Ripple (Breakthrough Book 4)

by Michael C. Grumley

  Caesare rolled his eyes. “You’re killing me, Will.”

  “Sorry, but it’s important. Especially this last piece, about our alien ship.”

  “Let me have it.”

  Borger lowered his voice. “Okay, so we both know what we saw on that video.”

  “A ship that repairs itself.”

  “Exactly. I was shocked when I saw that video footage from Tay and his men.”

  “I think we all were, Will.”

  “Right, right. But here’s the thing. It makes sense. That it does that. Listen, if you’re traveling through space on a ship, the distances are huge. Almost unimaginable.”

  “Agreed. Including the energy required. Which is a big part of why it was a one-way trip.”

  “That’s right,” Borger said. “But it’s not just the energy. It’s also the distance. Most people don’t understand what kind of distances we’re talking about. We’re talking vast. Really vast!”

  Caesare listened and took a step backward, lowering himself into the second chair with a loud creak. “Go on.”

  “The distances are so great, that you’d have to be traveling at speeds most people cannot really comprehend.”

  “Close to the speed of light.”

  “Yeah, but these days the speed of light is just a term thrown around by everyone. I don’t think most people really appreciate what that means. Even at a fraction of the speed of light, you’re talking about moving so fast that you start affecting time itself.”

  “Einstein’s Theory of Relativity,” Caesare replied.

  “Precisely. But here’s something that even fewer people understand. When you’re moving that fast, again even at a fraction of light speed, the energy translates in two ways. One is kinetic energy but the second is force.”

  Caesare thought for a moment. “Like an impact?”

  “Exactly. Like an impact,” Borger nodded. “As in something hitting the ship. And here’s the thing. Force equals mass times acceleration, so at that kind of speed, the object wouldn’t have to be very big. In fact, it could be very small. Space is mostly empty but not completely.”

  “When you say it could be small, how small are we talking?”

  “Really small. Like the size of a pebble, or less. Even at a tenth of the speed of light, you would be moving so fast that even a speck of dust could create one hell of an impact and rip an enormous hole in your ship.”

  “Geez.”

  “Yeah. And let me tell you, there is a LOT of dust floating around in space.”

  Caesare folded his arms. “Well, that could ruin your trip in a hurry.”

  “Exactly. Which is why you would need to be able to repair your ship, and quickly. So, either you’d have to be ready at all times, or you would need a ship that could do it by itself.”

  Caesare leaned back. “Which is exactly what we saw.”

  “Exactly what we saw!” Borger repeated excitedly.

  Caesare sat silently, contemplating. He watched a familiar expression form on Borger’s face.

  “That’s not all of it.”

  Borger smiled and slowly shook his head.

  “Keep going.”

  “We know the ship can repair itself. We all saw it. But I didn’t know how, until this morning. In the shower.”

  Borger pulled up his sleeve and exposed a small scrape on his arm. It was red but already beginning to heal. “I got this last night when we were bringing the stuff over from the Pathfinder.”

  Caesare glanced at Borger’s arm. “A scrape? Okay.”

  “What I’m trying to say is that this is all tied to the green liquid. The solution we saw in those containers before they were destroyed. Do you remember when we found them inside the mountain?”

  “How could I forget?”

  “Then you’ll remember that when we were inside, there was no system or power source to keep all those embryos in suspension like that.”

  Caesare peered curiously at Borger. “Something needed to provide that energy.”

  At that, Borger’s expression grew even more excited. “Exactly what I was thinking! What we saw was amazing, but it wasn’t magic. It all still has to work within the same laws of physics, regardless of whether we understand it.”

  Now Caesare grinned, seeing where Borger was headed. “It did have a power source.”

  “It had to have had one! We just didn’t realize what it was.”

  “Until now.”

  Borger smiled. “Exactly! It’s the liquid, Steve! The solution is more than just the nutrient; it’s also the power source!”

  “Wow,” Caesare replied slowly.

  “And that’s how the ship can repair itself! Because it’s not just surrounded by that green solution, it’s infused with it!” Borger leaned forward in his chair. “And that ship isn’t merely making its own repairs, it’s HEALING itself!”

  50

  Steve Caesare stared silently at his friend for a long time. What they had already witnessed was incredible, but what Borger had just suggested could only be described as astounding. Simply off the charts.

  “Are you saying that ship is alive?”

  Borger shook his head. “No. Not like that. But what I am suggesting is that whatever it’s made of…is organic.” He sat back up in his chair. “And infused with a solution that may be even more incredible than we thought.”

  Caesare nodded, digesting. “We’ve already started research with organics –– OLEDs and semiconductors.”

  “And those are just baby steps. What we’re talking about here is an element, or something, that could be both a super-nutrient and a power source, and still be part of an inorganic structure. I can’t even begin to fathom the implications of that.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  “We have to protect this ship, Steve. We’ve got to protect it no matter what.”

  Caesare nodded his head. “We have to do more than that. We also need to find the second vault. In a hurry.”

  “That’s true. If it has more of those containers, it’s not just about what might be floating in that solution, it’s about the solution itself.”

  Caesare twisted his arm and peered at his watch. “Nineteen hundred you said?”

  51

  The old diesel engines were put into reverse, roaring as their propellers churned through the dark water and bringing the large fishing trawler to a slow next to the much larger Pathfinder.

  Captain Tomas Lopez, a young Venezuelan not more than thirty, stood at the helm. His one hand calmly held the wheel with the other babying the throttle. Behind him, the outlines of the boat’s towing warps and net drums were easily visible along with several large hand-crank winches.

  With dark piercing eyes and a mind as sharp as anyone John Clay had ever met, Lopez was the epitome of a modern-day entrepreneur, with a dry sense of humor and thick Spanish accent.

  Raised in near poverty, the Lopez family had managed to migrate to Trinidad Island before the real suffering began in Venezuela. Brought on first by the dreams of Hugo Chaves, his idealistic revolution would later set the stage for an utter failure of government by his successor Nicolás Maduro.

  Even at a young age, Lopez had witnessed both the emotional and financial helplessness around him and swore not to fall victim to the same fate. Instead, he became a fisherman by day and a smuggler by night.

  The wiry young captain brought his boat to a full stop next to the Navy’s research ship, long enough for the crew to tie the large lines off and secure themselves to the port side of the ship’s stern. Something they had now done many times over the last several weeks.

  Lopez and his three-man crew had seen it all. Everything a person could want to smuggle, they had. Done normally for gain, they more recently began doing it for those needing help, oppressed beneath the tyrannical clutches of Maduro and his corrupted government.

  It began with smuggling in food past government checkpoints and was now escalating to smuggling families themselves out of the country,
to some of the nearby islands.

  Lopez had smiled when he told Clay he was an equal-opportunity smuggler. But the sad truth was that he couldn’t save them all. And both Lopez and his crew knew it.

  For Clay and his team, Lopez had been the perfect man to transport their shipments back and forth between Trinidad.

  Two days a week, without fail, Lopez and his men delivered the supplies needed by Clay and his team. All untraceable and purposefully mislabeled.

  When the last line was tied and a gangplank extended between both boats, supplies quickly began to appear from hidden holds and move efficiently across to the Pathfinder’s waiting crew.

  As the supplies were delivered, John Clay stood up from his wooden bench, along with Alison and Lee. Clay approached the ramp and immediately spotted Steve Caesare and Neely Lawton arriving on the other side.

  When the exchange was all but finished, Caesare marched down the gangplank in heavy boots. He clasped Lopez on the shoulder as he passed. “Right on time, Tomás. Gracias por traer a nuestos amigos!”

  “Es mi honor,” the young captain replied.

  He turned to examine Clay, standing on his own, no longer needing even a cane. “You’re looking downright spry, Clay.”

  “I was shooting for snappy.” Clay grinned and peered at him more closely. “Are you dying your hair?”

  Caesare laughed and turned to Alison. “Nice to see you again, Ali. And Mr. Kenwood. Welcome to our humble abode.”

  “You know we’ve actually been onboard before,” Lee said.

  Caesare grinned. “Oh, I’m not talking about the Pathfinder. You ever vacation on a forty-year-old oil rig?”

  When Lee’s smile disappeared, Caesare laughed again. “I’m just kidding, kid. You get to stay shipside. Lucky for you.”

  Alison shook her head, rolling her eyes before reaching down to pick up her bag. She turned to Clay wistfully. “I guess this is it.”

  He nodded and wrapped his arms warmly around Alison, kissing her. “I’m afraid so. But you’ll be safe here until we get back.”

  “You’re going to call me, right?”

  “I will. Whenever I can.”

  Alison nodded and pulled him down for another, longer kiss. When she pulled back, Alison turned to Caesare. “Don’t let anything happen to him.”

  He frowned. “Why doesn’t anyone ever worry about me?”

  In response, Borger piped up from the edge of the Pathfinder, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Clay, don’t let anything happen to Steve!”

  Clay laughed. “I’ll do my best.” He took Alison’s hand and helped her up and over the short plank, letting go once she stepped firmly aboard the Pathfinder. He then stood by as Lee crossed over with his own bag.

  “Good luck, Mr. Clay.”

  “Thanks, Lee. I look forward to hearing what else you’ve learned from our friends when I get back.”

  “You got it.”

  With that, the plank was removed. The lines of the trawler were then untied and thrown back aboard. As the swells gently pushed the unlit fishing boat away from them, Alison watched as John and Steve’s figures grew dimmer, quickly fading into the night.

  It was only after she heard the trawler’s diesel engines roar back to life and the boat’s outline disappeared entirely, that she approached Neely and Borger, giving them a proper greeting.

  “It’s great to see you guys,” Alison exclaimed, hugging them both.

  Neely’s lips spread into a wide grin. “Welcome back.”

  “Thanks,” Alison replied, her own grin matching Neely’s. She looked her friend straight in the eyes with an abrupt change in demeanor. “We need to talk.”

  52

  Neely stared at both Alison and Lee as they all sat beneath her lab’s bright fluorescent lights. With arms folded, she pondered what she had just been told. After a long pause, Alison spoke again.

  “Is it possible?”

  Neely nodded her head, slowly. “It’s possible. Yes. But what you’re talking about is bigger than just a form of communication between a few species. Which is already a big deal. What you’re talking about is much bigger. You’re talking about something that could effect dozens of species. Maybe more.”

  “So, genetically speaking,” Lee asked, “how deep could this go?”

  “I have no idea. As much as we currently know about genetics, it’s only the tip of the iceberg. We’re truly only scratching the surface at this point. But the idea of a communicative ability, connecting cognition and instinct is intriguing. And if it’s true, it might go even deeper than you think.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Neely thought for a moment. “You all know what gastric bypass surgery is, right?”

  Alison, Lee, and Borger all nodded.

  “Then you know that it’s a weight-loss surgery that changes the shape of the stomach, severely limiting the consumption of food, and usually a last resort for those who are truly obese. You might also know that the vast majority of patients who undergo that surgery are also diabetic. Diabetes and obesity are very closely correlated.”

  Alison wrinkled her brow. “How is this related?”

  “This may sound a little technical, but stay with me. What’s interesting about the gastric surgery is that while most patients undergoing the procedure are diabetic, the majority of those same patients lose their diabetes after the surgery.”

  This time Lee frowned. “Why would that be surprising if they’re correlated?”

  “What’s surprising is not that their diabetes disappears…it’s when it disappears.” Leaning forward in her chair, Neely continued. “It takes most patients weeks or even months for the weight to start coming off. But in many cases, the diabetes disappears almost immediately. Before they lose the weight.”

  Alison studied her curiously. “Before they lose the weight?”

  “Yes.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “That’s just it,” Neely shrugged perplexedly. “No one knows.”

  “That’s…kind of bizarre.”

  Neely turned to Lee. “Isn’t it? Now you’re probably wondering why this is relevant. The answer is that scientists and doctors don’t know why this happens to the gastric bypass patients, but they do have a theory, which is rooted within obesity itself.”

  Neely then explained the theory to the group. “Obesity, as I’m sure you know, results in all sorts of health problems. From processing insulin to circulatory problems, heart disease, stress, even things like gout. An overabundance of fat cells can be downright insidious to our health. Which is why researchers are wondering if something else may be happening at a deeper level. At a cellular level.”

  “You mean genetically?”

  “No,” Neely shook her head. “More like chemically. Researchers now believe that there is some kind of chemical communication happening at a cellular level––in this case, among fat cells. And this communication may be how so many patients lose their diabetes much sooner than the weight that helped to cause it.”

  “Oh my gosh. Is that true?!” Alison exclaimed.

  “Yes, it is.”

  All three stared at Neely in fascination. “You’re saying,” Alison began, “that there is communication happening within our cells?”

  Neely smiled. “No. We’ve always known that. At least to some degree. I’m saying that there may be a lot more happening than we expect, which makes Chris’s idea of a new form of communication a real possibility. Perhaps one that has yet to be discovered.”

  “And what if we evolved out of some of this cellular communication?”

  “Also possible.”

  “And the DNA that was extracted from those plants turns it back on!”

  At that, Neely’s smile disappeared. “Well…there’s a larger problem there, I’m afraid.”

  “Like what?

  “Remember when I said there’s no such thing as a free lunch?”

  “Yes.”

  Neely glanced worriedly over th
eir shoulders at Will Borger. “It seems our super bacteria has some problems.”

  “What kind of problems?”

  “Terminal ones.”

  Alison replied. “For who?”

  “We were exposed to it,” Lee added nervously.

  “Not for you, as far as I know. I mean for someone injected with it.”

  53

  The gray Jaguar XJ got Li Na out of town with the help of its GPS, but the car’s gas tank was more empty than full, leaving her far less than needed to reach the next city.

  It was a miracle she hadn’t crashed it trying to get out of the parking garage. Yet once outside, the wide empty lanes provided enough room to gradually improve her steering. Now on the highway’s two empty lanes, she tried to study the inboard GPS screen without swerving. At least enough to get her bearings.

  Fortunately, she was still headed east.

  She raised herself up and peered through the rearview mirror, looking for other vehicles but saw none.

  The men had to have transportation. Why weren’t they chasing her?

  Li Na noticed the turn signal blinking in the dashboard display and tried to remember how to turn it off. She finally found it, pressing her foot down harder on the gas pedal while her eyes returned to the mirror. Still no one.

  ***

  She was several miles out of the city before the helicopter appeared and circled the top level of the parking garage. All six men watched impatiently as it completed the circle and closed in, hovering less than ten meters above the thick concrete. Finally, it dropped all the way down and bounced gently onto the top level of the parking garage.

  Once aboard, Sheng Lam did not speak. He sat silently, pushed into one of the middle seats, and watched the men around him carefully.

  Now he knew. Now he knew what they were hiding. They were to dispose of him. And not let him touch the girl. Someone in the chain of command knew more about Lam than he had realized.