Charles Sheffield - Dark as Day

When she arrived at the Experimental Center it was clear that sweat was not going to be an immediate issue. The admitting Level Two Fax was having a major fight — as much as a Fax was permitted to fight — with somebody else.

“It’s not Ms. Bloom, you electronic slop of Brownian motion.” The woman arguing with the Fax was thin, red-haired, and extremely angry. “I’ve told you ten times, it’s Dr. Bloom. And if Ligon Industries can invade my lab in the middle of the night, without permission, I’m damned if you’ll keep me out of theirs. Let me in.”

“I am sorry, Ms. Bloom, but there is no authorization for your admission.”

“That’s it! Go away. Get lost. I request a Level Five Fax.”

“Very well, Ms. Bloom.”

Milly stepped forward. “Dr. Bloom? My name is Milly Wu. I was one of the people who went into your facility last night.”

The woman turned to her. “Were you now? Who said you could?”

“No one. But I may be able to help.” Milly turned to the Fax, which was wavering in outline during the attempted invocation of a Level Five version. Currently it had the form of a person of uncertain age and gender. “My name is Milly Wu. I believe that I have authorization to attend this meeting.”

The image solidified. “That is correct, Ms. Wu. You may enter.” The double doors beyond the Fax were opening.

“I have with me my associate, Dr.—” Milly turned to the other woman.

“Bloom. Dr. Valnia Bloom.”

“My associate, Dr. Valnia Bloom. We are both attending this meeting. We both require admission.”

“Very good.” The Fax nodded. “I will announce your arrival and forward your names. Milly Wu and Dr. Valnia Bloom. Follow the wall indicators.”

They walked forward together. As they passed through the double doors, Valnia Bloom said, “Thank you, I suppose. But I want to know what the hell was going on last night. Upon my return to my lab I discovered that I had been accused of the unauthorized use of a Mayfly-class ship and of a Flyboy scooter. The Mayfly has been lost, and the scooter with its two passengers was picked up by a medical ship following an emergency call. The captain of the OSL Achilles called, asking what I had done with his first officer. I learned that there have been unauthorized entries and exits to my facility. Worst of all, a man in my care died — and I have yet to be offered a shred of explanation as to what was going on. It required a major effort on my part even to learn of the existence of this meeting.”

“Dr. Bloom, I wish I had answers, but I don’t. We were promised some today. That’s why I came here.”

“We’d better get some. Or you can look for blood on the carpet.”

There was no carpet, only the tough corrosion-resistant flooring of a scientific lab, but Milly got the message. Valnia Bloom was where Milly herself had been two hours ago, all set to blow her main circuits.

When something was ready to explode, you stayed out of the way. Milly trailed Valnia Bloom as they followed the lighted wall strips, along a corridor, through another pair of double doors, and into a long chamber filled with scientific equipment, none of which Milly recognized.

She did, however, recognize the group of people at the far end. Alex Ligon, her companion for last night’s illegal breaking and entry, was there. The woman, Magrit Knudsen, whom Alex had identified as his boss and as a very senior member of the Ganymede cabinet, was present. So was Bengt Suomi, looking like the devil with his dark eyebrows and brooding saturnine face. Finally there was the Great Bat, towering over everyone and peering at a complicated device sitting on top of a work bench.

Any concern that Milly had over personal freshness disappeared. Bat was wearing the same funereal black garb as last night, and he had clearly slept in it or worse. He turned as they approached. He gave Milly only a brief nod of recognition, but her companion received his full attention.

“Dr. Bloom?”

“Right.” Valnia Bloom was staring. “I’ve seen you before, or at least your picture. Weren’t you involved a few years ago in explorations on Europa?”

“That could be described as correct. My name is Rustum Battachariya. I owe you a sincere apology. We invaded your research facility last night, without asking.”

“Did you try to ask? I’m not hard to reach.”

“We did not. There were, however, extenuating circumstances. We believed at the time that rapid action was needed to forestall an unimaginable disaster. We were wrong, for reasons I still do hot understand, but the basis for our concern will soon become clear to you. First, however, I would like to preface a demonstration with a statement. And if it at first appears to be a digression, please bear with me.”

“Talk. I’ll listen — for five minutes.”

“Which will prove ample. Let me begin by saying that despite what others may think, I am not perfect. I have a personal weakness. For many years, I have been an avid seeker of relict weapons left over from the Great War. Those explorations have met with some success” — Bat raised his eyebrows toward Magrit Knudsen, who hesitated, then nodded — “but there have been occasional tantalizing hints of much more than we have found. One of these is the legendary Mother Lode, a complete listing of all weapons developed by Belt forces. No trace of the Mother Lode has ever been found. Many doubt its existence, though I have hopes. Another undiscovered country has been an ‘ultimate weapon,’ a scorched-earth device intended not to win the war, but to destroy every living creature in the whole solar system — winners and losers alike.

“The reality of such a weapon was doubted, by me among others, until very recently. But then, through an indirect route, I came across evidence that a woman named Nadeen Selassie had not, as was previously believed, died, before the end of the Great War. She was the genius weapons-maker of the Belt, the maker of the Seekers and the reputed designer of a doomsday device that would turn the solar system ‘dark as day.’ It became clear that Nadeen Selassie did indeed die, but not before she, and possibly her ultimate weapon, had escaped the Belt and gone to Mars and perhaps to Earth. She had with her a small girl and a small boy. The girl died, but the boy lived on. Perhaps Nadeen Selassie entrusted to him the nature of the weapon that she had devised. Perhaps she did not. At any rate, he grew up to become an unusual young man. His name was Sebastian Birch.”

Bat was interrupted by a snort of derision from Valnia Bloom. “That’s bullshit. I know — knew — Sebastian Birch. If your ridiculous accusations drove him to flee Ganymede and dive to his death on Jupiter, I’ll do my damnedest to make sure that you are charged with murder.”

“Dr. Bloom, I played no such role. All my actions last night were aimed at preventing Sebastian Birch from leaving Ganymede. I had, you see, become convinced that he bore with him the secret of Nadeen Selassie’s doomsday weapon. Sebastian Birch’s presence on Jupiter would, I was convinced, destroy all life throughout the solar system. I had in mind some kind of ignition mechanism, one that would turn the planet, which is largely hydrogen, into a vast bomb using hydrogen-to-helium fusion. Discussion with Dr. Suomi disabused me of that notion.”

Bat inclined his head to the Ligon Industries’ gangling scientist, who stooped over the workbench like an impatient stork. “Dr. Suomi pointed out, in the politest possible terms, that although I have my own areas of expertise, I am in some fields a scientific idiot. No method known to science could cause such a fusion reaction on Jupiter. My idea would have required that Nadeen Selassie, in the closing weeks of the Great War, develop not merely a new weapon, but a whole new physics. That was not merely improbable, it was impossible.