"Hallå," he mumbled into it.

"Goddag, Doktor Lundquist."  The voice switched from Swedish to flawless English.  "This is Prime Minister Hanson.  I have with me President Steinberg of the United States and President Peng of the Democratic Union of Asian Nations.  This conversation is being relayed to other members of the United Nations."

Before he could press the "tala" button again, the Prime Minister interrupted him.  "Herr Doktor, please take a moment to wake yourself.  Once you have done so, dress quickly.  A car waits outside your home that will bring you to Arlanda airport.  From there you will fly to Frankfurt, and finally to New York City.  Do not take the time to pack."

"Herbert, I am very aware that today is the first day of your retirement.  If this were not a matter of grave importance, I would happily let you sleep away the rest of your golden years." Herbert was already rising from bed.  "As it stands, this is a grave matter, and the global community requires your assistance.  Please hurry."

The call terminated.

Herbert shook away the last dregs of sleep, ransacked his wardrobe for a decent suit, and stumbled his way to the bathroom.  He showered quickly, brushed his teeth, and emptied his bowels.  The last bit of his regimen always reminded him of the source of his monetary success, and the sad turn his career had taken.

Forty years earlier Dr.  Herbert Lundquist, former professor of quantum physics at Stockholm University, had proven the existence of wormholes.  Using devices of his own invention, he was able to create one on demand.  When he announced his discovery to the world, he became a very famous man, and the applications for such technology seemed limitless. 

Nobody else had improved upon his technology since its original discovery.

Even now, a pang of regret washed over him as he imagined the waste below him hitting the frictionless bowl of his toilet and sliding through the Lundquist Hole in the bottom.  He could not imagine what the world so direly needed of a glorified sanitation worker like himself.

Herbert finished up, told the house he was not certain when he would return, and made his way to the sleek black car that crouched outside his gate.  With an uneasy look back at his sprawling, empty home, he allowed the dark vehicle to swallow him and carry him away.

***

Herbert was a tiny point along the circumference of a massive wooden table.  It bristled with scientists and mathematical theorists, elbow-to-elbow, all along its edge.  The noise in the room was deafening; confusion and anxiety thickened the air.

Eventually, a man stood on the far side of the table, and Herbert, not having his opera glasses, had to wait until he spoke to recognize him.  He was Secretary General Sahir of the United Nations.  He clapped his hands forcefully, waiting for the noise to die down.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming.  I trust your translators are working?"  He briefly scanned the table for any issues.  "Excellent.  You are wondering why you are here.  I will not waste your time.  Please direct your attention to the center of the table."

In the middle of the mammoth slab of wood sat a projection cylinder.  It suddenly lighted from within, filling with a scene of outer space.  As a brilliant moon increased in size, it became clear that the point of view was one of leaving the Earth and heading toward deeper space.  That familiar gem in the sky soon passed, and the camera’s progression slowed, coming to rest with Mars visible as a tiny ruby in the distance.  Now it appeared that, somewhere on that deep black jeweler’s cloth that was space, a woman of titanic proportions had broken her necklace and spilled a large amount of dusty, gray pearls.  Hundreds, if not thousands, clouded space for what must have been many kilometers. 

It was wholly evident that they were approaching Earth.

Herbert felt as though he would vomit.  The entire room gasped at once and then erupted into a cacophony of questions and demands.  The Secretary General slammed his fist on the table, demanding silence.  "Now, my friends, I hope it is clear why we brought you here.  From our calculations, it is known that you have less than one week to neutralize this threat."

"What are they?" one man shouted.

"We have no idea," the Secretary General answered, shaking his head.  "Each is approximately twenty meters in diameter.  They appear metallic, but that is conjecture.  What is obvious is that they are not natural objects.  Also obvious is that they are on a collision course with our planet."

There was a murmur of voices.  "Why were we not told sooner?" cried a woman, closer to Herbert.

The Secretary General shot her a look of disgust.  "Do not insinuate that the United Nations would jeopardize the world’s safety for political reasons." He had to calm himself visibly.  "What is not visible in the representation you have just seen is the source of these . . . projectiles.  They simply appeared, not far from their current location, early this morning.  We can only assume they emerged from Lundquist Holes, or something very similar."

The room was silent.  All eyes turned to Herbert.  They were obviously waiting for him to say something.  He swallowed the bile rising in his throat and stood.

Sahir waved away his comment.  "You are not being accused of anything, Dr.  Lundquist.  You men and women are here because each of you has had occasion to work with, or theorize about, wormhole technology.  Obviously, sir, your own value here will be immeasurable." He leaned forward as if he were going to reveal a great secret.  Those around the titanic table also leaned forward.  "No nation on this planet has even begun work on a defense system that could deflect these objects.  And, being that we do not live in a world of Hollywood make-believe, we will not be sending any ships into space to rendezvous with and destroy the objects.  Lastly, seeing as how moving the Earth itself out of their way does not seem practical, we are left with one viable, albeit improbable, alternative."

Herbert shuddered.  "Min Gud," he whispered.  All eyes remained on him.  "You want us to advance the technology.  You want us to break the eight-centimeter barrier and create wormholes to transport these objects away."

Sahir nodded.

Herbert shook his head.  "I’ve tried to break that barrier for forty years," he said.

"Now, Dr. Lundquist, you have unlimited funds and the power of these minds."  Sahir spread his arms wide.  His expression turned grim.  "And, Herr Doktor, you have six days."

***

Six days later, the maximum diameter of a Lundquist Hole was eight-centimeters, and the first of the space "pearls" was entering Earth’s atmosphere.  A sleep-deprived Herbert huddled in a small, subterranean room with his colleagues, watching the proceedings.  Already having proven his uselessness, Herbert could think of nothing to do but pray.

He closed his eyes, reciting the Lord’s Prayer in his mind.  Fader vår som är I himmelen . . . It was not necessarily something he believed in, but it reminded him of his pious Astrid, and she always could calm him.

When a gasp similar to one he had heard six days earlier filled the room, he could not help but stop his praying and look to the screen.  The first pearl was in the sky over Mexico City.  As the friction of atmospheric entry heated its surface, layers of its nacre-like skin began sloughing off.  It slowed as its protective coating burned away, coming to rest in the high troposphere. 

Ridiculously enough, it now resembled a Swedish meatball. 

As the scientists watched in dismay, a swarm of tiny robots broke off from the body of the object and began dismantling it, forming ominous clouds around the hovering, brown meteorite.

The screen split, showing additional objects hovering above other major cities.  The same scene was unfolding over each.  Systematically, the projectiles transformed into roiling storm clouds.

Many heads were scratched in that insulated chamber.  Some of the greatest scientific minds in the world struggled to makes sense of what they saw.  It all came down to once paunchy, young man standing beside Herbert.

"It’s poop," he whispered.  "It’s poop and pee."

Herbert stared at him.  He opened his mouth to object, but in his gut, he knew.  It made perfect, terrifying sense.

As if they had been waiting for Herbert to make the connection, the clouds bulged and burst.  Black rain fell upon the Earth. 

And so began the biggest shit-storm the world had ever seen.

***

Three days later the clouds had dissipated.  Much of the world was now coated in a thin layer of human fecal matter, industrial byproducts, and toxic waste.  There was chaos, there was sickness, and there was despair.

When the last cloud had dropped the last of its lethal payload, every receiver on Earth began picking up a strange signal.  The scientists, now tasked with calculating the Lindquist Hole’s effectiveness in the cleanup operation, once again gathered in the screen room.

It spoke English.

"People of Earth.  I am the emissary of the Bright Ones.  Please know that we have always tried to be a peaceful people, but that your unprovoked attack on our planet has brought out our vindictive nature.  Allow me to show you some examples of your handiwork."

The alien stepped aside and other images began to take his place.  A smaller alien waddled into view.  Inside this brilliant sack of liquid, along with what were possible analogs of kidneys and livers, floated a Lundquist Hole.  The scientists saw the alien interacting with other Bright Ones.  Every so often, human feces would pour from the hole, and with nowhere to escape, began to pollute its innards.  Through time-lapse, they saw the slow, progressive poisoning, and dimming, of the young alien.  Eventually, nothing more than a living septic tank, it succumbed, falling over and bursting, its essence running into the ground like overflow from a sewer grate.

The heart-wrenching image of the Bright One was succeeded by a montage of scenes from around the unfamiliar planet, which they all now realized was the terminus of Herbert’s wormholes.  Toxic waste poured into reservoirs of fluid reserved for drinking.  Polluted smoke rose up from the floor of a family’s home.  The scientists watched the sky turn from the beautiful purple of tanzanite to a sickly brown, the land to a drab gray.  Twenty-five years of otherworldly waste and pollution took its toll.

The emissary returned.  "Again, I stress that we are not a warlike people.  However, it has taken us very long to find you, and to develop the technology to reach you.  We have no time for negotiation." Herbert interpreted a quiver of the alien’s membrane as seething anger.  "I must insist that you terminate your bizarre attack on our planet," it continued, "or our next contact with you shall be of a military nature."

The screen began to darken.

"You have ten of your planet’s rotations."

The transmission ended.

***

One day earlier, another wave of projectiles had appeared in the same region as the first, their payload certainly more sinister.  In the remaining five days it would take for them to reach the Earth, the scientists created a web of Lundquist Holes to intercept them.  With no apparent means of course correction, the entire wave of pearls disappeared.

A second disaster easily averted.

The next time would not be so easy.

The following days became a blur.  Herbert felt his age far too keenly, taking a less active role in the work.  More scientists from countries around the world were brought onboard, all truly brilliant people. 

Right on cue, a dark-skinned man sat down across from him.  "God dag, Doktor Lundquist," he said.

"Good morning, Herr Secretary General," Herbert acknowledged.

The large man let out a deep sigh and motioned toward Herbert’s muffin basket.  Herbert nodded.  Sahir selected a bran muffin and began to unwrap it with a look of distaste.  "I suppose we cannot expect all the comforts of home," he said.

Herbert’s eyebrow arched sharply, cutting through the small talk.  "Has the next breakthrough occurred?" he asked.

Sahir swallowed his food.  "Indeed."

"The progress is mind-numbing," Herbert said, shaking his head in dismay.  He looked up and met Sahir’s eyes.  "Did you need to consult with me?"

"No, Herr Doktor.  Just the opposite." Sahir looked pained as he spoke.  "Now that we are able to project the Lundquist Holes from afar, and move the entry-point as we wish, we should have an impenetrable defense grid for some time to come."

"At least until the Bright Ones one-up us."

Sahir shook his head.  "I doubt that will happen . . . for some time."  The last was added almost as an afterthought.

Herbert finished his last bit of toast and used his napkin to dust crumbs from his lips.

"Well," he said, "this should give us the time we need to shut down all of the holes.  To cease our ‘attack’ on the Bright Ones."

Herbert cut him off.  "You have no intention of stopping, do you? Even though it is destroying a living world!"

"Herbert, please.  Calm yourself."

Herbert did not do so.  "They are my invention!  I insist that you turn them all off immediately!  I will not take part in this killing any longer!" He was on his feet now, staring down at one of the world’s most powerful men.

Sahir stood, now towering over him.  "You have earned some rest, my friend," he said, not softening the commanding tone of his voice.  "It is time you enjoyed your retirement back in Stockholm."

Herbert pushed in his chair.  "This is the work of Presidents Peng and Steinberg, isn’t it?  Two men cannot make decisions for the world."

Herbert thought he detected the faintest hint of sadness on Sahir’s face.  The Secretary General also pushed in his chair.  The meeting was over.  Before he turned to leave, however, he had one last thing to say.  "The decision to continue use of your invention on Earth was nearly unanimous.  Your Prime Minister Hanson himself cast a positive vote." The dark stone face was expressionless once more.  "It seems we are not quite ready to let go of our burgeoning Utopia."

"The cost of this paradise is too high, sir," Herbert said.  He had much more to say, but at the mention of his nation’s leader, the fight had drained out of him.  He turned without another word and headed back to his quarters to begin packing his minimal possessions for the long trip home.

***

The next few months saw no more attacks or transmissions from the Bright Ones.  Back home, Herbert found the Scandinavian winter exceptionally harsh, and temperatures were reported as unseasonably cool around the world.  When his seldom-used wireless-assistant began suffering constant network outages, a thought formed in his mind that he could not easily dispel.

"Gracias, Dr. Flores," he said into his landline.  "I appreciate you humoring an old man.  No, you are too kind, my friend.  I will speak with you soon.  Adiós."

Herbert’s status in the scientific community meant little when he tried to pump colleagues for information about the battle with the Bright Ones.  Sahir’s universal gag order held fast.  He was, however, able to use his membership in the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences to have some data sent from the Swedish solar telescope on La Palma to his personal computer.

"Min Gud," he gasped as he pulled the readouts up on his screen.

His suspicions were correct. 

What the world thought was increased sunspot activity and a bad winter were something else entirely.  The image Herbert looked at now, the sun’s surface pocked with dark blotches, revealed that the interstellar battle the Earth was engaged in would end with the extinction of more than one species.

The sun had been violated by a black cloud of Lundquist Holes.

It became shockingly apparent to Herbert that the secret nutrient that made Lundquist Holes grow was not vacuum, but hard solar radiation.  Herbert imagined the Bright Ones’ planet, darkened and tarnished by human folly, now charred and dead as vicious solar energy poured through the wormholes.  A sure way to end the war.  But now the holes were growing, siphoning away the sun’s life-giving energy and compromising its magnetic field.  The Earth would soon be too cold to support life, and at some point in the near future, the solar system would be without its star.

Herbert took the fact that they did not call him to mean that all avenues had been exhausted, and there was no reversing the course of events.  A great sadness filled him, one he had not felt since Astrid’s death.  As the world grew colder, he knew, and the Earth’s people found out what their leaders had brought down upon them, it would be far more likely that the world would end in fire than in ice.

He did not want to be around to see that end.

He snuggled deep into the blankets, imagined the pillow under his arm was the warm form of his missing Astrid.  "Förlåta mig," he whispered.  He knew he would see her soon, and hoped she could forgive him for what he had done to the world she loved so much.

In the haze between consciousness and sleep, he saw her, beautiful as the day he married her, reaching out for him.

He drifted off with a smile.