The HAB Theory, page 69
For Narai Ngoromu the day had been both exciting and disappointing. During most of the afternoon she had moved from one symposium meeting to another among the discussion groups assembled in the Plaza Hotel. When she and Alex Gordon had parted, following their luncheon together immediately after arriving at the Plaza from Madison Square Garden, she had gone up to her room to freshen up a bit. She had found herself humming as she moved about in the beautifully furnished suite on the eleventh floor overlooking Central Park. Once, in the midst of unpacking some of her things to put them in a dresser drawer, she stopped and laughed aloud.
“Narai,” she told herself, “you are acting like a schoolgirl. Where is your dignity, your decorum?” She laughed again and answered herself. “Out the window, that’s where!”
The luncheon with Alex had been all too brief, but the knowledge that they would be spending a delightful evening together alone in this fabulous city would more than make up for it. She’d never met any man, apart from her own father, who was at one and the same time so strong and so gentle. In many respects, she realized, the similarities between Daniel Ngoromu and Alexander Gordon were quite remarkable. Both were highly intelligent, competent men, exuding an aura of self-confidence which was immediately apparent. Both spoke softly yet meaningfully, wasting no time in exaggerations or long-windedness. Neither became excited quickly or, by the same token, seemed much affected by matters which did not work out to their expectations. Both her father and Alex were physically large men, yet both moved with masculine grace and sureness. Alex was, admittedly, a more handsome man than her father, yet both seemed to project a distinct animal magnetism which set them apart from others. Each had a strong but quiet sense of humor and the ability to meet success or the lack of it with equal poise.
As she stood studying the garments hung in her closet, trying to decide what she would wear for this special evening with Alex, her smooth brow wrinkled in a faint little frown, not over the clothing decision but over a thought that had touched her a number of times in the past few weeks. She had never felt herself drawn to any man as she was drawn to Alex Gordon, yet he didn’t fit the picture she had always envisioned of her future. She’d always imagined herself someday falling in love with a man who was a year or so older than herself, just as her own mother, Ngaia Loolmalasin, had with Daniel Ngoromu. The imaginings culminated in her eventually marrying that someone and settling down to a beautiful life of sharing everything. One of her stronger fantasies had been that one day she and the man who won her would wind up on a fine big ranch in Kenya, maybe north of Nairobi up around the Laikipia Plateau or even more northerly than that, in the Northern Frontier District. They could raise cattle and a variety of crops and have a huge rambling house well staffed with servants. Somehow, though, that vision just didn’t seem to fit the sort of life Alex Gordon would really care a lot for. More immediately bothersome, Alex was forty-one years old, only six years younger than her own father, and close to twice her own age.
The telephone had interrupted her thoughts. It turned out to be Kenya’s minister of foreign affairs, Wautura Kelemmo, whose room was on the same floor of the hotel but some distance from her own. He told her that since he had to be in Washington, D.C., tomorrow morning to meet with President Sanders and Secretary of State Elliott, he wanted to take in as much of the symposium today as possible, and would she care to accompany him on a round of the various meetings? She agreed at once and they met in the lobby just before three o’clock and went up to the second floor together to the first of the four meeting rooms where discussion groups were just now going into session in this hotel.
Their plan was to stop by briefly at each of the meetings to give Kelemmo the opportunity to take in as many as possible in order to form a general picture of what was being discussed. This first meeting, of about sixty individuals, was being held in the large gold and green Savoy Room. It was being chaired by Dr. Agnet Braendstrum, professor of physiology at the University of Copenhagen and member of the Danish Royal Academy of Sciences. Her vice-chairman was the distinguished astronomer Dr. Robert Fitch, director of the Royal Astronomical and Meteorological Society of London as well as curator of astronomy at the British Museum of Natural History. As Narai and Kelemmo entered and took seats, a portly, neatly dressed, gray-haired man simultaneously raised his hand and got to his feet and was recognized by Dr. Braendstrum. The man stepped to the front of the table at the head of the room, thanked the Danish scientist, and then turned to face those who were seated.
“For those of you who do not know me,” he began in a strong voice, “I am Clarence Apperly, a geophysicist and presently director of the AGA, that is, the American Geophysical Association, in Washington, D.C. Our organization numbers over seven thousand members who are primarily geologists and geophysicists. By the very nature of what this HAB Theory postulates, we represent the branches of science most immediately and most deeply affected. I must admit that when this HAB Theory was thrust upon us so entirely unexpectedly, we were dismayed. A great many of us still are.
“We have,” he continued, “as I assume to be the case with all of you here, spent long hours reading, studying, and discussing among ourselves the Grant summary. There are a great many interesting and possibly valid aspects to it and there are some of our membership who have, in essence, indicated that they are inclined, with certain reservations, to accept the findings. Except for just one thing, perhaps many more of us would accept it. That one matter prevents me, and many others, from doing so. Unless it can be resolved for us beyond any dispute, we will never accept it. I should add that while this is my own very strong personal feeling, I also say this as the official voice of the AGA.
“I have spent many hours on the matter I have just alluded to, and now I wish to present it here for the record. The HAB Theory contends that when a capsizing of the earth occurs, the ice caps are suddenly located on the equator and areas which were previously equatorial become sites for the new poles. This goes wholly against long-established geological estimates which, for example, place the age of the south polar ice cap at approximately thirteen million years. All right, if we say for the sake of argument that our geological time estimate is wrong, then this brings up some very disconcerting contradictions. Consider: after the alleged capsizing, the ice now on the equator begins to thaw, but it is a process which takes scores of years to complete. By the same process, the tropical areas now at the pole freeze, very quickly on the surface but much more slowly to any great depth. Largely, this is due not only to the great amount of heat stored within the earth strata, and the insulating factor involved in such stratification, but equally to the warmth of surrounding oceans. True, with the thawing of the ice caps, the temperature of the oceans gradually lowers, but it takes a great while. We estimate that while snows would very quickly blanket the ground surface of the continent that was now at the pole, it would take about three hundred years before a true polar ice cap would even begin to form. In the case of the continent of Antarctica, which has an area of some five million square miles and a mean diameter of twenty-eight hundred miles, the ice cap would have begun forming first at the location of the true pole itself which, in Antarctica, is slightly off from being centrally located. For the glacier to grow first upward and then gradually outward enough to completely cover the continent, so that no actual land of the continent was visible, would take from as little as forty-five hundred years to as much as six thousand years.”
Apperly paused to clear his throat and then went on. “Now, the HAB Theory sets the last capsizing of the earth at about seventy-five hundred years ago. That would take it, on our present Gregorian calendar, back roughly to the year 5500 B.C. This would mean that until at least the year 1000 B.C., and possibly until as late as A.D. 500, the continent of Antarctica would have been visible in its actual form.
“Now, the high civilizations of Egypt, Babylon, Sumer, Chaldea, whatever, were in existence at least five thousand years ago. The question then becomes, why, if Antarctica was visible as a continent for anywhere from two thousand to thirty-five hundred years while man was progressing and plying the oceans of the world in his ships, there is no mention of Antarctica as a land mass? Why is there no map which has ever shown it as anything except what it is today — a fantastically huge glacier two miles high and far overlapping the continent it covers?
“Of the greatest importance to the AGA, however, is that there must be some conclusive evidence given, through a geologically sound dating method, showing that a warm climate existed on the Antarctic continent only six or seven thousand years ago. Quite frankly, I do not believe that this can be done. And I reiterate that until and unless this major matter can be resolved beyond dispute, geologists everywhere will be hard put to accept the HAB Theory.”
Finished, he returned to his seat amidst a sustained applause. While this was in progress, Wautura Kelemmo touched Narai’s arm.
“Shall we move on?” he whispered.
She nodded and they rose to leave. Hardly anyone took notice of them, as now another member of the group had risen, identified himself as Dr. John Stanton, thermodynamicist of McGill University in Montreal, and continued the discussion.
“…like to discuss,” he was saying, “the effect Mr. Boardman’s proposed solution would have on the earth. He has shown, and quite accurately, that—”
His voice was cut off as Kelemmo shut the door behind Narai and himself. He was murmuring as much to himself as to Narai.
“The ramifications of this entire situation are beyond comprehension.”
“Aren’t they, though? I really hate to leave this meeting.” She was facing him, her eyes bright with excitement. “And to think that there are forty-nine other discussions just like this one taking place all over the city right now. Wouldn’t it be fascinating to have tape recordings of each one?”
“It’d take a year just to listen to all of them, much less analyze what was said,” Kelemmo grunted. “I don’t envy Dr. Dowde’s task of trying to make any real sense of it all.”
“She has plenty of help,” Narai said, “but, even so, it has to be a mammoth job. Okay, Mr. Minister, where to now?”
“The Crystal Room, just down the hall here.”
They walked arm-in-arm on the thick carpeting, passed beneath a fine crystal chandelier overhanging a junction of their hallway with another, and were just approaching the Crystal Room when a voice behind them spoke hesitantly.
“Excuse me. Miss Ngoromu?”
They turned and saw a bellman carrying a small silver tray on which was an envelope. Narai nodded and, puzzled, accepted the envelope as the bellman extended the tray toward her. She hesitated and Kelemmo immediately removed a dollar from his money clip and placed it on the still-extended tray. The bellman bobbed his head and smiled, thanking them both, and then moved away.
Narai’s name was on the envelope and she broke open the lightly sealed flap and removed a piece of paper. The handwriting was none that she recognized, but then it became clear that it was the hand of whoever had taken the telephone message. A wave of disappointment washed over her as she read it.
Narai. Greatly sorry. No dinner together tonight. Am returning to Washington this afternoon under orders. With Grant. Will miss rest of symposium. I’ll call you sometime this evening, late. Probably after 11 p.m. Again, sorry.
Alex
“Bad news, little lady?” asked Kelemmo gently.
She nodded, trying to mask the disappointment with a smile. “A little. Nothing monumental. I was going to dinner tonight with Alexander Gordon. He can’t make it.”
“Oh, I’m truly sorry to hear that. If you would care to join Mr. Bomba and me, we were planning to dine together at—”
“No,” she said quickly. “Thank you, but I think not.” She touched his arm and now her smile was more genuine. “I appreciate the offer.”
The remainder of the afternoon had been no less interesting, but for Narai the enjoyment of everything had been diminished. Instead of abating, as she had thought it would, the disappointment of not being with Alex tonight had increased as the day progressed. Still in the company of Kelemmo, she dropped in on the remaining three group discussions being held in the Baroque Room, the Terrace Room, and the White and Gold Room of the Plaza, and then one each in the nearby Sherry-Netherland, Essex House, and New York Hilton hotels. At each the discussions were lively, sometimes heated, and always interesting. Yet, while she listened carefully and made notes of what was being said, the element of thorough enjoyment laced with keen anticipation had gone. One part of her mind continued methodically to catalogue what was being said, in order to relay the information to her father, but at least half a hundred times while the meetings were in progress she glanced at her watch, mentally willing the hands to move faster toward eleven o’clock.
It was during this period that Narai Ngoromu realized with something of a shock that she was very much in love with Alexander Gordon.
4
As she left the Vanderbilt Suite in the long, T-shaped corridor on the third floor of the Waldorf Astoria when the group meeting she was attending broke up at six o’clock, Elizabeth Boardman moved with the crowd into the main hall. She was thinking about what the group had discussed today and wishing, as she had wished a dozen times or more during this day, that her father had lived to attend it. A time or two she was stopped by scientists wishing to meet her personally and talk, but she excused herself quickly, saying that she should report to Dr. Dowde at the symposium headquarters suite as soon as possible.
She had just reached the bank of elevators and turned left into another corridor on her way to the Vertes Suite when someone tapped her on the shoulder. She stifled a sigh and put an automatic smile on her lips as she turned, but immediately it became genuine.
“Paul! You got here! Oh, I’m so glad to see you.”
Paul Neely was grinning broadly, no less delighted than she. “Hi, Liz,” he said. He leaned forward and kissed her lightly and then tilted his head as he looked at her. She was wearing a becoming aqua dress with white belt, shoes and handbag. “You look terrific. I’d better watch out or one of these erudite academicians will be stealing you away from me.”
She shook her head, laughing derisively but clearly pleased at his comment. “No chance. I’m spoken for. When did you arrive? Here at the hotel, I mean.”
He shrugged. “Oh, around forty minutes ago, I suppose. I found your note at the desk — where I left my bag, incidentally — and came right up here. Tried to crash the meeting but the gendarmes turned me back. So I just stepped aside and waited. Then, when it was over, you got mixed up with the crowd and it took me a while to get to you.”
“I’m sorry, Paul,” she said, touching his cheek. “I should’ve thought of that. I was pretty sure you wouldn’t get here until after the meeting broke up. I’ll make sure you’re not kept out in the hall again. Come on. I ought to see Dr. Dowde briefly — she’s chairing this whole thing — and I want you to meet her. Amazing woman.”
She took his hand and led him farther down the hallway toward the green-decorated Vertes Suite. The doorway to the symposium headquarters was clogged with a milling mass of people, mostly reporters. The couple was seen and Elizabeth Boardman immediately recognized. A sizable segment of the newspeople broke away from the rest and converged on the pair, firing a barrage of questions.
At first Liz tried to answer, but the hubbub became so great that she finally began shaking her head and saying “No comment.” The reporters were not discouraged and, beyond those encircling her, Liz could see that the outer foyer of the Vertes Suite was crammed with others trying to interview Irma Dowde. Over the confusion of voices she could hear Dr. Dowde’s name being called aloud and once or twice a phrase or two as she replied. It was equally obvious that for the moment there would be no way for Liz and Paul to get close to her, or even to talk if they did so. Liz shook her head and leaned close to Paul, speaking into his ear.
“Come on, we’ll see her later and get an official pass for you then. Right now we’re going to the room. I can’t cope with such confusion.”
They gradually eased their way through the welter of bodies thrusting cameras and microphones at them and squeezed into a crowded elevator going to the lobby, so Paul could get his bag. Five minutes later they arrived at Room 3711, where Paul took the key from Liz and unlocked the door. He stepped aside and let her precede him, but stepped in immediately behind and caught her wrist. He kicked the door closed, dropped his bag, and pulled her to him.
“That kiss downstairs was only a polite ‘Hello, how are you’ sort of thing. This one’s for real.”
“I would say,” she murmured, as they finally pulled apart, “that all the signs indicate you might have missed me a little.”
“Enormously. More than I thought, and I’d thought it would be a lot. Gosh, but it’s good being here with you.” He gave her a speculative glance and then added, “Are you tired?”
“Whipped,” she admitted. “It has been quite an eventful day.”
“I gathered as much, from what you said over the phone and the way those reporters were acting downstairs. Therefore, a suggestion.”
“Suggest away.”
“First, a nice hot shower. Second, a little nap for maybe half an hour. Third, I take you downstairs to Peacock Alley off the main lobby for dinner.”
“Sounds good. Are you planning on joining me for the first two as well as the third?”
“I’d been toying with the idea.”
“I rather suspected that you might have been.” She cocked a brow at him. “Which might somewhat alter step number two.”
“It might,” he conceded.
“I didn’t really want to sleep, anyway.” She kissed his lips gently and there was a tender expression in her eyes as she pulled away. “Paul, I feel so good. So wanted and needed. I hope it’ll always be that way.”
