Sumi groaned. “But will the house come down today?”
“Have faith, and cheer up. We’re on the verge of realizing a dream. Soon no one will be able to think about EQs without thinking about me.”
“Not as history’s joke, I hope.”
“We’re all history’s joke,” Crane muttered. “You going to watch from the ground?”
“I’ll stay in my own helo,” Sumi said, clearing his throat.
Crane laughed. “You love me. You think I’m a genius, but you don’t trust me.” He turned and started walking along the narrow shaft of the mine toward daylight. “Someday you will have to commit completely to something.”
“I’ve consulted with my ancestors, Dr. Crane, and they have advised me otherwise. I’ll be watching from the air.” Crane thought he heard Sumi chuckle. “Besides, I have a large insurance policy on you.”
Reaching the mouth of the cave, Crane stopped in the concealing gloom and looked out at the sea of wrapped bodies. “You ready to become famous?”
“I shall be the first to take credit for your success.” Sumi did laugh aloud then, letting the sound die only slightly before he padded off.
Crane settled into the posture he used with newsies, the benign dictator, then moved out into the morning light pulling down his goggles and pulling up his hood. He stuck his left hand into the pocket of his white jump suit; he had only thirty percent use of that arm and to have it dangling at his side might give him the appearance of weakness.
The press was out in force, perhaps forty different news agencies represented. Forty accesses to the world… and the world would be amazed and dazzled before the end of the day. He was about to step out when he spotted Newcombe with a woman he didn’t recognize, probably the imager he’d hired; they were pushing through the crowd. The woman reached him first.
“Ms. King, isn’t it?” Crane asked, reaching out to shake her gloved hand.
“Is it really going to happen today?” she asked, skipping conventional courtesies and revealing how excited she was.
He pushed up his goggles and winked. “If it doesn’t, we’re in a lot of trouble. Good to have you on board.”
Newcombe moved between them, nose to nose with his boss. “Why did you bring her here?”
“To work for me,” Crane said. “Now—”
“Put her in a news helo. I don’t want her on the ground when the Plate goes.”
Goggles back in place, Crane said, “She’s part of the team, she shares the life of the team.”
Lanie jerked Newcombe’s arm. “Dan—”
“Then she quits. She’s not a part of the team.”
Crane smiled. “Don’t trust your own calculations, Dan?” Without waiting for Newcombe’s response, he asked, “Do you quit, Dr. King?”
“I most certainly do not.”
“Bravo,” Crane said. “End of discussion.” He pointed at Newcombe. “You know there’s no time to argue. Can you feel it?”
Newcombe nodded, jaw muscles clenched. “This is the worst place to be,” he mumbled.
“Right.” Crane said dismissively. He quickly stepped forward, facing the crowd. “The ancient Japanese,” he said without preamble to the large group, “called earthquakes the namazu. Namazu … a giant catfish. The Kashima god kept it pinioned under a mighty rock with divine powers called the keystone. When the god relaxed a moment, or for any other reason loosened his grip, the namazu would thrash around wildly. An earthquake.” He paused, his hushed audience rapt. “Of course there were plenty of people who weren’t about to be passive in the face of disaster, so they’d start doing battle with the fish. Unfortunately, the namazu was not only powerful in his own right, but he had allies. Very good allies, as it turns out, who would rush to his defense. Does it surprise you to learn that the namazu’s allies were the local carpenters and artisans—all those who stood to profit from a quake?” Crane’s expressive brows rose over his narrow goggles. “Which only goes to prove that nothing much has changed over the last few thousand years.”
The laughter of the newsies mingled with the whir of dozens of CD cams. Crane merely smiled until his audience settled again into attentive silence. “Attempts to predict earthquakes have been made, I suspect, since man first felt the earth tremble beneath his feet. So long the province of the shaman and the Cassandra, earthquake prediction remained a low priority for the scientific minds of our age … until that fateful, that cataclysmic moment in our history.”
Even before Crane could speak the name of that fearful event, the crowd let out the now ritual response to its mention: a long, low moan, a keening mantra, and the swallowed last syllable. Ahh-hh, men.
“Yes,” Crane dared to continue, “the exercise of the Masada Option caused research on earthquake prediction, like so many other things, to become vitally important and desperately urgent. Yet, until now, precise prediction was not possible. I come before you to make official and firm the prediction I’ve been discussing these four long weeks here: Before this day is out, a quake of between seven and eight on the Richter Scale will destroy a significant portion of this island and all of the village of Aikawa.”
The newsies gobbled like turkeys. Crane let them react for a few moments, then waved them to silence. “How can I make this precise prediction is a long and complex story, only a few highlights of which we have time to share with you now. My chief assistant and valued colleague. Dr. Daniel Newcombe, reminds me to tell you that we are not in a safe place—”
There was laughter again, but it was nervous laughter, edged with hysteria in some.
“We have a few minutes, however, before all of us must leave for the secure location identified by Dr. Newcombe. We’ll use our time here to go over a few things.” Crane could feel minute tremors, but knew he was unique in that. “First, let’s look at the well from which the prisoners who worked, this gold mine over a hundred years ago got their water. As we move to the well, Dr. Newcombe will begin giving you some explanation of what we’re all about today.”
“Science is research,” Newcombe said, Crane noticing the authority that always crept into the man’s speech when he had control of a crowd. “By studying the past, we learn the future. By knowing the geology of a given area and researching past temblors in similar terrain, I’ve developed a system I call seismic ecology, or EQ-eco, the earthquake’s way of remapping any given ecosystem. I have mathematically calculated the effects of a Richter seven epicentered on the Kuril subduction trench twenty K from this island and have mapped an area on the plain above us that I believe will not be affected by the quake. When it happens, we should all be up there, not here in the valley.”
“Some of our techniques may seem like magic,” Crane said, simplifying, always simplifying, “but many are as old as civilization. There are five predictive signs of an earthquake that will show up in a well. Take turns peering in as I describe them to you.”
People lined up, shoving, to check out the well, the sun now rising high enough that light spilled in. Newcombe moved close to Crane.
“We’ve got to get these people out of here right now,” he said, his voice rasping. He grabbed Crane’s good arm. “I think I just felt another foreshock.”
“You did,” Crane replied, smiling. “But it’s still waiting, our big fish, still straining. Another few minutes here, then we’ll lead them out.”
“Sign one … increased cloudiness in the water,” Crane said to murmuring all around. “Then turbulence … then bubbling…”