by Paul Anlee
“Thank you, Dr. Wong. I would like to take this opportunity to say that, even though this is a very rudimentary beginning, I hope it will deepen our understanding of the basic forces that determine why our universe is the way it is. I’d also like to add that this work could not have been done in such a short period of time without the extraordinary dedication and focused determination of my team members, Dr. Girikanshayam Mahajani, Dr. Katherine Liang, and Dr. Valeriy Rusalov, whom you see there, waiting in the lab.
“Greg, Kathy, and Larry have worked intensely over the past few months to bring this research, this vision, to life. They’ve been integral in developing the theory and the implementation model we will use to test that theory. Thank you, all, for your contributions.” He directed this acknowledgment toward the three scientists in the lab, and the bystanders applauded politely, impatient for the show to start.
“Okay,” Darian said as the applause died down, “it’s time to play.” He ushered Dr. Wong into the lab and closed the door behind them. Those left behind jostled two-deep for the best views at the observation window.
Kathy took a seat at the control console. Greg took his position immediately behind her, one hand resting possessively on her shoulder. Larry stood off to one side, monitoring the laser interferometer.
Dr. Wong stood well back, picking a spot just inside the door. Amused at the man’s trepidation, Darian handed him a pair of goggles. He wished he had not been quite so quick to oppose the Chair’s request to notify the university press; one good picture for the history books would have been nice. Then he noticed all the smartphones through the viewing window and laughed at himself. One thing this test would not lack was adequate recordings for posterity.
Kathy’s position at the control console was mostly for show. There was no real need for anyone to be there. Darian’s internal lattice called up the IP address for the computer. He could have operated the whole test from his apartment or even from his hospital bed if that had been required.
Apparently, even I am not immune to a little theater. He took a deep breath and motioned to Larry to activate the laser. Those inside the lab donned their protective goggles, and Larry flipped the switch. They gave the equipment a few seconds to stabilize.
Darian signaled Kathy to turn the RAF generator to ACTIVE. The small gallery pressed forward in anticipation as Kathy pressed the button.
Nothing happened. The interferometer readings didn’t waver; the speed of light held steady at 299,792.458 meters per second. The device scanned through its preprogrammed changes in the path length. Nothing.
Kathy pushed the ACTIVE button off, and back on. Still nothing. She automatically checked the connecting cables to ensure they were all secure and exactly where they belonged. Nothing.
The audience in the corridor groaned as one, and started to speculate amongst themselves as to the cause of the failure.
Darian pinched his upper lip, closed his eyes, and exhaled noisily, releasing months of tension. He counted to three billion on his lattice and tried to remain calm. It was better than screaming.
What could have gone wrong? Everyone’s focus would be on him to provide an explanation. He opened his eyes and smiled sheepishly at the gathering.
“As usual, nature is the ultimate arbiter of Truth,” Darian said to his associates. To the observers outside the window, he merely shrugged, eliciting uncomfortable laughter from both inside and outside the lab.
“Okay. Larry and Kathy, start by going over the hardware and software. Make sure everything is working properly.”
“But we’ve already tested every line of code and every transistor in this thing,” protested Kathy, “It works!” She looked at Larry for confirmation. He shrugged sheepishly as if to say, “You heard the boss.”
“I’m not saying you missed something. I just want to eliminate the device itself as a potential problem. While you’re doing that, Greg and I will subject the theory to more rigorous simulations to see if we’ve overlooked anything. I know this is hard, but let’s assume that nature isn’t lying to us, that we must have missed something.”
Darian asked Dr. Wong to open the door to the hallway so he could address the disappointed observers outside the lab. As he opened his mouth to speak, he caught sight of Larry’s reflection in the window. That’s odd. He doesn’t look particularly rattled. Rather unconcerned, given the circumstances. Not what I would have expected. He wondered if he had perceived it correctly.
“I’m sorry, folks. This didn’t work out as we’d hoped. We’ll try again once we figure out what went wrong. Thanks, again, for dropping by. Clearly, we have some work to do.”
With the party atmosphere gone, the bystanders filtered away and went back to their work.
“Keep me posted on any progress,” said Dr. Wong, without making eye contact. There was no point hanging around; his presence would only hinder them. “Let me know if I can help with anything,” he offered. The lab door clicked shut behind him before anyone could have responded, and he disappeared down the hallway, leaving no trace he’d ever been in the lab.
Darian felt chastised, the proverbial goose who should have laid the golden egg but didn’t. We should’ve kept this test a secret; it would have been easy enough to run again for the press. That’ll be the last time I do something like that.
Failure was an entirely new experience for the young scientist. He wasn’t used to his research and tests not working out as he’d expected, and he was determined to never let that happen in public again.
“Okay, guys. We’ve all got things to do. Let’s get to it.”
43
“Cut it out! Now you’re making me nervous,” Dr. Pratt chided.
Larry made a conscious effort to quit checking everyone in the café. It wasn’t very likely anyone had been watching him and Dr. Pratt. It wasn’t likely anyone was trying to figure out why they’d been meeting and what they might be discussing. It wasn’t likely anyone would care even if they did know. But not likely didn’t mean impossible.
The weather had improved a lot in the three weeks since Christmas. The two men passed by the busy patio tables at Bojangles Café, just off the Yaletown seawall, and opted for a quiet corner inside by the window where they could enjoy the sunshine and a modicum of privacy.
Larry took the seat facing the door. He didn’t care if someone from the university recognized him, but he wanted to spot them first. He had concocted a decent cover story about how he and Pratt had just happened to run into each other along the seawall. And, having crossed paths before, it would be perfectly natural for Pratt to want to catch up with the team’s progress on the research he had unintentionally inspired. Wouldn’t it?
Nevertheless, these meetings always made Larry nervous. I am definitely not cut out to be a spy, not even an academic one. What if somebody sees us and starts asking questions? What if Darian, or Kathy and Greg wander in?
He willed his eyes to stop flitting nervously about the room. The calming sight of the boats moored at the Quayside Marina across the road made a soothing diversion. He leaned back in his chair and tried to look casual.
Pratt rewarded him with a grateful smile and lifted his latte to his lips. “That’s better. Thank you."
Outside, the lively False Creek promenade was speckled with people enjoying the unexpected break in the endless, dreary rain of Vancouver winter. Year round, rain or shine, a steady trickle of the fitness-minded individuals jogged or strolled along the scenic walkway that wound over twenty kilometers alongside Kitsilano Beach, the shores of False Creek, the perimeter of Stanley Park, and all the way back to Coal Harbour. It was doable in the rain but, in the sunshine, it was spectacular.
He and Pratt had been meeting every two or three weeks since mid-November, always picking a different café and a different excuse for “running into each other.” They hadn’t touched base since Christmas break. There wasn’t any need; Pratt was well aware of Darian’s failed test. The story of th
e dismal outcome had spread throughout the university community within a day.
A good many people were genuinely disappointed by the young genius’ failure. To those familiar with his role in developing virtual reality entertainment lattices, he was a science rock star. Darian’s early technological achievements were reason enough to follow his forays into cosmology and theoretical physics, even though very few had more than a superficial understanding of his research.
There were, however, an equal number of individuals who felt vindicated by the failure of the experiment and, in particular, by his personal failure. This included several prominent senior academics who felt the budding star had detracted from the attention they had worked their whole careers to earn and which, in their humble opinions, they more properly deserved. Righteous smiles were exchanged between some of the less charitable university elite. Some could hardly restrain their glee.
Pratt was ambivalent about the whole thing. He hadn’t enjoyed being on the receiving end of the young scientist’s ruthless logic, but it would be unseemly to cheer a fellow academic’s failure, even one in the physical sciences. It was enough that Dr. Leigh’s arrogance had led him to humiliation, a fitting comeuppance. The two disagreed on methodologies and on most of their premises, but that didn’t mean the scientist’s intent was necessarily evil. Above all, he was a fellow seeker of Truth, and a highly dedicated one. Pratt respected that.
Then again, perhaps I’m not completely objective on this topic. After all, Dr. Leigh did publicly credit me with inspiring him to his present research. I need to take my lead from Reverend LaMontagne. He sees these things more clearly, and he’s made it clear he harbors no doubt or illusion about the abominable goal of these investigations. Pratt resolved to be less generous with Darian Leigh in the future.
The waiter brought their orders. They said grace and dug in, quietly savoring the food as they chewed. Pratt was the first to break the silence. “How has the team been dealing with the failure of the experiment? What has it been, about a month?”
“Yes. It was just before Christmas break.” Larry realized he was speaking with a mouthful of food; he finished chewing and swallowed before continuing. “We didn’t get much of a vacation, though. Darian had us all working overtime to figure out what went wrong.” He grinned mischievously, though Pratt couldn’t imagine why. Working overtime through the Christmas holidays didn’t sound like fun at all.
“Perhaps the theory is incorrect,” Pratt suggested.
“Well, that would serve them right.” Larry studied his plate, planning his next bite as carefully as his next words. “They were all so sure of themselves. They never thought to question whether the whole RAF theory was moral or right, even when I pointed out their hubris. I told them God would not take lightly to messing with His creation like that. They gave me absolutely no credit; they treated me like a foolish child.”
“You could have been one of them. You chose not to take the dendy virus pill.”
Larry looked up, a flash of anger crossing his face. “Who could pervert their own brains that way? They’re more machine than human. I don’t trust them. I certainly wouldn’t want to be one of them.”
“Well, their lattices don’t seem to have helped them out this time.”
“Ha! They put such trust in their so-called super intelligence. It seems they’re not all that smart in the end.”
“Well, their intellectual prowess may exceed ours, but I do wonder what they’ve given up to achieve that.” Pratt stared wistfully at the little wavelets lapping against the hulls of the boats.
“Kathy and Greg would say they’ve given up nothing. They’re lovers now, you know.”
“Oh? Does Darian know?”
“Yeah. It’s just another factor to consider when he assigns work.”
Pratt sensed that it was more than simple jealousy behind Larry’s tone. “And how does that affect you?” he asked gently.
“They can do whatever they want,” Larry replied. “It makes no difference to me. Greg changed the day he took that pill. You know, we used to be best friends, ever since the first day of grad school. We were in the same field, but we never competed with each other. We were colleagues, good colleagues. We worked together on most of our papers. In fact, our supervisor actually called us into her office one day to warn us to be careful to distinguish between each other’s contributions.”
Dr. Pratt worked on his burger while Larry talked. “I’m sorry you lost your friend. That must be difficult on you, to see him every day.”
“If Reverend LaMontagne hadn’t asked me to keep an eye on the group, I think I would have left when Darian got back from the hospital.”
“Right, the shooting. That was shocking, wasn’t it? How is Darian doing? Is he recovering well?”
“He still favors his left shoulder. It seems to be healing okay but I’m sure it still hurts. It hasn’t slowed him down, though. I’m not sure anything slows him down.”
“What are they doing to resolve the problem?”
Larry took a few quick bites of his own sandwich, downing it with a sip of water. “All the usual. Taking everything apart: the theory, the hardware, the software. Testing everything. Checking their assumptions. Seeing if there’s indication of any activity whatsoever. It’s difficult because the RAF generator is binary. It either works or it doesn’t. But even if the device is working, if there is no evidence of new or changed physical laws, it looks like it’s not doing anything. There’s no intermediate result.”
“And have they found anything wrong?”
Again, Larry grinned mischievously. “Not yet.”
Pratt was relieved. “Well, if the theory is wrong, and the device doesn’t work, that will come as welcome news to the Reverend, won’t it?”
“Oh, the theory is correct. The device works perfectly.”
Pratt choked a little, as sweet, hot coffee found its way down his windpipe. “Excuse me?”
“There’s nothing wrong with either the theory or the RAF generator. I’ve used it a number of times.”
“But I thought you said the tests did not work.”
“Their tests didn’t work.” Larry lowered his voice and leaned in closer. “I installed a slight modification to the controller BIOS. Unless I’m signed on as the operator, the RAF interrupts are routed into a side routine that adds a degree of randomness to the generated field. That randomness overwhelms the generated standing-wave resonances so they collapse without effect. None of them even thought to question the BIOS program. It’s the standard externally-supplied software-on-a-chip so they just assume everything is fine with it.”
“You’ve actually used the device?”
“Yes, I have. It doesn’t do very much yet; it just alters a few physical constants.”
“Like what?”
“Well, the first test altered the speed of light, exactly like Darian predicted. I’ve managed to alter the physical laws within a tiny microverse so light travels at about four times its regular velocity.”
“That is remarkable,” said an excited Dr. Pratt. “We must inform the Reverend.”
“Soon. First, I have few more tests to run. Tonight, I’m going to try altering permitted electron orbitals in molecular bonds. Just to see if I can affect a bit of chemistry.”
“Isn’t that getting into dangerous territory?”
Larry’s short, loud laugh drew attention from the other patrons. He lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper. “It’s not like I’m changing the nuclear force. It won’t set off an explosion or anything. I’m not insane like they are. Be grateful that God saw fit to place me where I would be first to operate this thing. In the wrong hands, say, Darian’s hands, it could be extremely dangerous.”
“Of that, I have no doubt.”
“Anyway, I just want to see if I can change the requirement for how many electrons fulfill the outer orbitals in the atoms that form a water molecule. Make HO-water instead of H2O. It sho
uld be interesting but, otherwise, generally inconsequential. I would not presume to tinker with things I don’t understand. Unlike some people, I can make moral choices.”
“I suppose I’ll need to leave it to your judgment.”
“I’d invite you to come have a look, but I think you’d find it boring.”
“I’m sure you’re right. There wouldn’t really be much to see, would there?”
“Just some measurements on a computer display. A whole lot of nothing to the average layperson.”
“Hmm. In that case, I’ll take your word for it that the device actually works.”
“Oh, it works. But only for me.”
“How long before the rest of the team figures this out?”
“That’s the beauty of it. They’re all so smart and so noble that none of them have figured out I might be hiding something from them. I’ll be able to run the RAF generator for months before anyone clues in.”
“Promise me, if you get any sense they realize that they’ve been duped, you’ll let us know?”
“Sure thing. Then you can get me out of here and move me somewhere out of their reach, somewhere inside the New Confederacy. I’ll expect a very nice position. Maybe at the University of Houston.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged once we have the device in our control. Until then, please be careful.”
“I’m always careful, Dr. Pratt.” Larry reached over and scooped up some ketchup with Pratt’s last fry, and popped it into his mouth.
44
Greg waved his hands slowly and evenly, back and forth, back and forth, in rhythm with his breathing and purposeful sideway steps. This was the second last pass of Move Hands Like Clouds; they had about eleven minutes remaining in the routine.
He’d only begun practicing Tai Chi a month ago but already preferred the discipline over the various styles of yoga he’d studied as a child. Maybe that was because he’d never met anyone like Kathy in his yoga classes.
