Timescape. Part 7

That was all. It was quite enough. Instantly Peterson felt two conflicting emotions: elation, and a sudden disappointment that he had not asked for more. Who had written the note? What else did they receive? He realized ruefully that he had a.s.sumed the sod getting the signal would obey the instruction and then go on and tell how he got it, .what he thought it meant, or at least who he b.u.g.g.e.ring wellwas.But no, no, he thought, sitting back. This was enough. This proved the whole colossal business was right. Incredible, but right. The implications beyond that were unclear, granted--but this much was certain.And as well, he thought with a touch of pride, he had done it all himself. He wondered for a moment if this was what it was like to be a scientist, to make a discovery, to see the world unlocked if only for an instant.Then the bank manager knocked hesitantly on the door, the mood was lost, and Peterson pocketed the sheet of yellow.

He stayed at the Valencia Hotel in a suite overlooking the cove. The park below was part gnawed away by the encroaching surf, as evidenced by the sudden termination of some walkways. All along the coast the waves had undercut the conglomerate soil.

Shelves stuck out above the surf, ready to topple. No one seemed to notice.He told his security men' and limo to clear off for the night. They made him conspicuous and he had been under the limelight quite enough for one day.

His mind was churning with the success at the bank.

He dissipated some of the energy with thirty laps in the hotel pool, and then with unsuccessful forays into I 3 4 Gregory Ben fordthe shops near the hotel. The dothang stores interested him most, but they were the sort which could not simply display their wares and stand aside, but set them in scenes of English manor houses or French chateaux. There was still money here, though most of it seemed misdirected. The people were bright and clean and glossy. At least being prosperous set one apart in England; here it guaranteed nothing, not even taste.The sidewalks thronged with' old people, some quite rude if you didn't step aside for them. The younger men, though, were bright and athletic. The women interested him more, crisply fashionable, immaculately groomed. There was a certain blandness to them, though, an indefinable stamp of prosperous neutrality. Part of him envied this life. He knew that these people striding so confidently along Girard were hemmed in by as many restrictions as the English--Southern California was a ma.s.s of limits on immigration, buying houses, water use, changing JThObS, automobiles, everything--but they looked free.

ere was still not much of the worldweariness herewhich Europeans often equated with maturity. He had always missed a certain complexity among the women, as well. They seemed interchangeable, their faces carefully smooth and open. s.e.x with them was healthy, competent, and matter-of-fact. If .one propositioned them, they were never surprised or shocked.

Their no meant no and their yes meant yes. He* missed the challenge of the no that meant maybe, the elegant game of seduction. These Americans didn't play games; they were energetic and skillful but never devious or secret or subtle. They preferred direct questions, gave direct answers. They liked to be on top.At this point in his musings, he stopped before a wine store, and decided to see if he could get a few cases of good California wine flown back to England.

One never knew when the chance would come again.

He was waiting in the bar for Kiefer when the TIMESCAPE.thought struck him. What if he'd simply sent a letter to Renfrew,-with the message inside? Given the post these days, it might not have even reached him by now, never mind being acted upon. In that case, after he'd got the yellow paper today, he could've rung up Renfrew and ordered him not to send the message.

What would Markham make of that?He finished his gin and then remembered the business about the loops. Yes, the scheme he'd just devised would have thrown everything into an indeterminate state. That was the answer. But what kind of answer was that?

"d.a.m.n streets," Kiefer complained. "Getting' like a slum." He wrenched the steering wheel around a sharp curve. Tires howled.For Peterson this change of topic was a decided improvement. Kiefer had been reciting the virtues and benefits of eating fresh vegetables brought in at something approximating the speed of light from "the valley," a cornucopia needing no further name.To encourage this new line of discussion Peterson ventured mildly, "It all looks very prosperous to me.""Yes, well, of course, you don't see it if you keep to the avenues. But it's getting harder to maintain standards. Look around you here, for instance. Notice anything?"They were high in the hills now, on winding narrow roads that afforded glimpses of the ocean between Spanish ranches and miniature French chateaux."See how they're walled in? When we first came here, oh, almost twenty years ago now, they were all open. Great views from every house. Now you can't even call on your neighbor without standing out in the street pushing b.u.t.tons and talking into an intercom.

And frap, you should see the antiburglar networks! Electronics worth a hundred German shepherds. Backup batteries for brownouts, too."

! Gregory Ben ford"The crime rate is bad, then?" Peterson asked.

"Terrible. Illegal aliens, too many people, not enough jobs. Everybody feels he has a right to a life of luxury---or at least comfort--so there's a lot of frustration and resentment when the dream c.r.a.ps out."Peterson began to replan his schedule. He would- leave t'nne to find the best electronic security system he could. Stupid of him, not to think of it before.

That sort of thing was precisely where the Americans excelled. He would have use for a good system, adaptable and rugged. If possible, he would carry it back with him on the plane. Again he wished for a private jet."The town is getting carved up into sealed-off enclaves," Kiefer went on. "Oldsters, mostly."Peterson nodded as Kiefer cited statistics for California, which was second only to Florida in percentage of old people. Since the foldup of the Social *.

Security system, the Senior Movement lobby had been pressuring even harder for special privileges, tax breaks, and extra favors. Peterson was sure he knew more of the demographics than Kiefer; the Council had got a worldwide picture on them two years ago, including some confidential projections.

Attaining the zero-population-growth birth rate had left the US and Europe with a bulge in the population curve, now hitting retirement age. They expected hefty monthly checks, which had to come from the reduced ranks of younger people through tax. es. ,I.t led to an "ent.i.tlement syndrome." The old felt they ci paid heavy taxes all along and then been put on the shelf before they could earn the immense salaries now going to junior executives. They were "ent.i.tled,"

the Senior Movement argued, and society had d.a.m.ned well better cough up. The oldsters voted more often and with a sharper eye for self-interest.

They had power. In California a gray head had become a symbol of political activism."--they don't come out for weeks, with the spiffy ! 3 ?.

televideo systems they buy. Saves 'era shopping or going to the bank or seeing anybody under sixty.

They just do it all electronically. Kills the town, though. The oldest movie theater in La Jolla, the Unicom, closed last month. d.a.m.ned shame."Peterson nodded with a show of interest, still thinking about rearranging his schedule. The car swung into a steep driveway as the gate opened before it. They climbed up towards a long white house.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d Spanish, Peterson cla.s.sified silently. Expensive, but without style. I(iefer parked in the carport and Peterson noticed bicycles and a wagon. Christ, children. If he had to share the dinner table with a Crew of American brats--It looked as though his fears were going to be realized when they were met at the door by two young boys jumping at Kiefer and both talking at once.

Kiefer managed to quiet them down long enough to introduce them to Peterson. Both children then trained their attention on him. The older boy dispensed with preliminaries and asked directlx "Are you a scientist like my dad?" The younger fixed him with an unwinking stare, shifting from foot to foot in an irritat'mg way. Of the two, he was potentially the noisier and more troublesome, Peterson decided. He knew the older boy's typc carnest, talkative, opinionated, and nearly uncrushable."Not exactly," he began, but was interrupted.

"My dad is studying diatoms in the ocean," the boy said, dismissing Peterson. "It's very important.

I'm going to be a scientist too when I grow up but maybe an astronomer and David's going to be an astronaut but he's only five so he doesn't really know.

Would you like to see the model of the solar system I made for our science project?""No, no, B'tll," Kiefer answered hastily. "I know it's very nice but Mr. Peterson doesn't want to be bothered now. We're going to have a drink and talk about grown-up thihgs." He led the way to the living room, followed by Peterson and the two boys. Kiefer ! 3 8 would be the sort of parent who called adults "grown-ups," Peterson thought drily."I can talk about grown-up things too," Bill said indignantly."Yes, yes, of course you can. What I meant was, we're going to talk about things that wouldn't interest you. What'11 you have to drink? Can I offer you a whisky and soda, wine, tequila ... ?""How do you know they wouldn't interest me, lots of things interest me," the child persisted, before Peterson could answer. The situation was saved by a light, firm voice calling from another room. "Boys!

Come here at once, please!" The two vanished without argument. Peterson stored for futttre use the verbal backhand he had been about to deal the older boy."I see you have some Pernod there. Could I have a Pernod and tequila, with a dash of lemon, if you please?""Jeez, what a mixture. Is it good? I don't often 'drink hard liquor myself. Liver, y'know. Sit down,I'm retty sure we have some lemon juice My wifeP . '.will know. Does that dnnk have a name or did you invent it?" Kiefer was acting erratically again."I believe it's called a macho," Peterson saidw yly.He looked around the room. It was simple and elegant, totally white except for a few Oriental pieces.

An exquisite screen stood against the far wall. To the right of the fireplace was a j.a.panese scroll, and a flower arrangement sat in an alcove. Opposite the fireplace, uncurtained picture windows looked over roofs and treetops towards the Pacific. The ocean was a black blanket'beside lights that glittered everywhere else, up and down the coast, as far as Peterson could see. He chose a seat on a low white sofa, sitting sideways at the end of it so he could see both the room and the view. In spite of little heaps of mud-died papers here and there, obviously Kiefer's, the room exuded a certain serenity.

! 3.

"I hope this is right. Equal amounts Of Pernod and tequila, is -hat it? I'll go and check on the lemon juice. Oh, here's my wife now."Peterson turned toward the doorway, looked and looked again. He rose slowly to his feet. Kiefer's wife stunned him. j.a.panese, young, slender, and very beautiful. Not taking his eyes from her, he tried to sort out his first disoriented impressions. In her late twenties, he decided, which explained Kiefer's having such young children. A second marriage for him, no doubt. She was dressed in white Levis and a high-necked white top of some slithery material. Nothing under it, he noted with approval. Her hair fell 'smooth and straight, almost to her waist, so black it seemed to have a blue sheen. But it was her eyes that riveted his attention. Seeing her all in white in this dimly lit white room, he had the eerie sensation that her head was floating by itself. She had paused in the doorway, not deliberately for effect, Peterson thought, but her appearance was dramatic. He felt unable to move until she did. Kiefer darted nervously forward."Mitsuoko, my dear, come in, come in. I want you to meet our guest, Ian Peterson. Peterson, this is my wife, Mitsuoko." He looked eagerly from one to the other like a child bringing home a prize.She came forward into the room, moving with a fluid grace that delighted Peterson. She held out her hand to him: cool and smooth."h.e.l.lo," she said. For once Peterson felt he could use the standard American greeting "Glad to meet you" with sincerity.He murmured "How do you do?" narrowing his eyes slightly to communicate what his formal greeting lacked. The merest hint of a smile lifted the corners of her lips at his unspoken message. Their gazes held fractionally longer than convention dictated.

Then she withdrew her hand from his and went over to sit on the sofa."Do we have any lemon juice, honey?" Kiefer was ! a o Gregory Ben fordrubbing his hands together again in his awkward way. "And what about you? Will you have something to drink?""Yes to both questions," she answered. "There's some lemon juice in the fridge and I'll have a little white wine." She turned to Peterson with a smile. "Ican't drink much at all. It goes straight to my head."

Kiefer left the room in search of lemon juice.

"How are things in England, Mr. Peterson?" she asked, tilting her head back slightly. "It sounds grim in the news here.""It is bad, although a lot of people don't yet realize how bad," he replied. "Do you know England?""I was there for a year a while back. I'm very fond of England.""Oh? Were you working there?""I was on a postdoc at Imperial College in London.

I'm a mathematician. I teach at UCSD now." She was smiling as she watched him, expecting a reaction of surprise. Peterson did not show it. "I can see you expected something like a philosophy degree.""Oh, no, nothing so conventional," he said smoothly, smiling back at her. He thought of philosophers as people who spent great swaths of time on questions of no more true depth than "If there is no G.o.d, then who pulls up the next Kleenex?" He was about to form this into an epigram when Kiefer came back into the room with a gla.s.s of wine and a small bottle."Here's your wine, love. And some lemon juice"--this to Peterson. "How much, just a dash?"

"That's splendid, thank you."Kiefer sat down and turned to Peterson. "Did Mitsuoko tell you that she spent a year at London University? She's a brilliant woman, my wife. Ph.D.

at twenty-five. Brilliant and beautiful too. I'm a lucky man." He beamed proudly at her."Alex, don't do that." The words were sharp but her affectionate smile took the edge off them. She shrugged deprecatingly towards Peterson. "It's em- TIMESCAPE.barra.s.sing. Alex is always boastin about me to his -friends.""I can understand why." Behind Peterson's blandly smiling exterior he calculated. He had only one evening. Did they have an open marriage? How direct an approach would she tolerate? How to broach the subject with Kiefer there? "Your husband tells me that things are pretty bad here too, although it doesn't look that way to a visitor."What did her smile mean? It was almost 'as though they shared a secret. Was she in fact reading his thoughts? Was she merely flirting? Or could it be---the thought flashed upon him--that she was nerVous?

She was certainly sending him signals."There's a psychological inability to give up luxury standards," Kiefer was saying. "People won't give up a life style that they think is, ah, uniquely American.""Is that a current catch phrase?" Peterson asked. "I saw it used in a couple of magazines I read on the plane."Kiefer gave this hypothesis his best concerned frown. "Urn, 'uniquely American'? Yeah, I suppose it is. Saw an editorial about something like that this week. Oh, say, excuse me, I'll go check the boys."Kiefer left the room in his eager-terrier style. In a moment Peterson could hear him talking mildly but firmly to the boys somewhere down the hall. They regularly interrupted him with tenor bright-boy-aware-that-he-is-being-bright backtalk. Peterson took a pull on his drink and reflected on the wisdom of proceeding further with Mitsuoko. Kiefer was a link in Peterson's information-gathering chain, the' most essential part of an executive's working machinery.

This was indeed California, notorious California, and the date was well advanced beyond the nineteenth century, but one could never be sure how a husband would react to these things, never mind what they said in theory about the whole matter. But beyond such calculations was the fact that the man irritated I a 2 him with his fanaticism about health foods and non-smoking and undignified devotion to those decidedly unpleasant children.

Well, executives were supposed to be able to make quick, incisive decisions, correct? Correct.

He turned to Mitsuoko, seeking the best way to use these moments alone. She was staring out at the view, which she must have memorized ages ago.

Before he could formulate an opening she asked, not looking at him, "Where are you staying, Mr.

Peterson?"

"La Valencia. And the name is Ian."

"Ah, yes. There's a nice strip of beach there, south of the cove. I often take a walk there in the evenings."

She looked directly at him. "About ten o'clock."

"I see," Peterson replied. He felt a pulse beating in his neck. it was the only outward sign of excitement.

By G.o.d, she had done it. She had made an a.s.signation with him almost under her husband's nose.

Christ, what a woman.

Kiefer came back into the room. "There's a growing crisis here," he said.

Peterson gave a snort of laughter which he deftly turned into a cough.

"I think you're right," he managed drily. He dared not look at Mitsuoko.On the long flight over the pole Peterson had time to browse through the file from Caltech. He felt relaxed and pleasantly dissipated, with the slack sensation one gets when he knows he has done quite as much as could be expected along the lines of self-indulgence.

No regrets, that was the ticket;' it meant one had pa.s.sed up nothing. To reach the grave with that a.s.surance would surely be at least comforting.

Mitsuoko had rather lived up to the subliminal advanced billing. She had cleared off after three hours, presumably with some solid story, or better, a tacit i a 3 agreement of no questions from Kiefer. A suitable topping off f6r a wearing trip.The Caltech file was something else. There were some grimly detailed internal reports, all a tangle of words and mathematical symbols to him. Markham could frolic in it, if he liked. There were signs that the file hadn't been freely given over. A Xerox of an official letter, Peterson-inspired, backgrounding for the Council, had scrawled at the bottom Stall them--let's not get scooped. Surely the author of the n6te would have lifted that out before making it semipublic. The explanation was obvious. The American government had quite effective internal security people. Rather than trade letters with Caltech, they'd clandestinely photographed whatever they could turn up. Peterson sighed.. A dicey method, but then again, not his problem.The only intelligible portion of the file was a personal letter, presumably stuck in because of key words.

Dear Jeff,I'm not going to make it down for Easter; there just too much to do here at Caltech. The last few weeks have been extremely exciting. I'm working with a couple of other people and we really don't want to break off our calculations, even for a holiday in Baja. I'm really sorry about it as I was looking forward to getting together with you both again (if you take my meaning.t). I shall miss the p.r.i.c.kly cactus and the delicious dry heat, too. Sorry, and maybe next time. Tell Linda l'll call her for a chat in the next few days if I can find time. Any chance of you people coming up here for a day (or better yet, a night)?After breaking a promise like this I suppose I ought to tell you what stirred me up so. Probably a marine biologist like you won't think this is of such great concern--cosmology doesn't count for a lot in the world of enzymes and t.i.trated solutions and all that, I suppose--but tO those of us working in the gravitational theory group it looks as ! a a Gregory Ben ford though thereg a genuine revolution around the corner. Or maybe it already arrived.

It related to a problem that's been hanging around astrophysics for a long time. If there is a certain quant.i.ty of matter in the universe, then it has a closed geometry--which means it will eventually stop expanding and begin to contract, pulled back together by gravitational attrac-tiota So people in our line of work have been wondering for some time if there is enough matter in our universe to * close off the geometry. So far, direct measurements of the matter in our universe have been inconclusive.

Just counting the luminous stars in the universe gives a small quant.i.ty of matter, not enough to close off s.p.a.ce-time.

But there undoubtedly a lot of unseen ma.s.s such as dust, dead stars, and black holes.

We're pretty sure that most galaxies have large black holes at their centers. That accounts for enough missing matter to close off our universe. What new is the recent data on how distant galaxies are bunched up together.

These galactic-scale clumps mean there are large fluctuations in matter density throughout our universe. If galaxies bunch up together somewhere in our universe, and their density gets high enough, their local s.p.a.ce-time geometry could wrap around on itself, in the same way that our universe might be closed.

We now have enough evidence to believe Tommy Gold's old idea--that there are pans of our universe which have enough cl.u.s.tered galaxies to form their own closed geometry.

They won't look like much to us--just small areas with weak red light coming out of them. The red is from matter still falling into those clumps. The shocker here is that these local density fluctuations qualify as independent universes. The time for forming a separate universe is independent of the size. It goes like the square root of Gn, where G is the gravitational constant and n the density of the contracting region. So itg independent of the size of the miniuniverse. A small universe will close itself off just as fast as a large one. This means all the various-sized universes have been around for the same amount of "time." (Defining just what time is in this problem will a 5drive you to drink, if you're not a mathematician--maybe if you are, toO.)The point here is that there may be closed-off universes inside our own. In fact, it would be a remarkable coincidence if our universe was the largest of all. We may be a local lump inside somebody else universe. Remember the old cartoon of a little fish being swallowed by a slightly larger one, in turn about to be swallowed by another bigger one, and so on, ad infinitum? Well, we may be one of those fishes.The last few weeks I've been working on the problem of getting information about--or out of--these universes inside our own. Clearly, light can't get out of one universe into the next. Neither can matter. That's what a closed geometry means. The only possibility might be some type of particle that doesn't fit into the constraints set by Einstein theory. There are several candidates like this, but Thorne (the grand old man around here) doesn't want to get into that mora.s.s. Too messy, he says.I think tachyons are the answer. They can escape from smaller "universes" inside our own. So the recent discovery of tachyons has enormous implications for cosmology.

It hard to detect tachyons, so we don't know much about them. They give us a direct link to the sealkd-off s.p.a.ce-times inside our universe, though, which is why I'm working so hard on the problem. There's a chance of a first-cla.s.s discovery in this. We've had the devil of a time pursuing things, with the food strike and the big fire in LA.

Probably n.o.body will give much of a d.a.m.n, with the world in its present state. But that what the academic life is for.l'm sorry I've gone on about this at such length and probably made no sense, but the whole thing is tremendously exciting to me and I tend to get carried away. Any-.

way, l'm sorry about Baja. Hope to see you both soon.

Love, Cathy Peterson felt a momentary twinge of guilt at reading a private letter. The Council used such methods routinely now, of course, to get quickly round the re- ! a 6 Gregory Ben fordcalcitrant interests who had not accepted the necessity for quick action. Still, he was a gentleman and a gentleman does not read another's mail. His reluctance soon submerged beneath his interest in the implications of what was said by "Cathy." Subuni-verses?

Incredible. The landscape of the scientist was ultimately unreal.Peterson leaned back in his seat and studied Canadian wastes slipping by below. Yes, perhaps that was it. For decades now the picture of the world painted by the scientists had become strange, distant, unbelievable.

Far easier, then, to ignore it than try to understand.

Things were too complicated. Why bother?

Turn on the telly, luv. Right.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

DECEMBER 3, 1962.

COOPER LAID THE RED-GRIDDED SHEETS OUT IN A.long line across the lab countertop. He stood back, balancing on his toes like a sprinter preparing to go the distance, and surveyed his wo,k. The subdued hum of the laboratory underlined the expectation in the air. "That's it," Cooper said slowly. "They're in the right order.""That's our best data?" Gordon murmured."Best I'll ever get," Cooper said, frowning at something in Gordon's voice. He turned, hands on hips. "It's all consecutive, too. Three hours worth.""It looks good and clean," Gordon said in a conciliatory tone. "Sharp.""Yeah," Cooper admitted. "Nothing funny about this. If there was a clear resonance there, I'd see it."Gordon traced his finger along the green data'

lines. There were no standard resonances at all. Inside their sample, cooled down to 3 degrees absolute in the bubbling helium, were atomic nuclei. Each was ! a S a tiny magnet. They tended to line up along the magnetic .field Cooper had applied to the sample. The standard experiment was simple: apply a brief electromagnetic pulse, which'tipped the nuclear magnets away from the magnetic field. In time, the nuclei would line up with the field again. This nuclear relaxation process could tell the experimenter much about the environment inside the solid. It was a relatively simple way to learn about microscopic features of the complex solid structure. Gordon liked the work for its clarity and directness, aside from any applications to transistors or infrared detectors it might eventually have. This branch of solid state physics didn't have the high visibility of things like quasars or high-energy particle research but it was clean and had a kind of simple beauty.The jagged traces before him, though, were neither simple nor beautiful. Here and there were fragments of what they should be getting: nuclear resonance curves, smooth and meaningful. But in most of the gridded traces there were sudden jagged line bursts of electromagnetic noise, appearing abruptly for an instant, then disappearing just as suddenly."The same s.p.a.cings," Gordon murmured.

"Yeah," Cooper said. "The one-centimeter ones--"

he pointed "--and the shorter ones, half a centimeter.

Regular as h.e.l.l."Both men looked at each other, then back at the data. Each had hoped for a different result. They had done these experiments over again and again, eliminating all possible sources of noise. The ragged bursts would not vanish."It's a G.o.ddam message," Cooper said. "Must be."

Gordon nodded, fatigue seeping through him.

"There's no avoiding it," he said. "We've got hours ofsignal here. Can't be coincidence, not this much."

"No.""Okay then," Gordon said, summoning up optimism in his voice. "Let's decode the f.u.c.king thing."

! a o REDUCTION OF OXYGEN CONTENT TO BELOW TWO PARTS PER.

. MILLION WITHIN FIFTY KILOMETER RADIUS OF SOURCE AFTER.

DIATOM BLOOM MANIFESTS AEMRUDYCO PEZQEASKL MINOR.

POLLUTANTS PRESENT IN DEITRICH POLYXTROPE 174A ONE.

SEVEN FOUR A COMBINES IN LAITrI'INE CHAIN WITH HERBICIDES SPRINGFIELD AD45 AD FOUR FIVE OR DU PONT.

a.n.a.lAGAN 58 FIVE EIGHT EMITTING FROM REPEATED AGRICULTURAL.

USE AMAZON BASIN OTHER SITES OTHER LONG.

CHAIN MOLECULAR SYNERGISTS POSSIBLE IN TROPICAL ENVIRONS.

OXYGEN COLUMN SUBJECT TO CONVECTIVE SPREADING.

RATE ALZSNRUD ASMA WSUEXIO 829 CMXDROQ VIRUS XM-PRINTING.

STAGE RESULTS 3 THREE WEEK DELAY IF DENSITY OF.

SPRINGHELD AD45 AD FOUR FIVE EXCEEDS 158 ONE FIVE.

EIGHT PARTS PER MILLION THEN ENTERS MOLECULAR SIMULATION.

REGIME BEGINS IMITATING HOST CAN THEN CONVERT.

PLANKTON NEURO JACKET INTO ITS OWN CHEMICAL FORM.

USING AMBIENT OXYGEN CONTENT UNTIL OXYGEN LEVEL.

FALLS TO VALUES FATAL TO MOST OF THE HIGHER FOOD.

CHAIN WTESJDKU AGAIN AMMA YS ACTION OF ULTRAVIOLET.

SUNLIGHT ON CHAINS APPEARS TO r.e.t.a.r.d DIFFUSION IN SURFACE.

LAYERS OF THE OCEAN BUT GROWTH CONTINUES.

LOWER DOWN DESPITE CONVECTIVE CELLS FORMING WHICH.