Excerpt: Future Perfect

Marcus Whitney awoke, cold and naked, alone. His body ached as he shook himself into consciousness. His mouth was dry and sandy. His skin was sticky with blood and dirt. Wounds on his arms and legs started throbbing with a dull pain that seemed all too familiar now.
He found himself partially buried in debris. The thin twilight filtered through a haze of dust and smoke, allowing him to survey his surroundings, which included one intact brick building, and a dozen or so utterly destroyed. Apparently, fragments of one laid on top of him, pinning him in what otherwise would have been a comfortable, almost upright sitting position. He tested his arms, and found that, while they did move, doing so caused searing apin to shoot through the side of his chest. He found small comfort in the fact that his right ear was still working, although there was little to hear except for the low crackling of burning debris.
And then he heard a scream. It was primal, filled with sorrow and rage. It told him that someone was alive, and also, that someone was dead. From the look of things, perhaps dozens were dead. From the smell of things, perhaps hundreds.
The scream betrayed the emotions of what Marcus presumed was a woman, and it also betrayed her location. For shortly thereafter, Marcus heard footfalls of perhaps two or three people, some shouting in an unknown language. Then he heard another cry, and then the unmistakable sound of a gunshot.
There was some more shouting, and then silence. Marcus could see nothing. After a silence of a few minutes, Marcus heard the thunderous clamor of a few dozen boots marching in unison. They came to a stop nearby, but still out of sight. Soldiers. Someone barked out orders, again unintelligible to him, and the footsteps seemed to scatter in response. Presumably, the orders were to search, because just then Marcus saw a human being for the first time in...how long had it been?
The soldiers started to come into his lines of sight. They wore olive-colored uniforms, and, compared to Marcus, were of a slight build, and not very tall. They crept slowly from one pile of rubble to the next, shifting direction on occasion, to cover as much ground as possible. Marcus assessed his own pile of rubble, and hoped more than guessed that it was enough cover for him. The soldiers were not digging, just holding their automatic weapons at the ready and trying not to make too much noise.
A tense hour and no less than five gun shots later, the soldiers were gone. And yet Marcus knew that his situation was desperate. He was in enemy territory now. These soldiers did not speak his language, and they did not look like him at all. He was no longer safe here. And yet he couldn't move. Or could he?
His arms were functional, so he cleared some debris from his legs. He found that he was not pinned after all, but that one leg was so badly damaged that he could no longer feel it or control it. The other seemed to work, and he used it to kick away the rest of the debris. In the struggle to crawl free of the mass of brick and planks, he discovered more wounds and broken bones, at least two of them ribs.
The sun was up now. It shined meekly through the almost toxic atmosphere. Marcus spent the better part of a half hour rigging a splint around his broken leg and fashioning some makeshift crutches. There were no signs of soldiers anywhere. Marcus guessed that they had cleared out of the area and moved on to secure another neighborhood or another town. There was one building still standing. Was there a contingency left in it? Was it booby trapped? Was there anything useful left in it? He badly needed water, medical attention, and rest. And so Marcus was faced with the first difficult decision of the rest of his life. There would be many more to come, and far more difficult.

The entire town was razed. Bodies lay everywhere. None of them were clad in uniform. Whatever was going on, Marcus had found himself in the middle of total war. There was only one safe course of action in such a situation: get out of civilization. And so Marcus wandered away from the town. His head was too foggy to think, so he was operating on raw instinct. His instinct told him to find running water. He came to a small footbridge on the outskirts of what was left of the town, and proceeded to follow the body of water downstream, away from the carnage and destruction, and into the lush forest overgrowth. He was in search of safety, clean water, and sustenance.
Far off in the distance, Marcus heard the rumble of canons and automatic weapons fire. The fighting had resumed. The carnage would continue. But Marcus felt he was walking away from the noise, and so he continued for several hours, well into the evening, until the forest opened up onto a small lake and what appeared to be a village. The smoke rising up from it was not from burning buildings or bodies, but from the daily necessities of life. Marcus felt an overwhelming sense of relief, followed by light-headedness, and then he collapsed into darkness, unconscious.

Marcus awoke again, clothed, warmed, cleaned, and hungry. He was lying on a thick wool blanket covering a bed of straw. Someone had dressed his wounds and had applied a bamboo and cloth splint to his leg. The sweet smell of rabbit stew filled the small hut, and the murmur of his hosts filled his ears. Both ears seemed to work now, although he suspected not at full capacity.
He also noticed that he could not understand a word of what was being said. It was nasal, and completely foreign. He did understand the universal language of the body, and the invitation to partake of a fulfilling meal did not need to be repeated. A young girl smiled at him and gestured toward a bowl just out of Marcus' view. He tried to sit up, and winced in pain. The girl's smile turned to pity. She quickly shuffled over to his bedside and lifted the bowl to him. He nodded slightly to thank her and held her gaze. She quickly looked away and returned to her place beside her mother. Or aunt? Or sister? He ate in silence, awaiting the inevitable, and likely fruitless, attempts at communication that were sure to come.
It was dark outside when two males came into the hut and to his bedside. He could see them dimly in the light of the oil lamp. They seemed cautious, but not at all hostile. they began speaking quietly in their native tongue, and when Marcus did not respond, they began to gesticulate, and repeat themselves. Marcus understood nothing of the words they spoke, and the gestures did not clarify anything for him. Just then a distant sound of thunder interrupted the stillness of the night. Marcus knew it was not thunder.
And then one of the men mimicked the action of a machine gun. Marcus smiled, and repeated "rifle" and "gun". But how could he explain what was so important? That he had seen the soldiers five hours away in a small town, that the town was now destroyed, that the soldiers moved off west, while he went north, that he didn't know if he was spotted or followed? He had no common ground, no shared experience. No way to mime these abstract concepts. He didn't even know who the enemy was, or what side, if any, he was on.
The men soon ran out of steam, and their enthusiasm waned. Their determination to communicate soon turned to exasperation. They both sighed, and the older one grasped Marcus' hand in his own. He said a few more words, nodded his head, and they both left Marcus to his thoughts and his pain. He thought of the simplicity of this place. There were no guns or machinery. There was a black pot in the center of the hut, and some crude metal implements nearby. This seemed to be a farming village. These people probably cultivated rice along the lake, which, upon reflection, Marcus surmised, was more likely a river. Their way of life had probably been untouched for generations. What was to become of them now? Did the soldiers care about this insignificant village? Would they wreak their vengeance upon these simple people? Was there anything he could possibly do to help them defend themselves? Would they even try to defend themselves? Soon his exhaustion betrayed him, and he slept again, and dreamed.

Morning came too quickly. Marcus awoke to the sound of loud, agry, hurried voices. he understood nothing of it, but some of the voices were familiar. They were pleading. There was much repetition; perhaps these people didn't understand each other either? And then one word grabbed his attention, because he did understand it: "gaijin". Foreigner. Someone was shouting it over and over. And then he heard a deafening gunshot. And then screams. There would be no time for reflection now, and no time to worry about what might happen to the village. It was happening right now.
He hobbled to his feet, wiht one hand grabbed a bamboo crutch that had been placed near his bed, and with the other, a small hand sickle. For better or worse, he went outside to confront his aggressors. He saw the younger male from the previous night lying on the ground, his head a mass of blood and gore. A single gunshot wound; one simple piece of lead, and thus one dead body, and one destroyed family. Defiance has a price when you have no power.
One of the men in uniform noticed Marcus coming out of the hut, spoke and pointed. Two soldiers moved to grab him. Apparently they didn't notice what Marcus was holding. He had one shot, and he took it. He swung the sickle at the neck of the first soldier to reach him. It was in vain, for the soldier easily sidestepped the blow, swung his rifle up and slammed the butt into Marcus' skull. He fell to the ground and didn't try to move. He was now helpless and at the complete mercy of his agressors.
He was surprised when they didn't attempt to kill him. They did tie his hands and led him by a rope fastened tightly around his neck. He quietly followed two soldiers away from the village, eastward, as they walked away, he heard more gunshots. He dared not look back.

Marcus rode in the back of a truck for two days. He and a dozen other prisoners took turns resting. Sleep was near impossible on this bumpy road, every few minutes a pothole throwing everyone up off the floor of the truck and into the air. The roof was a thick canvas and the rear doors barred shut. Once, the truck stopped and two soldiers opened the door. They shouted incomprehensibly, and no one responded. The soldiers continued to shout, and pointed at the floor, where a dead prisoner lay. A few of the men pushed the corpse toward the back of the truck, and rolled it out onto the ground. The soldiers then locked up, and the truck moved on.
Apart from refueling stops, the truck continued on its journey day and night. In the day time, Marcus could barely make out the faces of his fellow prisoners. They were all men, and did not look like the villagers or the soldiers. They were bruised and bloodied, and dirty, but unmistakably western faces. Few of them talked, and then only murmurs to themselves. Marcus recognized none of the words.
Early one morning, there was a decided change in the atmosphere. The air was noticably salty and humid, even through the stench of the prisoners. And then the truck stopped. Soldiers herded the prisoners, not without a few blows from the butts of their rifles, out of the truck and along a plank to a ship waiting on the ocean. They were disrobed and locked in a sort of empty tank, with an open roof looking onto the sky. From above, a soldier lowered a bucket of water via a rope. The prisoners eagerly, but fairly, drank the entire amount, and the soldier raised the bucket back up. He then proceeded to spray the prisoners with a white powder, shouting more words at them. Then he left them alone to wait.
An hour later, the ship pulled out of port, and a half hour after that, the prisoner's tank started to fill up with sea water. It rushed in with an overwhelming force through a giant opening. The prisoners took the opportunity to wash the powder and dirt and blood off their bodies. Some of the injured men just lay on the floor, holding up their heads, and tried not to drown.
After the makeshift bath, Marcus noticed a change in the demeanor and bearing of his captors. The prisoners were lead away to separate quarters, an apparent triage taking place, with very badly wounded removed first. Marcus was injured, but serviceable, so he was taken sixth or seventh. An unarmed soldier led him to a bunk where a nurse met him and cleaned and dressed his wounds. He even stitched Marcus back together in a few places along his leg. The nurse left, and Marcus was locked up, alone with his thoughts.

A day later, the sea journey was over, and Marcus found himself riding, clothed and shackled, in the back of an open air horse-drawn cart, with one soldier beside him. And for the first time, a soldier addressed him in Marcus' native tongue.
"So tell me, what is your name?"
Marcus saw no advantage in being difficult just now. "My name is Marcus Whitney. What is yours?"
"My name is not important," said the soldier. "You probably won't ever see me again after today. But you can call me Li."
Marcus frowned. He clearly looked confused. The soldier smiled at him and spoke again.
"No, it is not a Japanese name. You may consider me a traitor, but in times like these, we do what we must to survive."
"Tell me," Marcus asked, "what is your job then? You are not armed, and, while I am chained to this cart, I am the only prisoner here."
"You imply more questions than you ask," said the soldier. "But I will answer them all. You see, you are a high value prisoner. You are clearly an American spy working with the Chinese in preparation for an American entry into this...conflict. You will be taken to the interrogation center, where our experts will...extract...relevant information from you.
"As you guessed, I am Chinese, which explains why I have no rifle. It is forbidden. My job is to befriend you, gain your trust, as we are both outsiders, and acquire useful information for your interrogators."
"Then why," said Marcus, "will I not see you after today? Surely you will need more than a few hours to gain my trust?"
"You see, Marcus, I am little more than a...chauffeur. I live under threat of internment or death at any instant. The value of my life rises with any small amount of information I get from you. In fact, even though you are in chains, your value to Japan is higher than mine even. Because where you are going, no Chinese are allowed."
"Perhaps we can help each other then," said Marcus. "What is the Japanese word for 'Armageddon'?"

Marcus awoke to luxury. He had been driven through the bustling city to a villa situated somewhat higher than most of the buildings and houses and shops he had passed. Motor cars were the norm in this area. People walked less busily to an fro in their more refined attire. And the villa he was escorted to was exquisite. Simple in it's Japanese way, but clearly this was not a prison. At least, not in the conventional sense.
He was covered in a cool silk, and the bedsheets he lay on were of the same material. Breakfast awaited him nearby. The smell of tea filled the room. He could see the outline of a woman, probably the one who served his meal, waiting patiently outside his door. After about fifteen minutes, she entered with a bowed head, and took away his plates, only to return shortly, speak something in Japanese, and then hold out her hand. He obliged her by taking her hand in his, and she led him away out of the room.
For the next seven days, his hosts treated Marcus to the finest of Japanese life. They bathed him daily. Fed him thrice daily. Meditated with him twice daily. They gave him complete access to the villa and the gardens. And what gardens they were! Their sublimeness seemed to ease his pain and calm his mind more than any salve or medication could.
Not once did anyone attempt to speak to Marcus in his own language, at least not until the seventh day. At breakfast, his now familiar attendant spoke up.
"How do you feel?" she said.
"I feel like you are keeping me a prisoner, albeit the the cell is more akin to heaven," replied Marcus.
"My deepest apologies to you. It is for your own good. You see, it cleanses you physically, mentally and spiritually. And it is the law. It is necessary for everyone in your position to go through this process."
"In my position?" asked Marcus, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes." She hesitated, a puzzled look on her face. Then her frown gave way to a faint smile, and she said, "Oh! Did they not tell you? You have been granted an audience with the emperor!"

Marcus stepped through the tall doors and into the presence of a living deity.
Here, Japanese architecture gave way to an old European style of tall doors, tall windows, bookshelves and desks and chairs. All opulent, and befitting a god, but decidedly not Japanese. Marcus approached the emperor, who was flanked by a soldier and a man in a suit holding a notebook. The emperor waved Marcus to a chair, and Marcus sat down. At the insistence of another hand gesture, the soldier left the room.
The emperor then spoke. "You are bad luck. Tell me why I should not feed you to the ocean?"
"I would not presume to question your prerogative in these matters," spoke Marcus. "My life is inconsequential. However, as supreme ruler of your people and a living deity on Earth, your actions over the coming years will dictate the fate of nations for centuries."
"So you admit that America has no stomach for war? You admit that Japan will rise supreme in the east, unchecked by the meek western powers?" said the emperor.
"I do not speak for the United States, or any western power for that matter," said Marcus. "I am but a humble servant of humanity."
The emperor displayed no outward sign of frustration. "Then why are you here, American? Why do you meddle in the affairs of Japan? Why do you cavort with the filthy Chinese?"
"I mentioned a word to one of my...hosts...a few days ago," said Marcus. "It seems to have changed my situation considerably." He hesitated, careful not to seem questioning, but giving the emperor a chance to interject.
"Yes," said the emperor. "We have people in advantageous positions across the entire world. We know what is being said and discussed and even considered. It is fantasy."
"If I may offer you the merest of thoughts in my mind right now," said Marcus. "I know that you honor your people and your land above all else. Your race will contribute to the future of this world in ways not yet imaginable. Your purpose, and that of your people, is far nobler than you presently know. There is only one way for you to ensure your supremacy and that of your people. There will come a time when you are called on to make a decision between two evils. It is written that there is always a third choice."
Marcus paused again, allowing the emperor to interrupt.
"I grow impatient with your riddles. You are here for a purpose. Say it, and be done with it. Do not think of offending my office."
"As you wish," said Marcus. "There will come a time when America does join this conflict. It is inevitable. All nations will soon choose sides. The conflict is brewing everywhere. It is also inevitable that there will be destruction and chaos on a level heretofore unimaginable. The stories you hear are not fantasies. These are not firebreathing dragons from children's tales."
"Your attempts at intimidation are weak and vain," said the emperor. "Why do you waste your life on such trifles?"
"I am not here to threaten you," said Marcus. "In fact, just the opposite. I am here to embolden you. It is critical, not just for yourself and your people, but for the entire future of humanity, that, when the time comes, you do not fall prey to dragons."
Marcus bowed his head.
"You are bad luck!" cried the emperor. "May you live a long, healthy life, far, far away from mine. Begone!"

Lise Meitner was tired. She had been working all day and all through the evening in a poorly lit room filled with various scientific apparatus: boards with wires, vacuum tubes, ore samples, and batteries all arranged neatly but chaotically in a fashion only a scientist could appreciate. She was an experimental physicist, which meant long hours of carefully planned experiments, accurate, detailed observations, and even longer hours analyzing and interpreting data sets. And lots of notes. Sure, she had lab assistants, but for the last four years she had been chasing the most elusive prize in all of chemistry and physics combined: the creation of a new element of matter. And she was determined to be there when it happened.
The chance of a Nobel prize was no small incentive, as well. Surely, if simply discovering and isolating an element was enough to earn critical acclaim, then creating an element in the lab should be sufficient reason to be awarded science's highest honor. She knew of at least three other teams of researchers working on the very same problem, and she welcomed the challenge.
One of her team members, the incomparable chemist, Otto Hahn, was also working late. They were in the middle of summarizing their observations for the day, when their assistant, and final third of their core team, Fritz Strassman, entered the lab, clearly shaken. Fritz was no less than a genius, but he was the rare type of genius that also had a strong moral compass, and a firm connection to the world around him. So it was no surprise that he would be the bearer of the latest political developments.
"Lise," he said, "it is done! Hitler himself has entered Austria. Your native land is no more!"
"Fritz," she replied, "please, calm down. Get ahold of yourself. Tell me what is this all about?"
Strassman took a deep breath and sighed deeply. He was exhausted. He had worked the hardest of all three, performing dozens of chemical analyses and overseeing all the chemist assistants, and all for half pay. His political sensitivity had led him several years earlier to resign his position in protest of the rise of the Nazi party, and since had suffered under the subsequent blacklisting. Both Meitner and Hahn had recognized his brilliance, and asked him to join their team. And now, political events had caught up to him again, albeit indirectly, through Lise.
"Hitler has entered Austria on the heels of the German army," explained Strassman. "He has declared Austria a province, and has revoked its sovereignty."
Lise was taken aback at the suddenness of the move, if not the boldness. She had suspected this would happen, but not so quickly. Or had she? She had been so buried in her research that the last few months had gone by far too quickly. The Nazi momentum, it seems, had built to a crescendo.
"Tell us, Fritz, what else have you heard?"
"It is exactly as we have all feared, Lise," Fritz said. "Wide-scale arrests are being made. There is little fighting, thank God, but reports come in of thousands being arrested and incarcerated."
After a long silence, Otto Hahn interjected. "You of course know what this means, Lise."
"Yes. Austria is no longer sovereign. Which means my passport is worthless. I am no longer a citizen of Austria."
"But..."
Lise cut off Strassman with a hint of contempt in her voice. "But nothing. Austria has let this happen. You say little fighting? Where is the resistance? Where is the Austrian army to defend her citizens? You see, the political situation there has been deteriorating for years. It was only a matter of time before the Nazis took over. However, I didn't think they'd allow it to happen this way.
"And yes, now that Austria no longer exists, I have no inherent protection now. I am, or will soon be, a German Jew. And as such, I won't be the Director of the Kaiser Wilhelm Institute for Chemistry for much longer."
Lise could always count on Otto to be pragmatic. He did not disappoint this time. "You have some time, Lise," he said. "We can help to make arrangements for you. I hear The Netherlands is nice this time of year."
"Damn it Otto! Why did I get caught up in all this? I should have left the country years ago, and taken Strassman with me, after the Society of German Chemists incident. We'd be sitting in a lab in Copenhagen, or Stockholm, and you'd be reading our recently published work on the creation of transuranic elements! Instead, I've put five years of atomic research in the hands of a raving lunatic and a band of equally insane terrorist brutes. My only consolation is that all the good it will do Hitler is give him one more reason to gloat about the intellectual superiority of his nation. It certainly won't help him oppress the people of Europe any more efficiently. That is, assuming we can actually get this experiment to work."
Lise had settled down a bit, and continued. "Otherwise, I may as well leave for Amsterdam in the morning."

Lise Meitner had been in Stockholm for just a few short months, but it seemed like forever. So much had changed in so short a period of time. But, being a experimental scientist, she was used to that. It was the nature of discovery. She was safe in Stockholm, but isolated from all that was important to her. Hahn, Strassman, her lab, her life work. She was starting over. But recent events had thrown the entire scientific community into chaos. And the inevitable consequence, even though it may take several more years, was the potential for the entire geopolitical structure to fall into the same sort of chaos. And that not only paralyzed her, it terrified her.
Lise had received word from her old team of Hahn and Strassman that their experiments had been concluded. They needed help interpreting the results, because they were absolutely incredulous about what they had discovered. Lise, first and foremost a scientist, was eager to help, and help she did. She was able to recognize what Strassman and Hahn had done, and it was completely opposite to what they were trying to achieve. Rather than creating new, larger elements by bombarding uranium with neutrons, they had actually split a uranium atom into smaller elements!
This alone did not trouble her, for radioactive decay was a well known phenomenon. Rather, what troubled her was the observation of large quantities of energy released during the process. She had worked out all the numbers, and there could be no other conclusion: they had, in the process of splitting the uranium atom, destroyed some of the matter, turning it directly into energy. Her nephew, a well respected physicist in his own right, and no longer under the influence of the Nazi regime, independently confirmed this. Hahn had published, and after Lise had made her findings widely known, it wasn't long before scientists all across europe were shifting their work along these lines.
The potential applications were astonishing: given enough uranium ore, perhaps even refined and purified, one could convert just a small amount into enough energy to power entire cities. This was purely theoretical, but she knew that great scientific advancements always had humble beginnings.
What troubled her was the timing of this discovery. The world had become very hostile, and very polarized. She witnessed first hand the rise of fascism. War was raging in the Pacific rim, and threatening to spread further into Asia. Whole nations had become military factories, devoting most of their national output to engines of war. Nationalism and racism were the normal, accepted paradigms of thought. And now, in a small lab, with no more than a few chemical reactions as proof, Lise Meitner and a handful of others had laid the groundwork for what could be the most devastating weapon ever imagined. But could it ever be practical to develop a weapon from simple uranium and a steady stream of neutrons? Could science develop techniques for more accurate refining? Would it require more uranium than can be mined or even transported? Would scientists even be willing to put their knowledge to work in support of such awful weapons?
Lise knew that, if history was any indication, the answer to that last question was affirmative. For every scientist forced out of work because of her conscience, ten more were waiting to take her place. It was an odd coincidence, especially in such a watershed moment as this, that she sat pondering these questions in Stockholm, home to the late Alfred Nobel, founder of the prize she so coveted, which can, in a stroke, validate one's life work; and also the inventor of a safe, stable form of nitroglycerin, in the form of dynamite. Even Nobel's vision of safe, constructive applications of his invention had been co-opted by the military.

And so, after a few more months of war, escalating tensions, persecution, the endless march of Nazism, and dozens of the brightest minds working to experimentally produce a viable fission chain reaction, Lise received an ominous, yet somehow expected, letter. It was from a colleague she had come to know and admire, Leo Szilard. He had been working in America for some time now, and had admired Ms. Meitner's contributions to the fissioning process. He informed her that he had made great progress with regard to the problem of the chain reaction. He also informed her that he was working on a certain project with the American government that he believed would greatly interest her. He said that she would need to come to America but she would be given a lab and staff and a higher, nobler purpose for he research.
So this is it, she thought. This is my crossroads. This is also the world's crossroads, although I suspect they do not realize it, yet. The race had begun. What started as a pure, scientific endeavor, a healthy competition amongst scientific colleagues all those years ago, had escalated far beyond her control, to a race for political and military supremacy. Granted, still a highly theoretical one, but a global arms race nonetheless. Her colleague Hahn was still in Germany, along with dozens of other brilliant chemists and physicists, and they would surely be working on a project for the Nazi regime. Hahn the pragmatist, she thought. He never did have the stomach for conflict.
And she knew of dozens who had fled to Britain and America, and who were continuing to pursue the chain reaction.
No, this was not the reason she became a scientist. And it was certainly not, despite any rationalization to the contrary, in the best interests of humanity.
She tore up the letter, and threw it into the fire.

Klaus Fuchs sat on a bench in the park near his flat, tossing cracked corn to the pidgeons around him. He felt oddly at peace with himself, at this moment, as he waited for his contact to arrive.
He had gotten used to committing high treason, so casually, and out in the open. It was at times like these when he could clear his mind of the abstract mathematical constructs that filled his head all day long, and even haunted his sleep. It allowed him to ponder more meaningful, political and social issues.
His outward demeanor was calm, but his thoughts kept coming back to prison. Six months as a prisoner, held without charge, by the government who had given him refuge from Germany's oppressive government all those years ago. He thought it ironic that he could flee the fascism of one nation, and later fall victim to the same mentality of fear in a so-called "democracy".
Moreover, he was persecuted for his political views in Germany, while Britain had imprisoned him simply for being German. He wasn't quite sure which was worse.
To add further insult, Britain had released him only after someone told them how valuable he could be to the war effort. He did not rate highly as a human being, but as a tool for destruction and victory, his superior intellect was a passport to freedom. In fact, they had even given him British citizenship in the process!
But he had forgiven most of these things. He had also given up any hope of making Britain his home in the long term. Soviet Russia was looking better with every passing day, but the war precluded this as an option, for now.
For now, he would wait, and work. And continue to pass state secrets to his contact at the Soviet Embassy in London, who in fact was casually approaching the bench on which he sat.
"Morning!"
"And good day to you, sir!" Fuchs always kept things impersonal. After his initial contact two years ago, he dispensed with the formal challenge/password greeting that KGB insisted on, much to the dismay of the Soviet agent.
"Weather is clearing," said the agent. Fuchs recognized this as code for "I've scanned the area and no one is around listening in on us."
"Enough with your damned silly code, comrade," Fuchs said.
"It is for your own protection, my friend. You see, I have a certain level of diplomatic protection, whereas you..."
Fuchs didn't need to be reminded that his citizenship granted him only marginally better protection than his previous status. "Yes, it is all for my own good. If I were only thinking of myself, I wouldn't be sitting on a park bench right now committing treason, would I?"
The agent kept his cool, as usual. He was a trained professional, after all. "Is there anything else?"
"As a matter of fact," said Fuchs, "there is. I've just been reassigned. To America."
This was enough to startle the agent. He covered it with a false cough.
"Yes, it's quite shocking. They are sending me to Columbia University. Most of the weapons-based research is being transferred to America. They are quite intent on actually getting a bomb working in the next year or so. There are far too many practical considerations to work out, but..."
The agent coughed again, quite violently. "Looks like rain," he said.
"You and your damned weather reports," said Fuchs. "Regardless..." He paused, allowing a couple to pass by. "I'll assume that you will have another contact for me in New York. Don't worry, thus far, the Americans have given us full disclosure, so you will still have plenty to keep you busy on this side."
Fuchs stood up, leaving a small brown envelope in his place. He bundled his jacket, and casually walked out of the park and toward the market, his head again filled with equations and formulas.

The desert was cold at night. The sun had not yet threatened to crest the horizon, but the sheer excitement felt in this group of scientists patiently waiting in a bunker in the middle of New Mexico was palpible, and nobody complained about the temperature.
Ten miles off to the northeast, atop a sixty foot tower, sat the culmination of five years of dedicated research and literally millions of man-hours of work. Encased in a steel shell, wrapped in several tons of strategically placed explosives, sat just thirteen pounds of refined plutonium.
Robert Oppenheimer stood alone, calmly listening to the rain gently fall onto the roof of the bunker. Lightning flashed intermittently outside. Nothing could happen until the weather cleared. Oppenheimer could take credit for all the progress thus far: he was the Scientific Director of the entire atomic weapon project. As such, he would be responsible for any failure as well. Certain elements of the American military leadership were relying more and more on the outcome of this test to determine their strategic direction in the war. Many argued that a strong show of force could, in one fell swoop, act as a deterrent big enough to stop all hostilities almost immediately. Casualties were mounting on all sides. Millions of deaths in the last six years of fighting, and, while the tide was turning on the European fronts, apparently the Pacific fronts were being fought to a stalemate. Oppenheimer felt pressure from the highest levels to put a working bomb in the hands of the military. He knew they were discussing the feasibility of an attack on Japan; many even wanted to drop it on a civilian target. He feared that those in favor of such a heinous act would win out in the end.
Just then a young physicist, part of the math team working in the Los Alamos complex, approached the stoic leader. Oppenheimer knew him by name, since the Teller incident. Edward Teller was a brilliant theoretical physicist, but he was not a team player. In fact, Oppenheimer had to reassign Teller to a special projects division because of his lack of cooperation. It was unfortunate to see such a wonderful mind employed in dead-end pursuits, but there was little he could do. He replaced Teller with a far more eager, and much more cooperative man named Klaus Fuchs, a man transferred in from the Manhattan team, and the man who had just approached him in the bunker.
"Awful weather this morning," said Fuchs.
"Indeed. It's not atypical, but it is slightly inconvenient," replied Oppenheimer.
"Your friend Rabi says eighteen kilotons in the pool," said Fuchs, "and that silly locksmith, what's his name? Feynman put his money on total incineration of the atmosphere."
"Rabi is a smart man," said Oppenheimer, "and Feynman is a jackass. Don't let him get to you."
"Of course, sir," said Fuchs. He paused for a few moments, unsure of what to say next.
"There is something I've been meaning to ask you, sir, and...well...I don't know this is a good time. I don't really know if any time is a good time..."
Oppenheimer put him at ease. "Klaus, you are among friends. You are among scientists. It is our nature to discuss and debate. And learn. Now is perhaps the worst time to do so, but it is raining. And honestly, I have little else to do right now. What is your question?"
"Do you ever wonder if this will actually work? I mean, not the explosion itself. We have a thousand of the top minds working on this. I don't doubt our collective abilities. I mean the strategy. Using such a device as a deterrent. Do you think it would work?"
Oppenheimer considered for a minute. "Klaus, it is not my position to say. I am merely a scientist. I can tell you, however, what I fear. I fear one nation having a monopoly on such destructive power. It can only lead to a position of overconfidence, and almost certainly unchecked agression. Fortunately, I do not think this will come to fruition. It is said that Germany is closing in on a weapon of its own. And above all else, I fear a weapon of this magnitude in the hands of the German government. I know that Hitler is dead, and the Nazi Party shamed, but remnants still linger, and the Nationalists are still in a strong position, armistace or no."
He paused again, and dropped his chin to his chest. "One other thing, Klaus. I fear that what we are doing here today will result in the death of hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions. But do not trouble yourself over these things. It will weigh on my conscience enough for a hundred of us."
Fuchs nodded, and slowly turned away. "Thank you, Doctor," he said. "You have given my mind some semblance of peace."

A few minutes later, the radio operator received the news of the weather report. Skies should be clearing soon. Shortly thereafter, the countdown began. A hush fell over the bunker as scientists jostled for viewing position, checked and rechecked instrumentation, and turned their thoughts inward in anticipation.
The countdown approached detonation. Twenty scientists all at once held their breath. And then the sky exploded.
As far as anyone could see, the dark early morning sky lit up brighter than ten suns. The mountains flashed with a brilliant deep orange and yellow glow, which at times turned to purple and green. An enormous explosive cloud shot out of the horizon, growing more rapidly than it seemed it should. After a full forty seconds of silence, the bunker was overwhelmed with a shockwave that rattled everyone inside it. The once cold desert was now an oven, a man made sun having risen, for a few brief moments, in the middle of the barren New Mexico wastelands.
Oppenheimer stood enchanted, murmuring something to no one in particular.
"I am become death, destroyer of worlds." He hung his head, and asked himself for forgiveness.

His royal highness the emperor Hirohito sat alone behind the desk in his office, buried in his thoughts. He had much to ponder. Three days ago, the American air force had done the unthinkable. They had launched an attack on the nation of Japan, and dropped a single bomb on the city of Hiroshima. That bomb alone had killed, in one fell swoop, over a hundred thousand human beings. They had done it. They had perfected the atomic bomb, and had managed to break through Japanese defenses. And now, The city of Hiroshima did not exist any more.
Allied forces had called for unconditional surrender just two weeks ago. Hirohito had denied them. He knew the will of the people was still strong. And now, from nowhere, utter devastation. He had immediately received word of a renewed call for surrender. He denied them again. And now he felt as if things were coming apart.
In the streets, there was unrest. There were rumors of a coup attempt. His general, Inoue, feared a communist revolution. And worst of all, the Soviets had broken their neutrality agreement.
"Emperor," his aide said, bursting through the door, "the council is waiting for you, and they have more terrible news."
"Send them in," he replied.
As the generals and admirals and ministers gathered around his desk, he motioned for them to take seats. Prime Minister Suzuki was the first to speak.
"Emperor, our situation has become impossible," he said. "The Soviets have begun an assault on our positions in Manchuria. America prepares for full scale invasion. Our position in the south does not go well."
The foreign minister was next to speak. "We can accept the Potsdam declaration, with minor concessions. I fear that the Americans will continue to devastate us, a city at a time, until there is nothing left! What if their next target were...dare I say it..."
Admiral Toyoda interrupted. "Togo, you are not only spineless, but you are a fool. How can you think that America has an arsenal of these weapons? They betray themselves with this show of force. I do not think they have another. And what if they do? How many more could they possibly have? It defies logic that they have more than three or four..."
"What would you have us do, Toyoda?" said Admiral Noyai. "Watch as our cities fall one by one? How many more hudreds of thousands shall die this week, or next, as we count the bombs in America's arsenal? Have you no respect for the lives of our people?"
"Our people die a noble death in the service of our nation and our sovereignty," replied Toyoda. "Do not forget that. We send them to die by the thousands, and every death is a worthy sacrifice."
A knock on the door interrupted him. It was the emperor's aide with a message.
"Emperor, we have received word of another attack...Nagasaki...is gone."
The hostility of the generals instantly turned to shock. Toyoda bowed his head and sunk into his chair.
Suzuki was the first to speak. "Highness, we must accept Potsdam. We must end this war now."
Hirohito surveyed the council. He knew where everyone stood, save Toyoda, and this latest tragedy only reinforced their positions. He did not know if Toyoda was emboldened now or defeated. He himself remained outwardly emotionless, careful not to betray his own thoughts. And then he looked at Toyoda, asking a question without saying a word.
"Emperor, I can only recommend an honorable end to this war: no occupation, and no disarmament."
The emperor thanked them all, and dismissed them. After they had gone, he let out a long, deep, heart breaking sigh. Not for himself, nor for his nation's position in the war. He greived for his people. He now realized that their destiny was not to conquer. But he refused to accept total defeat. He could comprimise. He could pull back from the mainland, and the south.
Even then, he faced continued annihilation by atomic weapons. Five more? Or two? Or even one?
The emperor called his aide in one last time that day, and informed him of his intentions regarding the war, with instructions to present them to the cabinet.

Edward Teller sat in the shade of the hot New Mexico sun, next to one of the few people whom he trusted, his fellow physicist Enrico Fermi. They were discussing nothing in particular, when Teller's thoughts drifted back to his pet project, the hydrogen bomb. "It's a shame about the Japan situation," he said, almost to himself.
"I don't follow you at all, Edward," Fermi replied.
"You see, we spent billions of dollars and millions of lives in this latest conflict, and what do we have to show for it? Certainly, fascism is defeated, and Japanese agression checked, for now, but we are no closer to a stable geopolitical situation than we were before. And it's almost certain that the Soviets have similar atomic capabilities now."
"Sorry Edward, but you are talking past me. We have peace, Edward. Strong, healthy, albeit recovering, nations. It is a time of renewed scientific vigor. A time for wonderful advancement and a refocusing of all of our creative energies."
Teller was more animated now. "But you see, instead of one strong nation rising out of the conflict, we have several. There is more chance now than ever before of renewed hostilities. Which is why I feel we made a mistake with Japan. Giving in to their demands for no occupation? Why, we could have had another bomb ready in a few short months, perhaps even a hydrogen bomb. There would have been literally nothing left of Tokyo after dropping one of those."
Fermi chuckled. "Edward, sometimes I think you fail to realize that the hydrogen bomb only exists in your crowded, belligerent head. You wouldn't have one of those working for years, even if the government wanted to continue funding. And in fact, I wouldn't be surprised if you are out of a job in a matter of weeks. Why don't you come to Chicago with me?"
"I will consider it. But I disagree with your assessment. A strong Japan, Germany and Soviet Union means a greater need for defense. And India! Let's not forget what's happening there."
"Teller, you see demons where there are only shadows. Shine the light on them, and they will disappear."
They finished their lunch, and retreated to their labs and their atoms.

Tex Thornton never ate dinner alone. He felt it a waste of time. He always invited at least one of his team to eat with him, and he never stopped talking about work. None of his staff minded, not least of all Bob McNamara, who happened to be seated with the Colonel enjoying a light supper before heading back to the office.
"So Colonel," said the young lieutenant, "what's next? I honestly don't see much future in this army business." While Bob was gifted with adequate diplomatic skills, he was always very forward with the colonel. It was a far more efficient means of communicating.
"Ah, Bob, have you got a lot to learn yet! Please, take that as a compliment. You are very gifted, and if I thought you weren't up to the task, I wouldn't be sitting here with you right now." The colonel was only three years his senior, but Tex Thornton seemed wise well beyond his thirty three years.
"Task, colonel? What are you playing at?"
"I guess, Bob, you are right in a sense. There is no immediate future here, what with the Pacific theatre resolved. We've got, I figure, at least a decade until this nation even starts to think about fighting another war. The people just don't have the stomach for it, and I reckon the powers that be don't either. No, you are right, for now." Tex paused to take a bite, and continued on before finishing his digestive process.
"So what's a country to do, all geared up for massive war industry production, and no foreigners to kill? That's right, we've got to shift that production to durable goods, and start opening up some markets, both foreign and domestic. And what does that mean? Why, I'll be damned if you don't see the likes of Ford Motor and GM become goliaths of industry. Hell, throw in your General Electrics and your International Business Machines, and you've got the makings of a new industrial revolution, so to speak."
"You're probably right, colonel," said Bob, "but what does that have to do with me? Are you suggesting I make some phone calls to GE now?"
"No, son. I've got something better for you. In fact, I've got something in the works for the whole team. How would you like to go work for Ford Motor?"
"Sure Tex," said Bob. He chuckled a bit. "You think they'll have me?"
"Think, son? It's a done deal! I told 'em it was all or none! Our whole unit is going to Michigan and cleaning up their house!"
"Sounds exciting, colonel!" said Bob. "I hear they are not doing so well financially. Do you think they are salvagable?"
"Salvagable? Hell, son, look at it this way. The things we did for this Army. Increasing kill ratios per bombing run, just replace dead Japs with dollar signs, and we can't fail." Tex was also very direct, when in the company of trusted colleagues.
"Speaking of which, colonel, why didn't we finish the job over there? A lot of us have been scratching our heads over it. The numbers came out right. We had more than enough manpower, and firepower, to sink those islands into the ocean."
"I don't know Bob, I really don't. I curse MacArthur at least once a week for it. Maybe he had an attack of conscience, maybe he figured it just wasn't worth another hundred thousand dead soldiers. Maybe he was right on that. You've got to give that Jap credit though, calling Truman's bluff after two bombs...two! I thought for sure he'd fold after Hiroshima, and nobody, but nobody, figured he'd hold out again. I tell you what, he's got bigger balls than I do. But I think on balance, it was a mistake for us to sign the treaty. Now, not only do we have to worry about the damned communists, and the German problem, but half of Japan's industrial infrastructure is still operational. We should have razed every last factory they had! Sure, we've got international monitors in there, but it ain't the weapons I'm worried about. It's the industry. They've already started reparations with China and word is they've got trade agreements in the works." Tex had long since finished his dinner, gorging himself all the while he was talking, and stopped just long enough to take a draft from his bottle of beer. "We've got a lot of work ahead of us, Bob. We've got a new American industry to build. And a lot of markets to crack open. Just one bit of advice to keep in mind over the next few years: don't burn any bridges with the folks here in Defense. We might just be needing some help on a joint venture or two down the road."
Young Robert MacNamara took it all in, absorbed it, tallied it, added it to his mental register, and headed back to work.

Homi Bhabha waited with excitement for the arrival of his cousin Subra. He hadn't seen him in a few years, not since their time together in Cambridge. Subra had been in America, Chicago in fact, listening to the stars. Subra had always dreamed of things much larger than a normal human being could comprehend. Homi thought that his cousin was destined for great fame because of it, and wouldn't be surprised if, someday, Subrahmanyan Chandrasekhar ended up visiting one of those stars he was so fond of.
A wide smile came across Homi's face as a loud shout interrupted his reverie.
"Bhabha! My cousin! It is so good to see you once again!"
Homi embraced his guest enthusiastically. "Subra, it is you! I'm glad that you have come, please, sit. I will call refreshments. I trust your trip was uneventful and dull?"
"Yes, Bhabha. In the extreme. But you know I am fond of the dullness. It allows me to work out an equation or two in peace without all the distractions of university life." Subrahmanyan stretched out his legs and arms, letting out a deep, contented sigh.
"How is your nephew?" asked Homi. "What is his name again?"
"Vijay," replied Subrahmanyan. "He is on holiday from his studies in Cambridge. I'm sure he is full of gossip and brimming with youthful enthusiasm."
"Oh," said Homi, "you have not seen him yet then?"
"No, he has not arrived yet. I have only just gotten in myself. Seeing that Vijay was nowhere to be found, I decided to visit my second most favorite relative!"
"Considering the size of your family, Subra, I'll take that as a compliment," said Homi.
"Considering how little I care for most of them," said Subramhanyan, "take it with a grain of salt."
"You are too much, my cousin," said Homi.
"Tell me, Homi. How are things here? Have you freed your people yet?"
"I am not a fighter, Subra. But Nehru tells me that we are very close to independence. It's simply a matter of months. Did you hear about the RAF situation?" Subra shook his head, and Homi continued. "They are calling it a mutiny. It's more like a strike..."
Subrahmanyan interrupted him. "We are talking about the British Royal Air Force, correct?"
"Absolutely," said Homi. "Nothing less than that. Tens of thousands of them stopped working. No one knows what the outcome is, but they are back to work now. Rumor has it that they've gotten just about everything they asked for. And then the navy mutiny! But they were our boys, of course. But things are happening, Subra. The British it seems have lttle will left for colonial rule. There is much unrest all across the sub-continent. I'm sure you are aware of Gandhi and his movement. But it is not politics that is on my mind right now."
"Indeed," said Subrahmanyan. "I am always thinking beyond it. When you deal with quantities and concepts on the scale of my research, humankind and all its petty problems seem trivial, at best. My perspective is far different than most, and my eyes are always looking to a future that I know I will never see."
"But cousin," said Homi, "that is precisely what is on my mind right now." Homi paused, sipped his tea, then continued.
"I have been speaking with Nehru. He is pushing for a position in the new Indian government..."
Subrahmanyan interrupted him. "Wait, so something is definitely happening, then?"
"Nothing is official, Subra. But Nehru has been in talks with the viceroy and other high level officials. It is a bit of an open secret, you see. But what I'm trying to tell you, cousin, is the Nehru is a good man. He is a visionary. He understands how important is the work that you and I are doing. Yes, even your stars are on his agenda."
"This is surprising, and I must be honest with you," said Subra, "I find it hard to believe."
"Subra, I know this man. In a very short time, you will see an independent India. Then you will see an atomic program, and don't be surprised if I am leading it!
"India has a vast wealth of resources with which to build a great nation. We can do wonderful things for our people. Look at the food situation. Look at all the brilliant minds we have, and the millions who simply need the opportunity to better themselves."
"But Homi, I have seen these things all too many times. Look at America. Look who controls her resources. It is not the government, or the people. And look at America's recent militarization. India will suffer the same fate. These things will surely come to pass after India gains independence. Do you think the mighty British empire, and her corporate vassals, will let Nehru control the vast wealth of this nation? And do you think he can unify such a divided people? There is much work to be done, but I don't think I will see it happen in my lifetime."
"Chandra," said Homi. He was slightly more reverential now. "We will do these things. We will build this nation. I will ask you to be a part of it, when the time comes. I only hope you will join us once again."
"Dear cousin, when you ask, we shall discuss it further. In the meantime, I will enjoy my visit. And then I will retreat once again to the confines of my ivory tower in Chicago. They have plenty of money and I already get plenty of respect there, without having to fight for the independence of a nation."
They talked of other things, but Subrahmanyan Chandrasehkar kept dreaming of stars.

Vijay Rajmuthan walked down the old mill road, enjoying the brief respite the sun was providing from the almost constant rain over the last week. He had just alighted from the train, having departed from London nearly an hour ago. He felt delighted to be back in Cambridge, just a year after leaving its fine institution of higher learning. It had only been a year, but how things have changed! In his time at the university, plenty of development was underway. The end of the war had brought about a renewed vigor for development and industry. And it was less noticable seeing the changes come in small increments, but having stepped away from it for a year, the transformation was evident.
He was also a bit disappointed that he could not visit his alma mater today; he had another appointment back in London in the afternoon. He had so many acquiantances to renew, so many old friends and professors to visit. It would have to wait for another day.
So here he was, in his practical rubber boots, trekking carefully through the mud and wet. He considered hiring a cab from the train station, but oddly enough, there were none available, and he was growing a bit impatient. He took the opportunity to experience the fresh air and revel in the countryside, even if for only twenty minutes or so. It was a decided improvement over the oftentimes noxious air of London.
He walked with determination, but his mind reserved some caution. A few days previous, a colleague of his, someone he met at university, and who was still working at the university, had learned of his job situation, that is to say, that he didn't have one at the moment. His colleague had given him a card, and an introduction, to an American who was a visiting scholar there. He had told Vijay that the American was also working on some interesting projects, and was looking for an assistant that was, in his words, "mathematically inclined". Vijay was indeed fairly confident that he qualified, considering he took top honors of his class in mathematics, and based his dissertation on an obscure branch of calculus. On a lark, and because he was still looking for a position, Vijay agreed to meet the American, and at the very least enjoy an interesting day in the country side.
Vijay had no idea what to expect from the position. His colleague could tell him nothing of the situation, and little of the American. All he knew was that he had been in Cambridge for three years, in fact had been at Cambridge while Vijay was finishing his last year there, and that he was involved in some experiments that were either highly secret, or highly volatile, since he was not performing them in a lab on the campus, but rather at a location well outside the city proper.
Vijay was making good progress, and he could see the his destination just coming into view up ahead. He had phoned ahead to confirm the address, and realized that he was very familiar with the location, having taken occasional walks this way as an undergraduate. He was headed toward the old mill, for which the road was informally named. Years ago, it had been in full production, and even manufactured some of the uniforms during the Great War, but soon went idle and fell into disrepair due to labor shortages. Its owner never put it back into production, and rumor had it that he died shortly after, a broken, and broke, old man.
He finally reached the property, and stopped to survey his surroundings. A few hundred yards up a slight incline sat a large brick building, with more broken windows than intact ones. A smoke stack rose up behind it, and to the left, south of the mill, about a hundred yards away, sat a little cottage that actually looked inhabited. He was unsure of himself now: should he go to the cottage? Seeing the mill up close, and in such a state, he dreaded the thought of wandering around looking for his host. Perhaps he was using the cottage for living quarters? The American was very clear on the phone that Vijay should meet him at the mill proper.
He decided that, since he was here, having come all this way, he would at least make a cursory attempt to locate his host before making the journey back to the train station, and back to London. He owed himself that much. He screwed up his courage, straightened his jacket, and one last time, pulled out the card his friend had passed on to him from the American. Above the address and phone number, in small, unassuming letters, was written "Marcus Whitney, entrepreneur". He tucked it back into his pocket, and headed up the hill, toward the mill.

"A fine hello to you, and good morning! Mr. Rajmuthan, I presume, or is it doctor?" Marcus Whitney burst forth from a small service door of the mill as Vijay approached.
"Call me Vijay, Mr. Whitney." He stuck out his hand to greet him.
"And please, just Marcus. I trust your trip was pleasant?"
"Yes," said Vijay. "It's good to be back in Cambridge, and wonderful to be out of the London atmosphere for a change."
"Excellent! Let's go inside, shall we? I daresay this old mill will remind you a bit of what you left back in London. For that I apologize."
Vijay turned toward the little cottage, and Marcus strode through the door of the mill and disappeared. Vijay had the distinct impression that they would go inside, sit down by a cozy fire, sip some tea and discuss business. He stood in a state of confusion and indecisiveness until Marcus poked his head out of the door of the mill, and urged him forward.
"Don't tell me you've changed your mind already? But you haven't even seen my laboratory!" said Marcus.
"Sorry," said Vijay, "it's just that I thought..."
"Oh!" said Marcus, "the cottage! No, that's off limits. I mean, it's already occupied. Come, let me show you around."
Vijay followed him into the mill.
It was not as dark as he expected. The windows afforded ample light. There were no fixtures overhead for lighting. They had either been salvaged by thieves or never installed to begin with. Much of the machinery was rusted and disassembled. Perhaps it was scrapped for the war effort, he thought.
Overall the structure of the building seemed solid, but Vijay was no engineer. A comment from Marcus reassured him somewhat.
"Yes, I know that look on your face. I felt the same way when I first walked through this place. I had an engineer come out straight away and give this place a once over. He certified to my satisfaction that I didn't have to worry about the roof falling in on my head. It's sound, all right. He even said much of this machinery was still quite functional, with a bit of work we could be up to full production!"
"So you are a textile manufacturer, then?" said Vijay.
Marcus chuckled. "You perhaps couldn't be more wrong than that! No, I have no interest whatsoever in this old junk. I'd sell it if I could, but that's not my call to make. It would be up to...ahh, but you haven't met Ms. Tremain, have you? In fact, you don't even know who I'm talking about. Forgive me, in my eagerness, I seem to have gotten ahead of myself."
"I would guess," said Vijay, "judging by your comments about the cottage, that Ms. Tremain is your landlord, and she lives in the cottage, and owns all this 'junk', as you put it, that stands before us, rusting away into red dust.
"I would further guess that, based on her reluctance to sell, and the engineer's assessment as to the condition of things, that she regards this place with no small measure of nostalgia, which would imply two things."
Marcus was taken aback, but delighted to see Vijay engaged in such logical gymnastics so openly, and so immediately. "And what, pray tell, would that be?"
"First, that Ms. Tremain is the daughter of the late owner of this mill, having inherited the property and all buildings thereon, and clinging fast to all that is left of what she once knew of her childhood and what made this nation great."
"Excellent," replied Marcus. "And the second?"
"That you have an excellent rate on the rent of this godforesaken place," said Vijay.
"Brilliant! You are correct that I pay very little to use this...museum...for my humble work, but I must confess she is not the daughter of the late owner."
Vijay was disappointed. "No?"
"No," said Marcus. "She is his niece!"
They chuckled at that, and Marcus spoke up again. "Forgive me again if I seem insensitive. I mean no disrespect to Ms. Tremain. She is a fine Lady, and besides, with this old mill, we are going to make her very rich! Come, let me show you what I've been working on!"

Marcus led him further into the mill, past even more broken equipment, toward the north end, where the furnace and boiler were situated. A flight of stairs led up to a landing overlooking the main floor of the mill. Two small offices with large glass windows still intact stood before them. Marcus had somehow rigged lighting into these offices, and had set up a few benches upon which several small pieces of metal, vacuum tubes, and wafer board sat, along with numerous tools, both general and specialized. In fact, most of the tools were unfamiliar to Vijay. But then, he was a theoretical mathematician. The only tools he needed were pencil and paper.
Marcus motioned him toward a stool next to the bench in front of them. "Come, sit down, and take a look at this."
Marcus handed a circuit board to Vijay, upon which were assembled several vacuum tubes, a few relays, resistors, and of course plenty of wires and solder.
"What do you make of that?" said Marcus.
"Hmmm." Vijay turned it over in his hands a few times. It was heavy, perhaps ten or twelve pounds, and was no less than two feet across. It was a neat enough job, with clean, flush wires and workmanline solder joints. He traced the circuits in his mind.
"I must say it looks awfully like some sort of adding machine. I would guess that these bulbs are your outputs, an easy enough way to represent binary, although if you are not paying close enough attention, a blown bulb will throw off your whole reading. Of course," said Vijay after a brief pause, "since this has only eight bits of output, there's not a whole lot of practical application for it. Any child can do eight bits of addition in his head, albeit not in binary." Vijay had studied basic electrical engineering at university, so what he saw was familiar to him. But he was determined to puzzle this one out, if there was anything to be had from it. After another minute or two of analysis, he spoke again.
"No, I'd guess that, since it's not entirely useful, this is a prototype thrown together in a hurry to show off some clever new circuit or technology. But it looks fairly straightforward to me. If there is something clever about it, it's beyond me."
"You are absolutely correct, Vijay. There is nothing clever about that board at all. And you're right about it being fairly useless. It doesn't compare to the simplest of mechanical adding machines, not to mention the venerable slide rule.
"But it is a prototype. And here..." Marcus reached across the bench and grabbed another circuit board, handing it to Vijay. "Here is its twin!"
Vijay took the second board from Marcus, turning it over again and again. It was a bit lighter, and, while the circuits were nearly identical, there was something fundamentally different about it.
"This has no vacuum tubes!" said Vijay. "How in the..." He continued to examine the board, and noticed that in place of the tubes were tiny wafers of a dark, graphite colored substance, with leads coming out and attaching where the tubes had attached on the other board.
"What am I looking at, Marcus? Is this a fancy trick circuit, or are these really what they appear to be? What is this thing?"
"That, my friend," said Marcus, "that is the future!"

Vijay sat stunned for a moment, then realized that he had indeed read something about these devices. "Marcus, where did you get these, what are they called?"
"Transistors," Marcus replied.
"That's it! I recently read a paper on the subject. I'm surprised you were able to get working samples. But who gave them to you?"
"I made them myself," said Marcus.
"You..."
"Yes. Right in this stuffy old makeshift lab. I've got some more equipment downstairs I can show you a bit later on. Some simple fabrication equipment."
"But that is amazing! Is this your own technique, I mean, aren't there patents issued on these devices?" said Vijay.
"There are patents, yes, but they don't cover what you see on that circuit board," said Marcus. "At least, in my limited legal opinion, they don't." Marcus sat there on his stool, his arms folded, and a self-satisfied look on his face.
"Marcus," said Vijay, "I think I see where you are going with this. You are going to turn this mill into a fabrication plant, aren't you?"
"Well, in a manner of speaking, yes. It's going to be a fabrication plant. But it's going to be so much more than that, I imagine. These will make us some money, but they are not what I'm aiming for. I've got my sights aimed just a little higher."
"But Marcus, you are going to need all kinds of people to run this place. A good lawyer for one, accountants, salesmen. A janitor would be nice." Vijay paused for a moment, and then a frown came over his face.
"Wait a minute, you've got a product, and a production method. At this point what do you need a mathematician for?"
Marcus smiled. "Oh, I've got plenty of equations for you to work on. These things aren't quite up to snuff yet, I'm afraid. Look." He grabbed another circuit board. This one had several more transistors on it, and seemed far more complex than the previous two.
"There are some, shall we say, irregularities, that need to be worked out for the more complicated applications. The tolerances aren't quite where they need to be. That's where you come in. I need to get these formulas worked out so I can optimize my fabrication methods and compounds. You see, that's the primary difference between what is happening in this lab and what is happening elsewhere: I'm letting the math lead me in the right direction, rather than going through a process of simple trial and error. Don't get me wrong, there is a time and a place for good old fashioned trial and error, but there is so much more we could be doing mathematically before we even go down that road."
Vijay was lost in thought. He sat motionless, obviously mulling over all that he had seen so far today.
Marcus gave him a few minutes to himself, then interrupted. "So, what do you think? Are you interested in moving back to Cambridge for a new challenge?"
Vijay hesitated, then spoke up. "It certainly sounds interesting. But I've got to be honest with you. I haven't had a real position, or an offer, in London, really at all. I've done a few small projects for fellow researchers, but nothing permanent. So I'm not in a position to really say no at this point. That said, I'd like to give it a shot. As you say, this is the future, and that is precisely where we are all headed, whether we like it or not."
Marcus sought to reassure him. "Vijay, I trust Larson. If he thinks you are worthy of a recommendation, that's good enough for me. Besides, I read your dissertation. It was brilliant! Now, how soon can you get to work? How does early next week sound? That should give you time to find lodgings up here, eh?"
"That sounds reasonable," said Vijay.
"Oh, there's one other thing," said Marcus. "How do you feel about travel? I've got a few things lined up overseas that you might be interested in."
Vijay nodded his assent, bid his new employer farewell, and departed for London.

A week later, Vijay recieved word in London from Marcus concerning his first assignment. He was not to meet him in Cambridge, but first should pay a visit to Rundle and Rundle, solicitors, in London. A package was waiting for him there, as well as first class passage to America. He was going to be visiting a group of scientists at Bell Labs, the pre-emminent American research facility, and a note from Marcus asked if he would be so kind as to bring some samples (the contents of the package) to them, and discuss them with the semi-conductor group. Marcus had communicated with them before, and they were expecting a representative forthwith.
Vijay felt excited. He had expected a rather boring first week, ploughing through equations and poring over what he imagined would be nearly illegible notes and diagrams. A trip to the States was an excellent way to start things off, he thought. He was a bit surprised that Marcus did not contact him in person, but it seems everything had been taken care of already by his solicitors. The contact at Rundle and Rundle had given him everything he needed, including some ready cash, some American notes, itinerary, and even plenty of reading material, in the form of circuit diagrams, formulas, and essentially all of the mathematics involved with the samples in the package. After looking at the itinerary, it finally made sense to him that he should depart without first traveling to Cambridge, simply because his flight was to leave from London anyway. Vijay packed for his journey, and set off for the airport.
On the plane, Vijay took some time to study the samples. Enclosed in a paper envelope was a small, palm-sized, apparently electronic device, with several buttons on it. In addition, there were several small, flat, unidentifiable squares with metal leads protruding from them. Each was marked with a different number. He surmised that these were transistors, and the samples to which Marcus had been referring. He wondered how Marcus had manufactured these things. They looked a bit rough around the edges, and it was not hard to imagine Marcus actually fashioning these with hand tools, purifying and distilling his own chemicals, and baking his own samples.
Also enclosed in the packet were full technical descriptions of the transistors, including quantum physical analysis of electron flows for each sample. This occupied most of Vijay's time during the flight. His active mind consumed the knowledge, processed it, and generally left him pleased and content. He knew he was looking at not only brilliant science, but the first glimpse of an electronic revolution.
In New York, a car met Vijay at the airport. It took him across the river and into New Jersey, where, an hour later, it dropped him off at a motel near his destination. Vijay was surprised by the efficiency and thoroughness of planning from a man spending most of his time couped up in a mill formulating his own semiconductors, but then again, he surmised that Rundle and Rundle had more to do with it than Marcus.
The motel room was small, but clean. Distinctly American. Vijay sunk into the bed, exhausted, and didn't dream at all.
The morning brought sunshine, breakfast, and forty five minutes later, a car to take him to his appointment. Bell Labs was located just outside the village of Murray Hill. The sterile brick buildings belied the fertile minds of the scientists enclosed in their walls. Vijay was met at reception, and escorted to the office of William Shockley, the semiconductor team leader. Shockley was, according to the notes Marcus left him, perhaps the world's premier authority on semiconductors, which is why Vijay was meeting with him and his team today.
He found Shockley in his office, seated behind his desk, appearing to be reviewing some notes. He rose when Vijay entered, and gave him a curt handshake and welcome.
"Thank you for taking time to meet with me today," said Vijay.
"Don't mention it," said Shockley. "Please, sit down. Marcus said he'd be sending a fellow engineer; I didn't realize he was sending a research assistant."
"I beg your pardon," said Vijay, "but I have a mathematical doctorate from Cambridge."
"Yes," said Shockley, "so you do. Marcus failed to mention this."
Vijay tried to hide his annoyance by changing the subject. He had learned very quickly during the course of his studies that sometimes the most brilliant minds also had unique personalities.
"So, how long have you known Marcus?" said Vijay.
"A few years now," said Shockley.
"He is quite a character, isn't he?" said Vijay. "But he seems like an interesting man to have for a friend."
"I wouldn't call him a friend," said Shockley. "Let's just say we share...a bit of history together." Shockley shifted in his chair. "Now, you didn't travel all this way to discuss personalities, did you? Let's have at it. What do you have up your sleeve this time?"
Vijay removed the small package from his jacket pocket, and placed it on the desk in front of Shockley, who reached for it hesitantly.
Shockley slowly pulled the papers from the envelope, then tipped it upside down, emptying the rest of the contents on the desk. Seven transistors tumbled out, and the small electronic device followed it. Shockley examined each in turn, then slid them back across the desk.
"These are useless to me," said Shockley.
"But, sir, you haven't even looked at the notes..." said Vijay.
"Doctor Rajmuthan, in case you haven't noticed, I wrote the book on transistors and semiconductor technology, quite literally, in fact. Look it up sometime. These...samples...were these manufactured in the poor man's basement or what? I don't have time for these games. I am doing real research at this facility. World class, professional research. I am creating an entirely new discipline of science and engineering, almost single-handedly. I don't need the senseless ramblings of an amateur like Marcus Whitney to waste my time."
Vijay was annoyed again, but he didn't let it show. He was determined to make a success out of this mission, even though he wasn't quite sure what success meant at this point.
"Speaking of which, sir. Your team, I was under the impression that you had other researchers here working with you on semiconductor technology? Perhaps my time would be better spent talking with someone else?"
"I don't think you understand, doctor," said Shockley. "I am the team."
Shockley let out a deep sigh, and stood up. Vijay followed suit, gathering his things.
"And something else you don't understand," said Shockley, "I can't read those notes, nor can I examine those samples, or that crazy device of yours. There are patent issues here. Now, if you will excuse me, I have work to do."
Vijay felt defeated. He bid Shockley farewell, and proceeded out of the office and toward the lobby. As he walked down the hall one floor below, he was met by a middle-aged man who nearly ran into him.
"Excuse me, how clumsy of me," said the man. "Oh...you must be Doctor Rajmuthan, if I am not mistaken. How do you do?"
"You are correct sir, I am Vijay Rajmuthan, but you have the advantage of me," said Vijay.
"John Bardeen, and pleased to meet you!"
"But, how...did you know I was coming today? I was supposed to meet with Shockley and his...oh, are you one of his team members?"
"In a manner of speaking," said Bardeen. "In actual fact, Shockley is loathe to work with anyone. We have a hard enough time getting access to his research results, but he is more than willing to..." Bardeen paused a moment, then continued. "Perhaps I'm speaking out of turn. You seem to be on your way out. How did things go with Shockley?"
"Not as well as I'd hoped," said Vijay. "He was quite dismissive of the entire meeting. To be honest with you, I'm not so sure this trip was a good idea. Marcus, do you know Marcus, by the way? He seemed to think Shockley would be receptive to having a frank discussion."
"I can't say that I've met Mr. Whitney," said Bardeen, "but I've seen his work. And I know enough about him to assure you that he has a very good reason for everything he does. Now, if you have some time, I'd love to have a chat. Come into my lab. And don't worry about Shockley. He never visits my humble chambers."

Vijay followed him into a small lab, clean and white and very brightly lit. It was a stark contrast to the makeshift workshop Marcus had rigged up in the old mill. He sat down on a tall stool, and once again emptied the packet onto the counter, this time in a shallow, plastic, white tray. The small components stood out in contrast like little three-legged bugs. Bardeen picked one up and examined it under his magnifying lens.
"Fascinating," said Bardeen. "I'm assuming you have mathematical analyses of these compounds?"
"Of course," said Vijay. He pulled the notes from his pocket and laid them on the table. "It's all right here. As well as the circuit diagram for this." Vijay pulled the small electonic device from his pocket and handed it to Bardeen, whose eyes lit up almost immediately.
"I say!" said Bardeen. "What have we here?" He took the device, and turned it over several times. He fingered the buttons, of which there were sixteen, and examined the top edge, from which three contacts protruded. After a few minutes, he spoke up.
"It's a puzzle, isn't it? This is amazing. Now, let's see what happens when I hook it up to the oscillascope."
Bardeen wired up the device, and turned on the scope. He then, very methodically, started pushing the buttons, and observing the output on the scope's screen. "Simply fascinating," said Bardeen. "What kind of facilities he must have to produce this..."
"To be honest with you," said Vijay, "I've seen his facilities, and, well, they are somewhat lacking..."
"You're too modest," said Bardeen. "Now, let's look at the circuit diagram, shall we?"
The two of them discussed the device, and the transistors, and the math, and many other things, for the next several hours. They parted on good terms, and very late in the evening. Vijay took the car back to New York, and nearly missed his flight back to London.

Vijay arrived in London late in the evening. He hired a cab back to his flat, and settled in for bed. Tomorrow he would travel to Cambridge, where a new home awaited him near the university. He would be leaving London behind him, for how long, he couldn't even guess. He had sent his things on ahead, meager as they were, prior to his trip to America.
In the morning, he settled with his landlord, and took a very early train north out of the city, hoping to visit his new flat before walking out to the old mill, and starting work, or rather continuing working, for Marcus on what he assumed would be differential equations related to electron flow through semiconductors. All he had to go on was the result of his first assignment, but in actual fact, Marcus had given very little indication of the nature of the work he would be doing. He was determined to walk the two miles or so along the old mill road again, as the thought of working in such a dismal place as an abandoned mill for hours on end, laboring under rigged lighting, breathing the dank atmosphere. He started wondering what he had gotten himself into. To top it all off, he didn't even know how much he was getting paid!
after about twenty minutes in the dry but overcast weather, he heard a carriage approaching him from behind. He stepped aside to let it pass, watching the driver handling two sturdy horses up front, while a male passenger sat alone in the back. The passenger seemed to spot him, and signaled for the driver to stop.
"Hallo! You must be Dr. Rajmuthan! I'm James Rundle! I'm assuming you are headed out to the mill. Why don't you come aboard? I'm just going there myself."
Vijay climbed aboard, and the driver continued on. During his time in Cambridge, horses were not common, but in the countryside they could be seen on occasion. Why on earth James Rundle would be taking a horse drawn carriage from the city center he couldn't tell.
"So you are the new mathematician Marcus has hired, eh? I believe we arranged a few things for your trip to America, if I'm not mistaken."
"Yes," said Vijay, "I picked up a package and itinerary from your office. Everything worked out well, thank you."
"Don't mention it. I know it may seem a bit strange having a solicitor's office take care of such things, but we do so much work for Marcus, he practically has his own dedicated staff working for us, and, well, not to be too indiscreet, but we handle all sorts of odds and ends for the old chap."
Vijay looked around, admiring the countryside, but his gaze kept coming back to the horses up front.
"You must be wondering," said Rundle, "about the horses. Well, it's simple really. There is so much traffic back and forth these days, that Marcus hired out a shuttle of sorts, to keep people from having to hoof it, so to speak, from the train or the university, out to the mill. Quite simple, really."
But to Vijay, it was not so simple. Why a horse drawn carriage, and not a motor car? And what was all this traffic Rundle had referred to?
"But Mr. Rundle," said Vijay, "When I was last here, there was not a soul to be found, with the exception of Marcus himself."
"Ah, yes, well, in all the time I've known Marcus, he has never been one to bide his time. When he gets set on something, he makes it happen. How long have you been away now?"
"Just under a fortnight," said Vijay.
"Yes, then," said Rundle, "you are in for a surprise, I daresay!"

The carriage pulled up to the mill and stopped just outside the utility door. Vijay noticed nothing at all different about the building or the grounds. Both passengers stepped down, and the driver pulled around behind the mill and out of site. Rundle reached for the door, and opened it wide.
"After you, doctor!" said Rundle.
Vijay stepped through the same door he did so many days ago, and entered the same building, but everything was different. He recognized very little of the old, run down place. He stood in the doorway, just staring.
Rundle closed the door behind him, and rested his hand on Vijay's shoulder. "Yes, it's quite a shock, isn't it? Come, I'll show you around."
He lead Vijay in toward the center of the mill, where the machinery still stood. It was unmistakably the same machinery, but not a speck of rust was to be found. The entirety of it was sanded, cleaned, and polished. And it seemed to be reassembled. All around it hung a rope, ostensibly to keep people from running into any protruding metal rods or other equipment. This hulking mass of steel stood proudly under the filtered light flooding in through the high windows, a testament to the ingenuity and spirit of the British industrialists.
And the windows! Not a single one broken, all cleaned, frames painted, and hinges polished. Trusses, joists, and beams, everything made of iron, was cleaned and painted or polished. The old concrete and dirt floor gave way to modern tile and even polished wood in places.
Rundle led him around the perimeter, where all along the walls, new rooms had been constructed, wired with clean, bright light, and fitted with wide, clean windows. Many of them looked like labs, with benches and stools, some stacked with equipment, others still empty. Some of the larger rooms had machine equipment, much of it still waiting to be assembled. An entire second story of rooms stretched around the perimeter, the old staircase he had walked up so many days previous, now shining in the artificial light, leading up to the second level.
Vijay was so distracted by the total transformation before him that it wasn't until Rundle interrupted him again that he noticed the dozen or so people inhabiting the place, walking busily to and fro, some engaged in setting up equipment, others busily working behind desks or in front of black boards. The one person he did not see, however, was Marcus.
"Is it safe to assume that Marcus' office and lab are still in the same place?" said Vijay.
"They are indeed," replied Rundle. "Let's see if the old boy is upstairs."
Rundle spoke as if he and Marcus were old friends with a long history. It was clear that Rundle was fast approaching fifty, Marcus couldn't be any older than thirty himself. He made a mental note of their odd relationship, and put the matter aside. They reached the top of the stairs, and Marcus' office was closed and unlit, but the door was not locked. There was no sign of Marcus anywhere.
"We might as well sit and wait for him," said Rundle. "I am a bit early. Unless of course, you have other work to do. Please, don't let me keep you."
"No," said Vijay, "really, I haven't the slightest idea what I'm supposed to be doing at this point. I should check in with Marcus to see what's on his agenda. I just can't get over this complete transformation. Look, even his workshop is fully modernized."
Vijay saw that the old, rickety, wooden benches had been replaced with modern, acid-proof counter tops. Running water and modern lighting were available, and all sorts of tools and mechanical gadgets lined the walls and shelves.
As Vijay was about to sit down, Three young men and a woman, all appearing to be students from the university, entered the office. They were barely younger than Vijay. He guessed that they were graduate students, and he later learned that he was not mistaken. They seemed to be at odds with one another, clearly having a disagreement over something technical. One of them stepped forward and spoke.
"Is Marcus here? We need a...oh excellent! You must be Dr. Rajmuthan. How do you do? We've been waiting for your return. Marcus has told us so much about you. If you don't mind, we could use your guidance on a small...matter...that we are dealing with. We..."
"Slow down, please. I'm looking for Marcus myself," said Vijay. "Have any of you seen him today?"
They all shook their heads.
"Well then, I'm going to have a look around for him," said Vijay.
"But," another student said, "Marcus told us that as soon as you arrived, we were to report to you on our findings."
Vijay turned to Rundle and gave him a look of bewilderment. Rundle took the cue.
"I'm so sorry, Vijay, didn't Marcus tell you? These four fine mathematicians all report directly to you now. They are the entirety of the analysis team, for now, at least. In fact, you are the number two man around here, which means almost everybody works for you in one capacity or another."
"Well," said Vijay, "when you put it that way, I guess I'd better go give them some guidance! But please, let me know as soon as you are through with Marcus. I've got a pretty interesting story about Shockley for him."
Vijay left the office, and followed the mathematicians back to their lab, and worked on equations for a very long time.

Vijay sat at a desk, scribbling on paper, while one of his new mathematics team worked on the black board. They had been trading formulas for several hours, when a familiar, friendly voice chimed in behind him.
"Nice to see you back, safe and sound, Doctor," said Marcus.
Vijay turned and stood up, excited to see his old new colleague. He shot out his hand, and Marcus took it.
"Yes, it was quite a trip," said Vijay. "But I daresay there has been more excitement on this side of the ocean as of late."
"Oh, well, we try to keep busy," said Marcus. "I've just spent most of the day out back digging a ditch. Come, you must have plenty to talk about."
Vijay left his notes with his team, who descended upon them with a bit of rabidity, and followed Marcus out of the lab. They slowly walked around the perimeter.
"So tell me, how was the tete a tete with old Shockley?" said Marcus.
"It lasted all of about ten minutes, to be honest," said Vijay.
"Goodness!" said Marcus.
"Yes, well, he was condescending from the start, and as soon as I showed him the transistors, he practically threw me out of his office!"
"I see," said Marcus, chuckling. "Yes, he has a tendency to do that. He's very secretive and likes to work alone."
"In his field," said Vijay, "It seems a bit counterproductive."
"To give him his due, Shockley is a genius, albeit a mad genius. He wrote the book, don't you know?"
"Yes, he reminded me of that fact, quite pointedly," said Vijay.
"He has definitely earned his place in history," said Marcus.
"I wouldn't know anything about that, but one thing seems pretty clear to me: he's not too keen on earning a place in the future."
Marcus laughed heartily at that. "That's the spirit, doctor! But all kidding aside, you are probably right. It's like pulling teeth to get that man to do anything."
"So," said Vijay, "you have worked with him before? He mentioned that you two had known each other for a few years."
"We've had a working relationship, I'd say, although you'd be hard pressed to get him to admit it. It was a few years back, I met him in America. I actually tried to give him some samples back then, too. And he took them! Once he figured out what they were, he would have nothing more to do with me. Next thing I knew, he had filed for a patent on the material!"
"You're kidding?" said Vijay.
"Not at all. But don't feel sorry for me. There were three patents already that had priority, two of which were granted decades ago!"
"And the third?" said Vijay.
Marcus grinned. "That one, doctor, belongs to me!"

They walked again, and left the building via the back entrance near the boiler, which opened out onto the field behind the mill. Marcus had left all the exits, as well as the building exterior, completely intact, so that, when viewed from the outside, nothing at all would appear to have been changed. It was quite a transition, like stepping out of the near future and into recent the past.
"You said you were digging a ditch," said Vijay, "but I don't see one."
"No, you won't for a few more days. I've been digging it in my mind, you see," said Marcus.
"Planning, of course," said Vijay. "But whatever would you need a ditch for? Some sort of irrigation project?"
"Something like that. I'll fill you in when I hear back from the engineers. Now, getting back to Shockley. Are you telling me that your trip was a complete failure then?"
"Not at all," said Vijay. "I left the samples, just as you suggested in your note. It was a fair bit of luck too, for I was not ten seconds from walking out of the building when I was intercepted by another researcher there, Bardeen was his name. Yes, it was quite an accident, indeed, or the trip would have been for naught."
"Acccident?" replied Marcus. "The entirety of history is mere chance and contingency. Do not underestimate the power of happenstance." He paused for a moment, as if reflecting on the profundity of his statement, and then snapped back to the present. "So, tell me about this Bardeen fellow."
"He is the quintissential scientist," said Vijay. "Always eager, always curious, and always plugging things into an oscilliscope. He had your gadget figured out in just over an hour."
"Excellent," said Marcus. "I always thought Bardeen was sharp. But he didn't disassemble it, did he?"
"No, he did not. He told me he'd start the next day, in a clean room. But he mapped all the buttons and the output. Remarkable."
"Yes," said Marcus, "like I said, he's top notch."
"No," said Vijay, "I was referring to your gadget. I think I'm still in shock over what I saw in that lab with Bardeen."
"Come, now," said Marcus. "It's a mere child's toy. Four arithmetical functions and six digit precision."
"You are far too modest. I really don't have to point out to you all the implications of a device like that...the miniaturization, the automation, the...it's astounding."
"Yes, I suppose it is, in a way. But compared to what I've got planned, it is simply a proof of concept," said Marcus. "But let me congratulate you. Your trip to America succeeded beyond all my expectations. A job well done, doctor!"
"About that, Marcus. I'm still not sure what I accomplished."
"Look," said Marcus, "you just handed a set of highly advanced, albeit rather shoddy looking, transistors to perhaps the smartest team of semiconductor researchers on the planet. They are going to tear them apart, analyze them, study them, and duplicate them. Then, they are going to improve upon them. They have no choice. It's their nature."
"I agree with you on that, Marcus," said Vijay, "But wouldn't it be easier to simply hire them?"
Marcus smiled again. "You see, doctor, I've already tried that, three years ago in fact. I offered them a place in history, as well as a place in the future. They refused. So, in essence, I've figured out a way, with your help, of getting them to work for me for free. And you've inadvertently secured a lucrative royalty contract in the process!"

The days passed quickly for Vijay. He worked at the mill for several days, poring over formulas and directing his eager assistants down mathematical paths their minds could only dimly comprehend. He spent very little time in his flat, taking the horse drawn shuttle home in the evening, and waking early before shuttle service and walking back up to the mill, rain or shine. Marcus kept sending Vijay new recruits from the university. Some worked out, others did not. Vijay brought this up one day with Marcus during their daily briefing.
"Vijay, doctor, I appreciate your position. Whatever you do, do not marginalize any of them. You never know what wonderful insight you will glean from the most unassuming of the lot. Keep on them, and push them even harder. Besides," said Marcus, "half of them will quit after they finish their dissertations. So squeeze every last drop out of them you can. don't worry; they get paid very generously!"
Late one afternoon, Vijay ran into Marcus in the perimeter. A woman accompanied him, and Marcus introduced her to Vijay.
"Doctor, this is Margot Sinclair, doctoral candidate at the university," said Marcus.
"Pleased to meet you," said Vijay. "Will you be working on my team as well?"
Marcus stifled a chuckle. "No, actually, Margot is my right hand...er...woman around here. It's not surprising you two haven't met yet; Margot has been spending entirely too much time in London on entirely too many projects. But let me leave you two to get acquainted. I've got to finish up with the engineers outside."
Margot spoke up. "I'm going back to campus after I get a bite to eat. Would you care to join me?"
Vijay assented, and soon they were in the back of the carriage, being pulled slowly down the old mill road.
"I hope I'm not being to presumptuous, but you don't seem to fit the mold of a Cambridge doctoral candidate," said Vijay.
"No, I don't. I'm older, smarter, and less well bred," replied Margot. "And I honestly can't stand half the professors there."
"To tell you the truth, I can't either! But tell me, how did you get mixed up in this?" said Vijay.
"Marcus recruited me from the university, naturally," said Margot. "I think nearly every one of the people he has hired is from Cambridge. He is quite an enigma, that Marcus. Shortly after I signed on, he called my brother in from London to consult on some structural projects. Next thing you know, he's got a crew at the mill surveying the lot for some major construction."
"Is this the 'ditch' he keeps referring to?" asked Vijay.
"Is that what he called it?" said Margot, laughing. "Well, I won't spoil the surprise. I will let him have his fun. Old Rundle told me the look on your face when you walked into the mill for the first time, after the buildout, was priceless. Seems his little trick worked."
"You know I still half don't believe it. I keep thinking maybe I just didn't notice things very well the first time I met him at the mill."
"But that was the whole point," said Margot. "Marcus had, with no small help from me, I might add, been planning that buildout for months. He arranged for all the work to be done over the course of two weeks. He had half the electricians in Cambridge down wiring that building on one day. Construction crews swarming like ants. We almost didn't finish in time; the day you arrived, trucks were still unloading equipment for the labs."
"Yes," said Vijay, "there were still many things left unpacked when I first toured the new place. But why all the trouble to do it at once?"
"It's simple, really. Marcus wanted to impress upon you how much can be accomplished in such a short period of time. It was a massive act of symbolism. A show of force, if you will. An object lesson, if you are less military-minded."
"Well I am duly impressed. I've learned not to make any assumptions about the man, or the job," said Vijay.
After a bit of silence, Vijay said, "Enough about work. What is your field of study at the university?"
"Mathematics, of course," said Margot.
Vijay smiled, and they spent the next two hours discussing numbers.

Vijay's next overseas assignment came quickly, and he was glad for it. He was to travel to Japan, by way of India, where he had a full day layover scheduled to visit with family and friends. This time, Marcus was there to see him off.
"Doctor," said Marcus, "Some instructions before you go. As you already know, you are visiting the Yukawa Institute in Kyoto..."
Vijay interrupted him. "Yes, but you haven't told me who I am to visit!"
"Why, Hideki Yukowa himself, of course! Here are some details for you." Marcus handed him a large envelope.
Vijay opened it and found several pages of handwritten notes, as well as another, smaller, sealed envelope.
"I want you to deliver that envelope directly into the hands of Yukowa himself. Do not open it. And take note of the reaction on his face when he opens it."
Vijay again found himself on a flight out of the country, this time, for the first leg of the trip at least, to familiar territory. He gleaned much from the notes Marcus had given him. The Yukawa Institute was working on atomic energy technologies. After the devastation of two of their cities, Japan had sworn off atomic weapons. The entire country, almost down to the last citizen, watched as their emperor bravely withstood the onslaught of the mighty American military. They realized their own fortitude after having stared down the ultimate threat of military annihilation, and won. It was a watershed moment for them: this unprecedented American aggression was like holding up a mirror to the Japanese people. They saw reflected in it their own acts of agression, their own imperialistic march across the Pacific, their own hubris.
The people of Japan were humbled, but they retained their indomitable spirit. And they retained their sovereignty. Out of the ashes of destruction came the seeds of a new revolution of science and technology, and the Yukawa Institute was the epicenter of that revolution. Vijay learned from Marcus that their researchers had made some serious advancements in fission technology, and it was time to reach out to them and offer some assistance.
Vijay had spent most of his time working with the semiconductor team back at the mill, so he was not up to speed on energy and fission. But he had a few very long flights to sit through, so he was comfortable that he would be at least conversant by the time he reached Kyoto. Besides, what he was offering was not really directly related to nuclear energy, per se. And it would have more far-reaching effects than just energy research.
And as for the little brown envelope, his mind could not help but guess what it contained.

A car was waiting for Vijay at the airport, and it took him directly to Kyoto University. The Institute was part of the university, and they had arranged for accommodations for him on campus. He arrived mid-morning, and since he had slept rather well on the flight, he took only a few minutes to refresh himself, and made his way to the Institute.
A graduate student awaited him at the front door. She spoke fluent English, which was fortunate since Vijay did not know, or recognize, one bit of Japanese.
She led him to a lab on the third floor, where several people seemed to be awaiting his arrival.
They exchanged greetings, and Vijay learned that there were two Chinese researchers, as well as two European scientists, among them.
"So glad you could be here for this, Doctor Rajmuthan," said Hideki Yukowa. "I understand you will be talking with the semiconductor group here on campus as well?"
"Yes," said Vijay, "apparently they learned of my visit and have invited me to review their latest work. Although, in light of what our...organization...is offering you today, I think they are going to have their hands full in a few months time."
"Ah yes, your Marcus Whitney can be so secretive at times. But we do understand the importance of face to face communication. Now, tell us what you have so kindly brought to us today?"
Just then, an assistant came through a door at the back of the lab and muttered something in Japanese, then bowed and left.
"If you will pardon me," said Yukowa, "we are just in time for a wonderful demonstration. Dr. Rajmuthan, do you care to join us? I am told it will be something quite historic. But then graduate students can be overdramatic at times, can't they?"
The scientists filed out of the lab, and into another just behind it. Their was quite a crowd gathered now, counting the four who were awaiting them. Along a bench sat an apparatus of wires, chambers, monitors, and tubes.
"We are not yet known," said Yukawa, "for our experimental physics, but with the help of our European friends, and of course some of the brightest Japanese minds, we hope to turn all these equations on the board into something real. Doctor, please, don't let us keep you waiting."
A caucasian woman stood behind the apparatus, and spoke in a thick accent. "I don't want to disappoint you all, but this is not the first time we have performed this experiment. We have already made history, just two days ago, but what you are about to see is no less astonishing for it." And with that humble introduction, she flipped two switches, checked a readout, and then pressed one final button.
"There you have it. Look at how the tempurature has risen in just this short a period of time." She pointed to one of the outputs, and many of the visitors murmured with excitement.
Vijay was not really sure what he was seeing. He leaned to Yukawa and told him as much.
At that, Yukawa spoke up, addressing the woman leading the experiment. "Perhaps, Dr. Meitner, you would care to explain to our English guest what exactly is happening here."
"Of course, Dr. Yukawa," said Lise. She turned to Vijay and spoke again. "What you are seeing here is nothing less than a room-tempurature, controlled, and sustained fusion reaction."

Most of the spectators had filtered out of the room, the apparatus having been switched off for some time now. Vijay was left with Yukawa, Dr. Meitner, and and assistant who was studiously taking notes from the monitors.
"I really don't know what to say," said Vijay. "Oh, before I forget..." He reached into his pocket and withrew the little envelope. "Marcus asked me to deliver this personally to you, Dr. Yukawa." He handed the note to Yukawa, who opened it, looked at it briefly, and then silently handed it to Dr. Meitner.
"Dr. Rajmuthan, you must have a very advanced fusion team in Cambridge. I'm actually a bit surprised that you anticipated our discovery here."
"Actually," said Vijay, "I've been working with the solid state team for some time, and in fact I didn't even know we had a fusion team. But, what gives you the idea we've anticipated you?"
"This note of course," said Dr. Meitner.
"But I'm afraid I haven't read it," said Vijay.
"Well, there's not much to read," said Lise. "Hydrogen, Germanium, and Barium, followed by a very familiar equation, which indicates ratios and isotopes." She handed the note to the assistant. "I think you'll find that this matches our configuration quite nicely."
"There is much work to do," said Yukawa. "We have acheived an experimental success, but energy output needs to be increased for certain practical applications, and we would also like to optimize this process to reduce certain byproducts. That, I think, is where you come in, Dr. Rajmuthan. Now, please, it is your turn to impress us."
"Well," said Vijay. "I hope I can be impressive as this demonstration. I don't know how familiar you are with the latest semiconductor technologies, but recently there have been some developments that essentially make vacuum tubes, relays, and switches obsolete. The solid state transistor has garnered much attention, and rightfully so. We are just now starting to see them put to practical use in industry. These tiny chips, smaller than your little fingernail, are showing up everywhere. But we have developed a way to further miniaturize the transistor, and much of the circuitry involved in the most advanced electronic devices. I have samples for your solid state team. What we'd like to offer you, Dr. Yukawa, is a computer. The first of it's kind anywhere in the world. It is programmed to perform advanced differential equation mathematics."
"But we have a computer already, Dr. Rajmuthan, and our assistants are fairly good at the paperwork," said Yukawa.
"Did I mention it is as simple to program as an adding machine, and that you can carry it by a handle from room to room?"
Yukawa stood in silence for a full minute. "When can you send it to us?" he asked.
"Marcus hasn't given me a date, but he assures me that it will be completed before the year is out."
"And how much will this cost us?" said Yukawa.
"Nothing," replied Vijay. "You will be the first to use such a device. Marcus feels that the work you are doing here is quote 'the most important research on the face of the Earth, at this present time,' in his own words."
"Dr. Rajmuthan, we are honored by your presence, as well as your offer. We humbly accept it."
After more discussion, Vijay left the Yukawa Institute, smiling at his second major success, and headed toward the labs of semiconductor research team, where he would spend the rest of the day discussing equations.

On his return journey, Vijay received word in India that he was to stay for a week. Marcus had wired him instructions for two more meetings. Marcus left a long distance apology, explaining that he received word that one of people he wanted Vijay to meet with had only just arrived in Ceylon, and would be there for just a week or two. The other meeting was with a distant relative of Vijay, in fact, who had just contacted Marcus to arrange a meeting. Vijay couldn't deny that the timing was fortuitous on both accounts, and so he delayed his return voyage, and briefed himself on his new mission.
Vijay rode in a small plane from the mainland out to the island nation. His rendevous was set for a location on the south coast, so another journey by car followed the flight. It was slow going, due to terrible road conditions, and at the end of the trip, he was exhausted. He checked in to a modest room at an out of the way resort hotel, and let himself rest most of the evening, and slept through the night.
The next morning, Vijay found himself at a table on the beach, under a canopy which provided a needed shade from the already hot sun. His appointment was for ten o'clock, and the gentleman he was meeting was already ten minutes late.
From behind him he heard the clanking and rattling of metal on metal, and the squeak of sandals walking heavily in the sand. He turned to see a tall, slender, and very white man approaching, almost buried in scuba gear and other equipment.
"Hello!" shouted the man. "You must be Dr. Rajmuthan. Sorry I'm late. I had some trouble with the kit."
He approached Vijay, and stood staring, still holding his gear.
"It would be terribly inconvenient for me to put my equipment down here, only to have to load it up again and take it to the shore. If you don't mind..."
"Not at all," said Vijay. "Let me give you a hand."
Vijay grabbed the tanks out of his visitor's right hand, and offered his own in greeting.
"Vijay Rajmuthan, please to meet you."
"Arthur Clarke, likewise."
They walked down the beach to the shore, and out onto a rickety dock, where a boat was waiting patiently in the calm waters. Vijay stepped into the boat and laid down the tank, and proceeded to help Arthur load the rest of the equipment onto the boat.
"You aren't going out alone, are you?" said Vijay.
"Heavens no," said Arthur. "I've got a few minutes yet before my diving partner arrives. Now, tell me, what does the mysterious man of Cambridge want with a pulp fiction hack like me?"
"Quite simply, Mr. Clarke," replied Vijay, "He wants your brain."

Vijay had much to contemplate on his return trip to India. Clarke was curious, but cautious. He was, after all, a writer by trade, not a scientist. At least, not a professional one. But Marcus was imressed by the man, and Vijay was not sure why. He had worked in the radar unit during the war, and had a degree in math and physics, and since then had published a handful of short stories. He did grant the man credit for one thing, which was his clever notion of a geostationary satellite. Vijay knew this had promise for lots of applications, but what Marcus had in mind, he did not know. Beyond that, however, Vijay was not certain that this particular trip was very productive.
He turned his thoughts toward the subject of his next visit, one of the wealthiest men in all of India, and his distant relative, Jehangir Tata.
He met Tata in Mumbai, at the Tata Group headquarters, where a cheerful assistant escorted him to a spartan, but professional looking, conference room. Jehangir Tata joined him shortly after.
"Doctor Vijay Rajmuthan, so nice to meet you! I trust your uncle is well? I have not spoken with him for a few months now."
Vijay took his hand, and shook it. "Yes, uncle is doing well. And may I say it is an honor to meet such a distinguished citizen, and India's greatest industrial benefactor. And I might add, fellow Cambridge alumn!"
"You flatter me, Vijay. I am but a humble servant of the people of India. And I must confess I did not take a degree from that fine institution. But we are both very busy men. I appreciate your visit today. It is most generous of you to travel here for this discussion."
"Do not mention it," said Vijay. "Marcus tells me that you have a very important proposal to make."
"Yes," said Tata. "You are aware of the Indian government's involvement with Air India?"
"Of course," said Vijay, "their forty nine percent stake, you mean?"
"Yes. They also have an option to purchase a controlling stake, and I believe they plan to do so very soon."
"But the company will still go on, of course," said Vijay. "It will still serve the interests of the people."
"Of course," said Tata. "However, I feel that my vision for the future of aerospace is not shared by the aviation commission."
"And what is your vision, Sir?" said Vijay.
"Nothing less than the stars, my boy. Nothing less than the stars!"

"Of course we have much work to do in the interim," said Tata, after some silence. "I realize that I will never live to see this vision become a reality. But I hope to see much of the process come to completion. For example, we will first need satellites, with a manned orbiting base to follow. I daresay we could land something on the moon, just for fun. International flight times could be cut in half with space flight and rocket technology...the commercial prospects are endless."
"You have been reading..." Vijay was about to say, "too much science fiction", and then it clicked. Marcus had arranged for him to meet a certified dreamer on the beaches of Ceylon, and now here he is, standing in front of the richest man in all of India, with visions of implementing those dreams, or at least, his bastardized versions of them.
But where did his Cambridge group fit into all of this? Does Marcus want to sell this man computer technology? he thought. He considered the possible applications of the atomic technology toward propulsion. He had to force himself back to the present conversation.
"You have been reading technical journals lately, haven't you?" He didn't think he had paused long enough for Tata to notice.
"It is a necessity, these days, if you want to stay competitive," said Tata.

Back at the mill, Vijay found a certain comfort in being stationary. He met Marcus in his lab upstairs.
"Doctor, so glad to have you back, safe and sound," said Marcus. "I've only just returned from an interesting trip myself. But let's talk of that later. Tell me all about your adventure!"
Vijay relayed to Marcus the general terms he had negotiated during his trip, and then came back to the atomic demonstration he saw at Kyoto.
"Marcus, I didn't know we had an atomic research group here," said Vijay.
"That is simply because we don't have one," said Marcus.
"Well it was a damn good case of guesswork you did with the contents of that envelope. All the elements, including the formulas and isotopes, were correct."
"Of course they are correct," said Marcus. "But, wait, why is it that you seem to know they are correct?"
"Because," said Vijay, "They demonstrated a working fusion reaction for me! Yukawa's assistant confirmed everything in the note. and Dr. Meitner was almost bristling with excitement..."
"Meitner?" asked Marcus.
"Yes," said Vijay. "Lise Meitner. It is quite a triumph for her on a personal level, having come full circle to her earliest research on the subject."
"Meitner, indeed. And with the Japanese no less. There is hope for humanity after all."
After a long pause, Marcus spoke again. "Yes, this is excellent news, the best by far. I did not anticipate this at all. It puts us months, perhaps years ahead of schedule. Fusion power! So soon! We'd better hold up our end of the bargain, so that they can perfect their techniques."