by Simon Hawke
"Look at all this broken glass," Pamela said. "It hasn't been thrown or dropped, it's simply shattered. If there had been some sort of an explosion, it should have caused a great deal more damage. And the windows aren't even broken."
"Thick shatterproof glass," said Davies. He sniffed the air. "No lingering odors, but then I suppose the air recirculation system would have taken care of that."
Pamela bit her lower lip. "He's pulled disappearing acts before, but never anything like this."
She made a quick inventory of the lab and determined that, with the exception of the broken glassware, nothing appeared to be out of place. Brewster may have been abysmally distracted and absent-minded in his personal life, but his laboratory was a model of neatness and organization, and it didn't take her long to figure out that everything appeared to be more or less where it was supposed to be. It certainly did not look as if the laboratory had been ransacked by anyone. That left her with the puzzle of the broken glassware. It had simply shattered, which suggested some sort of sonic disturbance. But there was no clue as to what might have caused such a phenomenon.
"What's this forklift doing here?" she asked, puzzled.
Davies frowned. "I have no idea. I didn't even know he had a forklift up here. I certainly don't recall any requisitions for it. I suppose he must have brought it in himself. It's small enough, it would have been a simple matter for him to drive it into the lift."
"But I don't see anything heavy enough to require a forklift," she said, looking around.
"I wonder what the devil he's been up to this time?" Davies said.
Pamela's next step was to look for Brewster's notes. She and Davies checked through his desk and bookshelves and computer files and finally found them in a filing cabinet, under "N."
"Why 'N'?" said Davies, puzzled.
"For 'Notes,' of course. Only Marvin would have filed them that way."
There were quite a few folders filed under "N" for "Notes," so they started with the last one, which yielded several slim, cardboard-bound, black composition books filled with Brewster's meticulous, cramped and nearly illegible scrawl. They made a pot of coffee and some sandwiches, then sat down at Brewster's desk and got to work. Hours later, when they found what they were looking for, neither of them could believe it. It was not until they read the notes of the preliminary experiments that they became convinced. Their next step was to convince the EnGulfCo CEO.
"He's built a what!" he said over the speakerphone in Brewster's lab.
"A time machine," said Davies, wincing.
"That's absurd," said the CEO. "It's more than absurd, it's impossible. What is this, Davies, some sort of joke? Are you drunk?"
"No, sir. I rather wish I was."
"It's all right here in his notes," said Pamela. "You can come and see for yourself. He's been obsessed with something for the past few months, some sort of secret project that was occupying all his time and attention, even to the point of missing three scheduled weddings."
"Yes, yes, I'd heard all about that from your father," said the CEO. "But... a time machine, Pamela? I mean, really...."
"I never knew what it was," she replied. "He wouldn't tell me. But last Friday, he made some sort of breakthrough that had him tremendously excited. He ran out right in the middle of Frankenstein."
"In the middle of what!"
"Frankenstein," said Pamela. "It was on television. It was his favorite film."
"Frankenstein?' said the CEO. "What the devil's that got to do with anything?"
"It was a very special film to Marvin," Pamela replied. "He'd first seen it when he was a child and it was what set him on the path to becoming a scientist. The point is, he had it on cassette, but he still wouldn't miss a showing of it on the telly, and he never would have run out in the middle if it wasn't something terribly important. I think he finally made his breakthrough and he rushed right off to test it."
"Now, wait just a moment," said the CEO, "let me get this straight. Are you seriously suggesting that he'd constructed a time machine up there in his lab, right out of H.G. Wells, and took off somewhere in it?"
"It appears so, sir," Davies replied.
"That's utterly ridiculous!"
"Is it?" said Pamela. "Very well, then. You explain how he was logged entering the building, and going up to his lab, then never seen to come back out again, despite there being guards on duty and video monitors in all the corridors and the lift. The door to the lab was still locked from the inside, and most of the glassware in the lab had been shattered by what must have been a sonic boom. He had also been working with a quantity of Buckyballs, which EnGulfCo had obtained for him somehow, at what had to be quite considerable expense."
"Buckyballs?" said the CEO. "What the devil are Buckyballs?"
"Buckminsterfullerine," said Davies. "It's a carbon compound named after Buckminster Fuller, because it's shaped rather like the geodesic dome that he designed. It also resembles a soccer ball, so it's called 'Buckyball,' for short. It's very stable and quite slippery, so it's frictionless, and it's normally produced by sono-chemistry. However, all we are able to produce is FeC6o, but Marvin was using FeC3o, which is so rare it only forms in supernovas. His requisitions normally go through my department, but I knew nothing of this. I can't imagine where in God's name he could have found it."
"Oh," said the CEO. "It seems I remember something about that now."
"It seems you remember?" Pamela said. "How in bloody hell could you forget?"
"Well, I don't really understand all this scientific mumbo jumbo," said the CEO. "All I recall is that Brewster picked up something about a meteor strike on some tiny, Pacific island no one had ever heard of, and there was apparently some compound in that meteor he needed for his work. He came to me about it, all very mysterious and hush-hush. Well, you know, I decided if he needed it that badly, he was probably on the track of something that was liable to be profitable, and since he's never let us down before, we negotiated for the purchase of it. There was also something involving offshore drilling rights, as I recall, sort of a hedge on our investment, as it were. Anyway, I don't quite see your point. What is the significance of all this?"
"The significance of it is that he used the Buckyballs to construct a time machine," said Pamela, "and it certainly appears as if it's worked. He's gone off somewhere, Lord only knows where."
"Or, more to the point, when," said Davies. "Not only is there no way of telling where he might have gone, but there's no way to replicate the process. Not unless we can manage to get our hands on another fragment of a star that's gone supernova."
"You're saying there's no more of that stuff lying around the lab?" asked the CEO.
"Hardly," Pamela replied dryly. "It's not the sort of stuff one generally finds 'lying around,' as you put it."
"So what you're telling me is that this.. .'hell, I can hardly believe I'm even saying it...this time machine Brewster constructed is the only one of its kind, and cannot be reproduced?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying," Pamela replied. "We have no way of knowing where he went, and we'd have no way of going after him, even if we knew."
"Good God," said the CEO. He was silent for a moment. "Look, Pamela, don't tell anyone about this. Not a soul, you understand? Davies, I'm holding you responsible. I'm going to need a little time in order to take all of this in. If what you're telling me, incredible as it may sound, is really true, then it's the scientific discovery of the century. Perhaps even of all time. The implications are absolutely mind-boggling. I shudder to think what the media would make of all this if they knew."
"It's not the bloody media I'm concerned about," said Pamela, "it's Marvin! God only knows what may have happened to him!"
"Steady on, now," said the CEO. "We still don't know for a fact what's really happened, but if it's what you think, then getting frantic won't do any good at all. First things first. Are you all right? I mean, are you able to handle this, emotionally?"
Pamela took a
deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm handling it about as well as anyone in my position could be expected to handle it, I suppose. I'm absolutely flabbergasted, and I'm frightened, but I'm not in a state of shock, if that's what you mean. I'm in control."
"Good for you," said the CEO. "I'm placing the two of you in charge of Brewster's laboratory for the duration, and I'll direct security to make sure you're the only ones to have access to it. If you need anything, anything at all, don't hesitate to let me know personally. In the meantime, I'm going to have to give some thought to what we're going to do about this... if, indeed, there is anything that we can do, except wait to see what happens. But I don't want a whisper of this leaking out. I think Brewster would want it that way, too."
"Yes, I'm sure he would," said Pamela. "But I'm worried sick about him. What if something went wrong? What if he's...." Her voice trailed off and she felt a lump in her throat.
"Let's not talk about that now," the CEO said. "For the moment, it appears that all we can do is wait and see."
"Yes, but for how long?" asked Pamela.
"As long as it takes," the CEO replied. "In the meantime, go through all his notes and try to find out as much as you possibly can. Whatever happens, Pamela, don't worry. We'll see this through together. EnGulfCo will be behind you every step of the way, I promise you."
Pamela hung up the phone, feeling some small measure of relief. At least she wouldn't be alone through this thing. The entire resources of EnGulfCo International would be behind her, and those resources were considerable. If there was anything that could be done, they'd find a way to do it. It didn't completely ease her worries, but at least it was something.
"Oh, Marvin," she said. "What have you done this time?"
"He's made Einstein look like a bloody bush-leaguer, that's what he's done," said Davies. "I can still hardly believe it. It's incredible. I wonder where he's gone."
"I don't care," said Pamela, "so long as he gets back safely. And when he does, I swear, I'll kill him!"
Meanwhile, the EnGulfCo CEO made another call as soon as he got off the phone with Pamela. When he reached the party he was calling, he gave strict instructions that Dr. Pamela Fairburn and Dr. Walter Davies were to be shadowed around-the-clock, that all contacts they made with anyone were to be reported to him immediately, that their homes were to be discreetly searched and their phone lines tapped.
He then made another call to the home of a certain official in the Ministry of Defense, who owed a great deal of his comfortable lifestyle to EnGulfCo. He told him to find out everything there was to know about Buckyballs, and to keep it quiet.
"If this stuff is only found in meteors," the CEO said, "I want to know about every meteor that's hit the planet since Day One. And if there's any more of it left anywhere in the world, find it. Money is no object. EnGulfCo is going to corner the market on Buckyballs."
CHAPTER SIX
It took a while to get the process straightened out, and make sure that everything went properly, but after everything was set up, Brewster set about whipping up his first batch of aluminum. It was a primitive way of doing it, but nonetheless effective, and there were enough laborious steps in the process to suitably impress everyone involved with the sorcerous significance of it all.
Brewster knew he'd need to work out some of the bugs and figure out a way to do it more efficiently. For example, he'd have to work out some way to grind up the bauxite and the limestone that would be quicker than doing it manually, and he'd need to have finer cloth made up to use for filters, to catch more of the impurities. The release valve on the blow-off tank needed to be redesigned and he'd have to have Mick make another one, and probably a couple of spares, as well. But one of the biggest problems had been solved, and very neatly, purely by accident.
Brewster had been concerned about how to run the portable generator he'd salvaged from the time machine. Refining his own fuel could pose a problem, and he'd considered adapting it so that it could be run by water power, by a series of belts and reduction gears connected to the water-wheel shaft. Eventually, a setup like that could possibly provide electrical power for the keep, but working it out would be a time-consuming process. Fortunately, he was saved that trouble for the present by the fortuitous discovery that an alternate fuel was, indeed, available to power his portable generator.
While they were setting up all the equipment to make the first batch of aluminum, it had been necessary to clear out some of the kegs of peregrine wine that Mick had stored, in order to make more room. This was the new and improved, more potent brew that had been produced with the aid of the new still, and just how potent it really was they had discovered when Fuzzy Tom and Fifer Bob decided to take a short break to sample the contents of one of the kegs they had been moving.
So as not to be interrupted while they partook of their refreshment, they carried the keg outside, where Pikestaff Pat and Lonesome John were tending the fire beneath the rendering pot for the soap. They invited Pat and John to join them for a short libation, and they tapped the keg. As they did so, some of the brew inside spilled onto the ground, beside the fire. A stray spark happened to shoot out of the fire and ignite it, and the resulting explosion blew all four of them right out of their boots.
Brewster heard the explosion, followed by the sound of screaming, and rushed outside with Mick and Bloody Bob and several of the others in time to see Fuzzy Tom sitting on the ground, batting wildly at his flaming beard, while Fifer Bob ran around in circles, screaming, his clothing in flames. Pikestaff Pat lay unconscious on the ground, some distance away, smoke rising from his prostrate form, and Lonesome John was crawling about, stunned and blackened, looking as if he'd been struck by lightning. They managed to wrestle Fifer Bob down to the ground and get the flames put out, and with the exception of some minor burns and scrapes among them and the loss of a considerable amount of facial hair on Fuzzy Tom's part, there were fortunately no serious injuries. However, the combustible nature of the new, improved peregrine wine had been quite amply demonstrated and Brewster found that by diluting it somewhat, it made a perfectly acceptable fuel to power his generator.
"Hmmm," Brewster mused as he started up his generator with the new fuel for the first time. "Interesting. Runs like a top. I wonder...."
"What are you wondering about, Doc?" Mick asked.
"Mmmm? Oh, I was just thinking," Brewster replied absently. "Amazing stuff, this. I can't believe you people actually drink it."
"Warms you up right and proper, it does," said Mick with a grin.
"I'll bet," said Brewster. "I shudder to think what it does to your liver. I was just thinking that this could have an application to a crude sort of internal combustion engine. We could probably sand-cast the cylinders, and there would be a lot of hand-finishing work involved, of course, but-"
"An inter-what?" asked Mick.
"Mmmm? Oh, never mind. I'll explain later. It's just another project I might have in mind."
"Ah," said Mick, "I see." Of course, he didn't see anything at all, but he didn't want to admit it.
"Well," said Brewster, "it looks like we're all set for our first production run. Let's see what happens, shall we?"
Everyone who wasn't directly involved gathered around to watch while the production team fired up the cookers. From the first step, where the ground-up bauxite was mixed with the caustic soda, to the last, where the melted aluminum was separated in the reduction pot, took several hours, and by the time the process was complete, anticipation had reached a high pitch. No one was sure what this aluminum stuff was, and they were all eager to see the final results of this latest sorcerous project. When Brewster finally upended the cooled pot and the slag from the impurities fell out, followed by about a pound of solidified aluminum, they were all too stunned to speak.
Mick drew a sharp intake of breath and glanced at McMurphy. McMurphy glanced at Long Bill. Long Bill, his jaw hanging slack, glanced at Froggy Bruce. Froggy Brace didn't glance at anybody. He couldn't take
his wide-eyed gaze off the aluminum, which he recognized instantly, as they all did, as nickallirium, the rarest and most precious metal in the land, which only the Master Alchemists of SAG knew how to make. They could scarcely believe what they were seeing. Mick could barely even breathe. Doc had just shown them the secret of the Philosopher's Stone. And, as incredible as it seemed from the way he was acting, he didn't seem to realize the true significance of what he had just done.
Brewster mistook their absolutely stunned reaction for a display of indifference. "Well," he said, "I realize that it may not look like much now, but when you see what we can do with it, you'll realize what-"
His words were interrupted by a tremendous crash as Bloody Bob's eyes rolled up behind his visor and, overwhelmed by the implications of it all, he fainted dead away.
"Bob!" said Brewster, bending over him. "Good Lord. Bob, are you all right? What happened?"
"Uh... must be the heat," said Mick, with a sidelong glance at the others.
"Aye, that's what done it," said McMurphy, catching his glance. " 'Twas the heat."
"Aye, the heat," echoed the others.
"Bit warm in here."
"Stuffy."
"Aye, stuffy."
"Aluminum, you call it?" Mick said, clearing his throat.
"Yes," said Brewster, slapping Bob lightly on the cheeks in an effort to revive the big old brigand. "It's a soft metal, very easy to work, and it doesn't rust. It should make some really nice handles for the knives. Polished up, it'll look very attractive, too. I should think it would really make them sell."
"Oh, aye.... I should think so," said Mick, clearing his throat again. He glanced at the others significantly and gave a slight shake of his head. They merely nodded, wide-eyed.