“Nope,” Walter said. “They have dropped all charges.”
Penny smiled happily. “Thanks to you, Walter.”
“Oh, I am just happy it has turned out so well,” Walter told her. “It was my pleasure.”
He glanced at his watch.
“It's always good to see you again, Penny. Never mind the circumstances. Well, I must be off.”
He gave a brisk nod to Storm and set off through the gate to his car.
Once they were outside the walls, Storm realized where it was he had just spent the past twenty-four hours.
Behind them stood the notorious compound known throughout Sydney as URF. The Unicorp Remand and Holding Facility was the child of a federal government deal with a major international corporation. Oddly enough, as these things happen, it was the result of a decision to privatize all the prisons in yet another effort to save the country some money. Unicorp won the sole contract to run every prison on the continent as if by some unspoken prior arrangement.
The Unicorp commercials run at the start and finish of every evening news broadcast most nights for the best part of a year. URF was sold to the still sleeping public as a bright new future for job seekers who might be interested in a career with the nation's premier security company.
The Unicorp Rangers of Australia were first thrust into public view in what could only be considered at the time to be an outbreak of URF commercials on TV. Their arrival should not have been much of a surprise, not given all the sweeping changes taking place and the lack of debate that preceded them.
URA itself was a Frankenstein monster created out of Unicorp once an even larger security company bought out the corporation. Unicorp had always shown a preference for retired police and military, but the new militia was going to be different. It would be run under an entirely separate company. URA most surely differed from its parent company in their recruitment campaign that called out to the youth of the nation.
A skit on a comedy show popularized the Rangers' nickname and suddenly they were as Australian as dingos and beach budgies. Public opinion held that it was a local TV host who declared Rara recruits would prefer to join the Police Force if only they were able to pass the police entry exam. From that moment on, all TV channels referred endearingly to 'our Raras'.
Their signature uniform of the Raras consisted of dark blue pants tucked into black boots, dark blue caps, and tan-colored shirts. They quickly became a familiar sight on nightly news bulletins manning barriers for the police at roadblocks and corralling the press during suburban sweeps for terrorist cells. They were the golden boys and girls who helped keep the nation safe without even wearing a weapon.
But, for the time being, all of this was of no concern to Storm as he stood beside Franchette's car, enjoying being a free man once again.
“How did URF treat you then?” She asked with a shaky smile.
“Like crap!” He said, rubbing his wrist.
“Did they hurt you?”
He shook his head. “Some of the prisoners took a beating. They probably did nothing more than sit and listen to a speech like I did.”
Penny stared at Storm in astonishment. Since when had he become so political?
“Maybe they damaged public property,” she said with a frown.
She did not quite believe it herself, but she thought it must be said anyway.
Storm ignored the suggestion. “Alistair told me they were a registered political party, and that gave them the right to speak on campus.”
“Who's Alistair?” She asked with a frown. “You've never mentioned him before.”
“I met him when we were arrested.”
“Why did you have to be part of it, Storm?” She asked, trying to sound as reasonable as she could under the circumstances. “God, I would have thought what happened to us in the City yesterday morning was enough excitement for you!”
“I was sitting in an audience listening quietly to a speaker,” Storm said slowly.
“Oh, never mind all that,” she said. “You know, you don't look too hot. How about we have a coffee?”
“Can't we just grab a coffee from Maccas once we're on the road?” He asked, wincing inwardly at the thought of staying in the city one more hour.
He wanted nothing more at that moment than to be far away from Sydney.
“How was your graduation ceremony?”
“I'll tell you all about my twenty-four hours when we find a decent cafe.”
“Oh, Jeez!” He exclaimed with a sigh as he opened the car door. “I really just want to go home, Pen.”
“Well, I'm not drinking crap coffee from a paper...” she began. “No—wait! I want to hug you again.”
She reached out to him and he stepped into her embrace.
“Phew! You really do pong,” she whispered. Then she drew him close and kissed him.
21
Keeping Secrets
“But we're not equipped to monitor the Sun,” Arnold protested.
“We're observing sunrise and sunset, and I'm interested in associated phenomena around the Sun at those times,” Michael explained. You're putting on a good show of looking lost, Arnold, he thought. But I am sure you know exactly what I am talking about.
The two men were alone in what Michael liked to call the boardroom. It was a neutral space where they could take a break from their desks to drink horribly over-extracted coffee from an ancient percolator and talk about anything.
“But you've got Big Bear to give you that!” Arnold said vehemently, eager to end the discussion.
“Don't you think I've already tried to get the data?” Michael said, glaring at the man. “They won't release it! They're as tight as a fish's ass—the way NASA and the USAF like—or so it seems.”
“Are you forgetting they are funded by the National Science Foundation?” Arnold asked.
Arnold stood in front of Michael, a cup of coffee he had made for himself several minutes ago going cold in his hand. Even while he listened to the director, he was trying to work out how he could escape the interrogation and return to his office.
“Another government agency!” Michael snorted with indignation. “Come on! I want data today. Not in two months' time, or in two years. Even if I waited that long, I'd only get whatever some government egghead rubber stamped for release.”
“There are other solar observatories,” Arnold pointed out.
“Don't you think I've tried all of them? Either they haven't got the data I need, or else they are forbidden to release whatever they have.”
“Then leave it alone.”
“Are you really interested in science at all, Arnold?” Michael said, staring at the man's chest.
“Of course I am,” Arnold said, his cheeks turning pink. “You are being ridiculous!”
Michael got up from the table and pushed his chair back in place. “Arnold, why do you bother defending the stupidity of short-sighted politicians who don't care a flying fig about anything but themselves?”
Michael was doing his best to calm himself somewhat.
Arnold's reply was frosty. “Perhaps because scientific research cannot survive without funding.”
“Governments get most of the research money from the taxpayers,” Michael said indignantly. “Least they did the last I knew.”
“And what do most of the taxpayers know or care about science?” Arnold said with a shrug.
“Listen to yourself, man,” Michael said, jabbing a finger in Arnold's chest. “You are beginning to sound like a robot!”
Arnold blinked. “Perhaps we can talk about this some other time,” he said, returning Michael a thin smile.
“Of course,” Michael replied unable to hide the note of disgust in his voice.
Their conversation was over.
22
Changes
It was the next morning when Michael managed to corner Arnold once more in the boardroom. This time, he had made sure Karl was present.
Michael swiveled his laptop comput
er so the other two men were able to see the screen.
“I have no doubt about it,” Michael said. “None at all. There's a force acting on our sun that is affecting its energy output. Look at the Sun! It flashes. It wobbles.”
He pushed several papers in front of the two other scientists.
“Here's the evidence. See for yourselves and tell me I'm wrong.”
Karl sipped his burned coffee and grimaced at the bitter taste, pushing the cup aside. If Michael didn't buy a new and better coffee maker very soon, he was going to arrive at work one of these days to find the old percolator crumpled in the parking lot, having fallen from a great height.
As it turned out on this day, Karl discovered his morning shot of caffeine wasn't necessary. He was already well and truly awake.
Karl waited for Arnold to show interest in the papers. The man was his senior after all. But when the scientist failed to respond, Karl pulled the papers across the tabletop and spread them out in front of him. The pages were filled with Michael’s calculations: his numbers, diagrams, and jotted notes. After studying them in silence for several minutes Karl looked up at Arnold.
“You know, the field lines alone are clear evidence of electromagnetic influence coming from a source other than our sun,” Karl said, and he pointed to the vectors Michael had scribbled on the paper. “It’s all right there in front of us.”
“No, that can’t be correct,” Arnold said, pushing his spectacles aside with an index finger to rub at the tiny muscle that had begun to twitch in the corner of his eye. “What you are both seeing is related to a typical solar cycle.”
“A typical solar cycle, my ass!” Michael replied with a grimace.
“Remember the giant filament that lay across the surface of the Sun for two whole days?” He asked them, turning from Arnold to Karl. “Well, take a look at this.”
He pointed at the display on his laptop and tapped a key to start the video sequence.
“Look at what happens,” Michael said. “The filament snaps away. No—make that sucked away! It’s like an invisible vampire feeds off the Sun.”
“Are you presenting this at the symposium in Melbourne?” Karl asked, gazing at Michael with a bemused expression.
“Damned right I am!” Michael declared.
He spun the laptop around once more and opened the image in Paint Shop. Using the mouse, he drew three long candy green lines over the streaks of fiery plasma extending from the orange disk. When he was finished, he showed his artwork to Arnold.
“See the length of these things. See how many there are? And they are on the same side of the Sun! So please don't tell me that is normal?”
“Interesting,” Karl said, craning his neck for a closer look. He nodded his agreement. “Nice capture!”
“Notice they are all heading off in more or less the same direction,” Michael said.
Arnold pushed his spectacles up his nose and peered at the display.
“Did you get those images from Learmonth?” He asked with barely concealed surprise.
Michael smiled in response. He could barely disguise his sense of triumph.
“And the other observatories—they all recorded the same discharges?” Arnold asked, easing himself back into his chair.
“Yes, they did.” Michael switched the image on the screen to a view of the Sun's surface. “Now, take a look at these shots.”
He began to click through the images, barely pausing on each to give the men time to digest what they were seeing.
“All around the globe as it happens. At Learmonth, Udaipur, El Teide, Cerro Tololo, Big Bear, and Mauna Loa. You can take your pick. They all record the same phenomena.”
“You mean those flashes are being observed in virtually every solar observatory on Earth?” Karl asked, shaking his head in disbelief.
Michael had focused his attention on Arnold, and he waved his hand for Karl not to interrupt. The young scientist’s role in the room was to bear witness to the exchange between Michael and Karl. It was Michael’s hope that Karl’s presence might even pressure Arnold into finally releasing whatever information he was holding from them.
“Consider all those geomagnetic storms we've been monitoring. We've got data from magnetometers—we’ve got the elevated Kp Index. The jolts are going off the charts. I’ve no doubt there’s a correlation between solar wind and what’s happening on the surface of our planet. In fact, I’m sure there’s a correlation between the solar wind and the surface of all the planets in our system.
“But then—our sun is not the only source of this solar wind! The solar cycle should be now at a minimum. That’s what we expect, and it’s what we are told. How come we are being walloped by all this solar wind? Well, now we have the answer. The data clearly show a second source of the wind!”
When the man failed to respond, Karl glanced at Arnold and saw with surprise that the scientist’s face was completely drained of color.
“You're supposed to be the whiz kid when it comes to radiation emissions, aren’t you?” Michael asked Arnold. “So, why don’t you tell us what's going on?”
Arnold’s metal chair legs scraped the concrete floor as he stood.
“I—ah... I have to take a pee.”
When the door closed behind Arnold, Michael turned to Karl.
“What do you think he's up to?”
“Oh, come on Mick. You are making the proverbial mountain out of a molehill.”
“Don't call me Mick!” Michael growled.
“You're a bit touchy today, aren't you?” Karl asked.
“Damned right,” Michael said. “I am concerned about our colleague... I've tried to shake the feeling. I always end up telling myself that I'm being silly, that I should better tolerate the man's nervous disposition. Now, I'm not so sure anymore.”
“Don't you think it boils down to Arnold’s lack of social skills?” Karl asked.
Michael shut his laptop a little too hard and glowered at the tabletop.
“You want to know what I think?” Karl said with a grin.
“Of course I do,” Michael replied, but he didn’t raise his head.
“Arnold is just as committed to scientific discovery as you and I.”
Michael sighed. He grabbed his empty cup and walked over to the coffee maker. “Do you want another one?”
“No—ah—yes—alright.”
Michael took the empty cup from Karl’s hand and poured the hot black liquid into the cups on the counter. Behind him, the door opened, and he heard Arnold's nervous cough. He suddenly felt a sense of remorse, and he glanced around at his American colleague.
“You want another cup, Arnold?”
Arnold shook his head. “No, I seem to have a weak bladder today. It's probably all this talk of plasma outflow.”
Karl was unable to stifle his chuckles. It was not often Arnold came out with a well-timed wisecrack. Hell, the man had to dig deep for a quip like that one.
“Ah—I better get back to my project, if you don't mind,” Arnold said.
“Sure,” Michael replied. “Your mystery project...”
Arnold blinked and hesitated in the doorway.
“You know, Arnold, I am the chief scientist. I'm supposed to oversee my team. Yet, I still don't know what it is exactly what it is you are researching. Why can't you tell us what you are working on?”
“That's ridiculous,” Arnold replied. “You already know.”
“No, I don't. I know your area of expertise. I know you're making use of our facility. I was told to make space for you, and I think we’ve all done that. I realize I get little say in who they send me anyway. But don't forget, I am the director.”
Arnold shrugged. “Of course, you are.”
Michael gave the man a dismissive wave. “Yeah, well, go on then. Oh, wait! One last thing.”
He felt like an idiot having to ask the question but he would anyway.
“You really are from UCSC, aren't you?”
“Of course I am!” Arnold
said with a look of genuine surprise. His stood staring at Michael, his jaw working as if he was trying to remove food lodged between a gap in his teeth.
“I find your observations interesting,” he said, his eyes blinking behind the thick lenses of his spectacles. “But, frankly, I think it best you keep those kinds of ideas to yourself. I'm sorry, but that's how it is.”
“Sure,” Michael replied, continuing to stare hard at Arnold. “When the symposium is over, I'll publish my findings and then the real debate begins, whether or not you are a part of it.”
“I don't think you should do that,” Arnold said with a frown, his hand still on the handle of the door. “Publishing your paper is going to present a problem to some out there you would do best not to annoy... But why did you ask if I am from UCSC?”
“Just curious,” Michael muttered darkly.
“Oh,” Arnold said with a nod of his head, then he closed the door softly behind him.
“—to know if you're from a different government agency,” Michael continued.
The director of Siding Spring Observatory strode across the room to open the door after Arnold.
“There's a second solar wind in our system, and you know something about it! What good is it keeping that kind of information to yourself?”
Michael heard the door to the stairwell slam shut.
Karl listened to the sound of Arnold's oversize boots descending the metal stairs and stared at Michael’s papers.
“The secretive bastard!” Michael said to his empty office once he had closed the door.
He dropped into his chair and stared at the blank monitor. He put a hand to the graying hair at his temples and massaged his scalp with the tips of his fingers. It was his habit whenever he felt frustrated or worried, or both as was the case.
Arnold was surely an unknown quantity. After several months working with the man, Michael had already reached the conclusion that he trusted the arrogant shit about as far as he could throw him. And yet, they were both scientists who shared similar fields of interest. The idea that Arnold had been sent to Siding Spring to monitor his work troubled him. It would be so bloody inconvenient if it were true!
Jubilee Year Page 11
