Expedition Beyond Page 16

  “Number one, we don’t know where ‘there’ is,” Bill answered. “You’re standing eleven hundred kilometers below Earth’s surface. This is the tenth platform we’ve built; we’re working on eleven and twelve. I’ve tracked electronic birds down another thousand kilometers, so on the basis of that, we’ve got at least another ten platforms to go. Number two, let me show you a drawing.”

  He flipped through draft sheets, rolling them over the top of the board until he found the one he was looking for.

  “Here it is. If Mr. Anderson is correct, somewhere along this line, gravity reverses.”

  The chart depicted Earth. He ran a finger down the radius.

  “It’s about 6330 kilometers to here.” He pointed to the center of the circle. “And we are here.” Bill indicated a line that had “17” written next to it.

  “Since we’re on the tenth platform,” John asked, “what does this number seventeen mean?”

  “Good question,” Bill said. “Mr. Anderson calls it ‘laptitude.’ It means we are seventeen percent of the way to the core. Anderson hypothesized that gravity inverts along the radius at laptitude thirty-four. We now have the first concrete evidence that he’s correct.”

  John felt a tingle of excitement. “How so?”

  “Perhaps a demonstration would be in order.”

  Bill rummaged through a duffel bag for a bird. He set one of the computers to tracking, turned on the bird and flung it over the railing. It sang as it disappeared into the darkness. Gathered around the computer, they watched as the digitized numbers rolled by, indicating depth and time, and logistic graphs flashed on the monitor. Two minutes, displayed in milliseconds, had ticked by on the screen before Amy sighed.

  “How long is this going to take?” she asked, sounding bored.

  “Got a hot date?” Bill asked.

  “Let’s not go there!” John snapped.

  “I certainly wouldn’t consider you hot,” Amy told Bill, with a sneer.

  “Enough!” John said. “Bill, get to the point.”

  “Okie-dokey. I’ll show you what happened with an earlier bird while we’re recording this one.”

  He started up the other computer and soon had both displaying the same graphs, though the bird being tracked on playback was nearing one thousand kilometers and a warning flashed across the monitor in red: Reaching Maximum Tracking Distance. Then the numbers stopped abruptly at one thousand and the screen read: Lost Bird.

  “And the point is?” Amy asked.

  “Yeah, that didn’t seem peculiar to me, either, so I went and poured a cup of coffee. Then this happened.”

  The computer beeped and the text on the screen changed to: Found Bird. The digitized tracking numbers rolled backwards from 1000 to 999, 998, and 997. Then the numbers reversed and headed back up to 1000 kilometers. Lost Bird was displayed again.

  “This little bird is Bungee jumping with no rope attached. Back and forth, several times,” Bill said.

  Even Amy seemed interested now. “What finally happened to it?”

  “It stopped at 1000, hung there for a few minutes, and disappeared.”

  The computer beeped and Found Bird flashed.

  John was awed by the implication. “So, what you are saying, what this demonstration is proving, is that about 1000 kilometers below us—”

  “Gravity reverses,” Bill finished for him. “But that’s not all. The bird eventually stops and drifts away.”

  “Which means?” Amy asked.

  “No gravity,” Bill said.

  “Say again?” John asked, mystified.

  “At the interface, there’s zero gravity.”

  John mulled that over. “What does Anderson make of it?”

  “He was particularly excited.” Bill’s face beamed around his goggles. “And there’s even more evidence.”

  He scrounged under the table and produced a digitized weight scale.

  “This scale has been up and down the shaft several times, calibrated and recalibrated—I thought the damn thing was going loco. We use it to weigh nuts and bolts to make sure they’re the proper grade because we’ve been getting supplies from all over the world—including China, Russia, and Indonesia—and some of the stuff is poor quality. Do you know how much you weigh?” he asked John.

  “Two-ten. I’ve been two-ten for years.”

  “Is that in a suit, or just skives?”

  “Shorts only.”

  Bill placed the scale in front of John. “Well, let’s see how much you weigh here in a suit.”

  When John stepped on, the digitized number rolled up to 165.4, then stopped.

  “That diet seems to be working,” Bill quipped. He removed his goggles, uncovering an uncontrollable eye tic. “Three weeks, maybe four, and we’ll be at zero gravity, if your boss keeps my bank account filled.”

  “Maybe we should ask him.”

  John tried to meet Bill’s stare, but the convulsive twitching was flicking Bill’s left eye to the side and it was hard to watch. He pulled out a chair and sat down. Amy sat on the other chair.

  Bill dialed the phone, then handed it to John.

  “I’ve gotten you an outside line.”

  John punched through a long string of international and personal security numbers. When the connection completed he said, “John here, sir.”

  “Have you found my son?”

  “No, sir. I’m on Level Ten with Amy. We’re talking with the foreman, who seems to know what he’s doing. He says it’s a minimum of ten more platforms, but I think it’ll be at least twenty, maybe even more.”

  “Does he seem to know what he’s doing, or does he know what he’s doing?”

  John glanced at Bill’s eye spasms. “Well, sir, he’s the best we have.”

  “Dammit, John, get the job done! Find my son!” Henry was shouting, forcing John to hold the receiver away from his ear. “I don’t care how much it costs. Get…the job…done!”

  “Five million should keep the ball rolling,” John said calmly.

  “You’ll have it in five hours.”

  John returned the receiver to Bill, telling him, “Two weeks. Be at zero gravity in two weeks. Tell me what you need.”

  He heard a loud crackle of grinding rock, which caused Amy to leap up.

  “What the hell was that?” she gasped.

  Bill appeared unconcerned. He sat in the unused seat. “The vent is closing. Movement was pretty rapid at first, but now it’s only a few centimeters a day. That reminds me: We need to reinforce the edges of platforms one and two, which were designed before we knew. The rest are on rollers.”

  He wrote out a list of supplies and handed it to John. The last two items were: Realign foundation of platforms one and two. Reestablish wall boundaries to fit existing void.

  Bill said to Amy, “I heard it’s a circus up there, with sightseers and reporters camped out all over the desert.”

  “Calling it a circus is an understatement. What’s that?” She motioned at the dome-covered blue light bulb.

  “That’s the warning light. It’s on every platform. If that baby comes on, it’s time to clear out quickly. Don’t even stop to ask why.” His twitching eye was adding a note of absurdity.

  When Amy and John were escalating toward the surface, she asked, “How can that man see?”

  John said, “His left eye is blind.”

  Chapter 21

  EDMONTON, ALBERTA, CANADA

  LATITUDE 53° 33’ NORTH

  LONGITUDE 113° 31’ WEST

  Month 2, Day 29; 1500 UTC, 9:00 AM LTD

  Mitch answered the telephone eagerly. “Hello!”

  “Mallory here.”

  “Are we on our way, sir? Is it time to ship out?””

  “Sorry, Mitch, but no. If anything, the crap is getting deeper. If there
isn’t any break in negotiations, word is we’ll be recalled in a week. It’s a Mexican standoff; nobody’s willing to move. Anyway, that’s not why I called. I want to show you my dog. A car can pick you up in an hour.”

  “Fucking great—not your dog, the stalemate,” Mitch added quickly. “That’s fine by me, sir. I’ll see you then.”

  Mitch exercised, showered, shaved and dressed in t-shirt and slacks, then sat on the end of his bed and waited to see a dog. He was just glad to have something to do.

  The sedan drove him to an airport teeming with Canadian fighter jets, and continued to a back-lot hangar guarded by two Americans in Army uniforms toting machine guns.

  Mitch’s eyes adjusted slowly from the bright sunshine to the dull glow of the interior’s fluorescent lighting, so he heard Mallory before he saw him.

  “Hello, Mitch. How are you getting along living with the civilians?”

  “Just fine, sir.”

  The lieutenant’s hair had been tied back in a French braid, and he wore a flower-printed shirt that hung loosely over his ample belly; between the multicolored petals was a map of the Hawaiian Islands, each identified by name. He had socks and sandals on his wide feet.

  “I’m off duty,” Mallory explained. “Come see my dog.”

  Mitch couldn’t see any dog in the mostly empty hangar—only three uniformed men and a four-meter-long capsule. The shimmering, black fuselage of the capsule sported two-meter stubby wings that tapered into meter-long slim torpedoes running lengthwise. The clear Plexiglas hatch was open. At the aft end was a jet turbine. The bull-nosed stern had recessed headlamps. Inside was a leather seat and joystick. The control panel was loaded with gauges and had rows of LCD screens. Mitch realized this craft was Mallory’s “dog.”

  “Go on, hop in. See how she feels,” Mallory said.

  Mitch climbed over the short wing and settled into the cockpit seat, strapped on the harness, snapped and tightened the buckles. His legroom was limited by the array of electronics, but he was comfortable.

  “She feels fucking good, sir!” Mitch moved the stick around and “vroomed” to himself.

  Mallory smiled. “Try starting her up.”

  “How do I do that?” Mitch fidgeted with toggle switches.

  “With the key.”

  Mitch found and turned the key; the instrument panel gleamed, then darkened. He heard the turbine whining behind him. Each gauge flashed green in a progressive pulsing across the dash, then the entire panel glowed blue. LCD screens lightened, some displayed numerical functions.

  Mitch grinned. “All automatic?”

  “You bet.”

  Mitch switched off the key; the dash darkened and the turbine wound down.

  “She’s a real beauty,” he said, climbing out of the cockpit.

  Mallory closed the hatch, which hissed as it hermetically sealed.

  “They were developed for deep sea exploration—code-named F.I.S.H., an acronym for Fully Interdependent Submersible Hetaera,” Mallory explained as they circled the dog. “The main turbine and steering jets are powered by SSPS. At two hundred fathoms and swimming in formation, they are easily detected by sonar on the surface. The individual capsules can disperse, so from above, they seem to disappear—ingenious for military use. Unoccupied capsules can be armed for detonation and one pilot can direct an entire school.

  “The Army modified them so they could fly. I’ve test-piloted them for years, both at sea and in the air. They’re best underwater; they’re said to ‘fly like a dog’—hence the misnomer. But we’re not going to be doing any aerial acrobatics when we get to that abyss. Just straight down and back again.”

  “How fast can it fly?” Mitch asked, enthused.

  “Mach four is as fast as I’ve pushed it.”

  “Sir, if I had a idea—a way to get us going with Inuit approval, would you help me, you know, implement the plan?”

  “Have you been holding out on me?” Mallory asked. “If you’ve got an idea the combined United States and Canadian governments couldn’t think of, I certainly wouldn’t shut you down.”

  Mitch blushed. “Well, sir—yes, I have!” He led Mallory away from the other men. “I’d rather not explain everything right now, until I know if it has a chance. First, I have two favors to ask.”

  “Fire away.”

  “I need to contact Bearters; he’ll know if my plan has a chance from his angle. Also, I need a copy of the report Jack Squires wrote while he was working for Colonel Wingert, about our last trip to Ellesmere Island.”

  “Are you planning something illegal?” Mallory asked.

  Mitch shifted his eyes. “Well, sir, maybe a little. It involves Poker and sleight-of-hand.”

  Mallory hesitated for only a moment. “If you can get us there, then you’ll have my full cooperation. I’ll get that report for you, and you can talk with Bearters now.”

  “Sir, how can I go on the mission if I can’t drive a dog?”

  Mallory laughed. “This is my dog, and except for Sergeant Crow, no one else here can operate one. If we go, we’ll take eight: one each for Sergeant Crow, four infantry, you and me; the eighth one will be a cargo capsule for guns, ammunition, and supplies—if we find Des, we’ll jettison the cargo and use that dog to bring him back. But I’ll control all eight. None of the other capsules will have any navigation equipment, so you and the others will simply follow me. Formation flying is automatic.”

  “You mean, we’ll all follow you like a—”

  “Don’t say dog! Some fanatical animal rights group might take offense!”

  They both laughed.

  Mallory led Mitch to an enclosed cubicle at the rear of the hangar. The stark furnishings included a wooden table with papers strewn on it and one chair. Mallory made a call.

  “Bearters? Lieutenant Mallory here. I received the dossiers you sent on the Inuit Tribal Counsel. It’s good work, but I’m afraid not much to go on.” He listened, then responded, “Well, maybe I can work that angle. There’s someone here who would like to talk with you.”

  He handed the receiver to Mitch, who asked him, “Is this line being monitored or recorded?”

  Mallory retrieved the phone. “Seth, hang up. This is a Top Secret call. Code one-four-nine.”

  When Mallory handed back the receiver, Mitch heard a voice say, “Yes, sir,” and a series of clicks.

  “Sir, can I be alone?”

  Mallory nodded and closed the door as he left.

  “Beaters?”

  “Mitch? How are you?”

  “I’m fine, but I’m worried about Des. I know he’s alive, but we need to find him soon. Lieutenant Mallory is snagged down here in Edmonton. I’ve got an idea—tell me what you think of this.”

  After Mitch had outlined his plan, Bearters grunted.

  “You’ll be the one to catch the flack,” Mitch finished.

  Bearters laughed. “You be my brother.”

  Mitch thought this meant he approved.

  “Bearters, I am your brother.”

  Chapter 22

  LATITUDE 82° 10’ NORTH

  LONGITUDE 73° 42’ WEST

  LAPTITUDE 68%

  Month 3, Day 1; 0200 UTC, 8:00 AM LTD

  Des clasped his hands behind his neck and stared at the ceiling above Anastasia’s bed.

  “We need to test the poison,” he said.

  “Oh, Des. Not yet. The others arrive today.”

  When she wrapped her naked body around his, her full implication hit him.

  “I won’t be sleeping with you?” he asked.

  “No. Too many guests.”

  Des sighed. “Are you sure it’s today? I never met that timekeeper of yours.”

  “Yes, I’m sure, and I can take you to the timekeeper.”

  Des added that to his mental checklist: See the t
imekeeper. Test the poison. Find room for all the guests. Survey the troops. Test the soundsticks. Stop sleeping with Anastasia. And, if he had time: check on Itar, work on his speech, visit Oom and maybe eat. It was shaping up to be a very busy day.

  Someone called Anastasia from outside. She dressed quickly and left.

  Des turned on his side and pulled the wool comforter over his head, but soon heard Anastasia calling him.

  “Coming,” he replied.

  Count to ten and explode into the new day, Des decided. He counted, threw back the covers, bolted upright and put one foot on the stone floor.

  The bed linens had barely missed two startled children standing next to the bed.

  Des stared at them, and then past them to a wide-bodied woman who quickly covered the children’s eyes with her palms. Anastasia stood next to her. “Des, this is my sister, Bethenna, and her children, Em and Niko.”

  Anastasia hadn’t mentioned family arriving, yet here was a sister. Her face drooped disapprovingly above her extra-large, sunburst-patterned toga. Des thought that if she were smiling, she might resemble Anastasia…a little. Bethenna’s fingers were nearly suffocating her daughter and son, who Des guessed to be five and seven. He decided to make the best of it.

  “Pleased to meet you,” he said, standing up and extending a hand to Bethenna, completely forgetting that he was naked.

  Neither of her hands moved, but her eyes did. She looked appraisingly at his crotch, then gazed pointedly at the ceiling while Anastasia suppressed a smile.

  “We’ll wait outside while you get dressed,” Anastasia said, ushering out her family members.

  Jeez, Des thought, what a great way to meet my intended bride’s family. He dressed quickly and got his sound system, which would be needed for the rally at E-shandra.

  Anastasia was alone in the kitchen—Bethenna had apparently seen enough of him.

  “I think she liked you,” Anastasia said with a grin.

  “Yeah, I always make a great first impression,” Des replied.

  They left and walked down the mountain. Des noticed that the village bustled with new people. He tried to concentrate on war preparation, but Anastasia couldn’t stop talking.