J. Wheeler - The Krone Experiment

The woman stepped around the sofa that faced the fireplace and sat back in the chair, tucking her legs beneath her. Without taking his eyes off her, Runyan followed her and perched unbidden on the corner of the sofa nearest her chair. Danielson watched him with the closest scrutiny, but remained standing behind the central sofa with Isaacs. Isaacs asked the key question.

“Is Paul Krone here?” The woman looked back at Runyan and then at Isaacs.

“Yes,” she replied simply.

“May I ask who you are?”

“I am Maria Latvin, his companion.”

“I would like to speak with Dr. Krone.”

“Certainly.” She arose without further comment and proceeded down the hallway to the right of the fireplace.

Runyan rose with the woman as she led the three of them down the corridor. They passed a closed door on the right, but she paused before a door somewhat beyond that to the left. Opening that door, she stood aside and gestured for them to enter.

The room was a study, extending down to the left and ending in another large fireplace that backed up to the one in the living room. The other three walls were lined with shelves completely filled with books. A large desk dominated the middle of the room. Its surface looked well used, but was currently empty save for a pencil holder and a couple of mementos. Two high-backed large chairs, mates of the one in the other room, flanked the fireplace. Unlike the other fireplace this one had a small flame flickering in the grate. A figure was seated in the chair to the right of the hearth. From their vantage point just inside the door at the far end of the room, they could only see extended legs and the left arm draped on the armrest.

“Paul?”

Isaacs jumped slightly and turned at the sound of the voice behind him. Her tone had been gentle, but faintly condescending, as one might address a child. The figure gathered itself slowly and rose from the chair.

Isaacs had never met Krone personally, but he recognized him immediately from photographs. He also saw more. Krone was in slippers and a dressing gown, incongruous attire for a physicist, but it was his face that arrested Isaacs’ attention. The jaw was slack, the eyes glazed and unfocused, his whole visage one of lifelessness. Isaacs stepped forward.

“Krone? Paul Krone?”

The eyes shifted slowly to the speaker, but there was no sign that the words registered.

Isaacs stepped up to Krone and lightly grasped his arm above the elbow. The eyes maintained their original focus. Isaacs waved his other hand in front of Krone’s face. The eyes blinked about three seconds later with no apparent regard to cause and effect.

Isaacs released Krone and spun around to face the dark figure in the doorway. “He’s virtually catatonic! How long has he been like this?”

Her face was nearly as expressionless as Krone’s except for her eyes that, by contrast, still sparkled with life. “Since last April,” she replied succinctly.

“Has he been treated?” Isaacs’ voice betrayed more strain than he intended.

“Three experts have been called in. They have been of no use.”

“Do you know what happened to him?”

She unwound slightly, moving around Runyan and Danielson to the desk and extending the fingers of her left hand until they rested lightly on the surface. She turned her face to speak directly to Isaacs. Her voice dropped in pitch.

“He was doing experiments in his laboratories. He was very excited, totally engrossed. Then the excitement left. He became withdrawn, more and more. Very late one night he tried to commit suicide. I called the doctor at the laboratory. He was in the hospital for a month. They saved his life, but since then he has been like this.”

She moved to the motionless figure beside Isaacs and took his arm in much the same manner that Isaacs had.

“Come, Paul,” she spoke gently and led him to the chair where he sat as if by instinctual response. She saw that he was arranged comfortably and then turned and proceeded directly from the room without a glance at her visitors.

During this interchange, Danielson’s eyes had been scanning the bookshelves. When Maria Latvin departed, she moved over and touched Isaacs’ sleeve. He followed her pointing finger to a shelf behind the desk. There was an array of lab books identical to the one they had found at the complex. Isaacs and Danielson stepped around the desk and began to examine them. They took turns lifting down a volume, checking its contents briefly and adding it to a growing pile on the desk. All the books seemed to be related to the experiment that led to the creation of the black hole. Although it became clear they were in chronological order, they continued to spot-check to make sure that all dealt with the same subject.

Maria Latvin hurried along the corridor to the room where she had left the Russian agent.

“They are from the Central Intelligence Agency,” she whispered. “They also came to see Paul. I could not make them leave. You must warn the other. He must not come in.”

“What are they doing?”

“I left them in the study.”

“They cannot talk to him. Perhaps they will leave.”

“I do not think so.” She had lied to the Russians. She knew the lab books were on the shelf, but resolved to tell them as little as possible unless forced. She had seen that Danielson carried one of the books and knew they would spot the others. “I think that they will want to take Paul away.” That was a stall, but also the probable truth.

“Show me a back way out,” the man demanded. “I will head my compatriot off, and find out our orders. You must learn the intentions of the American agents. Keep them in the front of the house, and meet us back in this room in ten minutes. If you are not here—.”

He reached under his jacket again, his meaning crystal clear.

Isaacs was rapidly evaluating the situation. Krone was useless for their immediate needs. The machine itself would speak to experts, but not to them. The lab books were a treasure, but was there something else they should know about? They could grab the books and head home, but if they quickly perused them they might find other valuable clues as to what had gone on in this remote place. He grabbed several books at random.

“Let’s spend a little time looking through these,” he said. “See if there is any hint that we should try to dig up something other than these books themselves.”

He went over to the second high-backed chair and swiveled it to face the room. He kept one book to read and put the others on the floor. Danielson sat at the desk and began to look at another, the last she had taken down from the shelf. Runyan rummaged through the stack to find some of the earliest tomes. He looked around, realized all the chairs were taken, and moved to the wall near the door where he plopped himself on the carpet and leaned back against the bookshelf.

Some time passed in a silence broken only by the crackling of the fire and an occasional rustle of a turned page. Danielson suddenly became aware of a small motion in the doorway. The woman, Maria Latvin, stood there looking at the chair in which Krone sat. Her hands were clasped softly in front of her, perhaps that was the motion that had caught Danielson’s attention. Danielson was sure the woman had been there for some time, quietly watching.

The same motion must have caught Runyan’s attention, too. Danielson watched him as he sat a little more than an arm’s length from the doorway.

Danielson could see his eyes as he scanned the lovely, composed face, down the curves of her body to her feet in open, tastefully designed sandals. She turned to go and Runyan bent over and craned his neck to follow with unabashed interest her passage down the hallway. When he could see her no longer, he straightened up and looked over to catch Danielson’s eyes upon him. Danielson looked quickly down at the book before her with blurred eyes. She felt ice in her stomach and warm fire on her face.