Quantum Space: Book One in the Quantum Series

by Douglas Phillips

  “How about Fermilab security?” Marie offered. “They might be able to reach him at home.”

  Daniel searched for a number for security. It took a few minutes, but he finally located it and dialed. He shook his head and put the phone on speaker for Marie to hear. A recording from Stetler Corporation played, suggesting the caller dial 911 after hours.

  Daniel hung up. “That’s what they told us earlier today. Stetler runs their security too. Sign of the times, I guess. The government uses private contractors for just about everything.”

  “NASA too,” she said. “More than half the work is now handled by corporations. Each of them claims higher efficiency. That’s debatable. But even if they are more efficient, we’re left trying to coordinate among a dozen different entities. For us, it’s a mess.”

  “I’ll send him a text. Probably the best we can do for now.” Daniel typed a short note and looked up when he had finished. “Let’s switch gears and talk about my news.”

  “You said you got another email?” Marie asked.

  “Yeah, anonymously. It’s from somebody at Stetler, and it’s pretty interesting. Here, take a look.” He turned the laptop around so that Marie could read the email.

  To: Daniel Rice

  From: trp_1237@gmail.com

  Subject: Kairos

  A colleague told me you were in our office today and gave me your email address. No one wants to say anything because security at Stetler is so tight.

  There’s a CERN team called Kairos that you need to know about. It’s more of a skunk-works project, off budget, and run by a French guy named Laurent. Nobody is sure of his first name. Last year, some people from his team were asking questions and it was clear that they were pursuing the same thing we are at Fermilab. We could tell they were fishing and we didn’t give them anything. We had also heard they had a security breach just a month ago. It’s fairly common. Swiss security isn’t as good and this French team’s work is sloppy. Anyway, I thought you’d want to know. Sorry for the secrecy.

  Marie wanted to be clear she understood its meaning. “CERN runs the Large Hadron Collider, right? The one in Geneva.”

  “Right,” said Daniel. “Where the work on quantum dimensions started. So, what do you think?”

  “About the email?” she answered. “It’s provocative. Someone is offering a tip but disparaging the competition at the same time.”

  “It’s not much to go on, but we’re not getting very far here either. And the clock is still ticking.”

  Marie took a deep breath. “Have you responded?”

  “Yeah, I suggested we meet privately. But nothing back yet.”

  “Can we enlist someone at CERN to help us?”

  “I’ve already sent a request and Bradley is following up. But he also suggested we might need to go to Geneva.”

  Marie thought about the long flight. By the time they got there, it might be too late. It was true, they weren’t making much progress at Fermilab, and this was the first tip they’d had. Neither alternative was encouraging and she felt weary and helpless.

  Daniel looked equally deflated. “We’re a long way from a solution, but there are a few steps we can take. I’ll call the White House and ask Shea to bring in the FBI. A science investigator asking questions is one thing, but law enforcement could make a difference. And I’ll keep trying to reach Park.”

  Marie felt a knot twisting in her stomach and wished she could do more.

  18 Conspiracy

  Terry Stetler lowered the blind on each of his office windows. At night, the windows transformed into one-way mirrors. People outside could see into the brightly lit office, but the only thing Stetler could see was his own reflection. The effect made him feel self-conscious.

  He picked up his phone and dialed into a secure conferencing system. He waited through a wordy recording from a faceless British female, entered the conference number and password and was connected into the call. His counterpart in Beijing was already on the line.

  “Good evening, Terry,” he said in accented but otherwise perfect English.

  “Good morning to you, Jie Ping,” Stetler replied. “Nǐ hǎo ma?”

  “I am doing well, Terry. And how are you?”

  “Fine, just fine. Tell me something good, Jie Ping. I need it to finish my day.”

  “Most welcome news, Terry. Our talented team has completed their level three tests on the oscillator alignment, with only minor adjustments to the control software. Our work is ahead of schedule.”

  “That’s always good to hear, Jie Ping. Let me ask you, have there been any hiccups in the system testing? Anything out of the ordinary, perhaps?”

  “No, Terry, the system is performing as planned, with all testing completed on schedule. Our team has produced exceptional results.”

  “Jie Ping, what range are we at now?”

  “An excellent range now, Terry. Our team has produced dimensional expansion of more than one hundred meters and is now able to target at two hundred meters.”

  “And when will we achieve kilometer range?”

  “Exactly on schedule, Terry. I believe that range is planned for March of next year.”

  “Jie Ping, please excuse me for being blunt, but you wouldn’t know about a missing spacecraft, would you?”

  “Ahh, Terry, you are referring to the unfortunate Soyuz accident. We have heard about it on the news programs. Very sad indeed. But then, when relying on Russian technology, the world must accept high risks.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure you’re right, Jie Ping. And I have no doubt that Chinese technology will resolve that.”

  “Chinese orbital flights are increasing in number and duration. I am confident that Soyuz will be retired soon and the world will no longer suffer unfortunate deaths.”

  “Jie Ping, listen carefully, because what I’m saying is important. If my government decides that the technology we are developing is dangerous to space transportation, they will not only kill the Diastasi project, they might even shut down your accelerator. The stealth missiles they have these days can make it look like an industrial accident. Do you understand?”

  “Terry, your statement makes no sense. How could the technology be dangerous? Our range is still very limited, and ground-based only. Our goal is the same as yours, to develop sufficiently to open market opportunities. This is strictly a business venture.”

  Terry Stetler sighed. There wasn’t much hope in having any meaningful discussion. The cultural differences and the limited level of trust between them prevented his words from having any real impact. It was more of a dance between partners, a dance that could change to sparring at any time.

  Their discussion touched on many other topics, and at the appointed end time, the conference call concluded. Both parties disconnected, and both returned to their work with no changes in motivation or method. For Stetler, it was an affirmation. When working with the Chinese, you could lay out a plan and a schedule, but you gave away control the moment you brought them into the project.

  On schedule, Shawn Yost knocked on the door.

  “You ready to talk?” he asked, peering in.

  “Yes, Shawn, come in. I just got off the phone with Jie Ping. Squirrely as usual.”

  “Did they do the Soyuz thing?”

  “Of course, he says no. They are not able. Range limitations.”

  “He’s lying.”

  “Possibly. But I can’t quite figure out the motivation. If Wah Xiang is responsible for a major international incident, Jie Ping of all people would know the consequences. He wouldn’t withstand the scrutiny, even from Chinese leadership, much less the rest of the world. It would be the end of him.”

  “This whole fucking thing is going to blow up in our faces. Cut them off now, just get rid of those Chinese bastards,” Yost snarled.

  “If only we could,” Stetler replied. “I don’t trust him for a second. But accelerators are not exactly stocked at Walmart.”

  19 Motivation

  Da
niel plugged in his electronics and plopped onto the bed to give his body a recharge. He made two phone calls, one to Christine Shea and the other to Spencer Bradley, and left two messages. He provided a status update along with his judgment that the Diastasi technology, if not the team, was in some way involved in the Soyuz disappearance. He knew a duty officer at the White House would review Shea’s message and decide how to handle it. The response might be nothing, or it might entail a return call at any time during the night.

  He was tired, but felt he should use the alone time to process the events of the day. A hot shower would be the best place to think. He started the water and let the bathroom fill with steam. Stripping down to bare skin, he stepped in.

  The hot water felt good and brought him to a relaxed state of mind. He let the water pour over his head. The unimportant distractions were cleansed away, leaving only essential elements.

  Ignore the spoken words and focus on motivation, he thought. Who is motivated to obfuscate? Have I asked the right questions to reveal the truth? Even if I have, would they tell me?

  The physical universe was always faithful. Run the right test and it responded with reality every time. But people were different. They could choose to disguise reality.

  Daniel remained deep in thought, and time passed without notice. His skin hot, he finally turned off the water and wrapped himself in a towel. His decision to bring in the FBI was the right one. If nothing else, they would provide more gravitas and back up his authority. But he was less sure about the CERN tip. Perhaps Bradley would find the right investigator already in Geneva and save valuable time.

  He heard his phone, the ringtone indicating the caller was not in his contacts list. He looked at his watch on the counter—nearly 11 p.m. It’s not Park or Shea. Who else would be calling at this hour? He stepped into the bedroom and picked up the phone.

  “Rice here.”

  A woman’s voice was on the other end. “Daniel Rice?”

  “Yes.”

  There was a pause. “It’s Nala Pasquier. You talked with me today?”

  Huh, that’s unusual. He had given his phone number to each of the people he’d interviewed. Standard procedure. But he hadn’t really expected anything to come of it.

  “Yes, Nala. Did you think of something else?”

  “No, not really.” Her voice was weak. She sounded nervous. “But I want to ask you a few questions. Can we meet?”

  “I’d be happy to answer as best I can.”

  “But not on the phone.”

  “Okay, should we set a time?”

  There was a hesitation. “No… not… I need to talk to you right now.”

  “I see, okay. You say we need to meet right now, and you have questions. But is there anything else you’re going to tell me?”

  The line was quiet for a moment. “Maybe. It depends. Can you meet me at the King Street Tavern? It’s in Aurora.”

  Daniel paused and tapped his lip. It might be nothing. Then again, it could be everything. “Okay, I’ll be there. Give me about fifteen minutes. Will that work?”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  The phone went silent, and Daniel stood in the room with the towel wrapped around his waist, his curiosity spiking.

  20 Collaboration

  Nala Pasquier sat alone in a booth and took a sip from her drink. The bar was dark and mostly empty. Two men on barstools were engaged in a heated political discussion, the logic of their argument blurred by alcohol. At another table, a couple leaned in close for a more private conversation.

  Nala looked at her watch, nearly midnight. What the hell am I doing here? Is he even coming?

  The bar door opened and Daniel walked in. She made eye contact and tracked him as he walked to the table.

  “Have a seat,” she said. “They make a kickass margarita here, if you like tequila.”

  “I’m sure they do, but I’ll pass this time,” he said.

  “Oh, come on, don’t make me drink alone.”

  Daniel sat down across from her. “Are we talking or socializing?”

  Or baring everything. She looked down and fidgeted with the napkin on the table. After tonight, she’d need more than just a drink. Therapy, most likely.

  A waitress arrived at the table. “I’ll have a draft beer, a lager if you have one,” he said.

  Maybe it was a symbolic gesture; regardless, she appreciated it. Nala studied him. The government investigator, the outsider. Another authority figure but without the uniform? Or Search and Rescue? She liked what she saw. He certainly looked like a genuine hero type. A strong face but gentle eyes, no overly fashionable whisker stubble, just clean-cut. Soft brownish hair with a little gray and enough length to allow it to blow in the wind. She imagined him driving in a convertible, on a curving road by the ocean, and letting his hair fly.

  But always the doubter, particularly with men, she waited for people to prove their authenticity. He still wore the same business suit he’d had on earlier in the day, minus the tie. It seemed corporate, and she had little trust in corporations.

  “Who are you, Daniel Rice?” Her eyes never left his.

  “You asked me that earlier today,” he answered. “We seem to be covering the same ground.”

  “Right you are. Let me adjust, then. How much authority do you have?”

  “Within the law? All I need. I told you, I was sent here by the president’s national security advisor. That’s the president of the United States, in case I wasn’t clear.”

  “Yeah, I got that. The big guy who lives in the White House.” She looked down at her drink on the table and thought about how to approach the delicate discussion ahead.

  “I need someone who can fix things. Things that are broken. Can you?”

  “You’re being vague again, Nala, just like this afternoon. I’m a representative of the United States government. I have the full backing of the executive branch. If I need the FBI, I make a phone call. If I need intelligence, the NSA will provide it. Hell, if I need Smokey Bear, the Forest Service will have him on the next plane.”

  She smiled. I like this guy. Her thoughts quickly snapped back to reality. Don’t kid yourself, he knows exactly what he’s doing, and I’m on trial. Her job was on the line, and maybe more.

  Daniel waited as the waitress set a beer on the table and returned to the political discussion at the bar.

  “Nala, this isn’t a game,” he said. “You clearly have something to tell me or we wouldn’t be here. If you’re concerned about disclosing information, I’m sure I can help. But I can’t do anything if you don’t tell me.”

  She looked down at her drink, dipped a finger in the ice and stirred it around. “Yeah, you’re right, Mr. Government Man. I can be a bit paranoid at times. It’s hard not to be in this environment. Overbearing security everywhere you turn, corporate execs breathing down your neck, tech guys inspecting your computer files and going through your email. They treat us like we’re all spies, guilty until proven innocent.”

  “Do they have reason to worry about you?”

  “Meaning?”

  “Are you, by chance, breaking the rules?”

  Nala felt her blood pressure spike. “Me? You think I’m the one? I’m the best they’ve got. I’m the one who figures out how to make this stuff work. Jesus, of all the fucked-up people in this company, I’m the only one you should trust.”

  Daniel remained motionless, as if waiting for a danger to pass. “I’m glad to hear that. But I need unshaded truth, and you’re hinting that you have additional information. Let’s set some ground rules, shall we? You provide nothing but the truth, and I will follow up on everything you tell me. Fair?”

  She took a deep breath and returned to stirring the ice in her drink.

  “You want things fixed?” he asked.

  “Look, I know you’re just doing your job.” She shook her ice-stirring finger at him. “But just make sure you figure out who the bad guys are, and you might think about doing that pretty quick before
we all get burned.”

  “Good, we’re in agreement, then.” His tone softened, sounding more like a friend than an investigator. “Are you concerned about your employment?”

  “What do you think? They could fire me in a second. Hell, they could accuse me of all kinds of security violations and ruin my career.” She recognized her own sharp tone and immediately regretted her words. Stop being so confrontational. He might be the best shot you’ve got.

  She relaxed as best she could. Telling the truth would be hard, but she had to start somewhere. “Look, this is groundbreaking science, it’s incredible stuff. I’m on a dream project and I don’t want to lose it.”

  “So, it’s Yost? Or Stetler? What are they doing?”

  She shook her head. “Those guys are just the start. It’s more. Way more.”

  “Well, then, where shall we start?”

  She looked down at her drink and took a deep breath. “First, I need to explain some things about the science.”

  “I think I know a fair amount,” Daniel said with conviction.

  “You know only what Park and Yost told you. You never talked to Jan Spiegel, did you? I know you didn’t. I asked him and he said he never spoke with you.”

  She picked up her drink, thought better of it, and set the glass down to one side. Enough alcohol, it never helps. Daniel waited patiently, his brown eyes locked on her.

  “Let’s start with Spiegel,” she began. “A very bright guy, bordering on genius. A Dutch physicist who was at CERN in 2012 when they found the Higgs boson and string dimensions. He’s got this whole thing figured out. He’s been working on a model for dimensional expansion and compression. And that’s what you need to know that Park never told you.”

  “What, a model?”

  “No, compression. Remember that. Expansion of a quantum dimension is one thing. You’ve already seen that with Park’s little demo. But it’s the compression that’s the crown jewel. Spiegel has figured out a mathematical model, and we’re testing it in the real world. He’s got an equation—we call it the Spiegel formula for dimensional compression, or collapse, or whatever word you want to use. Here, I’ll write it for you.”