they’re already doing. That’s the ticket.”
“Um.”
“We try to concentrate bursts of tachyons and aim them just so—”
“Hold on.” Peterson said, putting up a hand. “Aim for
“Quite far away, as it works out. Since 1963, the earth’s been going round the sun, while the sun itself is revolving around the hub of the galaxy, and so on. Add that up and you find 1963 is pretty distant.”
“Relative to what?”
“Well, relative to the center of mass of the local group of galaxies, of course. Mind, the local group is moving, too, relative to the frame of reference provided by the microwave radiation background, and—”
“Look, skip the jargon, can’t you? You’re saying 1963 is in the
“Quite so. We send out a beam of tachyons to hit that spot. We sweep the volume of space occupied by the earth at that particular time.”
“Sounds impossible.”
Renfrew measured his words. “I think not. The trick is creating tachyons with essentially infinite speed —”
Peterson made a wry, tired smile. “Ah—‘essentially infinite’? Comic technical talk.”
“I
“Well, look, I’m only trying to understand.”
“Yes, yes, sorry, I may have jumped the gun there.” Renfrew visibly composed himself for a fresh attack. “Mind, the essential trick here is to get these high-velocity tachyons. Then, if we can hit the right spot in space, we can send a message back quite a way.”
“These tachyon beams will go straight through a star?”
Renfrew frowned. “We don’t know, actually. There’s a possibility that other reactions—between these tachyons and other nuclei besides indium—will be fairly strong. There’s no data on those cross sections yet. If they are, a planet or a star getting in the way could be trouble.”
“But you’ve tried simpler tests? I read in the report—”
“Yes, yes, they’ve been very successful.”
“Well, still—” Peterson gestured at the maze of equipment. “This strikes me as a fine physics sort of experiment. Commendable. But—” he shook his head “—well, I’m amazed you got the money for this.”
Renfrew’s face tightened. “It’s not all that bloody much.”
Peterson sighed. “Look here, Dr. Renfrew, I’ll be frank with you. I’m down here to evaluate this for the Council, because some pretty big names have said it makes some sort of sense. I don’t feel I have the technical background to evaluate this properly. No one on the Council has. We’re ecologists and biologists and systems people for the most part.”
“Should be broader based.”
“Granted, yes. Our idea in the past has been to bring in specialists as they’re needed.”
Gruffly: “So reach Davies at King’s College in London. He’s keen on this and—”
“There isn’t time for that. We’re looking for emergency measures.”
Renfrew said slowly, “It’s that bad?”
Peterson paused, as though he had given away too much. “Yes. Looks so.”
“I can move fast, if that’s your idea,” Renfrew said briskly.
“You may have to.”
“It would be better if we got a whole new generation of equipment in here,” Renfrew took in the lab with a hand wave. “The Americans have developed new electronics gear that would improve matters. To be really sure we got through, we need the Americans to come in. Most of the circuitry I need is being developed in their national labs, Brookhaven and so on.”
Peterson nodded. “So your report said. That’s why I want this fellow Markham in on this today.”
“Has he got the necessary weight to swing it?”
“I think so. He’s well thought of, I’m told, and he’s an American on the spot. That’s what his National Science Foundation needs to cover itself in case—”
“Ah, I see. Well, Markham’s due here any time now. Come have some coffee in my office.”
Peterson followed him into the cluttered den. Renfrew cleared books and papers off a chair, bustling about in that nervous manner people have when they have suddenly realized, along with a guest that their office is messy. Peterson sat down, lifting his trousers at the knees and then crossing his legs. Renfrew made more of a business than necessary out of fetching the acrid-smelling coffee, because he wanted time to think. Things were starting badly; Renfrew wondered if the memories from Oxford had soured him automatically on Peterson. Well, there was nothing for it; everyone was fairly edgy these days, anyway. Perhaps Markham could smooth things over when he arrived.
CHAPTER TWO
MARJORIE LOCKED THE KITCHEN DOOR BEHIND HER and walked round the side of the house, carrying a bucket of chicken feed. The lawn behind the house was crisply quartered by brick paths, with a sundial at the intersection. From force of habit, she followed the path and did not step on the wet grass. Beyond the lawn was a formal rose garden, her own pet project. As she walked through it, breaking beaded spider webs with her body, she stopped here and there to pinch off a dead bloom or to sniff at a bud. It was early in the year, but a few roses were blossoming already. She talked to each bush as she passed it.
“Charlotte Armstrong, you’re doing very well. Look at all those buds. You’re going to be absolutely beautiful this summer. Tiffany, how are you? I see some greenfly on you. I’ll have to spray you. Good morning, Queen Elizabeth, you’re looking very healthy, but you’re sticking out rather too far into the path. I should have pruned you more on this side.”
Somewhere in the distance she could hear a knocking sound. It alternated with the trill of a blue tit perched on the hedge. With a start she realized that the knocking was coming from her own house. It couldn’t be Heather or Linda; they would come round the back. She turned. Raindrops splattered from the leaves as she brushed past the rose bushes. She hurried across the lawn and round the side of the house, setting the bucket down by the kitchen door.
A shabbily dressed woman with a pitcher in her hand was turning away from the front door. She looked as though she had camped all night; her hair was matted and there were smudges on her face. She was about Marjorie’s height, but thin and round-shouldered.
Marjorie hesitated. So did the woman. They eyed each other across the U-shaped sweep of the gravel drive. Then Marjorie moved forward.
“Good morning,” She was about to say, “Can I do something for you?” but held back, uncertain as to whether she wanted to do anything for this woman or not.
“Morning, Miss. Could you lend me a bit o’ milk, do you think? I’m all out o’ milk and the kids ‘aven’t ’ad their breakfast yet.” Her manner was confident but somehow not cordial.
Marjorie narrowed her eyes. “Where are you from?” she asked.
“We just moved into the old farm down the road. Just a little milk, lady.” The woman moved closer to her, holding out the pitcher.
“Why do you come here? The shops are open at this time of day. There’s a farm along the road, you know, where you can buy milk.”
“Come on, lady, you wouldn’t make me walk miles while the little ones are waiting, would you? I’ll let you
