an Earth-bound cruiser.
A few weeks after the publication of UNSA’s interim conclusions,
the Navcomms scientists on Ganymede held a celebration dinner in
the officers’ mess at Pithead to mark the successful end of a major
part of their task. The evening had reached the warm and mellow
phase that comes with cigars and liqueurs when the last-course
dishes have been cleared away. Talkative groups were standing and
sitting in a variety of attitudes around the tables and by the bar,
and beers, brandies, and vintage ports were beginning to flow
freely. Hunt was with a group of physicists near the bar,
discussing the latest news on the Ganymean field drive, while
behind them another circle was debating the likelihood of a world
government being established within twenty years. Danchekker seemed
to have been unduly quiet and withdrawn for most of the evening.
“When you think about ft, Vic, this could develop into the ulti
mate weapon in interplanetary warfare,” one of the physicists was
saying. “Based on the same principles as the ship’s drive, but a
lot more powerful and producing a far more intense and localized
effect. It would generate a black hole that would persist, even
after the generator that made it had fallen into it. Just think-an
artificially produced black hole. All you’d have to do is mount the
device in a suitable missile and fire it at any planet you took a
dislike to. It would fall to the center and consume the whole
planet- and there’d be no way to stop it.”
Hunt looked intrigued. “You mean it could work?”
“The theory says so.”
“Christ, how long would it take-to wipe out a planet?”
“We don’t know yet; we’re still working on that bit. But there’s
more to it than that. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t be able
to put out a star using the same method. Think about that as a
weapon-one black-hole bomb could destroy a whole solar system. It
makes nucleonic weapons look like kiddie toys.”
Hunt started to reply, but a voice from the center of the room cut
him off, rising to make itself heard above the buzz of
conversation. It belonged to the commander of Pithead Base, special
guest at the dinner.
“Attention, please, everybody,” he called. “Your attention for a
moment, please.” The noise died as all faces turned toward him. He
looked around until satisfied that everyone was paying attention.
“You have invited me here tonight to join you in celebrating the
successful conclusion of what has probably been one of the most
challenging, the most astounding, and the most rewarding endeavors
that you are ever likely to be involved in. You have had
difficulties, contradictions, and disagreements to contend with,
but all that is now in the past. The task is done. My
congratulations.” He glanced toward the clock above the bar. “It is
midnight-a suitable time, I think, to propose a toast to the being
that started the whole thing off, wherever he may be.” He raised
his glass. “To Charlie.”
“To Charlie,” came back the chorus.
“No!”
A voice boomed from the back of the room. It sounded firm and
decisive. Everybody turned to look at Danchekker in surprise.
“No,” the professor repeated. “We can’t drink to that just yet.”
There was no suggestion of hesitation or apology in his manner.
Clearly his action was reasoned and calculated.
“What’s the problem, Chris?” Hunt asked, moving forward away from
the bar.
“I’m afraid that’s not the end of it.”
“How do you mean?”
“The whole Charlie business- There is more to it-more than I have
chosen to mention to anybody, because I have no proof. However,
there is a further implication in all that has been deduced-one
which is even more difficult to accept than even the revelations of
the past few weeks.”
The festive atmosphere had vanished. Suddenly they were in business
again. Danchekker walked slowly toward the center of the room and
stopped with his hands resting on the back of one of the chairs. He
gazed at the table for a moment, then drew a deep breath and looked
up.
“The problem with Charlie, and the rest of the Lunarians, that has