David Brin - Earth

“All good things come to an end, though. Eventually it was some hacker out on the Net who tracked us down. I got the warning only an instant before those peepers arrived.” Manella tapped the heavy-duty data watch on his left wrist. “No time to warn anybody, and I knew if I took Teresa along, the manhunt would sweep us both up in a trice anyway. But I bet Spivey wouldn’t think me worth the bother.”

“He hardly mentioned your name,” Teresa said, both confirming Manella’s split-second decision and emphasizing how little anybody cared about him.

He took the mixed insult with good grace. “Anyway, I’ve been keeping tabs on things, while maintaining a thin profile—”

Teresa interrupted. “Hah!”

“ — but I had a feeling something like this was in the works. That’s why I called your security chief this morning with a little tip.”

Alex swiveled to look at Auntie Kapur’s man. The big Maori shrugged. “Must’ve been him, tohunga .”

Teresa objected. “How do we know he didn’t send the saboteur, just so he could tip us off and win back our trust?”

“Oh, Captain.” Manella sighed. “Don’t you think I’m persuasive enough on my own account, without having to use tricks and legerdemain? Besides, I have no access to bombs and such. You just heard this wise man say the thing was ANZAC military issue.

“No, I just used this.” He tapped the side of his ample nose. “Lustig can tell you it never fails. I knew something was up. Had to be. Spivey can’t afford to leave you in operation any longer.”

“But… why?” one of the woman techs complained. “Just because we’ve been nudging Beta a little higher, so it evaporates a bit?”

Another engineer agreed. “It can’t be to keep things secret any longer, either. Private SIGs are correlating data from nearly every gazer beam, tossing out bad theories and zeroing in on the truth. Anyway, last night the NATO president said he’ll be making a big statement Tuesday. It’ll all go to the tribunals…”

“Which makes time all the more crucial to Spivey,” Pedro answered. “Tell me something, Alex. Are there signs of other resonators coming on line? Other than your original four?”

Oh, he’s good all right , Alex admitted in his thoughts, whether Manella had guessed this or discovered it by spying on them.

“We’ve seen traces for several days now. Two in Nihon GEACS territory, one Russ and a Han also.”

“And?”

“And six more… much better ones. They’re being set up at the face centers of a cube, a better arrangement than our tetrahedron.”

“Just as I expected.” Manella nodded. “And who else, other than yourself, is capable of building such an array? Who else has such a head start over Russ and Han and even Nihon?”

Silence was his only answer. The answer was obvious.

“So there’s supposed to be an announcement in four days? So the tribunals are to be invoked and all revealed? I must then answer, so what? What happens afterward will still depend on who has the best information and expertise . That is who will be in control. He’ll set the agenda. Rule the world.”

“Spivey,” Teresa said, though clearly she did not want to.

Manella nodded. “He’s almost got a monopoly on data about these breathtaking, intimidating new technologies. But who knows even more about singularities and gravity lasers than his tame physicists?”

They looked at each other. No one in the world understood the gazer phenomenon better than the people in this room.

This is no good , Alex decided. Manella might be right. Dammit, he probably is. But I’m not letting him hypnotize my team .

“Clever, Pedro,” he told the newsman. “Have you also worked out what I’ve decided to do about it?”

“Is that all?” The big man grinned. “You forget that I know you, Lustig. I’d bet my tooth-implant radio and half a year’s pay you intend showing Colonel Spivey just who he’s dealing with.”

Damn you , Alex thought. But outwardly he only shrugged. Looking at the others, he announced — “Anyone who chooses to leave the island may do so now. All civilians will be warned away from a two-kilometer radius.

“As for me, though, I don’t plan taking this—” he hefted the bomb ” — lying down.”

He looked again at Teresa, who nodded. She understands. The next few days will decide the future of everything .

Alex watched as the assembled workers, one by one, stepped toward him and the great swiveled bulk of the resonator. Their silent vote was unanimous. “Good,” he said, feeling a wave of warmth toward his comrades. “Let’s get to work then. I had a dream not long ago, and it gave me an idea. A possible way we just might get the good colonel’s attention.”

□ Worldwide Long Range Solutions Special Interest Group[□ SIG AeR.WLRS 253787890.546], Special Alert to Members.

There are times for discussion, and other times when only action counts. None of our fancy schemes will help anybody if we don’t make it through this present craziness! So the coordinators of the Worldwide Long Range Solutions SIG hereby suspend all conference forums. Instead we encourage all of you, as individuals, to seek ways to help solve the crisis many see looming, hour by passing hour.

“But what can a single person do to influence events of such magnitude and momentum?” One answer may surprise you. We’ll shortly hand over these channels, on loan, to the Federation of Amateur Observation Special Interest Groups [□ sig BaY, FAO 456780079.876]. Their spokesper will describe how each of you can assist the worldwide effort to track the gremlins down.

It may surprise many of you how much science relies on amateur observers, from bird-watchers, to meteor counters, to hobbyists with private weather stations. But now, with so many weird phenomena taking place worldwide, these amateur networks are truly coming into their own. It’s private citizens, with sharp eyes and ready cameras, who are even now tracing patterns the big boys think they can keep secret from us.

We’ll show them whose planet this is! So stay on-line for a list of groups you can join. Then get off your lazy asses, dust off your Tru-Vus, go outside, and look! You may be the one to catch that vital clue, to help track these gor-sucking gremlins to their source.

Goldman didn’t have much to do anymore. Others ran the scans now, reduced the data, constructed ever-subtler models of the inner Earth, even traced the involute geometries of that refulgent, renitent entity below… the thing called Beta. A midget town had sprung up around the lonely

Tangoparu dome on a rocky plain below the vast Greenland ice sheet. High-powered tech types bustled with armloads of data cubes, arguing in the arcane new language of gazerdynamics. Of the original team, only he remained now, the others having gone home to New Zealand long ago.

The NATO scientific commander had specifically asked him to stay. So Stan sat in on all the daily seminars, struggling to keep up with younger, more agile minds, even though his understanding grew more obsolete with each fast-breaking discovery. No matter. They all treated him with utter deference. Hardly a moment passed without hearing the name Alex Lustig spoken with an awe customarily lavished on the shades of Newton and Einstein and Hurt, and as the great one’s former teacher, Stan shared in that glory.

Singularities. There was a lot of talk about singularities, by which the bright young men and women meant the kind you made inside a cavitron — micro black holes and those newer innovations, tuned strings and cosmic knots. Of late, though, Stan had found himself thinking about another kind of “singularity” altogether. It was on his mind as he passed a saluting sentry and left the bustling encampment, swinging his walking stick across the moraine-strewn valley.