Worlds in Chaos

by James P. Hogan

  “Maybe so. I don’t have much time to think about it just now,” Keene said.

  “Of course you don’t. So what are you going to do?”

  “It’s funny, I was just asked the same thing upstairs. I don’t know.”

  “It should be obvious to you by now that the President has no understanding of the scale of what’s going to happen,” Voler said. “None of them do. Oh yes, they’re counting their candles and checking the first-aid boxes like good Boy Scouts, but none of it is going to make a nickel’s worth of difference one way or another. It’s over, Dr. Keene—the works, the whole ball of wax. Before long, the surface of this planet may not be habitable for anything much bigger than cockroaches. Is that how you want to die—choking on smoke while you grub under rocks or fight over roots for something to eat?”

  Keene answered woodenly, “I said, I haven’t had time to think much about it. You do what you can do, and that’s it. What’s your solution—find a friend in Congress who’ll cut you a better deal? That won’t work this time, Herbert.”

  “There is one place where at least the semblance of civilized life will be able to continue,” Voler said. “I tried to be realistic about it the other night, but the minds involved weren’t capable of grasping what is necessitated. You’re not like them, Keene. You understand reality too, even if we have seen it from different sides in the past.”

  Even now, Voler could consider himself among the rare few able to perceive reality—after he had been blocking it out for years? Again, Keene found himself listening to a distortion that he couldn’t quite believe. The psychology at work was indeed fascinating. “Are you talking about Kronia?” he asked.

  “Of course I am. Look, the only people who are going to survive this with any chance of a life worthy of the word, and perhaps raise a generation with a hope for any kind of future, will be the ones who can make it there. And the only means of getting there is the one that’s in orbit over our heads right now.” Keene was already staring incredulously. Voler raised a hand before he could say anything. “I admit that the suggestion of using coercive measures to gain the cooperation of the Kronians was imprudent and hasty. There’s no need for anything so drastic. We can make a bargain with them that would be in their own best interests. Their ship has space available. We can offer knowledge and abilities invaluable to their colony, as well as other material resources that they’ll probably never get the chance to see again. All it would need is a competent mediator whom the Kronians know and trust. Someone such as yourself, for example. . . . You see my point.”

  Keene did, quite clearly. Voler was unable to conceive of a situation that was beyond his ability to manipulate. He actually believed he could induce Keene to bargain a passage on the Osiris for himself and his friends. Keene remembered the military and intelligence people who had seemed close to Voler at the White House meeting. He was beginning to see now where the idea of sending a boarding party up to the Osiris had come from.

  Keene looked as if he were experiencing a bad taste. “Even supposing that they offered me a place, what makes you think I’d want to take you along?” he asked.

  Voler licked his lips. “Let’s not allow past personal animosities to affect things at a time like this,” he said. “I don’t have to remind you that I possess powerful connections who would be permanently in your debt as a consequence. The future position that you could expect to enjoy in the new setting could be, shall we say, very advantageous.”

  New setting?

  So that was it. Voler had given himself away. Already, he was talking about not merely getting to Kronia as a refugee but aspiring to running things there. Keene could guess the nature of some of the friends who would be on the list. He shook his head and smiled, managing to enjoy the moment despite the circumstances.

  “No deal, Herbert. You don’t seem to understand. Your kind of influence doesn’t count anymore. Kronia doesn’t need friends like yours. They don’t have anything to offer that’s wanted there. I guess you’d better go home and start boarding up the windows of that mansion of yours.”

  With that, he turned and left the room.

  Ten minutes later, Keene was staring down at the morning commuter traffic filling the Beltway. News announcers were describing widespread radio interference and attributing it to Athena’s tail fanning out wider than had been expected. There was some risk of meteorite showers, and emergency services were being ordered to take precautionary measures accordingly.

  27

  The first matter, as opposed to accelerated charged particles, to begin arriving was in the form of molecular clouds and microscopic dust swept ahead of Athena by the solar wind, recorded by satellite-borne instruments and measuring stations on the lunar surface. On Earth, the effect was seen in spectacular sunsets worldwide, followed, as the grain size increased, by brilliant displays of burnup trails in the upper atmosphere. From California to Calcutta, people threw barbecue parties or just ate outside to relax in the cool while watching the shooting “stars” and electrical displays. Others took the warnings of meteorite showers more seriously by putting a fire extinguisher or two in the attics and making sure to park the car in the garage.

  Not all reactions were that complacent, however. Astronomers around the world were comparing results and beginning to realize that something was amiss. While some were cautious and unsure what to make of the new factors affecting orbital calculations that had been claimed at the Washington conference, others were quick to take their fears to the media. Observational data were shared over the Web as a matter of routine, and there were thousands of amateurs and enthusiasts with the software to determine that what had been predicted wasn’t happening. Some were already connecting the rumors with visions of Athena being a repeat of Venus, and news stories appeared in Germany, Taiwan, and Australia asking if something was being covered up. Very soon it would be noticed that public and emergency services everywhere were shifting into higher gear, and then the stampede to get information would begin. In fact, more than a few news reporters, journalists, commentators, activists, and others who made a business of sensing things in the wind were already asking questions. President Hayer’s policy, in which he had asked the other world leaders’ cooperation, was still to avoid risking a premature panic by deferring an official statement until the scientific community could at least present a consensus as to the scale and extent of what should be expected.

  The problem was that the stories Hayer was getting were contradictory. Hixson at Goddard, for example, was now giving figures less daunting than the ones he had supplied to Keene and had backpeddled to a position of saying that perhaps his initial fears had been exaggerated. Reports from the IAU’s Cambridge center, where Tyndam was based, were confusing and seemed to vary between Hixson-like hopes for things perhaps being not be so bad, to violent disagreement, depending whom one asked. This contrasted with the input from JPL, which was consistent and bad—worse, in fact, than the predictions that Keene had heard from Hixson to begin with. And in this, the JPL line agreed with the picture Keene was getting from the other sources that he was in contact with directly.

  The Russians in particular were taking the Kronian probe measurements and revisions of the electrical properties of free space in the inner Solar System very seriously, and had calculated that Earth and Athena would come close enough for their magnetospheres to intersect. This would result in titanic electrical discharges from a white-hot body that had just picked up additional charge in its grazing course around the Sun. Nobody knew what the effects on Earth’s atmosphere or surface might be. The JPL scientists had reached similar conclusions. In one of Keene’s conversations with Pasadena, Charlie Hu said it would be like “sitting on one of the electrodes of a carbon arc.” Beyond that, the gravitational upheaval of a pass at that range would cause tides that would make the earlier estimates based on large offshore impacts seem puny. According to some European and Japanese estimates, it was not beyond the bounds of possibility that the Earth�
�s orbital and rotational motions could be affected, in which case entire seas could slop across continents.

  All a terrifying and appalling prospect. But was it true? JPL said it was, and the collective view emerging from the sources that Keene had been polling directly seemed to agree. But Hixson disagreed, and the main center that was supposed to be the official source kept vacillating. When Voler was sought for an explanation of what was going on in Cambridge, no one could find him. Hayer’s predominant fear remained that of precipitating a wild overreaction needlessly. But with the media now converging on the scent and starting to bay, he only had so much time. Many of his advisors were amazed that a general panic hadn’t broken out already.

  “This is what we’re going to do,” Hayer told a progress meeting late in the evening of the day Keene returned from Goddard. He looked spent, having been up, as far as Keene knew, since the last time they’d spoken and probably taking something to stay awake. He had stated that this would be his last function today.

  The First Lady, Celia Hayer, was also showing a presence now. Tall, stately, with shoulder-length dark hair, she had always maintained a role that was strong and supportive but low-key, seeking little prominence herself in the public limelight. She had been constantly in the background throughout the day, unobtrusively filtering communications and organizing the White House staff to deal with the flood of visitors that had continued since Keene first arrived.

  The President continued, “Something strange is happening with the Eastern reporting system. Some of the people we ask say one thing, others say another, and now nobody knows where Voler is. . . .” He turned to an aide as an afterthought occurred. “Did you track down his wife, George?”

  “Yes, we did. She said she doesn’t know where he is. I don’t believe her.”

  Hayer appealed to the room. “You see. . . . What’s going on? We don’t know, and we haven’t got time to make a deal of finding out. So from now on JPL in Pasadena becomes our official source. They seem to have their act together out there, and Charlie Hu has been pushing for the right side in all this from the beginning.” Nods and murmurs of agreement greeted the announcement. “Lan Keene has been doing a great job getting a consistent story together out of the mess. So what I want is for Lan to go there and get this set up with Hu, and for them to go through this whole thing one more time and give us a final opinion before we make a statement to the nation. I’m going to try and hold it for another day.” He looked at the harassed White House press secretary. “Can we fix it for six p.m. tomorrow, say? Have everybody here—the works.”

  “That means I’ll need to leave tonight,” Keene put in. “Sleep on the plane, which will give me all morning tomorrow with Hu—plus the three-hour time-shift bonus.”

  Hayer nodded and looked around. “And that brings me to the second thing. You’ve been hearing all day what we could be in for. Since we’re going to find ourselves very short of time if it’s all true, I’m setting AMANDA in motion now. What’s the status of the advance team?”

  “Standing by on three hours’ notice,” one of the staff secretaries said. “The governor of California has notified the appropriate people there.”

  Hayer caught the questioning look on Keene’s face. “That’s a standing plan for providing a second seat of government on the West Coast, headed by the Vice President, in the event of emergency,” he said. Keene nodded. Hayer looked away and went on, “Then let’s get them out there and begin the initial preparations tonight. Dr. Keene can go on the same plane. I’ll expect to hear from you and Dr. Hu by five o’clock Eastern Time tomorrow at the latest, Dr. Keene. Is that acceptable?”

  “We’ll have an answer by then,” Keene promised.

  “Any other questions?”

  “No questions.”

  The First Lady, who had moved to the front of the group while Hayer was speaking, came forward. “Then before anyone thinks of any, I’m going to get you out of here. It’s time to give it a break, Sam. You have to save something for later.”

  Hayer looked around at the company. “Then, if you’ll excuse me, people, your President is about to hit the hay. By this time tomorrow we should all know for sure. It’s going to be a long day.”

  The party would travel in an Air Force jet scheduled to leave Andrews for March AFB, southeast of Los Angeles, at midnight. The AMANDA group would proceed to an undisclosed location where a West Coast headquarters had been prepared years previously as a precaution in the event of a major war—Keene guessed it was under the mountains somewhere east of the city. Donald Beckerson, the Vice President, was expected to follow with his staff in the next day or two, after the local preparations were completed. Barbara and Gordon would accompany Keene to JPL, along with one of Sloane’s scientific aides, Colby Greene, who had been working with them.

  Relationships were again on an even keel with the Kronians who, it was no longer questioned, would leave Earth’s governments to inform their respective peoples in their own way—in fact, it had never occurred to the Kronians to do otherwise. Accordingly, their plans for departure were moving again, the launch schedule for the emigrants due to leave from Guatemala had been reactivated, and in the meantime the communications block was lifted. They had not taken lightly the allegations made at the conference, all the same. In normal circumstances, a period of strained diplomatic exchanges would no doubt have resulted, probably commencing with a demand for a public retraction. But this was hardly a time to be making an issue of such things.

  A staff car had been put at Keene’s disposal, and he decided there would be time to stop by the Engleton that night on his way to Andrews Air Force Base. It would be his last chance to see the Kronians on this visit to Earth—and while nobody cared to say so openly, quite possibly his last chance ever.

  The setting could have been better for what would have been one of those touching farewell scenes, had it been in a movie. While the Kronians collected together not only the belongings and material they had brought with them, but in addition all their gifts, mementos, and other acquisitions, Terran officials and administrative personnel came and went and buzzed around, including Cavan, who still had duties involved with the departure preparations. Wally Lomack had gone for the night but would be staying on in Washington to see the Kronians off. At least this time Keene’s absence would have been forced.

  Keene found Sariena wearing a dark jumpsuitlike garment and drew her aside for a few minutes in the suite where the reception had been given the night they first met, which now seemed so long ago—like part of another world, which in a way it was. Even now, there was no peace or solitude. Hotel staff were using the room to pack and crate an assortment of objects, and a waiter was collecting dishes from a meal brought in earlier and loading them onto a cart. Keene had said all there really was to say when he and Vicki called Sariena from Texas, and Sariena had made the appropriate responses. There was no point in repeating all that now. And besides, it would have detracted, somehow, from the understanding they had shared then—as if it needed to be reaffirmed or reinforced.

  She sighed and made a gesture that could have meant many things. “How totally and unexpectedly things can change. Just when we had glimpsed what will surely be one of the most astounding discoveries in human history: the birthplace of the Earth itself; the cradle of the human race. How much more will it lead to what’s still waiting to be uncovered? The work ahead will last for generations—like those cathedrals that you talked about once.”

  For the past few days, Keene had forgotten all about such things. For a moment, inside, he was surprised and troubled. Sariena was neither thoughtless nor insensitive; yet here she was talking about faraway futures when for all he knew his world might end in weeks. He tried to put it down to just not knowing how to react in a situation that was as unprecedented as it was painful. Maybe the cultural differences were greater than he realized, even now.

  “Whatever follows, it seems it’ll more likely happen out there than here,” he said gruffly
. “Maybe that’s the way it should be . . . if that’s where it all began.”

  Sariena looked at him and shook her head. “Oh Lan, this all feels so wrong. It’s as if we’re walking out somehow . . . abandoning you to this.”

  “There’s nothing you can do,” Keene said. “We had our chance long ago to be more ready. And we’ll bounce back again, eventually, the same as we did before. But it won’t have to be right back to the beginning again. Everything doesn’t have to be lost this time. We’ll be depending on you for that. It’s your turn to run with the ball now, for a while. Just don’t drop it.”

  They looked at each other silently. Sariena took a step toward him, it seemed involuntarily, and hesitated. . . . Then they extended their arms and pulled each other into a hug, both at the same time. It was the first time they had touched in any way intimately. Keene felt the fullness of Sariena’s body through the suit and drew her close, oblivious to the others around them; her arms found his neck and tightened to bring the sides of their faces together. In a few timeless seconds, all the things they had left unsaid communicated themselves between them.

  “I have a plane to catch,” Keene murmured, finally loosening his hold. He felt her nod and draw back.

  “Be sure to see Gallian before you go,” Sariena whispered. “I think he wants to talk to you.”

  “Of course I wouldn’t leave without seeing him,” Keene told her. He turned one last time to the door and sent a wave back at her.

  He met Gallian in the corridor, talking simultaneously to an assistant manager from the hotel on one side and a woman with a clipboard on the other, apparently on two different subjects. At the same time, Keene’s driver, who had been waiting by the elevator, stepped forward. “Excuse me, Dr. Keene, but I have to remind you. We need to be leaving soon.”