Читать книгу The Alien's Secret Volume 1 - Robert M. Doroghazi - Страница 8

With the virtual photon, Rankin was able to unlock the secrets of the black hole. He proposed that a structure be built to surround the black hole-star (Mhairi) binary to harvest the energy from the accretion disk, the swirl around the black hole, and beam it back to Oria—just as the turbine of a great dam uses the eternally reliable force of gravity to generate electricity from the water cascading down over its rotor blades. Since a sphere is the most perfect shape in nature, the one assumed by a raindrop, initial planning was to make the structure round. Surprisingly, it was quickly determined by computer simulations that a Cube would be superior for these purposes.

The Cube would replace all other energy sources on Oria. It was not like a solid box totally encasing the black hole, instead, there would be material only at the margins, with additional reinforcement at the corners for structural support. The remainder of the area, the sides and the interior, would be open to space. The star-black hole binary would reside at the center of the Cube, and all matter—solid, liquid, gas, or electromagnetic radiation—everything—could pass in either direction between the margins of the Cube.

To build such a structure would be an undertaking of completely outrageous, bonkers, previously-unimaginable proportions. Nothing one-hundredth of its size had been built before anywhere in the Universe and to this day nothing even one-tenth as large has even been contemplated. Each side would be exactly 5,332,467.39 kilometers in length and 314,159.26 kilometers thick. The material required to build the Cube would be the equivalent of 5.7 percent of the entire mass of Oria. Taking that much material from Oria would require stripping the outer forty-seven kilometers of the planet—an impossible undertaking. It would destroy all life on the planet. Drawing off that much material from Oria’s molten core would cause geological instability: the surface might even collapse.

Instead, Rankin looked to Oria’s moons to provide the material to build the Cube. The green Alcuinn, the inner-most and largest of Oria’s moons is 0.31 times the mass of Oria and densely populated. The golden-yellow Auric is 0.22 the size of Oria and sparsely populated.

The red Cardenio, a mere four percent the size of Oria, sometimes appearing like a cherry to be plucked from the evening sky, was the most distant of the moons: cold and uninhabited. Cardenio’s color was red because 60 percent of the planet was iron, sort of like a big rust ball, with most of the remainder nickel and tungsten. These hard structural metals would be perfect for building the proposed Cube. Completely dismantling Cardenio would provide almost 80 percent of the material to build the Cube. The rest would come from Oria itself, with a small contribution from both Alcuinn and Auric.

Dismantling an entire celestial body and moving so much material from one area to another would result in a decay of the orbits of Oria and the two remaining moons. Rankin was quick to assure the Orians and inhabitants of the other planets in the solar system that dismantling Cardenio would not affect them. He was right, of course; it didn’t.

Rankin calculated that the orbital decay of Oria wouldn’t become critical for twenty-seven years. He proposed that immediately upon completion of the Cube, the energy of the black hole, harnessed by, transmitted through, and directed from the Cube, be used to stabilize the orbits of Alcuinn, Auric and Oria itself. The significance was not lost on the population or on Oria’s interplanetary friends—and especially its enemies; the Cube, with the black hole as its generator, would have the power to move planets.

The engineers and contractors working with Rankin estimated it would require nine years to build the Cube, employ 20 percent of Oria and the two moon’s work force, and expend 30 percent of the their capital resources. Transports the length of a one hundred-car freight train, each carrying more than one million metric tons of material, would leave Cardenio, or Alcuinn, Auric or Oria, every hour for seven years.

The sheer brilliance and simple elegance of Rankin’s theories captivated the scientific community and the lay press with equal fervor. Rankin made the final presentation of his work before the Septadian Academy of Sciences, the most prestigious organization of higher learning in the galaxy. He finished in a mere sixteen minutes. Rommon Donnon-Don, President of the Academy, arose, walked toward Rankin, and extended her large seven-fingered left hand and small five-fingered right hand to grasp Rankin’s hands. With a smile and a look of sincere admiration, perfectly captured by the official photo of the event, she said, “Young man, I congratulate you. This is the discovery of the century.”

Experiments by independent investigators on Septadia, Ferron, Moroshe, and most importantly, in the laboratories of his skeptics on Oria, quickly confirmed Rankin’s theories and proved that virtual photons were in fact very real and could indeed be produced, measured and quantified.

But the proposal to build the Cube was another matter altogether. Pushing back the frontiers of science with theories about “virtual” sub-atomic particles that are in fact, real was one thing. The “discovery of the century” is certainly no small accomplishment. But proposing that an entire society, four billion people, devote their sweat and financial resources for almost a decade to a project based solely upon the recommendation of a twenty-one year old, was quite another matter.

There were plenty of skeptics. Much of the skepticism was healthy and constructive. But human nature (the generic term used for the nature of any sentient being) being what it is, a good deal was just plain jealousy. Much was due to greed: people who would not profit or thought they would lose from Rankin’s plan. Some was due to opportunism. Not surprisingly, much of the most shrill and sometimes downright vicious criticism came from people who were just plain stupid.

Rankin wanted to make a dramatic statement, so he arranged for a live demonstration that would be broadcast planet-wide. This would give him the opportunity to personally explain the virtual photons to everyone: how they were generated and how they could be used to study the black hole, and how the Cube would be constructed to beam the energy back to Oria. There was nothing better than a successful live demonstration to gain the support of the general public. And there was also nothing better than a successful demonstration to silence his legitimate, and especially his illegitimate, critics.

Rankin was young but not naïve. He knew how things worked, what made people tick, and how to get things done. He didn’t need to prove anything to his supporters. At the demonstration, all the prime spots were saved for his most vocal critics.

Rankin personally contacted the five most influential naysayers to extend his personal invitation for them to be his “special and honored” guests at the live demonstration. With the weak-minded, flattery can get you everywhere. All accepted immediately, not thinking through the consequences of what would happen if the young whipper-snapper were right and they were wrong.

Mozes Csomor and Omere Omerah were prominent politicians who had opposed Rankin’s proposal to build the Cube from the beginning. Csomor was basically an honest person, but character-wise and intellectually, was a light-weight: all glamour and no substance, an extrovert who made the most of her abilities.

She started as a fashion model. On Oria at the time, models weren’t the rail thin, walking clothes racks that we seem to prefer now, but really pretty women with sex appeal. They were the hottest chicks around; the men wanted to look at them and the women wanted to look like them. Models were used to sell everything. Csomor’s hair was naturally almost a peroxide-blond color, which she usually wore long and flowing over her shoulders. But sometimes she pulled it back to better highlight her big reddish eyes, eyelashes that seemed longer than the hair on most men’s heads, and her high cheek bones and thin but seductive lips.

Although not an intellectual, she wasn’t dumb either. She married a man two years younger, the debonair and equally handsome Cosmos Csomor, heir to a dendrite fortune. Csomor parlayed her blazing good looks, flirtatious charm, her husband’s money and influence, and her non-confrontational (how could you ever disagree with somebody so pretty?) personality into a successful political career.

Shortly after assuming office, as she was walking along the street giving on-the-run, off-the-cuff interview, a young reporter in the entourage yelled out, “Hey, chick-e-licious!”

Csomor stopped and gave him a glare that would make most grown men pee in their pants. The silence would make a complete vacuum sound noisy. Then she smiled and said, “Mrs. Chick-e-licious to you, boy.”

At age 52, Mrs C was still hot. Rankin would have preferred to just ignore Csomor, but she had enough influence and was so vocal in her criticism that she just had to be silenced.

The Orians are a very homogeneous race. Paleogenetic research showed that at one time there were at least five separate species of sentient beings on Oria. About fifty thousand years ago, just after the development of agriculture, a great plague, thought to be an influenza-like virus, completely wiped out four of the lines, leaving only about ten thousand survivors in the fifth. Except for those immigrants that have arrived since the development of space travel, all Orians are descendants of this small band of “Adam and Eve” survivors. Although there are dialects, there has always been only one written language on Oria. There are no gross physical differences in Orians, nothing that they consider a different race: no major difference in facial features, skin color, or body type. Individuals and small groups could harbor their own prejudices, but such things were usually not an issue on Oria.

But then along came Omere Omerah. On Oria the average male is 1.92 meters tall. For a monogamous species, the sexual dimorphism on Oria is surprisingly marked; the average female is about 20 percent smaller than the average male. Omerah was 1.44 meters. He was shorter than most females; as short as you could be without having a genetic problem, syndrome, disease, or look funny with some other sort of obvious problem, although it didn’t help that his ears were a little low-set.

If you disagreed with Omerah, it wasn’t because you might have a legitimately different opinion, but because he was short. He would first try a relatively subtle approach, often putting on the charm and schmooze. But if that didn’t work, he would suddenly—faster than you can switch on a light—turn aggressive and confrontational, and with a disdainful look say, “I’m offended. What do you have against us short people?” Most Orians were so cowed and intimidated by any accusation that they would be prejudiced over such a thing that Omerah usually got his way. If that didn’t work, he added that he was “outraged.” A few knew his hustle and couldn’t be intimidated; he just let them be and moved on to the next score. There was plenty of easy game out there for his intimidation-shakedown-shuck-and-jive.

Then a Senator, Omerah asked if Rankin would come to his office so they could meet. Rankin had no intention of coming hat-in-hand to be browbeaten, and he knew Omerah wouldn’t come to see him, so he suggested they meet at Hayvee University with President Seefur, a well-respected academic who also happened to be one of Rankin’s advisors.

As soon as the introductions were over, which included Omerah’s patented toothy smile, continuously-pumping hand shake and simultaneous slap on the back, which on taller men he could barely reach, he got down to the real business. “Son, you’re gonna need some uh my people to work on that Cube of yours. It’s just the easiest way to get things done,” he said flashing the pearly whites. With fanfare, Omerah pulled a folded paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to Rankin. “Hang on to that paper. Don’t lose it. It’s a list of the companies I always work with.”

Rankin just listened, trying to keep his look as neutral as possible, colder than a poker player, determined to give away nothing to the seasoned huckster.

Omerah finished with, “Son, I think you’ve got something here. I know we can work together to build that Cube.”

“Senator, I would like to thank you for coming today,” said Rankin sincerely but making sure not to imply any deference. “Would you do me the honor of being one of my personal guests at the demonstration we’ve scheduled?”

It’s hard to believe that such a young man could play Omerah like Edgar Bergen played Charlie McCarthy (and him not knowing it). Omerah beamed. “Well I’d be glad to, boy,” he replied. Omerah walked out of the room with a zip and a swagger, dead sure he had scored with Rankin. There was no way a good politician would pass up a chance to get free, planet-wide air time.

As soon as Omerah left, Rankin said, “President Seefur, what do you think?”

Seefur was obviously worried. “Odibee, don’t underestimate him,” he said shaking his head. “I’ve heard he can be a very dangerous man if he’s crossed. And—”

Rankin interrupted. He was angry, but controlled. “Did you noticed that he didn’t even show me the courtesy of calling me by my name? It was always ‘son this, or son that.’ I am not his son and he is not my father. He even called me ‘boy,’ said Rankin with a look that left no doubt he was really thoroughly upset and meant business. He then looked at Seefur and said, “He’ll wish he never messed with me.”

Rankin thought the meeting with Omerah was important enough that he devoted four paragraphs to it in A Memoir, but without of course, the final comment.

Joh Aht was Chairman of the General Mining Company. People joked that he had the shortest name of any CEO on the planet. GM (their ticker symbol) was the second largest mining and industrial concern on Oria. Aht was the typical head of a large and once-great corporation that was now approaching old age and senility: he was unimaginative, domineering in personality, and of course, lacking in substance. He wasn’t even that good an administrator. He was just a tenacious and adept bureaucrat, expert at boardroom politics, who had slain all opposition and hung around long enough to finally get the top job.

Aht was harsh and strident in his criticism of Rankin’s plan to build the Cube, saying it would cost his company 90 percent of its business He went around to the various GM plants, telling the workers they would all lose their jobs and their communities would turn into ghost towns. Had Aht and GM just accepted reality and changed with the times, as some of the other major corporations were able to do, they might still be in business.

Ka’tee Bowher was a newscaster/media personality who prior to Rankin produced only mediocre work at low-level positions. Because of a misinterpretation of facts, she made negative comments about Rankin. By the next day, her name seemed to be everywhere. Ka’tee was never the brightest kid in the class, her elevator didn’t go to the top floor, but she immediately realized that if she criticized Rankin, she could gain more airtime and notoriety than she ever hoped for (or deserved). She proved an absolute master of sensationalizing banal, illogical statements with her shrill invective, and repeating them so often that some people were actually starting to believe them. Her down-in-the-gutter sleaze-ball tactics were eventually made a case study in the ethics courses at many business schools on Oria.

She hit on the formula for her meteoric rise by asking people on the street their opinion of Rankin and his proposal to build the Cube. One man, an unemployed, near-toothless part-time mechanic, proceeded to raise his shirt and say, “See dis scar,” he said pointing to his chest, “I tuk a bullet fur Oria in duh last war with duh Grog. I’ll bet dat Rinkun,” he said, seeming almost confused, “er whatever dat guy’s name tist,” he said waving his arms, “don’t even shave once a week. ’L, he t’ain’t evun old ’nuff tuh drink a brewski. No way dis soldier’s doin’ any-thin’ fur dat little punk.”

(The man had a second, far more grizzly, wound on his left butt cheek, which Bowher’s editors had enough sense to edit out of the final report.)

Rankin’s last “honored” guest was The Most Glorious Reverend Gwessee Rakesohn. The only way to imagine the histrionics and flourish of how Rakesohn pronounced his title and his name is to think of the ring announcer in the Rocky movies. “The MOST” (with a booming crescendo:) “Gu-lor-ree-usss” (and then more subtly with almost a bow:) “Reverend,” (making sure to accentuate the final d) “Gwessee R-A-K-E-S-O-H-N.” (With the final N tailing off slowly as if to confirm the solemn and pious man that he was.)

Although the Orians are a moral people, they were never particularly inclined to religious worship. There were only four major religions on Oria, and only about half of the population believed in the existence of a supreme being. Rankin and almost all Orians believed in religious tolerance, and that included not having to detail one’s religious beliefs, and not imposing your beliefs on someone else.

Rankin never discussed his own beliefs publicly, stating he felt there was nothing more personal than how one chose to worship. In his heart, he held the beliefs of the pragmatic scientist that he was.

Rakesohn claimed his religion was “scientifically-based.” His group was small but dedicated, vocal, and surprisingly well-financed. Rakesohn purposefully cultivated those who had attained a high socioeconomic status not by intellect, hard work, or force of character, but through inheritance, pure luck (like lottery winners), or possessed an artistic or performing talent.

The group believed their God—WhoaohW—resided in the black hole. WhoaohW, pronounced slowly, with reverence, and with an accent on both “W”s, was infinite; he had no beginning or end. Even His name (it was impossible that WhoahW was female), was the same spelled backwards and forwards, further proof of His infinite knowledge and power.

The WhoaohWians felt an intimate relationship with their God. They would chant incessantly:

I am WhoaohW

WhoaohW is me

The black hole was black because no mortal could look upon the image of WhoaohW. The WhoaohWians believed that any attempt by a mortal to intrude on His Domain would cause the entire Universe to be sucked into the black hole and instantly destroyed. Rakesohn knew this for a fact because WhoaohW had told him so. He, and he alone, was in daily communication with WhoaohW, and was His Chosen Oracle. When an earnest but young and naïve reporter reminded Rakesohn that he had at least twice previously predicted the end of time, they were so viciously attacked, including being followed day and night, and some times even openly harassed, that the subject was mentioned no further.

Rankin knew he had to be very, very careful with Rakesohn. He needed to silence this critic, but do it in a way that did not appear he was intentionally insulting or demeaning anyone’s religious beliefs.

The time for the public demonstration had come. A successful demonstration would be the final step to unify public support for his proposal to build the Cube and silence his critics once and for all. Rankin had already conducted the experiments which confirmed his theories to the satisfaction of the scientific community. Over the previous week he had also performed three successful dry runs of the demonstration. He and his hand-picked team felt confident and worked so well together that instructions weren’t required; everyone knew their job.

The demonstration was held at mid-day. It was broadcast live on Oria and rebroadcast later that day on all of the major planets of the galaxy. The only event in our history of such significance observed by all of humanity at a preordained time was Neil Armstrong’s first steps on the moon. Per Rankin’s explicit instructions, there was no unnecessary hype: no pre-, or pre-pre-game shows, no over-the-top commercials made only for the event. He was concerned that if the program was too long, people might become bored and turned off, or even get irritated that their time was being wasted. Coverage began just ten minutes before the actual demonstration. Everyone knew the issues and their significance; there was no need for commentators. People would be sufficiently impressed by the results without a clueless, seemingly stoned commentator blubbering inanities such as, “Hey baby, look at that black hole,” or “Like, that was like, a most excellent virtual photon,” or “That dude Rankin’s kind of cute, and he really rocks.”

Rankin was dressed in a waist-length white lab coat over a white shirt and maroon bow tie, as was the fashion on Oria at the time. He was of slightly above average height with a build best described as wiry. Rankin wasn’t muscular, but his board-flat stomach and square shoulders attested to the fact he was disciplined in taking care of himself and that he considered his personal appearance to be important.

Overall, Rankin, the unquestioned greatest mind of his century, was just a very average-looking guy. He knew it and accepted reality. He wasn’t ugly, but he wasn’t handsome either. He didn’t have those dashing good looks that make the opposite sex come running or leave their phone number on his pillow. His lips were average lips, his forehead seemed a little prominent, and his nose actually a little big. On most other men that kind of a nose would detract from their looks, but on Rankin it somehow added a look of strength and masculinity. His reddish-brown hair was cut short with the front combed in a crown. He could have been a welder, a schoolteacher, an electrician, a fireman, a waiter, a writer, a musician, a physician, an engineer, or even a professional gambler. He just happened to be the greatest scientific genius of the century.

Rankin was an introvert: a shy man most comfortable when by himself and deep in thought. He was, to one degree or another, uncomfortable when in groups or giving talks. But he understood from an early age that the only way to get ahead was by interacting with people, so he worked almost as hard on his social skills as on his science.

Rankin had rehearsed what he would say word for word, with accompanying voice inflexions, body motions and facial expressions, all week until it was flawless. And then he rehearsed it some more. He later admitted he was still nervous, but it didn’t show; his speech was clear and concise, as organized as his thoughts.

Rankin first introduced the four scientists that would be assisting him with the experiment. Then he introduced his five “honored” guests: Aht, who finally realized he’d been had but it was too late to do anything about it, Bowher, who remained totally clueless, Rakesohn, Csomor, and finally Omerah. Standing the vertically-challenged Omerah next to the statuesque Csomor was no mistake; Rankin wanted to make him look like the runt that he was.

Rankin began to explain the experiment, supplemented by graphs and images, or live shots when appropriate. “We have placed one hundred powered satellites equal distance from each other 100 thousand kilometers from the event horizon. Each satellite is connected to the adjacent one by flaxnor cables, stronger than spider silk, to form a ring around the black hole. For the demonstration itself, we will send ten solid iron spheres, each one meter in diameter, through the event horizon at one second intervals. The virtual photons will enter and then come back out of the black hole, allowing us to follow the path of the iron spheres in their course toward the singularity at the center of the black hole. Because virtual photons travel several orders of magnitude, several log units, tens to hundreds times faster than the speed of light, the computers will process the data to correct for this effect and present it in a way easier to understand.

“Gravity slows time. The stronger the gravity, the more time is slowed. The computers are also programmed to factor in this gravity-time distortion, so that everything will appear in our time frame.”

Rankin continued to explain the demonstration in a methodical, scholarly way, yet with words and pictures easy for the lay person to understand. “The accretion disk around the black hole is composed of gases and particles coming from the star Mhairi and beyond, from anywhere in our solar system or even the galaxy, that are captured by the gravity of the black hole. These gases and particles become increasingly dense and move faster and faster,” explained Rankin with a twist of his finger, “spiraling as they approach the black hole. In the immediate vicinity of the event horizon, the pull of gravity is so strong that the particles can no longer maintain this spiral course.”

Bowher was scratching her head as she texted away to her boyfriend.

“In their last moments,” continued Rankin, “the particles can resist the immense gravity no longer and plunge straight toward and through the event horizon into the black hole. These same centrifugal forces cause the accretion disk to be flat.”

The camera switched to a real-time shot of the black hole and the accretion disk. “The farther away the gases are from the event horizon, the lower the frequency of their emitted electromagnetic radiation. As they approach the event horizon, the gases become more agitated, energized, giving off electromagnetic radiation—the scientific term for light—of increasingly higher frequencies. This gradient gives the accretion disk the appearance of a rainbow. The periphery, or outer boundary, is red, the spectrum of colors then passing through orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, with the innermost area of the disk appearing violet.”

Switching back to a diagram, Rankin said, “To prevent the gases and accretion disk from interfering with our demonstration, the ring of satellites are a hundred meters above the plain of the accretion disk.”

A few perceptive people noted that Rankin used the possessive rather than the generic throughout the demonstration: “we” and “our” instead of “the.” He also made sure everyone knew it was “his” demonstration.

“Another flaxnor cable runs from each satellite toward the black hole,” he said. “Because of the immense gravitational pull these cables will remain taut and totally motionless. The ring of satellites will move in the same direction and at the same speed as the swirl, allowing them to maintain a synchronous orbit relative to the black hole. At the end of each cable are two, one-meter square mirrors fastened in parallel with the mirrored surfaces inward,” said Rankin, making a hand motion similar to putting two pieces of bread together to make a sandwich, “facing each other, separated by a distance of just one micron. With the mirrors so close, the Casimir Effect will facilitate the generation and orientation of the virtual photons. Because of the tremendous amount of energy required to maintain the stability of the system, the mirrors will be slowly lowered to their final position ten meters from the event horizon just moments before the demonstration will begin.”

Not one in a million people had ever heard of the Casimir Effect before Rankin mentioned it. By the next day it was all over the papers and taught in all of the beginning physics courses. It was also quickly picked up by the rag sheets, radio call-in talk shows, tweeters and frompers with comments such as: “How to prevent the Casimir Effect from hurting your children,” to “You must have your home scanned for stray Casimir rays.” Plaintiff’s attorney immediately realized the potential: “If you or a loved one has been harmed by the Casimir Effect, you may be eligible for monetary damages. We don’t get paid unless you get paid. Call 1-999-Casimir immediately: trained legal operators are standing by to take your call.”

Rankin continued on, “The virtual-real photon pair will be generated by passing a precisely aimed laser pulse from the satellite toward the black hole through the one-micron space between the mirrors. By producing the virtual-real photons in such proximity to the black hole, they will be immediately pulled through the event horizon before they can cancel each other out—before they can annihilate. Because the laser pulse is directed at the black hole, the vector of generation ensures the photon pair will be directed toward the event horizon. The pair will then travel almost to the singularity at the center of the black hole. The real photon will be absorbed into the particle soup of the singularity, but because of gravitational repulsion, the virtual photon will be expelled back through the event horizon, where we can detect it with the sensors attached to the mirrors.”

Rankin finished his explanatory presentation with how the information obtained would allow him to study the black hole, and how the Cube would generate the energy and beam it back to Oria.

He then showed two images. The first was of the Cube as it would appear in space, completely surrounding the binary.

The second was the real shop-stopper: the Cube as it would appear from Oria. There were even “ohs” and “ahs” from those in the laboratory as the image came on the screen. His audience visualized looking up at the sky, and always there, day and night, month after month, year after year, century after century, seeing a structure five times larger around the sun, making it look like a face on a television screen. The largest inhabitant of the Orian heaven: and it was man-made. Rankin did what only the truly great can do; he captured people’s imagination. Rankin then switched to the matter at hand, the experiment to study the inside of the black hole. There was a live image from a camera atop one of the satellites. He said, “These ten metal spheres that will enter the black hole were released four hours ago from a space station on the side of the black hole opposite the star Mhairi.”

Three minutes before the first sphere was to enter the black hole, the cameras began to switch alternately from the spheres as they raced toward the black hole to Rankin’s continued explanation of the demonstration.

Revealing what he already knew under the guise of a prediction, Rankin began, “This is a schematic representation of what we expect will be the behavior, course and path of the spheres after they disappear from our direct view into the black hole beyond the event horizon.”

As long as they lived, everyone remembered what they were doing, how old they were, where they lived, and their exact thoughts when the great Rankin conducted the demonstration that unlocked the secrets of the black hole and initiated the modern history of Oria. His controlled emotions, simple yet precise, and some said, authoritative explanation, along with his modest and sincere behavior inspired confidence in this and every future generation of Orians. To see this young man explaining theories that were about to change an entire civilization, and the galaxy, in the manner he did was a singular event never forgotten by those fortunate enough to witness it.

With exactly one minute to go, the paired mirrors had reached their final position. The lasers, suddenly glowing bright red, shot their invisible yet precisely-aimed beams at the one micron space between the mirrors. The computer screen displaying the demonstration filled the entire field of view. The black hole, with the event horizon highlighted by a yellow line similar to the first down line added to the football game, was at the center but occupied only one-half the screen. On the upper right, the camera followed in real time the metal spheres as they approached the black hole.

Rankin stopped talking. Everyone was silent as the countdown clock noted: five—four—three—two—one—zero.

The first metal sphere passed the yellow line of the event horizon. It disappeared instantly: ZAP, it was gone. Now there were nine spheres. ZAP: now eight. ZAP, ZAP, ZAP, ZAP, ZAP, ZAP, ZAP, ZAP. All gone, disappeared.

The instant a sphere crossed the event horizon it began to accelerate and simultaneously decrease in size. In just 0.0000016 seconds it was gone. The recordings had to be replayed at one-ten millionth speed to appreciate the findings. In barely more than ten seconds, all the spheres had disappeared to the center of the black hole, their exact course plotted to the nanosecond.

Within four minutes the computers had plotted a gravitational, thermal, and topographical map of the black hole. There were no alternate universes, no worm holes to other ends of the galaxy, and no evidence of the past or the future, as some well-respected scientists had predicted. There were also no three-headed aliens, or King Kong or Godzilla-like monsters. From the event horizon to the singularity, it was a vacuum.

In just one more minute the computer calculated the most important number of all: the volume of the singularity. It was ten to the minus thirty-three centimeters, a one preceded by a decimal point and thirty-two zeros. An unimaginably small area, a churning soup of subatomic particles that contained a mass more than three times the star Mhairi.

The findings were displayed next to Rankin’s predictions. Everything. Absolutely everything was exactly as Rankin had predicted.

The camera flashed to Rankin. He never looked directly at the audience or into the camera, but instead kept his eyes on the screen. Some thought he had the slightest of smiles. It was not a gloat, just the look of satisfaction that he had done what he set out to do, what he told everyone he would do. Rankin nodded his head several times but said nothing. Nothing needed to be said. Words would have only detracted from the obvious, from his triumph.

The camera showed the “honored” guests. At first everyone was silent; they really couldn’t believe what they had seen. But then the stunning Csomor, to her everlasting credit, started to clap…X…X…X…X. She was joined by Omerah. The clapping got louder and faster...XX..XX..XX..XX. Then Bowher, then the scientists, then everyone…everyone everywhere—in the schools, the factories, the shops, people at home—they began to cheer, to raise up their arms, to hug each other, to dance. Outside the large cities, the roar could be heard ten kilometers away.

Rankin had unlocked the secrets of the power of the black hole.

But WhoaohW was nowhere to be found. Everyone knew Rakesohn was utterly humiliated—except Rakesohn. He wasn’t silenced or even humbled. When interviewed after the demonstration, he was as vocal as ever. Holding up both hands as if preaching a sermon, he said with the gravest of voices, “I knew we wouldn’t see The Great WhoaohW.” He put his right hand over his heart, and bowed his head slightly, and said, “To me this is just further proof of His existence, His presence, and of His Almighty Power. WhoaohW was not seen because he would not allow himself to be seen.”

The demonstration had profound implications far beyond Rakesohn, Rankin, WhoaohW, and the black hole. It appears it is easier to prove there is not a god than to prove there is one.