The Orion Plan

by Mark Alpert

  He stepped past the Olmec head and made his way across the darkened hall, with Paco silently following. The Hall of Asian Peoples was even darker, lit only by the glowing red EXIT signs. Emilio had come this way during his earlier visit and inspected the exhibits inside the display cases. Behind the glass were colorfully dressed mannequins that were supposed to look like all the different types of Asians: Arab sheikhs, Tibetan monks, Malaysian aborigines. Now, with the lights turned off, Emilio could see only looming silhouettes inside the display cases, but he vividly recalled what they looked like. He’d felt an odd compulsion when he’d come here earlier, a powerful need to look at every exhibit he passed, to scrutinize everything in sight, and not just the security cameras. He still felt this compulsion now but it wasn’t as strong, possibly because there was less to see in the darkness.

  When they reached the stairway by the museum shop they went down the left side of the steps, just out of camera range. Then they entered the Hall of North American Mammals and tiptoed past the stuffed wolves and grizzly bears. They turned left and then right and then stepped into the Hall of Northwest Coast Indians and passed the big totem poles with the spooky animal faces carved into the wood. Then Emilio heard footsteps and saw a flashlight beam lance into the room.

  He and Paco dove to the right. They took cover behind one of the totem poles, huddling against its rough base. The footsteps grew louder and the flashlight beam swept across the hall, shining on the floor and walls and display cases. Then Emilio saw the museum guard in the center of the room, just fifteen feet away. The man was tall and black and very athletic-looking in his uniform. Luckily he was staring at a different totem pole. He aimed his flashlight at a froglike face at the top of the pole, painted green and red and yellow. Then he chuckled to himself and walked out of the hall, apparently heading for the museum shop.

  After waiting a few more seconds, Emilio and Paco rose to their feet and quickstepped in the opposite direction. They hurried past the museum’s snack bar and the ground-floor restrooms. They rushed through the Hall of Human Origins and the Hall of Meteorites. Emilio’s T-shirt was heavy with sweat by the time they finally reached the Hall of Gems and Minerals, which was the darkest room in the whole building. The walls were painted black and the red EXIT signs were almost swallowed in the gloom. But at the far end of the hall were hundreds of tiny red sparks, like a swarm of bloodied fireflies. They were the reflections of the EXIT signs off the biggest crystals in the room, the ones too large to be kept in the display cases.

  Emilio went straight to the massive block of topaz. It sat on the floor near the corner of the room, where Mrs. Cohen had forced him to stand ten years ago while the other third-graders romped around the hall. The crystal had impressed the hell out of him back then and still impressed him now. It was about three feet high and two feet wide and looked like a giant cube of rock candy. A couple of steel rods anchored the topaz to the floor, and underneath it was a lightbulb that shone—at least during museum hours—up into the crystal, giving it a yellowish glow. But now the bulb was turned off, and Emilio could see that only the bottom half of the crystal had the yellowish impurities that muddied its color. The top half was as clear as glass.

  He bent over the crystal and ran his hand along its surface, so smooth and cool and hard. Then he turned to Paco. “This is it,” he whispered. “This is what we came for.”

  Paco crouched beside the topaz. After inspecting it for a few seconds he pointed at the steel rods. “Shit, it’s stuck to the floor. And even if we can get it loose, how are we gonna carry it? It must weigh a fucking ton.”

  “Three tons, actually. But we’re not gonna take the whole thing. We’re gonna cut off a section from the top half of the crystal, the pure half.”

  “A section?” Paco looked up at him, grimacing. “How the fuck are you gonna cut the thing? You got any tools?”

  Emilio took the duffel bag off his back, slipping his arms out of the straps. Then he unzipped it and removed the only tool inside, a spike made of shiny black metal, as thin as a pencil and ten inches long. “This is all we need.”

  * * *

  He’d found the tool in the basement of his grandmother’s apartment building. Well, maybe “found” wasn’t the right word. He knew it would be there.

  All day, both before and after his reconnaissance trip to the museum, Emilio had jittered with anticipation. Toward evening he’d tried to calm himself by lying on his grandmother’s couch, but he couldn’t close his eyes. Crazy visions ran through his head like scenes in a movie. He saw himself as a soldier leading a squad of commandos, all of them badasses like the ones in Battle Blood. He watched his men march through Inwood Hill Park and attack the cops on Dyckman Street, sending them running toward the river. Then he saw the white people fleeing from their fancy buildings, a huge herd of white people stampeding up the Harlem River Drive, trampling each other to get out of Manhattan.

  Then the visions turned fuzzy and faded, and he was left with only one thought, which took the form of a command: Go to the basement and look behind the dryers. Although it didn’t make a lot of sense, he got up from the couch anyway and took the elevator to the basement. When he looked behind the dryers in the laundry room he saw the tip of the spike sticking out of a crack in the wall. It should’ve scared him, but it didn’t. He just wrapped his hand around the thing and pulled it out.

  But now that Emilio finally stood next to the block of topaz, he was at a loss. He knew he was supposed to use the gleaming tool to cut the crystal, but he had no idea how to do it. The spike looked a bit like an ice pick but its ends weren’t very sharp. He didn’t see how it could even make a dent in the crystal. Paco stared at the spike too, probably thinking the same thing.

  Emilio bent over the topaz and pointed the spike at it. He was trying to at least look like he knew what he was doing. He tapped one end of the spike against the smooth flat top of the crystal, testing its hardness. Then he tapped one of the crystal’s equally smooth sides. He was about to tap the block a third time when the spike flew out of his hand. It struck the side of the topaz and stuck there, flush against the crystal’s surface, as if held by a magnet.

  “Anda el diablo!” Emilio stepped backward, startled. He turned to Paco. “Did you see that?”

  His homeboy didn’t answer. Emilo turned back to the crystal and saw the spike changing shape before his eyes. While staying attached to the topaz, it grew longer and thinner, its ends pulling away from each other. After a few seconds the spike was as slender as a string and stretched across the full width of the block. Then it began to penetrate the crystal, changing its shape again to become a blade of gleaming metal that wedged into the side of the topaz. The blade sliced through the crystal like a horizontal guillotine, moving swiftly and effortlessly from one side of the block to the other. Within seconds it severed the topmost section of the crystal, creating a four-inch-thick slice that continued to rest on the lower part of the topaz. The cut was so clean and neat you could barely see it. Then the blade emerged from the other side of the block and changed back to its old shape, a shiny black spike. It dropped to the floor.

  Emilio gaped, amazed and delighted, as awestruck as an eight-year-old visiting the museum for the first time. “You believe this shit? That fucking thing cut the block all by itself!”

  Paco remained silent. It was hard to see the boy’s face in the dark but it looked like he was truly freaked. Emilio almost laughed. “Don’t worry, muchacho, it’s just modern technology. Now let’s see if we can carry the part that’s cut off.”

  Emilio bent over the topaz again and touched the top section, which was roughly square and about the size and thickness of a briefcase. He pushed it with his index finger but it didn’t budge. So he applied more pressure, pushing with his whole hand, and after a moment the section slid a couple of inches forward. Emilio stopped pushing, and now he did let out a laugh, a quiet snort of triumph. The edge of the top section hung over the lower part of the block.

&nbs
p; “Okay, it’s heavy as shit, more than a hundred pounds, but I think we can handle it.” Emilio reached for the duffel bag and opened its zipper all the way. He held the bag over the slice of crystal to confirm that the thing would fit inside. Then he knelt beside the block and draped the bag around the jutting edge of the top section. “You get on the other side and push the section toward me. I’ll get it into the bag.”

  Paco just stood there, as if in a trance. After a couple of seconds he shook his head. “I don’t like this. It’s fucked up.”

  Emilio frowned. “I told you, it’s just technology. This is how all the jewel-cutters do it now. You think they’re still using hammers and chisels?”

  “But the thing moved by itself! How the—”

  “Coño, I don’t have time to explain it! Are you gonna be a pussy or are you gonna help me?”

  Paco tensed, his whole body going taut. Then, cursing under his breath, he knelt beside the block and started pushing the top section of the crystal.

  As the thick slice of topaz slid off the lower part of the block Emilio guided it into the duffel bag. The section was even heavier than he’d thought, at least a hundred fifty pounds. He grasped both of the bag’s straps and tried to lift it by himself, but he couldn’t manage it. That’s why he needed Paco. He hadn’t understood the reason before, but now it made perfect sense. The plan was firming up in his mind, becoming a little less cloudy with each step.

  He picked up the gleaming spike from the floor and put it into the duffel bag next to the crystal slice. Then he zipped up the bag and handed one of the straps to Paco. “We’ll carry it between us. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  Retracing their steps, they left the Hall of Gems and Minerals, Emilio on one side of the duffel bag, Paco on the other, each gripping one of the straps. Between the two of them, the heavy bag was manageable, although it strained their arms and made them lean toward each other. They planned to leave the museum the same way they’d come in, through that office window on the second floor, but Emilio worried about running into the tall, black guard who’d almost spotted them. Because they’d seen him walking toward the museum shop, Emilio chose a new route that steered clear of that area. He and Paco lugged the duffel bag through the Hall of Biodiversity and the Theodore Roosevelt Memorial Hall. Then they went up the stairway to the second floor, staying on the left side again because of the camera. The bag felt very fucking heavy as they hauled it up the steps. When they reached the top of the stairway they turned left, heading back to the Hall of Asian Peoples.

  Then they heard a shout behind them. “Hey! Stop right there!”

  A flashlight clicked on, throwing their shadows against the wall. Emilio looked over his shoulder and saw the silhouette of a security guard, about thirty feet away. It was a different guard from the one they saw before—this one was a white guy, shorter and less intimidating. But his size didn’t matter. As the guard pointed his flashlight at them he snatched his radio from his belt and raised it to his mouth. He was alerting the other guards, calling for backup.

  Emilio was already running, and so was Paco. They bolted at the same moment, both still holding the duffel bag between them. Emilio had to give his homeboy some credit—if Paco wanted to, he could’ve just let go of the bag’s strap and dashed out of sight. But instead he stayed with Emilio and their hundred and fifty pound treasure, which rocked from side to side as they ran down the corridor, away from the security guard.

  They turned right, dodging the flashlight beam, and darted into the Hall of Asian Peoples. The guard ran after them, shouting “Second floor, second floor!” into his radio. The beam from his flashlight chased them too, sweeping across the display cases, shining on the mannequins of Arab sheikhs and Tibetan monks. Emilio’s arm was going numb from the strain of holding the duffel bag, and the muscles in his legs were cramping. As they turned a corner his shoulder banged against the wall and the pain shot through his body, making him stumble. He wanted to drop the bag. He wanted to collapse.

  But at the same instant another stream of images rushed through his head. This time, Emilio knew, the images didn’t come from the Internet. They weren’t pictures of sports cars or videos of tree climbing. They were images of things he didn’t recognize, things he’d never seen before. They were so strange he couldn’t even begin to describe them. And yet they were also powerfully, magically beautiful. The sight of them filled his mind with new strength and hope. They were images of the future. His future.

  So Emilio kept running. He leaned forward and took giant strides. He sprinted so fast and pulled the bag so hard that he practically dragged Paco along with him. They burst out of the Hall of Asian Peoples and raced past another stairway. Then they sped down the home stretch, past the sculptures and pottery of Mexico and Central America, their eyes fixed on the giant Olmec head and the steel door that led to the museum’s offices. They were just a hundred feet away from the door, and the white security guard was way behind them. He’d never catch up to them in time. They were going to make it.

  Then the other guard, the tall, athletic black one, came around a corner up ahead, running straight toward them. He had his flashlight in one hand and his radio in the other. As soon as he saw them he took up position in front of the Olmec head, bracing himself like a wrestler at the start of a match, his knees bent, his shoulders hunched. He was going to knock both of them flat on their asses.

  Paco broke stride, his head turning wildly, looking for another way out, but Emilio didn’t slow down. Instead, he ran faster. He hurtled toward the guard, and at the same time he grabbed the strap of the duffel bag with both hands and yanked it so violently that the other strap ripped out of Paco’s grasp. In that moment the bag felt as light as a slingshot, and as Emilio charged forward he swung the thing in front of him.

  The guard held out both his hands, ready to bat the bag away from him, but he obviously wasn’t expecting a hundred-and-fifty-pound weight. It was only in the last quarter second, when the bag knocked his hands aside and plowed between his arms, that he realized how goddamn heavy it was. His eyes widened in surprise and he tried to sidestep, but it was too late. The crystal inside the bag struck him square in the chest and sent him flying backward. His heels lifted off the floor and the back of his skull cracked against the Olmec head.

  Emilio stood over the body, the bag still swinging in his hands. He was prepared to hit the guard again, but the man lay motionless, bleeding from his ears. For a moment Emilio felt a surge of revulsion in his stomach. Jesus, what happened? What the fuck did I do? But then he heard the other security guard behind them, shouting into his radio again. Soon every goddamn guard in the museum would come running. And then the cops would come too.

  Frantic, he turned to Paco, who was looking down at the fallen guard. Emilio shoved one of the duffel bag’s straps into the boy’s hand. “Vamonos! We need to go!”

  They rushed to the steel door, where Emilio’s baseball cap was still wedged between the latch and the jamb. Back in the small, messy office, they lifted the bag to the windowsill and heaved it outside. Emilio heard it land with a thump in the grass, and then he and Paco heaved themselves out the window, first dangling from the sill and then dropping to the ground. They picked up the duffel bag and raced back to 81st Street, but they didn’t return to the subway. By the time the police cars screamed down Columbus Avenue and pulled up to the museum’s entrance, Emilio and Paco were several blocks away, in Riverside Park. Staying in the shadows under the trees, they started walking north, carrying the crystal to Inwood.

  * * *

  It was 6:00 A.M. when they finally got to Arden Street. The sun was climbing above the neighborhood, already baking the pavement.

  Emilio yawned and trembled as he approached his grandmother’s building. He was so tired he could barely think. Paco looked just as bad, dragging himself along like a wounded soldier. Their hands were blistered from hauling the duffel bag for two hours. Emilio’s feet ached with each step and the muscles in h
is arms felt like they’d been shredded. But they’d made it home. They’d lugged a hundred-fifty-pound rock at least six miles uptown. That had to be some kind of record.

  They staggered through the apartment building’s entrance and stood in front of the elevator door. Paco stretched his hand toward the UP button, but Emilio nudged it aside and pressed the DOWN button instead. “We’re not going to Abuela’s apartment,” he explained. “We’re gonna take it down to the basement.”

  “The basement?” Paco narrowed his bloodshot eyes. “Why there?”

  “I know a safe place to hide it. Safer than the apartment.”

  The elevator door creaked open and they dragged the duffel bag inside. Then they descended to the basement, which was warm and stuffy and deserted. Next to the elevator was the laundry room, and just beyond it was a storage closet that no one in the building used anymore. For years Emilio had avoided going near this closet because he’d once seen a dead cat inside. But he’d peeked into the closet yesterday because it was right next to the laundry room. He’d felt an irresistible need to know what was on the other side of the wall where he’d pulled out the black spike. After looking inside the closet he’d bought a padlock from the hardware store and used it to secure the door. He didn’t understand what he’d glimpsed in there, but he knew he had to keep it secret.