Quantum Lens

by Douglas E. Richards

  “Exactly,” said Craft. “Making superheroes a dominant force in our entertainment and culture. And you have to begin to wonder about our mythology, also. What if people throughout history were able to access the zero point field at varying levels of ability? Jesus is a favorite example I’ve already given you both. But there are many others. Greek and Roman Gods. Zeus and Apollo and Poseidon. Norse Gods.”

  Craft tilted his head in thought. “Take Thor, for example. He was said to have a hammer that only he could lift. Right now I could do the same trick. By adjusting gravity, or using a modified form of telekinesis, whatever you want to call it, I can make a paperclip weigh a million pounds.”

  “Until you tried to lift it,” said Martin. “Then you could return its weight to normal.”

  “Exactly. Even parts of our mythology that don’t seem obvious can be connected to a quantum lensing ability. Like mythical characters who can hurl flames. Or sorcerers who can turn any moisture into ice. Because I can do that also.”

  Craft gestured at the river in front of them. “Watch this,” he said.

  A large, waxy tropical leaf formed itself into a green scoop and dived under the river. It rose a moment later, breaking the surface gently and floating to a position a few feet from Brennan Craft’s face. A tiny puddle was now nestled at the base of this makeshift cup.

  “All I have to do is force the water molecules to slow,” explained Craft. “Everything is energy and forces.”

  The small sample of water instantly froze before their eyes. Craft held the leaf in place for a few seconds to make his point and then returned it, and the ice it contained, back to the river.

  Alyssa whistled. She had seen any number of demonstrations of Craft’s abilities over the past several weeks, but this was a new trick.

  “Impressive,” said Martin.

  “I’m not saying these mythical figures were patterned after actual, historical ones. But I am suggesting it’s a least worth considering.”

  Alyssa wasn’t sure what to think, but she loved this side of Brennan Craft. The logician. The dreamer. Someone who could make the wildest theories seem tame. When he was like this he was the old Bren again, not the arrogant, unlikable man he had all too often become over the past few weeks.

  “I don’t know, Bren,” she said. “It is an interesting theory. And we can’t argue that Thor couldn’t have been based on a real person, after all, since you can mimic many of his abilities. And you’re real.”

  “Thanks,” said Bren with a grin. “Being real is my best quality. Just don’t say that around Pinocchio. It makes him jealous.” He waved his hand toward Alyssa. “But sorry to interrupt. Go ahead and finish making your point.”

  “My point is that as interesting as this theory is, you still have to admit it’s pretty farfetched, right? I mean, if there were people who could tap zero point energy, where are they?”

  Craft shrugged. “Maybe this doesn’t confer immortality after all. Or maybe a fragment of God’s intelligence, greater than ours, has been assigned as a hall monitor and took them off the board. Called them home.”

  “Why would that be?” asked Martin.

  “This is all wild conjecture,” said Craft. “I know that. It’s most likely crazy. But in the spirit of having fun with it, one answer is that they attracted the attention of the video game master. They discovered too much of the underlying programming and found some zero point energy cheats, like I have. So after a while the game master cried foul and they were removed.”

  Martin made a face. “Is this The God Theory or The Matrix?”

  “No reason it can’t be both,” replied Craft. “And the zero point field gives us all a chance to be as powerful as our legends. In the past, our mythical heroes were solitary figures. But now we can envision a world in which all of us have these abilities.”

  “A matrix in which all of us are Neo?” said Alyssa.

  “Exactly,” said Craft with a grin. “Except without the karate skills.”

  The trio continued basking in their surroundings and discussing a variety of subjects for several more hours. They spoke at length of Craft’s capabilities, and he felt certain that he was now as strong as he could get.

  Finally, they decided to return home. As Craft was about to launch them into the air, Eben Martin caught his eye. “Okay, Bren,” he began, his expression grim. “Let’s say you have reached your peak. So here’s the obvious question I’ve been too nervous to ask.” He studied his friend carefully. “What now?”

  “What now?” repeated Craft. “That’s simple. I practice for a few more days,” he said with a shrug. “And then I try to kill our good friend in Syria.”

  “I was afraid you were going to say that,” said Martin unhappily as the ground quickly began receding below him.

  45

  Craft was out of the door at the crack of dawn, streaking through the sky at ever faster speeds and working on honing his skills. When Alyssa arose at eight a.m. and tramped out to the kitchen in her blue silk robe, Eben Martin was waiting to surprise her with omelets, toast, and hash brown potatoes. As she sat across from him and said good morning, he poured her a mango juice and coffee and slid them over to her. It was a breakfast fit for a queen. The aromas given off by these familiar foods made her stomach growl in anticipation.

  “To what do I owe this royal treatment?” she asked as she took a drink of the thick yellow Mango juice and decided that ambrosia could not have been any tastier.

  “I saw Bren fly out of here this morning. And when I say fly out of here . . . ” He trailed off with a look of amusement.

  “Yeah. It’s not just a figure of speech.”

  “Still haven’t quite gotten my head wrapped around it yet. But anyway, Bren was gone, I was up, so I thought I’d make you breakfast. To thank you for being such great company while I’ve been here.”

  Alyssa raised her glass of juice and tilted it in his direction as a salute. “Thanks,” she said.

  She continued to get a sense that Eben Martin was taken with her. Perhaps her father had been right, after all. Perhaps she had been cursed with only appealing to truly extraordinary men. She had dated dozens of men who were not truly extraordinary, and they never had the slightest trouble resisting her charms. If she were one of the industrial electromagnets Craft had described, they were made of cardboard.

  She had only had close interactions with two men who fit her father’s specification, Brennan Craft and Eben Martin, and both did seem to find her enormously appealing. Could it be that she didn’t make the cheerleading squad because the other girls were too jealous, after all?

  “How’s it going back at Informatics Solutions?” she asked Martin.

  “Fine. I surrounded myself with capable officers. I don’t need to get back to run the company,” he added with a smile. “I just need to get back before everyone realizes how well the company does without me.”

  Alyssa laughed. She couldn’t believe how comfortable she had become around Eben Martin, and how he had yet to say or do anything that had changed her initial impression of him. While they ate, Alyssa decided to take the opportunity to discuss a few serious subjects that had been troubling her.

  “So what do you think about Bren going after Al Yad?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Martin. “If he thinks he’s now at the top of his game, I have to trust his instincts. And we’ve already been lucky that the Al Yad time bomb hasn’t gone off. So days matter. Minutes might matter. The sooner Bren tries to kill a man who promises the streets of major cities will run with blood, the better.”

  Alyssa ran a hand through her hair, a look of confusion on her face. “I still don’t quite understand why Al Yad has been dormant. I mean, all he has is the promise Bren won’t bother him if he abides by Bren’s line in the sand. And the threat that Bren knows how to become even more powerful than he is, and will kill him if he breaks the rules.” She shrugged. “Is that your understanding?”

  Martin blinked fo
r several seconds, and then got a faraway look in his eye. “Um . . . yes,” he said finally. “That’s right.”

  Martin suddenly seemed distracted, but Alyssa decided to forge ahead. “So Bren goes to Syria and tries to kill Al Yad. If he succeeds, great. The apocalypse is averted. But if he fails, then what? Won’t Al Yad know he was bluffing about being able to kill him?”

  “I discussed this with Bren,” said Martin, his full attention once again on their conversation. “If he fails, he’ll pretend that killing Al Yad wasn’t his goal. That Bren just wanted to give Al Yad a reminder that he was out there, and provide a demonstration that his power had increased dramatically. As he had said it would. Bren will tell him that, being a man of honor, he intends to continue to abide by their agreement.”

  “And continue to bluff Al Yad that he could kill him any time if he really wanted to, right?” asked Alyssa, bringing a forkful of omelet to her mouth.

  “That’s the gist of it.”

  Alyssa tilted her head in thought. Why risk having to feed Al Yad more lies if the initial lies were still working? Especially since it was so unclear why Bren’s threat had ever worked in the first place. “I still think it’s a bad idea,” she said. “But since you and Bren are on the same page, I won’t argue the point further. But there is one other thing to consider. What if Al Yad kills Bren?”

  As much as the bloom had come off the rose with Bren, the thought of him being killed still hit her like a sucker punch to the gut.

  “Bren thinks there’s no chance of that,” said Martin. “Maybe you baked too much belief into him,” he added with a smile. “But I tend to agree with him. During their first encounter, Al Yad was at his full power and Bren was nothing compared to what he is now. And yet Bren managed to hold out against him for several minutes. Long enough to issue his, you know . . . his bluff. So worst case, Bren is still weaker. If so, he’ll know before his shield is breached. Just like he knew the first time. And he can deliver his reinforced bluff with great vigor and enthusiasm and fly off.”

  “I don’t know, Eben,” said Alyssa. “I’m still nervous about it.”

  “You’ve seen what Bren can do now,” said Martin, picking up a piece of toast and covering it with a thin coating of strawberry jam. “It’s hard for me to fathom that he won’t be able to kill Al Yad. He can vanish a mountain in an instant. I know Al Yad is supposed to be just as strong, but it’s hard to imagine.” He took a bite of the toast and set it back down on the plate. “But you’ve heard Bren whenever we suggest this isn’t a good idea. There’s no talking him out of it.”

  Alyssa took a deep breath. “Have you noticed any changes in him over the past few weeks?”

  Martin paused for quite a while and picked at his eggs. “Maybe,” he said finally. “But you’ve spent a lot more time with him than I have. So what do you mean exactly?”

  “You know we’re in love with each other,” said Alyssa, although she was pretty sure this was no longer accurate. The truth was she had been in love with Brennan Craft, and was still in love with ninety percent of him. It was the other ten percent that had her worried. “We haven’t exactly voiced it, but we don’t need to.” She exhaled loudly. “But as his power has grown, he’s become shorter of temper. More agitated by little things. More arrogant. Less thoughtful and compassionate.”

  “I haven’t been entirely blind to this,” said Martin. “You’re worried that this power is changing him. Absolute power corrupting absolutely?”

  “He does have absolute power.”

  “Yes, but he’s a good man. A very good man. It’s probably just an adjustment period. Hard not to become more arrogant when you have the power of a god. I don’t have his type of power, of course, but being a billionaire brings with it more power than you might imagine.”

  Alyssa smiled. “No. I think you’d find I can imagine it just fine. Although you’ve managed not to let it corrupt you. You’re still the most decent man I’ve ever met, other than Brennan.”

  Craft had offered to instruct both her and Martin in his biofeedback techniques to get them on the road to using the zero point field. With Alyssa’s narco-hypnosis added to the mix, the promise that they, too, could have Craft’s power was out there. Both had elected to wait, perhaps instinctively wanting to see the affect this power would have on Craft. Their only data point was Al Yad, and he had lost his sanity. Craft was the only other exhibit in this trial.

  “Thanks for the compliment,” said Martin, a smile coming over his handsome features. “But I work at it every day. And believe me, I don’t always succeed.”

  Martin paused. “Bren and I had an Israeli friend when we were kids, Eyal Regev. His father worked for the airlines and he was transferred to Mexico City. Given the exchange rate, money went a lot further there, and they could afford to have a live-in housekeeper. She did all of the cooking and cleaning. Eyal said that in the beginning, he found it awkward to have a live-in maid. He felt sorry for her, and that she shouldn’t have to clean up after him. He vowed not to take advantage of the situation. But within six months, Eyal told me he would come home from school and leave a trail of clothing and books behind him on the way to his room, knowing the maid would follow and straighten up after him.” He shook his head. “Power is insidious. It can’t help but change people. Even if they fight it.”

  Alyssa marveled at this man. He wore the mantle of billionaire better than anyone she knew could possibly have done, including, she had to admit, herself.

  “But Bren will be okay,” continued Martin. “We talked about this stuff a lot as kids. During sleepovers. We’d talk about science, science fiction—real geek stuff—but we both thought we would tame the world someday. That we would be famous and wealthy. And we made a vow to each other. To never let our future success go to our heads. To still be good people. That even if we became prominent, to treat janitors the same way we treat dignitaries.”

  “And I’m sure he meant it. But he could never have envisioned this. Not what is happening now.”

  Martin swallowed another mouthful of toast and nodded. “You’re right. What he has now is the ultimate level of power. Unimaginable. So it’s understandable that it’s changing his personality for the worse.” He shook his head. “But I’m confident this will only be temporary. The Brennan Craft we both know will come around. I promise.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” mumbled Alyssa.

  But she was not sure. Not sure at all.

  46

  Brennan Craft flew into Tel Aviv, Israel on a commercial jet and made his way to the port city of Haifa, less than fifty miles west of the Syrian border. At nightfall he flew into Syria and to Al Yad’s citadel, using his own motive power, staying low to the ground to avoid detection.

  Since Craft’s first encounter with Haddad, he had been in hiding. Scurrying like a rabbit. Off the grid.

  Omar Haddad, on the other hand, had advertised his location. He hadn’t diminished his lion’s roar one iota out of concern for the attention it might attract. Craft knew his thought process well: gods didn’t cower in fear, or anonymity. If anyone wanted to see him, they knew where to find him.

  Craft had no intention of making this a fair fight. He would surprise Haddad as much as he could. If he could end this in an instant, before Haddad knew what had hit him, so much the better.

  He doubted this was possible, though. Training one’s mind to become a quantum lens enhanced the properties of the subconscious considerably, making it far too supernaturally vigilant and quick for surprise to work, as Craft had demonstrated himself when a surprise sniper bullet, and then truck, had failed to trouble him in the slightest. On the other hand, compared to the offensive forces he now commanded, these assaults had been as gentle as the brush of a butterfly’s wing.

  Al Yad’s compound was perched on a flat at the top of a small mountain, and consisted of a dozen buildings stretching over many acres, protected by walls, razor-wire, and electronic surveillance. Al Yad may have been invulnerable
, but his followers weren’t, and these security measures would give him a heads up if they were being attacked, so he could more carefully determine the nature of his response.

  So far, no attack had come. Al Yad’s reputation, and following, were too great, and President Najjar had changed tactics. He was now going to great measures to appease him, not knowing why the uncaged cobra hadn’t struck, but keeping him as calm and happy as he could.

  Craft hovered high in the starry sky, his black clothing helping him vanish into the night, and made a careful survey of Al Yad’s compound through high powered night-vision binoculars. The temperature had fallen quickly after sunset, but Craft kept the air around him at a comfortable seventy-four degrees.

  Craft was well aware of the latest intelligence on Al Yad, and knew that only key players of Al Yad’s cult were housed in this compound. Even so, they numbered in the hundreds.

  After Al Yad had acquired the property, he had torn everything down except the central mansion, a magnificent stone and wood palace with arches featured prominently throughout, and five spacious inner courtyards, open to the sky and stars above.

  He had then built homely concrete buildings, unappealing two story rectangles, behind his palace to house his followers. They had been painted white, but they were no more aesthetically appealing than bureaucratic offices or military barracks might have been.

  Craft took a deep breath. He had stalled enough. It was time to act.

  He flew slowly to the compound, counting on his approach and black clothing to elude detection. If the compound were attacked, the guards would be expecting jets from above or ground forces climbing up the mountain from below. They would not be expecting him.

  Craft cleared the wall and inner razor-wire fence and touched down lightly on the ground, sending out a concussive blast to clear the area as he did so. He had learned to modulate this force better than before, and was certain he had rendered everyone within about a fifty-yard radius unconscious—without killing them. Dozens of men and women, including five machine-gun toting members of compound security, fell silently to the ground around him in unison, like bowling pins.