The news of the Death Valley anomaly's destruction has spread around the world like a Shockwave. At first, we have exulted—a blow struck against the enemy. But the bullets still rumble through the Earth's interior. The anomaly in Australia is still intact. Rumors of a Russian anomaly are rampant. The Earth is still besieged. The opinion of a well-known science fiction writer, expressed on a late night talk show, has rapidly become public dogma; that these "bullets" are superdense capsules of neutron matter and antimatter, destined to meet at the Earth's center and destroy us all. We have no way of knowing the truth of this. It seems clear, however, that there is little we can do, and however irrationally, our hope fades fast.

Chapter 50

50

January 15

Walt Samshow took: his sandwich out on the starboard wing of the bridge of the Glomar Discoverer and stared down at the bow wave and the sullen blue-black ocean as he ate. They had left Pearl Harbor the morning of the day before, zigzagging across the ocean in search of atmospheric oxygen concentrations above the Molokai Fracture.

Occasionally an insignificant crumb of white bread would drift down from his meal into wet oblivion. He imagined some wandering zooplankton would soon know where it was, and partake of it. Nothing was ever truly lost, if you only had access to ail the eyes and senses in the universe, as he sometimes imagined God did. God himself had no eyes; He made eyes and -put living things in charge of them, that He might witness the majesty of creation from an objective viewpoint.

David Sand came up the stairs and leaned on the railing beside Samshow, eyes red from lack of sleep. "We're twelve hours from the fracture," he said. "Captain's turned in and Chao's going to stand deck watch from here on."

Samshow nodded and chewed. "Not much enthusiasm, is there?" Sand asked.

"We're working, at least," Samshow said after swallowing.

"Fanning in the radio room says the Navy has three ships out here, just cruising back and forth ..." He made two doubled-back sweeps with his hand. "Back and forth. Looking."

"Has the House voted for impeachment yet?" Samshow asked, straightening, legs expertly compensating for the gentle sway. He crumpled his sandwich wrapper and stuffed it into his shirt pocket, behind pens and pencils.

"Not that I know of," Sand said.

"I sometimes think we deserve to die, we're all so goddamned stupid." Samshow's tone was unperturbed, mild. He might have been making an observation about a seabird.

Sand smiled uncomfortably and shook his head. "Voice of experience," was all he managed to say.