The Atlantis Plague (The Origin Mystery, #2)(20)
“What happened?” Harvey asked.
Nigel was lost in thought. Was the case reacting to the radiation? Was it some kind of signal, like guiding lights flashing in the night? Or an SOS, a proverbial tap-tap-tap with subatomic particles?
Nigel was a nuclear engineer—he focused primarily on nuclear power systems, though he had worked with nuclear warheads a bit in the eighties and on the nuclear power systems on submarines in the nineties. Particle physics was way outside his wheelhouse. A part of him wanted to call in another expert, someone with a background in particle physics, but something made him hesitate.
“Harvey, let’s alter the radiation regimen. Let’s see what the case does.”
An hour later, Nigel finished his third Coke and began pacing the floor. The latest group of particles the box had emitted could be tachyons. Tachyons were theoretical, mostly because they could move faster than light, which isn’t possible according to Einstein’s theory of special relativity. The particles could also conceivably make time travel possible.
“Harvey, let’s try a new regimen.”
Nigel began programming the computer while Harvey manipulated the joystick and the robotic arm. The young man was surprisingly good at it. Maybe video games, and youth in general, are good for something, Nigel thought.
Nigel finished programming the radiation protocol into the computer and watched as the device spun up inside the clean room. Nigel had a theory: Perhaps the case manipulated Chameleon particles—a postulated scalar particle candidate that had a mass that depended on its environment. Chameleon particles would have a small mass in space and large mass in terrestrial environments, making them detectable. If it was true, Nigel could be on the verge of discovering the basis of dark energy and dark matter and even the force behind cosmic inflation.
But Chameleon particles were only half his theory. The other half was that the case was a communications device—that it was simply guiding them, telling them what types of particles it needed to do whatever it was going to do. The case was asking for specific subatomic particles. But why did it need them? Were they “ingredients” to build something, or a combination to unlock it? Nigel believed they had found the key, the radiation regimen the case needed. Maybe it was a sort of Atlantean IQ test, a challenge. It made sense. Math was the language of the universe and subatomic particles were the proverbial writing stone, a kind of cosmic papyrus. What was the box trying to say?
The computer screen lit up. Massive output—neutrinos, quarks, gravitons, and particles that didn’t even register.
Nigel looked through the window. The case was changing. The shiny silver exterior turned dull, then tiny pits popped up. It was as if the polished surface was turning to sand. Then the grains of sand shook in place briefly before sliding to the center, where a vortex formed.
The dark vortex was eating the case from the inside out. Then the case collapsed completely and the room filled with light.
The building exploded in a flash of white light that instantly consumed the six office towers around it before spreading out for miles around, pushing down trees and scorching the earth. Then the light instantly receded, collapsing back to the point where it began.
The night was dark and still for a moment, then a tiny thread of light floated up from the ground, like a phosphorescent string, swaying in the wind as it rose. Tendrils sprouted from the thread of light and linked with other threads until they became a mesh, and the mesh weaved so tightly it became a solid wall of light, arched at the top and about twice as tall as a normal door. The gateway of light shimmered silently, waiting.
CHAPTER 21
The Church of St. Mary of Incarnation
Marbella, Spain
Kate perched on the edge of the cast-iron tub in the bathroom, waiting for the hair dye to soak in.
Martin had insisted on overseeing the operation, as if Kate might try to skip out on the dye job. Knowing the whole world was after her was a strange, yet compelling, motivation to alter her appearance. However… the logical, ultra-rational part of her mind screamed out: If the whole world is looking for you, dyeing your hair won’t save you. Then again, it wasn’t like she had anything else to do, and it couldn’t hurt her either. She twisted a strand of her now-brown hair between her fingers, wondering if the transformation was complete yet.
Martin sat across from her on the tile floor, legs straight out, his back against the solid wood door of the bathroom. He typed away on the computer, occasionally pausing to contemplate something. Kate wondered what he was doing, but she let that go for the time being.
Other questions circled in her mind. She wasn’t sure where to start, but one thing Martin had said still bothered her: the plague had infected over a billion within twenty-four hours. That was hard for her to believe—especially given that Martin and his collaborators had been secretly preparing for the outbreak for decades.
She cleared her throat. “A billion infected within twenty-four hours?”
“Mm-hm,” Martin murmured without looking up from the laptop.
“That’s impossible. No pathogen moves that fast.”
He glanced up at her. “It’s true. But I haven’t lied to you, Kate. You’re right: no known pathogen moves that fast. This plague is something different. Listen, I’ll tell you everything, but I want to wait until you’re safe.”
“My safety isn’t my biggest concern. I want to know what’s really going on, and I want to do something. Tell me what you’re hiding. I’ll find out eventually. Let me at least hear it from you.”