by C. A. Farlow
A Quantum Convergence
Nexus Trilogy – Book 1
By C.A. Farlow
©2016 C.A. Farlow
ISBN: 9781942976158
ISBN (epub): 9781942976165
ISBN (pdf): 9781942976172
This is a work of fiction - names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Desert Palm Press
1961 Main St, Suite 220
Watsonville, CA 95076
www.desertpalmpress.com
Editor: Kellie Doherty
Cover Design: Rachel George
Map Design: Michael King
Printed in the United States of America
First Edition — July 2016
Blurb
Lauren Beckwith, environmental scientist and pediatric oncologist, works tirelessly to identify industrial pollution and the corporations responsible. When the pollution is in the pristine wildness of northern Colorado, her own backyard, her friends challenge her professional ethics and demand that she not just identify the pollution but do something about it. Things spiral out of control, as Lauren begins to question her life choices and culpability in enabling the corporations to continue damaging our fragile ecosystem.
Alexandra Aoeron Aonwyn, Queen of Fuar Ćala, is struggling with the after effects of a heinous bio weapon released on her world. The children are falling ill with a mysterious disease. If she is not able to find information about her enemy's weapon for her healing technicians, her people are doomed to die with this generation.
A winter field trip, a ragging blizzard, and a grievous injury bring Lauren and Alex together. Will Lauren find answers to her self-doubt and professional guilt? Can she help Alex find a cure for her people? Only a soul mates bond is strong enough to create a quantum convergence and allow them to find each other and heal.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my grandfather. He encouraged me to question, to seek, to understand. He patiently listened and answered my questions. If he didn’t know the answer, we would discover it together. He held my hand, and together we discovered the world.
Acknowledgements
A book is a labor of love, frustration, pain, and joy. An author may labor alone on her story. But the production of her book is accomplished by many. She wishes to acknowledge and thank all who helped. Editors are the bane of an author’s existence, but without them the product would be a mish-mash of misspelled words, dangling thoughts, alternating points of views, plot inconsistencies, and grammatical nightmares. This author cannot thank her editors enough. J.Z., beta-extraordinaire, for her detailed review and ability to catch the tiniest of mistakes. My comma placement will never be the same. K.D. for making the story make sense and not killing it in the process. Thank you both!
To Rachel whose cover brought the book to life.
To Michael whose maps showed us the way.
To Stein who encouraged me to finish, because the characters needed a voice and their story needed to be told.
To Lee and Desert Palm Press for taking a chance on a scientist who is not a writer, yet.
Table of Contents
PartI – The Project
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Part II – The Journey
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Part III – Coming Home
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Reading List
About C.A. Farlow
Other Fantasy and Science Fiction from Desert Palm Press
Foreword
Where does science end and science fiction begin? This boundary changes through time with research and discovery.
How does the fiction author—who is a scientist—not overwhelm her readers with hypotheses and theorems? By striving to provide enough science fact to make the plot accurate, the author intersperses fact with theory and conjecture creating science fiction that is possible. If readers are interested in learning more about the theories, you are encouraged to explore further using the reading list provided at the end of the book.
Though the persons inhabiting this tale are creations of the author’s imagination, the geographic places and scientific concepts are real—Mount Zirkel Wilderness Area exists; as do Steamboat Springs and Gilpin Lake, Colorado. Unfortunately, the environmental challenges that the Yampa Valley face are all too real.
Science is facts; just as houses are made of stone, so is science made of facts; but a pile of stones is not a house, and a collection of facts is not necessarily science.
Jules Henri Poincaré
Part I – The Project
Chapter One
“I THINK THIS IS the last of them, Miss.”
Miss? Really are we back in the 70s? Lauren reminded herself that she had been traveling for over thirty-six hours and her exhaustion wasn’t the cab driver’s fault. “Let’s count again to be sure I have them all—one, two, three...seventeen, eighteen, nineteen. Two duffels, camera case, and my Halliburton briefcase. Yes, that’s everything.” That was all the equipment cases and her personal luggage.
Flipping open her messenger bag, she rummaged for cash to pay the fare and tip the driver for his help getting the luggage into the foyer of her building. The contemporary glass and satin nickel-lined lobby was overflowing with all her luggage. Great, no American dollars. I’m sure the driver isn’t able to change my Malaysian ringgit. “Do you take credit cards?”
The driver frowned. “I’ll have to phone for authorization. It’s two thirty in the morning, this may take a minute.”
“Thanks, here’s my card.”
While she waited, Lauren returned her thoughts to the last five months she had been out of the States. What month is it? Forcing her jet-lagged brain to concentrate, she recited the facts. Okay, it’s the last of October. This is Denver, and I’m finally home. LAX was a nightmare with twenty-three pieces of luggage and an international arrival from Southeast Asia. Lauren leaned against the cold metal wall and
watched the taxi driver through the floor-to-ceiling glass entrance. I knew I should have changed out of my jeans and into a business suit and stuffed my leather jacket into my briefcase.
I told customs they really didn’t want me to open one of the core-tubes. After sitting in one-hundred-degree heat for three weeks or more, the mud was putrid and the smell cleared the customs hall. I’ve never seen people scatter so fast. Lauren chuckled.
The driver’s crash through the front door brought her back to the present. “Sign here, and I’ll need to see some ID. This is a corporate credit card, and we have to verify the holder,” said the driver, extending a badly worn clipboard.
“Fine.” Digging again for her wallet, Lauren pulled out her passport and a business card, and handed them both to the driver.
Looking first at the photo in the passport, the driver glanced back up at Lauren. “I see that passport pictures don’t do the person anymore justice than our state driver’s license photos.”
Holding the business card up to the wall sconce, the driver squinted at the fine-raised lettering:
Lauren L. Beckwith, M.D., Ph.D.
Chief Field Researcher and Chief Project Consultant
Geodynamics, Ltd.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Beckwith, but it’s company policy. I could lose my job if I didn’t check. We’ve gotten burned with denied charges.”
“I understand.”
Lauren looked at the charge slip. “Seventy dollars? What is this highway robbery?”
“Look, lady.” Gone was the honorific. "It’s almost three o’clock in the morning and a trip from Denver International Airport to downtown runs forty-five dollars. Where ya’ been, the North Pole? The usual rate is flat fare plus two fifty per piece of luggage over two, but it’s been a slow night, and I was cutting you some slack.”
Lauren relented and struggled to calculate the appropriate tip. She signed the slip with a flourish and returned the clipboard to its owner. A quick glance and the driver smiled. “Here’s your receipt. Sure I can’t help you upstairs with all this?” His sweeping arm gesture took in the piles of cases filling the tiny foyer.
“No, that’s fine. I can manage the rest of the way.”
Lauren turned toward the ancient elevator just as the front door closed on a chuckling taxi driver. Pushing the up button, Lauren again leaned back against the metal facade, contemplating her trip once more. Lost in her jet-lagged state, she suddenly realized that the elevator hadn’t arrived. Why’s this thing taking so long? Reaching to punch the button again, Lauren noted a small card taped above the switch plate, announcing the nightly shut down of the elevator between twelve and five thirty, to prevent vagrants access to the upper floors.
“What?” Lauren exclaimed rereading the typed message. “Well, that’s just great.”
Sagging against the wall, a quick look at her watch told her she could wait another two and a half hours for the elevators to be back in service or she could take the stairs. Groaning, she contemplated five flights with twenty-three pieces of luggage. Well, her bed and sleep were five flights up. No way was she leaving her samples and equipment unprotected in the foyer for the rest of the night. If vagrants were getting upstairs who knew what they’d steal. She picked up the first few pieces and began the climb.
A mountain of luggage was stacked in the hall outside her fifth floor loft. All the core-sample cases sported the bright cerulean blue, open globe of Geodynamics. The custom cases each held eight, three-foot long, rigid, plastic sleeves filled with core samples gathered from the jungle floor. The cores were obtained by driving the sleeve into the ground and then pulling it out. This method collected a sample of the top three feet of soil without disrupting the internal stratigraphy. Theoretically, everything would be preserved in the order of sedimentary deposition—oldest on the bottom with the youngest on the top. Of course one didn’t just get soil. Also trapped in the core were boring-insects, plant roots, and other general organic detritus that had accumulated on the jungle floor. And coming from the jungle, they were all in a state of decay—most of it a thick rotting oozy mess. Or at least that’s what Lauren left the LAX custom agents with. She would never forget the look of absolute horror that crossed the chief agent’s face once he got a whiff of the rotting core.
Lauren sat for a moment to catch her breath and searched for her keys. Not in her messenger bag. Now where did I put them? Five months was a long time and, after several trips through the jungles on the island of Borneo and Sarawak, things were never where one would expect to find them, particularly since keys weren’t exactly a priority item in a jungle.
“Where did I put those keys?” She next checked her briefcase, finding the keys hanging from their usual hook in the top of the case. “Right where I left ’em.”
Slipping her keys into the lock, Lauren could hear the phone ringing inside. Two turns to the left and a shove cracked open the heavy steel door. But, something was keeping the door from opening fully. Another shove, this one with all her weight, forced the door open. Lauren was sent sprawling head-first across the hardwood landing, coming to a halt face-down in a pile of envelopes. Mail littered the floor. Great, killed by slipping on contest mailings. The phone continued to ring in the dark recesses of the loft.
“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” she shouted into the emptiness. A jump off the landing and a vault over the couch brought her to her large desk. She grabbed the phone from between her two computer monitors. “What?”
“Lauren, hi, it’s Peter. How was your trip?” Without a pause, Peter continued, “Good, good, now listen we’ve got a huge opportunity. There’s an environmentalist plan in place to sue the electric generation plant for particulate emissions into the Mount Zirkel Wilderness Area. Colorado Power and Electric, CP&E, wants to…”
Lauren cut off the rapid flow of words spilling through the line. “Peter, wait, what’re you saying? I don’t understand. Call me in the morning, and we’ll talk. I just got back from the jungle after a thirty-six-hour trip from hell, and you are already talking about another project!” Lauren’s head was beginning to pound.
“But...”
“No, call back in the morning. I can’t concentrate on what you’re saying. I’m exhausted.”
“But it is morning, at least here in New York. It’s seven thirty.”
Lauren glanced at the clock on her desk—five thirty-one glared back at her in high-intensity red. Great, tack on another two and a half hours to the trip from hell, and all my luggage is still in the hall.
“Call me back at a decent hour, maybe in a week or so, when my brain and body are in the same time zone, and when I’ve got my luggage out of the hall.”
His voice rose. “This can’t wait! We have to talk now. My buddy at the Sierra Club said CP&E’s construction plan is going to be opened for public review tomorrow. We’ve got to reach a decision to take the project, and get a public statement out that we are representing the Sierra Club in their challenge. If we agree to partner with the Sierra Club then we’ll get some much needed exposure in the United States, and maybe stop them building another coal-fired generation station.”
“Fine. Call me back this afternoon.” After a mental calculation of multiple time zones, Lauren said, “After three your time, I need a shower and a couple of hours’ sleep. And I need to get my stuff out of the hall. Good-bye.” She hung up.
Lauren sank into her desk chair. Another project—what’s Peter thinking now? We’re looking at over a year to complete the Sarawak project. We can’t take on another project yet. And where in the name of all that’s holy is Mount Zirkel? Another trek, half way around the globe to some fifth-world country loomed large on the horizon. I can’t deal with this now. I need a shower, some food, and then sleep. I’ve got to learn to sleep on planes. She began to drag the heavy cases into the loft.
Somewhere a phone rang. But a dream hovered near the edges of her mind. A semi-conscious thought flashed through her brain. This isn’t right. There are no phones in th
e jungle. The ringing continued, slowly dragging Lauren out of her deep sleep. Lauren tried to get up. She pivoted into a sitting position, but something grabbed her waist, and she fell in a heap, her knees striking a hard surface, while her face landed in exquisite softness.
“Ugh…Where am I?” I’m not some rookie who falls headfirst out of her hammock. She kneaded the softness beneath her face. A down comforter? I don’t have a comforter in my hammock. Where’s the netting? Why are my feet bare? Questions ran through her brain at light speed as she tried to make sense of her surroundings.
She opened her eyes to a dimly lit room, everything orange-tinted. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows she looked at the mountains—set ablaze by last rays of the sun as it sank behind Mount Evans—their snow-capped peaks fading from burnt orange to violet to lavender. Denver. Lauren sat for a moment, bathed in the gloaming. I’m home. No view in the world could compete with the one outside her bedroom windows. Slowly, she untangled herself from the sheets.
The phone next to the bed rang again. Reaching the receiver, she answered, “Lauren Beckwith.”
“For God’s sake, where’ve you been? It’s after seven here. I’ve been calling for hours.”
“Peter, I thought we are scheduled to talk next week.” Lauren was slowly reconstructing the last day of her life. The flight, customs, the stairs, and Peter’s earlier call were slowly sorting themselves out in her sleep-starved brain.
“That’s not funny, don’t you remember our earlier conversation? Your flight couldn’t have been that bad.” Peter spoke in a rush.
“Bad? You want bad? Twenty-three pieces of luggage through LAX from southeast Asia and a rookie customs agent with an attitude.” Lauren continued to talk, but her mind strayed back to that customs agent. At least the agent had been a woman. She was interviewed and threatened with a strip-search, before they forced her to open one of the core sleeves. She laughed at herself as well as the situation. She knew she wasn’t the only one sweating in the small interrogation room.
