The Orthogonal Galaxy

by Michael L. Lewis

  “Miss Ming,” interrupted another reviewer. “How long can the vehicle sustain the amount of energy required to engage the EPGs, and how is that energy restored? I trust we will not be able to place interstellar gas stations along the route, right?”

  Ming chuckled respectfully and answered, “At Warp 0.5, we expect to be able to navigate through dust fields as large as 500 astronomical units. We expect these events to be rare, compared to the asteroid fields that the shield will completely avoid impacts altogether. In most galaxies, dust has coalesced to form asteroids. Only in very new galaxies, will the vehicle have to contend with large quantities of dust. The most typical use of the EPGs will be while navigating through chunks of ice scattered behind the tail of a comet. However, these will only cause the EPGs to be turned on for a very short period of time.

  “I am afraid that I am not able to answer your second question, since that comes from the Star Energy team, who is handling the energy generation and consumption requirements for the vehicle. We were given a specification from the team that the EPGs must consume no more than 100 kilowatts of power in a single burst. From this, we calculated the numbers I provided before. That is, 500 astronomical units at Warp 0.5.”

  “If there are no further questions…” There were none. “I would now like to demonstrate the shield in the wind tunnel.”

  The team was able to note the deflection of wind across the shield. They paid particularly close attention to the effects of the wind at the tip as well as along the flat octagon-shaped portion of the shield. They briefly examined the effect along the curved portion as well.

  One reviewer asked if an EPG demonstration could be provided, and Ming was able to oblige by leading the party into an electronics lab. She took two three-foot square metal screens and placed them upright in front of a small canon-like device. She took a couple of average looking rocks each about five inches in diameter and loaded them one at a time into the canon. The first one was fired directly into the metal screen with the EPGs disengaged. The screen was completely impaled by the rock as was evidenced by the five-inch hole in the middle of it. Ming then turned on the EPGs, which caused the shield to dance with blue glowing pulses of electricity. The second rock was fired into the new screen. The effects were vastly different. Several gasps of air and a couple of high-pitched whistles convinced Ming that her party was impressed. To finalize the effect, Ming took the screen and showed them the profile, where there were several dents in the screen, none of which were larger than about five millimeters. Then she showed them the floor below the screen where a collection of fine dust had accumulated from the disintegration of the rock.

  “Miss Ming,” announced a senior reviewer, “it appears to me that your team has done a magnificent job in your research and development. Congratulations on a job well done, and keep up the fine work.”

  Ming bowed graciously. Words nearly escaped her, until she was able to fumble out an emotional acceptance of the praise. “Thank you, Dr. Janos. I am glad to have been able to demonstrate our work here today.”

  …

  At 8:45pm, Maril collapsed into the leather seat in his office. In the quiet of his office, the only sound he could hear was a dull ringing in his ears. After introductions, design reviews, and debriefing sessions, Maril found himself alone for the first time since walking into his office earlier that morning. Had it really been just that morning? It felt so much longer than that.

  Heaving a deep breath of air and finishing off a bottle of water that sat on his desk, Maril collected his computer bag, and started to walk out of the office. He paused as he noticed a freshly pressed tuxedo bag on a hanger behind the door. He smiled and reminded himself out loud, “I really do need to give that girl a raise.”

  Chapter

  19

  “Well, what do we have here?” A prisoner sat down next to Blade Slater with a tray of food. “Looks like Doubting Thomas has himself a new friend.”

  Blade looked across the table at his ‘new friend’ with a smile. “Ever since Goat Herd here started readin’ the Bible, he’s been callin’ me Doubtin’ Thomas.”

  Extending a hand across the table, the newcomer introduced himself. “The name’s Guntherd Schenthtzen. Some folks around here find it easier to remember my prison number, 689214—or, for the numerically challenged, Goat Herd works too.”

  After looking to Blade who gave an almost imperceptible nod of approval, Joonter reached out his hand to find a deceptively firm grip from the otherwise scrawny looking Guntherd. “Paol Joonter.”

  Not comfortable in how much he should say, Joonter decided to keep his communication with other prisoners as succinct as possible, since he still wasn’t sure of the intricacies of proper communication with inmates.

  “Sharp dresser,” Guntherd said matter-of-factly.

  Paol looked down at his prison garb and then scanned the rest of the cafeteria. With a look of confusion, he found it to be no different than any other prisoner in the commissary.

  “What Goat Herd here is tryin’ to say,” Slater clarified for his cellmate, “is that you is pretty well groomed. Short hair. Clean shave. No tats. It gives yer wardrobe a different appearance, like it’s newer than the rest of us.”

  Eyeing Joonter with suspicion, Schenthtzen announced, “I hear there’s some fancy-pants three-piece-suit businessman due to arrive soon. That would be a real boon for those of us in a position to help him learn the ropes and keep him safe, if you know what I mean.”

  With a disgusted look on his face, Blade turned to face their uninvited guest, “Since when do you have any power to protect anyone ‘round here? You may be able to herd some goats, but you know that wolves eat goats, dontcha?”

  Guntherd pushed his tray a few inches away from him and stared down at the blank table in front of him. “Are you threatening me, Thomas?”

  Turning back to cut a piece of his Salisbury steak with his spoon, Blade attempted to defuse the situation. “Be reasonable, ‘214. You was the one to suggest to extortin’ money from my friend here.”

  “I ain’t doing nothing different than what you’re doing? You’re just trying to pick his pocket by being his friend.”

  Could this be true? Could it be that Blade was trying to get on Paol’s good side to receive favors in the form of extra money for the commissary? Or was this Guntherd character really good at manipulation. Paol wondered if he had let his guard down with his new cellmate and was too quick to abandon the rule Warron had given him to “trust no one!”

  “No matter,” Blade stated shrugging his shoulders. “Joonter ain’t worth nothin’ anyway.”

  “You’re lying, Slater!”

  “Let me rephrase my sentence,” Blade responded in measured tones. “He ain’t worth nothin’ in here. Fo’ the last three days, Paol’s been followin’ me ‘round to learn all ‘bout the prison. In three trips to the commissary, he ain’t bought nothin’. So, I asked him, ‘why ain’t you buyin’ nothin’? He says, ‘I ain’t got no money.’ So, I asks, ‘Whatcha mean? Every prisoner’s got money. We all work, we all get paid—not much, but ‘nough to buy stuff.’ And you know what he says?” Slater turned back to Guntherd who was still looking at the table.

  Blade went on after pausing long enough to know that Schenthtzen wasn’t going to respond to the question. “He says, ‘I arranged with the warden to send all of my money to my family.’”

  “This stuffed suit’s family doesn’t need any money,” Guntherd pointed an accusing finger at Paol. “You are full of—”

  Slater raised his hand to cut off Schenthtzen before he could complete his sentence. “I ain’t full of nothin’, ‘214, ‘cuz you won’t let me eat my meat and potatoes. You see, Paol ain’t sendin’ money to a needy family. He’s a smart man, and he learned how to survive tough competition. That business survival instinct is servin’ well in prison. The reason he’s sendin’ his money home, is ‘cuz he knew he’d be a target. If he ain’t got no money, he can’t become prey to nobody, inclu
din’ you, Guntherd. Sorry to disappoint, but you might wanna spread the word that Joonter ain’t worth nobody’s time.”

  As prisoner number 689214 stalked off with his tray of food untouched, Paol looked Blade in the eyes and gave a grateful nod. In the commotion of the courtyard after lunch, Paol got a chance to ask Blade about the exchange.

  “But we haven’t even been to the commissary once, Blade.”

  “I only go on Mondays, but Goat Herd don’t know that, ‘cuz his commissary schedule is different than ours.”

  “I suppose this means that I won’t be able to buy anything while I’m here,” Paol opined, “but that appears to be better than the ugly alternative that I just witnessed back in the cafeteria.”

  “I thinks you just need to wait a few weeks. Once Goat Herd’s intel makes the rounds, you’ll be hands off, and the dust of the newness will settle down. Then, you should have no problem buyin’ anythin’ you want. But, you might wanna give it to me for safe keepin’ until we get back to the cell—just in case we pass one of Guntherd’s goats.”

  ...

  That night, as Paol lay sleepless in his bunk, he couldn’t help but think that he dodged a bullet already in his brief tenure at the penitentiary. He wondered how many more close calls he’d have with prisoners, but at least for now, he was grateful for the quick thinking of his cellmate.

  How could he have such bad luck to end up in prison in the first place, and yet have such good luck to be led to the most helpful person in the entire prison? And how is it that a self-educated young man from the ghetto could be so important to the well-being of a post-graduate engineer and successful businessman? It all seemed so ironic. Perhaps it was fate. Maybe fate led Paol here to become acquainted with Blade. Perhaps Warron would soon find the evidence he needed to bring the case to justice once and for all, and when released, the roles would be turned. Whereas Blade Slater was Paol Joonter’s savior in prison, Paol would be there to protect Slater as he adapted to society in his post-prison life.

  Paol gave up belief in something divine years ago. But for the first time in ages, Paol could see potential purpose—fate-guided purpose—to his ordeal. In the long dark hours of the night he wondered if there really was something called fate, and if so was it fair and balanced? Did it have the foresight to turn even the ugliest of present situations into meaningful futures? Or was fate just the godless embodiment of hope that he needed to cling to in a meaningless world?

  Chapter

  20

  “So, you knew all along!” Kath exclaimed in disbelief, hitting Joram on the shoulder as they approached Professor Zimmer’s office.

  “Not all along,” Joram downplayed his discovery. “In hindsight, I think Zimmer knew even before I did.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Just a hunch. Do you remember the last meeting we had in the conference room at Johnson? The one where we were deciding what to do with the last three paddles?”

  Kath nodded while looking intently into Joram’s face as the graduate students pressed on down the long hall of the astronomy building and stopped abruptly at the professor’s office door.

  “I suspect that Zimmer knew what I was thinking all along, and that is why he pressed me on the matter. I saw a look of surprise when I suggested ramming the beam upstream at full speed, almost as if my thoughts betrayed me to him. At the time, I thought that if the paddles were simply disappearing, because they were being driven by the beam faster than the speed of light, then we might be able to see more of the trajectory of that paddle as it did an abrupt U-turn towards the downstream and disappeared. By seeing the negative rate of acceleration, we would be able to ballpark the speed of the particles in the beam. The bottom line is that I thought I read something in his expression that may have indicated he knew what I was thinking. I’m fairly certain that he had already guessed what the beam was doing. He just needed enough evidence to convince himself and the scientific community.”

  “But, how did he guess? Why would he guess something so preposterous? During thousands of years of recorded human history, nobody has ever seen anything traveling faster than the speed of light. It’s so… so… unrelativistic.”

  “I prefer anti-relativistic,” said a familiar raspy voice approaching Kath from behind.

  Kath gave a start. “Oh, professor… I didn’t know you were there.”

  “I see you two are right on time,” acknowledged the astrophysicist tapping on his wrist watch as he unlocked the door to his office. Looking down the hall in both directions, he continued. “But where is…”

  At that moment, Reyd appeared briskly from around the corner of the hall which Zimmer was facing.

  “Ah, there is Mr. Eastman now.” He opened the door and invited his research team into his office for the appointed meeting which all three students had been eagerly anticipating.

  It was Joram’s first time in the hallowed—almost sacred—room. It was much smaller than he would’ve guessed, and he couldn’t help wonder how some of the brightest ideas of their day could come from such a humble office. If only he could interview the walls, painted in light beige; the desk, with its three modest stacks of papers; the laptop computer, which was turned on, but currently showed a black screen, as if to purposefully veil all of the secrets that were maintained inside.

  There were shelves above every counter and desktop, housing an array of books, many authored or co-authored by Zimmer himself: “Quantum Forces of Nature”, “Astronomical Phenomena: Current Research on Unsolved Issues in the Universe”, “The Big Bang and Zeta Theory”, “Intergalactic Space and Matter”, “Advanced Particle Physics.” At the end of the room was a window with blinds pulled up, revealing a portion of the rooftop of Zimmer’s namesake planetarium. A hint of sunlight bathed a small corner of the office as the afternoon wore on. There was a slight hum and low tick of a wall clock above the main desk.

  Zimmer invited his students to a round white oak table with four padded chairs. As they settled in, he grabbed a CalTech coffee mug filled with water, a notepad, and a pen before joining the students.

  “Let me start with Miss Mirabelle’s question, first.”

  “What question, Professor?”

  “I think it was something along the lines of… ‘How would he have guessed something so absurd?’ Was that the question you just asked outside my office, Ms. Mirabelle?”

  Kath blushed, while Joram relished this rare off-guard moment with a smile. Reyd laughed heartily at her gaffe. “Oh, Professor… I’m… I’m sorry. It was impertinent of me.”

  Joram’s smile fell open suddenly. Was that an apology? From Kath Mirabelle? It must’ve been a first, he thought.

  “No, no… not at all, Miss Mirabelle. In fact…” his voice trailed off with his thought. He stood up and went to his desk searching for something in one of the stacks of papers. “Ah, here it is.”

  He returned to the table with a crisp piece of paper recently printed out. He placed the paper in front of Kath and asked her to read the blue-highlighted portion of a news article from the U.S.A. Today website.

  “In an announcement which has rattled the scientific community, world-renowned astronomer, Carlton Zimmer issued a statement from the California Institute of Technology theorizing on a discovery of ‘warp’ed proportions…”

  “Ah, yes… I love that statement,” Zimmer interrupted. With childlike excitement, he thrust a finger at the word ‘warp.’ “Clever, isn’t it? It’s a double entendre on the word warp, meaning both faster than the speed of light, and also implying that I’ve just plain lost my marbles. Please do continue, Miss Mirabelle.”

  Stunned by his careless attitude towards the disrespect of the journalist, Kath continued slower than before. “The continually-studied yellow beam, he claims, consists of matter which is traveling faster than the speed of light—a superluminal comet. If his theory proves correct, he’ll have Albert Einstein turning in his grave for defusing his heretofore unchallenged Theory of Relativity.”<
br />
  After a brief pause, Zimmer indicated to Kath, “If you wouldn’t mind, Miss Mirabelle, please read the last paragraph as well.”

  “Ironically, it was this same Dr. Zimmer who—years earlier—was quoted as saying, ‘it would be absurd to assume that anything could ever travel faster than the speed of light. There is a good reason why we’ve never observed such travel—it is because it simply cannot occur.’ Now Zimmer finds himself in the awkward position of having to prove Einstein—and himself—wrong.”

  “You see, Miss Mirabelle,” Zimmer now got to the point. “There is nothing shameful about challenging my position. In fact, they used the same word that you did, ‘absurd.’ The criticism is coming from everywhere. Am I truly warped? Is my position preposterous? Certainly!” Leaning over the table was an effective mechanism for gaining every bit of attention of his students. “Until I can prove otherwise.” He sat back up, waiting for the questions to begin.

  “Can you?” asked Reyd.

  “Easily, Mr. Eastman. The data is very convincing, and once I’ve had a chance to convey it properly in a paper that will be published in the Journal of Astrophysics, some—but not all—of the disbelief will be assuaged.”

  “What do you mean by ‘some’, Professor?” asked Joram.

  “Mr. Anders, I will be able to show evidence that the material that created that beam is traveling faster than the speed of light. But, I still won’t be able to prove how that is happening. I do have some speculation, but scientists will continue to live in denial of the claim until they are shown how this phenomenon occurs.”

  “But, how did you solve that, Professor? And what evidence will you list in the paper to prove it?”

  Zimmer’s expression clouded over, and Kath slowly turned her head to assess what the astrophysicist was studying on the wall behind her. Finding nothing, she turned back to realize that Zimmer was caught up in a thought, or perhaps a memory, which caused him deep concern.