by Robert Graf
Ann's frustration boiled over to anger. If Jon weren’t on the moon, she’d have served the final divorce papers in person right then. She maintained her outward calm. "Let's get through the next week, okay?"
"Whatever. I've been working on a simple, verifiable testing protocol. You use the prototype today. I don't want to be disturbed." The wall-mounted screen blanked out.
Shit, shit, shit. She wanted to hit something, anything. She strode out the lab door down to the guards' desk. "I'm going for a walk," she told the guards and signed out.
Ricardo regarded her with an amused expression. "Wearing your lab coat?"
She blushed, removed it and handed it to him. 'Thanks, I'll only be gone a short while."
[Wednesday PM, San Rafael]
Farid put away his cleaned dishes and pots, stepped into the living room and settled down in his couch. His tablet, parked on the coffee table, displayed his favorite screen saver, Earthrise. He tapped his brother's link.
As always he was in his study, seated behind his desk. Today he wore a light blue dishdasha.
Farid smiled. "Good morning, Hana."
His brother smiled back. "Farid, my brother. All is well with you? You normally call on Friday. Is there a problem? You had some difficulty last we spoke."
"I was out with a bad cold. I wanted to tell you I've been reassigned; right now I don't know where. As for our problem, we figured it out, thank Allah."
"I am pleased that you are better.” He paused. "If I may ask, how did you solve your problem?"
Farid hesitated. How would Hana react? He was much more devout, yet he could confide in him. Family was more important than anything. "You won't believe what I'm about to tell you, but please try. The EntComs will not transmit lies. They can tell the difference between truth and non-truth. It's an incredible discovery that has greatly upset everyone."
His brother stared at him in disbelief. "That's not possible. Only God can do that. That's blasphemy." His expression hardened. "Your devices must be possessed by djinn."
Farid became alarmed. "No, no. It's quantum physics. No one understands how this works, not even Dr. Grey or her husband. I have seen it, it happens." He knew it was futile, technical arguments had never swayed Hana.
His brother frowned. "Do the devices predict the future?"
Did they? He thought about the failed messages. "No, I don't think so."
"They are being installed on the Jupiter space ship?"
"The husband will install the one on the moon. The one in Petaluma goes to Houston."
"The American government has these things. What will they do with them when they discover this incredible ability?" He shook his head. "You must be mistaken."
"Hana, please. I didn't mean to upset you, but everything I've told you is true. If it's any consolation, it is extremely difficult and expensive to make them. It takes weeks and specialized equipment and millions of dollars. I was head of the engineering team that built them."
His brother gazed at him with an intense expression. "You know how to make these devices, truly?"
Farid grinned, proud of his ability and skills. "Yes."
Hana stroked his chin. "I will have to think on this." He smiled. "As to your marriage, I have met with my friend and his daughter. She seems suitable and is quite comely. My friend confided to me that other suitors have found her too educated. For you that would be a plus. I will send a picture." He glanced at his watch. "I must go. Inshallah."
Hana's image vanished. Marriage? It worked for Hana even though his was arranged, and it had worked for their parents, yet he was uneasy with the idea.
[Thursday, Cairo]
Hana inhaled a lungful of cool smoke from the hookah, savoring the shisha flavor and exhaled, then sipped his thick, sweet coffee. He enjoyed these weekly gatherings with his friends. Here he could relax and try to forget the day's problems. He liked this Kahwa; it was more traditional and women avoided it. Most customers were younger men; however his group tended toward middle age. The high ceiling fans kept the room relatively cool even on sweltering hot days. The thick walls kept the street noise from the buses and cars and crowds subdued to a murmur.
The talk around the table had covered the latest political scandals and turned to international news.
"Well, Hana, how is your younger brother faring in America?" asked Rashid, his corpulent friend, occasional competitor, and Farid's future father-in-law. "Did he not obtain a position with a prosperous firm?"
The Quran frowned on boasting. In spite of that, Hana was proud of Farid's accomplishments. "Yes. He’s is doing quite well. In fact, have you seen the news about the Jupiter space ship project? Farid’s company is providing equipment for it. He is quite excited."
"I have seen the news,” Rashid said. They have a new kind of engine that allows the ship to travel many times faster than any before. Is that what he worked on?"
"No. His company provided the communication system. It's new technology that allows faster-than-light communication. I don't understand it, but Farid assures me it works."
Nailah interrupted, a frown wrinkling his bearded face. "All this talk of new technology just reminds me of how dependent we are on outsiders. We should be involved in modern projects, but no, even with Mubarak and his cronies long gone and the changes, we still must beg like street urchins for favors from the West. It's past time we changed that. We need another Nasser, not these relics from the Brotherhood we have now."
Hana grimaced. Same old Nailah, but he had a point. "I deal in technology."
"Yes, you do. But Egypt doesn’t manufacture enough, unlike Malaysia or Indonesia or India or China or..."
"All right, we get the idea."
"Faster-than-light? How is that possible? Did not the Jew, Einstein, prove that was impossible?" asked Rashid.
Hana shrugged. "I have no idea. Farid says it is a quantum-entangled device, whatever that means." Should he divulge Farid's incredible claim? Why not? It would soon be known anyway. "One side effect of the devices is they cannot transmit lies. They refuse to work."
Conversation stopped. His friends stared at him with expressions of disbelief.
Nailah spoke first. "This is some kind of joke? You can't be serious."
Rashid jumped in. "Hana doesn't joke." He stared at Hana. "You had better explain."
Hana smiled. He'd gotten their attention. "During testing the devices mysteriously failed. After further testing they discovered that lies cannot be transmitted." He paused to let them digest that. "What do you think will happen once this becomes known, and it will."
Nailah shook his head. "Who will believe such a fantastic tale? Your brother has been misled. This is more American government propaganda."
"No. Farid doesn't work for the government. His company is Global Communication. If this were a government project would they tell anyone? Of course not." Hana sipped his coffee. "I think that djinn have possessed his devices. He was adamant that it is just physics. I don't know what to think."
Rashid broke in. "If true, whoever owns them would be incredibly powerful. The Americans support Israel. What if Israel had them? It would be a disaster."
"I fear Iran more. The Imams are madmen. Pakistanis may be just as bad, but at least they have a semblance of a real government." A slow smile spread across Hana’s face. "If you had them, what questions would you ask?"
"How to get Fatima into my bed," Naliah quipped.
They all laughed. "That would take a true miracle," Rashid responded.
"I have friends who might be able to help us understand this absurd claim,” Naliah continued. “I'll speak with them and report back."
"Enough of this speculation," Hana declared. He had suspicions about Naliah ‘s friends, and he'd warned Naliah to be careful, yet he worried. "I heard that the Emirates are planning on installing more solar power complexes. Is there any truth to that?"
◆◆◆
Abu Omar escorted the oldster to the door. "Allah ysalmak," he sa
id and closed the door to his cramped, second-floor office. He limped to the window overlooking the bustling, noisy souk and watched the oldster slowly make his way into the crowded street. Was the man a fool? How could anyone possible believe such a fantastic claim? But... He'd learned not to be hasty in judgment. What if the information were correct? In the wrong hands such an instrument would be incredibly deadly. What if the Americans gave it to the Israelis or, God forbid, those fools in Parliament and the Amned Duala got it. He shivered remembering the terror and pain when they broke his toes before... He clamped his memory shut.
He stroked his graying beard and considered options for long moments. He was too old to be running an operation, besides al-Battar had shrunk. If he did nothing, whatever happened would be Allah's will. He had absolute faith in Allah, but infidels didn't. Anyone who learned of its existence would attempt to capture it at any cost. Should he try? At best that created a stalemate. It did deny the hated Americans its use, a small payback for being deported from New York to the hell of Tora prison.
He could do nothing about the device on the moon. So, destroy the piece in California and remove all temptation. That just bought time; another would be built, but later.
The news had stated the Jupiter spaceship was scheduled for launch a week from next Monday. Could he get an operation up in time?
He had suspended operations in America years ago when the attempt to poison the New York subway was thwarted by the cursed FBI. Still, the cell had successfully gone to ground. He didn't know where, he didn't need to, but his deputy did. It should be a simple operation. A small isolated target, probably with minimal security. With the modern Web capability, it would be easy to locate the device given the information the oldster had provided.
He limped back to his old wooden desk and sat down in his padded chair, his sole luxury. He pulled open a drawer, extracted a slim folder, opened it and examined the single sheet of paper within. If he sent the initiate message now they could meet in the morning. He pulled his ancient cell phone out of the drawer, tapped out a number.
"Ahlan," a hoarse voice announced.
"May I speak with Sulaman?"
"Never heard of him," came the surly reply. The connection clicked shut.
He smiled and put the phone back. They will pay.
[Friday, Petaluma]
Ann glanced at the wall clock—only 3:00. The afternoon threatened to be interminable. Two days of testing and she was sick and tired of the constant rephrasing required to get the EntComs to react to Jon's questions. She was back in high school English, diagramming sentences, a chore that bored her to tears. She suspected Jon was equally tired. After Wednesday's testy exchange he kept his remarks formal, his attitude distant.
Jon had wondered about other languages. She related her German experiment, but they agreed to leave it out of the manual.
She desperately wanted to understand the underlying physics. Her instincts said it would be a long time coming. Keeping her impatience in check was hard. Next Friday her EntCom would ship to Houston while Jon supervised the installation on NASA's ship. She just had to keep her bargain with Jon.
"You might find this one interesting," Jon said while typing.
"A total eclipse of the moon occurred on 11/18/2040," flashed on her screen.
Ann stared, startled out of her funk. "It did? I don't remember."
"There's one more," he continued, rapidly typing.
"There will not be a total eclipse of the moon on 03/25/2043” appeared.
"How do you know?"
His expression turned smug. "NASA has extensive tables of lunar eclipses, past and future. These would have been visible to us. The statements are about orbital mechanics. Eclipses happen, there's nothing undetermined about them. The past event is true, the prediction is false; there will be an eclipse on that date. Predictions aren't testable. We saw that in our earlier testing."
She hated to admit it; she was impressed. "How did you come up with that?"
"Space weather. Solar wind and flares could endanger the crew. I wanted to test that application."
"But the entanglement timestamp prevents them from knowing if a flare occurred."
Jon shrugged. "I know, I'm not going to include it, I was just curious."
Try Jon's idea? She quickly sent "The prototype did not detect non-facts."
Her message instantly appeared on Jon's screen.
She changed “did not” to “did”. Same result.
Jon's derisive laugh filled the lab. "You expect them to tattle on each other?"
She bristled at his sarcastic tone. "Both statements can't be true, so what's going on?" Hadn’t she already seen this?
Jon's expression sobered. "I think you've stumbled onto a real problem. If a test event isn't specific enough, truth-checking fails. In your case maybe ‘prototype’ is too general." He paused. “You done?"
She sighed, anything to get this finished. "Yes, go ahead."
“I don’t like calling it ‘truth checking’. Truth is a slippery concept. Let’s use ‘fact checking’.”
Ann considered his idea. “Agreed. Fact checking sounds more neutral.”
[Saturday, Petaluma]
Jon looked up from his tablet. "That was the last."
Ann let out a long sigh of relief. Another day testing would drive her bonkers. “Is there anything else you need?”
“No…” His image on the wall screen began shaking. “What the fuck?” he yelled.
Ann watched in alarm as Jon and his lab jerked back and forth, making her dizzy.
“What’s happening?” she shouted as a dull rumble echoed in her ears.
Jon’s tablet bounced off the table onto the floor cracking the screen; the EntCom slid off and landed in Jon’s lap. He let out a loud “Aaagh” and doubled over, embracing the EntCom.
The wall screen blanked out.
Ann froze. What could she do? Think! She ran into her office and booted her tablet. Hurry up, damn you. The screen winked on. She opened Global’s address book, found MacDougal’s emergency link and jabbed it.
Long seconds later his image appeared. “Yes, Dr. Grey, what is it?”
“Moonquake,” she stuttered. “There’s a quake on the moon and Jon’s EntCom fell on him and power’s out.”
He blinked. “Bloody hell. Wait one.” His image vanished.
Shit. She sat, waiting, her heart pounding. She opened her browser and searched for “moonquake”. Tons of historical hits but nothing current, not yet. Facebook? Twitter? She didn’t have accounts.
MacDougal’s image reappeared, looking grave. “NASA and the UN are on it. Doesn’t appear to be serious. The fusion plant’s offline temporarily, backup power is on, and some injuries are reported.”
“Jon?”
MacDougal shook his head. “Unknown. Emergency teams are just getting organized.”
“What can we do?”
“Stay calm, Dr. Grey. I will inform you as soon as I hear anything.”
She took a deep breath, exhaled. Focus. “I’ll try, and thank you.” She killed the connection. What if Jon were badly injured or dead? How would she feel? MacDougal had said it wasn’t serious. Maybe. She should go home.
“There was a quake on the moon. If you hear anything, contact me,” Ann told the guards as she signed out.
“A quake? There are earthquakes on the moon?” Craig asked, eyes wide.
“Apparently so. I’ll be at home.”
“Yes, doctor.”
Her phone chirped, awakening her from a troubled doze. She reached over to the bedside table and picked it up. Thank God, she’d turned visual off. “Yes?”
“Dr. Grey, I just spoke with the UN moonbase emergency supervisor. Your husband’s all right, somewhat bruised from the EntCom falling on him, otherwise fine. He will call you in the morning.”
Relief swept over her. “Thank you, Mr. MacDougal. “
“Righto.”
She put the phone down. Was the EntCom damaged?
She hadn’t asked, more anxious about Jon. Still want a divorce? One worry at a time.
She drifted off to sleep.
[Sunday, London]
Jonathan Swales, wearing a brown, Italian silk suit, stood on the steps as the parishioners exited Saint Mathias. Some hurried, though the rain had held off; others strolled down to the courtyard in friendly groups. He exchanged polite greetings with those who recognized him before he spotted Plasket's rotund figure, in a blue pinstripe suit. He put on his personal smile and intercepted him. "Jeffrey, what a pleasant surprise. Did you enjoy the service?"
Plasket jerked, startled. "Oh, Jonathan. I didn't see you, but then I don't see you here very often. Yes, the sermon was inspirational."
"I try to attend. Unfortunately duty interferes on many weekends. Might I have a word?"
Plasket hesitated. "I have an appointment, however for you, of course."
Swales chose his words carefully. "A certain item has come to my attention that I believe would benefit us both. It's not something to discuss here."
Plasket frowned. "Can't staff handle it?"
Swales shook his head. "I'm afraid not. It's a delicate matter requiring immediate attention. I assure you it will be well worth your while."
Plasket stared at him, poker-faced. "Is it about the election?"
"Absolutely not." How to hook him? "I specifically chose you. No one else knows about this."
Plasket briefly smiled. "All right, you've aroused my curiosity. How about my club this evening? Say, seven?"
Flattery always worked. "Splendid. Until then."
Swales arrived by cab precisely at seven o’clock at White's entrance on St. James Street. He'd considered joining the club, but put it off. The politics were too chancy, women weren't allowed, even after the lawsuit. He admired the Victorian architecture for a moment before climbing the stairs and entering. After checking his coat, he inquired about Plasket's presence, and followed the doorman’s directions to the Card Room. A small fireplace in the far wall cast a warm glow across the dark hardwood floor. A crystalline chandelier hung from the ceiling, its soft illumination enough to spot Plasket at a corner table
