'No,' Goldstein said slowly. 'You're quite right. This is a singular moment. We either make this work, or in failing confirm the pessimism that excuses us from asking more of ourselves. Either a civil society, or a cynical one.' He joined Breland in standing and offered his hand. 'Mr President, I honestly don't know how much we can do that we aren't already doing - but I'll find out, and I'll see that it gets done.'
Goldstein saw the President out and waited until the tilt-rotor lifted off before reaching for his comset. 'Captain Hill? Get the plane ready - we're going to Princeton.'
There were no other aircraft at the Princeton airport's modest commercial terminal, and consequently no limos waiting at the taxi stand. Rather than wait for a car to be called, Goldstein went straight to the only rental agency and pounded on the counter until a puzzled clerk, apparently roused from a mid-shift nap, emerged from the back room. Goldstein accepted a bland cream-colored family sedan without complaint, keeping to himself the facts that his license had a daytime-only endorsement and he hadn't been in the driver's seat for more than five years.
The only parking available in the visitor lot in front of the Institute's Fuld Hall was a handicapper space. Rather than risk the automatic impoundment, Goldstein left the car running at the curb.
'Excuse me,' he said to the woman in the reception office. 'Can you tell me where I can find Dr Brohier?'
'I'm sorry - Dr Brohier isn't available to see visitors. But you can leave a message for him right there.'
Goldstein glanced over his shoulder at the comstand. 'What does that mean? Why isn't he available? Does he have his "Do Not Disturb" sign out? Is he sleeping? Is he off campus? - or is it something else?'
'I'm sorry - I don't have any other information. I suggest you leave a message for Dr Brohier, and make arrangements -'
'Miss, if I wanted to leave a message for him, I could have done so. Dr Brohier works with me.'
'In that case, you probably have better ways of contacting him,' she said brightly. 'I'm sorry I couldn't help. You understand that the Institute is deeply committed to creating an optimum environment for -'
'Yes, yes, yes,' Goldstein said impatiently. 'Now you understand -'
'Excuse me, sir,' a new voice interrupted. 'Is that your Elite parked outside in the traffic lane?'
Goldstein turned to find himself looking up into the face of a tall man in a low-key tan uniform. 'Yes.'
'I'm afraid you're going to have to move it, sir. It's blocking traffic.'
Pursing his lips, Goldstein bit back his first thoughts. 'Very well,' he said with deceptive calmness. I'll move it.'
When he reached the car, he climbed in, slammed the door shut, and sat rock-still for a moment, burning a hole in the instrument panel with his gaze. He had intended his visit to be low-key and discreet, to slip in and out of town as invisibly as possible, trusting nothing to the ether, where it could be intercepted, recorded, and decrypted by those who might be taking a particular interest in the creators of the Trigger.
But Karl was locked away behind a wall - not only of etiquette and protocol, but of Terabyte's own precautions. Brohier's physical address appeared nowhere in Terabyte records. There was no need for it. Money found its way into accounts, information found its way to displays and printers, and there were package drops aplenty available for the delivery of merchandise.
There were only two choices - try to knock a hole in the wall, or wait until Brohier came out from behind it on his own. Which, insofar as Goldstein was concerned, was really only one choice.
With a screaming whine of motors and a squeal of rubber worthy of a seventeen-year-old, he sent the car lurching forward, then swerving sharply to the right. The front wheels jumped the curb and then dug in, hauling the vehicle up onto the grass. There Goldstein waited.
He did not have to wait long. In moments, the tall male security officer came rushing out of the building's main entrance, followed by a much smaller female officer. Both ran straight toward Goldstein, neither shouting orders nor drawing weapons as they approached. When they were close enough to stand glowering over him outside the driver's door, Goldstein lowered the window part of the way.
'Shameful - shameful,' he said, not giving them an opening to speak. 'Is this your idea of security, Officer Weiss? What if I'd been a terrorist car bomber? I could have driven right up the steps and taken out the entire building.'
'Sir, you need to move this car now,' insisted the female officer. 'If you don't, you're looking at being arrested for trespassing and destruction of property -'
'Bluster won't cover up the deficiencies. Good heavens, one medium-sized car bomb would drop the mean planetary IQ twenty points in an eyeblink. I know you don't have a LifeShield installed here, because your directors foolishly declined our offer. But hasn't anyone around here ever heard of controlled access, or barrier design? This road should be closed at both ends, and you need to have someone looking out for strangers who has more than a frown and bit of brass to call on if they're unfriendly.'
Officer Weiss tried the car door, but found it locked. 'You have more than a little brass yourself, sir. How about telling us who you are, and what you want here?'
'My name is Aron Goldstein -' He saw the skepticism in their expressions and sighed. 'Yes, that Goldstein - don't be misled by the car. It's a rental. I just flew in, and I have an urgent need to talk to Dr Brohier. Now, I understand that you try to protect your fellows or associates or what have you from being disturbed, but this is extremely important - important enough that if I don't get a little cooperation, I'm going to start looking for ways to vent rny frustrations. I do that by spending money to make trouble for the people who make trouble for me. How much trouble do you think one day's profits will buy?'
The officers were exchanging questioning glances. 'Do you have any certified identification?' the woman asked.
Casually and wordlessly, Goldstein handed her his SmaitID card. He watched her face as she swept it through her scanner and studied its display.
'It's Dr Brohier you want, eh?' the man asked.
'Willis - don't -'
'How many times do I need to say it?'
'I think you're too late.'
'What do you mean?'
'Dr Brohier gave notice this morning. I gather he and Dr Sam were headed out somewhere together.'
'Where? Who is Dr Sam?'
'Hold on a moment.' The officer nodded, triggering the chin switch for his radio. 'Steven, this is Willis - has Dr Sam signed out yet?' He listened a moment, then added, Twenty minutes ago? Thanks.' Another bob of the head, and Willis bent down to peer through the window. 'Maybe you aren't too late, after all. Try members' housing, off Olden Lane,' he said, pointing toward the east. 'Dr Brohier was in Fifty-one.'
Goldstein nodded as he put the car in reverse. 'My apologies about the lawn, officers - I lost my grip on the joystick for a moment. Send Aurum Industries a bill for the landscaping.'
Only knowing that he was looking for two men allowed Goldstein to spot them. Otherwise, he would have obeyed the stop sign at Olden Lane. Otherwise, he would have surrendered right of way and allowed the taxi to pass through the intersection instead of pulling out in front of it.
Brakes squealed as both vehicles swerved. The taxi ended up with its right front wheel against the curb and its left front fender kissing the passenger door of the Elite. Both drivers stepped out into the twilight, one cursing angrily, the other calmly retrieving a $100 bill from an inner pocket.
'Sorry about that,' Goldstein said, flashing and then handing over the money as he neared and then walked past the suddenly speechless taxi driver. He poked his head through the open door and looked into the passenger seat. Brohier was pale, and the second passenger was visibly trembling.
'You're very old for a hit man,' the stranger said with nervous bravado.
'I'm very unarmed for one, too,' Goldstein said. 'Karl, we need to talk.'
'Aron, what the hell are you doing here? And are you comple
tely addled? You could have killed us!'
'Nonsense, taxi drivers have splendid reflexes. Just get out and get in my car, will you?'
The taxi driver shouldered in at that point. 'Look, if this is some kind of boyfriend-boyfriend thing, I don't want to be in the middle of it.'
'It isn't, and you aren't. Unload their bags - I'll take them where they're going.'
'Hey, I have a meter running here. I don't let anyone steal my fares, not even for-'
Goldstein silently pushed another bill at him.
'Fair enough,' the driver said.
'You don't even know where we're going,' Brohier protested. 'And we're already late - we're going to miss our plane.'
'I don't know where you were going. But I do know you're not going to miss your plane.' He peered at Dr Sam. 'You, I'm not sure about. Karl, my car - please.'
Brohier frowned, then threw his door open. I've never seen you like this, Aron - so I suppose I'd better find out what's gotten into you.'
'That's my boy.'
'Not likely. Give me the keys, Aron.'
First, Brohier drove the car forward to the curb, clearing the intersection. The taxi driver followed suit, depositing Dr Sam and the suitcases on the sidewalk, then driving off.
'Now - what's going on?' Brohier demanded of Goldstein. The industrialist joined him in the front seat. Things are very grave, Karl - very grave. The playwright's begging for our help. The play needs a second act, and there isn't much time. We've invested so much in this production, and I don't want to see it close prematurely -'
Blinking in confusion, Brohier interrupted, 'What play? What the devil are you talking about?'
Frowning, Goldstein leaned close and whispered. 'I'm talking about the President. I'm talking about what we're doing for him.'
'Then why are you talking in code? There's no one here but the two of us.'
'And your friend out there. Who is he? How well do you know him?'
'I was about to take him to the Annex - does that answer your question?'
'To the Annex -' Aron pursed his lips. 'Well, the fact of the matter is, that's exactly where I want you to go. I'm here to drag you away and get you back to work.' 'I never stopped working.' 'On the second act.'
'Well - the fact is, I think Sam and I may already have a working draft of it,' Brohier said. 'What?'
'We were on our way to a dress rehearsal. Would you care to come with us to the theater?'
Goldstein nodded, hope brightening his eyes. 'We can take my plane.'
'Good - because ours left ten minutes ago.' Brohier waved the young scientist into the back seat of the car. 'Aron, meet Dr Samuel Bennington-Hastings. Dr Sam, this is Mr Goldstein -he pays the bills. And he's going with us. Or should I say, we're going with him.'
Wedged in between two suitcases, Dr Sam cast a wary look in Goldstein's direction. 'Promise me he's not going to be the one driving.' Chuckling deeply, Brohier clasped the joystick and eased the car away from the curb. 'No problem,' he said. 'Aron and I have an arrangement -I do the driving, and he does the flying. So just sit back, and don't worry a bit.'
Dr Sam sighed expressively. 'I think I am about to make a very big mistake.'
That's what youth is for,' Goldstein said lightly, smiling con-spiratorially at Brohier. 'When you get to be our age, you don't get that kind of latitude.'
'I am worrying about altitude, not latitude. I think I will close my eyes now - will you please tell me when it's over?'
The other men laughed. 'Sure, Dr Sam,' Brohier said. 'As soon as someone tells us.'
Dr Gordon Greene bent forward and peered through the electronic binoculars at the test stand a thousand meters away. Taking advantage of a natural bowl that had been further sculpted by bulldozers and explosives, the new test range was set up for 360-degree testing. That arrangement pushed the observation and control station much farther away than it had been at the Annex's original test stand, to the top of a sun- and wind-exposed ridge a kilometer to the southwest.
'A lot of firepower out there,' Greene observed, focusing on some of the instrumented sample pedestals. The pedestals, each nestled against its own curved reinforced-concrete blast wall, not only surrounded the test stand but climbed the face of the bowl to an elevation of more than thirty degrees. Four sloping tunnels on the north side extended the test envelope to minus twenty degrees.
Greene had been speaking to no one in particular, but Val Bowden was standing close enough to hear. 'Yeah, Pete McGhan did a great job pulling things together for the test.'
'It helps to have an in with the Army quartermaster,' Greene said. 'Ninety millimeter, thirty millimeter, rifle grenades, C-4 - if even one of those goes off, we're going to be picking up the pieces of the test stand for a month.'
'Don't say that around Lee - not after the twenty-hour days she's put in getting this place ready.'
Greene grunted his agreement, and Bowden drifted away. He found himself standing beside Dr Brohier, listening to two tech-nicians calling off the instrumentation checks.
'A lot of firepower out there,' Bowden said, just to have something to say.
'Not for long,' said Brohier cheerfully.
At the other end of the platform, Samuel Bennington-Hastings had attached himself to Leigh Thayer. 'I'm deeply confused by the fact that we're preparing to test this device and we still have no proper way to measure its output.'
That's probably because it doesn't have an output in the conventional sense - it has an effect,' she said. 'And that ordnance out there will measure the effect just fine.'
'Very well. As long as you know that this isn't science - this is merely fooling around with god's Legos.'
'Oh, Sam - you're so cute when you're jealous,' Thayer cooed flirtatiously at him. 'Everyone knows engineers have all the fun. Theoretical science is just a little squirt of information - it doesn't amount to anything unless an engineer is around to take it in, combine it with some practical science, and lovingly nurture it until it's a full-term newborn baby technology.'
By the time she was done, Bennington-Hastings was blushing. 'Well, I just hope you're practicing safe Annex.' 'You're a strange little man, Dr Sam.' Bennington-Hastings beamed. 'Thank you very much.' Aron Goldstein and the newest arrival, Grover Wilman, had found themselves a place at the back of the platform, safely out of the way of the pre-test bustle.
'I'm nervous,' Goldstein confessed. 'I wonder if they might be rushing things because we're here.'
'Are you afraid we might jinx them, Aron, just by virtue of standing here and wanting it so much? The preliminary tests were very promising.'
'My mother believed that god is very concerned with our humil-ity, and metes out disappointments when we start to expect more than our share of good fortune,' said Goldstein. 'As a rule, I'd prefer having low expectations exceeded than high expectations disap-pointed - but on those occasions when I have difficulty keeping my expectations in check, I remember my mother's warning.'
Wilman grunted. 'Aron, if you think a good result down there would amount to more than our share of good fortune, you need to let me take you on a little refresher tour of recent history. You put two world wars, twenty regional wars, a hundred civil wars, and all the racial, religious, and political genocides - in and out of war - on one side of the ledger -'
'But how much of that bad fortune did we create for ourselves?'
'Oh, the men with the guns created all of it. They've had things all their way for a long time now. But we're not here for them -we're here for the rest of the world, the ones who've done all the bleeding and suffering and dying.' He rested a hand on Goldstein's shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. 'No, I promise you, this won't come close to balancing the accounts. We're not asking for too much - this is a crumb, a token payment on account, a single kiss after ten thousand beatings. Don't be afraid to wish for it with all your heart.'
Goldstein nodded toward where Brohier and Thayer were standing. 'They've started the countdown,' he said, reaching for his b
inoculars. 'We'll know soon.'
It was a day when what did not happen made history.
At exactly 2.10 p.m., when the sun angles were ideal for the video recorders, the Jl prototype mounted atop the test stand's Mark I Trigger was activated at full power for one-twentieth of a second. All of the tension was in the lead-up - the moment itself passed too quickly for so much as a breath held in anxious anticipation. But in that brief interval, the array of munitions and poppers on the sample pedestals was subjected to what Brohier cheekily called the bolometric intermodulating gauge-integrating field - the BIG-IF.
Of all the observers at the control station, only Brohier was equipped to visualize what was happening to the structure of those materials during that fleeting exposure. Bennington-Hastings thought in mathematics, not metaphor - he saw the balance and fit of the equations the way a deaf composer heard music without instruments, as a pure essence requiring no translation into some-thing concrete. The others were prisoners of whatever schoolroom model of the atom had settled most firmly into their library of ideas, because there was no place in a world of either orbiting electrons or quantum uncertainty for the instantaneous transformation of elemental matter.
But in Brohier's vision, elemental matter had disappeared, exposed as a comfortable fiction agreeable to the evidence of the senses. Matter was a mere derivation, a subordinate phenomenon. The fundamental essences were energy and information. Information bound energy into form, as will bound volition into purpose. Alter the information, and the form is altered, while the substance remains unchanged.
It was, Brohier thought, as though information was the Universe's will, imposing order on the Universe's substance - order which had followed in the wake of the spontaneous and explosive transformation wrongly taken as the moment of creation. Energy was older than information, but formless and timeless without it - older than matter, but helpless and useless without it. In this new and provocative view, the Big Bang was not the birth of the Universe, but the birth of its consciousness.