Breaking Point Read Online Free PDF Page A

morning.
    Of course it was a great morning. The test had gone so well he couldn't believe it. The Chinese had clamped down on it fast, squelching the incident into official silence deeper than that in a tomb, so there hadn't been any reports in the media, even in China. Maybe especially in China.
    Morrison had his sources, though, and he found out quickly enough. The test had replicated the experiments with animals even better than anticipated. Well within the cutoff that separated "chronic" from "acute." It might not work on a battlefield with shifting troops, but the device would definitely work on a permanent settlement.
    He'd known that it would. Well, to be absolutely honest, he had been almost certain. There was always the worry about field testing versus the lab. One never got over that. It took only a few failures to keep that anxiety alive forever, rather like Frankenstein's monster, shambling around in the dark looking for a friend.
    Failure, unfortunately, had no friends. Which was how Dr. Patrick Reilly Morrison, with his Ph.D. in physics from MIT, had come to be involved with the project in the first place. He'd had a spectacular failure in his extremely low frequency experiments involving chimpanzees, and he'd lost his grant and funding big-time and damned fast. It was as if he had developed a sudden case of pneumonic plague--the first sneeze, and every professional contact he knew scattered as if they were parts of a bomb-- ka-blamm! --leaving him stinking of smoke and failure and very much alone. No rat leaving a sinking ship had ever moved as fast as his grad students and research assistants had bailed on him, bastards and bitches, each and every one of them ...
    He smiled at his own bitterness. Well, it really was an ill wind that blew no good, wasn't it? If the ELF simian protocols hadn't gone south on him, he'd never have gotten the job in Alaska, would he? And look where that had taken him. He could hardly be positioned better, could he?
    Well, yes, he supposed, academically he could be. And certainly in pure scientific circles, with major universities begging him to come and present papers? Well, he was not at the top of that list. Ah, but if somebody just up and gave you five or six hundred million dollars, maybe more, to fund whatever research your heart desired, no strings, no oversight? Well, that would go a long, long way to assuage one's wounded ego, wouldn't it? People would kill for that kind of funding, and rightly so.
    Money would get you through times of no Nobel better than a Nobel would get you through times of no money, that was the cold truth.
    With half a billion in his pocket, he could thumb his nose at the journals, take his time to do whatever he damned well pleased, and when he was ready, then they'd come begging, by God! Because his theories did work after all, didn't they?
    True, he didn't want to take the credit for it just now, given the mode and manner in which he had finally proved himself correct, but someday it would be his to claim. Perhaps he would hire the Goodyear blimp and have it fly back and forth across the country with lights flashing and blazing it out for all to see:
    "I told you so!"
    He looked at his watch. He would go home, spend the day with Shannon, then catch a plane back to SeaTac for the flight to Washington, D.C. After the second and third tests, the events would surely be public, and it was of primary importance that he be prepared for that. He was one of the sharper knives in the drawer, and he knew that it was not enough to be smart, you had to be clever as well. Smart, clever, a beautiful young wife who thought the sun rose and set in his shadow, and rich--he had it all but the last, and that was coming, a mere matter of a few weeks or months. When you got right down to it, how important was academic recognition compared to those? He could fund research if he wanted! Be a foundation unto himself!
    Hah! Life was good--and it was about to get