Gregory Benford Read online

  Luckily, such intellectual armament proved to be the best for use against the problem of the intruder. Channing’s discovery of high magnetic fields in the hottest, most luminous region of the object was the crucial fact that opened a rich realm of informed speculation.

  Benjamin was particularly happy with the importance of magnetic fields. His doctoral thesis had focused on magnetic forces in galactic jets, and this thing definitely had a jet whose twists and filigrees the radio astronomers were enthusiastically mapping. They sent new charts daily.

  Benjamin threw himself into the work, using a combination of imagination and rigorous computer programs. He was pleased to find that some of his hoary old methods were quite germane to this problem. It helped him keep up with Kingsley’s darting skills at analysis. They had offices near each other and their meetings were contests between the speed of Kingsley’s elegant fountain pen and Benjamin’s custom keyboard.

  Benjamin felt himself renewed. Like many scientists, he could trace his lifelong fascination with the natural world to a key, trigger moment. His father had showed him how a magnet always knew which way was north and explained it by saying the needle was forced to line up with the magnetic field. But he could not see or feel this field, so that meant there were invisible real things in the world, less substantial than air but able to act on iron across many miles.

  This clue that something deeply mysterious lay behind the everyday world was a revelation and a source of quiet, persistent excitement, a note that had sounded happily throughout his life. Such excitements of the mind had come less often in the last decade as he felt his powers ebbing. In comparison with the bright postdocs who passed through the Center, he had felt slow to catch on to the latest currents. Now fashion, thanks to the intruder, had returned to his home turf.

  “Magnetic fields act like rubber bands; it takes work to stretch or bend them,” he said to several staff members who were assembled to talk, the usual crowd plus Kingsley and a few new ones. Even for informal talks, the crowd kept growing as data came in.

  A newer staff woman who worked in another area was visibly struggling to keep up with the flood of ideas. “Those are the lines of force?” she asked, and he refrained from correcting. In his astrophysics textbook, he had once deliberately used that misleading phrase, then added a footnote that said: The magnetic field lines are often called “lines of force.” They are not. In fact, any forces exerted by the field are perpendicular to the fields themselves. The misnomer is perpetuated here to prepare the student for the treacheries of his profession. A little prissy, maybe, and he could see this was not the time for such academic hair-splitting.

  “That’s exactly the point,” Kingsley said. He had been sitting at the back of the seminar room, brooding, but now his voice was filled with vigor. “The intruder is exerting forces on itself by ejecting matter through its jet. Changing velocity, in a systematic way.”

  “How can you tell?” the woman asked. Benjamin smiled. She was unused to Kingsley’s style of drawing the right questions from his audience, so that instead of lecturing people, he seemed to be merely answering them as they peppered him with their doubts. And doing it a bit serenely, too. The Cambridge touch.

  Kingsley came forward and put a plastic sheet on the overhead projector. “I used these radio observations. By calculating the momentum delivered in each jet plume, I could find where the intruder was headed next, as a reaction to the matter it ejected. Here—”

  The sly bastard’s even got viewgraphs all ready, Benjamin thought admiringly, despite himself. Playing us like a goddamn violin.

  The trajectory displayed was a jagged series of straight lines that nonetheless swooped inward along a persistent curve. No one had plotted these data in three dimensions yet and Benjamin saw that they had all been guilty of staying too close to the data. Kingsley stood silently, letting them digest the implication.

  Benjamin jumped in. “The intruder is following a curve into the solar system. And it’s finding iceteroids still, even though it’s closer in than Pluto now.”

  “My esteemed colleague has stolen my points,” Kingsley said with a stagy smile, though Benjamin knew this was exactly what he had wanted.

  “It’s guided,” a postdoc said.

  “It’s guiding, I think, is the point,” Kingsley said.

  This provoked a rustle. If Dart had gone over to the “starship hypothesis,” there were huge implications.

  “Targets of opportunity,” Benjamin said, not wanting to get into a broader discussion. “Every time it makes a course correction, it’s headed for the nearest iceteroid that will help it follow this smooth path.”

  “But, my God,” one of the staff said, “that would mean it can find chunks of ice and rock just a few hours’ flying time away—”

  “Some of them only a few tens of meters across, to judge by the variations in jet luminosity we detect—” another voice called out.

  “And it can then fly unerringly to its next”—Kingsley paused just enough—“prey.”

  A long silence. “Where’s that curve go?” a staffer whispered.

  “Jupiter,” Kingsley said simply.

  Gasps.

  “And quite quickly.”

  “That was an admirable result,” Benjamin had to say to Kingsley. They were on their way a short while later, called to Victoria Martinez’s office. “You must’ve spent a lot of time on it.”

  “I had help. Called in various orbital specialists, got some computer help—”

  Victoria Martinez came into her office with a tall well-dressed man. “Sorry I was late, gentlemen. Mr. Arno has just arrived.”

  Handshakes all round, Benjamin wondering who this was. Not an astronomer, he was fairly sure; something about the eyes. He had little time to wonder. Arno sat on the edge of Martinez’s desk, as if he owned the room. Martinez did not seem to mind, and instead settled into her own high-backed chair with an expression of hovering interest, an air of deference. Arno took the time to adjust the seams in his pressed light gray Mancetti suit, which went well with his blue and red tie based on a Japanese woodprint. An undefinable air of presence and power came across in the way he looked directly at Benjamin.

  “I’m from the U Agency,” he said, as if this banished all doubt. “We’ve been tracking your results here and think it’s time to move.”

  “U Agency? Ubiquitous?”

  Arno frowned at this joke, but then he managed a mirthless smile and said, “I’ll have to remember that one.”

  Martinez’s eyes widened slightly in alarm. This was a manager from the big time, her expression conveyed, not the sort given to minor banter. Arno waited just one beat for this to sink in and said, “No, we are an emergency arm of your government. I’ve been in touch with Dr. Dart here, and others, and we felt it was time to get some control of the situation. That means bringing you into the loop—in fact, everybody working here.”

  Benjamin had heard vague talk of a consolidated arm, usually called in to apply leverage in international crises. Arno must represent such shadowy forces. Benjamin paid little attention to the always-precarious balance of forces in the big power arena. The United States was wearying of being the perpetual fallback stabilizer, especially since the Mideast equilibrium had dissolved into ultranationalist and water rights issues. He knew the country was assuming more imperial modes, but cared little for the details. “What ‘loop’—”

  “Perhaps I can make this easier,” Kingsley said smoothly. “I’ve been worried that this is moving too fast for us, and media attention is about to descend. Better to have it handled by people who can impose controls when needed.”

  Benjamin turned from Arno and shot back at Kingsley, “And what’s that mean?”

  “You see the implications of my trajectory analysis. It’s intelligent—and hugely powerful. At the moment, it’s headed toward Jupiter, but that, too, could change.”

  “Anything commanding those power levels is almost inconceivably dangerous,” Martine
z put in.

  “Your authority to do this?” Benjamin asked.

  “Direct from the White House,” Arno said with casual assurance. He straightened the cuff on his long-sleeved shirt.

  “The Science Adviser has been informed?” Benjamin persisted.

  “Of course. Kingsley’s reports came up through her.”

  Benjamin glanced at Kingsley and realized he had been played for a fool for the last few weeks. “I don’t think I follow—”

  “Look, this is presidential,” Arno said, as if explaining to a child. “The U Agency has to run the show here. It’s in your own interests. We’ll handle the connections to the top and to outside—the media. You guys will be free to do your research. This Center will, from now on, be devoted entirely to coordinating international intelligence.”

  Benjamin tried not to let himself be put off by Arno’s curt, aggressive style, which he recognized from his occasional dealings with other wings of government. Still, this guy was over the top. “U Agency people, then—”

  “Will work closely with yours. We’ll filter everything that goes in or out.”

  “How do you expect us to do research with you peering over our shoulders?”

  “Just bring me the results. I’m a conduit, that’s all. Believe me, we’ve got some able minds working for us. Our people will be, well, colleagues.”

  Benjamin was still trying to comprehend this sudden swerve. He had come into Martinez’s office expecting a friendly discussion of how to deal with the growing circle of those who knew of the intruder. He should have realized that Kingsley was at his charismatic best when he sailed before prevailing political winds, well before others sensed them. Why hadn’t he seen that Kingsley fit in with the U Agency style—and that something like this was inevitable? The astronomy of it had captivated him, blinded him.

  Or so went his rationale later. Arno had ended with a warm handshake and an ingratiating, obviously phony smile, the sort of expression Benjamin always suspected people of rehearsing in front of mirrors at home. But that was merely cosmetic. Arno’s staff began arriving within minutes, and he knew at a glance what was in store. The U personnel dressed alike, severe and stark in their dark slacks, jackets, and off-white shirts. At least they did not wear ties. The Center staff astronomers were Hawaiian hip, in shorts and gaudy flowered shirts and thongs.

  Benjamin had to settle several immediate personnel problems, holding a quick general meeting to announce the “structural change,” which included a layering of Deputy Administrators, Action Team Leaders, and Section Heads in a chart neatly printed for prominent display. With Kingsley and Arno beside him he answered a few questions, but thankfully most fell to Martinez.

  Then he had to patrol the Center corridors as the U Agency types moved in, finding office space and mediating. It was like two different species having to suddenly share the same territory. “Colleagues,” Arno had said, and this proved to mean that some of the U Agency people were faces he recognized. Apparently they had been hired as consultants, perhaps quite recently. Some of them seemed faintly embarrassed, but they moved with the same crisp efficiency as the others. Was there prior training to do this sort of thing?

  It would have been easy to blame Kingsley for this, to see him as Benjamin’s primary antagonist. But within three hours of this shock, the two men were bound down the mountain in Benjamin’s car, headed for a dinner they had planned days before. They drove in silence, the aroma of burning sugarcane drifting up from the fields toward Hilo. They quite deliberately spoke only of Hawaii itself as Benjamin took the slope at high speed, tires howling on the curves, bamboo forests flickering past with their dry smells.

  Kingsley seemed able to relax and truly enjoy the ride down to their beachfront home. After taking off their shoes in standard island good manners, Kingsley stopped to admire the photos in the entrance hall of Channing’s career: aboard the space station, on an EVA, taking data in blazing sunlight. As he did, Benjamin sought out Channing and embraced her with a fervor that surprised him.

  Channing sensed the soured mood of the men and quickly deflected it with drinks of mango and papaya and rum, amid soft Japanese music, all counterpointed by the wind chimes in their back garden. The air seemed layered with fragrances and talk ran to island gossip. But then she wanted to be kept up on the gossip and it all came out.

  “I don’t think you fully appreciate why I acted,” Kingsley said at last, once the describing was done.

  “You bet I don’t,” Benjamin shot back. He had been holding his tongue because the last few hours had drastically shifted the power balance between the two men, and he was unsure how to deal with it. “Neither does Martinez.”

  “She does not know my methods, but you, with our ancient association, might have guessed my intention well before I was ready to reveal it.”

  “I’m afraid I’m being sidelined after the first few plays.”

  “That will not happen, I assure you.” Kingsley sat back and wrapped both hands around one knee, leaning back as though to relieve knotted muscles. He carries tension that way, same as me, Benjamin thought. But doesn’t show it in the face or voice.

  “I’m pretty damned mad.”

  “With good reason, given what you know. Let me say I appreciated your not giving voice to that at the Center. It would have done no good.”

  Channing had let them go through the first quick rush of it, their words coming out in machine-gun volleys. Now she made a show of fetching some nibble food, leaving them with a lingering observation: “I’m impressed that a U.S. agency will spring so quickly on the advice of a Brit astronomer.”

  “I’ve been functioning as a sort of scientist-diplomat since well before the Astronomer Royal appointment,” Kingsley called after her. “My good fortune that I’ve made the right contacts.”

  “I admire your understatement,” she called from the kitchen.

  “Why not tell me?” Benjamin demanded, irked at her cavalier nonchalance at this whole abrupt maneuver.

  “Because it would have compromised a delicate transition.”

  Benjamin sat back and crossed his arms, demanding, “Explain. Better be good, too.”

  “I’ve been asking people around the world to work on this intruder problem, sending e-mails and calling—any idea why?”

  “To get them involved?” Channing ventured when Benjamin just shook his head. “So these U Agency types would have to come in?”

  “Dead right. I want this controlled by the United States, not by some United Nations committee.”

  Benjamin nodded. “A nation can act quickly, a committee, never.”

  “And there’s more, isn’t there?” Channing bore in on Kingsley, leaning forward, her hostess skills giving way to her professional ones.

  “You could always spot my motives,” Kingsley laughed. “The U Agency fellows will pull in some ‘foreign advisers’ right away.”

  Benjamin saw it. “And the people you e-mailed the most, brought into the discussion earliest—”

  “They’ll be the ones recruited.” Kingsley smiled.

  “And the astronomers I saw today working for the Agency—”

  “Exactly. They were brought in the traditional way, a consultancy for a sum they could scarcely decline.”

  “They know what we’re doing?”

  “Of course. Some have been monitoring our work—which impresses them, I’m happy to say—since the first week.”

  Channing said, “You make it sound like moving chess pieces.”

  Kingsley looked reflective. “I suppose it is. All done very diplomatically, of course, through all the proper channels. I was afraid I was being a bit obvious, but so far Arno has not caught on.”

  “You believe,” Benjamin said, sitting back and gazing up at the hard, bright stars visible through the softly rattling fronds of palm trees.

  “I wanted bright people here, people I knew from my work. Screens are going to start coming down soon, I’ll wager.”

  �
�Really?” Channing chewed her lip, her face pale in the gloom.

  “This is the calm before the storm—a very long storm, quite probably,” Kingsley finished morosely, taking a long pull at his drink.

  Benjamin told her about the trajectory Kingsley had displayed. “It’s moving faster, cutting the time to reach Jupiter.”

  “And that provokes the U Agency?” she asked wonderingly.

  Kingsley studied the leafy garden with a skewed slant to his mouth. “I felt bound to let those above know, as did Victoria. We spoke of it the second day I was here. I did not include you two in my thoughts because, frankly, I felt it was a side issue, just a reporting up the chain of command sort of thing. But quite quickly it caught the attention of certain people at the NSF, then DARPA—my sources tell me.”

  Benjamin disliked both what he was learning and getting it from Kingsley. The man had mastered astronomy, international diplomacy, and—no doubt, they would soon learn—figure skating. Now he knew how laymen felt when confronting the complex weave of astronomy with only newspaper-level knowledge. He hated playing straight man here, but stifled that and asked, “Why in the world would the Defense Advanced Research Project Agency have connections to NSF’s astronomy office?”

  “There is a standing procedure, ever since the Air Force began detecting what turned out to be gamma-ray bursters, remember?” Kingsley smiled. “Their satellites designed to detect nuclear explosions found signals coming from the sky. Bursters bequeathed us this alliance of interests.”

  “And from there on, let me guess,” Benjamin said, “it went to the National Security Council, then the President’s Science Adviser.”

  Kingsley raised an eyebrow in appreciation. “You know more of this labyrinth than I expected. Pretty nearly so, yes.”

  “So we’re stuck having to work with those Chicken Littles, huh?” Channing said.