“I guess I still don’t quite see,” began Gantt.

“The point is,” explained Runyan, “that when it comes to the surface of the Earth it’s virtually at rest with respect to the local terrain. That can’t be an accident. It must have begun that way. We can rule out the idea that it’s a naturally occurring black hole. To have it moving at precisely the Earth’s orbital velocity so that it could be trapped was asking a lot. To insist that it also move in consonance with the rotation of the Earth is out of the question. I could never put any store in the idea anyway, but now I think we can really lay it to rest.

“Let me put it another way,” he continued, “if you were to imagine taking a black hole and holding it in your hand so that both you and it were moving along with the surface of the Earth, and then you were to drop it, and let it orbit freely, the result would be just what we have seen. It would drop down, pass to the far side of the Earth and return. It must return to precisely the same altitude as that from which it was dropped, and at its highest point, when it momentarily has no velocity toward or away from the Earth’s center, it must have precisely the same sideways motion as when it was released. To someone moving with the same motion, that is, with the velocity of the Earth’s surface, it would seem to come momentarily to an exact standstill.”

“But it didn’t stand still,” objected Gantt, “that is, it continued on up.”

“That’s my second point,” replied Runyan. “One we kicked around in La Jolla. We know how far up it went. It took about fifteen seconds to go up and an equal amount to return. At one gee, that’s a distance of about three thousand four hundred feet. What’s the altitude here?”

“About twenty-three hundred feet,” said Gantt.

“Then apogee is about five thousand seven hundred feet above sea level. A bit over a mile. That must be the altitude from which it was originally dropped.”

Before either Danielson or Gantt could comment, Runyan was on his feet. “Let me get something out of my luggage.” He tossed off the remaining bourbon in his cup, set the cup on the chair arm, and strode purposefully over to the mess tent where their luggage had been placed. The cup blew off, and Gantt rescued it from the ground. Runyan rummaged for a moment and then returned with a stack of computer output. He regained his seat and balanced the paper on his knees so he could easily riffle the accordian-folded sheets.

“Another little project of mine,” he explained. “Pat, you said that in Dallas your agents thought about forty seconds elapsed from the time you first heard the noise to when it returned. That gives an estimate of the altitude to which it rises. I figured they could be off by ten percent either way. The Seamount event gave a more accurate estimate. I narrowed down the maximum altitude to within three hundred feet. What I’ve got here is a list of every point on Earth that falls along the locus of the orbit and within three bins in altitude, each spanning a hundred feet. With this new precise data of yours, Ellison, we can throw out two-thirds of the possibilities. There are surprisingly few left. Few enough that they can all be checked in a finite time. There are a couple in California, a few in Arizona, a small batch in New Mexico and that’s it for the continental United States.” He looked on down the list, “There’s a couple of places in Morocco, one in Algeria, some in Iran, Afghanistan, and Pakistan, none in Tibet, it’s all too high, and finally, in the northern hemisphere, several places in China.” He flipped to another sheet. “The southern hemisphere is even more sparse. A few places on either side of the Andes, in Chile and Argentina. That’s about it. Everything else is lower, mostly ocean.”

Gantt’s brows knitted in concentration.

“We’re ahead of you there, Alex,” Danielson smiled slightly, her voice touched with pride. “I made up a similar list of sites after we got back from La Jolla. Bob Isaacs had ordered up a photomontage along the trajectory several months ago. The problem was we didn’t know what to look for, and there was too much area to cover. He just told me that we are collecting new satellite photos of the spots on my list; they’ll be ready tomorrow morning.”

She craned her neck and looked down his list, flipping the pages back and forth.

“I think I’ve got everything you have here, and a few more. Here in Chile, for instance, north of Santiago. There’s a shallow valley there and actually two points, not just one, a few kilometers apart.”

She looked up at Runyan, and he locked her eyes with a long, cool stare. Then he gave her a broad, friendly wink, and her heart jumped.

“You said you had three points?” Gantt prompted him to continue.

“This may be a bit more subtle, but just as important.” Runyan leaned forward and put his stack of computer printout on the ground. He retrieved his cup from Gantt and poured himself a small bit of bourbon. Resting his upper forearms on both knees and rotating the cup between his palms, he looked up at Danielson from beneath his brows. “Let me ask you, why is there such a small motion with respect to the surface?”

“But you just answered that!” objected Danielson. “Its motion at its highest point is set by the initial conditions with which it’s released. If it moved with the surface at first, it always will.”

“Always?”

Danielson stopped and stared at the bewhiskered scientist, her eyes shifting back and forth between his. Finally she said, “You said earlier there must be perturbations, friction. The orbit can’t be perfect, it must shift slowly with time.”

“Now I’m with you,” broke in Gantt. “The orbit must shift slowly with time, but it hasn’t shifted much.” He looked at both of them. “So it hasn’t had time.”

“That’s just the sort of thing I’ve been trying to compute,” said Runyan. “My model isn’t perfect yet, but I have some feeling for the scale of things. I would have to say this thing couldn’t have been around for more than ten years, and probably less.”

“What you’re saying,” said Danielson, “is that we only picked up a record of it recently because it’s only been around recently.”

“Let me get this straight then,” Gantt said slowly. “You’re arguing that someone or something, somehow, made a black hole of about ten million tons not more than a few years ago, releasing it at rest from a point on the Earth’s surface about six thousand feet above sea level.” His forehead wrinkled in consternation.

“When we examine those places,” Danielson said, pointing at the computer paper at Runyan’s feet, “do you expect to see something definite?”

“Maybe not,” said Gantt, looking at Runyan. “Granted that we’re dealing with a small black hole, and that it was created artificially, which seems to follow.”

Runyan nodded assent.

“Then,” Gantt continued, “we’re also talking about something beyond our technological feasibility. Suppose the only thing remaining at the ‘launch site,’ if I may call it that, is a burned spot and the impression of three round pods—I believe that’s the classical imprint of a UFO.”

“If we know where to look, we can find that too,” said Danielson, “if not with satellites, then a direct fly- over.”

“I suppose we must keep an open mind,” said Runyan, “but I have a feeling that the clues will be more definite.”

They lapsed into silence. Gantt broke it with a shake of his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but despite the evidence, I find the whole thing too incredible to believe. An artificial black hole planted here in the Earth—I mean, my god!” He raised his hands and eyes in an imploring salute to the skies.

“Alex,” he continued, “you said a while ago you were relieved the issue was now out in the open. I must say I don’t feel that way at all. After all, proving that we are dealing with a black hole is only the tip of the iceberg. Until we know who and why, we’ve barely begun to plumb the mystery. The most stupendous, terrifying, and profound aspects of this situation would seem to be before us.”

He was silent for a moment and muttered, “Christ,” and poured himself another jigger of bourbon and drank it off.

Runyan had slumped in his chair, chin on his chest. “I suppose you could be right, Ellison,” he said. “I have a hazy idea of what’s going on that suggests to me that, conceptually anyway, we’re over the hump.”

“How could we be? What in the world are you thinking?” Gantt demanded.

Runyan waved him off with a hand. “It’s too vague. I’m probably being naive or stupid or both.”

Gantt glared at him, uncomfortable with this dismissal.

At last he said, “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’ll go nuts if I just sit here and think about it. I’ve got to do something.” He stood up and looked around impatiently.

“Should we have another look for a hole in the ground?” asked Danielson. “I really wasn’t very thorough.”

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