The Forge of God by Greg Bear Page A
Authors: Greg Bear
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, Science Fiction - General, Fiction - Science Fiction, Science fiction; American
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isolated. Son of a bitch."
Hall's smile flickered but, to his credit, did not vanish completely. He had sprung his own trap. "I see," he said.
"We all have the highest clearances and presidential authorization," Arthur reminded him. "I doubt that there's anything we can be kept from knowing, if we press hard enough."
"I hope you appreciate our position here, Mr. Gordon, Mr. Feinman," Hall said. "This whole thing was tossed into our laps just a week ago. We haven't straightened out all of our security procedures, and it'll be some time before we decide who needs to know what."
"I would think this takes priority over practically everything," Arthur said.
"We're still not sure what we have here," Colonel Hall admitted. "Perhaps you gentlemen can help us clear up our priorities."
Arthur grimaced. "Now the ball's in our court," he said. " Touche , Colonel."
"Better your court than mine," Hall said. "This whole thing has been an administrative nightmare. We have four civilians and four of our own men in isolation. We have no warrants for arrest or any other formal papers, and there is no—well, you can imagine. We can only stretch national security so far."
"And the LGM?" Harry asked, turning back again.
"He's—it's—our star attraction. You'll see it first, then we'll interview the men who found it."
"'It,'" Arthur said. "We'll have to find a less ominous name for that soon, certainly before 'it' becomes common knowledge."
"We've been calling it the Guest, with a capital g," Hall said. "It almost goes without saying, we'd like to avoid any leaks."
"Not likely to avoid it for long, with the Australians having gone public," Harry said.
Hall nodded, facing up to practicalities. "We still don't know whether they have what we have."
"What we have, the Russians probably already know about," Harry said.
"Don't be cynical, Harry," Arthur admonished.
"Sorry." Harry grinned boyishly at the officer beside him, Lieutenant Sanborn, and then at Hall. "But am I wrong?"
"I hope you are, sir," Sanborn said.
On a concrete apron a mile and a half from the shuttle runway stood an implacable concrete building with inward-sloping walls, covering about two acres of ground. The tops of the walls rose three stories above the surrounding plain of concrete and asphalt. "Looks like a bunker," Harry said as the bus approached a ramp inclining below ground level. "Built to withstand nuclear strike?"
"That's not really a priority here, sir," Lieutenant Sanborn said. "It would be next to impossible to harden the launch sites and runway."
"This is the Experiment Receiving Lab," Colonel Hall explained. "ERL for short. ERL holds our civilian guests and the specimen."
In a broad garage below ground level, the bus parked beside a rubber-buffered concrete loading dock. The front passenger door opened with a hiss and their escorts led Harry and Arthur out of the bus, across the dock, and into a long, pastel green hallway lined with sky-blue blank-faced doors. Each door was described by numbers and cryptic acronyms on an engraved plastic plaque mounted in a small steel holder. Somewhere, air conditioners hummed quietly. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and new electronics.
The hall opened into a reception area equipped with two long brown vinyl-upholstered couches and several plastic chairs spaced around a table covered with magazines-scientific journals, Time and Newsweek , and a lone National Geographic . A young alert-looking major sat behind a desk equipped with a computer terminal and a card identification box. One by one, the major cleared all four of them and then punched a code into the keypad lock of a broad double door behind his desk. The door opened with a sucking hiss.
"The inner sanctum," Hall said.
"Where is it?" Harry asked.
"About forty feet from where we are right now," Hall said.
"And the civilians?"
"About the same distance, on the other side."
They entered a half-circular room equipped with more plastic chairs, a
Hall's smile flickered but, to his credit, did not vanish completely. He had sprung his own trap. "I see," he said.
"We all have the highest clearances and presidential authorization," Arthur reminded him. "I doubt that there's anything we can be kept from knowing, if we press hard enough."
"I hope you appreciate our position here, Mr. Gordon, Mr. Feinman," Hall said. "This whole thing was tossed into our laps just a week ago. We haven't straightened out all of our security procedures, and it'll be some time before we decide who needs to know what."
"I would think this takes priority over practically everything," Arthur said.
"We're still not sure what we have here," Colonel Hall admitted. "Perhaps you gentlemen can help us clear up our priorities."
Arthur grimaced. "Now the ball's in our court," he said. " Touche , Colonel."
"Better your court than mine," Hall said. "This whole thing has been an administrative nightmare. We have four civilians and four of our own men in isolation. We have no warrants for arrest or any other formal papers, and there is no—well, you can imagine. We can only stretch national security so far."
"And the LGM?" Harry asked, turning back again.
"He's—it's—our star attraction. You'll see it first, then we'll interview the men who found it."
"'It,'" Arthur said. "We'll have to find a less ominous name for that soon, certainly before 'it' becomes common knowledge."
"We've been calling it the Guest, with a capital g," Hall said. "It almost goes without saying, we'd like to avoid any leaks."
"Not likely to avoid it for long, with the Australians having gone public," Harry said.
Hall nodded, facing up to practicalities. "We still don't know whether they have what we have."
"What we have, the Russians probably already know about," Harry said.
"Don't be cynical, Harry," Arthur admonished.
"Sorry." Harry grinned boyishly at the officer beside him, Lieutenant Sanborn, and then at Hall. "But am I wrong?"
"I hope you are, sir," Sanborn said.
On a concrete apron a mile and a half from the shuttle runway stood an implacable concrete building with inward-sloping walls, covering about two acres of ground. The tops of the walls rose three stories above the surrounding plain of concrete and asphalt. "Looks like a bunker," Harry said as the bus approached a ramp inclining below ground level. "Built to withstand nuclear strike?"
"That's not really a priority here, sir," Lieutenant Sanborn said. "It would be next to impossible to harden the launch sites and runway."
"This is the Experiment Receiving Lab," Colonel Hall explained. "ERL for short. ERL holds our civilian guests and the specimen."
In a broad garage below ground level, the bus parked beside a rubber-buffered concrete loading dock. The front passenger door opened with a hiss and their escorts led Harry and Arthur out of the bus, across the dock, and into a long, pastel green hallway lined with sky-blue blank-faced doors. Each door was described by numbers and cryptic acronyms on an engraved plastic plaque mounted in a small steel holder. Somewhere, air conditioners hummed quietly. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and new electronics.
The hall opened into a reception area equipped with two long brown vinyl-upholstered couches and several plastic chairs spaced around a table covered with magazines-scientific journals, Time and Newsweek , and a lone National Geographic . A young alert-looking major sat behind a desk equipped with a computer terminal and a card identification box. One by one, the major cleared all four of them and then punched a code into the keypad lock of a broad double door behind his desk. The door opened with a sucking hiss.
"The inner sanctum," Hall said.
"Where is it?" Harry asked.
"About forty feet from where we are right now," Hall said.
"And the civilians?"
"About the same distance, on the other side."
They entered a half-circular room equipped with more plastic chairs, a
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