Twisted Spaces: 1 / Destination Mars
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Not that they hadn't collected lots of data - they knew how to do that, so they knew the field densities and that they were strictly proportional to the electrical input, that somehow the box converted the incoming electricity into some other form of energy, that the pad's metal was a composition of several alloys glued together in a sinter process - baked instead of melted - and that it somehow acted as an antenna for the gravitational field produced by the box. They even had the describing function between the input current and the resulting gravitational force, knew that you could switch the generator from push to pull simply by interchanging the red/blue lead connectors of the 220V lead. They had run iterative tests with increasing currents, and the pad had lifted bigger weights. They increased the voltage at constant current, then the other way around: the current at constant voltage - it didn't matter. The nondescript box didn't seem to give a damn about its input, just took it and produced gravity. At five thousand Volts and one thousand Amp - five megawatt input - the box had simply quit, without any damage to it. When they lowered the input, it began to work again.
The package itself had been analysed: no fingerprints, no DNA. The sender's address was a practical joke: Walter D. Isney, Hollywood Boulevard, Los Angeles, USA. Posted last Saturday in Bern's busiest post office, no further hint where it actually came from. Now, sitting in front of their institute's director, nobody dared to offer even a hypothesis - they simply had no usable idea.
In the end, after a few coffees and a lot of silence, an old physicist and dear friend of Kaiser's, Professor Daniel Whitewater, spoke up: ''We've been concentrating on the converter the entire time and neglected the obvious: that thing is a working gravity plating and has a very practical dimension. People, this is a colossal breakthrough. Antigravity drive systems will become possible. No more zero-G in spaceships or space stations, full Earth gravity on the Moon and asteroids, zero gravity transport zones in industrial plants, new rail road technology, flying cars ... endless applications, value beyond the fathomable. We need to get to the bottom of that thing, crack the secret.'' This statement caused common agreement.
''You have tried every examination method, just not X-rayed it?'' Dr Kaiser asked. Silent nodding around the table.
''Shall we do it?'' a younger scientist asked.
''It might be better to listen to the sender's advice,'' the old physicist threw in, ''he wrote it often enough on the package. I advise to take him serious; after all: he beat us hands down with his toy.''
Again there was mutual nodding around the table.
''Then we are at an end,'' the younger man admitted.
At that moment the telephone in front of Kaiser started to ring. Annoyed by the interruption he picked it up, listened in silence. Replacing the receiver, he turned to his staff: ''Another package has just arrived at the gate. From ACME Industries, Hollywood Boulevard, Los Angeles, USA. It's on a euro pallet and weighs over a hundred kilos.''
A dozen people exchanged astonished glances, then they rose as one.
Chapter 8
Geneva/CERN
Monday, 24.10.2016
At noon of the seventh day after receiving that mysterious first package, Dr Kaiser stepped over the threshold into the hall and walked to the experimental zone where the content of the received crate had been unpacked. To no one's surprise it contained a bigger version of the gravitational generator: four plates forming a square meter pad, a converter the size of a brick with bigger jacks, one thick cord from generator to play field. No cables for the energy input - that obviously had to be supplied by the user. The only novelty had been the letter - more of a paper slip - with a two sentence message laser-printed in 20 point bold pitch: Five Gigawatt Max. Don't Pry The Generator Open.
After a day of consideration, Dr Kaiser had ordered a generously sized workshop to be set up for his research team, fitted with the latest sensor technology CERN had at hand and the permission to use the institute's own nuclear power plant for the required energy.
The new generator kit had been assembled in a single hour, slowed down only by the sheer weight of plates and generator case. The tests had commenced immediately. During the next three days the results from their first encounter with a gravity generator were verified, down to the exact prediction of the pad's reaction to various energy settings, in detail. A probe of the metal pads was also taken and analysed. Now they knew that the metal was composed of thirty different materials, including some rare Earth matter and that it had some very unusual electrical properties. They knew the relation of the components, but had no clue how the real interaction between generator and pad worked - if there was any at all.
When Dr Kaiser entered the provisional conference room behind the experimental zone, he saw his staff gathered around the table and radiate outright frustration. The director already knew: they had no significant findings to offer. To general surprise he didn't ask anything at all, but looked around and said: ''Ladies, Gentlemen, an hour ago I received an email with an unusual offer: the complete theory, physics and production plans of the gravitational generator and the gravity plating in exchange for a small courtesy.''
After a moment of digestion the expected question came from a French semiconductor physicist, Dr Amélie Lacrosse: ''What do they want?''
''Well,'' Kaiser temporized a moment by scratching his chin, then took a deep breath and replied: ''They want ten kilograms of tritium.''
That produced some raised eyebrows and astonished murmurs around the table. Tritium was rare and hilariously expensive, yes, but not that rare or that expensive - then the director continued.
''Anti-Tritium to be exact. Antimatter.'' That drew a collective gasp from the group. ''To be delivered in twenty specially designed magnetic traps. They look like some type of injection pods, similar to the ones we use for our fusion reactor's deuterium fuel cells.''
Dead silence followed, shortly replaced by everybody speaking simultaneously. The word 'terrorists' peppered their language. Dr Kaiser let them go on for a while, waiting for the stir to calm down, before bringing them back to concentrate on the problem.
Unexpectedly Professor Whitewater helped: ''Dear colleagues,'' he called out, waving his hands at his fellow scientists to get their attention. ''Dear colleagues, no terrorist needs ten kilos of antimatter. That amount is roughly the equivalent of four hundred thirty megatons in nuclear capacity. Not feasible for terrorism. Terrorists want to spread terror - they wouldn't want to destroy the planet any more than we do. Just overthrow the occasional government.'' That brought back some soberness. Whitewater concluded: ''Ten grams, split into a dozen small bomblets, that would be far more interesting to them.''
That calmed them even more. Everybody knew the old horse to be an authority on nuclear weapons - rumour had it that he had been arm-deep in the construction of the British nuclear arsenal. The assembled scientists started thinking again.
''So what do they want it for?'' someone asked.
''I don't have the slightest clue,'' Kaiser replied. He turned to his friend: ''You?''
''Best guess I have,'' Whitewater said, ''is that they want it for the same reason we do - a clean, rich energy supply.''
''If they've discovered the secret of the gravitational field - why would they need us?'' someone asked.
''No matter which approach you chose - creating antimatter requires a huge amount of energy to start the process. So much, that we need to use our new fusion reactor for that - our old uranium plant isn't sufficient. Once the production process is kick-started, it gains a positive energy balance and we get out more than we put in. Much more. So maybe they can't bring up the required start-up juice.''
Whitewater's explanation was followed with a short, silent pause.
''Where did the email originate?'' This came from Professor Girath, a high-ranking Israeli IT expert, current head of CERN's computer science department.
''We have no idea.'' Kaiser scratched his forehead again. ''Your staff tried to track it, but failed.''
''Yes. Anyway, your people could trace the message back to a relaying Chinese communication satellite, and that picked it up from outside.'' Kaiser paused shortly. ''Deep space.''
Speechless silence followed. Finally Whitewater turned to the director: ''So, what do you plan to answer?''
''NO.'' Kaiser shook his head. ''I'll say no. As much as I would like to have the gravitational device, this proposal is unacceptable.'' He ticked off his fingers: ''One, we don't know who those people are and who is possibly behind them. Two, we don't know what they want with the material.'' Again he took a deep breath.
Whitewater picked up: ''Three: we simply can't produce such a large amount in less than five years, provided we turn CERN into a full-time antimatter production facility.''
Kaiser snuffled. ''Yes, the mail's writer referred to that little detail, too. He - or she or they - claimed to be in possession of a refined production method, to be handed over to us if we agree to their proposal. It would enable us to deliver the requested amount in less than four weeks, and we wouldn't even need the collider.''
''WHAT?'' A universal outcry around the table. ''How?''
Kaiser shrugged: ''This the mail didn't say. It just implied that this info would come later.'' He turned to his friend: ''This is an indication that your idea about them not being able to start an antimatter production cycle is correct.''
Whitewater nodded. ''Possible. Now, what do we do next?''
The director of CERN sighed: ''Use the options we have, I guess. Run further tests on the bigger generator, X-ray the little one.'' He looked up. ''We have nothing else left. So set up a secure site with an X-ray machine.''
Chapter 9
Spangdahlem
Monday, 24.10.2016
A sharp beep from her workstation made Ellie look up. She read swiftly, then spoke to her counterpart. ''Mike, the small antigrav unit is catching X-rays. Radiation levels rising fast. Estimated five seconds till the charge goes off ...''
Mike, absorbed in a big, leather-bound book with the group's logo - the stylised Greek Psi - embossed on its front cover, looked up. He closed it, set it aside carefully, then laughed out loud. ''As expected. They see no alternative. Hope they have taken proper precautions ...''
''Boom.'' Eyes on her screen, Ellie theatrically threw up her hands in an imitation of an explosion. ''One grav generator less.''
Mike shrugged it off: ''Was only a class-one anyway, no more than a toy. Hope no one got hurt.''
A newcomer appeared in the office door. Ellie recognised the well-built man entering: it was the project's chief engineer, Alexandrej Rosskov.
''Hi Alex. What's up?'' Mike greeted their Russian friend.
''Hi Mike. Time for a status report.''
''OK, go.''
''Environment is ready to install the life-support system,'' Rosskov stated. ''And Propulsion brags they can run a primary test on the sub-light drive assembly late afternoon - at least go through the basic function check-list.''
''Oh, really?'' Mike glanced at a large project plan taped to the cubicle's left chipboard wall. ''Wow, they are early. Well done. Need anything?''
''Nope. Besides a pound or two of Anti-Tritium, maybe? So we can finally rev up the fucking AM reactor and do some serious testing with the various engine-room stuff.''
Ellie had to laugh - they were all hot for the antimatter.
Mike stayed cool: ''Ah, as you know, we are working on that part. Will still take some time, though. If there is nothing else I can do for you ...''
''Structural is bitching about the quality of the last delivery of steel pipes again,'' Alex continued his report. ''Nothing is good enough for their standards, but I gather you've heard that song before. You know what sissies they are, so nothing really to worry about. Over all, no, not a thing you can do for me.''
''Good,'' Mike replied. ''Once more unto the breach, dear friend.''
Alex laughed and left hurriedly, nearly bumping into the next visitor, a slim and pretty blonde in a blinding mini-skirt. While Mike updated the project plan with a fat marker, their new guest, Marlene Chandler, a four-star astronomy graduate of CalTech in her mid-twenties, lover of hot fashion and their Head of Astrogation, started to talk.
Ellie immediately felt a sting of jealousy: Marlene always raised contradictory feelings in any woman - she just was too sexy, too much the born seducer of men.
''Hi boss,'' Marlene said in her jolly way to Mike's back. ''The astro computer systems and their backups passed the lab test. The optical and radiometric telescopes have arrived and are being assembled, so the integration phase can start tomorrow. In four or five days we should be able to run the final test. If they go well we can transfer the computers and the astro equipment into the sphere.''
Mike turned and, appreciating the genuine beauty of the woman facing him - a very clever, very dedicated woman - he smiled: ''Wonderful news, Marlene. You are also early. Need anything?''
''A new type of SSD drive has appeared on the market. They're supposed to be more radiation resilient than ours. If that's true, I want them.''
''How much?''
''About a hundred bucks for eight Terabytes. As you know we need four to a teraquad.''
''You want to exchange all the drives?''
''Absolutely. We don't know the real conditions out there, so I want the very best on board.''
''Understandable. But that makes it four hundred quid per memory block, and you have - how many?''
''Fifteen.''
''Gosh, that's a full six grand ... I'll have to talk to Accounting ... again. Oh hell.''
''Yep, that job's yours. Not that I envy you. Anyway, please give it your best try.''
''Promise. Thanks for coming in.''
Marlene fired a blinding smile at Mike, immediately raising Ellie's blood pressure. Then she turned to the door, obviously happy with the achieved concession: ''See ya, boss.''
Mike looked at the charming picture of the departing girl a moment too long - at least for Ellie's taste, so she picked up a pack of tissues and hurled it at his chest, drawing him back into reality. She playfully shook her finger at him.
He shook his head and turned to her. ''Unbelievable. If it went any better, I would start believing in Santa Claus again. And the Easter Bunny.''
''You are a fucking pessimist,'' she smiled at him: ''Well, wait till the CERN guys come around. Anyway, I can talk to the bean counters, if you like.''
That got her a broad smile in return. ''Oh Ellie, thanks a million. I'm way behind with my own stuff - like testing the warper's calibration software - and I just don't have the nerves for that bickering. You know, I just love you. Could give you a hundred kisses.''
Turning back to her flat-screen she smirked: ''I'll hold you up on that. Tonight's pay-off.''
Chapter 10
Geneva/CERN
Monday, 24.10.2016
The detonation had echoed all over the campus. Small as it was, the little box had turned the laboratory into a smoking ruin and smashed work benches, X-ray machine and instrument panels.
Dr Kaiser stood looking at the destruction and frowned: ''God! What a mess!''
''Was to be expected,'' Whitewater stated soberly.
''Yes. Good that I insisted on maximum security.'' The director shook his head in silent admiration. ''Not bad for such a small device. Do we know what it was?''
''A small charge of thermite and something else - something entirely else. What you see here is the result of a small-scale detonation and an extraordinary powerful implosion.'' Whitewater paused. ''It was this implosion, that ripped the equipment to pieces. At least that's what our experts say.'' He turned to Kaiser. ''Now what?''
''Implosion? How on Earth could an implosion cause so much damage ...'' Kaiser gazed at the scene a moment, then recovered: ''Well, we need to continue with the other generator, squeeze out as much as we can get. Then we wait for their ne
xt move.''
That caused a smirk: ''So you expect more mail?''
''Absolutely. After all they want something from us.''
''Just what I thought, too.''
Both men looked over the debris for a moment, and then turned back to their stations. The director was uneasy: The Big Guns will arrive shortly. Only the Lord knows what they will decide. But then, what choice do I have?
Chapter 11
Spangdahlem
Monday, 24.10.2016
It was late - again. After a full sixteen-hour day Ellie rose stiffly from her chair, stretched and walked over to her colleague and lover. She elegantly sat down on his lap. Not a petite 10-sized doll like Marlene, Ellie had more female curves to offer and the chair reacted to the additional weight by giving in a bit and issuing a protesting squeak. She ignored that and combed her fingers softly through Mike's hair, placed a kiss on his forehead. ''What's on your mind, baby?''
''CERN.'' Mike sighed.
''You underestimated their cleverness?''
''No,'' he grumped. ''Their stupidity.''
''What?'' Ellie exclaimed unbelieving.
''I just received the post-analysis from Intelligence. Simone claims that Kaiser spilled the beans to his control board, and she rates that with over eighty five percent probability. Christ, I have simply underestimated the political dimensions ... he must be under enormous pressure. I should have anticipated that.''
Ellie knew Simone Goldman, the slim, blonde Head of Intelligence, well enough as not to worry Mike without cause. ''What does that mean?''
''Don't know, baby. I need a moment.''
Silence filled the cubicle. Breath was taken in, breath let out. The world inside the small room slowed down while outside it continued with the usual murmur, interrupted by the occasional clang. Minutes rushed by like raindrops in a creek. Ellie had her arms around Mike, leaning against his body and slowed down, settling for patience, knowing her man. She was half asleep when Mike's voice broke the stillness, startling her to full awareness.