Chandler smiled reassuringly. "In this case, what's best for the
Colonies is also best for the Mother Planet."
"But surely there's time to halt operations long enough to try some of
the other methods first."
"If we were to falter now," said Chandler as they began walking again,
"politicians would have most of us replaced inside of twenty-four
hours. Would you like to see that drill start its plunge to the core
without someone on hand who knows how to handle it?"
"No, I wouldn't," Marta said. "I'm not sure I want to see it start at
all." She touched his arm. "Paul, this is a side of you I've tried
hard not to see. You're--you're almost obsessed with the belief that
the drill is the only answer. And you're battling ruthlessly against
counter-ideas and time. After all, even the most radical estimates
give us at least two more centuries. Granted there'll be a southern
migration, but--"
"Don't ask me how I know," Chandler said, "but we don't have two or
even one century. _We don't have ten years!_ When the ice cap at the
South Pole was at its peak, it exerted tremendous pressures on the
continental land masses."
"The old shifting crust theory?"
"Yes. A theory tossed into discard when the big thaw came at the
South Pole. Now, at an almost unbelievable rate, the ice is building
in the north. This same seesawing effect has gone on throughout the
Pleistocene. The stresses go one way against the crustal blocks of
land, then the other way. It might be likened to bending a wire one
way, then the other, until fatigue causes it to snap."
"And you're convinced that the crust is about to let go?"
"With catastrophic consequences."
"You're asking me to accept a great deal on faith."
"When you stood by me back in New San Francisco," Chandler asked, "did
you honestly think we could tap the core?"
"I don't know," Marta answered.
"Would you have supported me if I had backed the Canadian plan for
tilting the world on its axis?"
* * * * *
Marta seemed lost in deep reflection for a few moments. "I don't really
know," she said as they reached the VIP quarters.
At Marta's door, Chandler asked, "Will you stand by me for another
twenty-four hours? By that time, the drill will be cushioning to a stop
exactly two thousand miles down."
"Unless we lose control," Marta said. "Then, in less than an hour, it
could be smashing into the center of the core."
"Will you wait?"
For an answer she kissed him on the cheek, then said softly, "Now we
better both get some rest. We start operations in less than six hours."
She closed her door.
Chandler entered his room and stretched out on his cot without taking
his clothes off. He thought about the plans he had ignored. Some of
them might have done the job. He thought of Kotenko, who distrusted
him, and Marta, who trusted him. Finally he drifted into sleep.
He dreamed of great cracks snaking their way down city streets,
of violent earthquakes, foaming tidal waves, of people trapped in
crumbling buildings and, finally, the Earth blooming into another sun.
And as the fireball expanded into oblivion, the shimmering face of the
short man appeared. His mouth moved, but Paul sensed rather than heard
his words.
"Chandler. Kotenko and the drill."
The face faded to nothing.
Chandler sat bolt upright on the cot. He was dripping with
perspiration. The drill! Something was wrong at the drill.
He ran down the hall to Marta's room and rapped on the door.
"Who is it?" Marta's voice called out.
"Paul."
There was a pause. Then the door opened, revealing Marta fastening a
negligee.
"Did I oversleep?" she asked, yawning.
"Have you seen Kotenko?"
"No, but I heard him talking to someone in the hall just after you
left. It sounded like that reporter."
"Did Kotenko go into his room?"
"I don't know."
Chandler, followed by Marta, continued down the hall to Kotenko's room.
He knocked loudly. There was no answer. He knocked again and shouted
Kotenko's name. Other doors opened and people stared out.
"The drill," Chandler said, and ran out of the building. As the door
swung closed, he heard Marta calling after him. He was conscious of
someone pushing through the door behind him as he bounded across the
meadow toward the drill.
A small Army verti-plane swung down alongside him.
"Halt!" an amplified voice boomed.