“No,” Runyan replied, frowning. “A full-sized white dwarf would be as large as the Earth and have as much mass as the Sun. A neutron star would only be a few miles across, but again would have the mass of the Sun. The Earth’s orbit hasn’t been appreciably affected since the astronomers haven’t raised an uproar, so whatever we are dealing with can’t have much mass.”
“Then you’re talking nonsense, aren’t you?” It was a statement more than a question from Leems.
Runyan ignored him. “We might consider a small piece of a neutron star or a white dwarf, but we understand the physical processes involved there reasonably well. Freed from the gigantic self-gravity, a small piece would explode under its own outward pressure. What we need is something that will remain at high densities even though it has relatively low mass. Although I can list reams of practical objections, I can only think of one possibility that fits the picture we now have.”
Leems was exasperated. “Honest to god, Alex,” he said in a disgusted voice, “you’re not making any sense at all. What in the hell are you getting at?”
Runyan’s resolve to proceed dispassionately dissolved. “Oh, for chrissake, Harvey!” he stormed. “Can’t you see it?”
He was suddenly angry that the responsibility for the message was his. He aimed his fear and frustration at Leems.
“It’s a black hole!” he raged. “The Earth’s being eaten by a goddamned black hole!”
Danielson recoiled back against the cushion of the sofa at Runyan’s outburst, her face draining of color. Black holes? Her mind reeled at his vehemence, the radical leap of his argument. Black holes had to do with stars, space, galaxies! Not downtown Dallas, Nagasaki. What in god’s name was he talking about?
“Oh, bullshit!” blurted Leems. He locked eyes with Runyan and then looked down and away to a neutral point in the room.
“What?” demanded Noldt. “What did he say?” Fletcher leaned over to him and began an intense reprise of Runyan’s arguments.
Runyan continued to glare at Leems and made no attempt to respond to the commotion. He felt the first wisps of relief that the burden was no longer solely his to bear.
Good god! Have I blundered? Isaacs thought to himself as he sat upright in his chair. With a sinking sensation, he looked quickly from Runyan, to Leems, and back to Runyan. Was coming to Jason a grievous error? Was his innate distrust of these far-out academics finally justified? He could feel his months of work and risk slipping away. What a disaster, if all he had to take back to Drefke was some harebrained idea. He turned to Phillips with a look of dismay.
Phillips saw the startled concern on Isaacs’ face. As he stood and moved to the front of the room beside Runyan, he surveyed the others. Leems was red-faced, as if he’d picked up the color Danielson had lost. Fletcher was still explaining, waving a finger back and forth, tracing a trajectory in front of the nose of a bewildered Ted Noldt. Gantt and Zicek were attempting a disjointed analysis across the length of the room, their voices ringing with surprise. Phillips motioned for quiet.
“Gentlemen,” Phillips said firmly, “let’s see if we can have an orderly and objective discussion of this remarkable suggestion Dr. Runyan has made.” Turning to Runyan he continued, “Alex, you’ll have to forgive our collective skepticism, but this notion strains all credibility. From where could such a thing have come? What could it be doing in the Earth? Surely, there’s a simpler explanation.”
When he answered, Runyan’s voice was still too loud, his normally avuncular tone replaced by a hint of righteousness.
“Simple? What we all crave is a less radical solution. We’ve striven for that and come away empty-handed. I submit we won’t find a simple solution in the sense you mean, Wayne. Only an orbit fits the odd trajectory. Only an orbit would have a fixed period and a direction anchored in space, independent of the Earth’s rotation about its axis and revolution about the Sun. Can anyone deny that a simple orbit fits the picture?”
The rhetorical question was greeted with silence.
Runyan paced back and forth in a tight little orbit of his own. Danielson’s thoughts were awash with the idea he had thrust upon them. Her eyes watched the muscles flexing in his Sun-tanned legs. His tone became calmer.
“I ask myself what sort of thing can be orbiting through the Earth, and I see no alternative to the conclusion that it is very dense. Ordinary, even extraordinary matter can’t exist in small quantities at extreme densities, so I’m forced to conclude that we are dealing with a small, but very deadly, black hole. Don’t get the idea I’m happy with this idea. On the contrary. It scares the hell out of me.”
He continued to pace, thinking.
“Here’s more support for it,” Runyan said. “Look at the holes drilled in solid concrete with no sign of searing or scorching. That’s one of the singular pieces of evidence and very hard to understand any other way. It’s just what a small black hole would do. A black hole will pull in matter from a volume much bigger than itself as it moves, the gravitational force sucking the material in from the immediate vicinity.” He made a crushing motion with his fist. “A black hole will carve a tunnel as it goes, but leave no other sign of its passage, not like a laser beam or any other such device, as Dr. Danielson was quick to see.” He smiled at her for a moment. “In fact, from the size of the holes left behind, I can estimate the mass of the thing.”
Runyan paused and dug into a pocket of his cutoffs and brandished the napkin. The numbers blotched irregularly where the ink from Danielson’s pen had run in the porous material. He did this more from a sense of drama than from a need to refresh his memory. He recalled the result perfectly well. He made an abbreviated OK sign with index finger and thumb and peered through the small hole at his audience.
“The holes drilled are about this size,” he said, “a few millimeters to a centimeter. Depending on the tensile strength of the material through which the hole passes, I would guess the mass to be comparable to a small mountain and its size to be about that of an atomic nucleus.”
“But would a small black hole do what we are observing?” Gantt asked. “That is, if it knifes through the Earth as if it were butter, how does it generate the acoustic signal?”
Runyan pondered for a moment. “Well,” he began, “as I’ve said, it would exert a force sucking in matter from the immediate vicinity. It would carve a tunnel as it went. Does that suggest anything?”
“I suppose,” replied Gantt. “At least in subsurface rock the ambient pressure would prevent such a tunnel from existing except momentarily. I can imagine the collapse of such a thing generating acoustic waves, depending on the size.”
“That’s a good point,” Runyan aimed a blunt finger at him, “the size of the tunnel is related to the mass of the object and the rate at which the tunnel forms and collapses should give an estimate of the acoustic power—which we know! Can we check to see if the picture is self-consistent?”
Gantt joined Runyan at the board and they began a crude, but rapid calculation. They stood in front of their figures and symbols to the consternation of those in the room trying to follow the arguments. After a few minutes of gesticulation and occasional cursing, Gantt returned to his seat.
“With some uncertainty,” Runyan announced, “the acoustic signal is consistent with the idea of a small tunnel continuously being drilled at the orbital velocity and then collapsing.”
“I’m sorry,” Isaacs said, his voice polite, but firm. “This is very important because you’re talking about the basic data that led us to this thing.” If Runyan were off base, Isaacs wanted to nail him quickly. He also recognized that the notion of a black hole and its implications were too foreign to him to be absorbed rapidly. If it turned out to be more than a crackpot idea, he didn’t want to miss details that would aid his ultimate understanding. “Could you explain to me a bit more clearly what you just did.” Isaacs gestured at the board.