his chin. He wore old nondescript hornrim glasses, the temples of which showed the grey corrosion of long exposure to facial grease.
The other passenger was a large, hulking man. His coarse Slavic features were broken by a relaxed smile as he looked out at the snow. His bulky winter coat was undone to display a grey suit of plain utilitarian cut. His mind spun with the excitement of his first visit here, and his eyes had captured all the details — from the gross flashing signs atop Kenmore Square to the fine old houses with large yards they now passed by.
The taxi finally pulled up in front of a large white house on which the porch light signalled welcome. The Gabble flicked the plexiglass partition open without looking back, disgruntled at the thought of the long trip back to the airport without a fare and scheming for a way to cover that loss. The slim passenger grimaced at the figure on the meter despite it being covered by his expense account and shoved some bills through to the driver, waving for him to keep the change. The driver showed his gratitude by remaining immobile while his passengers worked the doors open and stepped out. The smaller man's left foot landed ankle deep in water in the gutter. He uttered a quiet exclamation of dismay, shoved the door shut and stepped gingerly to the ploughed walkway leading to the front door. He navigated the cleared path, waited for his companion, then pushed the button as he stamped his wet shoe.
Inside Wayne Phillips rose quickly from the couch and got to the door just before his wife who had come in from the kitchen. He opened the door and greeted the men on the stoop.
'Clarence! Viktor! Come in.'
He turned to his wife, 'Betsy, you remember Clarence Humphreys from Princeton ? And I would like you to meet my good friend and colleague, Viktor Korolev, from the Soviet Union. They've been working together in Moscow on our project.'
'Of course,' she nodded, 'how are you? I'm afraid we've welcomed you with rather dismal weather.' She spoke with a British accent, being a lifelong cherished companion from Phillips's youth at Oxford.
Helping Humphreys off with his topcoat, Phillips was too close to notice the soggy shoe. From her vantage point a few feet off and blessed with an eye for such things, his wife saw it and gave a small gasp.
'Oh, my! You've stepped in a puddle!'
Humphreys acknowledged this misfortune sheepishly.
Betsy Phillips immediately took complete control.
'Here. You sit down before the fire and get those wet, cold shoes off. Professor Korolev, won't you sit here? I'll fetch a pair of Wayne 's slippers and fix you both a nice hot toddy.' She guided her guests towards chairs in front of the fireplace. Alex Runyan arose from the couch, his right arm encased in a sling.
'Viktor, welcome to the United States.' He pumped the Russian's hand awkwardly, backward, with his left hand.
'After all these years — such a delight to have you here. When your name came up in La Jolla , I never actually thought I'd see you working with us.' He turned to the other scientist. 'Clarence, how are things in Moscow ?'
'Hello, Alex,' Humphreys returned the greeting. 'Well, it's snowing there too, but the rivers are still in their banks.' He lifted his wet foot and both men grinned.
Humphreys sat and with a disdain for propriety which belied his academic standing, quickly removed his shoes and socks. He extended white, blue-veined feet towards the fire and wiggled his toes. Korolev looked around the room. It was large and tastefully decorated, mostly in colonial, in keeping with the house which dated back to shortly after the Revolution. The floors were original, wide planks held down with wooden pegs. He was admiring a large heavily decorated Christmas tree in the corner when Betsy Phillips returned with a pair of faintly scruffy slippers and a tray upon which she balanced two steaming concoctions in tall glasses. Humphreys slid his feet into the slippers and smiled gratefully. The Russian feasted her with his glass and smiled his broad smile.
'I'm glad you could stop over before we have to go to Washington ,' Phillips said, after his wife had discreetly retired. 'That is when the real work will begin, but Alex and I are anxious for a chance to hear your ideas while there is still a little peace and quiet. I understand Krone's notes have been useful?'
'Absolutely! They're invaluable,' said Humphreys enthusiastically. 'The man understood an incredible amount, and there's an even greater wealth of information implicit in the computer data that will require years to completely analyse. We've only had time to scratch the surface.'
Humphreys looked at his Russian colleague.
'Things have been so hectic. We've been under tremendous pressure to digest those notebooks.'
He spoke to Phillips and Runyan.
'I want both of you to know what an immense help Viktor has been. More than that, most of the time I have foundered in his wake.'
Korolev nodded in silent sober acquiescence at the praise.
'I don't know what bolt of enlightenment hit the Soviet hierarchy,' Humphreys continued, 'volunteering his services for this project when he was not even allowed to attend a conference before. Anyway, we should all be grateful.'
'Ho,' said the Russian in his deep rumbling baritone. 'I explain certain facts to them. Sometimes they understand. But this is a complicated thing. Your government. My government.' He waved a hand in dismissal and tossed down a healthy slug of his drink.
'The fire was unfortunate,' Korolev said. 'Some important things are missing.'
'Viktor has filled in most of the missing parts,'
Humphreys explained, 'but there are a couple of awkward gaps. The books weren't the only casualty. I'd heard you'd been hurt, Alex. How's the arm?'
Runyan flexed his fingers slowly. 'I had surgery again a month ago,' he said. 'Damn tendons are tough to heal.' He leaned back and fingered his beard to show the scar on his jaw. 'Got me in the chin and arm with one blow. Tough lady, let me tell you.'
Humphreys shook his head in sympathy.
'Where is this man Krone now?' Korolev inquired. 'I must talk with him.'
'Unfortunately, he's in no condition to talk even yet,' Runyan explained. 'He's in Walter Reed Hospital , and they're doing everything they can to bring him round.'
'How about the woman?' Humphreys asked.
'Well, under the circumstances, I didn't press charges. Everything she did was under coercion. She's got an apartment in Washington I hear and visits Krone daily. The doctors think she is a beneficial factor.' Runyan stared into the fire, recalling his encounter with Maria Latvin, and shivered slightly.
'Listen,' Runyan brightened, shaking off his reverie, 'we want to hear more about this idea of yours. You think you have some way of attacking the hole?'
'Well, it's not fully worked out yet,' said Humphreys, 'but we do have a proposal. I wish we had a bit more time. I'm not so sure how we will fare trying to convince the President and his advisers of its workability.'
'Try it out on us,' encouraged Phillips. 'You suggested in your letter that stimulated emission was involved?'
'That's right. You know how the principle works in lasers. Atoms are energized and ready to emit a photon of light. Then if a seed photon is sent in, it stimulates one of the atoms to emit an identical photon. The two photons then induce the emission of two more identical photons, the four become eight, the eight, sixteen and so on, leading to a chain reaction.
'The same process can be made to work on any system which radiates. If a thing emits photons spontaneously, then it can be induced to emit photons on cue under the proper circumstances. Viktor pointed out that, in particular, this applies to black holes. We know that because of the quantum mechanical uncertainty principle, the event horizon of a black hole is slightly fuzzy and that light leaks out. Every black hole slowly radiates away its substance. The question is, can our black hole be stimulated to radiate away its mass and disappear faster than it would ordinarily?'
Humphreys stopped and took a sip of his drink. Runyan, his mind churning, fixed him with a stare.
'You would need an intense source of light then,' said Runyan, gesturing with his good left hand as if trying to conjure up such a scource on the spot.
'Yes,' answered Humphreys, 'and it needs to be focused since the target is so small.'
'A laser then,' said Phillips quietly.
