Timescape. Part 2

They say it's the straight stuff."Markham smiled; Renfrew beamed. Peterson held up a hand. "Hold on, though. I really stopped by here to get the scent of things, not to make the final decision. I've got to make my case to the Council itself.

You want electronics flown in from the American labs, and that means wrangling with the NSE""Are the Americans thinking along the same lines?" Renfrew asked."I don't think so. The Council's att.i.tude is that we must pool our resources. I'm going to urge that youfellows get the backing and the Americans chip in."

"And the Soviets?" Markham asked.,They say they have nothing along these lines."

Peterson sniffed in disdain. "Probably lying again.

It's no secret that we English have a big role in the Council only because the Soviets are keeping a low profile.""Why are they?" Renfrew .asked innocently.

"They figure our efforts are going to blow up in our faces," Peterson said. "So they're giving token support and probably h.o.a.rding their resources for later.""Cynical," Markham said.

3 Gregory Ben ford"Quite so," Peterson agreed. "Look, I must get back to London. I've got a number of other proposals--conventional stuff, mostly--the Council wants a report on. I'll do what I can for you." He shook hands formally. "Dr. Markham, Dr. Renfrew.""I'll walk out with you," Markham said easily.

"John?""Of course. Here is a folder of our papers on tachyons, by the way." He handed it to Peterson.

"Plus a few ideas about things to transmit, if we're successful."The three men left the building together and paused in the bare parking lot. Peterson turned towards the Car Renfrew had noticed there that morning."So that was your car," Renfrew blurted out involuntarily.

"I didn't think you could have got here that early from London."Peterson raised an eyebrow. "I stayed the night with an old friend," he said.The flash of amused reminiscence that touched his eyes for a split second indicated clearly to Markham that the old friend was a woman. Renfrew missed it, being busy putting on his bike clips. Also, Markham suspected, it was not the kind of thought that would occur to Renfrew. A good man, but basically dull.

Whereas Peterson, though almost certainly not a good man by anyone's definition, was equally certainly not dull.

CHAPTER FIVE.

MARJORIE WAS IN HER ELEMENT, THE RENFREWS DID.not entertain often and when they did, Marjorie always gave John and their guests the impression of bustling activity and even of domestic disasters narrowly averted. In fact, she was not only an excellent cook but a highly effident organizer. Every step of this dinner party had been meticulously planned in advance. It was only out of a subconscious feeling that she should not intimidate her guests by being too perfect a hostess that she darted back and forth from the kitchen, chattering constantly, and pus.h.i.+ng back her hair as though it were all a bit too much for her.Heather and James, as their oldest friends, had arrived first. Then the Markhams, a correct ten minutes late. Heather was looking startlingly sophisticated in a low-cut black dress. In heels, she was the same height as James, who was only five feet, six inches and sensitive about it. As usual, he was impeccably dressed.

3 8 Gregory Ben fordThey were drinking sherry now, except for Greg Markham, who had settled on a Guinness. Marjorie thought that a bit odd right before dinner, but he looked as though he had a large appet.i.te, so it would probably be all right. She found him a little disconcert'mg.

When John had introduced him to her, he had stood just a little too close and stared at her and asked her rather abrupt and unconventional questions.

Then, when she had backed away--both physically and from direct answers to his questions--he had appeared to dismiss her. When she had offered him some expensive nuts later, he-had scooped up a large handful while continuing to talk and had hardly acknowledged her presence at all.Marjorie resolved to let nothing disturb her. It was now over a week since the awful incident with the squatters and--she brushed the thought away. She resolutely turned her attention to her bright, fresh party and to Markham's wife, Jan. Jan was quiet, of course---hardly surprising, as her husband had been dominating the conversation ever since they arrived.

His technique was to talk very rapidly, skipping from one subject to the'next as they. came to mind, in a sort of verbal broken-field running. A lot of it was interesting, but Marjorie had no time to think about a subject and work up a comment before the conversation lurched off in another direction. Jan smiled at his verbal leaps, a rather wise smile which Marjorie interpreted as signifying depth of character."You sound a little English," Marjorie probed. "Is it rubbing off on you already?"This served to break them off from the circle of talkers. "My mother's English. She's been in Berkeley for decades, but the accent sticks."Marjorie nodded receptively and drew her out. It developed that Jan's mother lived in the Arcology being built in the Bay Area. She was able to afford it because she wrote novels."What kind Of thing does she write?" Heather broke in.

39.

"Gothics. Gothic novels. She writes under the absurd pen natfie of Ca.s.sandra Pye.""Good heavens," Marjorie said, "I've read a couple of her books. They're jolly good, for that sort of thing. Well, how exciting to think that you're her daughter.""Her mother's a marvelous old character," Greg interjected. "Not all that old, really. She's--what, Jan?--in her sixties and will probably outlive us all.

Healthy as a horse and a little crazy. Big in the Senior Culture Movement. Berkeley's full of them these days and she fits right in. Whizzing around the place on her bike, sleeping with all kinds of people, dabbling in mystical nonsense. Transcendent snake oil. A little over the edge, in fact, isn't she, Jan?'This was obviously a standing joke between them.

Jan laughed easily in response."You're such an unrelenting scientist, Greg. You and Mother just don't inhabit the same universe. Just think what a shock you'd get if you were to die and find out that Mother was right all along. Still, I agree that she's become a trifle eccentric lately.""Like last month," Greg added, "when she decided to give all her worldly possessions to the poor of Mexico.""Whatever for?" James asked."To show support for the Hispanic Regionalist cause," Jan explained. "That's the people who want to make Mexico and the western US a free region, so people can move around as economy dictates."James scowled. "Won't that simply mean the Mexicans will move north en ma.s.se?"Jan shrugged. "Probably. But the Spani'h-speaking lobby in California is so strong maybe they can force it through.""A strange sort of welfare state," Heather murmured."A farewell state is more like it," Greg put in. The chorus of laughter which greeted this remark rather a o surprised Marjorie. There was a quality of compressed energy being released.

A bit later Markham got Renfrew aside and asked about progress in the experiment. "I'm afraid we're pretty limited without better response time," John 'said."lne American electronics, yeah." Markham nodded.

"Look, I've been doing the calculations we discussed--how to focus the tachyons on 1963 with good reliability, and so on. I think it'll work okay.

The constraints aren't as G.o.d-awful as we thought.""Excellent. I hope we have a chance to use the technique.""I've been doing a little nosing around, too. I know Sir Martin, Peterson's boss, from the days he was at the Inst.i.tute for Astronomy. I reached him by telephone. He promised me we would hear soon."Renfrew brightened and for a moment lost his air of the slightly nervous host.

"Why don't we take our drinks outside on the terrace?

It's a lovely evening, quite warm, and not dark Marjorie threw open the French windows and gradually managed to herd her guests outside, where the Markhams exclaimed, as she had hoped they would, over her garden. The powerful fragrance of the honeysuckle in the hedge reached them. Footsteps crunched on gravel as they crossed the terrace.James ,asked, "California is doing well, I take it?"

and Marjorie, listening to others talk as well, caught fragments of Greg Markham's reply. "The governor's keeping the Davis campus open ... The rest of us--I'm on half salary right now. Only reason I got even that was the labor union... leverage... professors are allied with the clerical workers now ...

d.a.m.n students want to take shop courses ..." When a !

she next looked his way conversation had trickled away.Greg slipped away from the group and walked to the edge of the patio, his face clouded. Marjorie followed."I had no idea things were being cut back so," she said."It's happening everywhere." A resigned, flat tone.'fiAtell," she said, putting a bright, cheerfill lift in her voice, "we here all hope things will straighten up in a short while and the labs will reopen. The colleges are quite optimistic that--""If wishes were horses, beggars would ride," he said sourly. Then, glancing at her, he seemed to shake himself free of the mood. "Or, if horses were vicious, rides would go begging." He smiled. "I love trans.m.u.ted clichs, don't you?"It was this sort of sudden, darting way of thinking Mariorie had come to a.s.sociate with a species of scientist, the theoretical types. They were hard to understand, granted, but more interesting than the experimenters, like her John. She smiled back at him.

"Surely your year here at Cambridge has taken you away from budget worries?""Um. Yes,'I suppose it's better to live here in somebody else's past, rather than your own. It's a lovely place to forget the world outside. I've been en-ioying the leisure of the theory cla.s.s.""In your ivory tower? This is a town of dreaming spires, as I think the poem goes.""Oxford's the town of dreaming spires," he corrected her. "Cambridge is more like perspiring dreams.""Scientific ambition?He grimaced. "The rule of thumb is that you don't do much first-cla.s.swork past forty. That's mostly wrong, of course. There are lots of great discoveries made late in life. But on the average, yes, you feel the ability slipping away from you. It's like composers, I a 2 guess. Flashes out of nowhere when you're young, and ... and more a sense of consolidation, layering things on, when you're older.""This time communication thing you and John are onto certainly seems exciting. A lot of a dash there."Greg brightened. "Yes, it's a real chance again.

Here's a hot topic and n.o.body's around to dig in except me. If they hadn't closed most of the Department of Applied Mathematics and Theoretical'

Physics, there'd be a squad of bright young guys swarming over it."Marjorie stepped further away from the rest of the party, towards the moist ma.s.ses of green that regimented their garden. "I've been meaning to ask someone who knows," she began with a touch of uncertainty, "just what this tachyon thing of John's is. I mean, he explains it, but not much gets through my arts education, I'm afraid."Greg clasped his hands behind him in a studied way, staring up into the sky. Marjorie noted yet another sudden s.h.i.+ft in him; his expression became remote, as though he were peering at some persistent interior riddle. He gazed up, as if unmindful of the awkwardly stretching silence between them. Above, she saw, an airplane scratched an arc, green tail light winking, and she had a curious, uneasy feeling. Its vapor trail spread, cold silver on a sky of slate."I think the hardest thing to see," Greg said, starting as though he were composing an article in his head, "is why particles traveling faster than light should mean anything about time.""Yes, that's it. John always jumps over that, into a lot of stuff about receivers and focusing.""The myopia of a man who has to actually make the d.a.m.ned thing work. Understandable. Well look, you remember what Einstein showed a centuryago--that light was a kind of speed limit?""Yes.""Well, the mindless, popular description of relativity is---" here he arched his eyebrows, as if to put vis- a 3ible, disdainin. g quotation marks about the next phrase "--that 'everything is relative.' Meaningless statement, of course. A better shorthand is that thereare no 'privileged observers in the universe.""Not even physicists are privileged?"Greg smiled at the jibe. "Espeialljt physicists, since we know what's go'rag on. Point is, Einstein showed that two people moving with respect to each other can't agree on whether two events happen at the same time. That's because light takes a finite 'time to travel from the events to the two people, and that time is different for each person. I can show you that with some simple mathematics--""Oh, don't, truly." She laughed."Agreed. This is a party, after all. Thing is, your husband has gone after some big fish here. His tachyon experiment takes Einstein's ideas a step. further, in a way. The discovery of particles traveling faster than light means those two moving observers won't agree about which event came first, eitheL That is, the sense of time gets scrambled.""But surely that's merely a difficulty of communication.

A problem with the tachyon beams and soon.""No, dead wrong. It's fundamental. See, the 'light barrier,' as it was called, kept us in a universe which had a disordered sense of what's simultaneous. But at least we could tell which way time flowed! Now we can't even do that.""Using these particles?". Marjorie said doubtfully."Yes. They rarely occur in nature, we think, so we haven't seen the effects of them before. But now--""Wouldn't it be more exciting to build a tachyon s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p? Go to the stars?"He shook his head fiercely. "Not at all. All John can make is streams of particles, not solid objects.

Anyway, how do you get onto a s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p moving by you faster than light? The idea's nonsense. No, the real impact here is the signaling, a whole new kind of physics. And I ... I'm lucky to be in on it."

a a Marjorie instinctively put her hand out and patted his arm, feeling a burst of quiet joy at this last sentence.

It was good to see someone wholly involved with something beyond himself, especially these days. John was the same way, of course, but with John it was somehow different. His emotions were bottled up in an obsession with machinery and with some inner turbulence, almost a defiant anger at the universe for withholding its secrets. Perhaps that was the difference between merely thinking about experiments, as Greg did, and actually having to do them.

It must be harder to believe in serene mathematical beauties when you have dirty hands.James approached. "Greg, have you any information on the p,,olitical mood in Was.h.i.+ngton? I was wondering...Marjorie saw the moment between herself and Greg was broken and she moved off, surveying the geometry of her guests. James and Greg fell to discussing politics. Greg s.h.i.+fted conversational gears immediately. They quickly disposed of the incessant strikes, the Trades Union Council taking most of the blame. James asked when the American government might reopen the stock market. John was hovering rather awkwardly. How odd, Marjorie thought, for a man to be so ill at ease in his own home. She sensed, from the wrinkling of his brow, that he was uncertain whether to join the two men. He knew nothing of the stock market and rather despised'it as a form of gambling.

She sighed and took pity on him."John, come and give me a hand, will you? I'm going to put the first course on the table now."He turned with relief and followed her into the house. She checked the mottled gray pt and touched up the plates with carrot curls and lettuce from her vegetable garden. John helped her set out b.u.t.ter pats and Melba toast made from home-baked bread. He gingerly popped open some of her homemade wine.Marjorie went among the knots of conversing peo- TIMESCAPE.ple, shepherding them with little bursts of bright invitation toward the dining table. She felt rather like a sheep dog, doubling back to urge on those who had snagged at a point of interest and had stopped drifting in from the garden. There were murmured comments of appreciation at the table, set with flowers from the garden and individual candles cleverly folded into the napkins. She organized them around the table, Jan next to James as they seemed to be getting on well together. Greg sat by Heather; she seemed a bit nervous about this."Marjorie, you're a marvel," Heather declared.

"This pt is delicious--and this is home-made bread, isn't it? However do you manage, with the power rationing and everything?""G.o.d, yes. Terrible, isn't it?" Greg exclaimed. "I mean the power rationing," he added quickly. "The pfit is excellent. Good bread, too. But to have electricity only four h.ours a day--incredible. I don't know how you people can live with it," and the table dissolved into "It's an experimental measure, you understand" ... "think it will last?" ... "too many inequities" ... "factories get power, of Course" ...

"staggered working hours" ... "ones who suffer--old codgers like us" ... "the poor don't care, do they?" ... "as long as they can open a tin of beans and a pint of beer"... "the wealthy who have all the electrical gadgets who" ... "that's why it'll be thrown straight out" ... "I just do everything at the same time, laundry and vacuuming and" ... "between ten and noon and the evening hours" ...

"Next month will be worse, when the hours change round again" ... "East Anglia gets what the Midlands are getting now, twelve to two and eight to ten"--John put in, "How long will it be before East Anglia gets this Six to eight time slot again? It's good for dinner parties, at least.""Not until November," Marjorie answered. "Coronation month."

a 6 "Ah, yes," Greg murmured. "Dancing in the dank dark.""Well, they may make an exception," Heathersaid, somewhat daunted by Greg's wry tone.

"How?""By letting the power stay on. So people round the country can all see it.""Yes," Marjorie said, "London won't need extra power to put it on. Come to think of it, a Coronation is quite ecological.""You intend 'ecological' to mean 'virtuous,' don't you?" Greg asked."We-e-ell." Marjorie drew out the word while she tried to judge just what Greg meant. "I know that's a misuse of the word, but really, at a Coronation they always use horse-drawn coaches and the Abbey will be lit by candles. And they don't need any heat there with all the peers in their furred robes.""Yes, I love to see them," Jan said. "Scolorful."

"Quite public-minded, too, the peers." Jame stated judiciously. "They've been very helpful to the government. Getting legislation through speedily andSO on.""Oh, yes." Greg smiled. "They'll do anything for the worker, except become one."To a chorus of agreeing chuckles, Heather added, '/ell, yes, anyone would rather talk than work. The peers just fill the air with their speeches.""And from what I've seen, vice versa," Greg responded.James' face stiffened. Marjorie suddenly remembered that he had an influential relative in the House of Lords. She stood quickly and murmured something about fetching the chicken. As she left, Markham started a sentence about the American view of the opposition party and James' thin-lipped mouth relaxed. One end of the table focused on Greg's political stilettos and at the other James asked, "It still seems strange saying 'the King' after a whole lifetime of 'the Queen,' doesn't it?"

a 7Marjorie returned with a large ca.s.serole of chicken in cream sauce 'with spring vegetables and a rice pi-laff.

Appreciative murmurs greeted the wash of steamy aroma that rose when she lifted the lid. As she served the chicken, the conversation fragmented, James and Greg talking about the labor laws, the others talking of the forthcoming Coronation. Queen Elizabeth had abdicated in favor of her eldest son the previous Christmas and he had chosen. to be crowned on his fiftieth birthday, in November.John had gone to get more wine, a home-made hock this t'nne."I think it's a terrible waste of money," Heather declared.

"There are so many better things we could spend the money on than a Coronation. What about cancer for instance? The statistics ar horrifying. One in four, is it now?" She abruptly fell silent.Marjorie knew the cause, and yet it seemed pointless to smooth over it. She leaned forward. "How is your mother?"Heather did not hesitate to take up the topic; Marjorie realized she needed to talk about it. "Mummy's doing fine, all things considered. I mean, she's deteriorating, of course, but she really seems to have accepted it. She was dreadfully afraid of being doped up at the end, you know.""She's not going to be?" John asked."No, the doctors say not. There is this new electronic anaesthetic thing.""They simply tap into the superficial brain centers?

James added. "It blocks the perception of pain.

Much less risky than chemical anaesthetics.""Less addictive, too, I suppose?" Greg asked.Heather blinked. "I hadn't thought of that. Could you get addicted?""Maybe not, if they simply turn off the pain," Jan said. "But That if they find a way to stimulate the pleasure centers as well?""They already have," Greg murmured.

4 S "Really?" Marjorie said. "Are they using that, too?""They don't dare." James spoke with an air of fi~ nality."Well, in any case," Heather continued, "it's all qhuite beside the point for Mummy. The doctorsaven't a clue how to stop the cancer she has."Before interest could center on details of the prog~ nosis, Marjorie steered talk to other subjects.

When the telephone rang John answered. A reedy voice identified itself as Peterson."I wanted to let you know before I packed it in for the night," he said. "I'm in London; the Council's European meeting just broke up. I think I've got what you need, or at least part of it.""Tremendous," John said rap, idly. "b.l.o.o.d.y good."

"I say 'part' because I'm not sure the Americans will send everything you need. They say there are other uses they have in mind. Uses aside from this tachyon business, I mean.""Could I get a list of what they have?""I'm working on it. Listen, I must ring off. Wanted to let you know.""Right. Fine. And, and thanks!"The news changed the tenor of the party. Heather and James knew nothing of John's experiment, so there was much explaining to do before they could understand the import of the telephone call.Renfrew and Markham took turns explaining the basic idea, skipping over the complicated matter of Lorentz transformations and how tachyons could propagate backward in time; they would have needed a blackboard to make the attempt. Marjorie came in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on an ap.r.o.n. The men's voices were authoritative, booming in the small dining room. Candlelight bathed the faces around the table in a pale yellow glow. The women spoke with rising inflections, questioning.

a o"It seems sange to think of the people in one's own past as real," Marjorie said distantly. Heads turned towards her. "That is, to imagine them as, as still alive and changeable in some sense ..."The company sat silent for a moment. Several frowned. Marjorie's way of putting the issue had caught them off balance. They had spoken often this evening of things changing in the future. To imagine the past as alive, too, as a moving and f. lexing thing--The moment pa.s.sed, and Marjorie returned to the kitchen. She came back with not one but three desserts. When she set them down, the piece de rsistance--a meringue confection With early rasp-berries and whipped cream--created the wave of ahs she had antic.i.p.ated. She followed this in short order with pots of strawberry mousse and a large gla.s.s bowl of carefully decorated sherry trifle."Marjorie, you're too much," James protested.

John sat and beamed silently as the guests heaped praises on his wife. Even Jan managed two helpings, though she refused the trifle."I think," Greg commented, "that sweets must be the English subst.i.tute for s.e.x."After dessert the party moved near the fireplace as Greg and John cleared away the dessert plates.

Marjorie felt a warm relaxation seeping through her as she brought in the tea things. The room had taken on a chill as darkness deepened; she added a small, glimmering candle heater to warm the cups. The fire crackled and shot an orange spark onto the worn carpet."I know coffee is supposed to be bad for you but '

I must say it goes better with liqueurs," Marjorie observed.

"Would anyone like some? We've got Drambuie, Cointreau, and Grand Marnier. Not homemade."She 'felt a relaxed sense of accomplishment now that the meal was over. Her duties ended with handing out the cups. Outside, a wind was getting 5 o Gregory Ben fordup. The curtains were open and she could see the silhouetted pine branches tossing outside the windows.

The living room was an oasis of light and peace and stability.As if reading her thoughts, Jan quoted softly: "Stands the church clock at ten to three? And is there honey still for tea?"They all exaggerated, Marjorie thought, especially'

the press. History was a series of crises, after all, and they'd all survived so far. John worried about it, she knew, but really, things hadn't changed all that much.

CHAPTER SIX.

SEPTEMBER 25, 1962.

GORDON BERNSTEIN PUT DOWN HIS PENCIL WITH DE-.liberate slowness. He held it between thumb and forefinger and watched the tip tremble in the air. It was an infallible test; as he brought the pencil lead near the formica table top, the jittering of his hand made a tick-tick-tick rhythm. No matter how strongly he willed the hand to be still the ticking continued.

As he listened it seemed to swell and become louder than the muted chugging of the roughing pumps around him.Abruptly Gordon smashed the pencil down, gouging a black hole in the table, snapping off the lead,splintering the wood and yellow paint."Hey, ah--"Gordon's head jerked up. Albert Cooper was standing beside him. How long had he been there?"I, ah, checked with Doctor Grundkind," Cooper said, looking away from the pencil. "Their whole rig is off the air."

5 2 "You looked it over yourself?" Gordon's voice came out thin and wheezing, overcontrolled."Yeah, well they're kinda gettin' tired of me coming around," Cooper said sheepishly. "This time theyunplugged all their stuff from the wall outlets, even."

Gordon nodded silently.

"Well, I guess that's it.""What do you mean?" Gordon said evenly."Look, we've been working on this for--what?-four days.""So?"''we're at a dead end."''why?""Grundkind's low-temperature group was the last candidate on our list. We've got everybody in thebuilding shut down.""Right.""So this noise it can't be spillover from them."

"Uh huh.""And we know it isn't leaking in from outside."

"The chicken wire we wrapped around the apparatus proves that," Gordon agreed, nodding at the metal cage now embracing the entire magnet a.s.sembly.

"It should s.h.i.+eld out stray signals."''eah. So it has to be some screwup in our electronics.""Nope.""Why not?" Cooper demanded impatient13a "h.e.l.l, maybe Hewlett-Packard is s.h.i.+ttin' us on the specs, how do we know?""We've checked the rig ourselves.""But that's got to be it.""No," Gordon said with compressed energy. "No, there's something else." His hand shot out and seized a stack of x-y recorder plots. "I've been taking these for two hours. Look."Cooper paged through the red-gridded sheets.

''well, it looks a little less noisy. I mean, the noise has got some regular spikes in it.""I tuned it in. Improved the resolution."

TIMESCAPE.

s 3"So? It's still noise," Cooper said irritably.

"No, it isn't:"

"Huh? Of course it is."

"Look at those spikes I brought up out of the hash.

Look at their s.p.a.cing."

Cooper fanned the sheets out on the formica table top. After a moment he said, "I'm just yeballing it, but ... well, looks like they come at only vo different intervals."

Gordon nodded energetically. "Correct. 'That's what I noticed. What we're seeing here is a lot of background noise--d.a.m.ned if I know where that's coming from--with some regular stuff on top."

'q-tow'd you get these plots?"

"Used the lock-in correlator, to cull out the genuine noise. This structure, this s.p.a.cing--it's there, probably been there all the time."

"We just never looked closely enough."

'We 'knew' it was garbage, and why study garbage?

Stupid." Gordon shook his head, smiling wryly at himself.

Cooper's forehead wrinkled as he stared off into s.p.a.ce. "I don't get it. What've these pulses got to do with the nuclear resonance?"

"I don't know. Maybe nothing."

"But, h.e.l.l, that's what this experiment is. I'm measuring the big nuclear resonance spike, when we flip the spins of the atomic nuclei. These pulses--"

"They're not resonances. Not as I understand a simple resonance, anyway. Something's tipping over those nuclear spins, all right, but ... wait a sec."

Gordon stared down at the x-y graphs. His left hand twitched absently at a b.u.t.ton on his rumpled blue s.h.i.+rt. "I don't think this is any sort of frequency-dependent effect."

"But that's what we're plotting. The intensity of the signal received, versus the frequency we see it at."

"Yes, but that a.s.sumes everything's steady."

"Well, it is."

"Who says? Suppose the noise comes in bursts?"

5 4 "Why should it?""d.a.m.n it!" Gordon slammed a fist down, sending the snapped pencil skittering off the table. "Try the idea on for size! Why is it every student wants things spelled out for him?""Well, okay." Cooper earnestly knitted his forehead into a worried expression. Gordon could see the man was obviously too tired to do any real thinking.

For that matter, so was he. They'd been hammering away at this nightmare problem for days, sleeping a minimal amount and going out for meals in greasy fast-food franchises. h.e.l.l, he hadn't even got down to the beach to do any jogg'mg. And Penny--Christ, he'd hardly caught a glimpse of her. She'd said something abrupt and feisty to him last night, just before he fell asleep and it hadn't registered with him until he was getting dressed, alone, this morning.

So there was some patching-up to do there, when he got home. If he ever got home, he added, because he was d.a.m.ned if he'd give up on this puzzle until..."Hey, try this," Cooper said, jarring Gordon out of his musing. "Suppose we're seeing a time-varying input here, the way you said it was, you know, days agogwhen ,,e started searching for outside noise sources. Our transcribing pen is moving at a constant rate across the paper, right?" Gordon nodded. "So these spikes here are s.p.a.ced about a centimeter apart, and then two s.p.a.ced half a centimeter. Then a one centimeter interval, three half-centimeters, andSO on."Gordon suddenly saw what he was driving at, but he let Coop finish."That's the way the signal came in, s.p.a.ced out in time. Not frequency, time."Gordon nodded. It was obvious, now that he stared at the wiggles and peaks of the recording pens. "Something coming in bursts, all across the frequency spectrum we're studying." He pursed his $ $.

lips. "Bursts with long intervals between them, then some with shorter intervals.""Right." Cooper nodded enthusiastically. "That's it.""Short oneS, long ones... Short, long, short, short.

Like ...""Like a G.o.dd.a.m.ned code," Cooper finished.Cooper wiped at his mouth and stared at the x-y recordings."Do you know Morse code?" Gordon asked him quietly. "I don't.""Well, yeah. I did when I was a kid, anyway."

"Let's lay out these sheets, in the order I took the data." Gordon stood up with renewed energy. He picked the broken pencil off the floor and inserted it in a.pencil sharpener and started turning the handle.

It made a raw, grinding noise.

When Isaac Lakin came into the nuclear resonance laboratory anyone, even a casual visitor, could tell it was his. Of course, the National Science Foundation paid for essentially all of it, except the war surplus electronics gear acquired from the Navy, and the University of California owned the immense pancake magnets under a Grantor's a.s.signment, but in any useful sense of the tertn the laboratory belonged to Isaac Lakin. He had established his reputation at MIT in a decade of sound work, research occasionally flecked by the sparkle of real brilliance. From there he had gone to General Electric and Bell Labs, each step taking him higher. When the University of California began building a new campus around the Scripps Inst.i.tute of Oceanography, Lakin became one of their first "finds." He had the contacts in Was.h.i.+ngton and brought a big chunk of money with him, money that translated into gear and lab s.p.a.ce and slots for junior faculty. Gordon had been one of the first to fill those slots, but from the beginning he and Lakin had failed to hit it off. When Lakin came into 5 Gordon's lab he usually found something out of place, a snarl of wires that almost tripped him, a dewar poorly secured, something that soured his mood.Lakin nodded to Cooper and murmured a h.e.l.lo to Gordon, his eyes scanning the lab. Gordon quickly led Lakin through a summary of their process of elimination. Lakin nodded, smiling faintly, as Cooper then detailed the weeks he had spent checking and rechecking the rig. As Cooper went on Lakin drifted away, thumbing a k.n.o.b here, studying a circuit there."These leads are reversed," he declared, holding up wiring with alligator clips attached."That unit we aren't using anyway," Gordon replied mildly. Lakin studied Cooper's circuitry, made a remark about a.s.semblying it better, and moved on.