by Steve Alten
Lauren needed to find Sam.
Lauren watches the Student Medical Center side entrance from her vantage behind a row of shrubs. Her hair is slicked back with water and tucked under a baseball cap.
She crosses the street, blending in with a family as they enter the facility. She follows a crowded corridor, then waits in line to access an automated hospital help station.
Presses PATIENT DIRECTORY. ‘Kirk Peacock’s room.’
KIRK PEACOCK IS LOCATED IN ROOM 310, BED B. HAVE A NICE DAY.
She looks around, bypassing the elevator for the stairs.
Kirk Peacock is lying in bed, his drooling mouth open, his eyes cloaked behind a virtual-reality headpiece. Lauren takes a seat by his bed, averting her eyes as a robonurse enters and changes his IV bag.
‘Kirk. Hey, Kirk!’ She knocks on the VR helmet, then yanks it off his head.
‘Cut the fubitchshitting … Lauren? Hey … what’re you doing here?’
‘I came to see you. You feeling okay?’
‘Fuck no. Got needles and tubes comin’ outta my bunghole. Haven’t done a leech in days. They took my contacts, my body piercings, my hair’s growing in over my ’too, and my father’s making me restain my pigment flesh tone. Life blows.’
‘Yeah. Kirk, I need a favor. I need to get away for a few days. I’ll trade you my car for your Amphibian.’
‘Your ’Vette? You on meds?’
‘It’s just for a few days. I promise I’ll take good care of it.’
‘Sink it for all I care. Belongs to my old man. Fubitchshittingasswipe.’
‘What’s your access code?’
‘Access code … damn … oh yeah.’ He holds up his bare foot. Tattooed to his heel is KP-3757-D.
Lauren memorizes the code. ‘Thanks, Kirk, I owe you. When do they let you out?’
‘Shifubitchin’ know-it-all tin can mechanical doctor ordered another blood scrub. I told that trash can she can suck my plasma only if she replaces it with BLISS. Ha-ha … hey, ’renman, where you going?’
Hangar 13, Kennedy Space Center,
Cape Canaveral, Florida
Thursday Afternoon
Immanuel Gabriel loses his thoughts in the psychiatrist’s eyes, watching them shift from hazel to green in the overhead lights. The man’s hair is brown and spiked, the cleft lip and telltale scars along the jaw line revealing recent reconstructive surgery.
‘You sure don’t look like a psychiatrist.’
Mike Snyder smiles. ‘And what should a psychiatrist look like?’
‘I don’t know … more scholarly, I suppose. What happened to your face?’
‘Battle scars. I double as one of your brother’s sparring partners. At least I used to. He’s way beyond us mere mortal foes these days.’
Immanuel sits up in the lounge chair, his head still woozy from the sedative. ‘So you’re Jake’s psychiatrist? Bet he plays head games with you.’
‘Only all the time. On occasion he might let something slip, but usually he only confides in Dr. Mohr or Grand Master Xiong. Jacob’s very sure of himself. Even as a fourteen-year-old, he always came across as if he knew exactly who he was and what he needed out of life. And he’s not one to lose his cool.’
‘Unlike me.’
Dr. Snyder grins. ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. If someone told me I was getting on that spaceship bound for God-knows-where, I’d have popped a few too many meds, too. What you can’t do is allow yourself to be drawn into your brother’s psychosis.’
‘Psychosis?’ Immanuel perks up. ‘Then you don’t believe this whole Mayan Hero thing?’
‘Do I believe you and Jake are unique individuals—absolutely. Do I believe the two of you were somehow the subject of a Mesoamerican tale written five hundred years ago? No.’
‘But Jake believes it.’
‘Jake’s mind absorbs everything like a sponge. Unfortunately, this Mayan mythology thing has been ingrained into his psyche since birth. It’s become part of his dementia and his persona, and it’s now impossible to separate the two.’
‘But … I heard my father’s voice.’
‘Think about it, Manny. Where were you at the time?’
‘In a holograph suite … programmed by my brother, that cocksucker! But wait, the Guardian’s starship—how can you deny that?’
‘Who’s denying it? An ancient alien spaceship was excavated from Mexico. From what I’m told, it’s been buried for at least ten thousand years. Is it one of the greatest, if not the greatest discovery in man’s brief history? Absolutely. Does its existence have anything to do with your late father? Probably, since he was the one who discovered it.’
‘Then you don’t believe Jake and I are destined to board that ship and leave orbit in four days?’
‘In that ship?’ Dr. Snyder snorts a half laugh. ‘Listen, Dr. Mohr believes in this Mayan nonsense as much as Jacob, but even he’ll tell you those engines haven’t been fired in thousands of years, and trust me, it’s not like NASA hasn’t been trying. The only way that old clunker’s leaving orbit is if we strap it to one of our new Mars transports and tow her into space.’
A huge smile breaks across Immanuel’s face, tears of relief flooding his eyes. ‘Doc, I could kiss you.’
‘Save it for your mother. She’s the one who needs it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Jake may be a cold fish when it comes to his feelings, but your mother’s torn up inside. Imagine spending twenty years of your life, holding on to the slimmest of hopes that the only person you’ve ever loved, a man who disappeared before your very eyes, might still be alive. It’s like telling the wife of a POW not to move on with her life because her missing husband might return. Look at the life your mother’s led. Isolated from the public, unable to see one son, the other in a world all his own, with no social life of her own to speak of. Not knowing what to think about Mick’s death, your mother’s refused to allow herself to get involved in another relationship, to say nothing about how she’s made herself available to Jacob’s every whim.’
‘It’s always been like that. I’m guessing Jake has her convinced we’re flying off to Xibalba in four days.’
‘Which means in four days he’ll suddenly be confronted by the reality of his own psychosis, and it’s going to tear him apart. Your mother knows what’s coming, and it scares her to death.’
Manny pinches away tears. ‘Where is she? I want to see her.’
Soft pink sand.
A tranquil lagoon, its small, soothing waves lapping at their ankles.
Dominique is holding Mick’s hand. She stares lovingly at his tan face, the golden rays of the setting sun dancing in his ebony eyes.
‘Mother?’
Mick looks at her with a sad smile. ‘You have to go.’
‘Mother, can we talk?’
Dominique removes the virtual-reality headgear, squinting into the hallway light.
‘I’m sorry,’ Manny says. ‘Am I disturbing you?’
‘Computer, lights.’ The overhead lights come up gradually. She sits up from the couch, then ejects the VR program. ‘How’re you feeling? We were all worried about you.’
‘I’m okay.’
‘I’m sorry Jake’s driving you crazy. I should have never let him talk me into bringing you here. All I ever wanted for you was to live a normal life.’
‘Ma, it’s okay.’ He sits next to her. ‘It’s you I’m worried about.’
She flashes a false smile. ‘Since when?’
He swallows the lump in his throat. ‘I realize now how hard it’s been for you … you know, being without Mick, seeing your family separated. Pushing you to let me go only made things worse.’
‘Your instincts were right. What I did … what I allowed Jacob to do was wrong.’
‘Jake manipulated you, just like he’s always manipulated me.’
‘It wasn’t just Jake, I believed it, too. I mean, how could I not, with everything that had happened. When your father first left me,
I honestly believed he was still alive. I can’t describe the feeling, but somehow I just knew he was around, I could feel this terrible tugging in my heart. But as the years passed the feeling subsided. Your father’s dead, Manny. I’ve come to accept that now.’
‘And all Jake’s training, all this nonsense about taking a journey?’
‘All my fault. I was confused … I should have never allowed him to read your grandfather Julius’s journal. It’s become the basis of his psychosis. By the time I realized what I’d done, it was too late.’
‘I’m sure GOLDEN FLEECE made things worse. These scientists are using Jake’s delusions to get what they want. Why did you go along with it?’
‘Why? Because I had no choice. The two of you have always had enemies. Weeks before we set up your phony deaths, the FBI caught a terrorist cell that was planning to launch a crude biological weapon at our home. Living in the compound—we were sitting ducks. Dr. Mohr supported Jacob’s training in exchange for your brother’s cooperation, allowing them access to the starship. Jacob feels safe here. He said he never felt safe on Longboat Key. How could I deny him that?’
‘Jake claims he can operate the Balam.’
‘He can access the vessel and manipulate a few of its astrotopography programs. Other than that, your brother has no more control or knowledge of that ship than you or I.’
‘That white-haired fubitshitter … he did it to me again.’
‘It’s the reason Dr. Mohr didn’t want you to see the starship. He knew Jacob would use it to manipulate you.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me any of this before we arrived? Never mind, if you had, I never would have come.’
‘Manny, it’s not Jacob’s fault. He has a disease. While it may allow him to focus inward, it causes psychotic behavior, robbing him of his ability to grasp reality.’
‘And what about me? Will I turn out like him?’
‘I don’t think so. Even if this Hunahpu gene were to suddenly grow dominant, you’re already well grounded in reality. Jacob was born into his dementia, and he’s too stubborn and too damn smart for his doctors to be coerced into therapy. Everyone agreed our only option was to allow this whole thing to just play itself out. When he finds himself stuck on planet Earth in four days like the rest of us, maybe he’ll open his mind enough to allow us to help. But there are other complications. Dr. Mohr just learned the entire GOLDEN FLEECE project’s being absorbed by HOPE.’
‘So what happens to Jake?’
She looks away.
‘Ma, I’m here now, I’m part of the family again. You have to tell me. What’s going to happen to Jake after Saturday?’
‘He’ll be committed … to a private sanitarium.’
Thursday Evening
4:55 p.m.
Immanuel follows his brother and Dr. Mohr into the secured facility that holds the Balam. The chamber is deserted, GOLDEN FLEECE’s technicians having already left for their four-day Thanksgiving holiday.
The immense starship’s mirrored gold hull sparkles beneath the overhead lights.
Dr. Mohr pauses by one of the vessel’s massive engines, grinning at Jacob from ear to ear. ‘Okay, I’m ready to give this thing another try.’
Jacob stretches, feigning boredom. ‘Go ahead, Doc, but explain things so Manny can understand them. Remember, he’s only a PE major, not an expert in quantum physics.’
Immanuel shoots his twin an elbow to the ribs.
‘Okay, Manny, er, Sam, the thing you need to understand about space travel is that the universe is big. The fastest thing we know of is light, which travels in the vacuum of space at 186,281 miles per second. Even at that rate, it would still take light a full four years just to reach our closest neighboring star. According to the star charts your brother was able to access, this ship originated from somewhere within the Orion Belt, which means it’s capable of exceeding light speed. With that sliver of information, GOLDEN FLEECE scientists have been trying to reverse engineer these engines, trying to figure out how the heck they work. Now, we know the ship doesn’t use conventional rockets—’
‘How do you know that?’ Immanuel asks. ‘They look like regular engines.’
Mohr smiles. ‘Rockets are okay for traveling to the moon or Mars, but you can’t use them for interstellar travel. The problem is the rocket’s fuel, or propellant. Unlike a plane, which pushes against air, a spacecraft has no mass to push against in the vacuum of space. Therefore, rocket ships must transport with them all the mass they’ll need to push against in order to move. Let’s say you wanted to use one of our newest Mars transports to reach Proxima Centauri, the closest star to our sun. Forget the fact that it would take you nine hundred years to arrive. In terms of propellant, there isn’t enough mass in the universe to get you there. Now, if you used a nuclear fusion rocket, something several space agencies are working on, you’d still need a thousand supertankers of propellant. Of course, if you wanted to get there sooner, it would require even more ungodly amounts of fuel.’
‘I saw a program about the new Mars cargo vessels. They’re going to use lunar-based lasers to push light sails.’
‘Correct, but the technology is still not feasible over great distances. Let’s say you were one light-year from Earth and wanted to make a course change. It would take two years just for the new commands to be radioed to ground control, received, and sent back.’
‘So what’s the solution?’
‘The solution is twofold: First, find a source of energy that is already in the vacuum of space; second, discover the means to manipulate the coupling or connection between mass and space-time.
‘Back in 1948, a Dutch physicist by the name of Hendrick Casimir completed an experiment using two metal plates. When brought close enough together, the plates attracted each other, revealing the presence of energy within the vacuum. The Casimir effect, as it was later named, was defined as zero-point energy—the random electromagnetic oscillations left in a vacuum after all the other energy has been removed.
‘Exactly how much energy resides in space is unknown, but many scientists now believe that before the Big Bang, the conditions of the universe were very similar to those inside a black hole. At minus 273 degrees Celsius, or absolute zero, molecular motion ceases. Zero-point energy doesn’t cease; in fact, it may have been so intense that it actually triggered the Big Bang, creating the universe as we now know it. Even though we can’t see it, space is, in fact, a sea of zero-point energy, so-called because it is everywhere and balanced to apparent zero. If we were to place a glass vase in a vacuum, the energy would cause it to wobble but prevent it from falling over since the energy would be rushing at it from every direction, neutralizing the effects. If zero-point energy does exist out there, and we believe it does, then there is more than enough energy in the volume of a cup of coffee to evaporate all of Earth’s oceans.’
‘That’s some cup of coffee.’
Dr. Mohr smiles. ‘Yes it is. Our challenge lies in organizing these multidimensional spectrums of energies simultaneously. According to Einstein’s theory of relativity, the speed of light is the limiting velocity for all ordinary material particles. Tardyons—particles having nonzero rest mass can approach the speed of light but can never achieve it, or their masses would become infinite. At the same time, luxons—particles with zero rest mass, such as photons and neutrinos, must always travel at light speed in a vacuum.’
The rocket scientist points to the starship’s engines. ‘The inverse of tardyons are tachyons—theoretical subatomic particles that can only travel at speeds exceeding that of light. What I believe we’re looking at here is some type of hyperdrive system that channels tachyon energy.’ Mohr turns to Jacob. ‘So, Professor Gabriel? Am I right?’
Jacob grins. ‘There was a young lady named Bright, whose speed was far faster than light. She went out one day, in a relative way, and returned the previous night.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘What your brother means is that i
f you can move faster than the speed of light, you could theoretically travel back in time, potentially causing all sorts of paradoxes.’
Immanuel turns to his twin. ‘As in … a time loop?’
‘Shh, don’t interrupt,’ Jacob says. ‘Okay, Doc, you’re stumbling along just fine, now see if you can tell me how this hyperdrive concept of yours works.’
Dr. Mohr points to the wasp’s nest of charred, afterburner-shaped housings, each orifice no less than thirty feet in diameter. ‘Once in orbit, those housings open, allowing a tachyon stream to pass through. The Balam’s computer regulates course and speed by widening or shunting off the openings in different combinations. The lower the tachyon stream’s energy, the faster the ship would travel.’ The scientist smiles. ‘So? Did I pass?’
