Nemesis (13 page)

Shafer frowned. “Once again making a hole as big as the asteroid. Meaning we probably break it into thousands of fragments, and shower America with super-Hiroshimas.”

“Now hold on,” said Sacheverell. He sat down next to Judy and rapidly typed in an instruction. A coal-dark, pitted surface filled his screen. “I’m into JPL and this is Mathilde, a near-Earth asteroid. It has a crater practically its own size and it held.”

“Okay, say for now that we blast a hole in its side and Nemesis stays in one piece. Would it hit or miss?” Noordhof wanted to know.

“We still need to know the speed of the ejecta,” McNally said.

“So let’s work it out. How fast do your nuclear explosions take place, Judy?” Shafer asked.

“The energy release is over in about a hundredth of a microsecond. It comes out as an X-ray pulse. Ground heating is complete in less than a microsecond. The trouble is, it gets so hot in that microsecond that the ground just reradiates most of the energy back. Only about five per cent goes into making a crater.”

Shafer said, “We hit Nemesis with a one-megaton bomb. It stays intact. A twentieth of the energy goes kinetic. So use 1/2
mv
²
and believe André’s fifty million tons of ejecta to get at
v
.” He scribbled rapidly and Webb let him get on with it. The physicist turned back from the board. “The debris recoils at a hundred metres a second.”

“In all directions,” Webb reminded him.

Shafer nodded his agreement. “The horizontal components of motion just cancel. The actual orbit shifting is done by the vertical velocity component, which will be fifty metres a second. Are you still with us, Jim lad?”

NASA’s Chief Administrator said, “You’re telling me that
if I deliver a one-megaton bomb I can blast about five per cent of the asteroid’s mass into space at 50 m/s. Times 3,600 gives me 180 kilometres an hour. So how fast does Nemesis recoil?”

Sacheverell said, “That’s high school stuff. From momentum conversation Nemesis itself is deflected at five per cent of fifty metres a second. Two metres a second.”

“Now hold on,” McNally said. “You’ve just told me we need thirty metres a second.”

Noordhof said, “Hit Nemesis a week before impact and you fail by a factor of fifteen to deflect it with a bomb. It looks like we need to catch this asteroid at least six months or a year out, Willy.”

Leclerc raised his hands in a Gallic gesture. “But for all we know it is only weeks out, maybe even days.”

Sacheverell said, “The Colonel’s right. We need an early warning.”

Shafer shook his head in disagreement. “We need ten or twenty years to map out the near-Earth environment down to the Baby Bears.”

Noordhof’s voice was beginning to border on desperation. “Are you listening? You have to find Nemesis a year out. Your own figures say so.”

“Mark, how do we know it won’t come in next week or next month?”

Noordhof rubbed a hand over his face. “This is bad news.”

Webb rubbed off the equations and scribbled some more on the blackboard. He came back and sat down heavily at the conference table, puffing out his cheeks. “It gets worse.”

“Are you comfortable, Fra Vincenzo?” the secretary asked.

Vincenzo encompassed the room with a wave of the arm. “I have rarely seen greater luxury outside the Palace of His Serenissimo.”

The secretary smiled. “Better than the cells of the Sant’ Angelo. I suspect they are showing deference to your age.”

“I suspect your own hand in the matter, sir. Not only do I have this fine apartment in the Holy Office itself, I am allowed access to a wonderful library downstairs. If I need to, I may call on the wisdom of St. Thomas Aquinas, Scotus and other great scholars in preparing my
Apologia
.”

The secretary lounged back on a sofa. “So. They tell me you had a rough journey.”

“I contracted a fever. We had to put up for three weeks in Orvieto. They say I almost died, but I remember little of it.”

“The Altezza is of course concerned for you. He is also anxious that your works should not be lost.”

Unexpectedly, the old monk burst into laughter. “And faced with a choice between my life and my works, which is it to be? No, do not answer, my son. Ferdinand’s love of his library is known to all. And he is right. Human life is ephemeral, but my work—it may be of little consequence, but it will surely outlast these bones by many centuries. To be read and studied by men yet unborn. Can there be a closer approach to immortality on this Earth?”

“I fear they may end up on the Index.”

“I have another fear. Something I fear more than death.” Vincenzo poured a glass of red wine for his distinguished guest, and one for himself. His hand was unsteady. “And that is the torture. I do not believe I could withstand the strappado.”

There was a moment’s silence. The Medici secretary sipped the wine, and changed the subject. “All Florence is talking about your forthcoming trial. The students of Pisa set fire to the Inquisitor General’s carriage with the Inquisitor still inside. There was fighting at the University of Bologna between supporters and detractors of the new cosmology. The authorities called in the mercenaries.”

“That is bad news for freedom of thought.”

“And worse news for you, Vincenzo. The Church may feel that it has to make an example.”

“Is there no place in Europe where a thinking man can be safe? They say that Calvin even set aside Geneva’s laws to have Servetus burned alive. Bruno met the same fate in this city forty years ago.”

“And you repeat not only the Copernican heresies, but also those of Bruno. What a foolish old man you are, Vincenzo Vincenzi.” The secretary stood up. “I will be at the Villa Medici in the Pincio for a few weeks. I have asked His Holiness to bring you to trial within days if possible. You have the right to an
advocatus
, which the Duke will pay for. I have made enquiries. You will be defended by a man of good family. He is young, but already well spoken of amongst the business community of Rome.” He turned at the door. “If you fear the torture, Vincenzo, put yourself in his hands.”

On the second day of his nominal imprisonment an earnest, round-faced young man, wearing lenses in a wire framework perched on his nose and curled behind his ears, knocked and entered Vincenzo’s apartment carrying a pile of papers.

Keenly aware of his rising reputation, Marcello Rossi
regarded the defence of Vincenzo as both an honour and a hazard. The honour lay in the fact that the great Medici family had chosen him. The hazard lay in the fact that the defence of an obviously guilty heretic, if pursued too vigorously, could lead to his own arrest on suspicion of holding the same forbidden beliefs. Between Medici and Pope he would have to exercise extreme care, or be crushed like a fly between two colliding rocks.

Vincenzo’s new advocate came with bad news: the Grand Inquisitor for the trial was to be Cardinal Terremoto. A massive, heavy-jowled man with small piercing eyes and tight, thin lips, his face was so fierce that its appearance was said to have struck terror into a visiting Spanish conquistador. Terremoto was an arch-conservative, a distinguished Jesuit theologian who had studied at Louvain in Belgium in order to familiarize himself with the heresies which prevailed in the North. A man of formidable intellect, he had shown himself zealous in rooting out the heresies which increasingly threatened the Mother Church.

The facts, Marcello Rossi quickly established, could not be disputed. Vincenzo openly declared his belief in the Copernican system whereby the Earth orbited the Sun and was not at the centre of the Universe. The charge against Vincenzo, that he held these opinions, was therefore no more than a plain description of the truth. And since the Holy Inquisition had, in the trial of Galileo some years before, established that the aforesaid beliefs were heresy, denial of the charge would be futile. Vincenzo’s only hope was to abjure the heresy, believe all that the Holy Catholic Church told him, and throw himself on the mercy of the Inquisitor. This the young man strongly advised the old one to do.

His reasoning was sound; but he had reckoned without the stubbornness of his client.

Succinctly, Marcello explained the procedures of the Inquisition to Vincenzo. The trial will be held in secret. Evidence will be presented through prosecution witnesses. You
will not be permitted to question these witnesses. You will then be interrogated. If by the end of the interrogation you have not confessed, or disproved the charges, you will be given time to prepare your defence. At that stage, you may call witnesses. But if at that stage you still persist in denial, the young advocate told Vincenzo, nobody will dare enter the courtroom to defend your heresies. The only witnesses who might be persuaded to appear will be those attesting to your upright character and piety. Do you have such? Vincenzo requested Fracastoro of Pisa, an old friend who had known Foscarini of Calabria, the supporter of Galileo. The advocate wrote the name down, and said he would submit it to the Grand Inquisitor.

In what circumstances would the trial proceed to torture? Vincenzo asked, in a voice tinged with fear.

You will be tortured if the evidence indicates guilt which you continue to deny, or if it is thought that your confession is not wholly sincere. Since your guilt is transparent, Marcello said, your only recourse is to purge your soul of the false doctrines and embrace the true beliefs as laid down by the Fathers.

But, said Vincenzo, I believe that the Earth orbits the Sun.

But can you then withstand the torture? Countless thousands of witches, under torture, have confessed to casting spells and curses, to night-flying on broomsticks, to attendance at witches’ sabbaths; and amongst these thousands of confessions, at least a few must have been false and made only to escape further suffering.

Vincenzo stayed silent, and Marcello left him to his thoughts.

That evening, Marcello returned and pleaded with Vincenzo for an hour to confess heresy and throw himself on the mercy of the Holy Congregation. Vincenzo said simply that the Earth is one of the planets, and it orbits the Sun. At the
end of the day, with the room darkening and an evening chill drifting in the windows, the young man marched out in despair.

The Pope’s mercenaries came for him an hour after sunrise, when the city was already alive with the clattering of cartwheels on cobbles and the cries of bakers selling their merchandise. They conducted him down broad marble stairs and along corridors to a small chapel, where he received the sacrament from a cardinal who would shortly become one of his judges.

At the very first sight of the assembled cardinals, Vincenzo’s heart sank. There were five of them, five red-robed cardinals, with facial expressions ranging from solemn to grim, seated at a long table made of polished oak.

After the opening prayer, and ceremonies which had no meaning to Vincenzo, he was instructed to sit on a low bench facing the table. The monk was shaking with nerves, and had difficulty drawing his eyes away from Cardinal Terremoto’s face. A notary sat at the end of the table: everything would be recorded, even Vincenzo’s cries of agony should the trial proceed to torture. The courtroom itself was a tall, airy room, its high, embellished ceiling supported by pillars. On the wall behind the notary was a life-sized representation of Christ on the Cross, and next to it a window which, each afternoon, would send sunlight slanting into the great room. Through the window Vincenzo could see the tree-covered hill of Monte Mario, framed on a light blue sky. Sheep were scattered over the hillside; a couple of shepherd boys were playing some game. It was a tranquil picture, far removed from the dark clash between world systems being played out in his own small world.

The first witness of the trial wore the pill-box hat and long cloak of a professor. He had a neat white beard, and he carried himself with the appropriate air of authority. He announced
himself as Andrea Paolicci, Professor of Natural Philosophy and Theology at Padua University.

Terremoto opened the questioning. The Cardinal had a deep bass, resonating voice, as if it came from the depths of a crypt. He hunched forward slightly as he spoke, his small dark eyes glittering intensely. “Doctor, do you accept that the use of eye and mind is a legitimate route to the interpretation of Nature?”

“We may approach the Mind of God through all His Works. That is, not only the Sacred Book, but also through His Architecture.”

“And that there cannot be a contradiction between the two, the Book of Scripture and the Book of Nature?”

“Clearly not.”

“You have studied the Copernican beliefs?” Terremoto asked.

“I have, from the perspectives both of natural philosophy and of faith.”

“It is your philosophical perspective which we seek. Doctor, do you find it tenable that the Earth is a spinning ball, a planet like Jupiter and Saturn, orbiting the Sun, with the Sun at the centre of the Universe?”

The Doctor smiled slightly. “I do not. The Copernican system is impossible. The world is fashioned as described in the Bible and as it was understood even before the days of Our Lord, by men of the greatest wisdom and enlightenment. I refer in particular to the teachings of Aristotle.”

“But you reach this opinion on the evidence of natural philosophy, and not simply of faith, or from the opinion of scholars from antiquity?”

The Doctor bowed affirmatively.

“Perhaps we can begin with the hypothesis of a rotating Earth,” said Terremoto. “What is your objection to this?”

The Doctor explained, glancing at Vincenzo from time to time as if justifying his position to the old monk. “If the Earth truly rotated, what would happen to the air? There
would be a violent, endless wind. All bodies not in contact with the ground would rush off in one direction. A falling stone would shoot off to the side as it left the hand. And yet, to the greatest precision which the eye can detect, and from the highest towers which we have, a stone falls straight down. There is no perceptible deviation from the vertical. The Earth must therefore, of necessity, be stationary, in accordance with the evidence of our own senses.”