John Cramer - Einstein's Bridge

Roger consulted the screen of his lapstation, studying the detailed street map provided by its holo-ROM-based world atlas and travel guide. “Rosenberg Avenue is coming up,” he said to Alice. “I think you should turn right there, drive to the beachfront, and make another right along West Beach.” They were passing the long blue awning of the EZ Pawn pawnshop. At the intersection Alice circled a monumental female figure brandishing an ivy-covered sword commemorating the Heroes of the Texas Revolution. The pawnshop awning bore the inscription loans — guns — tools — stereos, while the monument was carved with the words patriotism — courage — honor — devotion. There’s a moral there somewhere, Roger thought.

Alice followed the trolley tracks south to the Galveston seawall and the Gulf of Mexico. Roger opened his backseat window, inhaling the salt smell of the Gulf and getting a better view of the wheeling gulls above the gray-green water. He read aloud from the travel atlas entry on Galveston. “ ‘On September 6, 1900, a major Gulf hurricane hit Galveston, flooding the island, destroying much of the city, and killing five thousand people. Up to this time, Galveston had been the largest city in Texas, but the flood ended the city’s role as a major Gulf seaport. A second flood on August 17, 1915, killed two hundred and seventy-five people. The citizens of Galveston responded to these disasters by constructing a long seawall along the side of the long island fronting on the Gulf, with elaborate jetties and breakwaters to tame hurricane-driven waves. Galveston has survived subsequent major hurricanes without significant damage.’”

Roger clicked on the atlas hyperlink SUBSEQUENT MAJOR HURRICANES and continued reading. “ ‘The major Gulf hurricanes that have impacted Galveston, Texas, since World War II include Hurricane Audrey in 1957, Carla in 1961, Beulah in 1967, Camille in 1969, Celia in 1970, Allen in 1980, Alicia in 1983, and Barry in 2001.’”

“Goodness,” said Alice. “I’ve been through more than my share of hurricanes in Florida, and I don’t need another one. Remind me to watch the weather reports while we’re here. With satellite pictures we’d have plenty of time to evacuate.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said George. “It might be fun to watch a good hurricane from a vantage point on the beach and experience the forces of nature at firsthand.” He grinned at her.

She turned west on Seawall Boulevard at the beachfront. The seawall overlook provided a nice view of the now-tranquil waters of the Gulf. In the distance several ships could be seen heading for the eastern tip of the island and the Port of Galveston inlet beyond. Alice drove west, with the ocean on the left and beachfront shops, restaurants, and luxury hotels on the right. Finally the tourist-oriented businesses thinned and the highway, now called Termini Road, veered away from the ocean as the seawall ended. On the left was a strip of land overgrown with tall weeds that ended at the beach.

“Coming up is a cross-street called 8-Mile Road,” said Roger. “From the satellite map it looks as if it might have some beachfront houses on it.” As they approached the intersection, they saw a prominent FOR RENT sign. Closer to the beach was a cluster of houses, all built atop tall poles. “Stilt houses!” said Roger. “One of the paintings that inspired Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition was based on a Russian folktale about the hut of the witch Baba Yaga. It was built on stilts in the form of giant chicken legs, and the hut could walk around, carrying the witch across the countryside. I wonder if these houses can walk.” He grinned.

“Only during hurricanes,” said Alice, turning the car left toward the beach. “You’ll notice that they’re all relatively new. There are no old houses fronting directly on the Gulf. Hurricanes scrub the beaches clean every decade or so.”

They found the rental office, and George paid two weeks’ rent in advance for a furnished two-bedroom beachfront stilt house that was well separated from the neighboring houses. He gave the real estate agent a personal check for the rent and deposit. Then they drove back to the Food King store on Rosenberg and Avenue P ^ and bought a good supply of food and other items. At a hardware store across the street, George bought a large blue plastic tarp to cover Alice’s car. They parked the car under the house between the stilts and Roger and George carefully covered it with the tarp to protect it from the salt spray, but also to conceal its conspicuous Florida license plates.

Alice watched the ocean through the picture window that looked out over the beach and the ocean. The waves broke and rolled up onto the sand and into the wave-barrier rocks, making a soothing rush-and-flow sound. Gray-winged gulls wheeled overhead, sometimes diving into a wave and emerging with a fish. In the distance a white pelican flew east. This view must have looked much the same for a million years, she thought.

She looked across the room. On the coffee table in its nest of white laboratory tissue lay the Egg. George sat on the couch, studying its rough surface as if looking for hidden meanings. The tension was thick in the room. The sound of the ocean’s roar and hiss from outside did not have the usual calming effect.

“It’s clear enough,” said Roger. “We throw the Egg into the water, wait twenty-four hours, and go back to the same spot. Sounds rather like a fairy tale, doesn’t it?”

“Too damn much like a fairy tale,” said George. “What if the thing carries a virus or something that infests the Gulf of Mexico? The Makers could be bent on taking over or destroying our planet.”

“It could just as well be an airborne virus that has infested the planet already from Waxahachie,” said Alice.

“Exactly,” said Roger. “If Tunnel Maker and his people wanted to do us ill, they would not have needed to enlist our cooperation to do so. Your Egg could just as well have been a flock of nanomachines for converting the planet to gray goo, or into a new race of Makers. They are up to something else, and they are trying to minimize the impact of implementing it. I’m sure that’s why they wanted us away from the laboratory and out of the media spotlight. I’m convinced that we have to trust them, George. I see no alternative.”

George looked at him closely. “If you don’t mind my saying so, Roger, you’re dying anyway. Perhaps you’re more inclined to take risks than the rest of us.”

“George!” said Alice, shocked by his insensitively.

Roger raised his hand. “No, Alice, it’s all right. George is correct, in a way. In my present condition I am perhaps a bit more inclined to take risks. My previous gamble with synaptine could certainly be taken as evidence of that. But I assure you, George, I would not be willing to gamble with any life except my own. I believe our only rational course of action is to follow Tunnel Maker’s instructions. If there is a danger, it isn’t from him and his people.”

George stroked his beard for a time. “Okay, dammit,” he said finally. “I suppose you’re right. In fact, I have a gut feeling that you’re right. I just needed to make sure that we had thought it through.”

“Maybe Tunnel Maker just wants to introduce himself to us, before revealing himself to the rest of the world,” said Alice.

George picked up the Egg from its nest on the table. “So let’s get it over with.” He headed for the door.

“George,” said Alice as they were walking back from the beach, “we need to talk.”

For a moment George’s face took on a deer-in-the-headlights look. He took a deep breath and said, “Sure, Alice. What about?”

“I need to tell you about the kind of books I write, about the book I’m working on now,” said Alice.