LOWELL CITY, MARS General Tolliver Gordon
looked up from the holocube in his meaty hands. “Who else has seen
this?” Major Lyle
Kaufman, standing at attention, permitted himself a wintry smile.
“Practically everyone, sir. This civilian Dieter Gruber has spent two
years trying to get someone from Alliance Command inte rested. Anyone.”
“Stefanek?” “No, sir.” It was not lost on
Major Kaufman that a general had referred to the Supreme Commander of
the Solar Alliance Defense Council without his title, and to a junior
officer. For the first time, Ka ufman felt a twinge of hope. He could
never get in to see General Stefanak. Gordon could. “General Ling?” “Yes, sir.” “Ling saw this, and dismissed
it?” “He said
there’s no hard evidence, sir.” “Hard evidence isn’t the only kind worth
considering.” Gordon stood, a big man in a small room. He handled the
gravity of Mars easily. Born here, decided Kaufman, who had not been.
That would help, t oo. In theory all nation members, and all service
branches, of the Solar Alliance Defense Council were equal. However,
some were more equal than others, especially in wartime. Gordon walked to a small
shelf on one wall of his underground bunker/office. On the shelf stood
a mesh cage about a meter square, filled with plastic “shavings.” He
picked up a watering can, poked it t hrough the mesh, and filled a water
bowl just inside the cage. “All right, Major, I’ve viewed the cube and
read the report. Now tell me in your own words what this scientific
quest is about, why you think it’s important, and why I should think
so.” This was his
chance. Everyone had told him that if he got this far, Gordon would
really listen. Kaufman cleared his throat. “Two years ago, sir, on a
routine recon, the one military officer on a scien tific expedition to a
new planet discovered that one of its moons was an artificial construct
with the same kind of markings as the space tunnels. The war was going
badly then—“ Kaufman
broke off. A mistake: the war with the Fallers was still going badly,
worse than ever, but he had never met an officer in High Command who
appreciated being reminded of it. Gordon, however, mer ely picked up a
bag of small seeds and began filling a clear plastic tube leading inside
the cage. “—and so we launched a secret
expedition to see if the moon was, or could be, a weapon. That is, the
expedition wasn’t secret, it looked like just another bunch of
anthropologists, but it included a tea m of unacknowledged military
scientists led by Colonel Syree Johnson, retired. The ship was the
Zeus, under Commander Rafael Peres. Johnson discovered that the moon
would indeed make a formidable weapon. It released a spherical wave
that destabilized a ll nuclei with an atomic number greater than
seventy-five. While they were still testing the artifact, the Fallers
showed up and wanted it, too. Johnson and Peres tried a race for the
system’s only space tunnel, #438, towing the moon—“ “Towing it? How big was this
moon?” “Almost
twenty times the size of the Zeus, sir. Mass of 900,000 tons. Just
short of the tunnel, Peres engaged with the enemy. The next sequence of
events isn’t clear, but either the Zeus, the Fallers, or the moon itself
blew up all three. Colonel Johnson’s previous reports suggest that it
might have been the artifact that caused the blow-up. Its mass was too
great to go through a tunnel, but she tried to send it through anyway,
into our space, to ke ep it from enemy hands.” “So everything blew up. And that was the
end of it, from High Command’s point of view.” “Yes, sir.” Kaufman felt more and more
hopeful. Gordon’s tone conveyed clearly his point of view about High
Command’s point of view. “But not the end of it to the surface team.
That included a geolog ist with enough physics to follow what Johnson
was doing. Dr. Dieter Gruber, Berlin University. The anthropologists
had some sort of trouble with the natives on the planet—“ “Industrials?” “No, sir. Artisan-level at
best. Gruber led his team to safety inside a cave-ridden mountain
range, where the natives won’t go for religious reasons. He says that
in there he discovered a second alien artifact, potentially of
inestimable scientific and military value. Shortly afterward, a rescue
effort lifted out him and the two remaining anthropologists—three more
humans died on the planet—and ever since, Gruber’s been trying to
convince the High Co mmand to go back and dig up the second artifact.”
Gordon finished
filling the seed tube and set the package on the shelf. “And?” This was the tricky part.
Kaufman proceeded carefully. “Gruber says that at the moment the
artifact-moon exploded—the very moment—the artifact buried in the
mountains was affected. He argues for the same kind of macro-level
quantum entanglement that we think might be the principle behind the
space tunnels.” The words were chosen deliberately; no one knew what was
the actual science behind the space tunnels, those enigmatic remains of
a vanished civi lization that would have dwarfed any human one. Gordon said, “But...”
“But Gruber has no
direct proof. Nothing documented.” “Still, you believe him.” “I don’t know him well,”
Kaufman said quietly. “But I served under Colonel Syree Johnson in the
action at Edge. She was the finest and most committed scientist-officer
I’ve ever known. It’s not always an easy combination, sir.” Gordon looked at him
penetratingly. “I can imagine. Pressure from science to find objective
truth, pressure from the military to deploy pragmatic necessity?”
“Yes, sir. Syree
Johnson, too, thought there was some connection between the alien
construct in space and the buried one in the mountains. She told Gruber
so just before she died.” “A recorded conversation?” “No, sir. Unfortunately
not.” “And there’s
no direct proof.” “No, sir. But scientifically—“ “Wait on the scientific
‘buts.’ I’ll hear them in a moment. Tell me what you’re going to want
if I find the science convincing, and what we stand to gain from
following your recommendations.” Kaufman took a deep breath. “I think we
should send a scientific team to dig up and examine the second artifact.
It would require a ship routed through Caligula space, that’s Tunnel
#438, with military escort and two flyers permanently attached for
tunnel communications. You’d need a good political team to handle
native relations, but the crucial thing is the scientist aboard.
There’s only one that, in my opinion, can do this. We stand to gain a
pos sible weapon—only possible, of course—related to the moon/artifact
that blew up. Gruber says they’re made of the same material, and it’s
also the material of the space tunnels. Syree Johnson’s reports say the
destroyed artifact affected radioactivity le vels in a controlled way,
which implies it affected the probability of atomic decay. Anything
that affects probability has to be related to the Faller beam-disrupter
shields that are letting them attack us with impunity. We could gain a
counterweapon to the Faller shields, sir.” Kaufman paused. He’d just fired his biggest
gun. If it didn’t hit, nothing would. The beam-disrupter shields had
only recently appeared on select Faller ships. Anything fired at such a
ship—proton be am, laser cannon, any sort of beam at all—simply
disappeared. Gone. Not even an energy trace left behind. Gordon left the mesh cage and
sat down again behind his desk. His eyes were shrewd. “Big promises, Major.”
“Not promises, sir.
But definite possibilities. And we need those. In my opinion, General,
the chance is worth the cost.” “Even though this geologist, Gruber, has no
documentation?” Kaufman kept his face blank. “Nothing new
starts with documentation, sir. By definition. Especially not in
science.” “I suppose
not. All right, the costs. I listen well, Major, and I heard two worms
in your carefully polished apple. First, why would we need ‘a good
political team to handle native relations’? Why no t just the usual
anthropologists?” Yes, Gordon did listen well. He was good.
Kaufman said, “The planet’s proscribed by the Solar Alliance, sir.”
“A fairly large
worm. Why?” “The
natives don’t want us. They’ve decided we lack souls. In their
parlance, humans are ‘unreal.’” “Interesting,” Gordon said. “And why didn’t
you name the ‘one scientist’ that, in your opinion, can do this job? Is
the job of digging up and investigating an artifact that difficult?”
“This one is, sir.
Syree Johnson didn’t get it figured out, and she was damn good. She got
blown up instead. You need someone with both experimental background
and theoretical brilliance, and not many physicists ever are both. I
want Dr. Thomas Capelo, sir.” He could see the name meant nothing to
Gordon. “He’s
probably on the short list for the Nobel, sir, although he hasn’t won
yet. He’s young yet, physicists usually do their most innovative work
young. He has won the Tabor Phillips prize. His work i s on the
relationship between quantum events and probability.” “Quantum events and
probability?” “Yes,
sir. We know that certain quantum-level events are probabilistic. They
may or may not occur. We also know that some events have measurable
probability—that is, we can say there’s a seventeen per cent chance that
x will occur, or a thirty-four percent chance, or whatever. What we
can’t do yet is say why this event occurs seventeen percent of the time
and that event thirty-four percent of the time. We have equations for
the wave functions of quan tum-mechanical probability, but no causals
for the phenomenon of probability as a whole. That’s the area of
Capelo’s work. He theorizes that a particle, or a virtual particle, is
involved.” Kaufman
could see that this meant nothing to General Gordon. He added, “I’m not
a scientist either, sir. Just a very interested amateur. But let me go
out on a limb and say that if you don’t send Dr. Capelo, I’m not sure
the expedition is worth doing at all, given the awful political beating
we’ll take from invading a proscribed planet.” Gordon shifted in his chair. “’Invading’ is
a pretty strong word, Major.” “Yes, sir.” “And why wouldn’t this Capelo be everybody’s
obvious choice? What’s the other shoe here?” Kaufman said, “He’s not military, sir.
Harvard University, United Atlantic Federation. And he’s reputed to
be...eccentric. Not everybody likes working with him.” Kaufman paused,
considered, decided o n honesty. “In fact, hardly anybody likes working
with him. He’s sarcastic, and he’s always convinced he’s perfectly
right.” “And is he?”
“Usually, sir.”
“I see. Major,
you’ve handed me a stinker.” “Yes, sir.” “All right. Let’s hold our noses while you
explain this science to me. Do it slowly, do it clearly, and show me
why you think it might lead to some counter-device to the Faller
shields. And don’t over state your case, Major. I probably won’t be
able to detect if you’re doing so now, but I’ll find out eventually.”
“Yes, sir,” Kaufman
said, and had to hold still a moment before he began again. His head
felt light. The science wouldn’t be easy to explain, but that wasn’t
the problem. Nor was obtaining Gordon’s co nsent. Kaufman knew that
he, like Gordon, was a good judge of men. Gordon had already decided to
chance the expedition. No, Kaufman’s light-headedness wasn’t because he
was nervous about Gordon’s refusal. He was nervous about Gordon’s
acceptance. And of
what train of events he, Lyle Kaufman, had just, finally, got out of the
station and into motion.
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