Voyage To The Bottom Of The Sea Part 5

"Well, I-I hope that helps."

"Don't worry, Sue. We're in good hands."

Dr. Hiller smiled. "Oh, my dear, I know we are. And with all due and deserved credit to your admired Admiral, I think I could say that even if he didn't exist."

"I couldn't," said Cathy immediately.

"I can," said Dr. Hiller seriously, all teasing gone from her voice. She glanced around her, a meaningful gesture; it said things about the crew, about tight mouths, pale sweaty brows, cautious fearful looks at the TV repeaters, which instead of feeding entertainment and enlightenment, stared out at everyone like the cataracted eye of a corpse. "There's a lot to be afraid of," she said quietly, "but I am not afraid. I have a sort of... secret weapon. I wish I could share it."

"What is it?" asked Cathy, prepared for some subtle psychological revelation.

"Do you remember the names of the men Bergen read over the radio that first time-the scientists who are meeting at the UN?"

"I remember enough to be a little awestruck still. Pittar, Dobrovny, even Mes.h.i.+kov. Charbier."

"I know Charbier," said Susan Hiller. "He was at the big symposium in Athens two years ago. It was a symposium on psychiatry and he's most famous as a chemist, but the paper he read there was the main thing that happened there. Chemotherapeutics-that is, drugs for treatment of psychic disorders-went ahead twenty years just from that one paper. Then I met him-he's the most charming, uncomplicated, modest human being you could imagine. But he's not my secret weapon.

Zucco is."

"Zucco? I-well, of course I've heard of him, but I don't know as much about him as perhaps I should."

"Emilio Zucco," said Dr. Hiller, and her eyes glowed. "He's not by any means an old man, you know, but already he can take his place in the company of the world's universal geniuses. Like Franklin-scientist, statesman, diplomat, author. Like Leonardo da Vinci, who, while being artist enough to paint the Last Supper, was a technologist five hundred years ahead of his time. You know of Zucco probably as a theoretical mathematician in Einstein's league-"

"Oh yes, and a practical scientist too-didn't he design the big radio telescope at Altamont in the Andes?"

"Yes he did. He's an astronomer, cosmologist, physicist. But I'll bet you didn't know he is a superb artist, a composer as well; he plays piano quite well enough to have been a concert performer."

"I didn't know that. What I have heard mostly about him is that anyone who gets between Zucco and what he wants, gets a Zucco-sized hole through him."

Dr. Hiller laughed. "That's very well put. And pretty close to the truth. But it kind of stands to reason, doesn't it? He's so often right-one could say, always always-that it's a little foolish to stand in his way. Dr. Zucco is my idea of the ultimate proof of the old saying that when history needs a giant, mankind produces one. Our world is a lot better place to live in because that man is alive."

"I wouldn't doubt it. I could have nightmares, though, about what could happen if a man with that much reputation and that much drive ever should be wrong about anything important."

"Sleep tight," smiled Susan Hiller, "and dream pretty: that is one nightmare you don't have to bother yourself with. I don't know what that fire in the sky is, but one thing I am sure about: Zucco will know what to do about it."

"If anything can be done about it."

"If nothing can be done about it," said Dr. Hiller with absolute certainty, "Emilio Zucco will make a way."

"Well," said Cathy Connors, finis.h.i.+ng her coffee and getting up, "I'm mighty glad to have him on our team. But if it's all the same to you, I'll stick with the Admiral."

"I'm glad to have him on the team," said the psychiatrist, smiling up at the secretary. "But he is, after all, only a technologist."

" Only Only? Why-"

"Oh please-please, don't be angry! That was the wrong way to put it, I know. It touches on one of my pet peeves, that's all. I've admitted my own field isn't a science and never will be. I go against those in my own field who try to call it one, or make it one. I go against those-and there are a lot of them-who want to make a technology out of it, too. You've got to understand me-I don't look down on science and technology-I envy them! I wish I could get the kind of measurements they get, predict results the way they do! But to my mind science is pioneering, discovery, the finding of new paths. Technology is exploitation-the making of six-lane superhighways out of those pioneered paths. I'm really sorry, Cathy-I shouldn't have said Admiral Nelson was only only a technologist. It was quite wrong of me. But I do stick to the statement that while he is the best technologist in the whole wide world, he isn't a scientist like Dr. Zucco. Will you forgive me?" a technologist. It was quite wrong of me. But I do stick to the statement that while he is the best technologist in the whole wide world, he isn't a scientist like Dr. Zucco. Will you forgive me?"

Still angry, Cathy Connors found it possible to laugh. "I tell you what-you let Dr. Zucco save your world and I'll let the Admiral save mine. Then I don't think it matters who does it; it's the same world, isn't it?"

"Sure it is," smiled the psychiatrist. "Meanwhile-I'm not afraid, and I wish I could share the reason. Is that clear now?"

"I see just what you mean," nodded Cathy. "I'm not either, and when I see these jokers around here getting all tensed up, it just makes me mad. It only means they don't know the man."

"Exactly, exactly, exactly what I was trying to say!"

"But not about the same man."

"That's right. But-you're not angry?"

"Of course not. You-just don't know the man." She waved and went aft to the Admiral's suite.

"Come in!" he called to her knock. She did.

Well used to the Admiral and his ways, she still stopped and almost rocked back from the impact of disorder in the suite. Its two rooms, barely separated by a large archway, were carpeted by a veritable snowfall of torn paper, except for a track from a point near the door to a point in the other room by the bed-Nelson's "pacing" path. It had been said of him that he did not think on his feet, but with them. In the past thirty-six hours he had probably logged more than a hundred miles, back and forth in the little rooms. Except for a grizzled stubble on his chin and a rather unusual brilliance of eye- the brightness one a.s.sociates with fever or fatigue-Nelson seemed unaffected by his marathon think-session.

On the settle was B.J. Crawford, one foot on the cus.h.i.+ons, one on the floor, one eye open and attentive, the rest of his face asleep. On the desk-side chair was Congressman Parker, shaved, starched, combed and pressed. Across the desk and on bookcases and shelves were slide-rules, a portable computer, drawing instruments, charts, maps and grids, and reference books, some wearing so many crumpled book-marks that they looked like the ruffles on a lamb chop.

"Ah, Cathy, come in, come in. Congressman Parker just got here." Which explained a puzzle.

"Get some sleep?"

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir. Did you?"

"Later. Now then. B.J., where's that doughnut?"

Admiral Crawford, without opening his other eye, slowly raised one hand and pointed, then let it fall. From the high shelf indicated, Nelson took down a square of cardboard on which rested a large doughnut. "Remarkable technique that man has," said Nelson, nodding toward the settee. "He's tuned out everything but the matter at hand. Show you what I mean. B.J.," he barked, "how do you like the L.A. Angels this season?"

B.J. Crawford lay like a corpse, the one eye fixed unfocussed on middle distance. "And mind you," said Nelson, "there lies the nation's number one Angels baseball fan. Now watch. B.J., what do you suppose caused this firebelt?"

"Solar flare," B.J. responded, mutteringly, but distinctly, moving nothing but his lips, and instantly relaxing them into their former slackness.

"Remarkable man," said Nelson admiringly. "Cathy, you couldn't have got here at a better time. I was just about to explain my theory to the Congressman here, and I want you to listen too. You and he are the ideal audience. Intelligent and uninformed. Don't get mad: I mean it kindly. It's the most useful you could be.

"Tell you why. When we get to New York it isn't going to be what you'd expect-a nice quiet technical discussion among scientific bigwigs, with some bright newspaper men to translate and interpret for the wire services. There won't be time. We have a program, a cure for this thing, and we'll have to-"'

"We have?" cried the Congressman and Cathy in unison, and Cathy added "...sir?"

"Oh sure," said Nelson, brus.h.i.+ng aside their hopeful astonishment; he didn't quite say, "What else?" but his tone did. "But we haven't time for presentation plus discussion plus persuasion in the scientific area, and then translation into plain American and the whole thing all over again to the public. We have to hand it over to everybody all at once with no gobbledegook, because from the looks of things we're going to have to do everything at a dead run or not at all. So you two are to be the guinea pigs, right? I'll make my little pitch and if there's anything you don't understand for Pete's sake sound off and say so, because when I get up there and spout, I have to be sure my nozzle's adjusted somewhere between needle-jet and dense fog. Right? Right.

"This," he said, holding up a ping-pong ball, "is the earth." He held up the doughnut. This is the Van Allen radiation belt." He pushed the ball into the hole in the doughnut and held them together.

"This, roughly speaking, is the way the Van Allen belt surrounds the earth. Are you with me?"

"What," demanded Congressman Parker, "is the Van Allen belt? I mean, what's it made of?"

"Good," said the Admiral disarmingly, "that's what I want, Stupid questions.

"The Van Allen belt is an area of radiation, varying in intensity, formed, as far as anyone knows, of free electrons from the sun trapped in the Earth's magnetic field. Now you'll notice that the belt impinges on the earth here, in the hole of the doughnut, at about 50 north of the equator and 50 south of the equator. (It's the magnetic equator I'm talking about, by the way.) Right? Right. Well then, just because I show it to you this way doesn't mean that's the way it is. To explain that irritating remark, I'll have to cut this model through the middle."

He made a cutting motion at the doughnut with a letter-opener, and then threw opener and doughnut aside. He fumbled for a large square of paper-it was a navigation chart-flipped it to the blank side and stuck it to the inboard bulkhead with cellophane tape. "I hope the UN can get me something fancier than this," he grumbled as he worked. He scrabbled through the mountain of detritus on his desk and miraculously found a black felt marking pen. Quickly he drew a circle in the middle of the paper. "This is the ping-pong ball, or the Earth. And here-" He sketched, using a wavery broken stroke, a crescent with its points impinging on the circle about 50 above and below the horizontal, its inner diameter about the same as that of the "earth," and its outer diameter about a third larger. Using a pencil rather than the black, bold marker, he shaded the crescent so that it was darkest where it was thickest. "So your doughnut turns out to be a hollow sh.e.l.l, with a thick wall on the outside," he said. "The radiation's most intense out here where it's thick, and tapers off to nothing about a thousand miles up, over the fiftieth meridians north and south. That's the outer Van Allen belt.

You with me so far?"

"How far out is the belt?" Cathy asked.

Nelson pointed to the thickest, darkest area of the crescent. "The area of greatest intensity is about ten thousand miles out. From there it just tapers away to nothing, in every direction." At her nod, he continued. "Now the inner belt- and this is the one that's giving us the trouble." Close to the surface of the "earth" he drew a smudge, a sort of curved oval, the inner curve of which was parallel to the curve of the earth. This too he shaded to be darkest at its middle, which lay on an imaginary line extending the equatorial center-line of the earth. "This is the inner belt. The center of intensity is about 2,000 miles from the surface. It too tapers away to nothing, down at about the 450- or 500-mile level. Which happens to be the accepted average of the topmost layers of our atmosphere-that is, anything above that is too rarefied to be called an atmosphere.

"Now a funny thing happened a few years ago, and all credit to B.J. here, who without moving anything but his brains, managed to remember it. On the ninth day of November in 1960-he even remembered the date-the entire outer belt disappeared. In just about an hour it was gone, for no reason anybody could figure at the time. In a few days it was back again. Right? Right. Now in the same month, maybe coincidence, maybe not, something slowed up one of the first-"

"The first," said B.J. from the depths of the settee.

"The first pa.s.sive communications satellite, a balloon type called Echo. Here it was sailing along at over 900 miles, and suddenly there was enough atmosphere to slow it down. Why? Well, the best theory anyone could come with was that due to an increase of solar activity-and that November is still famous for that kind of sun stuff-the atmosphere under the edges of the outer Van Allen belt became heated. The heated air then rose so high that it was able to interfere with Echo in its...o...b..t nearly a thousand miles up. Am I beginning to make some sense here?"

"The Van Allen belt can heat the atmosphere, then!" said Cathy.

"It can. It did. All right. One more point, and then I think we've covered Phase one: wha' hoppen.

Phase two is, of course, what can we do about it.

"Wha' hoppen is that a meteor shower-a cloud of dust, mostly, with some rocks in it, but they don't matter: a dense cloud of interstellar dust, fine enough to be able to be pushed around by the likes of our magnetic field and the Van Allen belt, suffused the outer belt. Now you can see by the crescent shape of the cross-section that it's something like a parabolic lens. If we grant that it has become lens-like enough to focus the sun's rays at a point three hundred or so miles off the surface, it's a fair a.s.sumption that you could get a pretty awesome concentration of energy. That level happens to be the so-called ozone layer as well-a lot of free oxygen atoms running around wanting to combine with something. You heat the whole mess, and enough air rises into the ozone layer to give it plenty to combine with. It does-it burns. The more it burns, the more it heats, the hotter it gets, the more fuel comes up to feed it."

"Good G.o.d," murmured the Congressman.

"So much for Phase One. Now, Phase-what-do-we-do-about-it. Let's recall again what happened on the ninth of November 'way back in 1960. All of a sudden, without warning, the entire outer belt disappeared. Within a matter of minutes it just-wasn't. Now, what could do that to a hollow doughnut in s.p.a.ce 24,000 miles in diameter, 10,000 miles thick and with a hole 6,000 miles across?

Even granting that the huge thing is made of nothing but electrons trapped in a magnetic field-a good way of saying it's made of nothing at all, practically-you'd think it would take a lot to make a thing that size just disappear. And you'd think wrong!

"That's the trouble, the sheer size of the thing. It overawes your thinking processes. Now you must remember that on the day that thing broke up, there were no magnetic disturbances in the earth's field. It was Dr. James van Allen himself who reported this breakdown, mind, and he made a special point of this. So whatever broke it down wasn't some gigantic force canceling out some gigantic force. It was some little thing, no larger in itself than a plague germ is to a man, or that one extra neutron that brings about an atomic explosion. Well, you might say, what little thing was it?

"A patch of dust, I might answer. But a patch of dust bearing the right electric cargo. As long ago as the eighteenth century, it was known that there are two kinds of static electricity-it was Benjamin Franklin who wrote it up. Rub silk with a gla.s.s rod and you get one kind. Rub flannel with a carbon rod and you get another. Substances charged with the same kind repel one another; charged one with one, one with the other, they attract each other. They were called, for convenience, 'positive' and 'negative'-meaningless terms, actually, but... well... convenient.

"Now the Van Allen belts are made up of charged particles, and the important thing is that these particles all carry the same charge. At the same time you have a force, the earth's magnetic field, confining these particles within a certain area. All the particles want to repel one another, yet they're all held together. The result is that each takes up a station at a distance from the others-a distance which is a compromise between confining and repelling forces. A homely example is the process called 'flocking', which you've all seen, oftenest on record turntables-a way of coating a metal surface with a velvety, fibrous coating. The way that's done is to lay on an adhesive, and when it's tacky, spray the fibres on with a high-pressure air-gun. And just as they leave the gun, they're charged with static electricity. They plunge into the adhesive, which sticks them head-first, but in their electrical effort to get away from the fibre next door, which has the same charge, they stand straight up. Millions of them, forced to be close together, standing straight up to present as little contact with one another as possible.

"So with the electrons, and with the charged dust particles which have been forced into the same position by the Van Allen forces. Now if we can collapse the field, we will have dispersed the dust-or rather, it will disperse itself, become random, and in a matter of minutes will scatter enough so that the field, restoring itself in a day or two, can't possibly collect enough of them to resume the damage.

"And that, my friends, you will be glad to learn, is all the background I need to state, and you to understand. Now we can be specific and say what can be done.

"We need only to seed the outer Van Allen field with electrons of opposite charge to those already there. And it is not as big a job as one might at first suppose. It is not necessary to reverse the charge of every particle out there- that would result in exactly the same situation as we already have.

No: we need only to approach the theoretical situation of reversing the charge of half of them. The stability of the whole field would then be upset; particles would collide, merge, fuse, and generally achieve the random effect that we need so that they can free themselves from the Van Allen area.

"Further, we need not even achieve that theoretical half; for if we could get this effect on a very small number of them, the disturbed particles would cause change in other particles by induction. The only critical thing is to make these changes in the right place. And it really would take very few charged particles to turn the trick-the effect then would be very like seeding rainclouds with silver iodide, a fraction of an ounce of which is sufficient, in the right circ.u.mstances, to release thousands of tons of water.

"But the seeding must be done in the right place, or like rainmaking, it just won't work. The right place for our problem is, according to my calculations, along a parabolic curve which will enter the outer Van Allen field at its closest to the earth, pa.s.s through the dense center 10,000 miles out, and return to the other hemisphere, coming out where again the field thins out near the surface. In other words, recalling that the cross-section of our hollow doughnut is a crescent, the line will enter one tip 2,000 miles from the earth, pa.s.s through the center, or thickest part of the crescent, and come out through the other tip.

"The description of such a parabola is the description of the instrument which can travel it-a missile. According to my calculations it will be sufficient to charge two hundred pounds or less of fine dust- I suggest lampblack, as it is easy to come by and the particles are small-and trail it out along that line, and it will disperse the Van Allen field and the cosmic dust with it. No more lens, no more heat, no more fire. You have a question, Congressman?"

"Actually, I have," said Parker. "What would such a missile cost, Admiral?"

Nelson burst out with a roar of laughter so sudden and so loud that Cathy actually squeaked with fright (though was of course unheard) and even B.J. Crawford twitched. Nelson exhausted the mighty bellows of his lungs and sank down on the chair behind his desk to get air. Once his lungs were full, he released another thundering peal of merriment.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Parker, honest I am," he gasped at last, "I'm not laughing at you, Congressman. I admire you-I can't tell you how much I admire you. I like a man who decides what he's going to be and then be's be's it, come h.e.l.l high water or the sky on fire." Seriously he then a.s.sured the Congressman, it, come h.e.l.l high water or the sky on fire." Seriously he then a.s.sured the Congressman, "Not one dime will it cost that hasn't already been paid. Right here aboard we carry six Polaris XII's.

Lampblack is, as I said, easy to come by, just by burning stale bread or old stockings, though we'll surely find some more scientifically respectable way to manage it. As to charging it, we'll have the engine-room run us up a little van de Graaf generator which will do the trick nicely. No charge, Mr.

Parker: it's all bought and paid for.

"The one critical thing, though," he resumed, more than seriously-gravely-"Is where we launch this thing from, and when." He picked up a sheaf of scribbed sheets, riffled rapidly through them, and let go the ones he did not want as if they had ceased to exist, which they did not, but instead settled about his ankles and added themselves to the drifts already there. He struck the paper in his hand. "I've calculated that and cross-checked it in every possible way. Reception is getting worse by the minute, but on our last exchange with the Naval Observatory I was able to give them figures on this problem and have them run through the Big Brain computer at Princeton. You may be sure they're right. Without dragging you through the details, please accept my word that the only place to launch the seeding missile from is here." He pointed to a spot on the world map north northwest of Guam, near the Marianas. "Launched about east by north, at an elevation of about 45, the missile will drag an optimum section of the condensed heart of the outer Van Allen field, with the rotation of the earth giving it just enough extra push. So much for where.

"As to when when, I'll guarantee these figures too, and I wish I couldn't. I've gone through them till I've worn a trail, but there's no arguing it. It has to be done at 4 P.M. on August 29, or not at all."

"But that's barely a month away!" cried Cathy.

"Tell that to the Van Allen field," said the admiral gruffly. "Listen: if the average temperature of the earth continues to rise at its present rate, it'll be at 175 by the end of August, and you can write off life as we know it. But that isn't all. Once it reaches that temperature, the whole process will accelerate, warm currents rising into the burning zone, bringing more fuel and more oxygen with them. On the 2nd of September you can expect the band to become a globe. By the 10th, the oxygen will be depleted and I suppose the fire will go out. Not that it will matter a hoot to anyone. So to sum it up: we have to get to the Marianas by the 29th, we have to fire just that missile just that way, and if we don't, we've had it."

"But that's thousands of miles-thousands!" said the Congressman.

"We can do it, even with this stop-off at the UN. I'd like to avoid that but I can't. The last I heard, someone or other has advanced a hands-off policy, on the theory that the fire-band will burn itself out.

This is a tempting thing to believe, because it sounds as if all anyone has to do is to muddle through, stay alive until the worst comes and then pa.s.ses, and after that everything will be okay again. I'm tempted myself. Only thing wrong with the theory is that it isn't so." He slapped his sheet of figures.

"I know it isn't so. I think we have a duty to go to New York and present this material. It could be unpopular, but I know there are enough sound heads around to calm people down while we're on our way. And once it's understood, it at least gives the world a sure out, and not a wait-and-hope situation.

That might be good enough for some folks, but it's enough to drive a lot of others out of their minds.

The one thing the world can do without right now is panic. The one thing we can do about that is to give the world a concrete hope." The Admiral held them with his eyes for a moment, then with an oddly dramatic, very slight gesture, he tossed the paper to the cluttered desk. "Well," he said, "d'you like it?"

"I'll buy it," said the Congressman.

"Who could question it?" asked Cathy Connors.

"Right," said the Admiral, and began issuing orders. "B.J., get out of here and get some sleep. On second thought," he said, gazing at the rec.u.mbent and exhausted officer, "Stay where you are and get some sleep. You're doing it already." And indeed, B.J. Crawford's other eye had snapped shut the instant the Congressman had approved Nelson's plan. "Cathy, shove aside some of that mess and type me up a statement of everything I just said, the whole project. If you get stuck, ask me. Write it more or less as if it was a speech, because that is just what it is going to be. I want to walk in there, speak my piece, clear out and get going. And Cathy- Congressman-do me a favor. Keep this to yourself until I go on TV with it. Before we leave New York I'll give any of the boys sh.o.r.e furlough if they want it, but I don't want them buzzing and worrying about it beforehand. All right?"

"All right, Admiral," said the Congressman. "My congratulations, by the way, and thanks for your confidence. You can count on me for anything you may need."

"Thank you, sir: and may I say at this time that it's a pleasure to know you and twice that to have you aboard?"

The Congressman smiled-Cathy hadn't known he could do it-and went out.

The instant he was gone the Admiral's shoulders slumped. "I... wish I could be as sure as I sound..." he murmured.

Cathy looked up at him with startled eyes. Nelson met them wonderingly, and then seemed to comprehend. "Good G.o.d, girl, Parker I mean. It's Parker I'm not too sure of. Not the seeding shot."

Cathy smiled and sighed simultaneously. "You threw me a scare, sir. I guess I'm one of those who would panic if I was told to wait and see. I like the idea of doing something. Especially if it works."

"It'll work," said the Admiral.

THE EAST RIVER, THAT LIMB OF THE mighty Hudson which makes of Manhattan an island, had been dredged five years before to permit the largest s.h.i.+ps afloat to take advantage of the gigantic new pier at the United Nations. Gigantic is the term for what it was, but by no means for what it appeared to be. The pier had (at long last) been designed to make a waterfront be what it should be-the richness of land meeting the vital fluid which makes it rich. Broken at last was the unwritten law which dictates that a civilized waterfront must be filthy, ugly, and unhealthy, the haunt of people of the same description. The long curved mole, and the straight jetty which bordered its upstream end, enclosed a safe harbor for small craft, and the high swell of the mole was undercut so as to be able almost to conceal an ocean liner moored there. The mole, on its broad high green back, bore a small farmhouse and a herd of blooded cattle, a warm and whimsical touch most successfully, because of its simplicity, in keeping with the bald modernity of the towering, slab-sided Secretariat and the low, domed, curved General a.s.sembly Building. Under the green acres of farmland, deep down in carefully engineered corridors and vaults, lay an organized-one might even say orchestrated-complex of s.h.i.+p-fitting, cargo handling, and storage facilities, a comfortable and superbly equipped quarantine, and a concourse lined with jewel-like displays of the very best of each and every one of the United Nations had to offer. The pier even had a small train, like a futurist's dream of roller-coaster cars, which traveled from a terminal hard by the UN Plaza to the main deck of the pierhead.