Creation- The Auditor’s Apprentice

by Frank Stonely

  ‘But even if we get accurate space-time coordinates, how are we going to get them back?’ Jessian asked.

  ‘Getting Miah home is my problem,’ Hedrick said.

  ‘Miah?’ Jessian questioned.

  Hedrick was dumbfounded, he couldn’t believe he had used his deceased daughter’s name. ‘No… I meant Amy. Getting Amy home is my responsibility, Technician Jessian. But Anubis is the key to all this. It is his space-time coordinates I need.’

  ‘Have we got his essence pattern?’ Jessian said, searching through the array of memory cartridges strewn across Mo’s desk. ‘Ahh, here it is,’ she said, handing a cartridge to Mo.

  Suddenly the room was filled with the noise from the workshops as the lab door opened. Both Jess and Mo turned to see who had come into the room. Initially, Hedrick’s eyes didn’t move, his face cracking into the wryest of smiles as he studied the workstation screen. Then, he glanced at Jessian and Mohammed, who were staring, open mouthed and speechless, at their visitor. Without turning to look, Hedrick said, ‘Come in and shut the door, Tanka. The noise makes it impossible to concentrate.’

  Axel had painstakingly prepared a supper of confit de canard, pommes frites and his favourite, sauerkraut, for Brian’s guest. His dislike for their NASA visitors had grown during the evening and he stood in the kitchen, sulking like a jealous child. ‘I was hoping you might stay with me tonight,’ he said, taking the bubbling coffee from the stove.

  ‘I can’t, darling, you know that. I have to take the colonel back to his hotel.’

  Axel placed the percolator onto the tray he had neatly laid out with three coffee cups, and two small bowls; one containing wrapped cubes of sugar, the second filled with squares of dark chocolate. He turned and handed the tray to Brian, smiling disappointedly.

  ‘So, how did it go, Colonel?’ Anubis asked as he walked Brian into the lounge. ‘Were there any hitches loading the cargo?’ He placed the tray on the coffee table and sat in the armchair opposite the sofa.

  ‘It went like a dream, Anubis. I had to use a few of my special techniques, if you know what I mean. There was one unfortunate incident though. A couple of the Assembly Hall guards got into a fight and ended up shooting each other.’

  ‘Tragic,’ Anubis said, as Brian poured the coffee into the cups.

  ‘There’s been quite a few unexpected deaths at NASA lately,’ Axel added, trying to contribute to the conversation and wondering why the colonel was calling Brian, Anubis, ‘there was an article about it in last Sunday’s paper.’

  ‘Was there? I must have missed it,’ Bingham said, drawing a line under the topic as he handed a coffee across the table to the colonel. ‘You must be very excited now your Solar Explorer probe is at Cape Kennedy, Colonel. Do you foresee any problems?’

  ‘Definitely not. I’ve analysed everything in great detail. We launch in six weeks, and then it’s all in the hands of Sir Isaac Newton. It will take two years for the probe to sling itself around the solar system to attain the correct trajectory.’

  ‘This project is life or death. Can we be sure that the engineers at JPL have got their calculations right?’

  ‘I understand your concern, Doctor, but remember, I’m always available if Isaac needs a little help.’ Brian smiled into his coffee. He and the colonel had been talking cryptically all evening, leaving Axel bemused and irritated by their inane conversation.

  As Orion stubbed out the colonel’s cigar there was a heavy knock at the door, his eyes flicked a glance at Anubis. ‘I’ll get it,’ Axel said, pleased to have something constructive to do. Anubis strained to hear the muffled conversation coming from the apartment’s small entrance lobby. It sounded like a female voice. He looked at his wrist watch, ten forty-two, it seemed a bit late for a neighbour to be calling. The apartment door closed and Axel returned to the lounge, his body obscuring the unexpected guest, ‘This lady would like to talk to you, darling,’ he said, deliberately emphasizing their relationship. Anubis’ jaw dropped as Axel stepped aside. Standing in the doorway, almost hidden by the heavy, quilted winter coat she was wearing, was the unmistakable figure of Mrs. Perkins.

  ‘Well, I’ll be fucked!.. What in Creation are you doing here?’ Anubis said, jumping out of the armchair, his face beaming with excitement as he made his way around the sofa towards Tanka. Orion’s eyes followed until he too saw his old friend standing in the doorway. Like a racehorse clearing Becher's Brook, he launched himself over the back of the sofa towards Tanka. Axel stood and watched as the three hugged each other, laughing and back-slapping with excitement. Then, as Anubis stepped back, a rush of guilt swept over him. Somehow, when Bingham was asleep and dreaming, Anubis could hear the voices of his pack. And so, through the collective mind of millions of angels, he had witnessed Rampel’s interrogation of Tanka. Maybe this was part of the punishment Those-on-High had inflicted on him, to eternally witness the consequence of his failed insurrection, locked inside creationist essence, never to escape.

  The reunited friends commandeered the sofa and armchair, leaving Axel to bring a chair from the dining table to join them. Their conversation made little sense to him. From what he could gather they had all been part of some sort of religious sect called Creation and attended God’s Academy there. He had no idea that Brian was so religious, it had never come up in their conversations, either at work or in the bedroom. Anubis was using Axel like a butler, sending him into the kitchen to get beer, make sandwiches and generally look after his guests. As he shuttled back and forth, he grasped snippets of their conversation, which were peppered with religious references such as, those-on-high, angels, purgatory, powers-to-be, heavenly dimension. By two thirty in the morning he had had enough and retired to the bedroom, leaving Brian and his friends to reminisce over their days at the Academy, while consuming the contents of a bottle of cognac.

  Once Axel had closed the bedroom door, Anubis stopped talking cryptically, ‘I can’t believe you’re here, I was convinced Haamiah would have had you in Purgatory by now.’

  ‘Don’t talk about it! You wouldn’t believe what that bastard, Rampel did to me. I could put up with Purgatory, but those fucking demons, the bastards drill into your mind and won’t let go. I was just on the point of caving in, when I found myself back in the Medical Centre with Director Hedrick looking down at me.’

  ‘Hedrick! What the fuck was he doing there?’ Colonel Mackay exclaimed, refilling his glass to the rim.

  ‘No idea and, at the time, I didn’t care. I was just pleased it was over. Anyway, he’s offered us a deal. We get out of this in one piece on the understanding that his precious apprentice, Amy, and her boyfriend are returned to Creation unharmed.’

  ‘Oh yeah! Like Haamiah’s going to let him do that!’ Mackay’s words were becoming slurred, his unsteady hand unable to control the bottle as he attempted to top up the others’ glasses.

  ‘That bastard Hedrick’s got something on Haamiah, I can smell it,’ Anubis said, taking another large glug of cognac. ‘He’s pathetic… thinking he can send you to negotiate with ME! Those-on-High sent Haamiah and look where that got me… fucking Creation! No, if he thinks I’m gonna end up like Jean-Marie… he can go and fuck im’self. We carry on as planned.’

  ‘Let’s not be too hasty,’ Tanka replied, not appreciating the significance of Anubis’ drunken rant. ‘Yes, we’ll all end up in some shitty job for eternity, but surely that’s got to be better than Purgatory.’

  ‘Stop kidding yourself, Tanka.’ the Gatekeeper interrupted. ‘Regardless of what Those-On-High told Hedrick, there’s no way you’ll be let back into Creation. As soon as he’s got his apprentice back, you’ll be hung out to dry, just like we were. No, Anubis is right, we stick to the plan. It’s the only way we’re going to get out of here.’

  ‘Righ-then, we’all agreeed,’ Anubis slurred, holding his glass up for another refill. ‘We shtart phasefree tomorah.’

  37

  The Finite Universe Hypothesis

  In the White House, Tom
and the president were walking towards the situation room elevator, ‘Is this meeting really necessary?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, Mr. President,’

  ‘But why wasn’t it in the diary?’

  ‘It’s a top secret SCI security issue, sir.’

  ‘What I want to know, Tom, is who decides what things are top secret SCI issues? Cos it sure ain’t me!’

  The Situation Room, or the woodshed as most White House staff call it, is a four hundred and sixty square metre intelligence management centre in the basement of the West Wing. It was created in 1962 by John F. Kennedy after the Bay-of-Pigs fiasco and occupies the space previously housing a bowling alley built by President Truman. Unlike the emergency operations centre beneath the east wing, designed to withstand anything but a direct hit from a nuclear warhead, the situation room provides the president and his advisors with a business-like environment to deal with the day-to-day security issues that occur at home and abroad. The main conference room is long and narrow, its walls lined with large flat-screen TV displays. Down the centre of the room is a meeting table with six, black, leather executive chairs on each side, and a thirteenth chair placed at the head of the table for the president himself.

  The descending elevator came to a halt with a jolt and the door slid open to reveal the head of homeland security and the newly appointed administrator of NASA waiting for them. The president gave Tom a sideways I’ll deal with you later glance, before walking briskly out of the elevator towards the conference room. As he led the others into the room his irritation grew. Sat at the far end of the table were four civilians he didn’t recognise, plus the White House and air force chiefs of staff. The table was covered in papers and photographs that they had obviously been discussing. The president felt as though he had been ambushed and, made his point by sitting in one of the chairs normally reserved for advisers which lined the side walls of the room, forcing those at the table to strain uncomfortably to see him. ‘Mr. President, I think it would be easier if you joined us at the table, sir.’ The head of homeland security spoke tentatively, anticipating a sarcastic rebuke.

  ‘Gee John, why the fuck should I bother! You guys obviously have everything under control. I’ll just sit here and fanny about.’

  ‘Mr. President, I apologise for this being sprung on you, but it is very important that you-’

  ‘Don’t give me that crap, John,’ the president interrupted, ‘you’re telling me that everybody here just happened to be passing the woodshed this morning, so you thought, let’s all have an impromptu meeting and really piss the president off.’ He paused and sighed, realising he had probably overreacted. Standing up, he walked to the table and sat in the chair next to the White House chief of staff saying, ‘Okay, will somebody just tell me what’s going on?’

  ‘Mr. President, let me introduce you to Professor Suzuki and his colleagues from the department of astronomy at the university of California, Berkeley. He heads the team at NASA’s jet propulsion laboratory operating the Hubble-II space telescope.’

  ‘Look John, I’m as interested in stars and planets as anybody, but does this really warrant dragging me down here at this time of the morning.’

  ‘I’m afraid it does, Mr. President.’

  ‘Okay, but be quick! I’ve got a busy day. There’s a bunch of Chinese politicians I’ve got to kowtow to this morning.’

  ‘I’m afraid that meeting has been cancelled, sir.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘By me, sir.’ For the first time the president noticed the worried expression on everybody’s face. The chief of staff was fingering his fountain pen avoiding eye contact as he spoke.

  There was an uneasy silence as the president mulled over a situation which he was not too sure how to handle. ‘Okay, John, you’ve got all the cards, just let me have it, and it better be good!’

  ‘I’ll let Professor Suzuki explain, sir.’ The professor stood up and pressed a button on the remote control he was holding. The TV screens around the room came to life displaying the cover slide of the professor’s Power Point presentation, which read, The Finite Universe Hypothesis. An irritated president turned to face his head of homeland security but, before he could speak, John raised his hand, his expression silently pleading for the president’s patience.

  The professor presented as though he was giving a paper to an astronomical conference. The first half-dozen slides laid out his credentials and those of his research team at Berkeley. Next came a detailed explanation of the High Resolution Spectrophotometry Camera carried aboard Hubble-II. This used stars at the furthest edge of the universe as a light source to examine the clouds of Dark Matter in what the professor referred to as Middle Space.

  Fifteen minutes had gone by and the president was none the wiser. He slammed the palms of his hands down on the table and got to his feet, ‘This is all very interesting, ladies and gentlemen, but I’ve got a country to run.’ He pushed the chair aside and started to walk out of the conference room.

  ‘It’s all going to end, Mat!’ The chief of staff called out without raising his eyes. ‘We’ve only got a couple of years, and that’s it.’ The president stood in the doorway looking back into the room filled with ashen faces.

  ‘What’s going to end?’ he asked, a tingle of anxiety rippling through him as he spoke.

  ‘The Earth, Mr. President… Our planet… It only has a few years left.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘It’s true, Mat,’ the chief of staff said, still concentrating on the fountain pen held between his fingers. This was the second time he had referred to the president as Mat, something he had never done in public before.

  The president returned to his seat, the silence in the room pounding inside his head. As he sat down, everybody averted their gaze, except for Tom, who was standing, as he always did, just inside the door, hands clasped behind his back. Of the million questions the president wanted to ask, all he could say was, ‘How do you know?’

  The professor skipped the next two dozen slides stopping at one entitled HDF Comparison. The slide contained two pictures of star fields set side by side. The left hand picture had a pitch black background and was overwritten with the caption Hubble Deep Field Image 1995, to the right was a second picture with a much lighter background labelled Hubble II Deep Field Image. The professor turned to the president without speaking, looking at him as though the slide spoke for itself.

  The head of homeland security took over the explanation, ‘It’s the Big Bang, Mr. President, it’s coming back to get us. The lighter background on the second picture is light from the Big Bang bouncing back from the end of the universe.’

  ‘But the universe goes on for ever.’

  ‘That’s what we all thought. The professor and his team have been working on this for some time and they’re convinced the only explanation is that the universe is finite. It’s like a soccer ball, and the expanding Big Bang has hit the edge of Space and is bouncing back at us, and fast!’

  ‘If I remember my high school physics, John, if that light is coming from the Big Bang it should be so far red shifted it would be invisible. There’s got to be a fault with Hubble.’

  ‘Excuse me, Mr. President,’ the professor had advanced his presentation to the next slide, ‘but the light is now travelling towards us, so the Doppler shift is reversed; that’s why it’s in the visible spectrum. When we analysed the wavelength and composition of the background light, it confirmed it was travelling towards us. A finite universe is the only explanation for this phenomena.’

  ‘Maybe the light’s coming from another source?’

  ‘If that was the case, Mr. President, it would be coming from a single point in space, but it’s not. It’s all around us, closing in towards the centre of the universe.

  The chief of staff raised his head and looked at the president for the first time, his eyes glistening, ‘Like I said, Mat, a couple’a years. That’s how long we’ve got until the Earth gets vaporised. You… me
… our kids… and everything else… there’s no escape.’

  ‘Is there nothing we can do, Professor?’

  ‘It was inevitable, Mr. President. It’s just happening sooner than we thought.’ The professor seemed excited by the prospect of the Earth’s early demise, viewing the event from a purely academic perspective, almost as though he was an external observer.

  ‘What do you mean, inevitable?’

  ‘Our Sun was always destined to die, Mr. President, it’s about halfway through its life now. The fusion of hydrogen into helium converts about four million tonnes of matter into energy every second, so based on its current mass, I calculate it would have had about… ten, maybe fifteen billion years left.’ The professor advanced his slides to show one depicting the Earth being consumed by the expanding Sun. ‘You see the Sun doesn’t have enough mass to explode like a supernova. In about five billion years, it will start to grow into a red giant, its outer layers expanding to consume the Earth. Then, the core will contract and shrink down to form-’

  ‘I don’t believe this! My kids are about to be roasted alive and you’re giving me a fucking physics tutorial. For fuck’s sake, man, we’re all going to die!’

  The air force chief of staff’s outburst was alarmingly out of character and un-nerved the president who repeated his question, ‘Professor, isn’t there anything we can do?’

  The excitement in the professor’s voice drained away as he was made to confront his own mortality, ‘Unfortunately, Mr. President, there is not. I calculate that at its present speed we only have about two years before the energy wave hits our solar system.’

  ‘Who else knows about this, John?’

  ‘Until yesterday, only the people in this room.’

  ‘You mean, only the people in this room apart from your President!’

  ‘There didn’t seem any point in worrying you until we were sure the Hubble images were valid.’