The Krone Experiment (35 page)

“To my mind that raises two issues. One is
whether we’re endangered. If there is a black hole down there, the
answer is yes, we are, although I gather the exact nature of the
peril and the time scale remain to be worked out. The second issue
is whether this dangerous situation was intentionally created. If
that’s the case, then it seems to me that is by far the greatest
threat, and we mustn’t lose sight of it.”

Phillips swiveled again to look out the
window. He cupped the glass of sherry in both hands in his lap and
replied in a ruminative tone.

“Which is the greatest danger? The bullet
streaking toward our heart—or the man who pulled the trigger?”

He was silent for a long moment and then
said, “I cannot help you there, Mr. Isaacs. The discussion this
afternoon was inconclusive because we don’t know enough. I
understand your concern. None of us will rest easily for a long
while.”

Phillips continued to gaze out the window.
Isaacs studied his profile for a time and then broke his own
reverie by throwing down the sherry at a gulp. Phillips made no
move. After a moment Isaacs rose and crossed the room. As he closed
the door behind him, he glanced one last time at the old man, his
vision still locked on some distant point.

Danielson opened the door at the knock and
smiled a greeting at Isaacs.

“Hi. Just a second, let me get my purse.” She
turned back into the room and reappeared shrugging into a sweater
as she juggled her purse by the strap. Isaacs reached to help with
the sweater.

“Thanks,” she said as they headed down the
hall. Her glance at him took in a bit of damp, mussed hair over his
temple. Despite this evidence for a recent face washing and attempt
to freshen up, she thought he looked tense and drawn. “You feel up
to this?” she inquired. “Going out?”

His smile put some life back in his face. “Of
course. Besides, I’m hungry as a bear. I always pick at that
airline food I had for lunch.”

Phillips, Runyan, and Gantt awaited them in
the foyer. Runyan’s attention immediately focused on Danielson.

“I’ve suggested a little Japanese place
downtown. Not your flashy knife-juggling kind, but excellent
sashimi and tempura. And not so expensive that it will do violence
to our government per diems.”

Danielson’s eyes swept him quickly. He had
swapped his beach clothes for loafers, dark slacks and an expensive
Italian shirt unbuttoned to show matted grey hair on his chest.

“That sounds fine,” she responded.

Runyan busied himself herding the group out.
When they reached the car, he insisted that Phillips ride in front,
in deference to his age. He ushered first Isaacs then Danielson
into the back seat and then squeezed his own limber form in next to
Danielson. He leaned forward to back-seat drive until Gantt had the
Thunderbird safely headed southward on the interstate. Then he
leaned back and drew Phillips into a good natured, if somewhat
embarrassed, reminiscence of Phillips’ encounter with a lady of the
evening at one of their scientific meetings.

The meeting had been held in a hotel
dominated at the time by a convention of salesmen. In the bar,
Phillips had mistaken the woman for a waitress and the call girl
had mistaken him for one of the salesmen with whom she had
previously made an appointment. Runyan related both sides of the
conversation that had proceeded at total cross purposes before the
misunderstanding was revealed.

Gantt had seen Runyan use this tack before,
relating a story with sexy overtones to check the reaction of a new
female acquaintance. Seems to be working, he thought. He glanced in
the rear view mirror and could see Danielson’s broad grin as she
followed Runyan’s animated delivery.

“And do you remember that look she gave you
as she was leaving and patted you on the head? I think she would
have preferred you to her paying client.”

“Now, Alex,” Phillips chuckled with
embarrassment.

“Whoops—here’s Washington Avenue; turn off
here,” Runyan directed at Gantt, reverting to navigator. “Okay, now
left under the interstate. There it is, on the left, just beyond.
See it? I’m not sure where to park. You always have to scrounge a
place here.”

“Well, why don’t I let you out here while I
go find a place,” volunteered Gantt.

They piled out of the car and then crossed
the street. There was a small queue on the sidewalk, but they were
admitted shortly after Gantt rejoined them, having left the car in
the lot of a gas station that was closed for the night.

Despite the somewhat crowded space, Runyan
managed adroitly to get them seated around a table intended for
four, drawing up a fifth chair for himself at the end of the table
by Danielson and Phillips.

The meal was all Runyan had advertised. Dish
followed excellent dish and when they all felt full, a new and
interesting plate would arrive, served by a quiet, cheerful woman
in traditional geisha garb. Runyan ordered a steady flow of saki
and Japanese beer and always ensured that Danielson was liberally
supplied. He helped her with playful solicitation to mix the cube
of wasabi into the tiny dish of soy sauce to make the dip for the
bits of raw fish. He was very adroit with chopsticks and insisted
on feeding her a bite from every new dish as it arrived.

Danielson found herself basking in the
attention Runyan lavished on her and greatly enjoying his company.
She mused to herself that, although he was about forty-five, as
close in age to her father as to herself, in terms of physique he
reminded her of the beach bum whom she had thought of marrying so
long ago. She realized she was greatly attracted to Runyan’s
radiant sense of well-being and self-confidence, the spirit that
had drawn her to Allan. But Allan had no purpose in life, no goal
beyond mastering the next wave. Runyan was completely different in
that regard. He operated on an intellectual plane Allan would never
even glimpse. She was also fascinated by the inner security she
thought Runyan must possess that enabled him to range from the
terrifying creative
tour de force
he had displayed that
afternoon to the wellspring of
joie de
vivre
presently at her side.

As they left the restaurant, Runyan tried to
drum up enthusiasm to go dancing. Danielson was in a mood to go
along, but quickly followed Isaacs’ lead when he demurred.

The ride back to La Jolla was, nevertheless,
made in good spirits. Danielson mostly listened as the men traded
anecdotes about Washington politics. The perspective of the three
scientists was similar, deriving from the National Academy of
Sciences and experience with certain congressional liaison
committees. They were highly entertained, therefore, by the
different view Isaacs provided from his wife’s exploits as a
lawyer.

When they arrived back at the Bishop’s
School, their spirit of camaraderie spilled out of the car into the
absorbing stillness of the campus. Runyan locked arms with
Danielson and escorted her up the stairs of the dormitory to her
door. Isaacs followed along behind. He had enjoyed the evening, but
had continued to view with some jaundice Runyan’s attention to
Danielson and her ready response. He forced a grin as Runyan
stopped with Danielson at her door and proceeded with comic
formality to kiss her hand in farewell. Isaacs made sure Danielson
was safely in her room, then walked on down to his.

Runyan climbed the stairs to his own room. He
switched on the light and stood for a moment viewing the casual
disarray. The desk was strewn with books. Many were opened face
down, others were face up with any convenient object—calculator,
coffee cup, pencil—used as a place holder. Soiled and clean clothes
were intermingled in a pattern discernable only to the
occupant.

The evening’s look of merriment was gone from
Runyan’s face. He relieved himself in the bathroom and then sat at
the desk. His first thoughts were of Pat Danielson. Bright woman.
He unquestionably wanted to get in the sack with her. He pondered
the dilemma of the modern age. How do you treat a competent woman
professionally when your cave-man hormones are singing their
atavistic song? In Danielson’s case, he could sense she was ripe.
If the circumstances had been a little different, a chance for some
intimacy, one of them might at this very moment be sneaking down
the hall toward the other’s room. He pictured her face as he gently
unbuttoned the blouse she had worn today. Whoa! He shook his head.
Enough torture of that sort. Let’s try another. He rummaged for a
pencil and a pad of lined paper on which he began to scratch a long
series of calculations. After an hour he rose and stretched and
then moved to a softer chair next to a reading lamp. A journal
devoted to astrophysics lay open on the arm, draped face down. He
retrieved it and began to read. As he read, he half consciously
waited for someone to come and explain where he had gone wrong in
his thinking. No one did.

By three in the morning, his fatigue ran
deep. He tried to replace the journal on the chair arm, but he was
well over half through, and the unbalanced volume slipped to the
floor. He swore, straightened the pages and marked his place with a
dirty sock. Then he undressed, fell into bed, thought briefly again
of Pat Danielson, and drifted into a fitful sleep.

Nine o’clock the next morning found the group
reassembled in Gantt’s room. Danielson and Runyan were talking in
quiet tones on the sofa. Gantt had conferred his swivel desk chair
to Phillips and taken the seat near the door. The others took their
accustomed places.

Phillips broke off his conversation with
Isaacs, who was seated next to him, as Noldt, the last to arrive,
came in swinging the door against Gantt’s chair and causing him to
slosh some of his post-breakfast coffee into his lap. Noldt
dithered in helpless apology while Gantt waved him off and dabbed
the spot with a handkerchief. After Noldt took his chair, Phillips
cleared his throat and began.

“We have no formal agenda this morning. Would
anyone care to add to yesterday afternoon’s discussions?”

“That is to say,” broke in Runyan, “can
anyone put a quick and merciful end to Runyan’s folly?”

There were several chuckles that died away
into silence as it became clear that no one was about to volunteer
a viable counterhypothesis or cite an obvious failure in Runyan’s
logic.

“With all due respect to you as our resident
astrophysical pundit, Alex,” said Fletcher, breaking the silence,
“if you’re on the right track, don’t we need to call in some expert
help on this problem, someone who knows about this particular
subject of small black holes?”

“Absolutely,” answered Runyan. “There are
several individuals whose advice would be invaluable, for instance,
Korolev in Russia or Pearlby in England. I’d love to discuss this
problem with Korolev over a glass of vodka.”

Isaacs straightened perceptibly, startled by
this sudden injection of Korolev’s name. But of course, he thought,
these people are probably old friends, cronies.

Phillips saw Isaacs start and took the
lead.

“There is, ah, a question of security here,
of course,” Phillips said.

“Surely not in the classical sense,” said
Noldt with some bewilderment. “This isn’t just a national issue.
The whole bloody world is being sucked up.”

“There’s no proof of that yet, Ted,”
reproached Phillips. “In any case, there seems good reason to
proceed cautiously at this point.”

“What about a colleague of mine at
Princeton,” suggested Fletcher, “Clarence Humphreys?”

“Of course,” Runyan enthused, “Clarence could
be very helpful. I don’t know about his stand on security matters,
but he should be approached.”

“There seems to be a consensus, then,”
summarized Phillips, “that we will proceed on the assumption that
Alex has provided the correct explanation of the events reported.
We will try to enlist the support of an expert on black holes,
particularly the miniature variety—starting with Humphreys. We’ve
already established that Gantt will set up a gravimeter experiment
to seek direct evidence for or against the black hole theory. Alex,
you mentioned the need for detailed orbit calculations. Can you see
to that end of things?”

“The best way to proceed there would be to
make use of the computer facilities and programs at the Jet
Propulsion Laboratory,” said Runyan. “I could move up to Pasadena
for the rest of the summer. As for security, we can’t simply ask
them to calculate a black hole orbit inside the Earth. I must have
special personal access to the computers, but I’ll need to consult
with the experts on the relevant codes that require modification.
Someone will have to do some arranging for me.”

Phillips looked at Isaacs who nodded in
confirmation. Phillips then addressed the group again. “Anyone have
anything else to add?”

After a moment Zicek spoke up.

“Our course of action is just as you have
outlined, Wayne— some straightforward steps to better define the
situation. Last night I took a different tack and spent a good deal
of time pondering Alex’s basic premise. He not only wants a small
black hole careening through the Earth, but he led us to the brink
of concluding that such a thing must have been artificially
manufactured. Despite his logic, like many of us here, I found that
idea
prima facie
absurd. And granting that absurdity, I
questioned the whole scheme. My apologies, Alex.”

Runyan shrugged and waited for the point to
which all this was preamble.

“This morning,” Zicek continued, “I am not so
sure.”

His eyebrows compressed together as he paused
to formulate his words.

“I do not see how to create such a little
monster, but I am no longer so positive that to speak of such a
process is absurd.