To Save the Sun

by Ben Bova

  Oidar had said nothing through all of this, but Bomeer heard it making a faint purring sound, and knew that even though Rice had made a show of downplaying his neglect, the alien had been offended by the double dishonesty of what it had observed. Its big eyes blinked several times and its gaze shifted from him to Rice, and it was clear the alien saw little difference between the two humans right now: one overtly lying to cover an error; the other pretending not to see the lie, and in so doing, committing another untruth. The sound reminded Bomeer of a growling animal, and he made his best effort at ignoring it. "What else do you have for me?" he asked, anxious to move this meeting closer to a conclusion.

  "There is another playback. System! Start playback of file Rice two-oh-four, version two, on my mark." Rice turned to face him, and when he spoke, his voice carried with it a subtle condescending tone. "The first model was based on Dr. Montgarde's original equations. As you could see from the playback, there is no visual change in either of the stars—the energy levels of the 'feeder' star into which the negative singularity, the black hole, is inserted remain constant. The same is true of the 'breeder' star. The transfer of energy through the wormhole effect is quite gradual, and serves only to replace the internal mass as it's spent, effectively increasing the life span of the breeder star. When done to Sol, it would effectively extend its life far beyond the normal range."

  Bomeer nodded, and felt inside his tunic to see if he had a dry handkerchief. "And will continue to extend its life until the feeder star is depleted. This is all in her original presentation. You're telling me nothing new." He had nothing in his inside pocket and wiped again with the soaked cloth.

  Rice's eyes narrowed. "Please bear with me, Academician. The model you just saw was based on the outcome of the original figures; figures based on a hypothetical field strength of the shielding she believed would be required to contain the singularities. Dr. Montgarde's figures and equations were a hundred percent accurate, but were based on a shield technology that simply did not exist at the time she did the original work. However, working closely with the shield specs provided by the Sarpan, we've been able to redo the equations based on the actual technology, as it now exists. The second computer model shows a different result." Rice paused, then pivoted in his seat. "System, begin playback."

  Bomeer turned to the holo display area with renewed interest, and watched as the same scenario played itself out. The pyramids formed by the red cylinders, the glowing spheres, the two images of stars representing Sol and the unnamed feeder sun—everything looked the same. Bomeer looked closely at the figures and readings that scrolled above the images, but was unable to follow them at the speed at which the playback had been set. It wasn't until the spheres, contained in the spinning pyramids, sank into the centers of the stars that the playback differed from the one before.

  Where before it appeared that little had changed, visually speaking, it was plain to see that the two stars in this model had been affected. The one on the left side of the image, representing Sol, seemed slightly brighter than it had before the insertion, and the values of the numbers hovering above it increased. However, since Bomeer had not bothered to study Rice's reports closely enough, the values had little meaning to him. He would correct that error at his earliest opportunity. Indeed, he already was making plans to go through the two playbacks meticulously: forward, backward and at a speed slow enough that every figure, every readout, every table and chart of values could be examined one by one.

  Bomeer leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees and letting the sodden handkerchief fall forgotten to the floor, and stared at the playback image in silence for several moments, hardly able to believe what he was seeing. The sweat continued to drip down his temples as before, but as he watched the glowing stars in hypnotic fascination he no longer noticed the heat in the room.

  "There is a flaw in Dr. Montgarde's theory," he said softly.

  Bomeer viewed the figures again, checking and crosschecking them nervously while he waited for Javas' call.

  How I have longed for this, he thought. But now that it has finally happened, why can I not sort out my feelings about it? Based on the results of the modeling, there was no doubt that Dr. Montgarde's equations—or at least one of them—were flawed. As presented, given the realities of the technology that had been developed and adapted to support the project, it simply would not work.

  So why am I not rejoicing?

  The fact of the matter was that this new development, from that moment in the open lab when he'd first viewed the model, had filled him with an elation the likes of which he'd not felt since Emperor Nicholas first declared his intentions to pursue the project. Perhaps now the wasteful application of Imperial funds and energies could finally be diverted from this endeavor. Perhaps now a more orderly approach to scientific study could be implemented; an approach more closely resembling the old order, and less an outgrowth of the New Attitude.

  Bomeer knew better, however.

  Even if the project to save Earth's Sun were abandoned today, the advances that had come from the research already done would remain. The Hundred Worlds had been reinvigorated, just as Nicholas had predicted, and it seemed to the academician that little could be done to reverse the forward trend of the New Attitude. Besides, he realized, there were few left who shared his vision of what the Empire should be. His closest ally, Plantir Wynne, his rejuvenations becoming increasingly less effective with the passage of time, had died fifteen years earlier. Many of the members of the Imperial Academy of Science, whom he'd enlisted for support at the time of Nicholas' decision to move the seat of Empire to Luna, had left the Academy. Some had been seduced by the New Attitude and had embraced the opportunity to actively delve into science once more. Others, even though they still shared Bomeer's feelings on the validity of the project, had long ago grown tired of the uselessness of continually fighting something that had proven itself beneficial to the worlds.

  There were new members of the Academy, of course. But they were young and idealistic, like Rice, and put a higher value on pure research and advancement than on tradition and protocol.

  So, what do I do with this information? Is it so wrong to want to learn and advance? Bomeer settled back in his chair and slapped the palm of his hand on the bar of the flatscreen reader in his lap, blanking the display, and tossed the reader absently on the desk. He leaned against the right armrest of the chair, resting his chin on his hand. Searching his memory, he tried to recall an incident that had occurred shortly after his admission to the Academy.

  He had found a "shortcut" to one of the procedures he'd been assigned by a senior academician named Consol. The refinement to the research process was minor, and he had realized it, but it was an improvement and would serve to get a better understanding of the goals of the assignment at hand.

  He had approached Consol with a mixture of pride and foreboding when he reported his finding. Consol had laughed in his face.

  "What is your hurry, Anastasio?" he had said. "Are the events of the Empire not progressing fast enough to suit you?"

  Bomeer had stared dumbly at him, unable to come up with a rebuttal. "But… it is a more efficient way to proceed with—"

  "Is there something inherently wrong with the current method of experimentation?" he had demanded.

  When Bomeer had admitted that there was not, Consol had added, "What you have brought to my attention is efficiency for the sake of efficiency; tinkering for the sake of tinkering. Where is the value in that?"

  The tachyon screen suddenly glowed blue, pulling him from his reverie of things past; of things that could not be changed. Of things that simply did not possibly matter now.

  "Stand by for realtime transmission," the screen system advised. "Conference linkup will be completed in approximately one minute."

  I have a duty, he reflected as he waited for the communication from Emperor Javas to be routed to the screen, to be true to myself, and to what I believe. And that is
not inconsistent with my duty to the Emperor.

  There was a diminutive beeping sound that caught his attention, and he sat straighter in his chair and faced the screen at about the same time Javas' features appeared.

  "I've received your request for a realtime conference, Academician," he said, his expression serious, "and must admit that I'm somewhat concerned by the tone contained in the recording you sent. Is something wrong out there?"

  Bomeer toyed with the idea of giving Javas a long-winded explanation of why he had insisted on a conference rather than merely sending a recorded report on the latest modeling, which would have been normal procedure, but decided on the more direct approach of stating the problem directly. Look at me, he silently mused, after all these years I'm opting for efficiency instead of protocol.

  "We have discovered a flaw in the equations," he said without preamble.

  Javas nodded. "How serious a flaw?" The Emperor, too, seemed more interested in getting to the heart of the problem than belaboring the problem itself.

  "Unknown, Sire. Dr. Montgarde's theories are basically correct, but with the modeling stage now completed, we have found that the values of replenishment do not match the values that had been projected in the original equations."

  They spoke for several minutes, interrupted only once by a garbled signal, as Bomeer did his best to explain what was wrong.

  "The tuned pair of singularities does not behave as we expected. The wormhole is there, and the energy transfer takes place as predicted…"

  "But?"

  Bomeer hesitated, uncertain as to how to continue. "But the energy released in the breeder star is too high for the wormhole to remain stable. It works in the model, but it is difficult to say what the actual effect will be without testing it physically."

  Javas nodded again. "Very well. Thank you for your candor, Academician. Dr. Montgarde will return to Luna in"—he looked to one side, checked a readout on his desk terminal—"in two weeks. Please burst me a full report on your findings so I can have them forwarded to her on the Levant. It'll still take a while for her to receive them, but it'll give her a bit of time to go over the results and make any necessary adjustments before she returns to oversee the next phase."

  "No! Sire, I…" He stopped, cursing himself inwardly for responding so abruptly. But the next thing he was about to say was what he had rehearsed so carefully before sending the conference request to Javas. He also reminded himself, before continuing, that what he was about to say constituted a part of his duty; no, was his duty.

  "Yes?" Javas asked, waiting.

  "Sire, we are ready to proceed with the physical test. We had not anticipated this flaw and have already created the tuned pair for the test. As we speak they're being held in stasis by the Sarpan shielding." Again, he paused, swallowing heavily. "The modeling results tell only half the story—that a problem exists—and I'm afraid Dr. Montgarde would have no better clue as to why they are invalid than we do. May I be so bold as to suggest, Sire, that it would be more prudent to continue with the physical test? That way, Dr. Montgarde would have the full results of the flaw in the equation on her arrival."

  The Emperor considered the suggestion. "You may be right," he said. "She's been out of cryosleep only a short time and probably has more to catch up on than she can handle without this added concern. You're certain that the physical test will give us more information on the problem?"

  "Yes, Sire."

  "All right, then," he concluded, "proceed with the next test and send me the results. Good luck."

  "Thank you, Sire."

  Javas' image faded immediately, and Bomeer stared at the darkened screen. He was sure that in recommending that the physical test be undertaken he was pursuing the proper course. The flaw in her equation would be dramatically revealed and, with the ability to send the results of the failed test instantly through most of the Hundred Worlds, would elicit renewed questioning into the validity of the project.

  It is my duty as an academician to point out the error in this project, he reminded himself. To do less would be to commit a lie to the Emperor, and to myself.

  He thumbed the control of the comm screen on his desk, setting it up to send a directive to Rice and Supreme Commander Fain, informing them that the next step should commence. Rice, working with Oidar, would put in place the final setup for the scientific aspects of the test. Fain, meanwhile, would coordinate with the Sarpan commander their final navigation coordinates for the event.

  This is what I must do, he reflected again in an attempt to convince himself that the actions he'd taken were in the best interests of the Hundred Worlds. To do less would be a crime against the Empire.

  He couldn't help feeling, however, as he keyed in the sequence that would send the two prepared messages, that he was acting not in the best interests of the Empire, but rather in his own best interests.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Rice had been aboard the Flisth several times since they had arrived at the test site a year earlier. Before that, in the time it had taken for the combined Imperial and Sarpan fleet to travel together from Luna, he had had ample time to get used to the ways of the aliens while dealing with Oidar's father in the earlier stages of the research. Most areas of the Sarpan ship resembled Imperial craft, and Rice supposed that there were designs inherent to space travel that were universal in nature regardless of the life-forms that rode in them. But until now, he had never seen the personal quarters of a Sarpan crew member. Oidar's cabin on the Kowloon had given him some insight into the aliens' way of life, and although he had never actually seen it when visiting his friend and coworker, he supposed the "bathroom" of his cabin on the Kowloon must have looked something like the room in which he now stood, but on a much lesser scale.

  If he had not known better, if someone had carried him blindfolded and unconscious to a place like this, he would have sworn it to be impossible that he was aboard a starship. Only the entranceway where he stood held any trappings of an artificial construction.

  The small pond stretched to a thick copse of trees on what he assumed would be the far side of the room. Some of the trees must be real, he reasoned, since those nearest him by the entrance to the room certainly were. But where the genuine growths ended and the holographically projected image began, he could only guess. The air was thick and heavy, and Rice touched the control plate integrated into the sleeve of his E-suit to raise his internal air-conditioning to a more comfortable level. He had a bubble helmet, as was mandatory for any Imperial personnel visiting the Sarpan ship, but once inside, away from his escort, he'd removed it and held it tucked under one arm. The cool air of the E-suit's temperature control system wafted up around the metal collar ring, offering some relief from the stifling heat of the water chamber. The room was alive with insect life, and the draft of cool air also served to deter the occasional curious flier that buzzed close to his face.

  He blinked up at the ceiling, the holographically projected double star of Oidar's homeworld hazily visible through the thick curtain of air, and waited.

  Oidar swam toward him, waving once as he moved just below the surface. He swam like a terrestrial frog, his hands and arms swept back against his body while strong kicks from his legs carried him forward. Rice had heard several of the Kowloon's crew refer privately to the Sarpan as frogs and, while he hated the epithet, reflected that it was more uncomfortably accurate than he would have liked to admit.

  "Temple!" Oidar swam into the shallows at the water's edge and sat up on the bottom of the pond. He glided his webbed hands around him as he sat, waist-deep, and the water moved around him in gentle little waves. "This one is pleased to have your visit!" He seemed genuinely happy to have Rice there, and reminded him of a small child eager to show off his room when company called.

  "Hello, Oidar." Sweat had begun dripping through his hair, and Rice drew the sleeve of his free arm across his forehead. There was a low plastic bench a few meters to his left and Rice approached it, setting the helmet
next to him as he sat. Oidar splashed through the shallow water to sit nearer him, and again rested on the bottom and swirled his arms to create the little waves.

  Rice realized suddenly that, while Oidar was indeed stirring the water with his hands, most of the splashing around him was not of his making. Rice leaned closer, squinting in the hazy light, and saw that the alien was surrounded by several tiny fishlike animals. They swam freely over and through the alien's legs, occasionally wandering slightly away before hurriedly wriggling back to join the others. Oidar positively beamed.

  "There are eleven males, Temple, that have survived. Eleven! Come see." He motioned excitedly for Rice to come into the water for a closer look, and when Rice hesitated, added, "It is all right, Temple. It is shallow and the bottom is firm." He waved his arm again.

  Leaving the helmet on the bench, he waded tentatively into the murky water and was relieved to find that, although his booted feet sank several centimeters into the muddy bottom, the footing was firmer than he would have thought. He waded forward then stopped, knee-deep, in front of Oidar and looked nervously around. "Oidar, are you sure this is all right? I don't want to violate any…" Any what? What was he frightened of? He thought for a moment that his nervousness might be caused by the political implications of being this close to a Sarpan in his spawning area, but quickly discarded the thought. What was really bothering him, he realized, was his own discomfort at being unexpectedly thrust this far into an alien culture. He had come here, after all, only to talk to Oidar privately about the directive that Academician Bomeer had just—

  "This space is mine," Oidar countered, interrupting his thoughts. He lifted his hand from the water and swept an arm around him at their surroundings. Drops of water flew from his fingertips at the motion, and the little creatures swam playfully after the tiny splashes the drops made wherever they touched the surface of the pond. "And I alone decide who visits my spawn and who does not." He tilted his head as if trying to come to a decision about something, then reached out and took Rice by the hand, pulling at the E-suit's glove. "Please to remove them, Temple?" he asked.