“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I’m sure. This company has nothing to gain from trickery. You’ll see us soon enough walking out at Buffalo and it should be enough to convince even hardened old cynics like you, Tom. And if that isn’t enough you may remember that I asked you to give us something small to take with us, something unique that only you knew about. Have you done that?”
Tom Bates, of the Stanford Echo, came forward and handed something up. It was a reporter’s notebook, in which a number of them had placed signatures and messages and even small drawings. Duval flicked over the pages.
“Excellent. Now I’d like to introduce Professor Bullivant, the brains behind this whole project. Do you have any questions for him?”
“Yeah. How does it work?”
The Professor beamed beneficently at them. “Resonance energy transfer,” he replied.
They waited, expecting further elaboration, but the Professor seemed totally unaware of their perplexity; he was waiting for the next question.
Viktor Koussalis bent to a microphone. “If I may, Professor... I’ve been following this project closely for some time and perhaps I can give the folk here a layman’s view of how it works.”
There were visible signs of relief on the faces of the journalists.
Viktor continued. “You’re all familiar with the howl-round that you get if you place a microphone near to a loudspeaker. The microphone picks up any tiny noise coming from the loudspeaker, amplifies it and sends it back to the loudspeaker. Then that sound is received in its turn and amplified further. The sound keeps building up to a loud screech, and the pitch of the screech is the preferred frequency of the equipment. Now what we are doing here is a sort of howl-round between a transmitter-receiver here and a transmitter-receiver in Buffalo. The energy keeps going back and forth, getting larger and larger, and finally it’s actually large enough to transfer mass. Our mass.”
“Doesn’t that take a lot of energy?”
The Professor replied. “A lot of power, not a great deal of energy relative to other forms of transport.”
Again his statement was received in baffled silence, and again Viktor was forced to elaborate. “Do you remember Concorde? It used to fly from London to Barbados in three-and-a-half hours. The fuel costs for take-off, climbing and then accelerating to and maintaining supersonic speed were very considerable. With the technology we have developed here at Transkinetics we could do the same journey in about ten seconds. We use less energy overall but it’s crammed into those ten seconds, so the rate of delivery of the energy, which is what the Professor means by power, is enormous. In fact it’s enough to supply a whole town with electricity. On top of that we have four storage columns of the type used in the linear accelerator at Stanford. And there’s a similar installation at Buffalo.”
“You’ve got a lot riding on this, haven’t you, Mr. Koussalis?”
“Yes, you could say that. That’s why I insisted on being included in the maiden voyage. But then the project’s important to all of us.”
“Who’s going?”
Duval answered. “The Professor, Mr. Koussalis and the Professor’s assistant, Miss Alex Fellowes, and myself… of course.”
“And Benson,” added the Professor.
“Who’s Benson?”
Duval smiled uneasily. “Benson is the Professor’s dog.”
A murmur went around the assembled reporters.
Someone asked, “Professor, aren’t you concerned about protests from Animal Rights activists, taking a dog on a mission like this?”
The Professor looked surprised. “Good gracious, no! Benson and I do everything together. It would be far more unkind to leave him behind.”
Duval used the ensuing laughter to bring things to a close. “Okay, gentlemen, let’s make this a wrap. We’ve got a show to get on the road. Ah.” Behind him the screen was flickering into life. It stabilized, displaying a high-angle view of a cluster of buildings surrounded by security barriers, outside which there was a substantial crowd. “There won’t be a countdown. Keep your eyes on the big screen. The projection will cause interference, so you’ll lose the picture for a while. When it comes back you should see us emerge in Buffalo. If you’d care to hang around, the plan is for us to return in about two to three hours. While you’re waiting there’ll be some food and drink laid on for you in the reception tent over there. Thank you.”
There was a chorus of further questions, but Duval led the party from the podium, past the security guards on the barriers and into the laboratory building. Those who were watching the party up to the door of the building may just have seen him dab at his forehead once again with the linen handkerchief.
•
“What’s the odds this doesn’t work?” said one reporter, over the top of a glass of wine.
“I’ll give you five to one it doesn’t,” answered another.
“I’ll have fifty bucks of that,” said another.
In a few moments the press gathering resembled a racecourse, with reporters shouting odds, waving papers and placing bets furiously. Suddenly the picture on the large screen disappeared in a wild pattern of zigzags and everyone went quiet. After about five seconds the picture reformed. The camera angle changed to a shot of a low, blue-painted building, flanked by a tower with an antenna array on the top, similar to the one behind them. They watched in silence. A door opened and Duval emerged, followed by Viktor Koussalis, Professor Bullivant, and finally Alex Fellowes accompanied by a large Basset Hound. The camera angle changed again, an aerial shot this time, following the progress of the party as they approached the security barrier and the people waiting beyond it, and then panning out smoothly to show the surrounding buildings, the whole area, and finally a vista that included the familiar, unmistakeable sight of Niagara Falls.
“I’ll be buggered,” someone breathed. “It actually worked.”
A camera on the ground now caught the emerging party, and Duval appeared, a broad grin on his face, carrying a reporter’s notebook. He opened it and placed it in front of the camera, turning the pages slowly. At that moment a mobile phone sounded a little tune. The reporter listened to it and then looked up. “It’s Frank Baylor. He’s covering it in Buffalo. He says these guys are really there.”
All of them were on their mobiles at once.
•
When the Professor announced that they had arrived at Buffalo, the other three gave a little cheer. Duval, released abruptly from the heavy burden of his fear, became euphoric, hugging each of them in turn, and even patting Benson. As the party emerged from the laboratory building they blinked, first at the light and then at the noise. Pandemonium had broken loose. A mixture of reporters, company employees, and invitees pressed forward at the security barriers. Cameramen and sound crews and local dignitaries were jostled in the rush. Somewhere a band struck up with “Happy days are here again”. Corks popped and waiters started to circulate with trays of drinks and canapés. Security guards escorted the party through the chaos to a small garden area, which had been set out with tables and chairs for the reception. They were pursued by a barrage of questions, many of them directed at the Professor, who was gazing about him in wonder, too stunned to respond. Then a waiter appeared with a tray of glasses and Professor Bullivant’s eyes lit up.
“I say!” he said softly. “Champagne!”
Alex was right behind him. “Orange juice,” she said firmly.
“But there’s champagne… ”
“Prof, you know what you’re like with alcohol. We’ve got the return journey to go yet.”
“Come now, my dear, don’t be a spoilsport! It is a celebration, after all. One little glass can’t hurt.”
Alex opened her mouth to reply but Duval had taken the Professor’s arm. “Prof, there’s someone over here I want you to meet…” and he whisked him away.
The crowd moved on, leaving Alex and the Basset Hound behind. She looked at the dog and he eyed her mournful
ly.
“Okay, Benson. Sit tight, and I’ll bring you something.”
Benson responded with a stiff wag of the tail. Alex disappeared into the jostling crowd and emerged moments later with a tray of canapés that she had lifted expertly from an astonished waiter. She set them down in front of Benson. Benson woofed them down in seven seconds flat. She frowned at him.
“Benson, those didn’t even touch the sides!”
Benson wagged his tail.
“I couldn’t find any water. You’ll have to make do with tonic water. Here you are.”
She poured it into a saucer and Benson lapped it up noisily as fast as she could pour it. Then he shook his head, sneezed and gave vent to a resounding belch. A woman, passing on the other side of a low hedge, looked at Alex sharply. Alex put her fingertips to her mouth and suppressed a giggle. “Oops! ’Scuse me,” she said. Then she exchanged glances with Benson and burst out laughing.
*
The party was in full swing. Duval had completed his frenetic round of introductions and had come back to Koussalis, who was standing apart. Duval glanced at his watch. “Oh Lord, look at the time! We should be making a move, they’ll be waiting for us back in San José. Where the hell’s the Professor?” He craned his head, trying to see him, and then he froze. What appeared to be two people coming together through the crowd resolved into one, very large person. “Uh-oh. Don’t look now, but here comes Cornelia.”
“Cornelia Fortis? Not the face that launched a thousand tanks?”
Duval grinned. “’Fraid so. What the hell does she want?”
Cornelia Fortis approached Duval, her face shiny with exertion.
“Duval. Thank goodness you haven’t left yet. Look, I’ve got to come with you. I have an absolutely crucial meeting in San José at ten o’clock tomorrow morning and my flight’s been cancelled. Everything to the West Coast has been cancelled until further notice. Some sort of dispute, I think. I’ve got to get there, so you’ll have to take me.”
Duval swallowed. “Ah,” he said, his mind racing in neutral.
“No arguments now, Duval,” she said briskly.
“It’s not that, Cornelia. I mean, um, to be perfectly honest, there’s no problem at all from my point of view. But this is only a test flight, remember. I’ll have to check with the Professor. To see whether it’s technically possible, you know, at this point in time, feasibility-wise. I’ll have a word with him now.”
As he left, Cornelia noticed Koussalis. “Hello, Viktor,” she said tartly.
“Hello, Cornelia,” he replied evenly. “Dear me, you look all hot and bothered. Do sit down for a moment. There’s no rush, we won’t be leaving yet. Why don’t you have some refreshment? You must be thirsty.”
He snapped his fingers high at one of the waitresses who was carrying a tray full of brimming glasses and saw her switch direction towards them. He smiled at her, took the whole tray and set it down in front of Cornelia.
Duval found the Professor sitting on a low wall with an empty glass dangling from his fingers.
“Prof?”
The Professor looked up slowly and blinked.
“Prof, you see that lady over there with Mr. Koussalis? That’s Cornelia Fortis. Listen, Prof, she’s a very powerful woman.”
The Professor nodded vigorously. His head appeared to be a little loose. “Mmm,” he said. “She certainly looks powerful.”
“No, I don’t mean that. I mean she has a lot of influence on the Board – and in government circles too. If we can impress her it will be really helpful to the whole project. Her flight to San José’s been cancelled and she wants to come with us. Can we do it?”
The Professor eyed the woman for a moment. “Well, we have enough power. But I’ll have to make some adjustments to the program. For the increase in mass, y’know.”
“Can you do that in time? We’re running a bit late, even now.”
“I don’t know. I can try. It’s quite complicated, y’see. I’s quite a problem.” He hiccupped and smiled a little blearily at Duval, who perceived that it might be more than a slight problem.
“Can you get started? I’ll try and wrap up this party.” He looked round. There was no way that the party was going to stop while there was still food and drink, especially drink. “No, the hell with it. Let’s just slip away. We’ll aim to have everyone on board in,” he glanced at his watch, “half an hour. Okay? Just wait here a moment, Prof.”
He raced off to give Cornelia the good news, at least the part of the news that was good, and asked Koussalis to make sure they were both at the capsule in thirty minutes. When he got back the Professor was draining his already empty glass. Duval helped him to his feet and conducted him to the capsule by a route that did not pass Cornelia. On the way they came across Alex, who was sitting on a patch of grass, leaning her back against an uncomplaining Benson. They both looked up as the Professor made his unsteady progress towards them. Alex took in the situation at a glance. Her expression was nearly as doleful as Benson’s.
In the capsule, Duval watched the Professor boot up the on-board computer, operating the strange keyboard with its oversized keys. He’d asked the Professor about that once. It had been made to order, he’d replied, because he found it easier to use standing up. Lines of code started to run down the screen and then stopped. He swayed a little, tapped in a few entries and more lines of code ran. Duval and Alex watched him anxiously. He seemed to be having some trouble focusing what was on the screen. Then he turned to them with a dizzy smile.
“I think I’ll jus’ have a li’l sleep first,” he said.
They just managed to catch him before he hit the floor.
*
Cornelia strode confidently into the capsule and stopped dead in her tracks.
“Omigod. What is that?”
Benson rolled his eyes up at her.
“It’s the Professor’s dog,” Duval explained. He tried to sound reassuring. “It’s okay. He won’t hurt you.”
“What a mournful-looking beast. What kind of a dog is it?”
“Er, a Bassett Hound, I think.”
“Oh.” The corner of her mouth twitched nervously. “I don’t know much about dogs but I believe Border Collies are quite intelligent.” She stooped slightly and looked a little harder at Benson, not certain about the expression in his eyes. Then she straightened up and walked past him, as gingerly as her generous frame would permit, and settled herself down on the furthest bunk. “Aren’t I supposed to strap myself in or something?” she asked.
Alex, who had already been briefed about their important new passenger, responded. “No need. Nothing’s going to move. The mass of the capsule will be transferred at the same rate as ours. You won’t feel any pressure or acceleration. Just make yourself comfortable. Lie down if you like. It’ll be a while to departure. Prof’s very tired and he’s taking a rest.”
Cornelia settled herself down. Viktor Koussalis had been an attentive host and she too felt unaccountably tired. She closed her eyes.
Alex turned to Duval. “They know we’re not coming back on schedule now, don’t they?”
Duval nodded. “I spoke to Carpenter. He’ll pass on the news. I told them we’d been delayed by a minor technical problem.” He glanced at the minor technical problem, who was sound asleep on his bunk. “I suppose we might as well all get a bit of sleep. We’re not going anywhere just yet.”
*
Benson opened one eye. Then he opened the other eye. His eyes roved around, the whites showing prominently. Now he raised his head and looked around again. He stood up. Standing up consisted of straightening his short powerful legs, achieving in this way a clearance of about half an inch between his abdomen and the ground. He walked slowly over to the sleeping passengers, his great pads making no sound on the expanded rubber flooring of the capsule. He paused in front of Cornelia Fortis, who was snoring lustily, and lifted his nose in a short derisive sniff.
Border Collies indeed! Not that I’ve ever met one
myself but Mother told me all about them. ‘They just like chasing sheep,’ she said. ‘Well everyone likes chasing sheep, don’t they? I mean, they do ask for it. But people think Border Collies are intelligent. Intelligent! Because they’ve learned to decode a few whistles into walking, crouching and standing! It’s not exactly general relativity is it?’ And she would shake her big head so dismissively that saliva flew from her dewlaps. She was a lovely drooler, Mother. She could take just one pass round a room and leave drool on every surface – walls, tables, armchairs, everything. Time and again Owner would go after her with a wet cloth saying he didn’t know how she managed it. That used to make her swell with pride. Drooling was her speciality, although she was very good at quantum mechanics too.
I was Mother’s favourite because I’m a tricolour with a lot of black. She was a pure red-and-white so I suppose I reminded her of Father. I never knew him, of course, but she said he was a great rabbiter. The mathematics came from Mother’s side of the family.
That reminds me, I wonder what Blackett’s up to these days? Last time I saw my brother he was going to work for the Director of the Large Hadron Collider. Lucky dog.
He padded on and regarded the Professor, who was sleeping with his mouth open. I do wish you wouldn’t call me Benson. Makes me sound like a bloody butler. My name’s Enrico. Dogs don’t name their pups at birth; they wait until they’ve shown some special aptitude. Much more sensible. Mother named me after Enrico Fermi when I showed a precocious grasp of Fermi-Dirac statistics. ‘Henry’ would be acceptable, but ‘Benson’? It really is too depressing.
People are always carrying on about how mournful I look. What do they expect when I have to put up with this sort of thing? Sometimes I feel like chucking it all in, but I can’t because I’m a faithful hound.
He took a final glance around at the sleeping humans and crossed to the computer. Rising up on his hind legs he rested his left forepaw on the countertop and used the right one to hit the space key. It brought the computer out of sleep mode and the screen illuminated his swaying jowls in a blue glow. A few more quick key depressions and he was into the main control and guidance program. He scanned down the lines of code and shook his head slowly, making a few deprecatory wet noises in his mouth.
The Tomb and Other Stories Page 13