Twistor by Gene; John; Wolfe Cramer

his expensive equipment? You've got to call him.'
    David slowed and gave her a pained look. 'Problem is, I don't know where Allan is, so I can't just pick up the phone and dial. I'll have to ask Susan, his secretary, to track him down. Then I get to tell him that the sky is falling.' He sighed. 'I do not look forward to that conversation,' he said.

6
    Thursday Midmorning, October 7
    The Megalith Tower loomed over Market Street, a featureless prism of black glass that contrasted bleakly with the whites and beiges of the other buildings of downtown San Francisco. From its thirty-third floor, the gray blanket of fog over the Pacific Ocean, somehow held back at the Golden Gate Bridge, looked like a shag carpet about to be unrolled over the bay.
    Allan Saxon tapped his fingers on the chrome armrest of the black leather designer chair and felt himself becoming increasingly upset. Yesterday in D.C. the National Science Board meeting had not gone at all well. His fellow board members were even more self-serving, stubborn, and pigheaded than usual, and his pet projects consistently received the short end of the funding stick. Then he had drunk too much first-class booze on the much-delayed flight from Dulles to San Francisco and hadn't slept at all well after he reached the St Francis.
    And it had now been well over half an hour since he had arrived at the Megalith Tower and seated himself in the elegant reception area of Martin Pierce's outer office. Under slightly different circumstances he might have found advantage in the wait, an opportunity to arrange some after-hours recreation with Martin's stunning blond receptionist. But after yesterday's reverses he was in a petulant mood and didn't feel he had the patience for such games. Dammit, who did Martin think he was to keep him waiting so long? Perhaps he should invent another appointment and leave! But no, he couldn't afford to put additional distance between himself and Martin. There were problems enough already.
    The ivory telephone made a bland musical sound. The receptionist answered it and listened for a moment, then turned smoothly toward him. 'You have a long-distance call, Professor Saxon,' she said with a smile that she probably also used in swimsuit competitions. 'You can use the second office on the right if you'd like more privacy.'
    'That's very kind of you, Darlene,' he said, hoping he remembered her name correctly. 'I don't have any secrets, but perhaps I'd be less of a nuisance if I took it in that office.'
    'Oh, you're nev-ver a nuisance, Professor Saxon,' she said, awarding him The Smile again as he turned and retreated down the hall.
    He seated himself at the polished walnut desk and pushed the flashing button on the telephone. 'Hello! This is Allan Saxon,' he said.
    'Allan, I'm glad Susan was able to track you down,' said a voice which he was able to identify as that of David Harrison, his postdoc at the university.
    'Hello, David,' he said. 'What's up? What can I do for you?' What's so important that he'd call me here, he wondered.
    'Well, I doubt if there's much you can do from there,' said David, 'but I wanted to give you the bad news without delay. There's been a major breakdown in our experiment. Some of the equipment was damaged and will have to be replaced.'
    The words were like a blow to the pit of Saxon's stomach. 'Which equipment, David? What the hell happened?' His voice rose a bit in pitch. He stood ready to take action.
    'Well, the vacuum chamber, the superconducting solenoid, the sample holder, the cryopump heads, and the field coils are all unusable. There was some kind of implosion that took them out. We're going to have to replace them completely.'
    ' My God! An implosion? Was anybody hurt? What about you and Vickie?' Saxon's mind spun, trying to grasp, to visualize what had happened. Were there injuries? Were there to be insurance claims, accident reports, paperwork, lawyers?
    'We're just fine,' came David's voice, 'except that we're still a