The War of Immensities (36 page)

“Oh good,”
Felicity said, rising from the table. “So there isn’t some horror
eating the earth out from the middle.”

“I’m afraid
there possibly is,” Jami said. “Just because it doesn’t exist in
any form that we can understand doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”

“That’s enough
for me. See you all tomorrow,” Felicity said and walked away.
“Thanks for the nightmares.”

“Gotta get back
to it,” Wagner said and rose.

“The sheep
await the shepherdess,” Chrissie smiled serenely and left.

“I have a plane
to catch,” Jami said. “Goodnight.”

“So you think
it might be a singularity?” Brian asked, halting her departure.

“Good a theory
as any, Brian. But who cares? We’ve all got enough problems with
the things we do understand. Goodbye.”

Brian Carrick
sat at the table alone and poured the last glass of wine from the
bottle.

“Now why didn’t
I think of that?” he said to the empty square before him.

It was
important, Thyssen knew, that he should not regard these men and
women as fools. They were bureaucrats, not one of them trained in
sciences, with matters beyond scientific outcomes and humanitarian
considerations to take into account.

“You have seen
the preliminary report from our investigative committee?” the woman
in a dark suit said.

Everyone here
spoke English, with varying accents. This one sounded Polish.

“Yes, I have,”
Thyssen said evenly.

He didn’t
remember any of their names, didn’t care about them enough to find
out. Their self-importance might have been somewhat deflated to
know that. But their anonymity did not mean they were unimportant.
Of the dozens of meetings and discussion groups he had attended in
the last three weeks, this was probably the one that mattered
most.

“You understand
their conclusion, I assume?” the Polish woman asked—she was trying
to be kind but her accent was not equipped for it.

“I do,” Thyssen
said, loud and clear, like a marriage vow.

“No
relationship, they say. You saw that conclusion. No relationship
whatsoever between the seismic events in question.”

“Yes. That is
their conclusion,” Thyssen assured her.

Apparently, the
Polish woman had carried out her function, having established that
he was able to read and comprehend a two page report in his own
field of expertise. She settled back in a chair. They were very
plush chairs, placed behind a long oak table. His own chair was
most comfortable, almost an armchair, amid fifty others facing
them. He was alone on his side—this was not an occasion at which
Lorna would be an asset. He was positioned like a schoolboy in a
class of one, facing eight teachers. Except the modern appointments
of the room would not have been found at even the most exclusive
private school.

A grey haired
man in a suit to match took over. His accent was Spanish, perhaps,
Latin anyway. Thyssen remembered there was a Chilean amongst
them—perhaps this was he.

“Would you care
to comment, Professor, on that conclusion?”

“Yes. I believe
that it is the correct conclusion, given the data available to the
investigative body.”

The
investigators had been scientists, after all, and from Geology or
related fields. He had met with them and answered their questions
as honestly as he could. They were all skeptical. They all hated
him as they did all of their colleagues who indulged in
grandstanding. Thyssen hated such people himself. It was all
understandable.

The grey haired
man didn’t hate him. Probably the grey haired man did not feel
anything about him at all.

“Persons of
eminence and considerable expertise, Professor.”

“No doubt about
it. I think you chose the best available personnel for the
task.”

“So you agree
with the conclusion.”

“Certainly
not.”

“How can that
be?”

“Had they
possessed the data and modelling techniques collected and developed
by the members of Project Earthshaker, they would have reached a
different conclusion.”

Thyssen felt
uncomfortable, having said that. The eminences on his side were two
research students—Jami and Glen—neither possessing even a
doctorate. That they might have been the two most brilliant
students on the planet would cut no ice with these people. Thyssen
decided not to correct himself.

“It was
considered important that the investigation be an independent
study.”

“The proper
technique, to be sure,” Thyssen replied. “But it did substantially
limit their ability to reach a satisfactory outcome.”

“Satisfactory
to whom, Professor?”

“To all of the
inhabitants of planet Earth,” Thyssen replied, biting off the `sir’
that seemed to naturally fit at the end of his statement.

“The
investigative committee did review your data, once they had reached
their independent conclusion.”

“That’s
right.”

“The final
paragraph of their report outlines their conclusion to that
review.”

“It does.”

“They
considered the data to be prejudiced by a predetermined outcome and
your techniques radical and inconclusive, Professor.”

“That’s what
they said.”

“And do you
care to comment on this?”

“Yes,” Thyssen
said, becoming impressed by the way he was able to keep rancour out
of his voice. “I will say to you what I said to them. 155°West,
20°South. 7pm, Central Pacific Time, on Monday the 13th of
September.”

“And this is,
what? A prediction?”

“The next
event, yes.”

“I’m not sure
if that is a valid comment, Professor.”

The grey man
had reached the extent of his job description and now a tall thin
man in a brown suit took over. He was North American—possibly
Canadian.

“This...
statement... of yours, Harley. You are.. um... you wish us to
accept that the next seismic event will occur at this time and that
place.”

“I am giving
you that information. Acceptance is up to you.”

“How accurate
do consider it to be?”

“The time
within an hour either way, the longitude within five degrees, the
latitude more approximate, accurate within several hundred
miles.”

“I see. You are
aware, are you not, that the investigative committee were unable to
find any basis whatsoever for the predicting future outcomes in any
way.”

“I think we’ve
covered that already.”

“Yes, of
course. Only I’m wondering how you expect us to react to that?”

Thyssen decided
to pause to consider his reply. Just because a cause was hopeless
did not mean it should be completely surrendered.

“The event will
occur about halfway between the Cook Islands and the Society
Islands. Volcanoes at both locations can be expected to erupt.
Orohena on Tahiti is a danger, as is Raratonga in the Cook Islands.
Most of the hundred thousand population of the region live within
the danger zone of those mountains. There are five other volcanic
mountains that threaten the region. I expect you to arrange for all
those people to be evacuated.”

“You are
certain all those volcanoes will erupt?”

“Not certain.
It is highly probable. There may be unknown dormant volcanoes
nearer the epicentre but beneath the ocean which, if they exist,
will take the pressure off.”

“A high
probability, at best, of a theory unsupported by independent
evidence. I’m sure you can see where we are going here,
Professor.”

“Yes. And let
me say that while I am disappointed, it does not diminish the
esteem I hold for the United Nations and all the other bodies
involved here. The assistance Project Earthshaker has received from
various governmental bodies in the recent crisis has been first
rate. I’m sure it will be in the future.”

All the right
asses appropriately licked, Thyssen thought to himself.

The brown man
did look genuinely uncomfortable with the inevitable conclusion
that the matter had been brought to.

“I’m sorry,
Professor, that we can do no more, but you must understand our
position. To evacuate a hundred thousand people unnecessarily would
be a disaster in itself.”

“It will not be
unnecessary.”

The brown man
retired and now a sharp-looking woman in a green suit cleaned her
glasses and cleared her throat. She was Slavic, maybe Russian, more
likely from the former Yugoslavian states. But she spoke with the
neutral monotone common to psychiatrists.

“Why are you
here, Professor?”

“Because you
invited me.”

“You knew in
advance what the finding of the committee would be, did you
not?”

“I did.”

“Yet you have
come and persisted with your discredited claims.”

“After the next
event, I believe you will be of a different view. I came to give
you the opportunity to save a hundred thousand lives.”

“Except the
best research shows no danger to those people.”

“Second
best.”

“You regard it
as a competition, Professor?”

“I regard it as
a responsibility. Lives are at stake. I must do all I can to save
them. And if that means being subjected to this embarrassing little
charade, so be it.”

Oops.

But he would
have worried about himself had he got all the way through this
ordeal without losing control at least once.

“I believe you
possess a megalomaniacal desire to transfer the burden of your
obsessive guilt onto this committee.”

“I don’t care
how you assess my psychological condition, lady. I’m giving you the
opportunity to act in advance. That’s all I can do. Just because
you won’t believe the truth doesn’t mean you should be denied
it.”

“Very generous
of you. I think there is no more to say here.”

“I could repeat
my warning.”

“That will
definitely be unnecessary.”

They were
waiting for him to leave. But then the obvious Englishman at the
far end waved for him to stay in his seat.

“One moment,
Professor. Let’s wait for the smoke to clear and then see what
action is to be taken here.”

“I understood
you were going to take no action.”

“Not exactly.
What action will you be taking?”

“Myself and my
team will proceed and do everything they can to persuade those
people to leave those islands.”

“Very candid of
you, professor. I’m sure the French government, not to mention the
New Zealanders, will have opinions on that.”

“As I say, I
will only do what I can.”

“Allow me to
express to you the grave dangers involved in creating a panic of
this sort. You would be wise to keep your speculations to
yourself.”

“How would that
be wise?”

“It will avoid
great destruction to your credibility later on.”

“Whereas,
ladies and gentlemen, let me assure you that yours will be safe. I
will not tell anyone that you were warned of these dangers in
advance. And now, good afternoon.”

“Please,
Professor, try and understand...”

But he did
understand, perfectly. He rose and walked from the room, and smiled
to himself as he went. Yes, it had gone as expected and he had
probably got the best possible result he could have hoped for. Life
was always a lot easier when important decisions were taken out of
your hands and the way forward obliged by the actions of others.
They gave him no choice which meant that there was no further need
for consideration. As soon as he was in the corridor outside,
Thyssen pulled the mobile telephone out of his pocket, switched it
on and jabbed a precoded number.

“Yes?” a female
voice inquired.

“Okay, Lorna,”
he said. “Do it now.”

Lorna liked
best, when enjoying sex, to watch herself on television. She had
set up a large screen at the foot of the bed and had prepared a
tape of every video moment of her short but prolific career as a
media celebrity, which she replaced with an updated version each
day and kept plugged in at the right spot. All she had to do was
reach sideways to the bedside table and press the Go button and
there she would be in all her glory.

“It’s better
than a vibrator,” she told the man in question candidly.

Since the man
ordinarily had his back turned to the screen, it offered him little
hindrance.

“Hearing your
voice coming from behind gives a bloke that little bit of
distraction he needs to avoid shooting his bolt too soon,” the man
of the moment admitted. She kept the volume just a little louder
than necessary, hoping for that very sort of voyeuristic
effect.

“The next event
will occur on the morning of the 13th of September, at a point
halfway between the Society Islands—Tahiti—and the Cook Islands,”
her video self said gravely.

“How can you be
so sure?” one of the disembodied voices beyond the array of
microphones before her asked.

“I am sure
because the scientists of Project Earthshaker tell me it is so,”
she replied with a nifty little arch of her eyebrows at the
end.

Just because
she was the bearer of dire news didn’t mean she couldn’t be
playful. That, after all, was the whole effect. She had a cheeky
beret perched on her flowing red hair and always offered a touch of
cleavage for the upper body camera shots, and plenty of leg for the
full length stuff. Best of all were those sorts of interviews where
they placed her in an armchair and she could cross her thighs
straight at the camera. The Harbinger of Doom was the sexiest thing
on television and the combined effect gained her almost nightly
admission into every lounge room in the world.

She wondered
how many other women used her image in pursuit of a speedier
orgasm.

Already the
journalists hated to see her—well, all except the French and
Italians and the gutter press who never tired of finding new angles
on her anatomy. But those journalists who took their work seriously
knew she was a buffer, a wall that they were never allowed to see
behind, the Cerberus, guardian of the jaws of hell, as one of them
lugubriously put it.