by James Duggan
President Richards was visibly disappointed at the response. He turned hopefully to Mister Chung the representative from the National People’s Congress of China.
“Mister Chung? he said simply, holding out his arms in a pleading fashion.
The representative nodded with typical Chinese formality.
“We too have been working along the same lines for similar reasons. We have a lot of people to feed and unlimited energy will help us to do that. But like our Russian colleagues we have not yet been able to make the critical breakthrough. Regrettably we have nothing else which might help in such a monumental undertaking.”
President Richards was clearly crestfallen at the responses he was getting. Clutching at straws he pleaded once more.
“Does anyone in here have anything useful to contribute? I mean really useful.”
A hesitant voice spoke out.
“Well Mister President. I think saving the planet is a non starter, but there is a remote…very remote…possibility we could save humanity.”
There was a collective gasp from around the room.
“You’re Buck Buchanan aren’t you?” said Richards.
“It was your team that started all this. I sure hope you can finish it.”
“Well with all due respect Mister President, we didn’t exactly start it. It was an act of God. That is if you still believe in such a deity after all that’s happened.”
“Yes, I’m sorry Buck. It was a figure of speech. I’m a bit frazzled right now. I’ll choose my words more carefully from here on in. I appreciate the work you guys do and if it wasn’t for your dedication and that of your team we would not even know we were in trouble. I’d be glad of your further input. You have the floor.”
“No need to apologise Mister President. I think we’re all ‘a bit frazzled’, as you put it, right now. Who wouldn’t be in the circumstances?”
Buck reached down and fumbled around in his briefcase at the side of his chair. He withdrew a black velvet bag tied at the neck with a nylon pull cord. Those around the table were mystified. Maybe he was about to pull out the proverbial rabbit after all.
He loosened the cord, reached inside and brought out what looked to all in attendance as nothing more than a Rubik’s cube. That’s exactly what it was. Their faces displayed visible disappointment and some slumped on the table in front of them. They were looking for some miracle in the face of disaster and all they were offered was a Rubik’s cube. Even Richards looked perplexed.
“Mister President you’re going to have to bear with me on this, you all are, but this is the easiest way I could think of to demonstrate what I have in mind.”
Buck held up the cube in front of him and began realigning its multicoloured faces.
“You see, the way this works is really very simple, in fact it’s brilliant. And I like simply brilliant. You have a central core to which is attached twenty six outer cubes allowing multi-directional rotation around the core.
My proposal is that we scale the whole thing up. We replace the core with a power unit and launch it into a geostationary orbit for ease of access and further assembly. There we can add pods around the core where people can live and work before being projected into outer space and out of harms way before the day of judgement.”
There was a deadly silence around the room as everyone tried to absorb the essence of the plan. It was Carl Gambiadini who broke the silence. He was the head of NASA’s space program and hadn’t reached that lofty position without knowing a thing or two about the implications of such a scheme.
“Hey Buck. You make it sound so simple. We’ll get right onto it tomorrow.”
There was more than an element of sarcasm in his voice and a subdued titter around the room.
“How big do you anticipate these pods to be?”
“Well each one would need to be at least 1,000 cubic metres; 10m x 10m x 10m. Remember, those selected to go would have to spend the rest of their lives in them…at least until they came across another habitable planet.”
“That’s preposterous.” said Gambiadini, incredulously.
He paused for a moment trying to get his head around the idea.
“Hey wait a minute. What do you mean ‘each one’?”
Buck was unflustered. He was warming to his own idea.
“Well as I said, a Rubik’s cube has twenty six smaller cubes around its core.”
There were more gasps from around the room as Gambiadini shook his head in utter disbelief.
“Let me get this straight so we all know where we are going with this. You want to launch a power unit…probably nuclear, into orbit and attach twenty six pods to it before sending it off into oblivion.”
“Well yes. That’s about it…in its simplest form.”
“And how many people would benefit from this ill conceived idea?”
“Well each pod would be large enough to accommodate sixteen people in reasonable comfort; about the space they would have in eight two roomed condos. So we’d be looking at saving four hundred and sixteen for the continuance of the human race.
However, it could be over forty thousand if we added a further ninety eight pods; one to each outer pod and so on exponentially. It all depends on how much time we’ve got between the completion of the pod designs and D-day.
Buck paused and reflected thoughtfully.
“However, 75% of the pods would probably have to be given over to ensuring self sufficiency in such things as intensive food cultivation, water reclamation and purification and maybe service units, work and even leisure areas and so on. We don’t want the inhabitants going stir crazy. They will be wandering the universe indefinitely. Perhaps ten thousand would be a more realistic figure. We need to work the detail on that.”
Gambiadini gulped hard as he tried to absorb what Buck was suggesting.
“Buck, we’ve known each other a long time and I know you’re neither mad nor eccentric, but do you have any idea how heavy these things would be? We don’t right now have the launch capability to get a payload like that off the ground; let alone carry that weight into low earth orbit. The heaviest we’ve managed so far is just under nine tons and that was five years ago in 2027. There’s also the not insignificant question of the sheer bulk of each of your pods. It would be impossible to streamline a one thousand cubic metre box and get it up there…even if we had the power to lift it.”
Gambiadini paused for a moment as if lost for words.
“Buck I know from experience and our long association of working together that you must have a solution; something up your sleeve which will astound us.”
“Well to be honest Carl I don’t…but he does.”
Buck gestured to the man in the chair beside him.
***
THE GRAND SCHEME.
PRESIDENT Richards had been eying the man to Buck’s right ever since he entered the Incident Room. There was much about him which was totally out of place amongst the rest of the gathering. He gestured in his direction.
“Introduce yourself son for the benefit of everyone and let us know why you’re here.”
“Name’s Smith mate.” said the young man, without any obvious hesitation.
“Just Smith eh?” said Richards, frowning.
“Well my friends call me Ringo. Apparently I’m a dead ringer for him. I don’t know about that. I wasn’t even a twinkle when the Beatles had their day.”
He paused as he noticed a puzzled expression appear on The Presidents face before going on.
“I don’t know whether I can produce any rabbits, but I do have an angle on something which might help mate.”
Richards held up his hand to stop proceedings. He leaned back in his chair and covering his mouth spoke in soft tones to his aide.
“Joan, I’m hearing this guy and he seems to be speaking English, but I can barely understand him. Has he got a speech impediment? I don’t want to embarrass him.”
“No Mister President. He’s from Liverpool, North West Engl
and. They nearly all talk like that. It’s where the Beatles came from.”
“The who?”
“No Mister President. The Who came from London.”
“The what?”
“No Mister President. The…”
Richards raised his hand again and cut her off as a frown creased his brow. He could do without adding to the confusion he was already experiencing.
“Oh, never mind Joan. What’s he doing here?”
“Well when he arrived in his Stetson, fringed blue and white rancher’s shirt, blue jeans and spurred leather boots he looked so out of place amongst the suits I had Mike McConnell’s men check him out before we let him in.”
“Yeah, he does kind of hit your eye hard doesn’t he? What’s his role in all this?”
“Well apparently he’s Einstein mark two…only supercharged and with attitude. People ignore his appearance for his experience, brains and vivid imagination. He was soaking up our mid-western culture when they caught up with him on vacation in Vegas.”
“Yeah, well if he’s that good and if we want his help, we’d better make him feel at home.”
Richards stood, took off his jacket, threw it over the back of his chair, loosened his tie and folded it on the desk in front of him. Several others in the room took his lead and did the same. They were glad of the respite. The atmosphere in the room was getting uncomfortable and the pressure of the apparently insurmountable problems they faced was making them sweat from the nervous tension.
“Okay son, let’s hear what you have to say.”
“Well first of all, for the benefit of everyone here, I should make it clear I’m not actually your son. My old man is probably in the Dog and Pheasant back home right now getting his daily dose of ‘medicine’ as he calls it. It’ll probably kill him with sclerosis of the liver one day, but that’s his problem. I don’t touch alcohol myself pal.”
There was a stunned silence around the room. No one had ever spoken to their President in that fashion before. General Armstrong was about to intervene when Richards held up his hand warning him off. This young man intrigued him and he was keen to hear what he had to offer amongst all these eminent people.
“Okay Mister Smith you have our attention. Tell us what you’ve got.”
“Well mate it’s like this. We’ve always been hampered in our efforts to conquer space by three things. The first is our inability to easily break through our atmosphere and put things into orbit. The second is that when we get there life is made bloody difficult by the forces of gravity. Are you with me so far mate?”
Richards nodded and gestured him to continue.
“What’s the third Mister Smith?”
“Ah, the third is our inability to exceed, or even travel at, the speed of light. I think the white haired old man with the thick moustache and the pipe was probably right about that. It may be impossible; though I do have a theory about it. It seems irrelevant now considering the pickle we find ourselves in.”
Buck gave him a nudge indicating he was to get to the point.
“Yeah, well anyway that’s for another day. If we get enough of them.” he said, ruefully.
The eagerness shown on the faces around the room told him Buck was right. He needed to reveal his hand.
“Yeah, well anyway the first two difficulties are inextricably linked. I have been working on a solution for the last couple of years with a little help from my friends in the research team at Manchester Uni. I believe we may be about to crack it pal.”
He was urged to explain by Buck who was getting impatient.
“Well what it amounts to is a vacuum vortex. Without getting too technical it involves creating a vacuum around the object you want to put up there combined with an anti-gravitational field. Simply giving it a nudge in the right direction and Bob’s your uncle. Your bit of kit is in orbit. There’s no friction in a vacuum and the weight is reduced to nil. Bingo, problem solved pal.”
The entire room fell silent as they tried to absorb the implications of this far fetched science. The President studied this strange apparition before him; not quite sure what to make of this eccentric young Englishman.
“Mister Smith, would you come with me please?” said Richards, quietly.
“Uh, uh, you’re in the shit now.” whispered Buck, in the Liverpudlian’s ear.
“You’d better follow him. You’re either going to Guantanamo or he’s going to have someone smack you around a little for lack of respect. This is the leader of the western world for god’s sake. At least try and tone down your obvious disregard for authority.”
“Mister Smith, this way please.” urged Richards.
General Armstrong rose to accompany them.
“I don’t need you General. I’ll be perfectly safe. This young man looks harmless and if he does turn nasty I’ve still got good strong lungs. We’ll only be next door.”
“But Mister President…”
“General.” said Richards, sternly.
Armstrong backed off and slumped back into his chair dejectedly as Smith followed the president out of the room.
***
“Take the weight off your legs over there.” said Richards, pointing to a leather bound swivel chair in front of a desk.
Smith did as he was bidden. He sat pensively wondering what was about to befall him, while Richards paced back and forth behind him in silent thought. Suddenly the President spoke.
“Son how old are you?”
“I’m twenty four mate.”
“Twenty four eh?”
There was a brief pause in the exchange.
“Twenty four you say…and you’re telling me you can save the world with what you know.”
“No boss. I’m telling you I can save humanity…or at least the nucleus of it. The world is well and truly fucked. There’s no chance for that.”
There was more pacing back and forth by Richards before finally turning on Ringo.
“Son if you’re tugging my tail I will personally see to it that the next three years are going to be the most miserable of your entire life.”
Smith raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. If the outburst was intended to put the fear of God into him it apparently had not worked. Richards fell silent for a few seconds.
“Can you really do what you claim?” he said, suddenly and incredulously.
He leaned on his knuckles on the embossed leather surface of the desk and stared hard into the eyes of his guest.
Smith reeled back in surprise at the power of the unexpected outburst before regaining his composure.
“Well the maths and the physics do seem to confirm the possibility. You’ve just got to know what you’re doing with it all. You see an atom is composed of a positively charged nucleus surrounded by a cloud of negatively charged electrons all of which are bound together by an electrostatic force. If you take a powerful enough…”
Smith was interrupted in his flow.
“Spare me the science son. I won’t understand it and I have neither the time nor the need to learn it.”
Richards paced some more.
“It’ll really work eh?”
“It’ll work.” responded Smith, in a high pitched tone.
He flung his arms out in desperation at the apparent lack of trust. He could not believe that anyone would doubt his capabilities.
“Then why in hell haven’t you done it already?”
“Funding mate. Can’t get anyone interested. They think it’s all pie in the sky…if you’ll pardon the pun.”
Richards straightened up and stood for a moment, thinking.
“Fucking politicians.” he murmured.
He was apparently overlooking the fact that he was the head of that very tribe of much maligned so called public servants. He paced back and forth in deep thought contemplating his options. He reached the conclusion there was only one open to him and the rest of the world.
“Son, what do you need to turn you ideas into reality?”
“Well mate. A lab-full of technicians would be a start. Then of course we’d need a production facility the size of Ford’s car plant and last, but not least, the money to fund it all.”
“Is that it? You’re sure there’s nothing else?” said Richards, with a hint of sarcasm.
“Well more time would be useful, but I think that’s not negotiable. Otherwise, if I think of anything else I’ll let you know mate.”
Richards stood erect and after a few moments turned and marched resolutely towards the door.
“Come on son. We need to get back and join the others before they organise a swat team to rescue me.”
***
OPERATION MIGRATION.
THE President and Smith re-entered the room to face the expectant group. There was great anticipation as to the reason for the temporary interruption. They returned to their respective seats, but Richards remained standing as he once more leaned on his knuckles.
“Ladies and gentlemen, our world as we know it is in dire and unavoidable danger of total destruction. We do not have the luxury of a varied set of solutions and so far only one course of action has been proposed which will at least provide the possibility of the survival of our species.”
The tension in the room was electrifying. The Presidents remarks focussed the awareness of everyone present on the reality and hopelessness of their situation.
“The only card we have to play in this ultimate catastrophe is a wild one and I intend to play it; I therefore intent to exercise the full powers of the Presidency. I am taking and implementing an Executive Decision. We are going to evacuate as many people as time and science permits from this speck of dust in the universe. If we can do it, hopefully they will survive to find to populate another habitable planet in a so called Goldilocks Zone around another sun… somewhere in the far reaches of our galaxy and maybe even beyond…who knows.” he added, thoughtfully.
After an initial collective sharp intake of breath the room fell silent as the scale and complexity of the operation hit them. Richards continued after a brief pause for the implications to sink in.