"How do you mean, Dr. Clifford?" Zimmermann asked.
"The total signal that's picked up by the detector is made up of components that originate all over the universe," Clifford replied. "The distance of a given source from the detector does not affect the time at which the hi-waves generated by it are received. In other words, all the components that are being picked up now are being generated now; whether the source is the GRASER or a star at the other end of the galaxy makes no difference."
"Extraordinary," Zimmermann mused. "So if somebody made a GRASER a thousand light-years from here and switched it on, information from that event would be buried in the signal that you detect here—at the same instant."
"Yes, indeed," Clifford confirmed. "But you'd have to be very clever to see it. You see, although components in the signal do exist from sources all over the universe, their strength falls off rapidly with distance. It's the nearer and larger sources—big masses—that dominate in the equations. So it's not impossible to single out the components that originate in Earth's mass and use them as starting data to construct an image. The strength of the signals from other places falls off rapidly as they get farther away, and you can soon ignore them for all practical purposes. In theory, in the signal that produced the image on the screen there were components that originated, say, in the Andromeda Galaxy, but in practice they existed only as mathematical terms with values approximating to zero. There's the cosmic background that we talked about, which is the sum of all the things like that, but we get rid of it by tuning in above the background-noise threshold."
"Fascinating," Zimmermann said, staring at the image again. "So presumably, from the information that you select out of the composite signal, you've developed some method of projecting directional representations." He pointed at the screen. "I mean, that image presumably represents some aspect or other of this planet, seen from some particular direction or other." His brow creased into an apologetic smile. "I must confess that what it is and where I'm looking at it from are questions that I find myself still unable to answer."
"That was a big hassle," Clifford admitted. "The information carried by a hi-wave contains timelike and spacelike data all scrambled together with other things you can't really interpret. It took a while to figure out how to extract the spacelike data from all that stuff, but . . ." he gestured toward the display, "I guess we managed it in the end okay."
"So what are we looking at?" Zimmermann inquired. Aub joined in at that point.
"Here we're tuned to resolve a perpendicular plane anisotropic to the detector and extending for ten thousand miles. It's a cross section right through the center of Earth. Doesn't show a lotta detail but . . ." he shrugged, "it's only our first attempt, after all."
"Actually, if you look at the numerical data, you'll see that it's possible to distinguish the crust, upper and lower mantle, and the core," Clifford informed him. "It just doesn't show up too well on the picture."
Zimmermann was speechless.
Aub noted his puzzled expression and began operating keys on his panel, causing the disk on the screen to shrink to a fraction of its previous size, though remaining unchanged in general appearance.
"Rotating the sectional plane to lie perpendicular to the axis," he sang in the tones of a fairground showman. "The plane now coincides with the circle of latitude eighty-five degrees north—just below the pole. Hold on to your seats for an instant trip right through the world." He commenced playing the keys casually. The disk swelled slowly, then stopped at a size that almost filled the screen. "Now you're at the equator," Aub announced. The disk shrank once more and finally condensed rapidly to a tiny point of orange. "South Pole."
"We can do better than that, too," Morelli added, encouraged by Aub's performance. "The dominant hi-wave components received here are naturally the ones that come from the mass of Earth. However, once we've computed the matrix that defines that mass, we can negate it and feed it back into the equations to cancel itself out. That leaves only the lesser hi-wave components that come from other places. Once they're isolated, they can be amplified and used to compute spacelike images in the same way as you've seen. Aub . . ."
Aub took the cue and conjured up another disk, similar to the previous one but exhibiting a less pronounced variation in color from edge to center.
"That's the Moon," Clifford stated. This was the most impressive item of the demonstration, but out of sheer devilment he forced his voice to remain matter-of-fact. "We could do the same thing with other bodies as well, but there'd not be much point with the setup we've got at the moment. As you can see, it gives little more than a smudge. Doesn't tell an awful lot."
"With Mark II you'd really see something," Aub added. "For instance, I reckon we could chart all the black holes in the neighboring parts of the galaxy—directly; you wouldn't have to rely on their effects on companion bodies to detect them the way you have to now."
"And don't forget," Clifford rounded off. "You'd see all those things like they are now . . . no time delay."
Zimmermann continued to stare back at them silently. Never before in his life had so many staggering revelations been compressed into such a short interval of time. His mind reeled before the vision that was unfolding of the unimaginable potential of the things he had just witnessed. Surely the first acquisition of the sense of sight by the early multi-celled organisms in the seas had been no more revolutionary in terms of its impact on the evolution of an awareness of the universe. He was present at the birth of a new era of science.
The others watched him in silence. They knew what he was thinking, but overdramatization and plays of emotion were not their style.
"This is incredible!" Zimmermann managed at last. His voice was barely more than a whisper. "Incredible . . ." He looked back again at the image on the screen as if to make sure that he had not dreamed the whole thing. After contemplating it for a while longer, he had another question. "Do you really believe that you could resolve detailed images . . . ones that carry information? We could really gaze down to the core of Earth and for the first time actually see what is happening in the world beneath our feet? We could look inside the planets . . . inside the stars . . . ?"
"It's possible," Clifford nodded. "The only way we'd know for sure, though, would be with Mark II. This system was never meant for that kind of thing."
"Incredible," Zimmermann said again. "I gathered that you were making progress here, but this . . ." He gestured toward the screen and shook his head, as if still having difficulty believing what he had just seen. "It will change everything."
"Those images you just saw weren't being processed in real time, of course," Morelli explained. "You're not seeing something that's actually being picked up at the detector right this instant. They were simply playbacks of images that had already been computed. That's the main problem with the system so far—the amount of computer power needed to generate those outputs is phenomenal. These two guys have just about monopolized the machines in this place for the past few weeks. We've had to offload nearly all of our normal work on to the net."
"Extracting the spacelike information that you need out of the k-functions is a tedious business," Clifford explained. "The equations involved have an infinite number of solutions. Obviously we don't try to solve for all of them, otherwise we'd never finish, but it's still a hell of a job just to calculate the sets of limits needed to generate whatever spatial projection you want. Planar cross sections is only one possible category of solutions, yet imagine the number of different sections of, say, Earth that could be specified . . . taking into account all the possible angles and viewpoints. It blows your mind."
"I think mine has already been blown sufficiently for one day," Zimmermann replied, smiling. "May I relax now, or do you three gentlemen have still more surprises up your sleeves?"
Morelli went on to describe the difficulties that they were experiencing in obtaining the components needed for Mark II. He mentioned the questions that were being asked, t
he snooping, the general harassment they were being subjected to, and gave his guesses as to the reasons behind it all. Zimmermann already knew much of the earlier part of the story, of course, and the rest quickly fell into place. As he listened, his face grew dark and angry.
"The damn fools!" he exclaimed when Morelli had finished. "There is more future in what you are doing here than will ever come out of all their budgets put together. God knows, I'm no militarist, but if that's what they want, this is where they should be putting their backing. Have they any idea what this could lead to? Have you tried to tell them?"
Morelli shook his head slowly.
"We wouldn't want them muscling in," he said.
"They would," Clifford said, suddenly in a sober voice. "You see, we know what it could lead to."
"And we're outa their line of business," Aub completed.
* * *
Later on that evening, accompanied by Sarah, they all went for dinner to Morelli's home on the shore of Lake Boone at Stow. Nancy Morelli, Al's cheerful, homely wife already well known to all the guests, produced a delicious German meal of veal in wine sauce followed by Black Forest cake, with plenty of Moselle Golden Oktober and a selection of liqueurs to finish. Throughout the meal they talked about life at Lunar Farside, Sarah's work at Marlboro, Nancy's memories of childhood in New York, and Clifford's rock-climbing experiences at Yosemite. Zimmermann and Morelli swapped stories of the times they had spent in Europe, Sarah talked about England, and Aub raised roars of laughter with accounts of his escapades at Berkeley and before. Not once did the men deviate from observance of the unwritten rule that declared the earlier events of the day—if the truth were known, still the most pressing topic in the mind of each of them—strictly taboo for this kind of occasion.
After the dishes had been cleared away and everybody had spent another half-hour chatting and joking over drinks, Nancy took Sarah outside to show her the lake and the surrounding pine woods by sunset. As soon as the back door to the kitchen clicked into place, an entirely different atmosphere descended upon the room before anybody had said anything. Nobody had to broach the subject; they all felt it. Zimmermann was the first to speak.
"I suppose you did think of bringing the affair to the attention of ISF headquarters in Geneva, Al. One way round some of the difficulties might have been to have other ISF locations place your orders for you, and then have the material shipped to Sudbury as an internal transfer."
"Yeah, we thought of that," Morelli said. "But this is our own matter . . . local. If I've gotten into the bad books of the powers that be, I figure we oughta keep it that way. It would do more harm than good in the long run to go dragging the whole of ISF into it. Besides . . . as Brad said earlier today, if they get wind of what we're working toward, the place would be swarming with them." He took a sip of his drink and frowned into his glass. "In fact, from the things that have been happening lately, it wouldn't surprise me if they've gotten some kind of a sniff already."
"I suppose I must agree with you," Zimmermann said with a sigh. "Were I in your place, I would come to the same conclusions. ISF enjoys an extraordinary degree of independence in its activities, which it is naturally very anxious to preserve. We must not do anything that might prejudice relationships between ISF and government—any government." The professor reflected upon what he had just said, then shook his head. "No, you are right. We cannot go higher in ISF."
"Then where do we go?" Aub asked.
"I have been considering that question ever since this afternoon," Zimmermann replied. "Gentlemen, you have a problem. To solve it, it will be necessary for you to sacrifice at least some of your commendable ideals and come to terms—at least to some degree—with some of the less appealing realities that surround us. I have seen this kind of thing before. Believe me, you will not beat the system. This is only a beginning; it will get worse. Don't underestimate the people you are up against. Many of them are stupid, but they have power—and that is a fearsome combination. They will destroy you if they can, spiritually if not physically. Destruction is their business."
"So, what do we do?"
"If you continue to refuse to acknowledge that the power to make or break your project ultimately lies outside your own immediate sphere of influence, it will grow until it overwhelms you. Therefore, you must accept that it exists and will not go away by being ignored. That is the first step. Only when you accept that it exists can you think of using it to your own ends."
"Using it?" Clifford was confused. "How d'you mean, 'using it'?"
"Quite simple. You are obviously aware of how much the state commands in terms of resources, finance, and sheer weight of influence. Just think of the difference it would make to your research program if all that were to be harnessed to help it along."
"But that would be going backward, Professor," Aub protested. "We don't need their kind of help. Brad and I burned all our boats getting out of there not so long ago. The whole point is, we want to stay clear of them. We've done fine up to now with ISF providing all the resources and stuff."
"But that is precisely the point I am making," Zimmermann replied. "Unfortunately, you do not have the luxury of a choice any longer. The sentiments that you have expressed are fine just as long as the decision for you and the system to ignore each other and go separate ways is mutual. But when they begin to take notice of you, I am afraid that an attempt on your part to continue ignoring them will lead only to disaster. You are obliged to react. I am suggesting that, since it appears that you have no choice but to become involved with the government departments anyway, we endeavor to make that involvement constructive to our purpose." The professor spread his hands in an appealing gesture. "You have to get involved with them. If you don't, they will just squeeze harder. Use it."
Clifford stared out through the window for a few seconds, then turned abruptly to face the room.
"That's all very well as a theory," he said. "But we already know their attitude. It's totally destructive. I just don't see any way they're gonna suddenly like us. I don't see any reason why they should want to."
"That is where I might be able to help," Zimmermann stated softly. "My position with ISF causes me to maintain regular contact with high-ranking people in the government, many of whom are close personal friends of long standing. Even before I joined ISF, my work with the federal European Government involved considerable dealings with persons in Washington who are very close to the President."
Zimmermann paused to let the gist of what he was saying sink in. Three pairs of eyes watched him intently. "I hope all this does not sound too immodest, but perhaps you can now see my point. Don't be misled by the people who you have had to put up with. Thankfully there still are some intelligent and perceptive individuals in charge of this country, where you would expect them to be—at the top, where the real power lies. I'm not talking about the petty tyranny that is reveled in by the exalted office clerks whom you have had the misfortune of running up against. Now, suppose that I could open the right eyes to what you are doing here . . ." Zimmermann left the sentence unfinished.
Morelli looked at him with a new respect. Certainly if some kind of involvement was the only alternative to wrapping the whole thing up, then that would be the kind to have. Even if some form of commitment to more mundane objectives were called for, at least their basic research would have to continue before such could be realized. That meant they would be able to carry on unhindered, and in the long term . . . what the hell?
"What do you plan on doing then?" Morelli asked Zimmermann.
"First thing in the morning I will rearrange my schedule," Zimmermann answered. "Then I will make some appointments and fly to Washington—I hope straight away. That part you must leave to me. As for you . . ." his gaze swept the room to take in all three of them. "You will need to take off your scientists' hats for a short while. I want you all to get used to the idea of becoming salesmen."
Clifford and Aub looked at each other mystified. They both shrugg
ed together.
Zimmermann grinned. "It is very simple," he said. "What we have to arrange is . . ." The noise of the kitchen door closing interrupted him. Feminine laughter flooded the room. He glanced over his shoulder. "Oh dear me. It would appear, gentlemen, that business for today is over. I will explain everything in the morning. Ah, there you both are at last. We had almost run out of things to talk about. What do you think of the lake?"
Late that night, while Clifford and Sarah were driving Aub home, the two scientists explained to her the gist of what Zimmermann had said.
"Sounds as if he's offering to wheel in some big guns for you," she commented after they had finished. "Things could get interesting. Do you really think he could pull off something like that?"
"Well, Al reckons he knows all the right guys, all right," Aub answered from the back seat. "And it didn't take him any time at all to get us into ISF when we had the whole world on our backs. I'd give him my vote. What do you think, Brad?"
"I remember a long time ago—that first time we called him—he said he'd never make promises he couldn't be sure of keeping," Clifford replied. "I don't think he would, either; he doesn't seem to be that kind of person. That's what this world needs more of—more credibility in high places. He's got it, and that's why he is where he is and knows who he knows, and the rest are bums." He became quiet for a while and then his face broadened into a smile of anticipation in the darkness of the car. "Boy," he said over his shoulder. "I can't wait to see the carnage when Zim's big guns start blasting. If this all works out the way I'm beginning to think it might work out, I think I'm gonna enjoy it."
Chapter 15
The world of 2005 had polarized itself into virtually a lineup of the white versus the nonwhite races, a situation that had been developing for the best part of a century.
The buildup toward a final reckoning had gathered momentum in the early 1980s when, after a spasmodic series of clashes and coups among the emerging African nation-states, the white regimes in the South were finally overwhelmed and the continent began welding itself together into a closely knit alliance of anti-West, antiwhite African powers. In 1985, the Treaty of Khartoum cemented relationships between this bloc and the Federation of Arab Nations, popularly known as the Afrab Alliance, and marked the intensification of a joint economic campaign against the Western world. In the second half of that decade, Israel was overrun by Afrab armies, during the course of which tactical nuclear weapons were employed in the Sinai by both sides and the U.S. Mediterranean Fleet went into action. As a direct consequence of the war, forces from the American mainland invaded and occupied Cuba.
The Genesis Machine Page 16
