The Orthogonal Galaxy

by Michael L. Lewis

  Blade Slater could detect an expression of bewilderment on the face of his fellow inmate when he returned. Barely looking up from his book, he inquired, “Good news, I hope.”

  “Well, I’ll let you be the judge of that.”

  In curiosity, Blade closed his book, set it on his cot, took in a deep breath and gave his cellmate his full attention. “Well, go on, then.”

  “You remember that planet that was discovered several months ago?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Turns out my lawyer is the brother of the astronomer who discovered it. NASA is working on a mission to fly there, but they are having a hard time rounding up astronauts.”

  “And how ‘xactly do they plan on flyin’ to a distant planet. Why… that’d take fo’ever to get there!”

  “They’re going to hitch a ride on the comet that was discovered in conjunction with Earth2.”

  Blade looked skeptical but waved on his partner.

  “Well, they can’t find astronauts to do the job.”

  “Mmm…” came the confused grunt of Blade. He was trying to figure out where this was all going.

  “My lawyer suggested that I should take up NASA, and that way whether he is able to clear my name or not, by the time I return, I’d get a nice presidential pardon, admiration of the whole world, and an entry in history books fer ages to come.”

  “How long’s the mission?” Slater inquired.

  “Well, there would be training for about five years.”

  “That’s some time!” Paol’s cellmate interrupted

  “And then it would take a year to get to the planet, six and a half years there, and another five years to get back home.”

  Blade easily and quickly worked the numbers in his head. “Why that’s twen’y years from now. No wonder they can’t staff that job. Such a foo’hearty thing to even think ‘bout it. And I s’pose ya’ done told him you’d think ‘bout it.” Blade shook his head and managed a hearty laugh.

  “Not exactly—I told him I’d bring you with me.”

  Blade’s laugh and smile vanished as quickly as the understanding registered. Growing disinterested in the conversation, he picked up a book, and said, “What was ya’ thinkin’? I ain’t doin’ somethin’ so foolish as that!”

  Paol pulled his chair around in front of Blade’s and sat down to face him. “Look, Blade—this is an opportunity to do something no other man has done before. And you’ll get out of here as well.”

  “Now, why would I wanna go off fo’ twen’y years, when I’ll be sprung from here in abouts five? It’s darn foolish, Paol.”

  “So tell me, what do you think is going to happen when you do leave anyway?”

  “Well, I’ll make me a respectable citizen. You know that!”

  “How?”

  “Get me a job… have a family hopefully.”

  “Blade, you have no education, and you’re a convicted felon. Who will hire you?”

  “I’m educated—You know that.”

  “I do—but they don’t. There’s no formal education to back you up.” Paol’s tone grew more serious, more important. “Look, Blade, think about what you’ll do for mankind—for the knowledge of science. Think of how much you’ll learn becoming an astronaut. That’s something you won’t learn by reading all of the books in the Library of Congress.”

  “Paol, listen to ya’self. You got a family. Ya’ just can’t go off and leave ‘em fo’ twen’y years.”

  “I could rot in here until I die, Blade. My family will be proud of my contribution. What do you plan on contributing before life is over, Blade?”

  “Oh, I wanna contribute too, you know that. But, I think I can contribute in plenty of other ways to please my neighbors and my God.”

  “God!” Paol snickered in derision. “I know you’ve been studying those world religion books, but look around you, Blade! There can’t be a God.”

  “I think you’re wrong. There’s a God.”

  “Why would a just God throw me in here, then?”

  “I ‘spect it’s fo’ the same reason he gives all of us trials in this life of ours. Was it just of God to put me into a family in the ghetto, whereas some kids is put in the ‘burbs? What’s important is not that we have adversity but how we deal with it. We can choose to get better or we can choose to grow bitter.”

  “So you think everything happens for a reason, huh? Everything is just as God would have it?”

  “No, I don’t!” answered Blade in a deep voice. “Ever’thin’ is not as God‘d have it. God‘d not have us abusin’ little children. He’d not have us murderin’, stealin’, liein’.”

  “Then why does he allow it to happen?” Paol asked incredulously.

  Blade gave a deep breath, and reached under his pillow for the only book that he didn’t keep under his bed, but instead on top of it. It had a worn black cover, and thin, embossed sheets, which crinkled as he opened it to the place he desired. Reading from the page, he spoke in a confident tone:

  See, I have set before thee this day life and good, and death and evil;

  In that I command thee this day to love the Lord thy God, to walk in his ways, and to keep his commandments and his statutes and his judgments that thou mayest live and multiply: and the Lord thy God shall bless thee in the land whither thou goest to possess it.

  But if thine heart turn away, so that thou wilt not hear, but shalt be drawn away, and worship other gods, and serve them;

  I denounce unto you this day that ye shall surely perish, and that ye shall not prolong your days upon the land.

  “It seems, Paol, God wants us to choose fer ourselves. It’s a test, Paol—to see who is worthy to live in His presence. He’ss given us commandments, and we just needs to choose. Look, I don’t know all the answers. That’s why I still read. But, what propels us as a race to survive, to thrive, to go fo’ward, if there’s no purpose to life? And how could there be purpose in life if there’s no purpose in death. Without somethin’ more, why do we do so much? As a race, we’ve had plenty a’ challenges—plenty a’ opportunities to just lay down and give it up. But we’ve never done that. Why not? I think it’s because there’s somethin’ inside us—a God-made spirit—that drives us.”

  Paol thought for a moment, desiring to steer the conversation back on track. “If there is such a grand purpose, Blade, then think of what this mission could add to our knowledge of that purpose? Will we find another God-fearing people on Earth2? Will we understand better this universe really is made by intelligent design?”

  Blade’s head stared at the concrete floor, his body expressionless.

  “Blade, you told me that you wanted to make up for past mistakes—that you wanted to be a productive citizen of your country and community. What better opportunity than this mission? Think of how proud you’ll make your mother and your uncle!”

  Invoking thoughts of his family, Blade replied with a choke in his voice, “If this could erase even a little bit a’ the hurt I gave ‘em, then it’ll be worth it. But, if I dies, then it would only make the hurt worse.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Paol rebutted. “They would think of you as a hero. Even that legacy will erase the pain.”

  Blade stood from his chair and slowly walked to the bars which held him back from the things he was eager to start doing in life. Paol remained seated, but his gaze was fixed on his cellmate with great interest. After staring off into the distance for a couple of minutes, he turned to face Paol. His look was stern, the eyes intent. Realizing he had no response to Paol’s last argument, he had to respond, “I’ll do it.”

  Chapter

  23

  “Bottoms up, Gentlemen.”

  Paol Joonter drained his pint-sized bottle of clear blue liquid immediately, but Blade Slater hesitated slightly. Glancing over at Paol, Blade gained the confidence to follow his lead. As soon as the pair had completed the instruction, two prison security guards pulled out their wand-like laser keys and the sound of metal against concrete en
sued as each pair of hand and ankle cuffs dropped from each prisoner—a sign of quasi-freedom that the two prisoners would now enjoy.

  “As a reminder to both of you,” began the prison warden, “the contents of the fluid will remain attached to the blood stream for nearly three weeks. Therefore, every two weeks, a member of my staff will remotely monitor your consumption of the beverage by video feed. You will continue to be monitored by a central team of minimum security guards from Knoxville, Tennessee. You may not leave the borders of the continental U.S. and any attempt to get within 50 miles of a border must be preapproved and done under accompaniment of a federal officer or guard. For you, Mr. Joonter that means you must be very careful on home leave. Your home in Washington State is only 90 miles from the border. I wouldn’t wander to far north if I were you.”

  “Understood,” Paol acknowledged the order.

  “Mr. Edwards,” said the warden as he turned his attention to a young man standing to the right of the prisoners. “I release these prisoners to the custody of NASA.”

  Edwards thanked the warden and escorted the pair to a van, waiting to drive them to the airport. As the pair left the prison building dressed in brand new street clothes, Slater paused on the front steps in a dreamlike state of wonder at his release.

  “What’s the deal with the blue water, Paol?” Slater asked as they walked a few feet behind Edwards. He continued to gaze around at the outside of the prison and took in views which were new. He had not seen anything but the same concrete walls, whether inside the prison cell, or outside in the prison court. Trees, flowers, grass, cars and pedestrians passing by… it all seemed so new.

  “It’s a little concoction that was invented several years ago. It’s called a minimum security beverage, or MSB.”

  “But what’s it fo’?

  “It’s a cocktail of chemicals—all FDA approved, I assure you—which will track any individual in the USA.”

  “The devil, ya’ say.”

  “No, really. It works like this. Each prisoner has a specific ratio of two different chemicals. The combination of these chemicals will prevent the passage of a high-frequency signal. Around the US, there are transmitters which send a constantly-emitting variable-frequency signal. That signal disperses until it reaches your body. The chemicals in the blood stream will reflect the exact frequency which is tuned to your chemical composition. It then bounces back to the receiver, and based on the location of detection and the time of flight, your exact location is calculated and mapped in Knoxville. So, it’s like a tracking device which you can’t get rid of no matter how hard you try.”

  “And it stays inside the body fo’ three weeks?”

  “At least.”

  “And there’s them transceivers placed all over the US?”

  “You got it.”

  “And they can cover the whole country?”

  “Except for the non-continental states.”

  After a pause of reflections with some low, quiet grunts, Slater spoke up. “What if I get me a transfusion?”

  Paol appreciated how quickly this thought came to him. “Who’s going to do that?”

  “Maybe I got me a friend or uncle who’s a doctor.”

  “Well, what would happen is that you would fade on the map, go blank, raise an alarm, and have local law enforcement at the doctor’s office within minutes. Your friend would either have to turn you in or spend time in jail himself for aiding and abetting a criminal.”

  “Ok, but what if I decide to hop on an airplane and fly outta the country?”

  “You have to register all air travel. If you’re on a flight that you haven’t registered for, your speed will become an alarm, the flight will be tracked by radar, and the plane will be diverted to land in the States by federal law enforcement jets. The bottom line is that there have been thousands of petty criminals tracked this way. Instead of being stuck inside of jails for months or years, they are able to continue a semblance of a normal life. They can work, be with their families, and as long as they keep themselves clean, they can serve their sentence.

  “It was actually invented to track cattle on open ranges. Ranchers would get an alarm if the herd wandered towards the edge of the network and be able to track and intercept cattle more quickly. Politicians dealing with prison over-crowding realized that it could be used to track criminals more cheaply, without the expense of putting them in prisons.”

  “But, what if the criminal goes back to his old behavior?” Blade asked.

  “Well, because they are very trackable, it’s nearly impossible to get away with subsequent crimes, because they can be tracked back to the scene of the crime, and then they are taken back to jail. Some opponents claim that it actually hurts crime, because people know that if they have a free pass on small crimes, then they are more encouraged, because they know that even if they’re caught, they can be back in society after a conviction. There really isn’t a whole lot of data to back up the claim, though.”

  “Right over here, Gentlemen,” Edwards interrupted the conversation as they arrived at the vehicle. Edwards took the driver’s seat, while Paol and Blade went to either side of the back.

  Before climbing in, Paol looked over the top of the car at Blade as he opened his door. “I know what you’re thinking, and I know you won’t do it.”

  “Do what?” Slater asked raising an eyebrow curiously.

  “I know you’re not planning on escaping, Blade.” He said with a wry smile.

  “Oh, really… and why not?”

  “Frankly, you know that the mission would abort, and I’d be sent back to prison. You wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt. You should know that many have tried to escape, but none have ever succeeded. Besides, I know that you are a changed man. You want to give back to society and repent for past doings. You wouldn’t be able to do that as a man in hiding and on the run from the law.”

  As the car engine started, Blade shot back, “I wasn’t thinkin’ ‘bout doin’ it myself. I’m worried ‘bout you doin’ it to me.” He smiled and ducked into the back seat, leaving Paol standing with a mock expression of disdain at the offense pronounced by his good friend.

  “So, Mr. Edwards, you work fo’ NASA, then?” Blade asked the driver as the car pulled onto the street.

  “Yes,” Edwards replied, looking up into the rear view mirror. “By the way, call me Physon.”

  “So, whatcha do fo’ NASA, Mr. Ed—I mean Physon?” Blade pressed the conversation out of excitement for his newfound freedom.

  “I am an engineer working on your mission. I’ll be providing some of your training and instruction regarding the details of the mission.”

  “Tell us all ‘bout the mission.”

  “Well, frankly, we don’t know all of the details just yet, but when we get to Houston, you’ll be fully briefed on everything we know to date. There are a couple of years ahead of us to get all of the details ironed out. However, the gist of it is this. You get in a spaceship, you travel to ZB-5344-P1, study its geography and any inhabitants that you discover there, and return home to tell us all about it.”

  “So this ZB… P1… is the official name of the planet?” Paol interjected his question into the conversation, growing curious about what lay ahead of him.

  “Yes. Earth2 is its common name among those of us here on Earth1, but it is the first planet to be discovered around the star entered as ZB-5344 in the most comprehensive Milky Way star database. Thus the official designation is ZB-5344-P1.”

  “Hey, Physon—I got a question,” Blade asked playfully. “How do we know that it’s Earth2? Maybe we’re Earth2, and it’s Earth1?” A roar of laughter came from the back seat. Paol shook his head at his partner’s easy joviality.

  As Physon looked again into the rear view mirror, Paol felt obliged to explain. “You’ll get used to it. He’s fond of laughing at his own jokes. It kind of grows on you, and can be contagious sometimes. Even if it isn’t the best joke in the world, I’ve come to appreciate how his
laughter made prison life a lot less gloomy.”

  Physon nodded and replied, “Well, Blade, we know that we’re Earth1, because we are light years ahead of Earth2—literally.”

  “Whatcha mean?” Blade asked inquisitively.

  “Well, everything we observe here on Earth1 regarding Earth2 happened 27000 years ago, so that just goes to prove that it is 27000 years behind us in history.”

  Blade’s distorted face proved that he was weighing this comment. Maybe he wasn’t as smart as he thought he was, considering that this remark from a trained engineer seemed so ludicrous that it must instead have been absolutely brilliant. Maybe Blade was over his head, but he felt to rebut the comment anyway. “But that’s just because it takes light 27000 years to reach—” Blade stopped abruptly as Physon started to snicker.

  In between hearty fits of laughter, Blade managed to admit, “Ah, ya’ got me, Mr. Physon—ya’ got me there.”

  Paol nodded slowly. “I told you so, Physon—the silly joking can be contagious when you’re around this man.”

  …

  Paol and Blade sat alone at an oblong table in a small conference room. Blinds were open to reveal a large workspace, with occasional passersby, each engaged in their workday tasks. Each of the recently released prisoners had a notepad and pen in front of them emblazoned with the NASA logo, as well as a beverage which Physon had retrieved for them after they entered the room.

  As he sipped his coffee, Paol closed his eyes. “Ah, so much better than the stuff back at the pen.”

  Blade appeared indignant. “Really? I’ve been cheated then,” he said as he sipped on his can of coca-cola. “Mine tastes just the same.” He could barely finish the comment before smiling and adding a spurt of choked laughter.

  Conversation was suppressed, as each man was consumed in his own flurry of thoughts due to the abrupt change of events in their lives. It would certainly take some time to adjust now that they were no longer confined to their small prison cell. With the muffled sound of an occasional conversation taking place on the other side of the window, and the ticking of an old analog clock—a tremendously contrasting relic in this center of futuristic facility—the door to the conference room swung open and a pair of individuals entered the room.