"Paul," she started to say, but Professor Kotenko strode down the aisle
and plopped into the seat on the other side of Chandler.
"I'm afraid these were the best cigars they had in the lounge," he
said, holding one out for Chandler.
"They'll do," Chandler said.
The two men lit up. Kotenko, through a haze of blue smoke, started
picking at Chandler's brain like a surgeon undertaking an exploratory
operation.
"Now then, my dear Dr. Chandler, what will this magic drill be?"
"I was thinking of super-dense metals from Pluto and, maybe later, from
the depths of the Earth itself."
"You are thinking in terms of conventional drilling?"
"I have been, yes."
Kotenko settled back in his chair, his bull neck against the padded
head rest. "I don't wish to insult your intelligence by asking if you
have any idea of the pressures at those depths."
Chandler rolled his cigar in his fingers but said nothing.
"The drill cores we've removed from the crust under the Pacific bear
out our mathematics on pressures," Kotenko continued. "But heat is
something else again. There will be hot pockets, semi-molten strata,
finally molten material of great density. We can only guess at the
temperatures. Your drill casing must not only stand up against
fantastic pressures but also temperatures that will make the toughest
alloys run like quicksilver."
"There have been lab experiments removing heat-conductivity entirely
from metals," Marta offered.
"What is to keep the pressure from blowing the casing right out of the
molten rock?" Kotenko asked.
"Pressure traps built into the solid strata wherever we find it,"
Chandler said.
Kotenko digested this thought for a moment. "Then your drilling must be
fully automated and not physically directed from the surface."
"It can be done," countered Chandler.
"And I suppose you will use some sort of thermocouple or heat transfer
pump to direct the heat against the ice."
* * * * *
Chandler nodded. "And pump it into the air to raise the mean
temperature in the glacial areas."
"That will cause some unusual weather aberrations," mused Kotenko.
"Nothing that the weather control boys can't handle."
"Are you sure," said Kotenko, drawing on his cigar, "that the core of
the Earth is made of molten metal?"
"I've been working on that assumption."
"There are those who feel it might consist of compacted hydrogen atoms."
"Would it make much difference as long as we can use the heat?" Marta
asked.
"If we are not careful in tapping such a core--" Kotenko paused for a
moment, considering the consequences--"we could turn the Solar System
into a binary system."
"I doubt that," Chandler said. "Besides, I don't plan to set off an
X-bomb in the core."
"The immediate problem," said Kotenko, "is to drill such a hole."
"It will take some real engineering," Chandler admitted.
"It will take more than engineering." Kotenko looked directly into
Chandler's eyes. "Will you listen to a suggestion of mine?"
"That's why I singled you out for the committee."
"Forget a drill of super-dense metal." He leaned forward. "Use a device
that will melt anything it comes into contact with, fuse the material
into a casing and remove the heat conductivity from it so that it
will remain solid. This device would sink toward the center of the
Earth on a gravity drive principle. Your pressure traps would be force
fields--controlled to allow surplus debris to spew out the top like an
oil gusher." Kotenko settled back against the head rest.
"Where would we get the energy to drive this device?" Chandler asked.
"Thermo-nuclear power developing heat and thermo-electricity."
"Then I would be taking a fusion bomb into the core of the Earth."
"Yes, you would. You would have to maintain careful control from the
surface."
"And suppose the core is made of compacted hydrogen atoms?" Marta asked.
Kotenko blew a long ribbon of smoke. "I doubt if there would be any
danger unless we add the X-factor to the device."
Marta started to speak, but an insistent electronic chiming interrupted.
"Emergency deceleration," Chandler said calmly.
Even before the "Fasten Your Seatbelts" sign flashed on, Chandler,
Kotenko and Marta had the buckles clamped tight and were braced against
the head rests of their chairs. Light beam generators whirred. The
tubecar shuddered and lurched to a stop. The lights went out and a
woman screamed somewhere.
"There is no danger," the reassuring voice of the driver said over the
speaker system. "There seems to be some trouble ahead." The lights
flickered on dimly.
"We are on our own power," Kotenko said. "The tube must be out up
ahead."
"Another avalanche?" asked Marta.
A private car pulled up behind them and cushioned to a stop on their
force field bumper. Chandler swiveled his chair around and looked
through the front viewdome at the scene ahead. The tubeway was
illuminated with faint emergency light panels for about two hundred
feet. A Greyhound Tubecar and several private cars were stalled at
that point. Beyond was blackness.
Marta unbuckled her seat belt and stood up to see better. Chandler
gazed up the slope of a towering peak alongside them. Deep snow
glistened in the soft reflected light of the tube.
"We have just received word of an avalanche," the voice of the driver
reported. "There is no immediate danger. However, we may be forced to
turn back to--" A sound as of rolling thunder drowned him out.
"What--" Kotenko started to say, and then a gigantic mass of snow
shuddered down the side of the mountain and broke against the tube like
a foaming tidal wave engulfing the shore. Marta screamed and fell into
Chandler's arms as the tubeway lifted, twisted, then slid with the snow
into the valley below.
* * * * *
It was like the dissolve on the video screen. Marta's terror-filled
eyes were replaced by the penetrating eyes of the short man in the
gleaming laboratory.
"Clench your fingers."
Paul did.
"Blink your eyes."
Paul did that, too.
The tall man turned from the control panel and looked down at Chandler.
"That was close," he said. "Everything could have been lost in that
one moment."
"Marta," Chandler murmured. "What happened to Marta?"
The short man looked up at the taller one. "Let's skip-time him three
or four hours to avoid the possibility of losing him in the avalanche."
"If that doesn't work," the tall man returned, "we'll have to go all
the way back to the conference and start again."
"I don't know what this is all about," Chandler said.
"How could you?" said the tall man. "Under your present programming,
all memories have been canceled out."
"What is my purpose?"
"You know that." The tall man fingered a series of switches.
"Think we'll have to clear him?" Chandler heard the short man ask.
"No, I think we're just under the critical level."
The short man leaned over Chandler and watched closely. There was
another dissolve. The man's eyes were replaced by Professor Kotenko's,
sparkling with alertness.
"You fainted," Kotenko said. "Like a woman, you closed your eyes and
fainted."
"What about Marta?" Chandler asked.