The Rape of The Sun Page 11

  Again phoning Washington, he talked with a buddy who was a senior inspector in the police department; the inspector promised to get back to him within the hour. Wel found other work and waited. Call-back: among today’s registrations at the Sheraton there were a W. Haley and a P. Vandevelt.

  Not paydirt, but the glitter of pyrites that suggested its presence.

  To make sure, he called the Washington Sheraton and asked for Dr. Haley. “Sir, if you mean Mister W. Haley, he is not taking calls.” How about Dr. Vandevelt? “Sir, if you mean Mister P. Vandevelt, he is not taking calls either.” All right, fine; could they hold Wel a room there for tonight—a single, where Wel could type without bothering other guests? “Sir, we have such a room in the basement between receiving rooms, our guests rarely want it—” Wel took it.

  Pausing only to reserve an immediate flight and to notify his managing editor, Wel grabbed his ready-packed two-suiter and his electric portable typewriter, and he departed for Washington.

  Registering at the Sheraton, Wel told a sad-quizzical absentminded-professor story to the clerk: he was here for a scheduled meeting of scientists, he was sure the meeting place was here but he’d lost his notes about it, he wondered if perhaps they had a conference room scheduled either by a Dr. Haley or by a Dr. Vandevelt. “Sir, we are terribly sorry, but there is no such scheduling.” Oh, dear. Weren’t those scientists staying here? “We do have a Mister Haley and a Mister Vandevelt.” Good; if the clerk would reveal their room numbers, Dr. Carr would phone them and inquire. “Sir, you would have to see Assistant Manager Carmichael. Her office is right down that corridor.”

  Carmichael, courteously standing, listening to the forlorn story, then said: “Doctor Carr, I am just terribly embarrassed about this, but their room numbers may not be given out. I could leave a message for one or both—” Having weighed pros of communication against cons of leakage, Wel smiled wearily, said, “Oh, don’t bother them. I suppose I’ll find the conference somehow,” and retreated.

  It was past three in the afternoon. Wel found a place in the main lobby where he could see both the front doorway and one bank of elevators; and there he sat, scrawling occasional idea notes, while both eyes darted everywhither. By five, Haley had hot appeared; and probably not Vandevelt, whom Wel thought he knew by sight but wasn’t sure. Nor did Wel find them in any Sheraton cocktail lounge or dining place. That was about all the time he wanted to shoot tonight, with gains improbable; having eaten supper in the coffee shop, he hit his underground room and typed out a trial story which would never appear in print.

  At ten Wednesday morning, he showed up at the daily press conference of Presidential Press Secretary Brian Mallison. Wel's attendances were not regular, but he was well known here, and his presence didn’t necessarily indicate that he was on the trail of anything special.

  He let a number of others ask questions of topical importance before he injected his own. “Brian, would you happen to know why Astronomers William Haley and Peter Vandevelt are in Washington, along with some other scientists?”

  Mallison frowned in thought. “Would you mean Haley of Sylvania U. and Vandevelt of Palomar?”

  “Right. A reliable source told me they’re here.”

  “Have you checked with Interscientific?”

  “Sure have. Zilch from them.”

  “I’ll see what I can find out, Wel, ” promised Mallison, who knew they were here and why. “Look me up tomorrow, if you like. Next question?”

  Sure that it was evasion, Wel nevertheless did not push Mallison. Instead, during a half-day of shrewd and knowledgeable legwork, he put together fragments of leakage to learn where they were meeting that very afternoon, and with whom; and he picked up three other names in their group— names whose identities were, in context, most troublesome to Wel.

  Having made one call on his friend in the police department—to learn a couple of room numbers—he returned to the Sheraton about five; and this time, bypassing the desk, he went directly to Haley’s room and knocked.

  At two o’clock on the same Wednesday afternoon, May 3, a group styling itself the Ad Hoc Committee of Astrophysicists met with the President and several of his advisers, including Press Secretary Mallison and the Director of the Bureau of Interscientific Research and Coordination, in a White House basement conference room. The chairman of the seven scientists, Dr. Peter Vandevelt, made some preliminary remarks and then presented Dr. William Haley to speak for the group. Everything was nice and quiet, nobody arose, and there was coffee.

  When Bill had finished, the President meditated and then said: “Of course you all realize that at the moment I am at a loss. This material is—well stupefying. Also, if it is right, it seems to leave us with no recourse except—well, to lie back and enjoy it. Any first thoughts from you boys in my office?”

  The First Secretary was ready, of course, with something political. “What worries me most are the effects of releasing this material, and I am sure that Brian will have something to say about that.”

  Bill interposed: “Mister President, you suggested helplessness. We’re not sure of that; but what we do know is that science is going to require massive governmental backing and funding to embark on a crash program of getting at the causes and trying to reverse them, along with survival strategy in case we can’t do that. My thought is, that this material has to be responsibly released, as a basis for public support of such a program. The most responsible writer I know is Welland Carr. A respectful suggestion, Mister President: you may wish to share our written report privately with your cabinet and some congressional leaders, while at the same time our group gives the story to Doctor Carr, with perhaps one of your scientists present to discuss the nonpartisan political implications—”

  Mallison broke in: “There is no such thing as a nonpartisan political implication. This party stands for office next year, and anything we release will fuel the opposition along with a boiling hash of wild-eyed cults. Mister President, evidently all we really know is that the stars appear to be growing larger. It doesn’t hit me as a thing that the government will be asked about; the press will be querying astonomers and weather people. If they do question us, let’s gain time by indicating that it is probably a phenomenon of transient atmospheric variation—”

  Losing her temper, a female astronomer interrupted: “That’s nonsense, Mister Mallison. Our earthside scope observations are confirmed by radioscopes and by extra-atmospheric satellite scopes. In the particular case of the star Sirius, we have a sophisticated inferential change which confirms our position; and some Russian colleagues are picking it up with respect to other stars. Do you realize, do you, that we are talking about the ultimate catastrophe? Personally, I’m with Haley: get Carr in on it, while the President works with his leadership and ourselves to plan action.”

  Demanded the Interscientific Director: “By how much have interplanetary distances already increased?”

  Vandevelt replied: “Paradoxically, we have not yet detected any change. But it has to be coming, it will be noticeable soon, our calculations figure the time as—”

  “Spare me,” the President interrupted, raising a hand. “You scientific people can work out the timing. Brian?”

  “Regarding Carr,” said Mallison, “I agree as to his ability, but I can’t see this government giving an exclusive to anybody. But also I can’t see us firing it out broadside. Again I say that we need time to prepare our position, and then our release can be accompanied by a statement of action.” ' “Nevertheless,” Bill started to reply, “as to Carr—”

  “Sorry,” Mallison insisted. “Thumbs down on an exclusive to Carr. You know perfectly well that his celebrated wit will propose to write the story in a way that will laugh off the whole business. If this administration opens itself up for a horse laugh in the year before election, it can just laugh this party out of office. By the way, Carr is in town right now, snooping about this meeting. Doctor Haley, I don’t suppose you would have leaked it to him!”
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  Haley disendeared himself to Mallison by retorting: “If that negative is an assumption, it is correct; if it is a question, I won’t stoop to answer it.”

  “Excuse me,” inserted the President,, “but I can’t see us making any decisions about press releases or executive action here and now. I want to think about this overnight, and then tomorrow—wait—yes, two-thirty p.m. tomorrow will work— I’d like to talk further just with Doctor Vandevelt as your chairman. Brian, before your regular press conference day after tomorrow, we’ll hope to have a line for you to follow; meanwhile, if you are challenged, stonewall it in your own inimitable way—but please try not to be challenged. My scientific friends, ladies and gentlemen, we appreciate your patriotic decision to apprise your President of these weighty facts. I will be in touch. I do thank all of you.”

  Late that afternoon, Bill Haley responded to a knock on the door of his hotel room by inquiring, “Who is it?” “Wel Carr here,” came the voice that Bill knew. “May I see you?” Bill opened his door and tried to be normally friendly, but he was on his guard because of what had been said about Carr at the President’s conference.

  “Sit down, my friend,” urged Bill, conducting Wel to a chair. “I was just thinking about drinking, but I’m afraid all I have is bourbon.” Scotch-drinker Wel acquiesced with an inward grimace; Bill got out two glasses, ice, and a used bottle.

  “I happened to be in Washington,” Wel remarked, “and I heard you were here, so I thought I’d drop over with a technical question or two.”

  “Great,” asserted Bill, who was branching the bourbon. Then he paused, frowning: “Damn those desk clerks, they weren’t supposed to give out my room number—”

  “I’m staying here myself, and I have my methods.”

  “I’m sure.” Bill handed Wel the drink, saying, “Shoot the questions.”

  “The sun is a star, isn’t it?”

  Bill sat. “So?”

  “It is the only star I know about that hasn’t been growing a hell of a lot brighter lately.”

  Bill stiffened. “So?”

  “Would you and Vandevelt and some others maybe be meeting with the President about that?”

  Unable to be smoothly evasive, honest Bill demanded: “Are you after information to be published?”

  “I guess I am wearing my press hat, Bill, but there’s also relevance to our mutual solar mission. I’m after your confidential backgrounding and steering, I wouldn’t publish until I knew a lot more, and I wouldn’t quote you without your permission. Bill, I happen to know that you did meet today with the President, quite hush-hush; and I submit my suspicion that the topic was growing star brightness. If there weren’t something big about it, you wouldn’t be meeting with the President secretly and in emergency.”

  “Why do you think it is an emergency?”

  “You and the others came here directly from Palomar, and your secretary wouldn’t tell me where you were. I had to find out otherwise.”

  Bill sat silent, frowning into his drink. He said presently: “Why don’t you ask Mister Mallison at his press conference tomorrow?”

  “Bill, it’s clear that I have you in the middle—which means that the word is out to keep mum about something— which means that Mallison would give me a runaround. Now why in the world would you have to cover up a little thing like star brightness?”

  Having breathed deeply, Haley looked up. “Please don’t push me, Wel.”

  “This isn’t just a journalist’s interest, Bill. It’s a crew-brother’s interest. It’s also the interest of the husband of a crew-sister. Whatever it is that you know, it could affect our mutual sun-mission.”

  “You won’t catch me that way—”

  “Bill, I brought some news. Let me pass it along. That mystic Collins who came to our party—remember?—has already gone public on his theory that the solar system is shrinking. There’s a story about it in the American Querier—which I make a point of never reading, but I saw the headlines and bought one.”

  “Interesting but unimpressive; only kooks will believe it.’*

  “Bill, are you one?”

  Bill straightened and frowned. Wel added: “When you challenged Collins about maybe the whole cosmos was shrinking, he whispered something to you, and immediately you withdrew. What did he whisper, Bill? Did he possibly suggest that you watch the stars—for comparison?” Bill took a drink-snort. Wel added, “Next day you unexpectedly took off for Palomar, and now you and Vandevelt and your buddies are here. And the stars are getting just awful bright,”

  “So?”

  “Bill, you are a logician; and in my own way, so am I. Certain meteorologists have ruled out any atmospheric theory for star brightness, My silly little logic tells me that there are only two other alternatives, and both of them strike me as being far-out science fiction. But again—here you are, in Washington. What alternatives do you see?”

  “You’ve already said that you are putting me in the middle. Please don’t press me until there is an official announcement. I’ll tell you this much: Vandevelt will meet with the President tomorrow afternoon at 2:30, and Mallison may say something about it to the press Thursday morning. Why don’t you wait for that?”

  “Bill, I can’t commit myself to wait for that. What about my logic?”

  “I—probably I see the same alternatives that you do. Nevertheless, reflect what damage an unauthorized release could do.”

  “Let me tell you another piece of news. Honest to God, this is truth. A space monster has been pulled out of the sky at stationary orbit by a NASA crew. Sven and Helen were there and saw it happen. The monster turned out to be a robot that was put there to spray-out something. We don’t know what it sprayed—but the residue smelled like the Collins Perfume of Diminution.”

  Haley leaned forward, aghast.

  “One more news item, Bill. Mullett at Southeastern Power has isolated an unusual ion in the atmosphere, positive charge of one-half—one-half, Bill—and very short-lived, but not a

  K-meson. Now what would happen to an atom if, disregarding the unit charge rule, you should remove leptons from an atomic nucleus while somehow conferring a compensating increment of nuclear charge?”

  Very slowly Bill came to his feet, clutching his drink. Downing his, Wel stood, saying: ‘Til go now, Bill, but I want to leave a bee in your bonnet. If your opinion should be that we are shrinking, declaring this to the public in the right way might create less alarm than you are imagining. We could maybe find a way to make people chuckle over the business while they support expensive action to counteract Now Bill was in agony, and sympathetic Wel could see it. Bill managed: “Perhaps one of us will call you. Good day, my friend.”

  No point going to the Thursday morning press conference; Wel would try to catch Vandevelt emerging from the White House in the afternoon.

  There was one guy Wel could question between now and Friday’s conference: Collins, who now was booked for lectures in Washington—Wel had kept tabs on him. Collins the Querier had already blown.

  He phoned Collins Wednesday evening:, “Welland Carr' here, I’m in Washington. Can I see you tomorrow morning? I want to return your billfold.”

  “Mister Collins, I believe you told the American Querier that the world is shrinking.”

  “The Querier misled its readers, Doctor Carr. They did not interview me. I have been scrupulous not to put out this information anywhere, but the drinks at your party seduced me. Some guests must have leaked it.”

  “All right, I surmised as much; that’s the Querier. But— nevertheless, this is a thing that you truly believe?”

  “Sir, I do insist that this interview be off the record.”

  “And I do assure you that it is off the record. I will not quote or cite you directly or indirectly without your permission. But I do need your background.”

  “Have you talked with Doctor Haley?”

  “He wifi not talk.”

  “I see. Then it is even more clear to me that / should
not.” “Suppose that I were to approach you, not off the record, and challenge you with your views as set forth in the Querier. Would you deny that you hold those views?”

  “Are you challenging me, for the record?”

  ‘Wo, I said we’re off the record. I’m after background and leads. Off the record—would you deny it on the record?”

  “Oh no, I couldn’t deny it. I don’t lie.”

  “Are you willing to indicate—off the record—the sources of your knowledge? By the way—I don’t lie either.”

  “I know that.”

  “How do you know?”

  “How do I know that the world is shrinking?”

  “How do you know that I don’t lie?”

  “I have a sensitivity for minds. Yours is honest, Doctor Carr.”

  “Thank you. Is it through some sort of mind-sensitivity that you have learned about our shrinkage?”

  “I have no evidence that we are shrinking. Not yet. I expect to have some very soon. Meanwhile, with certainty I surmise it.” . ,

  “Can you explain that a little more clearly?”

  “Not yet, please. I want to have the whole picture first, but I do already have a lot of it.”

  “Is it your impression that we are just shrinking—or that we are being shrunk?”

  “My impression is that we are being shrunk.”

  “By what—or by whom?”

  “By beings from a nearby galaxy.”

  “What for?”

  “I don’t want to go further until, as I said, I have the whole picture. Their purpose, according to my present impression, is couched in religious terms, and yet in substance it seems so trivial that I can’t quite believe it yet.”

  Wel pondered. Collins courteously waited.

  My husband looked up. “Mister Collins, I want to do a bewildering change of subject”