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The bag was shut in the cabinet, remaining in full view through the glass as computers briefly chattered their calculations.
‘Energy-consumption rates are high at present. This is just a prototype, you appreciate. We hope to lower tolerances in the next part of the programme, when we have the okay from your department,’ Bodenland said. ‘Obviously energy-input is related to mass of substance being disposed of.’
‘And I see you’re using solar energy in part,’ Schatzman said.
‘The corporation has its own satellite, which beams down the energy to our dishes here in Dallas.’
Waldgrave got the nod from his boss. He signalled to the controls technician, who pressed the Transmit pad.
The interior of the cabinet began to glow with a blue-mauve light.
Two large analogue-type clocks with sweep-hands were visible, one inside the cabinet, one on a jury-rig outside, facing the first one. The sweep hand of the clock in the cabinet stopped at 10.16. At the same time, the clock itself began to disappear. So did the black plastic bag. In a moment it was gone. The cabinet appeared to be empty.
A brief burst of applause filled the room. Bodenland appeared noticeably less grim.
The party went to have drinks in a nearby boardroom, all tan leather upholstery and dracaena plants in bronze pots. There was a jubilation in the air which even the formality of the occasion did not kill.
As she sipped a glass of Perrier, Schatzman said, ‘Well, Mr Bodenland, you appear to have invented the long-awaited time machine, no less.’
He looked down into his vodka. So the woman was a fool after all. He had hoped for better. This woman was going to have to present his case before her committee in Washington; if she could reach such a basic misunderstanding after studying all the documentation already sent to her over the computer line, the chances for government approval of his invention were poor.
‘Not a time machine, Ms Schatzman. As we’ve made clear, our new process merely halts time-decay – much as refrigeration, let’s say, slows or halts bacterial action. We found a sink in real time. The bag in the cabinet disappeared because it became suddenly stationary with regard to universal time-decay. It remained – it remains at 10.16 this morning. We are the ones who are travelling forward in time, at the rate of twenty-four hours a day. The bag remains forever where we put it, at 10.16. We can reach back and retrieve it if necessary, though the expenditure of energy increases geometrically as we progress further from entry point.
‘The inertial disposal process is far from being a time-machine. It is almost the reverse.’
Ms Schatzman did not greatly enjoy being talked down to. Perhaps her remark had been intended humorously. ‘The department will need to enquire into what happens to substances isolated in 10.16, or any other time. It would be irresponsible simply to isolate considerable amounts of toxic waste in time with no clear picture of possible consequences.’
‘How long do you estimate such an enquiry might take?’
‘We’re talking about something unprecedented, a disturbance in the natural order.’
‘Er – not if you have an understanding of the science of Chaos.’
She understood she had been snubbed. ‘An enquiry will of course occupy some weeks.’
Bodenland took a generous swig of his vodka and inclined his head in her direction.
‘The disposal of toxic waste represents one of the world’s most pressing problems, Ms Schatzman. No one wants the stuff. Only a decade ago the cost of disposal of nuclear waste as prescribed by US law was $2,500 per tonne. It’s twenty times higher now, and rising. Only last week the death of a whole village through the dumping of an illegally manufactured pesticide, Lindane, was reported in Bulgaria.
‘That’s where we come in. Bodenland Industries have developed a foolproof way of ridding the world of such evils. All we need is your department’s clearance. You must persuade your committee not to stand in the way of progress.’
She pronounced the last word at the same moment as he did. ‘Progress,’ echoing it ironically. ‘“Progress” cannot be achieved at the expense of safety. You’re familiar with that concept. It’s what we call the Frankenstein Syndrome.’ She attempted lightness of tone. ‘You know the Department will do what it can, Mr Bodenland. You also know how thoroughly this new advance will have to be investigated. We have our responsibilities – there are security aspects, too. May I suggest that meanwhile you turn your inventive mind to other matters?’
‘Sure,’ he said, setting his glass down and rising. ‘I’m going to turn my inventive mind to being a late guest at my son’s wedding.’
A jazz band was playing an arrangement of ‘Who’s Sorry Now?’ when Joe Bodenland entered the main reception rooms of the Gondwana Ranch, the home in which he and Mina had lived for a decade. At present it was full of flowers and guests.
Some of the wedding guests were dancing, some drinking, and some no doubt otherwise engaged. The caterers hired for the occasion were bearing savoury and sweet dishes to and fro, while the popping of champagne corks could be heard above the noise of the band.
Bodenland exchanged compliments and good wishes with a number of family friends as he made his way to where Larry Bodenland stood with his bride, receiving congratulations.
Kylie greeting Joe warmly enough, flinging her arms round his neck and kissing him on the mouth. Kylie was a beautiful girl with a round face on which good features were set wide apart, giving her a singularly open appearance. Joe had already discovered that Kylie was no mere innocent. She had – beside the considerable fortune accruing from her father’s transport business – a sharp and enquiring mind. But for the moment it was enough to feel her slender body against his as he revelled in her sunny good looks and wished her all future happiness.
‘Just see that Larry behaves himself,’ he said, giving her an extra hug.
Larry overheard the remark. As he shook his father’s hand, he said, ‘How about behaving yourself, Joe? How come you were late for my wedding? Was that deliberate? We know how irrational you are on the subject of matrimony.’
‘Now don’t you two start in,’ Kylie said. ‘Not today of all days.’ She raised a hand half-way to her throat, as if to indicate the crucifix hanging there. ‘You know my funny religious principles, Joe, and you must honour Larry for respecting them.’
‘Well, bless you both, and I hate myself for missing the ceremony. Don’t blame me – blame the Department of the Environment in Washington, who nailed me to this morning’s appointment.’
‘Family certainly can’t compete with a whole Department of the Environment,’ Larry said, huffily.
‘Joe has to follow his daemon,’ Kylie said, winking at her new father-in-law.
‘What demon’s that?’ asked Larry.
‘Now, Larry – your pop is a technophile of the old school. He’s crazy about machines and you must allow him that.’
‘Just as you’re crazy about religion, if I can put it that way.’
‘Religion still has a place, even in an age of science, and —’
‘Spare us!’ cried Larry. ‘I need another drink. It’s my wedding day.’ As he turned away, his mother came up, smiling in a brittle way at Joe.
‘You missed the ceremony and hit the champagne,’ she said angrily. ‘Larry and Kylie will never forgive you for this.’
‘I’m sorry, Mina.’ He took her hand, looking compassionately into her green eyes. For all his kind of hasty blindness, one of his characteristics, he knew very well what was in her mind at that moment. They had had another son, Larry’s older brother Dick, killed in an automobile crash together with his young wife Molly. Dick had always been his father’s favourite, a brilliant youngster, athletic, and with a deep interest in science, particularly particle physics. Molly too had been clever and high-spirited, a redhead whose body, at the age of twenty-two, had been inextricably merged with her husband’s in the fatal crash. It was Molly, not Dick, who returned to Joe in dreams. Dick had gone beyond recall, leaving no space for his younger brother in his father’s affections.
With the long habit of a couple who have spent years together, Mina understood something of what passed through Joe’s mind. Her mood softened.
She said, ‘Odd how Kylie has the religious impulse, just like Molly.’ It was the first time Molly’s name had passed between them in years. ‘I hope that doesn’t mean …’
‘Molly wasn’t religious. She just had an intense interest in the supernatural.’
‘You’ve forgotten, Joe. Maybe just as well.’ She took his arm. ‘Let’s take a turn outside. It’s not too hot. I’m sorry I flew off the handle earlier. But Larry and Kylie are our only kids now. Let the dead bury the dead.’
As they reached the terrace, he half-turned to her, smiling.
‘That’s kind of a dumb expression, when you think, isn’t it? “Let the dead bury the dead …” What a macabre scene that conjures up! They’d have a problem with the shovels, eh?’
She laughed. The terrace, which overlooked the swimming pool, was roofed over with reinforced glass, the supporting pillars of which were entwined with different colours of bougainvillea. He took Mina’s hand and they began to stroll, happy to get away from the noise indoors.
A phone on the wall rang as Joe and Mina were passing it. She answered by reflex, then passed the receiver to her husband with a wry look. ‘You’re wanted, Joe. The world needs you.’
He stood in the partial shade, gazing at her face, listening to his old friend Bernard Clift speaking slowly to conceal his excitement.
‘Bernie, that can’t be,’ Bodenland said. ‘It’s impossible. You must have got it wrong. You know you’ve got it wrong. Your reputation —’
He listened again, shaking his head, then nodding. Mina watched him with amusement, as his eyes lit up.
‘I’ll be right over,’ he said, finally, ‘and I may bring some of the family along.’
As he hung up, Mina said, ‘Some fresh madness brewing! Whatever it is, Joe, count me out. I want to take part in an air display over Austin tomorrow.’
‘You can freefall any time, Mina. This is terrific. Would you have wanted to have been fishing in Bermuda while the Revolution was going on on the mainland?’
‘It was Bernie Clift?’
‘Clift doesn’t fool around. He’s made a find in Utah.’
He explained that Clift had rung to tell him about the discovery of a human-like skeleton. Clift had subjected fragments of bone to carbon-dating analysis. The remains dated out as 65.5 million years BP, before the present. This checked out with their discovery in late Cretaceous rock. They came from a time over sixty million years before mankind in its most primitive form walked the earth.
‘That doesn’t make any kind of sense,’ Mina said.
‘It’s a revolution in thought. Don’t ask me what it means but this we really have to see. It’s – well, incredible.’ He whistled. ‘Just to prove that Larry and Kylie do mean something to me, we’re going to take them along too.’
He was already moving back into the house. She caught his sleeve impatiently.
‘Joe, easy now. You’re so impetuous. Larry’s off in a couple of hours to honeymoon in Hawaii. They’re not going to want to stop off in Utah, to help us.’
He was looking at his watch.
‘They’ll love it, and so will you. That’s wonderful desert country where Bernie is. Utah’s Dixie, they used to call it. If we move, we can be there by nightfall. And remember, tell no one why we are going. Bernie’s discovery stays under wraps for now. Otherwise the world’s media will be on his back. Okay?’
She laughed, not without a hint of bitterness. ‘Oh, Joe – are you allowing me time to pack?’
He kissed her. ‘Grab your toothbrush. Tell Kylie to shake the confetti out of her hair.’
2 (#ulink_c092f605-0b98-576a-9fc9-55014d9fd833)
As the helicopter spiralled downwards over the Escalante Desert, a light flashed up at it, the setting sun reflected from the windscreen of a parked car. Looking down, Joe Bodenland could see cars and trailers clustered round a square of blue canvas. Four minutes later, they were landing nearby in a whirl of dust.
Joe was first from the copter, giving Mina a hand, followed by Kylie, looking around her rather nervously, with Larry, who had piloted them, last. Bernard Clift was standing there, waiting to greet them.
‘There’s an atmosphere of something here,’ Kylie told him, as they were introduced. ‘You must feel it, Bernie. I can’t explain it. I don’t like it. Oppressive.’
Clift laughed shortly. ‘That’s the Bodenland family, Kylie. You have to get accustomed to them. Now listen, Joe, I’m grateful for your prompt arrival, although frankly I didn’t expect you all to show up. We can find a place for you to sleep.’ He ran a hand through his hair in a self-conscious gesture. ‘This discovery is so important – and top secret. I have shut down our one phone line to Enterprise. The students are forbidden to leave the site, at least without my express permission. No radioing or any form of communication with the outside world. I’ve made them all swear to keep secrecy on this one, until I’m ready.’
‘As a matter of interest, Bernie,’ Bodenland said, ‘how did you get them to swear?’
He laughed. ‘On their mother’s virginity. On whatever they took seriously. Even the Bible.’
‘I’d have thought that custom had worn thin by now,’ Joe said.
‘Not with all of us, Joe,’ said Kylie, laughing.
Clift looked at her approvingly, then said, ‘Well, come and see before the light fades. That’s what you’re here for.’
He spoke jerkily, full of nervous energy.
As they followed him along a narrow track among low sage winding up the mountain, he said, ‘Joe, you’re a rational man and a knowledgeable one, I figured you’d know what to make of this find. If it’s what I think it is, our whole world view is overturned. Humans on the planet sixty million years earlier than any possible previous evidence suggested. A species of man here in North America, long before anything started crawling round Olduvai Gorge …’
‘Couldn’t be a visitor from somewhere else in the universe? There’s just the one grave?’
‘That’s why I’m insisting on secrecy. My findings are bound to be challenged. I’m in for the Spanish Inquisition and I know it. But if we could find a second grave … So I don’t want anyone interfering – at least for a few days.’
Bodenland grunted. ‘Our organization has its own security unit in Dallas … I could get guards out here tomorrow prompt, if you need them. But you must be wrong, Bernie. This can’t be.’
‘No, it’s like the comic strips always said,’ Larry remarked, with a laugh. ‘Cavemen contemporary with the brontosaurus and tyrannosaurus. Must have been some kind of a race memory.’
Ignoring her son’s facetiousness, Mina said, ‘Bernard, hold it. I’m not prepared for this ancient grave of yours. I’m no dimmer than the next guy, but I can’t attach any meaning to sixty-five million years. It’s just a phrase.’
Clift halted their ascent abruptly. ‘Then I’ll show you,’ he said.
Bodenland glanced quickly at his friend’s face. He saw no impatience there, only the love a man might have for the subject that possessed him and gave his life meaning.
Before them, streaked now by the shades of advancing evening, was a broken hillside, eroded so that strata of rock projected like the ruins of some unimaginable building. Sage grew here and there, while the crest was crowned by pine and low-growing cottonwoods.
‘For those who can read, this slope contains the history of the world,’ Clift told Mina. ‘What interests us is this broken line of deposit under the sandstones. That’s what’s called the K/T boundary.’
He pointed to a clayey line that ran under all the shattered sandstone strata like a damp-proof course round a house.
‘That layer of deposit marks a division between the Cretaceous rocks below and the Tertiary rocks above. It represents one of the most mysterious events in all Earth history – the extinction of the dinosaurs. It’s only centimetres thick. Below it lie kilometres of rock which is – as you might say – solidified time, the long millennia of the ages of reptiles. It has been verified beyond doubt that the K/T deposit line was laid down sixty-five million years BP, before present. Our grave lies just below that line.’
‘But there were no humans living then,’ Mina said, as they started walking again, taking a trail to the left.
‘The K/T layer preserves evidence of a worldwide ecological catastrophe. It contains particles of shocked minerals, clues to massive inundations, soot which bears witness to continental-scale firestorms, and so on. Some gigantic impact occurred at that time – scientists guess at a meteorite capable of creating a vast crater, but we don’t really know.
‘What we do know is that some large-scale event ended a majestic era of brilliant and strange living things.
‘Our grave suggests that what perished at the end of the Cretaceous Period – or the Mesozoic Era, which contains all reptilian periods – was not only the dinosaurs but also a human-like race perhaps so thinly distributed that no remains have turned up – till now.’
‘Homo Cliftensis,’ said Kylie.
They halted where the sandstones had been excavated and there were tokens of human activity, with planks, brushes, jackhammers, and a wheelbarrow incongruous nearby. They stood on a bluff overlooking the desert, across which mesas were sending long fingers of shadow. A well of shadow filled the excavation they now contemplated, as it lay like a pool below the ancient crusts of the K/T boundary.
Kylie shivered. But the air was cooling, the sky overhead deepening its blue.
Two students, a man and a woman, were standing guard by the dig. They moved back as the new arrivals appeared. Clift jumped down into the hole and removed a tarpaulin, revealing the ancient grave. The skeleton remained lying on its side, cramped within the coffin for an unimaginable age. The Bodenland family looked down at it without speaking.
‘What’s all the red stuff?’ Kylie asked, in a small voice. ‘Is it bloodstains?’
‘Red ochre,’ Clift said. ‘To bury with red ochre was an old custom. The Neanderthals used it – not that I’m suggesting this is a Neanderthal. There were also flowers in the grave, which we’ve taken for analysis. Of course, there’s more work to be done here. I’m half afraid to touch anything …’
They looked down in silence, prey to formless thought. The light died. The skeleton lay half-buried in ochre, fading into obscurity.
Kylie clung to Larry. ‘Disturbing an ancient grave … I know it’s part of an archaeologist’s job, but … There are superstitions about these things. Don’t you think there’s something – well, evil here?’
