I'm thinking?”
“I sure am,” replied Teller. “All in the name of science.”
“Your thoughts?” asked Mason, gripping the ball like a quarterback as he spoke to Dr Bates.
“Well, I don't think it's going to be harmful or anything like that. I'd expect its arc to follow localized gravity, so as it passes through the anomaly it's going to fly sideways, falling toward the slab.”
“Galileo would be proud,” joked Dr Anderson, recognizing the historical precedence for the simplest of experiments when it came to gravity.
“Notice how the flags are rustling in the breeze,” added Bates. “The wind is already blowing through this thing without any adverse effects. I think we'll be fine.”
“If anything,” said Dr Anderson, “a football is a good choice for our initial probe into the interior. It's low-tech so nothing can go wrong. It's aerodynamic and has a well understood trajectory. And it's brief. It'll give us some good metrics.”
Teller liked the way they could rationalize something so childish and make it sound scientific, but they were right, it was a good, simple first step, and it was fun.
Mason spoke into his radio. “Can you get one of those guys from the National Guard over on the south side to turn around? Tell him we're going to throw him a football.”
The reply over the airways was one of surprise. The radio operator asked for confirmation.
“It's OK,” Mason replied. “You heard correctly.”
Teller laughed. “This is what I love about science. It can be fun if you want it to be.”
Mason took off his suit jacket and draped it over one of the deck chairs. He loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. It was humid, even with the sun setting. Sweat soaked his armpits.
Together, the group walked over toward the anomaly. As he stood before it, Teller felt small, in awe of its size. The concrete slab that once made up the intersection, with its white lines marking the road, its curb and trash can, along with the tree and the traffic lights, were almost at a right-angle to the ground. They looked like some crazy advertisement raising awareness for some obscure conservation group trying to make the concrete jungle all the more jarring to the mind by displacing it and sticking it sideways on a billboard. Teller half expected to see a Greenpeace logo somewhere near the bottom right. The UN flags were hundreds of meters above him, floating effortlessly in the sky, waving in the breeze. The shattered remains of several floors from the State Department slid into the hole in the ground. The world had gone topsy-turvy, it was as though someone had handed the architecture of the city to Dr. Seuss.
“Come on, Finch,” said Cathy joining in the moment, “this is history in the making, start the tape rolling.”
“Absolutely,” said Mason. “Make sure you get a good shot of this. We've got to give your buddies on the news desk something for the late edition.”
On the far side of the intersection, beyond the gaping hole in the ground, a soldier stood facing them. He yelled out, “I'm open.”
“How far do you think that is?” asked Mason, turning to Teller.
“Oh, I'd say it's around 40-50 yards. How good is your arm?”
“It's good enough,” Mason replied with a wink. “And where should I throw this thing? On what angle do you think?”
Teller liked being asked. Mason had a way of making the people around him feel important.
“Bates is right. It's going to fall that way, toward the slab, over against the UN, so don't worry too much about height, you'll have plenty of height once the ball passes into the anomaly. But be sure to throw to the right and it should arc back to the left as it falls sideways toward the intersection.”
“And you're sure this will be fine?” Mason asked, looking one last time at Dr Bates and Dr Anderson. They both nodded, grinning like school kids.
Finch lined up so he could catch a side profile of the director throwing the football and then pan
“I sure am,” replied Teller. “All in the name of science.”
“Your thoughts?” asked Mason, gripping the ball like a quarterback as he spoke to Dr Bates.
“Well, I don't think it's going to be harmful or anything like that. I'd expect its arc to follow localized gravity, so as it passes through the anomaly it's going to fly sideways, falling toward the slab.”
“Galileo would be proud,” joked Dr Anderson, recognizing the historical precedence for the simplest of experiments when it came to gravity.
“Notice how the flags are rustling in the breeze,” added Bates. “The wind is already blowing through this thing without any adverse effects. I think we'll be fine.”
“If anything,” said Dr Anderson, “a football is a good choice for our initial probe into the interior. It's low-tech so nothing can go wrong. It's aerodynamic and has a well understood trajectory. And it's brief. It'll give us some good metrics.”
Teller liked the way they could rationalize something so childish and make it sound scientific, but they were right, it was a good, simple first step, and it was fun.
Mason spoke into his radio. “Can you get one of those guys from the National Guard over on the south side to turn around? Tell him we're going to throw him a football.”
The reply over the airways was one of surprise. The radio operator asked for confirmation.
“It's OK,” Mason replied. “You heard correctly.”
Teller laughed. “This is what I love about science. It can be fun if you want it to be.”
Mason took off his suit jacket and draped it over one of the deck chairs. He loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. It was humid, even with the sun setting. Sweat soaked his armpits.
Together, the group walked over toward the anomaly. As he stood before it, Teller felt small, in awe of its size. The concrete slab that once made up the intersection, with its white lines marking the road, its curb and trash can, along with the tree and the traffic lights, were almost at a right-angle to the ground. They looked like some crazy advertisement raising awareness for some obscure conservation group trying to make the concrete jungle all the more jarring to the mind by displacing it and sticking it sideways on a billboard. Teller half expected to see a Greenpeace logo somewhere near the bottom right. The UN flags were hundreds of meters above him, floating effortlessly in the sky, waving in the breeze. The shattered remains of several floors from the State Department slid into the hole in the ground. The world had gone topsy-turvy, it was as though someone had handed the architecture of the city to Dr. Seuss.
“Come on, Finch,” said Cathy joining in the moment, “this is history in the making, start the tape rolling.”
“Absolutely,” said Mason. “Make sure you get a good shot of this. We've got to give your buddies on the news desk something for the late edition.”
On the far side of the intersection, beyond the gaping hole in the ground, a soldier stood facing them. He yelled out, “I'm open.”
“How far do you think that is?” asked Mason, turning to Teller.
“Oh, I'd say it's around 40-50 yards. How good is your arm?”
“It's good enough,” Mason replied with a wink. “And where should I throw this thing? On what angle do you think?”
Teller liked being asked. Mason had a way of making the people around him feel important.
“Bates is right. It's going to fall that way, toward the slab, over against the UN, so don't worry too much about height, you'll have plenty of height once the ball passes into the anomaly. But be sure to throw to the right and it should arc back to the left as it falls sideways toward the intersection.”
“And you're sure this will be fine?” Mason asked, looking one last time at Dr Bates and Dr Anderson. They both nodded, grinning like school kids.
Finch lined up so he could catch a side profile of the director throwing the football and then pan
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