by James Sperl
“Tell me about this radio broadcast.”
Jon recounted what he and Clarissa had heard in the garbled radio message, reiterating everything he already told Kaplinsky on the front lawn less than ten minutes ago. If a particular detail eluded him, he looked to Clarissa for confirmation. When he finished, he sat forward and waited for Kaplinsky's response—just like everyone else.
Kaplinsky's eyes drifted to the floor where he stared in deep thought for what seemed an eternity.
“Huh,” he said finally, a grin breaking on his lips. “They've done it.”
Clarissa sat up bolt straight. She looked around and registered the shocked expressions of everyone in the room, all of which appeared to ask the same breathless question: What did he just say?
“Done what?” Andrew asked.
Kaplinsky regarded the people who gazed at him in stunned silence. His grin had blossomed to a full smile before it fizzled.
“I quit Rosenstein a little over a year ago. About eighteen months, in fact.”
Clarissa frowned. Something about the math didn't add up.
“But that doesn't make sense. Corrine told me you were shopping the markets right up until the Sound occurred for the first time a little over three months ago. If that's so then how—”
“I lied.”
Clarissa hung on her unfinished word, open-mouthed.
“Seemed more interesting to maintain the illusion of something I'd been then than to admit what I'd become, which was a shamed and odd recluse. As I said, lifestyle choices can sometimes interfere with one's vocation, and Rosenstein was no exception. But more than the cruelty I received at the hands of a few people there, I just couldn't abide the direction Rosenstein was heading in, so I left.”
“And what direction was that exactly?” Jon asked.
“Rosenstein is a top shelf, ultra-secret government R&D facility. Very hush-hush.” Clarissa exchanged an amused glance with Rachel. “You've heard of black ops for military operations? Think of Rosenstein as black ops for research and development for defense applications.”
“What sort of defense applications?” said Andrew.
“Weaponization of the mind.”
Jon grimaced in uncertainty. “What do you mean, like, telekinesis? Mind reading?”
Kaplinsky laughed. “Those outdated concepts are wood blocks in a toy chest from the future. What Rosenstein was interested in pursuing was something so revolutionary, it wasn't talked about at even the highest levels of our government: what they wanted was to get inside the mind of an enemy combatant and turn his own thoughts against him. But not just in the conscious state. Rosenstein wanted to develop technology that allowed access into a person's dream state.”
Valentina surprised everyone by asking, “But...but how can that be possible?” She released herself from her self-hug and tried to sit up but couldn't muster the strength. “Even if...even if someone could get inside a person's mind, how could they turn what's in there against them?”
Kaplinsky nodded knowingly. “You remember that urban legend from when you were a kid? That if you died in your dream—like from falling—you'd die in real life?” Everyone remembered. “Well, thanks to Rosenstein, that might very well be possible now.”
“But how could that be possible, Mr. Kaplinsky,” asked Andrew. “What you're suggesting...it smacks of bad science fiction. Can that truly be a reality?”
“From a purely physiological standpoint, it'd be easier than you think. The brain responds to stimuli to keep you alive, correct? You need oxygen; it tells your lungs to breath. You get hurt; it delegates the body's defenses to heal you. But what if there was a way to take control of those functions externally? To hijack the brain and reprogram it, if you will? If that could happen, it would only be a matter of turning off switches, albeit extremely complex organic ones, to shut the body down.”
“No way,” Rachel said, leaning back as if distancing herself from a poisonous snake that had just entered the room.
“Way,” Kaplinsky said. “With that sort of technology, which is quite literally the ability to override a body's evolutionary instinct to function, you have the makings of a mental assassin. And all without firing a single shot.”
“So...how would that work?” said Clarissa. “Is it a drug? A gas?”
Kaplinsky shrugged. “Don't know. All I know is that they were close to accomplishing something approaching it when I left the company nearly two years ago, and they had experimented with a wide array of delivery agents. Could be any number of employed methods. My guess, though, is that the mental pathogen would be delivered via high-frequency radio waves.”
“Hold up, hold up,” Cesare said, releasing his comforting hold on Elenora to gesture with his hands. “It sounds as if you're suggesting that that type of technology could have something to do with the Sound and what's been happening. If you are, then it doesn't make any sense. You're saying that people's minds can be invaded and disconnected to the point of death. If that was happening, we'd have bodies. Lots of bodies. But we don't. People are straight up disappearing.”
Kaplinsky turned toward Cesare, but not before he stopped to look at a reflection of himself in one of the hutch's glass panels to check his makeup.
“Yes, that is interesting, isn't it?”
“Interesting?” Rachel yelped through a scowl. “It's downright terrifying!”
“What about it, Kap?” Andrew said, drawing Kaplinsky's attention. “Is there a connection?”
Kaplinsky leaned back onto his hands and stretched his legs out in front of him. It was the first time Clarissa noticed that he had painted toenails.
“Enough of one to know that whatever's going on is well beyond my former pay grade. But I have my theories.”
Jon rolled his eyes and rocked in exasperation. “Jesus, man!” he barked. “If you know something, spit it out already!”
Clarissa startled, as did most of the room. Jon never reacted aggressively—and he recognized this. He held up his hands apologetically and pinched his eyes shut in immediate embarrassment. When he opened them again, he sought out everyone, landing on Kaplinsky last.
“I'm sorry, guys. I didn't mean to...it's just that we've been on the road looking for this Rosenstein place for quite awhile, and you're our first authentic lead. I...we just want to know if you can help us.”
“No apology necessary, son,” Kaplinsky said. “I don't mean to be frustrating. I guess I was just testing the waters with you all. Seeing what you were able to accept as fact. Because if you've had difficulty thus far, what I'm about to tell you will make your head spin.”
Clarissa slid from her seat to sit on the floor opposite him.
“Please, Kap,” she said. “We want to know. Every one of us. We want to know everything.”
Each person bobbed his or her head in agreement. They had come too far and endured too much not to hear everything Kaplinsky knew. Even so, he had a foreboding element to his tone, a Pandora's Box-like warning that rode the undercurrent of his words. They understood the implication that what he had to say would be hard to process, but how much harder could it be than the reality they had already lived? They were about to find out.
“I'm not one hundred percent positive,” Kaplinsky began, “but based on what you say was in that broadcast, the noises in the sky and everything that's happened since sound like they could be a result of what was known as Project Tunnel.”
Andrew winced. “Project Tunnel?”
“Indeed. Even among the most senior-level staff, it was an invite-only affair. A top secret venture confined to the upper echelons of Rosenstein. Peons like me weren't allowed near it. But we all heard rumblings as to what it likely was.” Kaplinsky paused to gauge his crowd. “Do you all know what wormholes are?”
“You mean like in science fiction?” Evan asked. “Where a person can travel to a distant part of the universe but in, like, a blink of an eye?”
“That's precisely what I mean.”
“I'm s
orry,” said Elenora, who leaned onto her forearms, puzzled, “I'm not too familiar with science fiction. A wormhole?”
“This young man has it right,” Kaplinsky said. “Wormholes, or what are scientifically known as Einstein-Rosen bridges, are theoretical pathways through space and time that would allow a traveler to cover great distances through the universe—we're talking light years here—in a mere fraction of that time. Think of a wormhole like a road: a physical and topological feature that has a definitive starting and ending point. These theoretical space-time models, or wormholes, are widely considered to be man's best shot at exploring the farthest reaches of space. Theoretical, that is, until Project Tunnel.”
Clarissa was sure she wasn't the only one who made the connection between the scientific name for wormholes and the name of the company trying to create them. The two were linked, and the surging wave of anticipation in her stomach told her she was about to learn how.
Jon cleared his throat. “So Project Tunnel is a space program?”
Kaplinsky shook his head vehemently. “Not even close.”
Jon scowled in confusion. Clarissa shared his befuddlement.
“Remember,” Kaplinsky went on, “Rosenstein was a biotechnology science lab—a military biotechnology lab—which meant its primary purpose was to develop warfare systems that married our biological selves with advanced technology. And they were committed to it. Did you know they had an entire division dedicated to the neurosciences? I'm talking behavior modification, mind-machine interfaces, that sort of thing. At the time, I thought those were groundbreaking, but Project Tunnel surpassed them on an entirely different plane. Quite literally, in fact.
“From what a couple of colleagues and I had learned—and we had it on pretty good authority—Rosenstein sought to prove the existence of wormholes and exploit them, but not through physical means. They were experimenting with mental projection.”
Clarissa didn't understand a word Kaplinsky said. Judging by the blank stares and mystified expressions on her friends' faces, she wasn't the only one.
“I'm sorry, Kap,” she said. “Are you saying that Rosenstein was trying to send people across the universe through a wormhole...using only their minds?”
“I am.”
A moment of sublime silence hung over the room. Everyone struggled to make sense of what Kaplinsky was telling them. Andrew, however, appeared to grasp it instantly.
“What you're describing sounds like astral projection.”
Kaplinsky canted his head as if hearing a high-pitched whistle. “I suppose that's another name for it.”
Rachel looked from Kaplinsky to Andrew. “Astral what?”
“Astral projection. Supposedly, it's when a person visits a distant location using only the power of the mind. The person can see or visualize one location even though their physical self remains in a different location. I've read a little on this, but the experiences were usually associated with deep meditation and out-of-body experiences.” Andrew addressed Kaplinsky. “What you're suggesting Rosenstein was trying to do is something else. What you're talking about is conscious mental projection. To manipulate the mind into an expansive state capable of transcending time and space.”
Kaplinsky sat forward. “That, I believe, was the goal.”
Rachel struggled with the concept. “But even if that were possible, why spend all the time and resources developing the ability to do that? I mean, what would be the point?”
Kaplinsky laughed loud and hard. “What would be the point? What would be the point? Do you truly not see it? They had but a singular goal with Project Tunnel, and that was to utilize the technology to accomplish something man has wanted to do since the idea first crystallized in our minds: establish contact.”
Everyone glanced at one another uncertainly: Is he serious?
Evan frowned in disbelief. “With who? Aliens? Come on.”
Jon shot him a look. “Evan.”
“What? I'm just...the whole Project Tunnel thing already sounds, like, crazy far-fetched, and now he's saying it was to find Martians? No offense, Kap or whatever, but it sounds like b.s. to me.”
Kaplinsky shrugged indifferently. “No offense taken.”
“I have to agree,” Clarissa added. She felt Evan's disappointment. “The whole premise sounds a bit over the top, to say the least, and quite honestly, it doesn't seem like anything that could actually be accomplished. In fact, it sounds like an example of wasteful government spending.”
“You are of course entitled to your opinions,” Kaplinsky said, as he smoothed the hemline to his dress, “but unfortunately, your opinions are irrelevant in this situation. Clarke's Third Law: any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. Only, in this case, we were the magicians.”
“You think they've done it,” Cesare said. “You think they've discovered how to create wormholes.”
“Based on what I know, what I've seen, what's been happening in the world, and what you all told me was in that broadcast? I'd say it's almost a certainty. I know it must be difficult for you all to believe, but just because an airplane looks like a large metal bird to a caveman doesn't diminish it from what it is.”
Evan scrunched his face. “Huh?”
Clarissa got it, but Andrew beat her to the metaphorical translation. “He's saying that just because you don't believe something can exist, it doesn't mean that it doesn't or won't.”
“But why aliens?” Rachel said, continuing with her original protest. “You said Rosenstein was a military R&D lab. How does searching for intelligent life benefit the boots-on-the-ground soldier? That sounds like a job for NASA.”
Kaplinsky shot forward, his eyes ablaze with wonderment. “I don't think you're fully considering the possibilities here, miss. Traveling to Mars, our nearest celestial neighbor, requires a decades-long process that we still haven't achieved. Spaceships have to be built, astronauts have to be trained. Technology must be developed, tens of thousands of work hours must be logged, and all for the chance at a single mission.
“Think of what the ability to astral project, as it was put, across space and time could mean. Think of all the worlds we could visit without ever having to launch a rocket. Think of how much our chances to make contact would improve. It boggles the mind.”
Rachel only stared at Kaplinsky, who seemed not to get his point. He had yet to make the case as to why a secret facility that dabbled heavily in military biotechnology had been tasked with not only such a seemingly impossible goal, but also with one that appeared to be better suited for a space administration.
“I think what Rachel is asking is,” Clarissa began, “why Rosenstein for this? What military application did they hope to acquire from probing space? Exploration doesn't sound like it falls under their jurisdiction.”
“Jurisdiction?” Kaplinsky said. “There's no jurisdiction for this. There's only the question of who will capitalize on what it has to offer first. But you're missing the big picture, or the 'point,' as Miss Rachel put it.”
“Which is?”
“Rosenstein wasn't concerned with finding a more efficient way to hunt solely for intelligent life. They were enamored with what that intelligent life could bring to the table militarily.”
“Wait,” Jon said through a pensive scowl. “You mean...are you saying Rosenstein developed the technology so they could search for advanced weaponry from other worlds? From other lifeforms?”
Kaplinsky thrust a well-manicured finger at Jon. “Nooooow, you're getting it.”
Jon looked from Kaplinsky to anyone else who would meet his astounded gaze. It read: Are you kidding me?
“Can you imagine what that could mean?” Kaplinsky continued. “To discover a civilized world that in all probability was exceedingly more advanced than us? Can you even begin to gauge what power a country could wield over the rest of the world should they find a way to ally themselves with such a superior race?”
Clarissa was with Jon, though she hoped her
level of astonishment didn't visually translate. What Kaplinsky was saying was certainly remarkable, but not in a good way. Interplanetary allies from across the universe? Weaponized alien technology? Did she just step into an episode of The Twilight Zone?
The tone in the room shifted dramatically. In an instant, the mood went from lean-forward enthusiasm to everyone quietly looking down at their hands. Clarissa glimpsed cautious expressions from her friends, Andrew and Jon chief among them. All conveyed the same troubling suspicion: This guy was crazy.
Then Kaplinsky floored them by saying, “It sounds ridiculous, doesn't it?”
All eyes drew back to him.
“I thought so too. Ridiculous,” he went on, “but not entirely without applicable merit. Understand, that lofty goal, which was initially the primary drive for the DOD, eventually took a backseat to what would become the focus of the project.”
Clarissa was almost afraid to ask. “Which was?”
Kaplinsky bugged his eyes in uncertainty. “Well, that's the thing. No one's really sure except the higher-ups and the folks in the room with the lab coats.”
Andrew sighed audibly. “Are you saying you don't know what Rosenstein did with its supposed wormhole technology?”
“Not entirely. I was never privy to the experiments. My job was as a chemical analyst, a rather pedestrian occupation compared to those of my peers. I crunched data and forwarded the results up the chain. But even though I wasn't present for any experimentation, I heard enough to believe that my theory about the Sound and what's been happening is, in all likelihood, correct.”
Like that, the derailed interest from the group was back on track. All eyes pinned to Kaplinsky.
“The quest for life outside our solar system for the purpose of capitalizing on its technology was never a real selling point for the project, at least not from anyone I ever spoke with. But Rosenstein had to set their sights high to gain funding. Project Tunnel became about cementing the U.S.'s place in the world as an immutable superpower. With China gaining traction, and other allied nations beginning to edge out of the need to hover within our protective bubble, the U.S.'s might was in question. The powers that be needed something radical. Enter Project Tunnel. If we could boast not only of a far-advanced weapons system but also the developed technology used to acquire it, nations would bow down to us. It didn't matter if it was out of fear or in solidarity. We would reassert our position unequivocally.” Kaplinsky shook his head. “At least that was the pie-in-the-sky theory sold to the government as I heard it.
