Wormhole (The Rho Agenda #3)(34)
Dr. Stephenson made sure that his smile left little doubt that he found the idea that he had any peers in this group comical. Then, as if a cloud had passed in front of the sun, Stephenson’s brow darkened again. He was, after all, a mercurial god.
“Let me be clear. We have but one chance to save our world. If the anomaly cannot be stopped, and it can’t, the black hole must happen elsewhere. In order for that to occur, we must build a machine capable of generating a wormhole that will transport the anomaly into empty space, far from our solar system.”
The room erupted into bedlam, scientists talking over other scientists, their feeble efforts effectively drowning each other out.
Dr. Petir Fois, an angular Dutch physicist, stood on his chair so that he rose above his compatriots. “What Dr. Stephenson proposes is madness. Even if we take him at his word that he understands this alien technology, it is still madness. Creating a wormhole here on Earth could set in motion an incalculable sequence of events, possibly even a cataclysm worse than what it is designed to cure.”
Fois was the kind of Dutchman who’d stand there with his finger in a dike all afternoon long, refusing to recognize that everything was crumbling around him.
“Would someone please help Dr. Fois contain his emotions?” Dr. Stephenson’s voice dripped contempt. “Clearly they have colored his reasoning so that logic is no longer an option. In his world, a black hole consuming our entire planet is less dangerous than attempting to create a wormhole to transport the anomaly into empty space.”
Dr. Fois’s face turned red on its way to purple. “There are other options.”
“Enlighten me.”
“We could launch the anomaly into space.”
Dr. Stephenson laughed. Once again, Fois hadn’t failed to disappoint. “Could we? The only thing keeping the anomaly from becoming a black hole is the magnetic containment field and the most perfect vacuum chamber we’ve been able to create. That would have to be maintained throughout the launch. To do that we would have to build a very large launch vehicle around it right here in this cavern, probably something like the Saturn V. Assuming we could do that, the containment apparatus would have to also have its power supply transported with it.
“By the way, it’s not good enough to just launch the space vehicle out of Earth orbit. At some point the power and therefore the containment field would fail, and the anomaly would eat its spacecraft. Then it would continue to travel within our solar system, its event horizon expanding with every bit of matter ingested, a growing black hole beyond anyone’s power to stop. Assuming the containment field could survive the trip, if you think the anomaly will remain stable long enough to exit our solar system, with all the gravitational slingshots that such a trip requires, you aren’t qualified to be in this room.”
Dr. Stephenson paused, his eyes once again scanning his audience. “Someone said there are no stupid questions. It should be plain to everyone in attendance that Dr. Fois has just disproved that assertion. In fact, the person who made that assertion is clearly a moron. I don’t expect anyone in here to like me. I don’t want your adoration. But I do demand your attention.
“I’ve arranged for a copy of my proposal to be placed on each of your desktops, ready for your perusal upon your return to your offices. I recommend you take a long, hard look at that material as soon as you depart this auditorium.”
Dr. Stephenson walked to the podium, swept the space with his lifeless gaze one last time, then set the mike on the lectern, turned, and walked offstage.
Kai Wohler watched Donald Stephenson walk off the stage as the auditorium erupted around him. Everyone seemed to be talking at once. It was like an American sports bar on Super Bowl afternoon, during those endless hours before the game when sportscasters droned on and on with pregame minutiae. As the fans drained mug after mug of draft beer, the volume of conversation varied inversely with sobriety.
Reaching for his cell phone, Dr. Wohler suddenly remembered he didn’t have it. This was a classified building: thus he, and every other member of the audience, had dropped cell phones and other such devices in rows of small lockers outside. One thing for certain, security or no, as soon as this crowd exited the building, the secrecy surrounding this anomaly was coming off. Now that this many people knew that Dr. Stephenson regarded the black hole as a certainty, it would be minutes, not hours, before word leaked to the press. Before that happened, Kai would break the news to his beloved Karina, more gently than she would get it from TV’s breathless talking heads.
Trying to make his way to the aisle, he found himself crammed between people, unable to move. Apparently there was some sort of jam up at the top of the steps leading to the auditorium exit.
Suddenly the microphone squealed, then several loud puffs of breath echoed through the speakers as someone blew into it. Kai turned to see Dr. Louis Dubois standing at the lectern, microphone in hand.
“Attention please! Everyone! Can I have your attention?”
All heads spun to look at the respected scientist, former chief of the ATLAS project.
“May I please have some quiet?” Dr. Dubois lowered his voice slightly, the effect silencing the auditorium.
“I’m afraid I have an announcement that will be a bit disruptive to your schedules. Due to the sensitive nature of the information you have just received, we have assigned you all temporary cubicle office space within this building where you will work until we have all finished our review of Dr. Stephenson’s analysis and recommendations.”