Wilson Tucker - The Year of the Quiet Sun

Chaney stared at him, searching for the point of the joke, and belatedly realized it was no joke. He turned on the woman and found the flush had returned to her face.

She said: “It’s a matter of weight, Mr. Chaney. The machine must propel itself and you into the future, which is an operation requiring a tremendous amount of electrical energy. The engineers have advised us that total weight is a critical matter, that nothing but the passenger must be put forward or returned. They insist upon minimum weight.

“Naked? All the way naked?”

Saltus: “Naked as a jaybird, civilian. We’ll save ten, fifteen, twenty pounds of excess weight. They demand it. You wouldn’t want to upset those engineers, would you? Not with your life riding in their hands? They’re sensitive chaps, you know — we have to humor them.”

Chaney struggled to retain his sense of humor. “What happens when we reach the future, when we reach 2000?”

Again the woman attempted a reply but again Saltus cut her off. “Oh, Katrina has thought of everything. Your old Indic report said future people will wear less clothing, so Katrina will supply us with the proper papers. We’re going up there as licensed nudists.”

Brian Chaney said: “I wish I knew what was going on here.” His voice carried an undertone of complaint.

“I have been trying to tell you for the past hour, Mr. Chaney.”

“Try once more,” he begged.

Kathryn van Hise studied him. “I said on the beach that Westinghouse engineers have built a TDV. The vehicle was built here, in this building, under a research contract with the Bureau of Standards. The work has gone forward in utmost secrecy, of course, with a Congressional group — a Subcommittee — supplying direct funds and maintaining a close supervision over the project. We operate with the full knowledge of, and responsibility to the White House. The President will make the final choice of objectives.”

“ Him? A committee will have to make up his mind for him.”

Her expression was one of pronounced disapproval and he guessed that he’d touched a sore spot — guessed that her loyalty to the man was motivated by political choice as much as by present occupation.

“The President is always kept informed of our daily progress, Mr. Chaney. As was his predecessor.” The woman seemed belligerent. “His predecessor created this project by an Executive order three years ago, and we continue to operate today only with the consent and approval of the new President. I am sure you are aware of the political facts of life.”

Ruefully: “Oh, I’m aware. The Indic report failed to anticipate a weak President. It was written and submitted during the administration of a strong one, and was based on the assumption that man would continue in office for two full terms. Our mistake; we didn’t anticipate his death. But this new man has to be nudged off the dime — every dime, every day. He lacks initiative, lacks drive.” A side glance told Chaney that the Major had agreed with him on one point. Moresby was absently nodding concurrence.

Kathryn van Hise cleared her throat.

“To proceed. An experimental laboratory is located in another part of this building, beneath us, and the testing of the vehicle has been underway for some time. When the testing had reached a stage which indicated eventual success, the survey field team was recruited. Major Moresby, Commander Saltus, and you were each the first choices in your respective fields, and the only ones contacted. As yet there is no back-up team.”

Chaney said: “That’s uncharacteristic of them. The military always buys two of everything, just in case.”

“This is not a military operation, and their superiors were not informed why Major Moresby and Commander Saltus were transferred to this station. But I would think a back-up team will be recruited in time, and perhaps the military establishment will be informed of our operations.” She folded her hands, regaining composure. “The engineers will explain the vehicle and its operation to you; I am not well enough informed to offer a lucid explanation. I understand only that an intense vacuum is created when the vehicle is operated, and the sound you heard was the result of an implosion of air into that vacuum.”

“They’re making sixty-one second tests?”

“No, sir. The tests may be of any duration; the longest to date has probed twelve months into the past, and the shortest only one day. Those sixty-one seconds represent a necessary margin of safety for the passenger; the passenger may not return to his exact moment of departure, but will instead return sixty-one seconds after his departure regardless of the amount of elapsed time spent in the field.” But she seemed troubled by something not put into words.

Brian Chaney was certain she held something back.

She said: “At the present time, the laboratory is employing monkeys and mice as test passengers. When that phase is completed, each of you will embark on a test to familiarize yourself with the vehicle. You will depart singly, of course, because of the smallness of the vehicle. The engineers will explain the problems of mass and volume being propelled by means of a vacuum.”

Chaney said: “I see the point. I wouldn’t like it very well if I came back from a survey and landed on top of myself. But why sixty-one?”

“That figure is something of a laboratory fluke. The engineers were intent on a minimum of sixty seconds, but, when the vehicle returned at sixty-one on two successive tests they locked it down there, so to speak.”

“All the tests were successful?”

She hesitated, then said: “Yes, sir.”

“You haven’t lost a monkey? Not one?”

“No, sir.”

But his suspicions were not quieted. “What would happen if the tests weren’t successful? What if one should still fail, after all this?”

“In that event, the project would be cancelled and each of you will be returned to your stations. You would be free to return to Indiana, if you chose.”

“I’ll be fired!” Arthur Saltus declared. “Back to that bucket in the South China Sea: diesel oil and brine.”

“Back to the Florida beach,” Chaney told him. “And beauteous maidens in delicious undress.”

“You’re a cad, civilian. You ripped off that veil.”

“But the maidens make that unnecessary.”

“Gentlemen, please .”

Saltus wouldn’t be stopped. “And think of our poor Katrina — back to a bureaucrat’s desk, Congress will cut off our slush funds: chop . You know how they are.”

“Tightfisted, except for their pet rivers and harbors. So I suppose we must carry on for her sake, naked and shivering, up to the brink of 2000.” Chaney was bemused. “What will the coming generation think of us?”

“ Please! ”

Chaney folded his arms and looked at her. “I still think someone has made a mistake, Miss van Hise. I have no military skifis and I’m seldom able to distinguish a nut from a bolt; I can’t imagine why you would want me for a field survey — despite what you say — but you’ll find me a fairly complacent draftee if you promise no more jolts. Are you holding back anything else?”

Her brown eyes locked with his, showing a first hint of anger. Chaney grinned, hoping to erase that. Her glance abruptly dropped away, and she slid the bulky envelopes across the table to the three men.

“Now?” Saltus asked.

“You may open them now. This is our primary tarfield.” get area, together with all necessary data to enter the

Brian Chaney undid the clasp and pulled out a thick sheaf of mimeographed papers and several folded maps. His glance went back to the face of the envelope. A code name was typed there, under the ubiquitous Top Secret rubber stamp. He read it a second time and looked up.