The Prophet of Queens

by Glenn Kleier

  Gritting her teeth, Ariel went to comfort Newton, and the others returned to the house to discuss equipment, leaving the unpacking of their trailers for later.

  Chapter 35

  Saturday, October 6, 12:10 pm, Talawanda

  While the men were off seeking equipment, the women hauled items out to the front lawn in preparation for the afternoon run.

  Tia was excited about their plans. As she and Ariel set up a folding table, she heard Ariel muse, “So, the radiation a singularity gives off is like a fingerprint?”

  “According to Stephen Hawking, yes,” Tia said. “Each type of singularity has a signature radiation. Even massive black holes with their huge gravitational pull emit radiation. If we can identify the kind of radiation ours releases, we’ll have a good idea what we’re dealing with. Assuming, that is, TPC lets us borrow their equipment.”

  They would need sophisticated wave detectors and sensors—infrared to ultraviolet, and beyond.

  Newton interrupted them, barking. He must have felt left out, seeing all the activity. Ariel excused herself to tend to him.

  Tia watched her go with a sigh. The dog had always been a source of friction between Ariel and Max. Watching Ariel laugh and play with him now, Tia thought back to the day they found Newton, and the turmoil that came with him…

  It was early summer three years ago, a few weeks after Ariel had joined the team. A Saturday morning, Tia recalled clearly. Max and Stan were off to town, she and Ariel alone in the house, when Ariel heard something on the front porch. Investigating, she discovered a stray pup, its fur so matted and caked with mud, it was impossible to know its coloring, much less breed, if any.

  Distraught, Ariel brought it in, and they took it to the kitchen, fed it, then out to the backyard for a messy shampoo. Stan arrived in his pickup as they scrubbed, and assessing the situation, he told them, “Hold on, I’ve got just the thing.”

  He trotted off to the barn, returning with an old sheep-carding brush. And along with a scissors, a mountain of towels, and Ariel’s hairdryer, the three eventually produced a small, black and white border collie, or mix thereof.

  Ariel cradled and caressed the dog as it licked her face.

  “What will you call him?” Stan asked.

  She reflected. “How about ‘Newton?’ After Sir Isaac.”

  First time Tia had ever seen Ariel smile. A sweet, endearing smile.

  And then Max arrived.

  Parking his car, he strolled over to ask, “What’s this?”

  “It appears Ariel’s been adopted,” Stan told him.

  Max folded his arms on his chest, regarding the girl and dog. “Un-uh. No pets, I’m allergic.”

  “Not a problem,” Stan assured. “He can stay outside. We’ll build him a doghouse.”

  “Dander gets on everything, how you gonna keep that out?” He angled his head at Ariel. “Keep her in the doghouse, too?”

  Watching the light go out of Ariel’s eyes, Tia called for a vote. Seldom did Stan go against Max, but Tia was so proud of him this time, and Max stalked off swearing. Of course, Max held it against Ariel. He had a brusque criteria for evaluating women. Looks, charisma, intelligence—in that order. He’d already judged Ariel deficient across the board, and now it was personal.

  Ariel was far more easily intimidated in those days. Seldom would she speak unless addressed, and then in a voice as pale as her complexion. Irritating to Max, who equated timidity with weakness. Even Tia had to wonder how a girl so maladjusted could have made it so far. Ariel had no family, friends or acquaintances with whom she kept in touch, that Tia could tell.

  Prior to Newton, Tia’s efforts to open Ariel up had fallen flat. The girl was an introvert. She’d drive to TPC separately, avoid the water cooler, eat a sack lunch alone at her desk running cyclotron 3D computer simulations. At home, she wouldn’t participate in dinner conversations and declined to join the others for TV, or anything else. She never went anywhere, even on weekends, holed up in her room or out for long walks alone in the back fields.

  On the other hand, the girl took it upon herself to do the lion’s share of chores around the house, including dishes and grocery shopping, for which Tia and Stan were appreciative. Max benefited as well, yet somehow Ariel’s hard work served only to lower her stature in his eyes. He made sport of her, keeping score by the depths of her blush, announcing the results on a scale of one to ten. But mostly, he ignored her, and the household finally settled into a sort of stasis.

  The Newton incident, however, threw a switch that sent Max’s passive aggression to active. Where before he’d simply held Ariel in contempt, now he came to loathe her. His taunts intensified, more caustic. Cruel. He seemed hellbent on driving her away, rent be damned. Tia’s fits, pleas and threats failed to deter him, Stan kept out of it, and fragile Ariel withered, retreating even further into herself, if possible.

  Tia was despondent. She saw no hope short of Ariel giving up the dog, which Ariel refused to do, and it seemed Ariel’s only option was to find another place to live, or quit and go home. If she had one. She’d never said.

  Then very early one morning as the end appeared imminent, Tia awoke to sounds in the adjoining bath. She suspected Ariel was preparing to slip away.

  Rising, she crept to the door. It was Ariel’s nature to keep it locked when inside, but in her rattled state, not today. Tia opened to see a packed toiletry bag on the vanity, Ariel stepping into the shower. They both froze with embarrassment. Tia had never seen Ariel in less than a robe, nor even with her hair down, and felt her jaw drop—

  Tia was wrested from her thoughts by the sound of a vehicle pulling into the drive. She looked up to see Stan’s truck loaded with equipment.

  Chapter 36

  Saturday, October 6, 1:40 pm, Talawanda

  Ariel pushed open the screen door with her shoulder, four laptops in her arms, heading down the porch steps. Before her under the oak tree stood a twenty-by-twenty-foot beige canvas tent, meant to conceal their activities from passersby—TPC workers, protesters, state troopers. The men had bought it in town along with other supplies. Its door faced the house, which prevented Newton from seeing inside, and he wasn’t happy about it, whining, pulling at his chain.

  “Goddammit, Newton,” Max boomed from inside the tent, “shut the hell up.”

  Ariel approached the tent to see Max seated alone at a rectangular table, back to the door. On each side of him were empty chairs for the others. Opposite the table was an open area set aside for the vortex when it appeared.

  Max was hunkered over one of many electronic instruments arranged around him like a console. Oscilloscopes, wave gauges, energy sensors, and other specialized devices. In front of Ariel’s chair were an HD tripod camera, binoculars, and a small telescope. More equipment cluttered the floor, electrical cords snaking out the entrance and across the yard to the house.

  Their preparations left much to be desired, the best they could muster for now. Most of the equipment they’d borrowed from colleagues at TPC, who were too busy to ask many questions. Max and Stan had braved the picket lines to fetch things, counting on the National Guard for protection, hoping the collider’s successful tests would diminish the crowd.

  It hadn’t. Max’s car had suffered more dents. Worse, he’d gotten another speeding ticket on the way home, nearly arrested for mouthing off. He was still fuming.

  Ariel shushed Newton and stepped over electrical cords into the tent, parking the laptops on the table with a puff. Max paid no heed, calibrating a gauge. Catching her breath, Ariel began distributing the computers, noticing how little space Max was allowing for the vortex. Between the table and tent wall, a span of about six feet. His estimation, the phenomenon left no footprint.

  She offered him his laptop, asking, “You think we’re allowing enough room? What if all this circuitry affects the vortex?”

  He looked up, stiffening. “10,000 megawatts of power, Ariel.” Same tone he’d taken with Newton. “Tactical nuclear-blast ra
nge, and you’re worried about house current?”

  He snatched the laptop, plonked it aside, and bent back to work.

  Ariel blinked. The last thing they needed in the tent this afternoon was a second unpredictable force. She recalled with a shiver his previous, disastrous attempt to wean himself from his medication. Not that Valpro prevented his foul moods, it simply gave him a measure of control. A critical measure. There was no sure way to tell if he’d quit his meds, short of him actually going nuts. Or asking him outright—and she wasn’t about to touch that launch button.

  Taking a long breath, she told herself not to overreact. He was under court orders to stick to his prescription, surely he wouldn’t defy that. And in fairness, he’d just weathered run-ins with protesters and the highway patrol. Tests of fire that he’d passed. Sort of.

  Still, he would bear watching. One more worry for her.

  A crunch of gravel in the drive called up another concern. Ariel looked out the tent, relieved to see Tia, who’d gone to fetch last-minute supplies. Ariel was nervous whenever Tia ventured into town on her own. A few weeks ago while out shopping, Tia had an unfortunate encounter with TPC protesters. Either they’d recognized her, having seen her cross their picket lines, or assumed by her ethnicity that she worked at TPC—the town was notably lacking in diversity. In any event, things got ugly. If not for the grocer standing up for her, it could have been serious. Tia wasn’t one to back down.

  Carrying a paper sack into the tent, Tia deposited it on the table.

  “Any problems?” Ariel asked, seeing no sign in Tia’s face.

  “Not a nut-job in sight. Hopefully, they’re slinking home to their own black holes.”

  She turned to Max, “More good news. A townie asked about my car. He took your number.”

  Earlier, Max had stuck for-sale signs with his phone number in their car windows, believing himself best negotiator. They needed a sale. Today’s purchases had maxed-out their credit cards.

  But Max seemed indifferent, ignoring Tia to focus on his gauge.

  Stan arrived from the house with odds and ends, and they all took seats with Max at the table. Someone had duct-taped a digital clock to one of the tent poles. It ticked off the seconds until 2:00, and Newton began to howl, soon drowned out by thunder. The table shook, the instruments rattled, then the whine took over, trilling off into stillness.

  And suddenly, the gauges went haywire.

  Ariel turned anxious eyes to the open space in front of them. The vortex was easier to spot now, translucent little eddies arising eerily against the canvas backdrop. In seconds, the distortion resolved into cloud, swirling and swelling. Darker, more menacing than before—an effect of being shaded from the sun, Ariel told herself. When it reached the same width as previous, it stabilized, and the aperture opened like a camera lens, squeezing the vortex outward, compressing it into six inches of turbulent rim.

  Everyone sat mesmerized until Max cried out, “Goddammit.” Glaring at the gauges, he rapped one with his knuckles. Only moments before, the screens were convulsing like crazy, needles buried off their dials as the collider ramped to top speed. Now, not a flicker.

  Tia said, “The power surge toasted them. It fried the circuitry.”

  “No, the screens are still lit,” Max said, smacking another gauge.

  Stan said, “Can’t be a power failure.” He began rooting through items on the floor. “Check the lines for a short, I’ll try degaussing.”

  Degauss. A procedure using a special device to purge magnetic buildup from electronics.

  Ariel swiveled the camera to document events while Tia assisted Stan, and Max backtracked the electric cords to the house. When Max returned reporting no problem, Stan said, “Nothing wrong with the instruments, either. They’re simply not registering. No input.”

  Max frowned, sat, and snatched up a Geiger counter, shaking it. “Impossible. There’s always background radiation.”

  Stan manipulated his watch, holding it in the air. “Not a trace.”

  No one had an answer.

  While the others puzzled, Ariel grabbed the telescope and scanned inside the aperture for signs of light. A star, a galaxy, anything. Only blackness. Deep, foreboding blackness. If the phenomenon were a Niles-Begley omniscient wormhole—a window to anywhere—it appeared to open onto the edge of the universe where nothing existed but empty space.

  Time up. The aperture snapped closed, the vortex vanished, replaced by whine and thunder, and abruptly the gauges went wild again. Moments later, the noise lapsed, Newton’s barking returned, and the instruments resumed normal function. Bewildering.

  Ariel had been reading up on cyclotron anomalies, and pointed out, “This can’t be a radiation cone. Radiation cones focus beams of energy on a specific point in space. But maybe the collider’s spinning off some sort of containment field.”

  She had the others’ attention, continuing, “Remember the first time it happened? Only I heard the noises, loud as they are. You were all in the house, and yet you could hear Newton. Like I was in a bubble. Inside a-a-a force field.”

  They reflected, and Max said, “Not a force field, in the conventional sense. I was able to make it to the house to check the power cords. Maybe some sort of wave-interference field. That might explain the effect on the gauges.”

  Tia asked Ariel, “The HD camera was working?”

  “Yes. And my laptop and phone cam. But my phone had no bars.”

  “Very peculiar,” Stan said. “Selective wave interference.”

  “Whatever the barrier is,” Max said, “we’re screwed.” He swept a hand over the instruments. “We can’t fight 10,000 megawatts of power with this crap.”

  No argument there. The collider was the most powerful generator ever.

  Ariel felt the air go out of her. If the collider was projecting some kind of force field, it would leave them no means to study the vortex inside it. They and their project were finished.

  At length Tia said, “We’ve no choice but to turn this over to TPC. Maybe we can trade with Keller to get our jobs back. Tell him what we’ve got, he hires us to investigate.”

  “Keller’s got no budget to hire us,” Max said. “Besides, what leverage do we have? We’ve no claim on this thing. We don’t own it. Or the farm. It’s over.”

  Ariel fought her despair. “We may not be able to analyze it, but Keller can. He’ll show the world it’s no black hole. At least we’ll leave knowing we saved TPC.”

  “Put your brain on!” Max snapped. “If people get a load of that vortex, they’ll freak. The Nuclear Regulatory Commission will yank TPC’s license faster than you can say ‘black hole.’”

  Tia rose livid, leaning over Ariel to snap back at him, “Put your brain on. TPC’s got a hole in its system. That’s our leverage. We don’t tell Keller where unless he agrees to keep a lid on it.”

  Max glowered down at Tia. “And Keller has to report all anomalies to the NRC. Federal law. Stick that in your leverage.”

  They locked inches apart, Ariel frozen beneath, pressure getting to them all.

  Stan rushed to grab Tia by the shoulders. “He’s right, Tia. The NRC reports to Congress, Congress will spill it to the media. There’s no hushing it.”

  Tia broke free and paced, flapping her arms like a flightless bird. “So what the hell do we do? Drive off and leave the damned thing twisting in the wind?”

  She braked and fronted Max. “We’ve got to report it. Sooner or later, someone will stumble across that hole. New tenants, a farm kid, a stray cow. Anything comes in contact—” she made a ball of her fingers and exploded them in his face.

  He looked like he’d explode, and Ariel sprang to her feet between them.

  “Please,” she cried. “There’s too much at stake to get this wrong. Let’s take a break and think things through.”

  Stan hurried to agree. “We still have time.”

  The afternoon sun lit up the wall of the tent, adding more heat. Yet somehow, Max and Tia cooled
, and everyone grabbed their laptops and adjourned to the house.

  Perhaps online lay a clue to solve their quandary.

  And dare Ariel hope, another godsend to keep their project alive.

  Chapter 37

  Saturday, October 6, 5:02 pm, Talawanda

  The team spent the afternoon sifting through astrophysics white papers, searching for clues to understanding and overcoming the mysterious force field. No closer to an answer, they broke to fetch their mattresses from the trailers. Tia and Ariel untied one, handing it down for the men to carry off. Tia felt Ariel’s cool hand on her arm, surprised to see anxiety in the girl’s eyes.

  Ariel asked her in a low voice, “What’s your take on Max?”

  “He’s a dick. As ever.”

  “I mean, his meds. He’s acting wired.”

  “When isn’t he?”

  “I’m worried.”

  Tia sighed and stared at the ground. “How can you tell? I mean, what’s to distinguish normal-jerk Max from Mad Max until he goes completely whacko?”

  “Next time he’s out, we should check his prescription bottle.”

  “Can’t. He doesn’t keep it in his room anymore, he locks it in the glove box of his car.” Getting a surprised look, Tia admitted, “He caught me snooping.”

  Tia felt no guilt. She’d every reason to keep tabs on him after what happened. Last winter, the four of them were at a pub off U.S. 86 having a beer when two locals got fresh with Ariel. Though she’d long ago broken up with Max, instead of him blowing it off like the others begged, he tore into the men, maniacal, fists pummeling like a propeller. Tia had never seen such ferocity. Poor Ariel was frantic.

  Then one man pulled a gun, and Tia was sure someone would die. But faster than a bullet, Max snatched the weapon and used it to beat both men bloody. He might well have killed them if not for the bartender tasering him. Only after a night in jail, in front of a judge the next day, did Max reveal he’d gone off his prescription semisodium valproate the week before. He’d hidden his condition from the others, albeit Tia had always thought him bipolar, with a dash of OCD. Before that incident, however, she’d never seen him out of control.