"And more than that," Marta said, "we can build a test drill that will go down into one of the big moons—one with a molten core."
"The next drill," said Chandler, "will be the real thing to tap the core of the Earth."
Marta kissed him.
The drill took less than the projected year to build. On the grassy Michigan meadow, as several hundred dignitaries, reporters and curious spectators in wind-whipped overcoats were held in check by armed troops, the giant device was lowered toward a concrete basin. Sizzling arc lights mounted on the control ring, a circular concrete building surrounding the basin, illuminated the scene against the growing darkness of night.
The Soviet press was lauding the drill as a Russian achievement. Most Western papers gave the credit to Dr. Paul Chandler. But Chandler knew it was Kotenko's idea, made possible by his own mental resources, surprising even to himself.
Chandler felt a deep pride as he gazed at the drill, complete with the controversial capsule.
"Excuse me, Dr. Chandler." A reporter with dry, unkempt hair stepped up. "I still don't see how that thing will work."
"In simple words, the rock is drawn into the bottom something like air into a jet engine," said Chandler. "The rock is vaporized and expelled out the top where the vapor together with the device itself presses the molten material into the walls of the shaft. Because the rock has had its heat conductivity removed, it hardens and remains permanently solid. A tubular force field keeps the shaft from collapsing."
"I understand that much." The reporter took out a folded square of paper and a pencil. "But what makes the thing go?"