Maya handed the mobile phone to Alice. “Go to the platform and take the next westbound train. Get off at Bank, change onto the Northern Lane to Camden Town. Ask for the African drum shop and avoid the cameras.”
“What about you?”
“We can’t keep running.”
“But they both have-”
“Do what I say!”
Alice headed down the short corridor that led to the Tube platform. Maya followed her for a few yards and dodged behind a pillar. The two mercenaries would reach this point in about five seconds.
The shotgun was ready. Her thoughts were clear and precise. Years ago, her father had left alone her in a tube station like this so that she could learn to fight alone. He had wanted her to be strong and courageous, but instead she had felt betrayed. That memory stayed with her like a wrathful spirit. But now, at this moment of danger, close to death, it had finally lost its power.
“They’re taking the train!” a man shouted.
She pumped a round into the shotgun’s firing chamber, stepped into the corridor and saw the two mercenaries. When she fired, the sound was immense, echoing off the walls of the tunnel. The shotgun pellets knocked the first man off his feet. Turning slightly, she fired again at short range. The second man’s chest seemed to explode from within and blood sprayed across the tiles.
Maya wiped off the shotgun with the pink smock and dropped it onto the floor. Leaving the two dead men behind her, she walked slowly onto the platform. Alice was there with her eyes closed and her hands clenched into fists.
When Maya stroked the child’s hair, Alice opened her eyes. “You fired the shotgun.”
“That’s right.”
“What happened?”
There was a slight movement of air, as if the earth itself was breathing out, and then a train rolled into the station. Maya turned her back to the platform camera and took Alice ’s hand. “We’re safe,” she said. “But we have to keep moving.”
32
Gabriel sat with his father on a balcony near the top of one of the towers. That morning they had wandered up the slope and picked some green berries from one of the hillside plants. Matthew boiled water in the solar oven and used the berries to brew tea. The tea had a sharp citric taste, but it seemed to go well with the cold mountain air and bright sunlight.
After days of conversation, the relationship between father and son had reached a certain equilibrium. They were both aware of each other in subtle ways, and complicated emotions could be expressed with a smile or a quick movement of the eyes.
Gabriel’s father reminded him of the figures created by Alberto Giacometti. The Italian sculptor used wire and clay to make a horse or a dog or a human being, then slowly cut away every unnecessary detail until only the elemental form remained. Matthew Corrigan had gone through a similar transformation. His face was thin and bony, and his clothes hung loosely on his body. Like Giacometti’s statutes, he was spare and unencumbered. He had lost the vanity and pride that others wore like armor in the Fourth Realm.
Matthew picked up a pot that was carved from a dark green stone and poured some tea into his cup. “You look very serious this afternoon.”
“I’m trying to figure out why these parallel worlds exist. Are there only these six realms?”
“Of course not. They are only a reflection of our human world.”
“And what if there was another form of life in the Alpha Centauri system?”
“I would assume that those beings would have their own six realms. The parallel worlds are infinite.”
“So what about the gods and the half gods? Did they create everything?”
“They don’t have that power. The creator goes by many names, but Aristotle called it the “Unmoved Mover”-that being that is eternal and indivisible. The half gods in the Fifth Realm are something else. I see them as ‘bad angels,’ and the ‘good angels’ were living here.”
“So why did these good angels build the golden city?” Gabriel asked. “Someone designed these buildings in a particular way.”
“Tell me what you felt when you walked through the first building.”
“At first I thought it was a trap, and then I realized it was empty.”
“Yes. It’s like an immense museum without guards-or visitors.”
“I looked around a little bit, but there didn’t appear to be any short cuts or hidden staircases. So I walked through every room until I reached the second terrace.”
“And then you entered the next building…”
“It was the same thing. There was only one way to go.”
“Did you examine the various wall paintings and the displays?”
“I looked at a few of them. But after awhile I just wanted to get to the next level.”
“That was my also my reaction,” Matthew said. “But then you entered the third building.”
“The staircases and corridors went off in every direction. There were dead ends and windowless rooms. I got lost a couple of times.”
“It was frustrating.”
“Definitely.”
“And frightening?”
“Sometimes.”
“Did your frustration and fear make you wish you were back in the first two buildings?”
“Not really. Maybe I was lost, but at least it wasn’t boring.”
Matthew held his stone cup with two hands and stared at the surface of the tea. The soft drone of the wind blowing around the towers reminded Gabriel of the lowest note on a wooden flute.
“During my stay here, here I’ve tried to understand this world using the theories I learned when I was studying physics. I think that the buildings are a lesson for anyone who finds their way to this world. The first two buildings show us a universe where our destiny is predetermined. There’s no freedom of choice; there’s only one direction for humanity. The entire structure has been set up by some all-powerful architect, and we are children forced to trudge through the rooms in the same direction.”
“And the third building?”
“It’s a model of the chaotic nature of reality. You can take this staircase or another, get lost and wander back the way you came.”
“You sound like Maya talking about her random number generator.”
“Quantum physics shows us that you can’t predict the position of subatomic particles. An electron or a photon of light is never in a particular place. It’s in a sort of super-position of all possible places at the same time. It’s only when something is observed that all these possibilities collapses into one actuality. What this means is that all options are possible and there are an infinite amount of pathways. We don’t live in a deterministic universe.”
“Okay. Fine. The universe is random and chaotic. But knowing that isn’t going to change anything.”
“I disagree, Gabriel. Religions and governments that follow a determinist model have caused the deaths of hundreds of millions of people. The strangest aspect of this rigid view of history is that the founders of every major religion believed in free will and made choices throughout their lives. Moses decided to lead his people out of Egypt, Mohammed decided to preach in Mecca, and Buddha sat down beneath a Bodhi tree. For me, one of the most significant aspects of the Passion story is that Jesus made a choice to enter Jerusalem and be crucified. The deterministic view is added on by followers after the founder’s death. When people decide that a certain way of faith is destined and inevitable, hatred and intolerance follow. Instead of saying ‘the Light is within you, choose the Light,’ the message becomes ‘agree with our version of history or we’ll kill you.’”
Gabriel frowned and shook his head. “That’s what the Tabula believe.”
“Their views are shared by many governments and political parties. The two failed ideologies of the twentieth century-Communism and Fascism-both advocated a deterministic model of history. Communism was supposedly a ‘scientific” theory that predicted the inevitable collapse of the capitalistic system. And Adolph Hitler believed t
hat the so-called ‘master race’ was destined to take over the world.”
“Maybe they failed, but we’re still fighting with each other.”
“People don’t believe they have power. Because they’re scared, they want magic spells and secret passwords. It takes some bravery to accept the implications of free will and negative consequences. But we can’t solve our problems with surveillance cameras and tracking programs.”
“A member of the Tabula would say that the world is a dangerous place. We need safeguards to protect us.”
“I’m not going to deny that there’s pride and anger and greed in the Fourth Realm. We can find those negative qualities in our own hearts and see them in others every day. But the Panopticon is a system that automatically assumes that everyone is guilty. It can never conquer fear. It actually makes people even more suspicious and frightened because it ignores the inherent connections between us.”
“Are you talking about our spiritual connections?”
“I’m always wary of calling anything spiritual, Gabriel. It’s such a fuzzy, vague word. What I’m saying is that we really are connected to each other, and that the Panopticon tries to ignore this particular reality.”
Gabriel laughed. “I don’t think you can prove that with physics.”
“Perhaps we can. When I was in graduate school, we studied something called the EPR Paradox. In the 1930’s, Einstein and two other physicists had come up with a thought experiment that attempted to show the illogical nature of quantum theory. Physicists knew that electrons and other subatomic particles revolve like two kinds of tops with their axis pointing up or down. Often one of these particles paired up with its opposite so that their up and down movements cancel each other out and became zero.”
“So what’s the paradox?”
“The three physicists described an experiment where an atom was blown apart and two paired particles flew away from each other at close to the speed of light. If one particle was spinning down, then quantum theory predicted that its lost twin had to spin up. Einstein wrote that it was ‘spooky’ to believe that something that happened at one point of the universe influenced another point light years away.”
“Of course. That’s impossible.”
“It might sound impossible, but a number of experiments have shown that Einstein was wrong. French scientists measured paired photons several kilometers apart and discovered that the particles were still linked together, joined by their wave function, acting in response to each other. The entire universe is a strange sort of spider web connected by gossamer strands of energy.
“These theories both describe and explain what we see in reality. The walls of the Panopticon cannot last: freedom is the essence of our lives-not surveillance and control.”
Gabriel nodded his head. “You could be right. But I haven’t met any gods here who actually know the truth.”
“Maybe their departure was a gift to mankind. The human race is clever enough to make its own choices. The ultimate power that created the realms will always exist, but perhaps our good angels are telling us: ‘You’re not children anymore. Stop making excuses and accept responsibility for the fate of your own world.’”
Gabriel stayed silent for awhile and finished drinking the tea. He thought about Maya and all the problems waiting for him back in the Fourth Realm.
“I’ve come up with a plan to stop the Tabula,” he said. “But I don’t know if it’s going to work. Only a few hundred people are committed to the Resistance. According to Michael, we’ve already lost.”
“And do you believe that?”
“I have one opportunity to get past the barriers and speak directly to a great many people. I wanted to find you because I didn’t know what to say. I think you should come back and make the speech yourself.”
“You said that the Tabula have my body locked up in a room.”
“I’ll talk to Maya and we’ll find a way to get you out.”
Matthew turned away from his son and gazed at the mountains. “I know that I’m sitting here with you and we’re talking and drinking this tea, but I don’t feel completely human anymore. I’ve been away too long and I’m not attached to our world. If I spoke to people, they would sense that my heart has lost its connection to their hopes and desires.”
“But what about your physical body?”
Matthew shook his head. “I’m not really connected with that either.”
“What are you telling me, Father? Are you going to die?”
“That may happen fairly soon. But this is just one stopping point of our eternal journey. Every human being has the power to send their Light forward to another world, but they only discover that when they pass on.”
Gabriel reached out and touched his father’s arm. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“Don’t worry. I’m still here for awhile. The gods have vanished, but this place is a suitable residence for a questioning mind.”
“I’m the one who has to leave,” Gabriel said. “I’ve got to return to our world.”
“I understand. You love someone in the Fourth Realm, and you’re worried about all those people who are losing their freedom.”
“So what do I tell them?” Gabriel asked. “How can I convince them to step away from the Vast Machine?”
“Unlike me, you’re still connected to their lives. Instead of ‘telling’ them what to believe, try to answer the questions that are in your own heart.”
“I’m not one of the gods. I don’t have all the answers.”
“That’s a good start.” Matthew smiled broadly. At that moment, he resembled the father who had made kites for his two sons, then watched these fragile creations rise up above the trees. “Look outward, Gabriel. This city is beautiful at sunset. The golden towers don’t have their own energy, but they do reflect the light…”
33
If a physicist living in Los Angeles had dropped by Mar Vista Park that afternoon, he might have seen a classic example of something called “Brownian motion.” The children moved in erratic patterns like tiny bits of pollen suspended in fluid, bouncing off each other and floating away in opposite directions. Someone gazing down from the heavens might have decided that these particles of life behaved like the electrons in a quantum game of chance.
***
Sitting on the benches near the child’s play area, the adults saw cause and effect instead of chaos. Shawn was thirsty and kept running back to his mother for a sip of apple juice. May Ling was playing with two mean girls-Jessica and Chloe-and sometimes they accepted her and sometimes they ran away. The positions of the adults also followed a certain order. A group of elderly Chinese men and women sat on the east side of the play area, proudly watching their grandchildren; Mexican nannies with expensive strollers stood on the opposite side, chatting on cell phones or gossiping in Spanish.
Ana Cabral was separate from both groups. She was Brazilian, not Mexican, and she was watching her own children-eight-year-old Roberto and his four-year-old brother, Cesar. Ana was a small woman with a large handbag who worked mornings at a plumbing parts store. Although she didn’t own a closet full of clothes, her tennis shoes were new, and her blue headband matched the color of her blouse.
At this moment, little Cesar was playing with his dump truck in the sand, and Ana’s only worry was that an older child might pull the toy from his hands. Roberto was more of a problem. He was an active boy who had come out of her womb with his hands clenched into fists. Because of the dirty air, he suffered from asthma, and Ana had to carry an inhaler in her handbag in case of emergencies.
Roberto needed to run around with other boys, but Ana felt better when her sons were inside the house with all the doors locked. In the last few weeks, twelve California children had disappeared from playgrounds and schoolyards. The police in San Francisco said they had arrested a suspect, but two days ago a little girl named Daley McDonald had disappeared from the backyard of her home in San Diego.
Don’t think bad thoug
hts, Ana told herself. Victor is right. You worry too much.
She glanced into her bag, made sure the inhaler was there, then leaned back on the bench and tried to enjoy the day. A little blond girl wearing pink overalls was watching Cesar play with the truck while Roberto lay belly down in one of the swings and pretended he was flying. Ana heard the sound of traffic behind her and the voices of the nannies. Back in Brazil she would have known each woman and the history of her family. That was the most difficult thing about Los Angeles -not the gangs and learning English, but the fact that she was surrounded by strangers.
Mar Vista Park was dotted with picnic areas and Scotch pine trees. The hazy Los Angeles sunlight gave the landscape a slightly flat, colorless appearance, like the drawing of a park in a faded illustration. If Ana looked left, she could see a large soccer field with artificial grass. On her right was a fenced-in concrete oval that was used for roller hockey. The play area was at the center. Four plastic and metal structures built to look like beach shacks were surrounded with sand. If you left the sand and walked across a strip of dead grass, you came to a red brick building that was used for basketball games and Boy Scout meetings.
Beyond that was a side street where someone had parked an ice cream truck.
***
Wearing a radio headset, Martin Doyle sat in a windowless compartment between the ice cream machines and the truck cab. He leaned forward and stared at a monitor as a little girl wearing a pink sun dress approached the truck and ordered a vanilla ice cream cone with chocolate sprinkles.
A Tabula mercenary named Ramirez was in charge of selling the soft-serve ice cream. He took the child’s money, handed her the cone and watched her walk away. “What are you doing?” he asked Doyle.
“I’m not quite ready to start the target search. Give me a few more minutes.”
Doyle continued watching the monitor. He had a scar on the back of his right hand where the Tabula had inserted a radio chip. An even more powerful chip had been injected into his chest-between his chest muscles and his sternum. I’m a slave, he thought. Boone’s little robot. These days, the team was traveling all over California. If he kept alert, there might be an opportunity to escape.
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