Twistor (45 page)

Wegmann blinked and looked at the smooth wooden surface beside him, then reached out and rapped it with his knuckles. It seemed very solid. He struggled to formulate his next question. 'Another universe?' he asked. 'Look, uh . . . Miss Gordon, I've been a science reporter for a while, and I've never heard of anyone talk about other universes except sci-fi nuts and a few theoreticians. Is this some kind of a joke, or is it supposed to be real physics?'

Victoria Gordon smiled. 'Brand-new physics,' she said with enthusiasm, 'the newest.' She told him about the twistor effect, then paused and looked closely at him again. 'In your work, Mr Wegmann, have you heard anything about superstring theories? Or shadow matter?'

He paused. 'Look, Ms Gordon, I kinda wandered into science reporting, you know? My degree's in history and journalism. I was hired on as a foreign correspondent, but one of our science guys died and I was nailed with this job. When I first started a couple of years ago, I did a story about superstrings. But I mostly just interviewed some longhairs at Princeton and Harvard and MIT and let 'em talk. Now that you mention it, one guy did go on about some kind of invisible matter, yeah, it was "shadow matter," that his theory predicted. Seemed kinda proud of that, though I would've thought he'd try to keep it quiet.'

Miss Gordon smiled again. 'Particle theorists don't have the least sense of shame,' she said. 'And that
particular
theory, as it turns out, is more or less correct. Shadow matter does exist, and we now have a way of changing it into normal matter and vice versa.' She stroked the blue animal on her shoulder. 'Until a couple of days ago, Shadow here was made of shadow matter.'

'Are all the animals there that weird blue color?' Wegmann asked. 'I mean,' he added quickly, 'it's a very pretty color for a dress, but kind of odd for an animal.'

'Shadow's normal color is brown,' she replied, 'but he can change colors to adapt to surroundings rather like a chameleon. I think he matched his fur to my blue dress, though, as a kind of joke. He seems to have a well-developed sense of humor.'

A wasp, perhaps attracted by the TV lights, buzzed nearby. The blue-furred animal reached out, lightning fast, and to Wegmann's amazement picked the insect out of the air, holding it firmly between a thumb and forefinger. It removed the wasp's striped abdomen and put it into its little mouth. It seemed pleased with itself for a moment, then suddenly made a wry face and spat the insect remains on Wegmann's white shirt front.

'Some sense of humor!' said Wegmann. 'Does he do that often?' He attempted, with notable lack of success, to brush the mess from his shirt.

Victoria Gordon made no attempt to apologize. She shrugged and smiled.

Gil thought rapidly, grasping for a new angle. 'So your colleague – Harrison, was it? – is presently on this shadow Earth and is about to come back?'

'Yes,' she said. 'David has some gasoline-powered generators over there, and he and the Ernst children are about to come back. We've been in contact with him for the past several days. The children's parents, Paul and Elizabeth Ernst, are over there.' She indicated a couple sitting on folding chairs near the window. They looked to be in their mid-to late thirties. They were talking quietly, and the man was holding the woman's
hand
in his lap. 'Paul's a professor of theoretical physics in the department. He knows all about superstring theories. Maybe you'd like to talk to him.' She looked at her watch.

Gil nodded, excused himself, and walked across the room. He introduced himself and was beginning the interview when he heard something like lawnmower engines behind him and a voice saying, 'We're just about ready over here.' He turned and noticed a round dark region near one of the long walls. The noise seemed to be coming from there.

Victoria Gordon called out, 'We're all ready too, David. Come ahead.'

A few seconds later the dark region winked out, and as it vanished the lawnmower sound ceased. Everyone in the room was turning toward the wooden ball. Gil turned also.

Quite abruptly, the big wooden ball was no longer there. There was a puff of wind, and before him sat a disheveled man with a scraggly beard. Two dirty children stood next to him watching a computer screen. They turned around and everyone clapped, the sound competing with the noise of several little gasoline engines. The TV cameras were running; cameras flashed.

The man, presumably Dr David Harrison, rose and shut off the engines. The small blue animal that had been perched on Victoria Gordon's shoulder leaped to the floor, ran across the room with a peculiar gait, and jumped into the little girl's arms. The two children ran to their mother and father near where Gil was standing. The girl, who was introduced as Melissa Ernst, was very excited. She showed the little animal to her parents and then to Gil. Its color was now brown. Its little sixfingered hand gripped his finger like a handshake. It felt surprisingly strong.

The little boy hugged his mother for a long time, then proudly showed his parents the necklace he wore. A
number
of enormous, sharp, curving yellow teeth were strung on what looked like monofilament fish line. The child said they were 'shadow-bear' teeth and that he and David Harrison had made it after they had killed the bear. The bear had wanted to eat him, he added. From the size of the teeth, Gil decided he would rather not meet the entire animal.

On the other side of the room the cameras were flashing again. Gil looked around. David Harrison was kissing Victoria Gordon. The cameras flashed for quite some time.

Gil decided that this might be one of the better moments in science reporting. Three separate stories were already taking form in his head, and he was sure that a cover story was among them.

Dr Arthur G. Lockworth, Presidential Science Advisor and Director of the Office of Science and Technology Policy, pushed away from his desk and leaned back in his high-backed leather swivel chair. He looked out the window. The view from the high windows of the Old Executive Office Building always fascinated him. The city of Washington, D.C., part government nerve center and part Disneyland of the Potomac, had put on its evening finery. It was now after eleven. He was working late tonight because the president's speech announcing the success of the White Sands Laser Launch Facility and the new Moonbase plans had to be ready for review at the seven A.M. breakfast meeting.

There was a single quiet two-tone chime, and a light on his telephone console began to flash. It was his direct private line, known only to his wife and a few close friends. And, of course, the president. He lifted the receiver.

'Art,' said his wife's voice, 'I think you'd better check the eleven o'clock news on Channel 6. Hurry or you'll miss it. Call me when it's over. 'Bye.'

'
OK, hon,' he said, and replaced the receiver on its cradle. He took out the remote control from his desk drawer and zapped to life the flatscreen TV that masqueraded as a painting when it was turned off.

The announcer was doing a voice-over while the camera focused on a small blue catlike animal. It was perched on the shoulder of a pretty redhead, and it seemed to have six legs. They were saying something about a murder/kidnapping and something about physicists at a laboratory at the University of Washington in Seattle returning from 'another universe.' What the Hell did that mean? There were pictures of a grubby young man and two dirty children. Then there was a shot of the small boy standing by an enormous ugly animal that was apparently dead. The animal had six legs; its clawed feet projected into the air.

Finally they cut to a picture which seemed to have been taken in a forest of extremely large trees – trees such as Lockworth, a California native, had never seen. The same small boy was climbing down a crude ladder mounted on the side of one particularly large tree. He had a stick in his mouth. Lockworth examined the picture and noted its color values and block-pixel grain. He concluded that it must have been made with one of those new variable-resolution CCD-to-ROM digital electronic cameras. The U.S.A. had beaten out the Japanese on that development, he thought, satisfied.

The small boy turned and unrolled what was revealed to be a crudely drawn but accurate version of the U.S. flag attached to the pole. He turned to the camera, poked the butt of the flagpole into a dark patch of soil, and said in a high child-voice, 'I, Jeffrey Ernst, claim this universe, this territory, in the name of the United States of America.'

'God!' said Lockworth. He had the momentary illusion that he was looking at Pandora's box, standing with lid ajar while tiny winged creatures flew off in all directions. He reached for the gold-colored telephone, the one that
connected
him directly to the White House. This was going to be a long night.

David had only a few minutes with Vickie and Paul and the others before the interviews began. He had talked privately with the police and the FBI. They were particularly interested in the circumstances of his disappearance and of the death of Vickie's kidnapper. One of the policemen congratulated David for saving the taxpayers the expense of a trial.

Then he'd been interviewed at length by TV journalists and by reporters from several local newspapers, the wire services, and a national magazine. Finally he and Vickie had been able to leave Physics Hall together. His car was still parked in the underground garage where he had left it weeks earlier. It seemed strange to be driving through the streets of the University District once more. No giant trees, no six-legged animals.

They had gone to the Red Robin and David had reacquainted himself with 'Earth food' in the form of three cheeseburgers and most of a pitcher of beer. Finally, completely exhausted but happy, they went to David's apartment.

It was just after ten as David, with Vickie holding his hand, entered the apartment for the first time in over two weeks. Unless, of course, one counted David's visits from the other universe. Flash had left the place in rather a mess, but they pushed the clutter aside for cleanup tomorrow. David felt totally, terminally, dead tired, a little drunk, and very much in love. But there was one item that couldn't wait. He switched on his little flat Mac III, retrieved a diskette from a lower desk drawer, and called Vickie to come and sit beside him.

They worked for about an hour making final changes, corrections, and updates. Then he used the internal 9600-baud modem to dial into the Physics HyperVAX. He uploaded the two files, briefly edited his standard address
list,
and summoned the MAIL utility. In a few more lines the job was done and he logged off.

As it turned out, they both had plenty of energy left.

At 7:55 A.M. Eastern Daylight Time, a key turned in the door of the offices at 1 Research Road, Brookhaven, New York. The assistant production editor of the American Institute of Physics Publications let herself in and went directly to her office. The computer terminal on her desk listed the papers that had been electronically submitted to the AIP journals overnight. She routed the first stack, the batch for
Physical Review Letters,
straight to the laser printer for conversion to hard copy. Then she made a full pot of coffee.

When she had returned with a steaming cup there were a pile of stapled manuscripts in the output stacker of the printer. As she carried them to the editor's office for first processing she glanced at the paper on the top of the stack. It read:

First Observation of an Extra-Dimensional Precession Effect Induced by the Rotation
of a Spherical Electromagnetic Field

by

D
.
G. Harrison, V. A. Gordon, and A. D. Saxont

Department of Physics FM-15

University of Washington

Seattle, WA 98195

And at the bottom of the page she noticed the line: †Deceased.

'Is Allan Saxon deceased?' she wondered aloud. She made a note to relay the information to
Physics Today
so that an obituary could be run. He was no older than I am, she thought.

*   *   *

At
precisely 8:00 A.M. Pacific Daylight Time, the doorbell of David Harrison's apartment rang. He swam to consciousness from a great depth and shook himself awake. He looked around, reassuring himself that he was in his proper universe. Careful not to disturb Vickie, still fast asleep beside him, he carefully closed the bedroom door, stumbled to the front door, and peered out through the chained opening. Two men with dark business suits and narrow ties stood on the threshold. David recognized one of them as Agent Bartley, the FBI man who had interviewed him yesterday evening.

'Good morning, Dr Harrison,' Bartley said.

'I suppose it is,' said David, unchaining the door. 'I wouldn't know. Haven't had the opportunity to observe much of it yet.' He yawned.

Bartley introduced the other man as his associate, Agent Cooper. 'Dr Harrison,' he said, 'I'm afraid we'll have to impose on you again. We need for you and Miss Gordon to come down to headquarters with us. Immediately. On orders from Washington at the highest levels. I wonder if you'd wake her, sir.'

David looked sharply at Bartley. 'There isn't much you guys miss, is there?' he said.

Tart of the job, Dr Harrison.' Cooper leered. 'If you don't mind, sir?'

'OK, dammit,' said David. 'Come on in. Have a seat. We'll be ready soon.' He turned and stalked out of the room.

David looked at his watch. They'd been sitting in this bare office for almost two hours now. Bartley had provided coffee but no breakfast, and had not been particularly remorseful about the 'hurry-up-and-wait' routine. It was probably part of the standard procedure.

Finally, at ten-thirty, Bartley came in again, accompanied by two other men. 'Miss Gordon, Dr Harrison, I'd like you to meet Hodgkins, the agent in charge of our Seattle
office,
and Mr Pickering from Washington.' They shook hands.

Pickering presented them with identification from a defense-related scientific agency of the U.S. government, one with which David was only vaguely familiar. 'I apologize for keeping you waiting,' Pickering said. 'I was flown into McChord in a two-place military jet this morning, but then I got tied up in a traffic jam on the freeway between Tacoma and Seattle. Should've ordered a 'copter, I guess.'