by Yasmin Esack
Ignoring the drama, he ordered a hamburger. Half an hour later, he headed to his office at the National Science Advisory.
The NSA wasn’t a fancy place, a tall edifice with plain windows. On the second floor, the secretary of the Research Department, Ann Raben, greeted him.
“Hello, Dr. Hart.”
“You’ve known me long, Ann, call me Tom for God’s sake.”
Ann smiled. She liked Hart even with his odd nature. She guessed he just had a lot on his mind all the time.
“Ok, Tom. Riley called for you again and Dr. Marin says he’ll see you at your home later today.”
“Thanks, Ann.”
In his office, he grabbed a file from his briefcase and placed it on his desk. He stared at his calculations for a dimension of matter. Finding the realm was important to him but he would not rest until he proved humans could connect to it. His calculations heightened his fervour for the ancient text. He would find proof of a supernatural mind bound to matter. It excited him as nothing else could. He would move mountains to find that text.
Suddenly, Hart wondered about his time-travelling companion. He knew nothing of him and hadn’t heard from him. Still, nothing outweighed his desire to fathom life. He recognized that it was complex, so complex that Science couldn’t explain it all. Someone came on earth and did.
He turned all his attention to his calculations. Hart, of course, had been working on them a long time. Gravity, the force that held matter together, was a big challenge in finding the realm. The realm couldn’t be subjected to gravity and neither was it far away.
Gravity was first introduced by Isaac Newton and further researched by Albert Einstein. Einstein’s explanation, didn’t account for all the happenings in the universe. While gravity gave weight to objects and kept them together, there were objects that escaped its effect. Since then, there had been attempts to reconcile the force but with little avail. As a result, ninety percent of the universe remained a mystery.
Grabbing his pen, Hart began his task of solving the issue. He had to derive a correct estimate for the force, to show it was not a fixed force of nature.
“I’m almost there,” he said, jutting more equations down. “Gravity isn’t a mystery. I can unleash its nature. I can show dimensions exist in our lives.” He stared in the air as he reasoned. “Matter can exist as particles or waves of electromagnetic energy. I must account for it. The problem isn’t what gravity does but how it operates.”
He turned to his data feeling a sense of his pending achievement. Hart spoke often to himself and people had gotten used to it. Ann Raben thought nothing of his desk thumping either as she passed his room.
“I know I’m right! Gravity shifts. It’s not fixed.”
With the careful strokes of his pen, he wrote a final deduction, improving Einstein’s equations by adapting a new constant or a mathematical base for his Calculus. It showed gravitational fields in the universe could vary. In front of him stood the new model for the force and he revelled in it. He got up, throwing his notes in the air.
“Everything we see exists in a realm of light,” he said. “Three-dimensional objects become two-dimensional images in the absence of gravity.”
Hart paced his office sure that life didn’t end in dust. There was design to creation. He was about to pick up his notes from the floor when his ear buzzed.
“Hey, Tom,” he heard.
“You’re back.”
“You’re very excited.”
“I am. Don’t you see why? Don’t you see? Think of yourself in a photograph, or, a mirror. Nature does the same, but in nature, the image is alive. Scientists have long known that it’s possible but the problem has always been gravity. Information about us is packed into a realm of quantum light where gravity does not exist.”
“You can see a reflection of the light. Aristotle told you that, didn’t he?”
“He did.”
“Your equations are fascinating, Tom, but not sufficient to make big claims.”
Hart sighed. It was a quick reminder that his work was theoretical. He still had no clue if the realm of light existed in humans or that messages came from it.
“I know that,” he replied, thinking of the long road ahead.
“There’s an ancient text that describes it in detail. Aristotle told you this too. I came by to remind you of it. You must find it. You haven’t started looking as yet.”
“To be honest, I don’t how to.”
“It’s a challenge, isn’t it? But, there are many libraries that carry ancient texts. You can search them.”
“There’re hundreds of them. I don’t have a clue of what I’m looking for. I don’t even have a reference point with which to begin.”
“Don’t look so frazzled. People must know the truth. No one knows anything of their inner realm. I don’t get this.”
“We’re trying to. We’re trying to.”
“It’s important they connect to it. How would they achieve what they want? Don’t give up on your mission, Tom. You must demonstrate how it grants wishes. You must find that ancient text. Start looking!”
“Why won’t you tell me who you are?”
“Don’t worry about that. We’ll talk again soon. Oh! There’s one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Your friend, Julius Olsen, is searching for a new age, isn’t he? Well, it’s coming soon. Bye, Tom.”
Hart sat. He didn’t want to struggle anymore with the notion of what was outside a person was also in that person in a realm waiting to grant wishes. He needed to be sure. He needed to find it. Supercilious and lofty were just some of the descriptions levelled at him by his peers who considered him eccentric. He was none of those things. He was an arduous thinker, a resilient and passionate man who knew the road ahead would be hard.
How was he to convince anyone that trees, forests, birds and skies all dwelled within or that a person could command a mountain to move and it would? How could he tell a ninety-year-old man that he was also a five year old, that age, sex, creed and class mattered none? Who would believe that information of what people needed to do, where they had to go and whom to call, could come to them intuitively?
His student’s question suddenly came back to him. How do we log on, Dr. Hart?
“I must the realm,” he said, “If it’s the last thing I do.”
He decided he would no longer put off his search of ancient texts even though the task was daunting. He got up and looked out the window with his hands behind his back. There were moments when he did feel lost and this was one of them. That his mission would be cast to the dustbin of irrationality shadowed him. He steadied himself and shook the feelings off, convinced of success.
“The text will not only tell me where the realm is but whether a universal mind exists in it. Humans can access supernatural consciousness. I know they can.”
Chapter 13
He looked out his office. People were moving about in a rush to get projects done. Government was spending tons of money on shale exploration. Climate change was still at the forefront of research but seismic studies were gaining much attention. He felt irritable remembering a meeting he had to attend.
“Dr. Hart?” a male voice called.
He turned to Marcus Tuttle. He was sure the Scientific Officer had come by to discuss the NSA’s new earthquake-warning systems. Hart worked with the seismologist, Josh Marin, on developing them.
“I know what you’re going to ask about,” he said. “It’s about the warning systems, isn’t it?”
Marcus stared at Hart’s broad face and long hair. The sun that filtered through the glass pane behind him revealed more of his medieval image. Hart looked as if he stepped out of the sixteenth century.
“Actually, yes, Dr. Hart.”
“Let’s look at the process.” Hart walked to a board and took up a green marker. “Here, we’ll place a minor tremor, let’s say, 3.8.” He moved his hand across the board. “Here, we’ll place a devastatin
g one, say, 8.2. The challenge was to set up an alarm system that could trigger cell phones.”
“How’ll they indicate quake intensity?” Marcus had a paper to present at the State of the Earth Conference in Paris and he was a little at sea.
“Colour pointers, orange and red stars on cell phones. People would have thirty or forty seconds of warning time before a major quake strikes.”
“A lot depends on the accuracy of the underground seismic sensors.”
“They’re connected to a large network. Media houses, emergency services and phones can all pick up signals.”
“I’ll need to run this through with you again before I leave for Paris, Dr. Hart. Tell me something. What if these underground sensors fail?”
Hart recoiled. He had raised the matter with Marin who had provided him with little assurance. His fertile told him again that the answer to the earth’s problems could only come from one source and, that was Olsen’s Inca date.
“I suggest you call Dr. Marin. He’ll fill you in on the sensors.” Hart grabbed his watch and checked the time. “There’ll be a meeting in the conference room. It’s probably already started. You should attend. I’m going to introduce Dr. Olsen’s work on the Inca prophecy for a new age.”
“Thanks a lot, Dr. Hart.”
Hart picked up the mathematical equations he had worked on as Marcus Tuttle closed the door. He knew his calculations were flawless. Still, he needed Olsen to have a look. He stashed the papers away and started walking down the hallway thinking about the ancient text.
Chapter 14
On a screen in the conference room, a satellite image of the Cordillera Blanca, the glacial mass of the Andes, looked back ominously at the special meeting of scientific advisers. Hart took his seat next to the Director of Strategic Studies, Helen Dupon. Eight top scientists from around the world had eyes glued to the screen as Dupon began speaking.
“This glacier has lost almost twenty-five percent of its mass.” The director wasn’t exaggerating. The top of it was missing. “Not to mention the disruption of life for the Andean people. I would like to open this meeting for fresh ideas, solutions. We’ve discussed the matters surrounding the seismic warning systems and I don’t want to revisit that. Dr. Hart has given us the assurance that Josh Marin will continue his work on the accuracy of the earthquake alarm systems.”
A gentleman cleared his throat to speak. It was the expert from Canada.
“We’ve seen this type of melt down in many areas, in Iceland, Chile and Alaska. It’s increasing worldwide.”
“The Himalayas should be getting attention,” a Swede advised.
“I don’t agree,” Dupon said. “The Cordillera Blanca can trigger tsunamis. Dr. Hart, your suggestion?”
Hart looked up from the notepad he was scribbling on. “Madam Chair, I’ve already indicated to you my position on this matter.”
“What might that be?” the Swede inquired.
“I’m sure you’ve heard of Julius Olsen.”
The man’s face grew grim. When he spoke, his nose flared. “You can’t be serious? He talks about prophecy.”
Grunts pervaded the air as Dupon rapped the table. “Let Dr. Hart speak.”
“Thank you. I have a lot of confidence in Dr. Olsen. He wouldn’t take on a task as difficult as searching for a date in ancient Incan artefacts if he wasn’t certain of its accuracy. The artefacts were found by the renowned archaeologist, Arthur Bentley.”
“You really expect us to believe all this crap? Where’s the credibility in it?” The Swede’s arrogance suffocated the air. Not giving Hart a chance to reply, he declared, “This is nonsense!”
“We’re moving from Mayan hype to Incan hype. I fail to see Dr. Hart’s point, Madam Chair,” the Canadian expert added with growing anger.
Hart could do little more than cover his face with his hands. Soon, he removed them. Leering eyes peered at him as he spoke again.
“Unless we find the date for a new age, I don’t think there’s anything more we can do. God knows we’ve tried everything. What more can we do? The problems we’re experiencing, as Olsen has indicated, arise from solar shift. The Inca had much ability to foresee the future, to predict.”
“Predict what?” The Swede’s hand came down on the table.
“A new dawn, a renewed world,” Hart replied.
“Well, good for you but I don’t intend to sit here and wait for some imaginary date. Sorry.”
“Dr. Hart,” a voice of reason came from the Kenyan Wildlife Specialist. “Maybe you can you tell us about this shift.”
Hart was waiting for the moment. He bounced up and pressed a flash drive into a projector. He plucked an infrared penlight from his coat pocket and pointed it to the screen as an image appeared.
“What you see before you is a depiction of solar shift. The sun’s poles started shifting some time ago. The earth’s poles, on the other hand, are an entirely different matter. Those shift every five to fifty million years and it’s not an issue here. The sun’s magnetic field, however, envelops our system in what is called a heliosphere and this can cause disturbances in climates as well as fault lines.”
“What’s your point?” The Swede jeered.
“What we’re experiencing is due to an expansion of our universe caused by the solar shift. It will end at some point.”
“Any monitoring station can tell you solar cycles occur every eleven years. This current cycle would have ended in 2012.”
“Not quite.”
“No?”
“Cosmic influences are affecting the normal cycle.”
“Will this situation last indefinitely?” Helen Dupon asked wide-eyed.
Hart looked at her. The woman was waiting for his answer tapping her pen as she did. But the problem was one that scientists didn’t how to resolve. In fact, no one did.
“Dr. Hart?” she called again.
“I assure you, Madam, the situation will change,” he said.
“When?”
“Only Olsen can tell us.”
Blank stares still came Hart’s way. Not wanting to argue with anyone, he decided to take his leave.
The journey to his suburban home in Alpine, New Jersey began at 4PM. He loosened his tie and opened the top buttons of his shirt as he exited the NSA on his way to the NY Transit hub. As he walked along Greenwich Street, his mind ran another mental discourse. Hart was meeting the seismologist, Josh Marin, later at his home. He didn’t want the day to close without thrashing out his theories with him. He knew the meeting ahead was going to be rough. Chalk and cheese were too mild a comparison of their natures. Marin was wary of things abstract, things unseen and unmeasured. With the wind blowing his hair, Hart started to prepare himself for the level of convincing he would need to prove to Marin that messages and visions from the beyond were real and tenable as fact.
Chapter 15
“Log onto the global satellite network,” Ted Thompson shouted hurrying to Josh Marin’s desk at the Earthquake Surveillance Unit in the Bronx.
“A minute.” Marin entered his password to access the United States Global Satellite Network, the USGS.
“Click on the Pacific,” Thompson ordered.
Ten seconds later they were staring at a live image of the Indonesian volcano, Krakatau.
“Shit.” The word came from Marin.
“No one expected this. She started activating an hour ago, unleashing tons of ash and debris.”
“If the temperature in that crater is more than eleven hundred degrees, the lava will flow fast.”
“I think the damn thing’s going to explode.”
Marin zoomed the image to take a closer look. “Lava is already accumulating beyond the perimeter.”
“And, blocking access roads.” Thompson grabbed a TV remote and turned on a station carrying live images of the action further around the volcano. His face cringed. “Look.”
The whir of helicopter blades grew as Marin turned the volume up. “Rescue helicopters are
leaving?”
“Lava speed must be more than twenty-five kilometres per hour. Those ash clouds look pretty high.”
Thirty seconds later, Krakatau exploded with the roar of a two hundred ton TNT bomb.
Marin moved away and buried his face in his hands. Krakatau was rumbling when he lifted his head to stare at the screen again. His eyes teared. Homes were sticking out of the volcano’s pyroclastic flow. He could hear embers cracking. Screams were lost in clouds of smoke that billowed for miles. Hiroshima was nothing like the Armageddon that had come to earth.
“Shut it off, shut it off,” he pleaded in the new seismic unit.
The room was quiet as Thompson did. He turned to Marin whose voice was barely audible.
“Wh…where the hell did we go wrong?”
“Don’t blame yourself for not issuing warnings.”
“I do.”
Marin’s specialty was Reflection Seismology. He spent years developing warning systems for earthquakes and volcanoes. He had planted them in critical points around the world, Krakatau included.
“The underground sensors failed us. Things happen,” Thompson consoled. “They were designed to give warnings in advance. We don’t know why they malfunctioned.”
“They were likely ruined by condensation. There’s no way to get around the problem, is there?” Marin admitted. His fear hung like a weight in the cold room. He grabbed a ringing phone. “Marin,” he answered gruffly.
“I take it everything is under control in California,” Len Tuft, head of the Army Corp of Rescue Workers spoke.
‘Like hell it is’ Marin wanted to shout. Why did people think that he knew everything? But he understood Tuft’s position. The President was probably sitting on his back.
“Everything’s calm,” he lied.
He ended the call and dialled Hart’s number. With no answer, he hung up and stared at the flashing bands on his seismic network. Tick… tock… Tick… tock the seconds moved on as the bands flickered ominously.
“Maybe you should give thought to what Tom Hart is saying.” Thompson was very troubled by the dismal look on Marin’s face.
