by Barry Klemm
“Me. I’m all right.” It was said so emphatically it had to be a lie.
“Yes, and you look it too. Fit and calm and steady as a rock, that’s good old Brian. But sooner or later, it’s going to hit you, mate. And hard.”
“I know,” Brian smiled, appreciating her generosity of spirit. “And no doubt I’ll fold like a house of cards. We’ll just have to hope it’s later rather than sooner, that’s all.”
“And if it’s sooner?”
“Well, a nice restful breakdown with you around to pick up the pieces, Fee. That’s almost worth looking forward too.”
“Yes. I know what you mean.”
Kevin Wagner arrived with a squeal of tyres as he drove his shining land cruiser to a sudden parking spot and jumped out. He wore a para-military outfit these days, with a heavy assortment of equipment attached to his belt, including holstered pistol and emergency flares, and even a peaked cap which he discarded in the front seat of the vehicle to show it was an informal occasion. He marched over and took a chair. His paraphernalia rattled as he sat.
“God these people are a shambles,” he exclaimed.
“Earthquakes are prone to make people so,” Felicity pointed out coolly.
“Oh, I don’t mean them. I’ve got used to babbling panic-stricken Italians. It’s those bloody NATO bigwigs. Full co-operation, they call it. Total obstruction is more like it.”
“I’ve found them pretty helpful,” Brian said lightly.
“Very helpful indeed,” Felicity concurred.
“You would. They respect what you’re doing. But security, they reckon, is their concern. Territorial bastards. They keep giving me the run-around and bogging me down with paperwork.”
“The situation does seem secure,” Brian ventured. Such grumbles were a nightly event.
“Sure it was. They brought a bloody army with them, didn’t they? Now the troops are pulling out and there’ll be nothing left to secure.”
“Must be very frustrating for you,” Felicity mused.
Fortunately, Chrissie was approaching. She seemed to positively glow with divinity these days and walked as if she was not actually touching the ground. She smiled upon them all serenely. Brian signalled to the waiter to supply mineral water.
“And you,” Wagner said before Chrissie had the chance to sit. “Do you really believe that you can just go marching off on your pilgrimage to God knows where and expect all these people to wander out of their houses and follow you?”
Chrissie received the words with pious calm. “Well, they will, won’t they.”
“They won’t be following you. They’ll be being drawn to the focal point.”
“So will I. And I’ll be in front of them all, so they’ll be following me. All you have to do is direct them after me.”
“It’s a charade.”
Chrissie nodded. “Of course it is. But it will help to explain what’s happening and keep it all organised. Where’s the problem?”
“What happens when you cross Italy and reach the sea?”
“I’m organising some boats,” Brian could not resist saying.
“For which we are all very appreciative,” Chrissie said with a radiant smile.
Wagner held his head in his hands, and Brian had to continue. “You’d better be. Finding boats to carry 647 people to an unknown destination is no small task.”
“Is that the final number?” Felicity asked.
“Final known number, according to Red Cross numbers. There’s still 188 people classed as missing,” Brian pointed out.
“Harley promised me Jerusalem,” Chrissie added, to increase Wagner’s dismay.
“Harley would,” Felicity sighed.
Brian had been thinking about it. “I suppose if he places us and the control group accurately, he can make the focal point anywhere he wants. Why not Jerusalem?”
“Why not indeed,” Jami Shastri said, for she had arrived in her smart hired Celica and flopped herself down at the table while they were talking. “The Great God Harley can do anything he wants.”
The bad climatic conditions had worsened the blotches on her face and she was wearing dirty jeans and a dirtier singlet. The Italian sun had burned her skin darker than they remembered.
Brian indicated the post-pak before him. “Anything else for Joe before I send this?” he thought to ask.
“I sent all the bills to him last night,” Chrissie said.
Jami chuckled. “Old Joe has a permanently suspicious mind. He wanted a copy of all the data we have on you sleepers. I think that’ll cover it.”
“Not completely,” Brian said sadly. “He also wanted to know what Harley was up to in Russia.”
“Everyone who goes to Moscow is a spy, huh?” Jami mused.
“Joe is very old school,” Chrissie pointed out.
“But we know why,” Felicity said. “He had to be sure that the Mongolian sleepers would stay where they were.”
“Yes,” Brian added. “Otherwise he would not have been able to land us all so neatly in the lobby of the Hong Kong Sheraton.”
“There was another reason,” Jami said sublimely. “He was also investigating the Tunguska event.”
At this word, Brian almost jolted out of his chair. It was as if he, rather than Chrissie, was the one having a revelation.
“I know about this,” he said excitedly. “Collision between the earth and a comet in Siberia at the turn of the century.”
“Right on, Brian. 30th of June, 1908,” Jami elaborated. “Bright lights in the sky, biggest bang ever recorded, massive shockwave, forest flattened for miles around, but no impact crater at the middle.”
“They thought it a comet entirely made of ice that melted in the atmosphere, causing a huge explosion but no crater,” Brian explained, hardly able to control his enthusiasm.
“There are other theories,” Jami said with amusement.
“All of which, I understood, were discredited,” Brian said with a frown.
“More or less,” Jami replied blithely. “But consider a singularity, or mini-black hole as they are sometimes called, for instance.”
“If they exist,” Brian persisted.
“Exactly,” Jami nodded. “This thing would be about the size of a pinhead but weigh as much as Manhattan Island. It would cause such an explosion but leave no crater.”
“It might, if it existed,” Brian stonewalled.
“Try having an open mind, Brian,” Jami sighed. “Black holes are dead matter with the atoms compressed so tightly that if all the matter in the earth was so compressed, it would be reduced to the size of a basketball. An object of such weight would hit the earth and pass straight through.”
“And then there would have to be a similar explosion when it came out the other side of the world,” Brian was sure. “Which didn’t happen.”
“Precisely,” Jami said with a triumphant smile. “That was why the idea was generally rejected. But suppose it never got out the other side. What if it was captured by the earth’s gravity and pulled into orbit while still inside the crust. It would then orbit the earth’s core, eating up all the matter in its path, growing larger and heavier. Devouring the inside of the planet like a worm in an apple.”
“What a horrifying thought,” Felicity gasped.
“If it was getting heavier,” Brian considered, “wouldn’t that mean its orbit would grow smaller?”
“We would have to suppose so,” Jami agreed. “Eventually, it would be the size of an orange and settle at the centre of the earth, still dragging matter from all around it. And then finally, the rest of the earth would collapse into the vacuum at the centre, and that would be the end of everything.”
“And you think that’s happening?” Chrissie gasped in horror.
“Maybe. It was when Glen, our computer modeller at MIT, started his models off from the 30th of June, 1908, that we then got a fixed longitude for this event. So it fits.”
“Jesus,” Wagner said. “So that’s it. We’re all doom
ed.”
“If the theory is right,” Jami said.
“And it probably isn’t,” Brian told them determinedly. “Mini-black holes are only theoretical. They exist only as a mathematical construct.”
“Oh good,” Felicity said, rising from the table. “So there isn’t some horror eating the earth out from the middle.”
“I’m afraid there possibly is,” Jami said. “Just because it doesn’t exist in any form that we can understand doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”
“That’s enough for me. See you all tomorrow,” Felicity said and walked away. “Thanks for the nightmares.”
“Gotta get back to it,” Wagner said and rose.
“The sheep await the shepherdess,” Chrissie smiled serenely and left.
“I have a plane to catch,” Jami said. “Goodnight.”
“So you think it might be a singularity?” Brian asked, halting her departure.
“Good a theory as any, Brian. But who cares? We’ve all got enough problems with the things we do understand. Goodbye.”
Brian Carrick sat at the table alone and poured the last glass of wine from the bottle.
“Now why didn’t I think of that?” he said to the empty square before him.
*
It was important, Thyssen knew, that he should not regard these men and women as fools. They were bureaucrats, not one of them trained in sciences, with matters beyond scientific outcomes and humanitarian considerations to take into account.
“You have seen the preliminary report from our investigative committee?” the woman in a dark suit said.
Everyone here spoke English, with varying accents. This one sounded Polish.
“Yes, I have,” Thyssen said evenly.
He didn’t remember any of their names, didn’t care about them enough to find out. Their self-importance might have been somewhat deflated to know that. But their anonymity did not mean they were unimportant. Of the dozens of meetings and discussion groups he had attended in the last three weeks, this was probably the one that mattered most.
“You understand their conclusion, I assume?” the Polish woman asked—she was trying to be kind but her accent was not equipped for it.
“I do,” Thyssen said, loud and clear, like a marriage vow.
“No relationship, they say. You saw that conclusion. No relationship whatsoever between the seismic events in question.”
“Yes. That is their conclusion,” Thyssen assured her.
Apparently, the Polish woman had carried out her function, having established that he was able to read and comprehend a two page report in his own field of expertise. She settled back in a chair. They were very plush chairs, placed behind a long oak table. His own chair was most comfortable, almost an armchair, amid fifty others facing them. He was alone on his side—this was not an occasion at which Lorna would be an asset. He was positioned like a schoolboy in a class of one, facing eight teachers. Except the modern appointments of the room would not have been found at even the most exclusive private school.
A grey haired man in a suit to match took over. His accent was Spanish, perhaps, Latin anyway. Thyssen remembered there was a Chilean amongst them—perhaps this was he.
“Would you care to comment, Professor, on that conclusion?”
“Yes. I believe that it is the correct conclusion, given the data available to the investigative body.”
The investigators had been scientists, after all, and from Geology or related fields. He had met with them and answered their questions as honestly as he could. They were all skeptical. They all hated him as they did all of their colleagues who indulged in grandstanding. Thyssen hated such people himself. It was all understandable.
The grey haired man didn’t hate him. Probably the grey haired man did not feel anything about him at all.
“Persons of eminence and considerable expertise, Professor.”
“No doubt about it. I think you chose the best available personnel for the task.”
“So you agree with the conclusion.”
“Certainly not.”
“How can that be?”
“Had they possessed the data and modelling techniques collected and developed by the members of Project Earthshaker, they would have reached a different conclusion.”
Thyssen felt uncomfortable, having said that. The eminences on his side were two research students—Jami and Glen—neither possessing even a doctorate. That they might have been the two most brilliant students on the planet would cut no ice with these people. Thyssen decided not to correct himself.
“It was considered important that the investigation be an independent study.”
“The proper technique, to be sure,” Thyssen replied. “But it did substantially limit their ability to reach a satisfactory outcome.”
“Satisfactory to whom, Professor?”
“To all of the inhabitants of planet Earth,” Thyssen replied, biting off the `sir’ that seemed to naturally fit at the end of his statement.
“The investigative committee did review your data, once they had reached their independent conclusion.”
“That’s right.”
“The final paragraph of their report outlines their conclusion to that review.”
“It does.”
“They considered the data to be prejudiced by a predetermined outcome and your techniques radical and inconclusive, Professor.”
“That’s what they said.”
“And do you care to comment on this?”
“Yes,” Thyssen said, becoming impressed by the way he was able to keep rancour out of his voice. “I will say to you what I said to them. 155°West, 20°South. 7pm, Central Pacific Time, on Monday the 13th of September.”
“And this is, what? A prediction?”
“The next event, yes.”
“I’m not sure if that is a valid comment, Professor.”
The grey man had reached the extent of his job description and now a tall thin man in a brown suit took over. He was North American—possibly Canadian.
“This... statement... of yours, Harley. You are.. um... you wish us to accept that the next seismic event will occur at this time and that place.”
“I am giving you that information. Acceptance is up to you.”
“How accurate do consider it to be?”
“The time within an hour either way, the longitude within five degrees, the latitude more approximate, accurate within several hundred miles.”
“I see. You are aware, are you not, that the investigative committee were unable to find any basis whatsoever for the predicting future outcomes in any way.”
“I think we’ve covered that already.”
“Yes, of course. Only I’m wondering how you expect us to react to that?”
Thyssen decided to pause to consider his reply. Just because a cause was hopeless did not mean it should be completely surrendered.
“The event will occur about halfway between the Cook Islands and the Society Islands. Volcanoes at both locations can be expected to erupt. Orohena on Tahiti is a danger, as is Raratonga in the Cook Islands. Most of the hundred thousand population of the region live within the danger zone of those mountains. There are five other volcanic mountains that threaten the region. I expect you to arrange for all those people to be evacuated.”
“You are certain all those volcanoes will erupt?”
“Not certain. It is highly probable. There may be unknown dormant volcanoes nearer the epicentre but beneath the ocean which, if they exist, will take the pressure off.”
“A high probability, at best, of a theory unsupported by independent evidence. I’m sure you can see where we are going here, Professor.”
“Yes. And let me say that while I am disappointed, it does not diminish the esteem I hold for the United Nations and all the other bodies involved here. The assistance Project Earthshaker has received from various governmental bodies in the recent crisis has been first rate. I’m sure it will be in the future.”
&nbs
p; All the right asses appropriately licked, Thyssen thought to himself.
The brown man did look genuinely uncomfortable with the inevitable conclusion that the matter had been brought to.
“I’m sorry, Professor, that we can do no more, but you must understand our position. To evacuate a hundred thousand people unnecessarily would be a disaster in itself.”
“It will not be unnecessary.”
The brown man retired and now a sharp-looking woman in a green suit cleaned her glasses and cleared her throat. She was Slavic, maybe Russian, more likely from the former Yugoslavian states. But she spoke with the neutral monotone common to psychiatrists.
“Why are you here, Professor?”
“Because you invited me.”
“You knew in advance what the finding of the committee would be, did you not?”
“I did.”
“Yet you have come and persisted with your discredited claims.”
“After the next event, I believe you will be of a different view. I came to give you the opportunity to save a hundred thousand lives.”
“Except the best research shows no danger to those people.”
“Second best.”
“You regard it as a competition, Professor?”
“I regard it as a responsibility. Lives are at stake. I must do all I can to save them. And if that means being subjected to this embarrassing little charade, so be it.”
Oops.
But he would have worried about himself had he got all the way through this ordeal without losing control at least once.
“I believe you possess a megalomaniacal desire to transfer the burden of your obsessive guilt onto this committee.”
“I don’t care how you assess my psychological condition, lady. I’m giving you the opportunity to act in advance. That’s all I can do. Just because you won’t believe the truth doesn’t mean you should be denied it.”
“Very generous of you. I think there is no more to say here.”
“I could repeat my warning.”
“That will definitely be unnecessary.”
They were waiting for him to leave. But then the obvious Englishman at the far end waved for him to stay in his seat.