by Shain Carter
While the glove box was purging, Dawson began a thorough, purposeful search of the lab, starting with the cardboard boxes. This search was motivated by neither curiosity nor boredom, but rather by necessity: Dawson was after a specific piece of equipment, a piece of equipment that he had asked for but was afraid George had not provided. The ride through Anjawan the night before had confirmed his suspicions that there would be no corner liquor store or neighborhood bar in town, at least none that he could visit. The tiny bottles of whiskey that Dawson had taken from Derek’s jet would last no more than a few days. However, Dawson knew he could synthesize alcohol from ethylene, one of the gasses used to make organoboranes, but he needed specialized glassware to do this. It was for this glassware that he now searched.
Not finding the equipment he was after in the boxes of new glassware, Dawson methodically rifled through the drawers and cabinets. In them he found the sorts of things one would expect to find in a chemical laboratory - dusty test tubes, reagent bottles, sample vials, vinyl gloves and so on, all left over from before the earthquake. He did not, however, find what he was looking for. When he finished the search, he checked the progress of the glove box and, satisfied that all was proceeding on schedule, went into the hallway. He opened the door across from his. Behind it he found another lab, this one is disrepair. He searched it for nearly twenty minutes, but again failed to find the equipment he needed to make alcohol.
In the next lab, however, he had a pleasant surprise. In a cabinet under a sink he found an unopened case of absolute alcohol. In the next cabinet over he found another seven loose bottles - thirty-one bottles in all, over eight gallons of pure alcohol. Dawson did a quick mental calculation and determined that this would be enough to comfortably last him through the end of the program.
Dawson carefully ferried the bottles back to his lab, making several trips to get them all. He packed most of them into a cabinet at the back of the lab, but took a loose bottle back to his desk. He gently wiped the fine coating of brown dust from the top, then slowly twisted off the cap. The pungent odor of pure alcohol filled the air. Dawson put the bottle to his mouth and took a deep drink. After being spoiled by Derek’s whiskey for the last few days, the sharp taste of unadulterated alcohol almost made him gag. He jerked the bottle down, then pulled it up again for a second mouthful. Afterwards he resealed it and placed it in his lab coat pocket.
Dawson spent the next hour setting up his computer. He was pleased to find the latest word processor and spreadsheet software already loaded. He loaded the programs he had brought with him for analyzing and modeling burn rate data for organoborane mixtures, then played a few games of solitaire.
Dawson soon bored of the game and wandered back to the glove box. It was still cycling through the purge sequence. Having nothing more productive to do, Dawson resumed his inspection of the other labs. There were five altogether that were still accessible. Most were bare, either unused at the time of the earthquake or completely emptied out afterwards. In the last lab, the one farthest from his own, Dawson was surprised to find another glove box. He was further surprised to see Cyrillic letters and a hammer and sickle insignia on the faceplate. Apparently the university had not been above accepting equipment from the Soviets.
As he examined the Russian glove box, Dawson recalled a conversation he had once had with a professor from Moscow Polytechnic. They were at an international symposium in Brussels, and the Russian complained to Dawson about the poor facilities he had to endure. “It is not just that it is easier for you to get equipment,” he lamented, “but your equipment is so much better than ours. Russian equipment is designed by people who have no idea how it will be used.”
Looking at the glove box, Dawson could now appreciate what the Russian had meant. The purpose of a glove box is to isolate the chemicals stored within from air outside. This is accomplished through a system of tight seals and one way check valves. Dawson was amused to see that the valves on the Russian glove box were installed backwards. Instead of keeping air from coming into the box, they kept the harmless gasses inside the box from coming out.
Jones was also surprised to find an electron microscope attached directly to the box, on the side opposite the antechamber. Clearly the occupants had intended to examine some of the air sensitive compounds they were working with, and by connecting the electron microscope directly to the glove box they removed the risk of accidentally exposing these compounds to air.
Jones returned to his lab just as the glove box finished its first purge cycle. By the time he prepared it for the next sequence of purges, it was shortly after noon. Dawson washed his hands and went downstairs to see the others about lunch. They had already gathered in the lobby, getting ready for the long walk back. All except for Ted. Meredith explained he was already outside, working on something he had brought with him.
They found Ted kneeling in front of the building, carefully positioning an umbrella-like device with one hand while referring to a compass he held in the other. Wires ran from the base of the device to a small gray box. A telephone handset hung from one side of the box and red LED readouts, which Ted occasionally glanced at, were mounted on another side. Ted was so focused on his task that he didn’t notice the others until they had already gathered around him. With a start he jumped to his feet.
“What’s this?” George asked.
“Satellite phone,” Ted replied, “from the observatory. It’s the old generation technology, a lot bigger than the new ones we got earlier this year. No one was using this one, so I brought it along. Now we’ll be able to make calls and connect to the Internet without being dependent on the local phone lines.”
Derek nodded approvingly. “Excellent thinking, Ted.” Turning to the others, he told them that this was a prime example of the kind of initiative he expected from them all. Ted beamed at the praise.
“Got it working, lad?” Alec inquired. Ted’s smile quickly dissolved into a look of puzzlement.
“Not yet, and I’m not sure why. I figured out the direction to aim the antennae before I left, but I can’t find the communications satellite that ought to be there.”
George pointed to the compass in Ted’s hand. “There are many iron ore deposits in the region, and they create magnetic anomalies. After lunch I can find the correction factor you will need to apply to your compass bearings.”
Dawson was relieved to find that lunch, like breakfast, had been made with deference to the American palate. The main course was a meat and pasta dish that Dawson found to be both filling and pleasant tasting. The others, not as accustomed as Dawson was to long walks, tore into the food ravenously and were finished quickly. Derek insisted they stick to his work schedule, which did not call for them to leave for the office complex until 1:00, giving them all time for a short rest.
The walk back from lunch was considerably hotter than the walk to lunch. Heat ripples obscured the road ahead, and the group alternated between walking on the scorching pavement and walking over the rough ground beside the road. As they approached Building 12, Ted yelled out and ran to his satellite phone. The fragile antenna lay on its side, crushed. The small gray box was several feet away, most of its wires pulled loose and strewn about the ground.
Ted slowly picked up the detached handset. “Can it be fixed?” Burt asked.
Ted shook his head dumbly. “It’s totally destroyed. There’s no way to salvage anything.”
Andy and Cindy picked through the pieces. Alec, who had trailed the rest of the group during most of the walk, stumbled up and examined the wrecked phone. “What happened here, then?” he asked.
“Dogs,” George answered. “Wild dogs. They are all over in the hills. That’s why we have a fence around the campus, to keep them out. A pack must have got in last night when the gates were open. It is terrible what they did, but we should count our blessings. None of us was attacked. I will have my men track them down and shoot them this afternoon. Please don’t leave the office until they give us the all clear.
And never, I repeat never, go outside our fenced area for any reason without me or one of my men. The risk is too great.”
Once back in the lab, Dawson checked the status of the box. The purging was proceeding as expected, and Dawson estimated that only a few more cycles would be needed. After initiating the next sequence, Dawson concentrated on organizing the glassware and chemicals in the boxes on the bench top. Mid-afternoon he was surprised to hear a soft knocking on his door. He opened it to find Andy and Cindy standing nervously in the hall. After a moment of feet shuffling and staring at the floor, Andy spoke hesitantly.
“Umm, about the trick soap on the plane. We just came by because, well…”
His voice trailed off, and Cindy continued. “What he means is, we’re really sorry about playing that trick on you and hope you’re not mad at us or anything.”
Dawson looked down sternly at the two for a moment, then smiled and shrugged. “Apology accepted.” He started to close the door, but the kids continued to stare up at him, not moving.
“Was there something else?” he asked.
“We were kind of hoping….” Andy’s voice trailed off again, and Cindy stepped forward.
“What he means is, we were kind of hoping that there would be something for us to do up here.”
“We’re really, really bored,” Andy added, finding his voice again.
“Well,” Dawson asked, “what do you do at home?”
“We watch TV and play computer games,” Cindy answered matter-of-factly.
“Yeah,” Andy added, “but there aren’t any TV’s here, and the only game on the computers downstairs is that lame card game.”
“Solitaire?” Dawson asked. “I like that game.”
“Exactly!” Andy cried out. “It’s an old person’s game. It’s like really, really boring.”
Dawson laughed. “Point well taken. But there’s really not much to do up here, either. You’re welcome to come in and take a look around if you want, though.”
Dawson retrieved some safety glasses from the bench and gave the kids a tour of the lab. To his delight, they were fascinated with the glove box, as well as the other equipment and glassware, and they quizzed him on it and on the green flame fuels for half an hour. Dawson promised them they could return when everything was operational and he would show them how the glove box worked.
Soon it was five-thirty and nearly time to leave for dinner. Dawson was pleased with the progress he had made; the box would purge overnight and be ready to accept materials in the morning. He had also successfully loaded the modeling software in his computer, and much of the new glassware was put away. As an added bonus, the kids volunteered to wash the dust from the old glassware and had nearly finished by the time Ted called them all from the stairwell.
Dawson accompanied the kids downstairs and outside. Dark clouds had been gathering for some time, but George assured them there would be no rain. “Every afternoon it happens, but the rains won’t come until early winter. By then we’ll be analyzing data from the messenger probe.”
Chapter Thirteen
Over the next weeks the group fell into a comfortable routine. Their days began and ended in the dormitory, but other than the brief lunch period they spent all their time in Building 12. Alec was driven between the dorm and Building 12, but at Derek’s insistence the rest had to walk. “Physical activity is essential for clearing the mind,” he told them. “They insisted on physical activity at Los Alamos, too.” The walks - three round trips a day - were more tolerable for Dawson than for the rest of the scientists, since Dawson walked everywhere he went at home, even in the stifling heat and humidity of the long southern summers.
Dawson had his lab in working order by the end of the first week and had made rapid progress in his synthesis of mixtures of organoboranes. Ted, Alec and Meredith had their computers networked and tasked in an equally short time and were well on their way to completing the first milestones on their respective projects. Derek, for his part, spent much of his time in his office with George and Burt, making elaborate plans for how to proceed once the messenger probe was contacted. No detail, however small, escaped his consideration. He did everything from writing speeches and wording press releases to establishing a protocol for the staged release of data to the world’s scientists.
Progress was reported by all at twice weekly group meetings. These meetings were usually informal, but as Dawson neared the completion of his lab work he toyed with the idea of delivering a more formal, seminar-like presentation of his research. It had been years since he had done such a thing, and he found the idea unexpectedly alluring. He also found himself surprisingly drawn to his work, something he hadn’t felt in years. He immersed himself in his research, and as he did so he became more confident that his part of the program would succeed as planned. His initial doubts about the messenger probe were not so much dispelled as they were displaced: displaced by the vision of vindicating his green flame program.
Everyone worked hard, but they also had a little free time to rest and relax, especially after the noon and evening meals. Ted, Derek, George and Burt usually spent this time playing bridge. Alec occasionally substituted when one of the regulars was unavailable, but preferred to spend the time resting in his room. He often even took his meals there. Dawson and Meredith, too, were sometimes asked to be a fourth, but never successfully. Meredith didn’t know how to play bridge, and Dawson would only be interested if the game were for fun. But it was always a serious matter, mainly because George and Burt were fiercely competitive against one another. The partnerships rotated to some extent, but always with those two as opponents. Whoever lost would often be noticeably moody for the rest of the day.
Dawson and Meredith usually ate at a table separate from the others, so as not to interfere with the game. They were often joined there by Andy and Cindy, who had adjusted surprisingly well to life at the complex. They spent much of their time playing outside in the rubble, under the watchful eyes of one of George’s armed men. They also spent a fair amount of time upstairs in Building 12, in Dawson’s lab, helping out as best they could. Dawson appreciated their efforts and very much enjoyed their company. He even devised some simple lab experiments for them and, when he had time, offered short lessons on elementary science. They came and went as they pleased, with the only stipulation that they could not be in the lab when Dawson was directly working with the green flame compounds themselves.
Jones was only a few days from completing the experimental portion of his work when near-disaster struck. The final experiments were the most critical, and he had left them to the last to be sure that all the kinks were worked out of the equipment and his procedure. Dawson had been doing the lab work mostly in the mornings, leaving the afternoon for drinking and computer modeling, but this day he decided to press ahead with the lab work through to dinnertime.
Mid-afternoon he loaded some equipment into the antechamber and began evacuating the chamber. This procedure normally took about twenty minutes, and he decided to spend the time having coffee downstairs with Ted and Meredith. Dawson had hoped to see Alec as well, but he had not yet returned from lunch, choosing instead to rest in the dormitory before being driven down to the office building. Burt came into the office a few times to get printouts, which gave Dawson the opportunity to tell him how close he was to completing the experimental aspects of the program. Otherwise the conversation was all Ted, who excitedly described how he was going to slingshot the interceptor craft off of Venus on its way to the messenger probe. Not being in any particular hurry to get back to his work, Dawson stayed downstairs for over half an hour, enjoying the coffee and Ted’s discourse.
When he finally returned he heard, from the stairwell, the distinctive, high pitched squeal of a pump motor laboring under distress. Dawson raced into the lab. There he found a sight that, under different circumstances, might have been comical. The box gloves were pulled so deeply into the box interior that they were enormously inflated. As if occupied by a g
iant’s arms, they bulged to near their bursting point. The front Plexiglas panel, as well, was severely distorted: bowing deeply into the box, it was, too, dangerously close to failure.
Dawson threw himself across the room, colliding into the glassware drying rack in the process. The rack, completely filled with beakers and test tubes that the children had washed that morning, smashed to the ground with an earsplitting crash. Reaching the front of the box, Dawson jabbed roughly at pump controls, shutting the motor off with a loud click and a gurgle. Without pausing, Dawson raced around to the back side, where he fully opened the argon gas inlet line into the box interior. The gas rushed in with a whoosh, and the Plexiglas groaned. By the time Dawson got back to the front of the glove box, the Plexiglas panel had unwarped and the gloves were rapidly deflating. After a moment they pushed out from the front panel, indicating the box interior was again at positive pressure. Dawson returned to the back of the box and turned off the argon.
Dawson leaned against the box and mopped the sweat off his brow. His hand shook as he realized how close he had come to losing the box, and its contents, in a ball of green fire.
Without warning, Meredith and Ted burst through the open door room. Ted stared wide-eyed at the broken glassware, then turned to Dawson. “We heard the crash,” he said, panting. “Are you alright?”
Dawson nodded. “Yes, fortunately everything’s fine.”
Ted frowned at the broken glass. “Are you sure? I don’t think you’ll be able to salvage any of it.”
“It’s not the glassware I was worried about,” Dawson replied. “It’s the box.”
