November 15
Maggie was glad to have some time to herself. Make no mistake, she loved her children dearly, but after an entire winter of having them underfoot she was anxious for school to start again. Of course school mornings were always a bit hectic.
"Hurry up Mark, the bus is almost here. Do you kids need shades today, or a driveway pickup?"
"Oh futsak!" John cursed under his breath, running to the fridge. "I almost forgot. I gotta pack a lunch." He opened the door and peered inside, looking for leftovers.
"I think we can run today." answered Tamara. "It's not too hot." She picked up her school bag and headed for the door, then turned back. "Oh Mom! I almost forgot. You need to sign my permission slip for the field trip next Thursday. It's got to be in today." She ran up to her mother clutching a small form in her hand.
"You couldn't give this to me last night? I don't have time to read it now - and the bus will be here any second."
John was still rummaging about in the fridge. "Honey, don't we have any more of that chicken from last night?"
"You know Mom, the trip to the zoo. I told you about it. Dogs and cats and pigs and birds, you know, animals that can really fly and everything! And you can even pet the dogs."
"Whatever." said Maggie as she took the permission slip and signed it in blind faith. "Now hurry up. I hear the bus pulling up."
The bus gave one quick beep as it rolled to a stop outside the Farsee house. Maggie placed her hand against the panel and opened the front door. The bus door opened at the same time and the two kids ran out into the yard, under the relentless rays of the sun, and into the air conditioned bus. The door closed and the kids were on their way. Maggie went back to the kitchen to check on John. "If I can just get him out of my hair," she thought, "I can start the laundry and take a nap." She watched him make lunch in a hurry, spilling crumbs and mayonnaise all over the counter. "He sure is preoccupied today." She wondered if there was trouble at work, but there was no point in asking. They had a fairy-tale marriage, going on 14 years, but there were some things they rarely talked about, and work was one of them.
John pushed the call button, asking for a one person car. He checked his pockets several times, then picked up his lunch. "See you tonight." he said as he headed for the door. Then he turned back and added, "I love you. More than you know."
His car was already coming up the street. It wasn't raining, so the car didn't bother to pull into the drive. John could dash across the yard just like the kids. If you had a lot of stuff to carry, or you were disabled, you could ask for a driveway pickup, but that wasn't necessary today.
John opened the door and ran to the waiting car. The car door closed and the Farsee menu appeared on the touchscreen. He tapped the second preset, work, and the car started down the street. He called up his music menu and touched the B. "1.2 billion years of music," he mumbled to himself, "and Bach is still the best." He selected the harpsichord concertos and leaned back in his seat, trying to relax. The car followed the magnetic guides in the road like a train in its tracks. It turned up one street and down another, and headed for the express way. "Manual driving deactivated." announced a synthesized voice as the car turned onto the entrance ramp. John was accustomed to the two G's as the car accelerated to 200mph. "Please let me in." requested the car by radio, to the traffic on its left. A space opened up immediately, and the car drifted into the lane with only a few feet to spare front and back. The cars raced along the maglev highway in one coordinated chain. Whenever a car left the highway the chain closed in, filling the empty space, and the chain pulled apart when a new car joined the procession. These motions were imperceptible to the passengers, who were usually engaged in other thoughts. Sometimes John fell asleep during his commute, but there was too much to think about today. Did Squanto suspect anything? He didn't think so, but he wasn't sure. People who underestimated Squanto often found themselves chained to a rock outside under the harsh sun. It wasn't a pleasant way to die.
After the second concerto the cab spun around on its chassis and the car eased on to the exit ramp. John felt the familiar 2 G's as the car decelerated back down to 40mph. The cab turned back around so that John was facing forward again, and the synthesized voice announced, "Manual driving available." Not that John would want to do such a thing. He leaned back and listened to the third concerto and left the driving to the computer.
The car stopped in front of the main entrance to the power plant and John jumped out into the sun. He walked quickly, covering 50 feet in just a few seconds. He pushed on the entrance bar and opened the door as his abandoned car sped away. He stepped into the cool vestibule and took a deep breath. The room was only 12 feet square, with no furniture. The walls were cream white, and a thin brown carpet covered the floor. This entryway provided shelter from the elements, and little more. He walked up to the inner door, placed his hand on the panel, and said "enter." The door slid open and a synthesized voice confirmed his identity. "John C. Farsee. Welcome."
John stepped into a long hallway with cream colored walls, a light blue ceiling, and a deep blue carpeting on the floor. He let the door close behind him, forcing the two women, who had just entered the vestibule, to check in. This was proper procedure. John walked past three small offices and turned into his own, which looked pretty much like the hallway, except for the silver-white desk and the yellow chair. You rarely saw red or orange inside an office, or a home for that matter. People saw enough of those colors outside. In fact, John had had enough of the sun for today, so he flipped a switch and turned his transparent window into a mirror. John liked having his own office - no need to negotiate with anybody over lighting, temperature, decoration, etc. It was convenient to be sure, and quite the status symbol too. Lord knows he'd earned it. Nobody in Antarctica knew more about controlled fusion reactions than John Farsee. He placed his lunch in the small fridge in the corner, sat down, and checked his email. Nothing pressing, so he went back out in the hallway and walked past three other offices, barely acknowledging his coworkers, and stepped into an office that was even larger and nicer than his own. Carl Bruder was a short man, about 5 foot 4, and he seemed even shorter when standing next to John, who was over 6 feet tall. But height means nothing in the workplace, and Carl was clearly in charge.
"John, have a seat." offered Carl, directing John to a comfortable light-green recliner. "I'm glad you came in today - we're having a little trouble with reactor number 4."
"Number 4?" asked John, stopping in the middle of the room. "Again? Is it..."
"Oh sit down. It's not serious, just underperforming a little. Running about 10 to 15 percent below peak efficiency. I mean, it would be right on the mark for a typical reactor, but since it's muon enhanced, it should be generating 4.6 gigawatts. Instead it's floating around 4.1. You'd better take a look. You have time today, don't you?" It was actually a command, phrased as a question out of courtesy.
"Yes of course." replied John as he sat down in the recliner. He looked across the room at his boss, and his friend. The two men liked and respected each other, almost to the point of admiration. Each had skills that the other lacked, skills that the other envied. Carl was the perfect manager. His employees liked him, but they also knew there was work to be done, and Carl could be a taskmaster at times. Fourteen million people depend on this power plant for their very lives, every hour, every day, and Carl never let you forget that.
"Care for a coke?" asked Carl.
"Yes please." Both men drank plenty of caffeine, in the form of coke or coffee. Carl walked over to the fridge and pulled out a can for John and a can for himself. John watched him approach, always a little surprised by the neatly trimmed beard. John never saw facial hair on anybody; it was just too hot. But that was Carl's way, his mark of distinction. John took the can and popped the top. He took a long drink and changed the subject.
"I'm seeing Squanto again today."
Carl stopped smiling. "How's that going?"
"Ok I guess. Three more payments, counting today, and I'm done."
"You know I don't trust her." warned Carl. "I don't trust any of those companies. She'll take all that money and you'll get nothing, or worse. I don't want to see anything happen to you. You're my ... I mean I ... well ... we need you around here!" Carl took a long drink and put his coke back on the desk with a loud clunk. "I hope you know what you're doing. If there's anything I can do to help."
"Just keep paying me." John quipped.
"Oh by the way," Said Carl, anxious to change the subject, "there's an international conference in Siberia next month. I'd like you to go - you and Julie. They want you to present your paper on muon catalyzed fusion reactions. And not just the theoretical physics, but the technical specs - how we're using it in our plant. Believe me, the folks in the northern hemisphere would love to increase efficiency by 15%. And Borikov will be there, presenting his latest results on magnetic confinement. You'll want to take notes on that one. Oh and one other thing." Carl got up and closed the door. "There's a speaker from Scandinavia, uh, what's his name? Paul Christenson. He thinks he can save the Earth, and he's serious!"
John looked up in surprise. Christenson was not well-known, but John had seen his name once or twice. He worked behind the scenes on NASA's asteroid reorbit program. An expert in orbital mechanics, he coordinated thousands of asteroids, each one grazing the Earth and raising its orbit. The good news: not a single asteroid ever slammed into the planet, snuffing out the mammalian life that remained. The bad news: his efforts were in vein. The sun grew faster than expected, and Earth just couldn't pull away in time. To add insult to injury, Paul had no credible plan for getting Earth past Jupiter. No wonder he kept a low profile. But if anyone could develop a plan to save the Earth, it was him.
"I don't know anything about orbital mechanics." stammered John in surprise.
"Believe me," reassured Carl, after another long drink, "he knows who you are and what you can do. He wants you there - I don't know why. He probably wants to improve the efficiency of the mini power reactors on the asteroids, or their reliability, or both. I know we've done just about all we can in this area, but hey, he's got something up his sleeve, and his lips are sealed until the conference. No paper, no abstract, nothing."
"I can't put a particle accelerator on each asteroid!" said John sarcastically. He was referring to muon catalyzed fusion, where an on-site particle accelerator generated muons, which were then injected into the hydrogen helium mix. The muons brought the ions closer together and allowed fusion to occur at lower temperatures and pressures. A clever idea, but the particle accelerator was as large as some of the smaller asteroids.
"I know, I know. I don't think he's interested in muons. I don't even think he's talking about directed asteroids. I'm not sure what it's about." Carl glanced at the plant status monitor, a display screen in the wall that was over 4 feet square, then turned back to John. "Well you're going to be there anyways, so just hear him out. He's scheduled for 3:00, you can go home after that, or stick around if you like; it's on a Friday. December 7th to be precise, so you get a couple days of winter in the middle of summer. You lucky dog." Carl grinned at his friend. "wish I could come too."
"How about my family?" asked John.
Carl chuckled in response. "Come on John, you know we don't have that kind of money. Now if you want to take them yourself, you're more than welcome. I'm sure they'd enjoy the Gorbachev Center, and there's a great zoo nearby, ..."
"You know I can't afford that. Not with Squanto breathing down my neck."
"Of course." said Carl with a tone of resignation. "Well go have a look at reactor 4. Julie's already down there."
John got up, tossed his empty can into the metal waste basket, and left. He walked through a labyrinth of hallways, passing several security checkpoints along the way. "John C. Farsee, now entering engineering level 1, reactors 1 through 10." announced the ubiquitous synthesized voice. "No unauthorized personnel beyond this point."
John hopped onto the moving walkway like a seasoned pro. It clipped along at 10miles an hour, and new employees were always stumbling as they got on and off; but John could step aboard with a cup of coffee in one hand and a laptop in the other. He was alone on the walkway, with only the synthesized voice for company. "Next exit, reactor 1, 15 seconds." Each reactor was about 200 yards long, and at this rate he'd reach his destination in just a couple minutes. John sailed past the exit for reactor 1 and looked out the windows at reactor 2. Half a dozen cylindrical tanks with rounded tops stood 10 feet tall, interconnected by a network of pipes and control valves. Each contained a different isotope of liquid hydrogen and helium. A nearby refrigeration unit, the size of a large house, kept the tanks at cryogenic temperatures, just a couple degrees above absolute zero. People on Earth could hardly imagine such cold. If air accidentally seeped into one of these tanks it would freeze solid and shut down the reactor. More pipes connected the tanks to the reactor itself, a large sphere 15 feet across. John averted his eyes as the white hot surface of the reactor, some 5,000 degrees, came into view. It looked like the sun had come to Earth. At its core, a small sphere of hydrogen/helium plasma, about the size of a marble, burned via nuclear fusion, just like the sun. Giant magnets and RF generators held the plasma in position. The heat generated by this micro-star pulled protons and electrons apart as it passed to the outside walls of the reactor. Several hundred thousand volts separated the positive and negative plates, and massive superconducting cables connected these plates to the power conditioning unit, which turned DC into AC for long distance transmission. The shell of the reactor was white hot because most of the energy was being wasted. In mid summer, when air conditioners were running full tilt, the nearby cities and towns sucked power out of the plates like water through a straw. The shell glowed a dark red, and you might think it was merely lit by the sun, until you got close enough to feel the heat.
"Futsak!" muttered John. "They ought to turn that reactor down. Why waste the helium? Besides, it's hard on the equipment to run that hot. Come on guys, get a grip!"
"Next exit, reactor 2, 15 seconds." John sailed past the control room for reactor number 2 and looked at reactor number 3. The tanks and plumbing were the same, but the reactor was glowing red. "That's better." John thought as the cherry red sphere came into view. "Looks like about 2,000 degrees; right on the mark." Reactor 4 came into view and presented a bright orange color, in the neighborhood of 2,800 degrees. "Hmm, running just a little hot today."
"Next exit, reactor 4, 15 seconds." John hopped off the walkway and stepped into the control room for reactor 4. Julie sat at the monitor, a keyboard in her lap. Her long red hair was tied back in a braid, looking like a splash of sun that had invaded the blue and green office.
"Hi John." she called out as he stepped into the room. "We're having a little trouble with our muon reactor today. Maybe you can help."
"Sure," John replied, "but what's up with reactor 2?"
"Oh, didn't Carl tell you? They're running a test on it today. It's not even hooked up to the grid. That's why it's white hot. all its energy is pouring out the shell."
"Yeah I see." remarked John, rubbing his eyes. "Well I hope it's a short test. It's not good to run a reactor white hot for more than a few minutes." He sat down next to Julie and looked at the monitor. "So what's up with our baby?"
"I've never seen these patterns before." she explained, pointing to specific areas of the screen. "This is our first muon enhanced reactor, so I suppose that has something to do with it." She paused for a moment as they both studied the screen. "But it wasn't doing this yesterday."
The system monitor presented temperatures, pressures, and magnetic fields in swirling false colors. A casual observer might think he was watching Disney's Fantasia, but John had a gift for plasma physics. He saw the process intuitively, the way a fielder catches a fly ball - without numbers, without computation. John moved the joystick about, very slowly, and watched the colors change as he examined different areas of the reactor. "I want to get a better look at the magnetic fields." he explained as he turned a couple of knobs on the monitor. The greens became more pronounced as they swirled about on the screen. "There's an impurity of some kind in the mix, an element that shouldn't be there. And I don't think it's the muons. They look ok."
"We could turn off the muons and see if the anomaly disappears." suggested Julie. "That would eliminate one variable."
John stared at the screen for several minutes, moving the joystick with one hand and adjusting the knobs with the other, and Julie wondered if he was listening to her at all. Suddenly he set the joystick down and leaned back in his chair. "No, I don't think that would help. The stray atoms are already part of the mix. They were probably entrained in the muon stream, but they're there now, and they'll still be there even if you shut down the beam."
"right." said Julie.
"If I can determine the impurity," John continued, "can you figure out where it is coming from? I mean, you know more about that particle accelerator than anyone. You practically built it!"
"Yeah, probably." she replied. "But you know, it's a big accelerator with thousands of components."
Now it was time for John to echo Julie's one word reply. "Right."
He went over to the simulator and called up his masterpiece, 135,000 lines of software that mimicked the behavior of a burning plasma ball under magnetic confinement. He transferred the running parameters of reactor 4 into his simulator with a simple cut&paste operation: the relative amounts of hydrogen and helium, the magnetic and electric fields, and the operating temperatures. "Ok," he mumbled to himself, "let's toss in some impurities." He tapped on his keyboard and added some nitrogen to the mix, as though some air had leaked into the system. Each reactor had several miles of plumbing at near perfect vacuum; a microscopic leak would not be unprecedented. John looked at the swirling colors on the screen and compared them to Julie's monitor on the other side of the office. "Could you back up just a bit, please?" Julie rolled her chair away from the desk, giving John an unabstructed view of the screen. "Nah, that's not it at all." He took the nitrogen away and added some oxygen. The swirling colors changed, but they still didn't match. Next he tried 80% nitrogen and 20% oxygen, in other words, air. No good. While John tried other combinations Julie moved to another console and started a game of Tetris. She moved the falling bricks into place and tried to ignore John's mumblings. He'd come up with it pretty soon. She was on her third game when he declared victory.
"That's it." he announced, and indeed the two monitors looked almost identical. "silicon, 3.5 parts per billion. It's not a perfect match, but pretty close."
Julie looked at John's simulation, then she turned back towards her system monitor. "Almost identical." she affirmed. "Very good. I probably could have figured it out in a couple months." she quipped, her green eyes sparkling.
John chuckled a little and replied, "Well it's your turn now. Where does the silicon come from? And don't worry, if you can't solve it today I'll probably figure it out in a couple months."
Julie closed her eyes and surveyed the particle accelerator in her mind. She was thinking out loud. "This is the first time we've run the beam for more than 24 hours, and it's the first time we've seen this problem." She got up and went over to the fridge. "Ice tea?" she offered. John shook his head, so she took one for herself and sat back down. "What happens after 20 hours of operation? Things get hot. Circuits get hot. Integrated circuits, made of silicon. Surface atoms escape, boiled off by the heat." Nothing pleased John more than watching a brilliant mind at work. It was a thing of beauty, like a Bach concerto. "The chip would have to be exposed to the vacuum, if those silicon atoms are going to be entrained in the muon beam. Let's see... There are 5 or 6 sensors inside the accelerator that make critical measurements of the beam. I'll bet one of them is overheating."
"Sounds like you're on to it." said John enthusiastically.
"Yes I think so, but we have to stop the beam and send the technicians in right away, to look at those sensors. I suppose you can keep the reactor going if you like. It just won't be muon catalyzed."
John thought for a moment. "No, we may as well shut down the reactor and clear out the plasma. I'd like to get all the silicon out and start fresh with a new fuel mixture. Of course it's Carl's decision, not mine."
"Shall I call him? I think he's in his office."
"No!" John answered her just a little too quickly. Now he had to come up with an explanation. "I'm heading back to my office anyways. I'll stop by and talk to Carl on the way." John had to leave, and right now. Where had the morning gone? It was almost time to meet Squanto, and that was an appointment he dare not miss! He gave Julie a quick smile, trying to pretend this was just another day at work, then strolled out of her office and stepped onto the return walkway. She hardly had time to say goodbye.
John reached his office in record time. He took his lunch out of the fridge and placed it conspicuously on his desk, and sure enough Rose was coming down the hall. She bounced into the office next door, perky as ever. John listened in on the conversation.
"Hey Cabbit, ready for lunch?"
"Sure. Are we going out or ordering in?"
"It's a nice day - I thought we'd go to that little Thai place. It's been a while - what do you think?"
"Sounds great. Let me send this email and I'll meet you by the front door."
Predictably, Rose poked her head into John's office next. "Like to come with us for lunch?"
"No thanks." John waved towards his sack on the desk. "I brought my lunch today, and, I have to work on that reactor 4 problem."
"Oh yeah." replied Rose. "I heard about that. Well - maybe tomorrow." She skipped away, and just in time too. He had to go.
John stood in the back vestibule and watched Squanto's car drive up. She climbed out of the car and looked straight at him with a no-nonsense, down to business expression. Her short black hair was a bit wind-blown by the time she reached the door and stepped inside, and she combed it back into place with 5 quick strokes. John handed her a visitor's badge, then turned towards the inner door. "Admit guest, badge number 327."
"John C. Farsee. Welcome. Guest 327. Welcome." The door slid open and John led Squanto into the plant. She knew the route by now. They walked in silence past offices, down long corridors, past checkpoints, and into a temporary building on the far side of reactor 1. This was built centuries ago, when construction was at a fever pitch. It was suppose to be torn down once reactors 21 through 25 were operational, but you know how temporary trailers become practically permanent. John chose this out-dated conference room for its isolated location. He was still amazed Squanto agreed to meet him here. It sure smelled like a trap, but Squanto knew no fear, and John was almost ready to take advantage of her self confidence. Almost.
"Coffee?" he offered as they entered the bright yellow conference room, which was unnecessarily spacious for two people.
"Yes." she replied. The ritual was proceeding according to script. John stepped into the kitchenette and filled a small ceramic pitcher with steaming hot water, drawn from the "cooking" faucet. The water was almost hot enough to make coffee as is, but John put the pitcher in the microwave for an extra 90 seconds, just to make sure. The teacups on the shelf looked identical, but they weren't. Each had a tiny, imperceptible nick on the bottom ring, introduced by John's precise file. He pulled two cups off the shelf, one with a nick just ahead of the handle and one with a nick just behind. He filled them with hot coffee and carried them back to the large white conference table.
"Cream and sugar?" he asked, and she nodded. He went back to the kitchen and took his time, allowing the dance to proceed. He came back out, added cream and sugar to both cups, and sat down. After a polite pause he picked up his cup and gently, surreptitiously, felt the underside of his cup with his little finger. Yes indeed, she had switched the cups. He took a long drink, and she did the same in response. John waited his turn, waited for her to initiate the transaction.
"Ok," she finally began, "5,200 leppas."
"right." said John, taking another drink. Squanto was one of the few people who liked coffee, even on a hot summer day. John preferred coke, but that wasn't important now. "No problem." he assured her. He pulled out his money card, placed his index finger along the side panel, then entered all his codes, fast and furious. She was probably skilled enough to watch his fingers and commit his codes to memory, but she really didn't seem very interested. He passed the card over to her. "I'll let you enter your account number - wherever you'd like the funds."
Squanto studied the partially formed transaction. The amount was correct, and the status light showed blue; he had enough in the account to cover it. She entered her account number and touched the commit button, and that was that. She passed the card back and picked up her coffee.
"Business good?" asked John, after an awkward silence.
"Great." she replied. "Lots of people want to send their kids to Mars, and are willing to pay for it. It's a good thing you have a high paying job."
"Yeah." said John, draining the last of his coffee. "But it's a lot of money, even for me. My wife thinks I'm putting it all in an IRA, saving up for the future."
At this point Squanto actually smiled. "If that's how you want to handle it." She put her cup down on the large white table with an air of finality. "Ready to go?"
John rose in response. They walked back through the corridors to the back vestibule. John placed his hand on the inside panel and spoke to the computer. "Exit. Exit guest 327."
"John C. Farsee. Goodbye. Guest 327. Goodbye." They moved into the vestibule and Squanto pushed the call button, requesting a one passenger vehicle. After his first payment some 10 months ago she politely asked him to go back inside, but he resisted. "I just want to make sure you get on your way." Now she was use to it. Yes, that's perfect; she's use to it. She's use to the entire process. It happens every month, month after month.
A couple minutes later her car pulled up and John opened the front door for her. "December 13." she reminded him as she stepped outside. That was the date of their next appointment, and no, he wouldn't forget. John watched her pull away, and turned back towards the inner door. "Enter." he directed, holding his hand against the panel.
"John C. Farsee. Welcome."
John sat alone in his office, his door closed, his knees shaking. Should he carry out his plan next month or wait til January? He pushed the thought from his mind, took a bottle of water from the fridge, and splashed new life into his dry mouth. After a few minutes his heart slowed to a regular rhythm and he reached for his lunch. He wasn't especially hungry, but he may as well eat. He couldn't even remember what he packed. The sack lunch proved to be a disappointment: a cold chicken sandwich and apple sauce. He leaned back and nibbled on his sandwich like a squirrel. Some water, some apple sauce, some sandwich, some water. What was he thinking? Could he really beat Squanto at her own game? Well there was no turning back now.
John tossed the paper sack into the waste basket and walked down to Carl's office, where they talked about reactor number 4, muons, impurities, the upcoming conference, and of course Squanto. Carl absorbed the information, nodding from time to time.
"Most people could buy a house for the money you're giving her, and I just don't think she's going to give you anything in return."
"I know." replied John.
"Then why are you doing it!" Carl demanded, banging his fist on the desk.
"I'd rather not say."
"You have a plan?"
"I'd rather not say."
"Ok." Carl paused for a moment. "Ok, I'd rather not know."