The Krone Experiment (33 page)

“Do you have any idea how quickly it will
become dangerous?” Fletcher wanted to know.

“Again, I can make some guesses as to what
will happen,” replied Runyan, “but I can’t say just when without
more information.

“If it is a black hole and we can’t get rid
of it, it will continue to consume the matter of the Earth. We’ll
have to look at the details more closely. This will be part of the
orbit calculations I just mentioned. It may, for instance, eat the
liquid core faster than the solid mantle, although it’s traveling
faster in the core and that may mute the effect. In any case, it’s
riddling the mantle with small holes. Either consuming the core or
weakening the mantle will induce earthquakes of increasing
magnitude. The drag associated with its motion will eventually
cause it to settle into the center of the Earth. Not only will it
then be irrevocably out of reach, but the core will be rapidly
consumed.

“As the molten core of the Earth is consumed,
the Earth will shrink. That in turn will remove the pressure
support that holds up the giant continental plates. They will begin
to rapidly shift and collide, in turn giving rise to another source
of destructive Earthquakes. All of this seismic activity will cause
severe volcanic activity and tidal waves. As the hole gets to be
near the mass of the Earth, the Earth will begin to oscillate in
orbit, as it revolves around a common center of mass with the hole.
This will drastically enhance the destruction.

“Finally, the hole will grow so large that it
will rapidly ingest the last of the core and large chunks of
mantle. The outcome will be a black hole with the mass of the
present Earth, but only the size of my thumb.” He made a fist with
extended thumb for illustration. “In the end there will be nothing
but the Moon orbiting a small black nothingness, maybe along with a
ring of rocks that managed to avoid being pulled in.”

The group of people in the room sat silently,
mesmerized by this gloomy prediction. Caught up in the story he was
spinning, Runyan paused, but then proceeded on an afterthought.

“I’m sure it’s of only academic interest, but
one can carry the story to its end. This small black hole and its
Moon would continue to orbit the Sun. After several billion years,
the Sun will swell to become a red giant and will engulf the hole.
If the Earth still existed at that point it would be vaporized in
the fire. But if the black hole has done its work, the tables will
be turned. The process will begin again, but with the Sun the
victim. The hole will slowly spiral down through the matter of the
Sun. It will settle to the center and consume the whole Sun in the
space of a few years. That black hole, now immensely massive but
only a few miles across, and its remnant planets, if any, will then
proceed through space until the end of time.”

*****

Chapter
12

Konstantin Naboyev climbed into the
helicopter with a feeling of grim pleasure. It was not much of a
revolt, but it was his, and he was so bored he could eat the hinges
off a hatch cover. He had to do something to scratch this itch;
there was nothing else in sight, so this was it.

He went through the pre-flight check quickly
and lifted off the helipad as the control started to give him
permission. The voice squawked that he had not maintained
procedures. Up yours, he thought to himself. What are you going to
do, send me back to Afghanistan?

He longed to return to that incredible
challenging mountain terrain. There your ass was on the line every
second of the day. Even when you were asleep, those tricky, fierce
bastards could figure some way to get to you. In Afghanistan, you
were either a man, or you were dead. In a way he loved those tough
rebels who fought like stubborn terriers and kept him on the
razor’s edge, every nerve throbbing with awareness. But most of all
he loved to find them scrabbling over the rocks in the high
country, in places where it was impossible to fly, where the passes
were too narrow, the air too thin, the cross winds too vicious. He
would fly there anyway! He would find them, bring his great machine
whining up over a ridge, catch them in his sights, and rip them to
bloody shreds.

And so what was he doing now? Flying off a
ship in the middle of the flattest, most boring god-awful expanse
of ocean known to the mind of man. The mindless routine was driving
him absolutely berserk. Stop in the ocean, lower the small boats,
rig the large aluminum plate between them, sail around trying to
see if something coming out of the sea would punch a hole in the
plate. Naboyev, now he was really lucky. He got to take off, fly in
a lazy circle about the small boats below, not see a goddamn thing,
then land back on the ship, so they could sail a few hundred
kilometers and then perform the same idiotic routine the next day.
Well today, by god, he was at least going to find out a little
about what was coming out of the ocean.

The rumors making the rounds were that they
had gotten pretty good at positioning the plate so whatever it was
came up and made the silly little hole. Since that was the only
action around, Naboyev was determined to play the game and find out
what they were all up to. He’d just kind of break formation at the
right time and fly on over that plate and see what he could
see.

He went into his standard circular pattern,
listening to the radio traffic. He had learned to time the
scattered information that came over his frequencies and knew when
to kick the rudder and head for the platform. He wanted to get
there in time to hover over the platform at a couple of thousand
feet for thirty seconds or so before the hole got punched. That way
he would have time to get stabilized and oriented before anything
happened. With any luck there would be a circus. There would sure
be one when he got back on ship. To hell with them!

Naboyev listened to signals being relayed to
the small boats carrying the plate from some sonar installation in
the mother ship. When he heard the call for them to hold position,
he broke off and headed for the knot of boats. He took up position
over the boats and peered down. He saw a small turbulence and a
rising plume in the water next to one of the boats. If that’s what
they were after, he thought, they missed it today. He strained, but
couldn’t see anything else, nothing came up in the air toward
him.

The helicopter bucked and Naboyev felt he had
been hit by a shell. His craft began to shake as if caught in a
gigantic paint mixing machine. Naboyev fought the controls of the
ship like a madman. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a
half-meter long slab of metal go arcing gracefully out and down
toward the ocean below. Without knowing how it happened, he
recognized that the tip of one of his rotor blades had been
sheared, and that the vibration from the imbalance of the rotors
would make it impossible to land even if the chopper didn’t shake
itself apart.

Naboyev throttled down to reduce the
centrifugal force on the blades. He changed the pitch to decrease
the lift and the machine dropped like a rock. The shaking was eased
minutely, but the ocean came up with terrifying speed. At the last
possible second, Naboyev restored the pitch and opened the
throttle. The craft halted its plunge ten meters above the gentle
swells, but began to vibrate more fiercely than ever. Naboyev kept
a death grip on the stick with his right hand, and opened the hatch
door next to him with his left. He took his feet off the pedals and
stuck his butt out the door, leaning, straining to keep the
wobbling ship on even keel with the stick. He got his feet on the
rim of the hatch as the craft began to rotate, and then in one
swift desperate movement, he released the stick, kicked it with his
foot and used the leverage to eject himself out the doorway. The
effect was to knock the stick to the right as he hurled himself to
the left. The helicopter followed the lead of the stick and lurched
to the right as Naboyev fell clear, hurtling to the water
below.

He curled into a ball and felt the blistering
blow as he smacked into the ocean. He uncurled and opened his eyes,
struggling to orient himself as he heard and felt the great
churning of his wounded, pilotless machine plunging into the water
twenty meters from him. He swam for the surface and broke through
to the pure sweet air, shouting to himself as he broached.

Death! You rotten bastard! I’ve looked into
your putrid eyes. And I’ve won again!

Isaacs stood near the door, watching the mild
confusion as some members of Jason tried to leave the room past the
clutter of chairs and lingering people. After Runyan’s projection
of the destruction of the Earth, if not the Sun itself, by his
hypothesized black hole, Phillips had called a halt to give time to
think and evaluate. They would reconvene the next morning.

Isaacs recalled Runyan’s fatalistic shrug
when Phillips suggested their free time should be spent seeking a
different solution to the problem. Isaacs recognized that Runyan
was sincerely convinced he had the correct interpretation, however
wild the idea, whatever the gaping questions left unanswered. But a
black hole! Isaacs could see no immediate weakness in Runyan’s
argument; it made a certain sense. But it violated every
professional instinct. Somehow, Runyan had to be wrong. Isaacs
determined to have a quiet, serious talk with Phillips.

Danielson noticed that Isaacs was not moving
to leave immediately. In attempting to get out of the way, she did
a brief Alphonse-Gaston routine with Zicek before retreating into
the cranny between the desk and the sofa. Runyan edged along the
blackboard and then in front of the sofa to get behind Zicek,
Fletcher, and Noldt. Out of a sense of propriety for his temporary
quarters, only Gantt remained seated in the swivel chair at the
desk.

As Danielson watched Noldt, the last of the
first group to leave, she was startled to feel a grip on her elbow.
She looked around to see Runyan, whose mood was transformed by an
infectious smile of mirth and well-being.

“You see what you and your boss have done?”
he asked merrily. “Put me through the wringer! What I need now is
the company of a pretty lady for dinner. Do you have any
plans?”

Her smile, which had been spontaneously
induced by Runyan’s radiating good spirit, brightened further.
Runyan’s revelation had left her shaken, the idea was too strange,
too new for her to readily cope with it. Her immediate reactions
were much more personal. She was exhilarated that her work and
risks had paid off. These men of Jason had given her the ultimate
accolade by taking her analyses seriously. Besides listening to
her, Runyan had deeply impressed her with his mind-boggling
explanation of her discoveries. She was delighted at the chance to
prolong these feelings with an evening in Runyan’s company.

“I’m not sure what Mr. Isaacs has in mind,”
she said.

“Well, let’s just see,” Runyan cut her off.
Without releasing his grip on her arm, he led her around Gantt to
Phillips and Isaacs.

“Gentlemen. I propose a few drinks and a good
meal in pleasant company as therapy for our weighty problems. Will
you join us?”

Isaacs noted with irony that Runyan had
appointed himself and Danielson the core of the action, as if
Phillips and he were the peripherals. Danielson had comported
herself very well through everything today, thinking on her feet,
picking up quickly on the lack of scorching, a point he should have
stressed. More evidence of her good prospects in the Agency. His
glance fell on Runyan’s possessive hand on her elbow. Isaacs was
still nervous about Danielson consorting with these academics,
particularly Runyan, coming on fast this way. She was a grown
woman, though, and deserved some recognition for her excellent work
of the past few months. He looked at the expectant smile on her
face and smiled himself in acquiescence.

“Of course, provided we’re not out too
late.”

“I’d be honored to be in your company,”
replied Phillips, with a small bow.

As if remembering suddenly whose room they
were in, Runyan spoke back over his shoulder, “How about you,
Ellison? Can you join us?” His jovial tone dropped a note, a slight
hint that Gantt was welcome to go his own way, which Gantt ignored
or failed to notice.

“Sure, I’d like to join you if you don’t
mind,” said Gantt, rising from his chair.

“I’m sure Dr. Danielson would like a chance
to freshen up,” Phillips nodded in her direction. “Let me show you
and Mr. Isaacs to your rooms.” Then to Runyan he said, “Let’s meet
in the lobby downstairs in forty-five minutes.”

As Phillips escorted the pair out, Runyan
turned to Gantt. “You brought your Thunderbird down here from
Pasadena, didn’t you, Ellison? Can you take all five of us?”

“Sure, I can manage that.”

“Hey, good. I’ll see you downstairs
later.”

Runyan left, pausing a moment to look down
the corridor to his left where Phillips was showing Danielson into
her room. He then proceeded up another flight of stairs to his own
cubicle.

Danielson shut the door behind her and looked
around the room that was markedly similar to the one she had been
in all afternoon, but less cluttered. There was no desk and the
dormitory bed remained in its position near the windows. Her
overnight bag had been neatly deposited on the use-worn bureau by
the marine chauffeur they had rated on this official trip. She
peeked into the bathroom and then kicked off her shoes and lay back
on the bed, her mind spinning with the events of the afternoon. She
found herself thinking about Runyan, the way he had taken charge of
the meeting, and of their plans for dinner. She felt a warm glow,
twinged at the edges with fingers of darkness.