“But it’s not a threat?” the NSA said.
“Other than atmospheric leakage, not so far,” the physicist answered.
“How many of these things can we expect?” the Homeland Security director asked.
“Well, the UCF anomaly is producing about thirty bosons per day,” Weaver said.
“Oh, my God…” the NSA muttered.
“If every one opens we’re in for a world of hurt,” Weaver said with a shrug.
“Even if they don’t…” the NSA said. “How are these things… spreading?”
“They seem to be following, by and large, certain fractal course tracks,” Weaver answered. “They zig zag around in an apparently random manner and when they reach a certain point, based upon their energy level, they stop. The energy level is increasing, though, so each one is going farther.”
“And they’re spreading across the world,” the NSA said. “If they’re up to Georgia then they’re down to Cuba.”
“Yes.”
“Opening up in open ocean.”
“Presumably.”
The NSA put her head in her hands and shook it. “Sailboats cruising along and suddenly landing in other planets.”
“Well, they’d have to be quite small sailboats,” Weaver pointed out. “Otherwise they’d sort of… crash.”
“Freighters,” the Homeland Security director said. “Cruise ships! We need to get a hazard warning out for mariners!”
“That… would be advisable,” the physicist said.
“We need to get that… anomaly turned off,” the NSA said. “Soon. How many of these gates can the Titcher access?”
“Unknown,” Weaver admitted. “We only have one emergence so far. If we have a couple more it will give me some data. In the meantime I’m as in the dark as you are.”
“How do we turn the anomaly off?” she asked.
“Errr…” Weaver shook his head. “You remember how I mentioned the great big steel ball?”
“That will turn it off?” the NSA asked. “A billion dollars will be pocket change compared to this stuff.”
“I also remember how he mentioned ten years,” the Homeland Security director said, sourly.
“And it won’t turn it off,” the physicist pointed out. “What I might be able to do is steer the bosons somewhere controllable. Maybe. Nyarowlll admitted that their gate openings, the controlled openings, are on small islands with heavy guard facilities. Maybe steer them all to atolls or, I don’t know, Area 51 seems appropriate.”
“I’ll pass that on to the President,” the NSA said, dryly. “In the meantime, try to figure out how to turn off the anomaly and shut at least some of these gates.”
“I’ll put some of my people on the job of monitoring them once they’re found and we’re going to need a whole bunch of people suitable for surveying the far sides,” the Homeland Security director said, sighing. “I’ll put FEMA in charge of finding those people. They know every environmental specialty company in the U.S. This is going to start costing real money pretty soon.”
“Look on the bright side,” Weaver said.
“There’s a bright side?” the Homeland Security director said with a grim laugh.
“Sure, besides the advances that this is going to make in science, we’re looking at multiple worlds that are available for colonization. Sure, so far there haven’t been many that have been worth much and the U.S. isn’t really interested in getting rid of surplus population. But if we can figure out how to steer some of these things to India and China…”
“That’s a point,” the NSA said. “One bright point.”
“So far we’ve encountered two civilizations,” Weaver said. “One of them hostile and one friendly. That, I think, is pretty good odds.”
“Three,” the NSA pointed out. “If you add the Boca Raton anomaly. And I don’t know if it’s hostile or just so impossible to understand it will always be an anomaly.”
“But the point is that we’re encountering friendly ones,” Weaver said. “It’s not all doom and gloom. It’s just very odd. But the U.S. is a master of handling oddities. We take cellular phones and the internet for granted. In time I bet that we absorb gates just as we’ve absorbed every other change. And, for that matter, make money off of them,” he added with a chuckle.
“Okay,” the NSA said, smiling. “I’ll point that out to the President, too. Just as soon as he wakes up. I’m sure we’ll be talking again, Doctor.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the physicist said as the transmission terminated.
He got up and stretched his back, then undogged the door to the communications center and stepped into the other room of the trailer. Miller was sitting at a short range-radio with his feet up on the ledge in front of it, his eyes closed.
“I thought that SEALs never needed to sleep?” Weaver said.
“I was just resting my eyes,” Miller answered instantly and opened them. “I was talking to the director of security for the parks. I’m much more impressed with this outfit than I was just dealing with their rent-a-cops. They’ve got better environment suits than FEMA, a bigger environmental response team than most major cities and a ‘county’ SWAT team that is dedicated for the park and looks pretty damned sharp. The security director, who’s an ex-Green Beanie, and I took a little stroll on the other side. Not exactly a garden spot, but you know Disney. He’d already talked to the director of parks and they’re planning on turning it into an ‘interplanetary adventure’ at very high rates. Suit people up in environment suits and take them for a stroll on ‘the primordial Earth.’ ”
“I just told the NSA that somebody would find a way to make money off of these things,” Weaver said, sitting down. “You know, she wants me to either shut down the anomaly or figure out a way to move the gates. It occurs to me that the people to put on that would be Disney’s Imagineers. They’re some of the best engineers in the world, certainly the highest paid.”
“We’ll talk to them later,” Miller said, standing up and taking the physicist by the arm. “We’re headed back to base. Then you’re going to bed. And you’re going to sleep even if I have to hit you over the head with a blackjack. And I’m going to sleep, too. And I’m not getting up until tomorrow. By then there will be more news, more gates, more data and more emergencies. But until then, we’re getting some sleep. Understood?”
“Understood,” Weaver said, grinning. “If anything comes up, I’ll tell them you’re on another emergency somewhere.”
“Yeah,” Miller said. “In fact, I think I’m just going to check into a hotel. Maybe the powers that be won’t find me there.”
What they ended up doing was talking to the security director who, whether he was appreciative of them responding so fast to a potential threat on Disney property or happy that the SEAL hadn’t killed his guard, arranged for rooms in the Grand Floridian. It was broad daylight when they made it up to their rooms but neither of the two cared. Weaver undressed, took out his cell phone, turned it off, plugged it into the charger he was carrying and hit the bed with his whole body. He never even pulled the covers down, he just fell asleep.
Shane Gries was sitting on the back of his M-2 Bradley Fighting Vehicle eating a hamburger from Burger King when he heard the distinctive WHAM-WHAM-WHAM of a 25mm chain gun. He dropped the hamburger just as the driver that was manning his own vehicle’s gun opened fire and the first Abrams fired with an enormous slam of sound. He had his vehicle helmet on in seconds and plugged in to the intervehicular communications system before he popped his head out of the commander’s hatch. What met his eyes was nightmare.