Wormhole - 03

by Richard Phillips

  “Darling, why don’t you take Anna and Gil down to the kitchen and put on a pot of tea. I’ll shut down your computer and be right down.”

  Linda glanced at Anna, nodded, and led the other two out into the hallway and down the stairs.

  Fred steadied himself, took in a great gulping breath, and took a seat in front of the laptop. Reaching under the table, he removed the listening device the FBI field agent had given him earlier in the day. Shoving it into his pocket, Fred grabbed the mouse, clicked the START button, selected Shutdown, and waited.

  After several seconds, a new window appeared on the laptop:

  Please do not power off or unplug your machine.

  Installing update 1 of 2.

  Fred shook his head. Damned Microsoft automatic updates. He’d have to remember to disable those next time he logged on to Linda’s computer.

  Rising to his feet, he walked out of the room. Time to go visit with Linda and his friends, to spend some time talking about their kids. And as bad as the situation seemed, their kids were still alive. That certainly made the world feel a whole lot more manageable than it had just two days ago.

  That damn laptop could take its sweet time shutting down.

  Balls Wilson leaned over Dr. Mathews’s shoulder, his eyes scanning the rapidly scrolling computer screen.

  “So Bert, did we get the data dump or not?”

  “Don’t worry, sir. It’s streaming in right now.”

  Dr. Donald Stephenson stared out at his audience, his eyes sweeping across the seated assemblage. The auditorium was completely full, eighteen hundred scientists shifting uneasily in their seats, staring up at him as if he were the Antichrist, hated, but too frightening to ignore.

  As Dr. Stephenson watched them watch him, feeling their emotion radiating out, he smiled inwardly. That which you don’t understand, you fear. That which you fear, you hate. Dr. Stephenson understood that feeling and relished it. During his humiliating stint in prison, he had made those sentences his mantra. If his warped childhood had taught him anything, it was an abhorrence of imprisonment. It didn’t really matter whether it was in a bedroom closet or an eight-by-twelve-foot steel-barred cell. For a moment, he wanted nothing more than to make every person in the audience experience what he had had to experience, but it would have been lost on them. For one thing, he was a genius while most of them were morons. It was hard to make a moron understand anything, even with a tactile demonstration.

  He realized all of a sudden that they were waiting for him to speak, that in a few more moments he would have introduced what might be called an awkward silence. Dr. Stephenson cleared his throat.

  “Fellow scientists, distinguished guests. It is truly an honor to stand before you on this momentous day, a day that represents the dawning of a new age for humanity.”

  A soft muttering swept through the crowd, like a soft wind stirring autumn leaves.

  “Let me be clear.” Dr. Stephenson’s amplified voice echoed through the auditorium. “Our world hangs in the balance. At this moment, an unstable anomaly lies at the heart of the ATLAS detector, spiraling inexorably out of our control, spiraling toward the end of all we know, toward the end of this fragile existence we treasure.”

  He paused to let his words take effect, already beginning to treasure their frightened reaction. “This anomaly, this horrible thing, cannot be slowed, it cannot be stopped. In nine months, thirteen days, four hours, and thirty-two minutes, it will become a black hole. And there is nothing anyone in this world, or the next, can do to stop that from happening.”

  A low moan arose from the audience, an ethereal entity that coalesced into physical form. Dread incarnate. Just as satisfying as he had thought it would be. Now, time to play the hero...

  “Take heart!” Dr. Stephenson smiled, his thin lips curling reluctantly upward. “Humankind is not yet lost. While my calculations show that the anomaly cannot be stopped, it doesn’t have to happen here. Not on planet Earth.”

  “And how is that?” The voice of Dr. Kai Wohler rang out through the auditorium.

  “Thank you for that question, Dr. Wohler.” Yes, thank you for those four words, Doctor—so artfully phrased, so erudite. “As you all know, my background for the last couple of decades has revolved around the study of alien technologies under what has been dubbed the Rho Project. As a result of that study, the American government has spawned two minor technological initiatives. The first of these was the cold fusion initiative, the second being the nanotech formula that shows great promise in eradicating all forms of human disease, potentially extending the human life span to hundreds of years.

  “Notice that I referred to each of these revolutionary technologies as minor advancements. That is because I have uncovered something on the alien spacecraft that contains far more potential benefit to humanity. In our current predicament, it offers hope where otherwise none should lie.”

  Dr. Stephenson inhaled deeply, letting the still air of the Swiss auditorium infuse his lungs as he strolled across the stage, wireless microphone clutched firmly in his left hand. His audience had gone completely silent, an aura of expectancy hovering about them. He wouldn’t make them wait for long.

  “What we will now commence is a project of epic proportions, a project to save our planet from complete and utter destruction. If any of you doubt the cost of doing nothing, I will be happy to share my analysis of the data for peer review.”

  Dr. Stephenson made sure that his smile left little doubt that he found the idea that he had any peers in this group comical. Then, as if a cloud had passed in front of the sun, Stephenson’s brow darkened again. He was, after all, a mercurial god.

  “Let me be clear. We have but one chance to save our world. If the anomaly cannot be stopped, and it can’t, the black hole must happen elsewhere. In order for that to occur, we must build a machine capable of generating a wormhole that will transport the anomaly into empty space, far from our solar system.”

  The room erupted into bedlam, scientists talking over other scientists, their feeble efforts effectively drowning each other out.

  Dr. Petir Fois, an angular Dutch physicist, stood on his chair so that he rose above his compatriots. “What Dr. Stephenson proposes is madness. Even if we take him at his word that he understands this alien technology, it is still madness. Creating a wormhole here on Earth could set in motion an incalculable sequence of events, possibly even a cataclysm worse than what it is designed to cure.”

  Fois was the kind of Dutchman who’d stand there with his finger in a dike all afternoon long, refusing to recognize that everything was crumbling around him.

  “Would someone please help Dr. Fois contain his emotions?” Dr. Stephenson’s voice dripped contempt. “Clearly they have colored his reasoning so that logic is no longer an option. In his world, a black hole consuming our entire planet is less dangerous than attempting to create a wormhole to transport the anomaly into empty space.”

  Dr. Fois’s face turned red on its way to purple. “There are other options.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “We could launch the anomaly into space.”

  Dr. Stephenson laughed. Once again, Fois hadn’t failed to disappoint. “Could we? The only thing keeping the anomaly from becoming a black hole is the magnetic containment field and the most perfect vacuum chamber we’ve been able to create. That would have to be maintained throughout the launch. To do that we would have to build a very large launch vehicle around it right here in this cavern, probably something like the Saturn V. Assuming we could do that, the containment apparatus would have to also have its power supply transported with it.

  “By the way, it’s not good enough to just launch the space vehicle out of Earth orbit. At some point the power and therefore the containment field would fail, and the anomaly would eat its spacecraft. Then it would continue to travel within our solar system, its event horizon expanding with every bit of matter ingested, a growing black hole beyond anyone’s power to stop. Assuming t
he containment field could survive the trip, if you think the anomaly will remain stable long enough to exit our solar system, with all the gravitational slingshots that such a trip requires, you aren’t qualified to be in this room.”

  Dr. Stephenson paused, his eyes once again scanning his audience. “Someone said there are no stupid questions. It should be plain to everyone in attendance that Dr. Fois has just disproved that assertion. In fact, the person who made that assertion is clearly a moron. I don’t expect anyone in here to like me. I don’t want your adoration. But I do demand your attention.

  “I’ve arranged for a copy of my proposal to be placed on each of your desktops, ready for your perusal upon your return to your offices. I recommend you take a long, hard look at that material as soon as you depart this auditorium.”

  Dr. Stephenson walked to the podium, swept the space with his lifeless gaze one last time, then set the mike on the lectern, turned, and walked offstage.

  Kai Wohler watched Donald Stephenson walk off the stage as the auditorium erupted around him. Everyone seemed to be talking at once. It was like an American sports bar on Super Bowl afternoon, during those endless hours before the game when sportscasters droned on and on with pregame minutiae. As the fans drained mug after mug of draft beer, the volume of conversation varied inversely with sobriety.

  Reaching for his cell phone, Dr. Wohler suddenly remembered he didn’t have it. This was a classified building: thus he, and every other member of the audience, had dropped cell phones and other such devices in rows of small lockers outside. One thing for certain, security or no, as soon as this crowd exited the building, the secrecy surrounding this anomaly was coming off. Now that this many people knew that Dr. Stephenson regarded the black hole as a certainty, it would be minutes, not hours, before word leaked to the press. Before that happened, Kai would break the news to his beloved Karina, more gently than she would get it from TV’s breathless talking heads.

  Trying to make his way to the aisle, he found himself crammed between people, unable to move. Apparently there was some sort of jam up at the top of the steps leading to the auditorium exit.

  Suddenly the microphone squealed, then several loud puffs of breath echoed through the speakers as someone blew into it. Kai turned to see Dr. Louis Dubois standing at the lectern, microphone in hand.

  “Attention please! Everyone! Can I have your attention?”

  All heads spun to look at the respected scientist, former chief of the ATLAS project.

  “May I please have some quiet?” Dr. Dubois lowered his voice slightly, the effect silencing the auditorium.

  “I’m afraid I have an announcement that will be a bit disruptive to your schedules. Due to the sensitive nature of the information you have just received, we have assigned you all temporary cubicle office space within this building where you will work until we have all finished our review of Dr. Stephenson’s analysis and recommendations.”

  The crowd volume bubbled up again, but Dr. Dubois continued.

  “By order of the leaders of the European Union, in agreement with the United States government, this facility is on lockdown until our task is completed and government leaders have made a decision. NATO military forces have completely secured the perimeter and no one will be allowed to enter or leave any LHC area until further notice. You should know that a news story has just been released stating that the LHC has suffered a toxic containment breach and has been quarantined until the situation has been resolved. Nearby communities are being evacuated as I speak.”

  Once again the crowd raised its confused voices, causing Dr. Dubois to speak louder.

  “As you are released from this auditorium, you will be given a package specifying your cubicle number as well as a building map to help you find it. Please report to your cube as soon as possible. There you will find a complete copy of the material Dr. Stephenson has provided. In addition, each cubicle has its own laptop, connected to our internal, classified network for your work, but there is no external Internet connection.

  “Along one side of your cubicles, you will find a cot and a small bag of assorted toiletries. Shower facilities are available on each floor and are marked on your building map, along with restrooms and fully stocked break rooms. Most of you are already familiar with our first-floor cafeteria.”

  Dr. Dubois paused, letting the room settle into a stunned silence. “Despite what Dr. Stephenson said, I have worked with most of you for years and I know you to be the best of the best. The sooner we finish this task, the sooner we will get to go home to see our loved ones, the sooner we will be able to begin the work to save our planet. Now, make me proud.”

  Then Dr. Dubois turned and walked off the stage, heading in the opposite direction from that taken by Dr. Stephenson.

  Having made the tough decision, Mark led Heather and Jen up onto the porch for their daily predawn briefing with Jack and Janet. The cool morning air had an extra bite to it, the first hint of Bolivian winter just enough to raise the gooseflesh on his bare arms.

  Jack stood watching them come, a steaming mug of coffee in his hand. On the table in front of Janet, the pot sat invitingly close to three more brown ceramic mugs. Mark filled all three mugs, then lifted his slowly to his lips as he straightened. The aroma matched the hot liquid’s taste, strong but smooth. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then turned to face their trainers.

  “We’ve got something to tell you.”

  “I’m listening.” Jack’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Mark didn’t take that as a good sign.

  “Last night we contacted our folks via a subspace video-chat link.”

  Neither Jack nor Janet showed any sign of surprise. Nor did they speak, letting the silence hang heavy.

  Mark was relieved when Heather’s steady voice filled the vacuum. “We didn’t ask permission. And we don’t make any excuses for what we did. We knew the risk, but we did it anyway.”

  “We know we put you in danger, too,” Mark said, trying to give Heather some cover, “but that doesn’t mean we regret it.”

  Once again the silence descended, finally broken by Jack. “Can’t say I’m surprised. Janet and I knew you’d make that call sooner or later. We had a small wager about when it would happen.”

  Mark didn’t know whether to be irritated that they were so predictable or happy that they’d avoided a reprimand.

  A hint of a smile creased the corners of Janet’s mouth. “I won. Jack didn’t really think you’d last this long.”

  Of course he hadn’t—and he’d almost been right.

  “So,” Jack said, “Finish off your coffee, grab a bite to eat from the kitchen, and get ready. You’ve got a full schedule today.”

  “And what if they find a way to trace us?” Mark asked.

  Jack shrugged. “I assume you took the proper precautions. Besides, the only thing you can be sure of in this life is that sooner or later everything goes wrong. Whether because of this or something else, they will eventually find us. It’s why we constantly rehearse our reaction drills.”

  “I don’t know why they have to find us,” said Jennifer. “Lots of criminals and terrorists have managed to stay below the radar.”

  “Apples and oranges,” Jack replied. “There are two kinds of people in this world: sheep and wolves. The politicians who lie hidden in holes aren’t wolves. They’re sheep, sending their wolves out to make things happen. Janet and I are wolves. It’s what we’ve trained you to be.”

  Janet glanced at her watch. “You three better hustle. You’ve only got eight minutes to scarf down some breakfast before we hit the firing range. Today you get to shoot the fifty-caliber sniper rifles and M2 machine guns. Anyone who outshoots me gets out of ammo reload duty.”

  Mark rolled his eyes. Just because their schedule was so tough didn’t mean it couldn’t get tougher. Maybe they hadn’t avoided punishment after all.

  Levi Elias hadn’t gotten his reputation for being the best analyst the NSA had for nothing. Sitting in
his boss’s office, James Blanchard watched as Levi leveled his gaze at him, his dark eyes like the twin barrels of a twelve-gauge shotgun.

  “Tell me what we got.”

  “A hell of a lot more than the FBI.” James grinned.

  “Explain.”

  “Just like us, they put a sniffer on the IP traffic coming in through the network card. Funny thing is, not a damned thing came in through the network interface.”

  “And?”

  “And thank God for Denise’s Puff the Magic Dragon code in the laptop’s antivirus software. It recorded every bit and byte of data that changed on the laptop during the visual chat session, including sound and video.”

  “Nothing came through the network card? How’s that possible?”

  “It’s not. At least not with any technology we know about. But it fits with some of the stuff that caused Admiral Riles to send Jack Gregory’s team to Los Alamos.”

  “So what do you make of it?”

  James Blanchard looked at Levi Elias and shrugged. “I’ve been with my team all night and most of this morning going over the recorded audio and video streams at least two dozen times. Bottom line, boss, we’ve got nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Whoever these kids are, they’re good.” James worked the jog shuttle, moving the recording forward five minutes. “Typical example, background is draped by thick plastic sheeting, common contractor material, made by hundreds of companies all over the world, mostly in Asia, my guess China.”

  James zoomed in on a small section of the plastic, a tight shot that eliminated the foreground. He swirled a small circle with his laser pointer’s red dot.

  “You can see small beads of condensation on the plastic, cool room, high humidity. This time of year you get those conditions in an air-conditioned room on about 37 percent of the planet, including the entire US gulf coast.”

  He backed out of the zoom, selected a control on the electronic light table, and quickly drew a dotted outline around each of the young people in the frozen image. Another tool click and Heather McFarland, Mark Smythe, and Jennifer Smythe came up in their own frame, the sheet having been cropped out of the image so they were displayed against a pure white background.