Analog Science Fiction and Fact 11/01/10

by ASF

  “No service down here,” she said, “but at least we have some light.”

  Alex, chagrined that he’d not thought of it, reached for his own phone. But he stopped as Katerina snapped hers closed. “Better not to have light,” she said, softly. “I’d rather you’d not see how frightened I am.”

  “We’ll be all right,” said Alex for the third time, feeling unoriginal as well as insincere. He thought to change the subject. “You know,” he said, “I bet the director actually accepts our data and wants an earthquake—so Fermilab can collect the insurance to pay for the new magnets.” He shook his head, an invisible gesture in the darkness. “Sounds like insurance fraud to me.”

  “I did not realize,” said Katerina in a voice more amused than frightened, “that you were a forensic seismologist—or indeed that there even was such a field of study.”

  “Yeah. You’re right.” Alex forced a laugh. “I’m being silly.”

  “Wait a minute. Shouldn’t there be air circulation blowers down here?” Katerina now sounded frightened. “I don’t hear them.”

  “You noticed,” said Alex.

  “Yes.”

  In the silent room, Alex didn’t know whether to try to cheer Katerina up or to just keep quiet. He kept quiet.

  After a few silent minutes, there came a muffled pounding at the door.

  Katerina flipped her phone open, illuminating the massive door with a feeble light.

  Alex bolted to his feet and pounded back with both hands. He saw the door move a millimeter or two. Someone was trying to open it from outside. Alex grabbed the handle and pulled. His shoulder ached and it felt as if his fingers were being ripped from his hand. From the corner of his eye, he saw Katerina stand and move her hands to the door. But there was no purchase, not even the slightest deviation from smoothness where she could grab on. Alex closed his eyes, throwing all his strength and concentration to the depressed handle.

  The door gave a shudder and, groaning, stuttered open a bit.

  Wegener, with happy barking, squeezed in. Alex dropped to the ground and hugged him. Then, strangely embarrassed, he waved Katerina toward the narrow opening. “Ladies first.”

  She smiled as she slid through the gap. Alex forced the opening larger and, sideways, he went through. Outside the chamber, the darkness was relieved by an array of amber, electroluminescent arrows set in the floor pointing to a way out.

  Wegener padded through the gap—and then headed further into the facility, a direction delineated by softly glowing arrows receding into the distance. Alex, wondering what had gotten into the dog, called him back.

  Takeo stood waiting near the door. “Is there injury?” he said.

  “We’re fine,” said Alex.

  “That was very brave of you,” said Katerina, “coming after us.”

  “Alex’s dog insisted.”

  Alex glanced at Wegener. The dog, muzzle pointed toward the interior of the facility, was making whining noises.

  “What is the matter with the dog?” said Takeo.

  “I don’t know.” Alex patted Wegener, but that didn’t calm the animal. “He was a drug sniffer dog, but who knows? He might have also been trained as a disaster rescue dog.”

  “You think there are people trapped in here?” said Katerina.

  “What?” Alex was puzzled. Katerina sounded different. Her voice was thinner and higher pitched. Then he understood. “Crouch down,” he said almost at a shout, “and breathe close to the ground. We’re breathing a lot of helium.” He crouched. Katerina and Takeo did so as well. Low to the ground, they made their way slowly toward the exit.

  “If the liquid helium line has ruptured,” said Takeo, “then the magnets are destroyed. The Tevatron is dead.”

  “Such a lot of destruction,” said Katerina.

  “It would have been much worse had it not been shut down when it did.” Takeo looked back at Alex. “One assumes it was you who annealed the tear in the spacetime fabric.”

  “I did hit the button.”

  As they neared the entrance, a shaft of sunlight shone down the staircase. Alex blinked in the brightness, and he noticed that their voices had returned to normal. “I guess the helium’s dissipated.” He stood upright. Katerina and Takeo did as well.

  They’d taken a few more steps when the shaft of light vanished, replaced by animated shadows from the entrance. They stopped as another beam of light, this time from a flashlight, found them.

  As the light grew close, Alex saw that it was wielded by a police officer. Behind him walked another individual.

  “Is that the deputy director?” Katerina whispered.

  “Decker?” said Alex, squinting past the beam. “Yeah. I think so.”

  At about the same time, Decker seemed to recognize them. “Have you seen the director?” he called out, without preamble.

  “No,” Alex called back. “Why?”

  “I was on the phone with him.” Decker stopped as he reached Alex and the others. “The line went dead. He might be trapped in his hideaway down here.” He glanced over at the police officer. “I didn’t know what to do. I called 911.”

  “Where is that hideaway?” said Katerina.

  Decker stared down the corridor. “Don’t really know. I’ve never been there.”

  “Well, come on,” said the police officer. “We’d better hunt him down.”

  Again, Wegener whined, and pointed his muzzle towards the interior.

  Alex glanced at him. “My dog seems to want to hunt him down as well.”

  Katerina cocked her head. “How could Wegener have possibly gotten to know the director’s scent?”

  “I don’t know,” said Alex, letting Wegener have his way. “I just don’t know.”

  Nose to the ground, Wegener padded down the corridor. The officer, his flashlight serving as the headlight of a locomotive, followed—and the others followed him.

  A few minutes later, after running a convoluted route through many corridors, Wegener stopped at a door. Opening outward, the door was made non-functional by an equipment rack overturned in front of it.

  The officer pounded on the door. “Anyone in there?”

  “Get me out of here,” came a voice, the director’s, from inside.

  Alex and Decker lifted the rack upright and shoved it out of the way. The door opened and the director, seeming unsteady on his feet, came out. Wegener, though, darted inside and started barking.

  Alex, puzzled, followed his dog into the room. The room lay completely in darkness. “Excuse me,” Alex called over his shoulder to the police officer. “Could you shine your light in here?”

  “Yeah. Sure.” The officer directed his beam into the room and then he took a couple of steps inside.

  Alex saw Wegener on-point, his muzzle aimed at a small glassine envelope and a straw-like tube next to it on a table.

  Staring at the items, Alex shrugged. “I have no idea what this stuff is.”

  Decker walked into the room, glanced at the table, and scowled.

  “I’m afraid I know what it is,” said the officer in a grave voice. He stepped up to the table, shined his light on the items and, almost in the way Wegener would, sniffed at the envelope. Then he stood erect, swiveled around, walked out and up to the director, urging him away from the others.

  “Wonder what’s going on,” said Alex as he and Wegener left the room.

  “I imagine,” said Decker, following behind, “that our esteemed director is about to be arrested for drug possession.”

  Alex swiveled around. “What?”

  “No surprise,” said Decker, including Katerina and Takeo in the conversation. “The board’s suspected it for some time. But there’s been no proof.” He glanced forward at the police officer, who seemed in a heavy dispute with the director—“Until now.”

  The officer and the director walked toward the entrance. Alex and the others followed at a respectful distance.

  “This isn’t exactly good publicity for Fermilab,” Alex wh
ispered.

  “No, it isn’t,” said Decker, softly.

  As they emerged into the sunlight, Alex saw the officer ushering the director into a police car.

  “What do you think will happen with Fermilab?” said Katerina.

  “I suspect the board will replace the director,” said Decker, his eyes on the police car, “with me, I suppose.” He looked back toward the entrance. “I don’t know if we will rebuild with the new magnets,” he said, almost to himself. “The baton is passed to CERN.” He swiveled around and smiled at Alex and Katerina. “But I assure you,” he said, “I’ll make certain that the LHC and the Tevatron are never powered up at the same time.”

  “Wonderful,” said Katerina. She also looked back at the entrance. “I wonder if everyone’s gotten out safely.”

  “It is likely,” said Takeo.

  Alex, though, was preoccupied with worry. “I can’t tell,” he said, softly, thinking aloud to himself. “I can’t tell if there’ll be aftershocks.”

  “There is nothing to be gained here,” said Takeo, abruptly. He turned to Alex. “Better might be a return to the picnic table.”

  Alex waited for more.

  Takeo smiled. “Perhaps now, that nice game of chess?”

  “Now? You want to play chess now?”

  “If one worries about aftershocks, a weighted chess set can be provided.”

  Alex marveled at the man’s monomania. “Later, perhaps.”

  Takeo nodded at Alex and then to Katerina, and then walked away toward the village.

  Katerina leaned down and ruffled Wegener’s fur. “I guess there is such a thing as a forensic seismologist.” She stood upright and laughed.

  “What?” said Alex.

  “Oh . . . Nothing.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I was just thinking.” Katerina pursed her lips. “Wegener sort of fits your definition of a good seismologist.”

  “Oh?”

  “By getting rid of the director,” said Katerina with a sly smile, “Wegener has actually averted a big quake.”

  Alex threw a glance at his dog—at his competitor.

  “So the dog is a seismologist,” said Katerina with a dismissive wave of a hand. “So what?” She touched Alex gently on the upper arm. “One doubts, as Takeo might say, if the dog can play a good game of chess.” She paused. “Do you understand my meaning?”

  For a moment, Alex stood there, puzzled. Then he smiled with the revelation that he himself was as monomaniacal as was Takeo. “Yes,” he said. “I think I do.” Alex bent and scratched Wegener between the ears.

  Copyright © 2010 Carl Frederick

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  Novelettes

  Outbound

  Humans can be exceedingly rough on themselves and each other—and they can also be exceedingly resilient.

  Brad R. Torgersen

  Illustrated by Mark Evans

  I was eleven years old when the Earth burned.

  I can still remember Papa running into the hotel room on the space station, screaming. What he said, exactly, I can’t recall. But there was fear in his eyes when he picked me up and threw me over his shoulder. He did the same with my little sister, Irenka, and then he was back out the door—both of us bouncing across his deltoids like sacks of potatoes.

  Papa didn’t stop for luggage, or any of our toys.

  Not even my special chair.

  I remember the curved corridor being filled with adults: screaming, fighting, and yelling.

  One of them got in Papa’s path, and Papa literally kicked the man out of the way.

  Papa had never hurt another human being in his whole life.

  Irenka, who was just four, kept calling for Mama. But Mama had been at a conference on the other side of the station, and we didn’t see her anywhere.

  I kept thinking about my chair. If whatever was happening was bad enough for Papa to forget my expensive new chair, then it was really, really bad.

  When we got to the hatch of the ship, there were big people with guns and they wouldn’t let Papa onboard.

  Papa yelled at them. They yelled back.

  I remember Papa slowly putting Irenka and me down on the deck and hugging us both very closely, his big hands stroking the backs of our heads while he spoke.

  “Mirek, you’re the oldest. You have to take care of Irenka. And Irenka, I want you to be good for your brother and do what he says. Because you both have to leave this place and I can’t come with you.”

  The big people with guns moved aside and other people, wearing crew jumpers, came through the hatch and tried to take Irenka and me away from Papa.

  Panic gripped me.

  I wouldn’t release him.

  Irenka kicked. I shrieked, because I couldn’t kick.

  We hung onto Papa’s shirt for dear life.

  Ultimately, Papa yelled at us so loudly it made us silent, because we’d never heard Papa say such words to us before, or in such a loud voice.

  He apologized and kissed us both. We let go of his collar.

  “Remember me,” Papa said when the crewpeople took us away. “Remember your Papa and Mama. We will always love you!”

  The ship was crammed with people. Other children, mostly.

  When the heavy banging noises came through the cabin, some of the kids screamed. I knew better, though. We’d undocked from the station because I felt all the gravity go away.

  This was a good thing. No gravity meant I didn’t need my chair.

  The crewpeople who’d taken us away from Papa didn’t even speak to us. They hurriedly found a two-person gee couch, strapped us into it, and moved on.

  Irenka was sniffling and sobbing while I held her hand and looked out the window, perhaps too dazed to really feel what had just happened to our family.

  The big rings of the station rotated beautifully while our ship thrust away from it. The gee from thrusting tugged at my stomach, then shifted ninety degrees. I was being pushed sideways, the view in the window spinning just as the station began to disintegrate. I couldn’t tell what happened, other than that there was a sparkling cloud that seemed to envelop the station for an instant, and then a white flash so brilliant I had to cover my eyes.

  When I could see again, the station was gone, and the gee pressing me into my seat was so strong I had a hard time breathing.

  Irenka’s sobbing had quieted to a whimper and she gripped my hand so hard I thought her little tendons would snap.

  Our ship was moving. Fast.

  The Earth’s night side was covered with huge splotches that glowed dull red, like a giant, angry rash.

  Occasionally, flashes could be seen through the massive, roiling clouds.

  An adult, clad in a spacesuit and with a helmet under his arm, shuffled past our couch. I tapped him on the arm and pointed out the window.

  “What’s going on?”

  The man paused just long enough to lean over us and look outside.

  “Orbital stuff’s been hit,” he said in American English. “Now they’re using antimatter warheads in-atmosphere. Jesus almighty . . .”

  The man bolted aft while I kept looking out.

  Somewhere down there, I knew my cousins and grandparents were in trouble. The smoky clouds were too thick for me to see the continents clearly, but I looked for Europe anyway. Poland was by the sea, and I thought that, maybe being near the sea, it wouldn’t be so bad.

  Until I saw the day-side limb come up, and wherever the glowing splotches touched the ocean, the water exploded into hurricanes of white vapor.

  The angry splotches also expanded visibly, like the sped-up films in school that show how mold grows in Petri dishes.

  Then the ship rolled over and I could see nothing more, the additional gee shoving me back into my seat.

  I looked away from the window to see Irenka slumped against me, exhausted and eyes closing.

  Her little breaths became regular and gentle, and before long I also felt my e
yes close, and then there were only memories of Mama and Papa, gone forever.

  Irenka woke up crying, and the adults in crewpeople jumpers had to come and get her and take her to the bathroom. When they brought her back she was in night pants and nothing else. They said she’d had an accident, and her clothes wouldn’t be clean for an hour. My sister’s eyes were puffy and wide and she now looked at everything as if it might bite her.

  I asked if it was okay if she sat in my lap, and after some conversation, they told me yes, as long as we both stayed buckled in together. Being unbuckled in zero gee would be dangerous. But I already knew that.

  Irenka snuggled into my lap, the night pants making a gentle crackling sound. I had us both buckled up and I wrapped my arms around her.

  I put my head back and closed my eyes, hoping for additional rest. I felt more tired than I’d ever felt in my life.

  “I want Mama,” Irenka said in a low voice.

  I opened my eyes and looked down into her small face.

  “I want Mama too,” I said. “But I think Mama and Papa aren’t alive anymore.”

  My sister stiffened and began to whimper again, burying her face in my chest.

  I hugged her tightly, feeling the lump move into my throat. I wasn’t sure who I felt sorrier for: my little sister, myself, or my parents.

  I fought back the swell of grief and tried to stay calm. I could still feel Papa’s hand on my head when he looked me in the eye and told me to take care of Irenka—because he’d known Mama and he wouldn’t be around to do it anymore. Papa had looked resigned when he’d said those words to me. Resigned, and yet full of dignity. While the other adults on the station had panicked, he’d made sure Irenka and I were safe.

  Now, my sister needed me to be the strong one. And I needed me to be strong for us both.

  I swallowed thickly and let my tears be silent tears while I gently stroked Irenka’s golden hair.

  An hour later, an adult appeared near our seat. She was older than many of the other adults we’d seen onboard, with short hair that was going gray. She seemed motherly and smiled at my sister and me, patting our shoulders.

  “Do you speak TransCom?”