“Did you read my dossier? All of it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ouch. Did it contain information — ah, gossip about an incident on the far side of the New Allenby Bridge?”
“I believe the Jordanian government contributed a certain amount of information on the incident, sir. It was obtained through the Swiss Legation in Amman, of course. I understand you suffered a rather severe beating.”
Saltus eagerly: “Hey — what’s this?”
Chaney said: “Don’t believe everything you read. I was damned near shot for a spy in Jordan, but that Moslem woman wasn’t wearing a veil. Mark that — no veil! It’s supposed to make all the difference in the world.”
Saltus: “But what has the woman to do with a spy?”
“They thought I was a Zionist spy,” Chaney explained. “The woman without a veil was only a pleasant interlude — well, she was supposed to be a pleasant interlude. But it didn’t turn out that way.”
“And they nabbed you? Almost shot you?”
“And beat the hell out of me. Arabs don’t play by the same rules we do. They use garrotes and daggers.”
Saltus: “But what happened to the woman?”
“Nothing. No time. She got away.”
“Too bad,” Saltus exclaimed.
Kathryn van Hise asked: “May we continue, please?”
Chaney thought he detected a touch of color in her cheeks. “We’re going up,” he said with finality.
“Yes, sir.”
He wished he were back on the beach. “Is it safe?”
Arthur Saltus broke in again before the woman could respond. “The monkeys haven’t complained — you shouldn’t.”
“Monkeys?”
“The test monkeys, civilian. The critters have been riding that damned machine for weeks, up, back, sideways. But they haven’t filed any complaints — not in writing.”
“But supposing they did?”
Airily: “Oh, in that event, William and I would wave our seniority rights to you. You could go riding off somewhere to investigate their complaints, find out the trouble. The taxpayers deserve some breaks.”
Kathryn van Hise said: “Once again, please.”
“Sure, Katrina,” Saltus said easily. “But I think you should tell this civilian what he’s in for.”
Moresby caught his meaning and laughed.
Chaney was wary. “What am I in for?”
“You’re going up naked.” Saltus lifted his shirt to slap a bare chest. “We’re all going up naked.”
Chaney stared at him, searching for the point of the joke, and belatedly realized it was no joke. He turned on the woman and found the flush had returned to her face.
She said: “It’s a matter of weight, Mr. Chaney. The machine must propel itself and you into the future, which is an operation requiring a tremendous amount of electrical energy. The engineers have advised us that total weight is a critical matter, that nothing but the passenger must be put forward or returned. They insist upon minimum weight.
“Naked? All the way naked?”
Saltus: “Naked as a jaybird, civilian. We’ll save ten, fifteen, twenty pounds of excess weight. They demand it. You wouldn’t want to upset those engineers, would you? Not with your life riding in their hands? They’re sensitive chaps, you know — we have to humor them.”
Chaney struggled to retain his sense of humor. “What happens when we reach the future, when we reach 2000?”
Again the woman attempted a reply but again Saltus cut her off. “Oh, Katrina has thought of everything. Your old Indic report said future people will wear less clothing, so Katrina will supply us with the proper papers. We’re going up there as licensed nudists.”
THREE
Brian Chaney said: “I wish I knew what was going on here.” His voice carried an undertone of complaint.
“I have been trying to tell you for the past hour, Mr. Chaney.”
“Try once more,” he begged.
Kathryn van Hise studied him. “I said on the beach that Westinghouse engineers have built a TDV. The vehicle was built here, in this building, under a research contract with the Bureau of Standards. The work has gone forward in utmost secrecy, of course, with a Congressional group — a Subcommittee — supplying direct funds and maintaining a close supervision over the project. We operate with the full knowledge of, and responsibility to the White House. The President will make the final choice of objectives.”
“Him? A committee will have to make up his mind for him.”
Her expression was one of pronounced disapproval and he guessed that he’d touched a sore spot — guessed that her loyalty to the man was motivated by political choice as much as by present occupation.
“The President is always kept informed of our daily progress, Mr. Chaney. As was his predecessor.” The woman seemed belligerent. “His predecessor created this project by an Executive order three years ago, and we continue to operate today only with the consent and approval of the new President. I am sure you are aware of the political facts of life.”
Ruefully: “Oh, I’m aware. The Indic report failed to anticipate a weak President. It was written and submitted during the administration of a strong one, and was based on the assumption that man would continue in office for two full terms. Our mistake; we didn’t anticipate his death. But this new man has to be nudged off the dime — every dime, every day. He lacks initiative, lacks drive.” A side glance told Chaney that the Major had agreed with him on one point. Moresby was absently nodding concurrence.
Kathryn van Hise cleared her throat.
“To proceed. An experimental laboratory is located in another part of this building, beneath us, and the testing of the vehicle has been underway for some time. When the testing had reached a stage which indicated eventual success, the survey field team was recruited. Major Moresby, Commander Saltus, and you were each the first choices in your respective fields, and the only ones contacted. As yet there is no back-up team.”
Chaney said: “That’s uncharacteristic of them. The military always buys two of everything, just in case.”
“This is not a military operation, and their superiors were not informed why Major Moresby and Commander Saltus were transferred to this station. But I would think a back-up team will be recruited in time, and perhaps the military establishment will be informed of our operations.” She folded her hands, regaining composure. “The engineers will explain the vehicle and its operation to you; I am not well enough informed to offer a lucid explanation. I understand only that an intense vacuum is created when the vehicle is operated, and the sound you heard was the result of an implosion of air into that vacuum.”
“They’re making sixty-one second tests?”
“No, sir. The tests may be of any duration; the longest to date has probed twelve months into the past, and the shortest only one day. Those sixty-one seconds represent a necessary margin of safety for the passenger; the passenger may not return to his exact moment of departure, but will instead return sixty-one seconds after his departure regardless of the amount of elapsed time spent in the field.” But she seemed troubled by something not put into words.
Brian Chaney was certain she held something back.
She said: “At the present time, the laboratory is employing monkeys and mice as test passengers. When that phase is completed, each of you will embark on a test to familiarize yourself with the vehicle. You will depart singly, of course, because of the smallness of the vehicle. The engineers will explain the problems of mass and volume being propelled by means of a vacuum.”
Chaney said: “I see the point. I wouldn’t like it very well if I came back from a survey and landed on top of myself. But why sixty-one?”
“That figure is something of a laboratory fluke. The engineers were intent on a minimum of sixty seconds, but, when the vehicle returned at sixty-one on two successive tests they locked it down there, so to speak.”
“All the tests were successful?”
She hesitated, then said: “Yes, sir.”
“You haven’t lost a monkey? Not one?”
“No, sir.”
But his suspicions were not quieted. “What would happen if the tests weren’t successful? What if one should still fail, after all this?”
“In that event, the project would be cancelled and each of you will be returned to your stations. You would be free to return to Indiana, if you chose.”
“I’ll be fired!” Arthur Saltus declared. “Back to that bucket in the South China Sea: diesel oil and brine.”
“Back to the Florida beach,” Chaney told him. “And beauteous maidens in delicious undress.”
“You’re a cad, civilian. You ripped off that veil.”
“But the maidens make that unnecessary.”
“Gentlemen, please.”
Saltus wouldn’t be stopped. “And think of our poor Katrina — back to a bureaucrat’s desk, Congress will cut off our slush funds: chop. You know how they are.”
“Tightfisted, except for their pet rivers and harbors. So I suppose we must carry on for her sake, naked and shivering, up to the brink of 2000.” Chaney was bemused. “What will the coming generation think of us?”
“Please!”
Chaney folded his arms and looked at her. “I still think someone has made a mistake, Miss van Hise. I have no military skifis and I’m seldom able to distinguish a nut from a bolt; I can’t imagine why you would want me for a field survey — despite what you say — but you’ll find me a fairly complacent draftee if you promise no more jolts. Are you holding back anything else?”
Her brown eyes locked with his, showing a first hint of anger. Chaney grinned, hoping to erase that. Her glance abruptly dropped away, and she slid the bulky envelopes across the table to the three men.
“Now?” Saltus asked.
“You may open them now. This is our primary tarfield.” get area, together with all necessary data to enter the
Brian Chaney undid the clasp and pulled out a thick sheaf of mimeographed papers and several folded maps. His glance went back to the face of the envelope. A code name was typed there, under the ubiquitous Top Secret rubber stamp. He read it a second time and looked up.
“Project Donaghadee?”
“Yes, sir. Mr. Donaghadee is the Director of the Bureau of Standards.”
“Of course. The monument is the man.”
Chaney opened the map on the top of the pile and turned it about so that north was at the top, to read the name of the first city to catch his eye: Joliet. It was a map of the north central section of the United States with Chicago placed precisely in the center, and showing great chunks of those states surrounding the metropolitan area: Illinois, Indiana, Michigan, Wisconsin, and the eastern tip of Iowa. Elwood Station was indicated by a red box just south of Joliet. He noted that the map had been prepared by Army cartographers and was stamped Top Secret. Except for the red box it was identical to gasoline station maps.
The second map was a large one of Illinois alone and now the extra size revealed Elwood Station to be about eight miles south of Joliet, adjacent to an old route marked Alternate 66. The third map was equally large: a detailed plan of Will County with Joliet located nearly in the center of it. On this map, Elwood Station was a great red box of about five square miles, with several individual houses and buildings identified by a numbered key. The station had two private service roads opening onto the highway. The main line of the Chicago Mobile Southern Railroad passed within hailing distance of the military reservation, and a spur of that railroad branched off to enter the enclosure.
The Major looked up from his scrutiny of the maps. “Katrina. The field trials will be here on station?”
“Only in part, sir. If you find the station normal when you surface, you will proceed to Joliet in transportation which will be provided. Always keep your safety in mind.”
Moresby seemed disappointed. “Joliet.”
“That city will be the limit of the trials, sir. The risk must not be underestimated. However, the actual survey will be conducted in Chicago and its suburbs if the field trials prove satisfactory. Please study the maps carefully and memorize at least two escape routes; you may be forced to walk in the event of a motor breakdown.”
Saltus: “Walk? With cars everywhere?”
The woman frowned. “Do not attempt to steal an automobile. It may be difficult, perhaps impossible, to free you from jail. It simply wouldn’t do, Commander.”
“Naked and forlorn in a Joliet jail,” Chaney mumbled. “I believe there is a state penitentiary there.”
She eyed him narrowly. “I think that little joke has gone far enough, Mr. Chaney. You will be clothed in the field, of course; you will dress for the field trial and later for the full survey, but each time you must disrobe before returning in the vehicle. You will find an adequate supply of clothing, tools, and instruments awaiting you at each point of arrival. And the laboratory will be continuously manned, of course; engineers will always be expecting your arrival and will assist in the transits.”
“I thought he was pulling my leg,” Chaney admitted. “But how will you manage the clothing and the engineers — how will you have it and them up there waiting for us?”
“That has already been arranged, sir. A fallout shelter and storage depot is located below us, adjacent to the laboratory. It is stocked with everything you may possibly need for any season of the year, together with weapons and provisions. Our program requires that the laboratory and the vehicle be continuously manned for an indefinite period; a hundred or more years, if necessary. All times of arrival in the future will be known to those future engineers, of course. It has been arranged.”
“Unless they’ve walked out on strike.”
“Sir?”
“Your long-range planning is subject to the same uncertainties as my projections — one fluke, one chance event may knock everything askew. The Indic report failed to allow for a weak Administration replacing a strong one, and if that report was placed before me today I wouldn’t sign it; the variable casts doubt on the validity of the whole. We can only hope the engineers will still be on the job tomorrow, and will still be using standard time.”
“Mr. Chaney, the Bureau’s long-range planning is more thorough than that, It is solidly grounded and has been designed for permanency. I would remind you that the primary target area is only twenty-two years distant.”
“I have this feeling that I’ll come out — come to the surface — a thousand years older.”
“I am sure you will make do, sir. Our team is notable for individual self-reliance.”
“Which properly puts me in my place, Miss van Hise.”
Moresby interrupted. “What about those stores?”
“Yes, sir. The shelter is stocked with necessities: motion picture cameras, tape recorders, radios, weapons and weapons detectors, hand radar, and so forth. There is money and gems and medical supplies. Materials such as film, tape, ammunition and clothing will be restocked at intervals to insure fresh or modern supplies.”
Major Moresby said: “I’ll be damned!” and fell silent for a moment of admiration. “It makes good sense, after all. We’ll draw what we need from the stores to cover the target, and replace the remainder before coming back.”
“Yes, sir. No part of the supplies may be carried back with you, except tapes and film exposed in the field. The engineers will instruct you on how to compensate for that small extra weight. Do not bring back the recorders and cameras, and you are expressly forbidden to bring back any personal souvenir such as coins or currency. But you may photograph the money if you wish.”
“Those engineers have an answer for everything,” Chaney observed. “They must work around the clock.”
“Our project has been working around the clock for the past three years, sir.”
“Who pays the electric bill?”
“A nuclear power station is located on the post.”
He was quickly interested. “Their own
reactor? How much power does it generate?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“I know,” Saltus said. “Commonwealth-Edison has a new one up near Chicago putting out eight hundred thousand kilowatts. Big thing — I’ve seen it, and I’ve seen ours. They look like steel light bulbs turned upside down.”
Chaney was still curious. “Does the TDV need that much power?”
“I couldn’t say, sir.” She changed the subject by calling attention to the sheaf of mimeographed papers taken from the envelopes. “We have time this afternoon to begin on these reports.”
The first sheet bore the stylized imprint of the Indiana Corporation, and Chaney quickly recognized his own work. He gave the woman an amused glance but she avoided his eyes; another glance down the table revealed his companions staring at the massive report with anticipated boredom.
The next page plunged immediately into the subject matter by offering long columns of statistics underscored by footnotes: the first few columns were solidly rooted in the census figures of 1970, while the following columns on the following pages were his projections going forward to 2050. Chaney recalled the fun and the sweat that had gone into the work — and the very shaky limb on which he perched as he worked toward the farthest date.
Births: legitimate and otherwise, predicted annually by race and by geographical area (down sharply along the Atlantic seaboard below Boston, and the southern states except Florida; figures did not include unpredictable number of laboratory-hospital births by artificial means; figures did not include unpredictable number of abnormal births in Nevada and Utah due to accumulation of radioactive fallout).
Deaths: with separate figures for murders and known suicides, projected annually by age groups (suicides increasing at predictable rate below age thirty; females outliving males by twelve point three years by year 2000; anticipated life-expectancy increased one point nine years by year 2050; figures did not include infant mortalities in Nevada-Utah fallout area; figures did not include infant mortalities in laboratory-hospital artificial births).
The Year of the Quiet Sun Page 3
