"Slave labour," muttered General Dimmler knowingly.
"We had slave labour once," said Colonel Clarkson.
"I suggested that," said General McKoy. "The President said 'no'. The losses in the North would outweigh the gains in the South. But by Jesus's jockstrap, we gotta do something!"
Once more there were nods of consensus around the table. Everyone, of course, hated the communists, but no one more so than General J.L. McKoy. His son, a former marine, was one of the few direct casualties of the Cold War. Private 1st Class Billy McKoy had been accidentally squashed flat by a runaway ICBM that had rolled free of its mooring. Since then, no idea was 'off the table'. The General had once held a meeting to discuss the possibility of turning the pentagon itself into a giant pentagram. The theory was that a large 'military grade demonic symbol' might be used to summon the devil himself with whom some sort of deal could be struck to destroy the Soviets. The plan was scrapped only after the President himself got wind of it and pointed out that some might consider a pact with Satan 'unAmerican'. That decision simply confirmed General McKoy's opinion about 'mealy mouthed' politicians. General McKoy eyed the AWD Director suspiciously. "So, what exactly are you proposin', Doug?"
Doug smiled and leaned forward, eyes bright. This was the moment he had been waiting for. "A new kind of bomb. A bomb so big that no one, not the Russians, not the Chinese, no one, can build one bigger."
There was a moment of silence before General McKoy broke it with a resounding raspberry. "Impossible! No matter how big the bomb, someone can build a bigger one! It's a simple law of physics. I shouldn't have to tell you eggheads that!"
The other officers nodded in agreement and exchanged smirks and chuckles.
"Actually they can'na," said a new voice. It was the soft-spoken Scottish lilt of Dr. Rupert MacGuffin. The physicist had, until that moment, been sitting silently. Despite his tall, lanky physique, he tended to fade into the background when not actually talking. "Because there's no such thing as something bigger. And, to be honest, because it's not really a 'bigger bomb' anyway. First of all, it's not an explosive and, second of all, it's actually quite tiny. Only its effect is big."
"Allow me to introduce Dr. Rupert MacGuffin," said Doug, "our most brilliant physicist and the genius behind this particular project." There was a moment of surprise as the large military men around the table stopped to stare at the scientist. Until that moment, they'd assumed Rupert was simply Doug Nolan's assistant or perhaps his live-in male companion, like General Dimmler's 'personal private' Andrew who sat knitting quietly in the corner. Rupert, slight, pale, redheaded and dressed in tweed looked more like a university student than destroyer of worlds.
"It's not a bomb?" asked Admiral Hawkley skeptically.
"Not technically, no."
"Well, what the hell good is that?" demanded General McKoy, slamming his fist on the table. "The only thing the Reds understand are bombs. Bombs are the God damn international language! You know what 'Ka-boom!' is in Russian? Ka-boom!"
The other officers around the table began making explosion noises to show their support, and because it was fun.
"This is much, much worse," said Rupert quietly.
"I mean if it doesn't blow up, then the Ruskies just don't..." General McKoy trailed off mid-tirade. "I'm sorry... did you say worse?"
"Or better, depending on how you look at it."
There was a moment of stunned silence before General Paulson asked skeptically, "Worse than the bomb dropped on Hiroshima?"
"Oh aye."
"Worse than the H-Bomb?"
"Aye."
"Worse than the neutron bomb?" asked an incredulous General Kray.
"Moost assuredly," said the scientist.
"Ooo..." said Admiral Hawkins, clapping his hands excitedly.
General McKoy wasn't convinced. Still, the eggheads had always delivered in the past. "I'm listening..."
Rupert looked at Doug. His boss nodded for him to proceed. The reedy scientist stood up and walked to the large picture window. In the polygonal courtyard below, the DOD Glee Club could be seen performing a round version of Jolsen's Mammy for the benefit of Pentagon staff on their lunch break. They did so in full costume, complete with black face. This in spite of the fact that three of the members were, in fact, black. They were a talented group thanks to their leader, Captain Seymour Higgs, and the pride of the DOD. There was concern at the department that Higgs was unstable and, if he left, the entire Glee Club could fall apart. Rupert, of course, didn't know or care about any of this. Instead, he looked to the sky. After a moment he pointed and said, "Do you see that cloud?"
"The one with the bite taken out of it?" asked Admiral Hawkins.
"No, next to it."
"The one that looks like a bunny?" asked General Kray.
"Exactly," said Rupert, "the one that looks like a rabbit. It's really just a mass of water vapour, of course, but it happens to look like something."
"Say, is this some sort of weather control device?" asked Colonel Clarkson. Nolan noted the Colonel's tie was still smouldering slightly from the unfortunate laser pointer incident.
"No."
"Because a weather control device could be really useful."
"Especially for golf," said General Paulson.
A chorus of agreement ran down the table.
"It's not a weather control device!" snapped the flustered physicist.
"Then what the hell are we talking about clouds for?" demanded General McKoy.
Rupert hesitated. He then took a deep breath, found his inner calm and explained, "Because, the clouds are just a metaphor."
General Paulson snorted. "Well, Hell's bells, if I knew I was going be in English class I woulda brought my textbooks!" There was a series of guffaws about the room. Rupert stood with his eyes closed, waiting for the moment to pass. General McKoy looked at the scientist sternly and said, "Get to the point, man. Is this really about anything?"
"Yes!" said Rupert excitedly, "It's about everything." The officers looked baffled by this, so Rupert decided to take advantage of their confused silence and plow on. "Listen, you know how Einstein said that all matter was made up of atoms and that these could be split to create your precious atomic bomb?"
"Yes," said General McKoy, still dubious but encouraged that they seemed to be moving the right direction.
"So I've gone deeper. Past atoms, past neutrons and electrons, and past quarks. I've walked 'the planck', as it were, and I've discovered the truth about the universe. It's all chaos."
"It's all what?"
"It's all chaos. Chaos that isn't matter or energy or something or nothing. It neither is nor isn't. There are no laws of physics or rules of any kind. It's all just chaos that, right now, happens to look like stuff."
"Well, that clears things up," said Colonel Clarkson with a snort.
The room burst into laughter. Even Andrew in the corner put down his half-knitted baby booties to titter derisively.
General McKoy wasn't laughing. He leaned forward, tapped out his pipe in the ashtray and said grimly, "Get to the part that goes bang."
"All right. So the point is, everything and I mean everything from this table to you and me, to your precious atomic bomb, are just illusions."
"Maybe you should ask the folks in Hiroshima if that felt like an illusion we dropped on 'em," sneered Admiral Hawkins.
"Okay," conceded Rupert, "maybe not an illusion per se, but, suffice it to say, everything's really just chaos that happens to have momentarily formed to look like something—like that cloud right now looks like a rabbit."
"Everything?"
"The universe, plus any extra dimensional planes that may, or may not, exist."
"Temporarily?"
"For a few trillion years."
"A trillion years? But we want to destroy it now!" whined General Kray.
"Give or take a trillion. Of course, it could have all coalesced five minutes ago, there's no way to know. Still, probability su
ggests it formed in a much simpler initial state, before the Big Bang, but who knows? The point is, you, me, the sun, the stars, are all just cloud bunnies on a cosmic scale." Dr. MacGuffin paused a moment to let this sink in. After a moment he realized he was only allowing the confusion to permeate. "The point is, I can create a device that can create a tiny bit of chaos when detonated."
There was a murmur of excitement at the word 'detonated'. General McKoy paused from re-lighting his pipe and said, "And what exactly does that mean, son?"
"Well, if you imagine the universe is a giant sweater..."
"Oh! Oh! Another metaphor!" shouted Colonel Clarkson, who then settled back into his chair, feeling rather pleased with himself.
"Once I create a peace of chaos it becomes like a loose thread that keeps getting pulled. Slowly at first, existence itself starts to unravel."
"Like a sweater!" exclaimed General Meer who had only just now started to pay attention.
"Well, yes, that's what I just said."
"Wait..." said Admiral Hawkins, light dawning in his eyes. "Without sweaters, the Russians will get cold and it's very cold in Russia. This could work..."
"Indeed."
"Yes, very cold."
Rupert held up his hands. "Remember, gentlemen, the sweater is just a metaphor. Anyway, once it starts it can't be stopped. Like that bunny rabbit cloud dissipating in a strong wind."
"Now you're mixing metaphors," said General Paulson.
"Forget the damn metaphors!" shouted Rupert, exasperated.
General McKoy put down his pipe and leaned forward. There was a look of real excitement in his eyes. "So, you're saying, you could build us a weapon capable of destroying the entire universe?"
"Yes!" shouted Rupert with relief. "Theoretically, yes. I haven't done it yet. It needs more work and funding, of course, but... yes, that's exactly right. We could destroy the entire universe."
The room watched as General McKoy pondered this possibility while scraping out the bowl of his pipe. After a moment, he looked up with a broad grin and said, "Well then, what the blazes are we waitin' for?"
Chapter 17
"I think, therefore it is." – Brandon Carter
Charlie and Alex hurried to keep up with Mrs. MacGuffin, who moved at a surprisingly brisk pace for a woman of her age. After she'd finished explaining what Loose Thread was, Alex asked what had happened to Professor MacGuffin. Mrs. MacGuffin expressed surprise. "Daen' ya ken? A'knoo those goov'ment agents dinna believe me, but I'da thought they'd at least put it in their reports. Aye, they moost really o' thought me a right nutter. Ah, well, I suppose I'd better show you." With that, she'd stood up and walked out the front door of the cottage, leaving Charlie and Alex scrambling to catch up.
"Where are we going?" Alex called after her.
"Did ya nae notice the rather large thing in me backyard, dear? Well, I dunna live next to it for the view." With that Mrs. MacGuffin disappeared around the corner of the cottage. Charlie and Alex followed and found themselves facing the concrete base of the cooling tower. Both stopped to gaze up at the massive grey structure. They craned their necks to see how it soared—its curvature only visible when viewed in its entirety. The enormity of it all left both man and boy feeling inconsequential by comparison. Mrs. MacGuffin unlatched a small gate, on which hung a sign that said simply 'Keep Out'. Mrs. MacGuffin, who had been living with the tower for years, thought of it as a nuisance when she thought about it at all. It was only when she turned to hold the gate open that she noticed her two visitors staring up in stunned silence. "Aye," she said, "it's very, very, big. It's also dirty and dark and a downright pain in the neck if you moost ken. Now then, you've had a good gawk, so coom on in." Charlie and Alex shook off their trance and followed her through the gate. At the foot of the tower, a set of metal steps led up to a long landing, followed by a second set of stairs leading to a small, unremarkable steel door. As they followed Mrs. MacGuffin up the steps, the entire staircase shook. "Dunna worry," she assured them, "it's quite safe."
Mrs. MacGuffin reached the door where she lifted a small panel, revealing a security keypad. She entered a code, and the internal mechanism unlocked with a ka-lunk! She then swung open the rusted steel door, its hinges keening loudly for oil, and disappeared inside.
Charlie and Alex followed warily into the dim interior. "Hello?" shouted Alex. The interior echoed a polite response, "...lo...lo...lo". For the second time they were struck by the size of the tower, this time by its enormous interior. The soaring walls left most of the space lost in shadow while, far above, the top was roofless. The opening formed a giant circular portal to a world of azure sky and soft white clouds that seemed at once both immediate and unattainable. The effect was between some sort of holy site, an ancient observatory and an enormous camera obscura set to capture the heavens. If the outside had made them feel insignificant, the inside made them feel like they were the focal point of the universe. Charlie's neck began to hurt from looking up too long. "Holy crap," said Alex, "it's one big room!"
Charlie nodded. He knew nothing about what a nuclear cooling tower should contain, but he was pretty sure it should contain something. The room wasn't entirely empty. The concrete base was cluttered with piles of fallen debris and random refuse. Here and there small green shoots and tufts of grass sprouted through cracks in the concrete. Above their heads, massive steel support beams bridged the interior in various places, silhouetted starkly against the cameo of sky. Here and there were, what looked to be, recent renovations, presumably to keep the decaying superstructure from collapse. There were also numerous catwalks traversing the space, as well as safety-ring ladders and stairs along the walls. These all ultimately led to a bizarre apparatus that was clearly the focal point of the facility. Over two hundred feet above their heads a giant steel ring hung parallel to the ground. When Charlie squinted, he could see that the ring, a dozen yards across at least, was suspended from the walls by a series of steel cables pulled taut. Against the interior tower gloom, the cables were almost invisible, making the shiny ring appear to float in midair, as if by magic.
"Shit!" yelped Alex, as he sidestepped a splatter of white from above.
"Oh aye—swallow shite, to be precise," said Mrs. MacGuffin. "Sorry about that, lad, I shoulda warned ya. I use to try to keep them out, but eventually gave up." As Charlie's eyes adjusted to the murkiness he could just make out the dim shapes of birds perched on the tops of girders and mud wattle nests clustered along the undersides. "Bahn swallows, see?" she explained, "I tried to tell them this were no bahn, but they would'na listen."
With that, the old woman walked to a rickety ladder and began to climb. The ladder led to a catwalk above, then more steps, which in turn led to another ladder, catwalk and so on, circumnavigating the vast interior. "Wait, we're climbing that?" asked Alex. He eyed the corroded metal suspiciously.
"I do it all the time, dear. It's perfectly safe."
Alex wasn't so sure. Charlie tried to gauge his own weight against that of the old woman, as well as the strength of the clearly rusted supports, fasteners, and bolts that held the ladder to the wall. "I'll go first," he said, "if it can carry my weight, it can carry yours." Alex sucked in his courage and nodded. Charlie began after Mrs. MacGuffin, who was already working her way up the subsequent set of stairs. He carefully wiped off any cobwebs as he went, concerned they might alarm Alex. The boy followed, telling himself it was like a video game on PlayStation. A classic platformer, he thought, like Donkey Kong or Super Mario Brothers. All I have to do is scale the ladders from tier to tier to complete the level and win. He then imagined Mrs. MacGuffin as the digital gorilla, rolling barrels down upon them. He chuckled to himself.
Several minutes later, both Charlie and Alex were out of breath as they began the ascent of yet another set of steps. Mrs. MacGuffin continued ahead with unflagging resolve. "Do we really have to do this?" asked Alex.
"Aye, if you want to know the truth," said Mrs. MacGuffin. "You wouldn'a believe me
if I just tell ye."
"Try me," muttered Alex.
Charlie leaned over the guardrail to look at the floor below. They were already over a hundred feet above the guano splattered concrete base. He noted an overturned forklift, previously hidden behind a heap of rubbish. Completely crusted in droppings and dust, it had clearly been there for years. "How high are we going?"
Mrs. MacGuffin simply pointed, past the giant suspended ring-thing, to a large steel platform another hundred feet up. While mostly square in shape, there was a long single panel that extended out into the center of the chamber. To Charlie, it looked disturbingly like a diving board. Alex noticed it as well, although in his mind it conjured images of sailors being forced to 'walk the plank'. It was impossible to see what was on the platform from where they stood. Charlie opened his mouth to protest, but Mrs. MacGuffin had already resumed her steady ascent.
As he climbed, Alex thought about his mom. Her face filled his vision, drawing him in. Ever since she'd died, he felt as if he'd been plunged into a dream world. He felt as though he'd fallen down a hole into a land where nothing made sense. No matter how stressed or confused his mother was, she always took control. She always took care of him. Here, grown-ups didn't have all the answers and ran around like confused children. It was a world without common sense, or any sense at all, for that matter. Here, the threat of Armageddon loomed like a monster, with eyes of flame, so real he could feel it whiffling closer. It was the scariest thing imaginable. No, thought Alex, scarier is the sense that no one's in charge. That was a hard thing to accept. With that, his thoughts went to the coziness of his house in Michigan, with its teak furniture, familiar smells and TV sounds. He remembered the warmth of his mother giving him a hug on the school steps the day before she died, even as he pushed her away for fear of being seen by his friends. Alex bit his lip and forced back tears. He focused instead on Charlie, trudging ahead, glancing at his watch. Charlie, at times, seemed as confused and lost as anyone, but he also seemed to care and he kept moving forward. He was someone to follow. Alex needed someone to follow. He needed someone to be in charge. He wasn't ready to give that up yet. It felt like a dream, but it wasn't. I'm not asleep, thought Alex, I can't wake up and I can't go home.
Chaos Theory: A Feel Good Story About the End of the World Page 14