man and woman seated beside the Pacifica Prime Minister.
Each leader brought their own coterie of three or four advisers, who filled the rows of chairs around the main tables. As requested in the invitation, one member of each team was a scientist, but economists and military advisers far outnumbered those with a technical background. Many had attended the morning demonstration.
Greg shrugged and fidgeted where his suit rubbed up against his skin. It’s not fair. You get to wear a light, airy dress, and I have to walk around in this straightjacket and silk noose—he complained to Kathy via their private lattice.
Beside him, the love of his life laid a calming hand on his leg and squeezed gently. He glanced at her reassuring smile and tried to calm himself.
Oh, yeah? Well, any time you’d like to trade your comfy shoes for these heels, you just let me know!—she sent back.
Greg chortled softly, drawing a glare from the Prime Minister. He cleared his throat and wiggled in his chair, trying to reposition himself to ease the constraints of the fabric.
Kathy watched him fidget. If he couldn’t contain his rising irritation, both internal and external, he was going to blow this. She couldn’t fault him. It was painful to deal with the many and varied layers of bureaucracy they’d been subjected to.
Greg, I know you’re nervous and you’re frustrated with all the political nonsense—watching everybody shuffle their feet when what we need to do is take immediate action. I am, too. But you have to keep in mind, this isn’t any normal presentation. Our lives are riding on the outcome. All our lives, Greg. Everywhere.
No matter how impossible it feels to deal with these guys, no matter how dense or ignorant they seem, no matter how hard it is to be patient and respectful, we can’t let ourselves forget for a second that they have all the power. If
we want to get anything done, we have to deal with them on their terms. End of pep talk—She tried to flash a gently reassuring smile but it was too tight-lipped and uncertain to be convincing.
I’ll be okay—he sent back. Prime Minister Hudson will help us with the political wrangling. We’re only here to provide technical support. He recruited his lattice to calm his itches, to hold his head up confidently, and relax his facial muscles.
The Prime Minister of Pacifica jumped straight to the point.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. We are at this meeting because the planet faces a threat greater than any it has ever known. Greater than the Cold War of the 1950s, greater than the economic depressions of the twenty-first century, and greater than the Global Proxy Wars that have plagued our world since. A crisis even more pressing than global climate change and the desertification that has ravaged so many of our productive lands.
“This threat is not something that can be addressed purely through political will. It is an immediate and physical threat. Negotiations and political maneuvering, alone, won’t save us.
“Your scientists spent the morning reviewing the data and discussing the nature of this threat with Dr. Mahajani and Dr. Liang. Your experts have confirmed the findings: the growth of the microscale universe that our scientists call the ‘Eater’ is unstoppable. They’ve seen for themselves that this thing is capable of absorbing the entire Earth and everything on it, of destroying all life. Observations in the months ahead will allow them to confirm its growth rate. Even though we have isolated it in a dark vacuum chamber, it continues to grow.”
“This is a fiasco,” the Russian President’s deep voice overrode PM Hudson’s. “Your people have created this...this catastrophe and now you want to hold the world hostage? You expect our cooperation in this?”
“They should be in prison,” the German Chancellor added.
The room erupted with angry noise; politicians shouted and jabbed their fingers toward the Prime Minister.