“You said I should learn by transferring. I tried and tried but couldn’t, so I thought if I tweaked the settings a bit . . . it’s more focused now.”
“Unbelievable,” said McGowen, straightening to his full height.
David went on, “I can switch it back if you like, but personally I think it’s better.”
“You don’t know anything about the dynamics of this equipment,” said von Ang. “You could have caused a major malfunction. Why would you think you know what you’re doing?”
“Intuition. I increased power to the stabilizer and tweaked the harmonics. That’s all. It just made sense to me. It took a few tries to get it dialed in, but I was careful. And I tried it on myself first.”
“And you could have killed yourself,” said von Ang.
“More importantly, you could have damaged the machine and shut down our whole operation,” said McGowen, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”
“It was just a little tweak,” said David. “Have you tried it? It’s an improvement.”
“Maybe so, but what you think you did may be very different from what you actually did,” said von Ang.
“What do you mean?” asked David.
“We’re just beginning to understand the phenomenon. There could be many dimensions. For the sake of argument, what if you inadvertently tuned the equipment to a completely different set of dimensions than the ones we were studying?”
“That would be a good thing. Wouldn’t it? It would allow you to explore those other dimensions, too.”
“Ha!” shouted McGowen. “You act like you know what you’re talking about. You have no respect for boundaries. You’re not the scientist here. Dr. von Ang is the scientist. We should’ve let you go a long time ago.”
“You guys,” said David, shaking his head. “You guys should be thanking me. Here you are, repeating the same things over and over again. I mean, aren’t we here to experiment?”
Von Ang stepped in and said, “This is my lab. I’m in charge and we’re doing serious work here. We must follow strict scientific protocol. From now on, no more transfers for you without my approval. And you should be checked before and after each session.”
“This equipment is not a toy,” said McGowen, “and you’re not the only one using it. You could’ve killed yourself or someone else. You were lucky, boy.” He turned to Quan. “Are we really going to keep him on? It’s obvious he can’t be trusted.”
“Enough!” shouted Quan. “Stop your bickering. Foolish, lucky, or talented—he’s opened up something new. We’re a team. And David, you were wrong to do this without talking to us first. Luckily, there’s no harm done. You are not to make any more changes without consulting us. Understood?”
“Are you getting this, boy?” said McGowen.
David raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, okay. I was just trying to help.”
To Quan, it wasn’t important that David was experimenting on his own, it was the petty squabbling that annoyed him. Who was right or wrong wasn’t important. All that mattered was getting to the next level.
“David brought us something new and definitely worth exploring.”
Von Ang spoke again, this time a bit calmer. “He he seems to be alright but before anyone else tries it, let’s do a full medical eval of him.”
“Like I said, you can always go back to the other settings,” said David.
While David lay on the medi-bot gurney, Quan said to him, “If you want to stay and work with us, you’ll need to learn to work as part of a team. You’ve broken trust with us twice now and I won’t forgive a third time. Understand?”
“I understand,” said David. “I want to stay.”
After David was cleared of health issues, Quan stepped onto the gimbal mount.
“Set it for one minute,” he said.
“Sir!” said McGowen.
“Enough,” said Quan, looking sharply into McGowen’s eyes.
The look shocked McGowen. There was a ferociousness in Quan’s eyes he had never seen before.
Von Ang went to the controls and engaged the system. The bed rotated and the machine ramped up to full power.
In every direction, the laboratory looks like a quivering ice sculpture, like it’s made of iridescent jelly. David, McGowen, and von Ang stand next to him, vibrating shapes in prismatic gelatin—as if an unsteady hand is tracing their contours. He looks at his outstretched arm; the white quills are gone. He looks closer, into the quivering shape, and sees outlines of blood cells flowing in clear veins. Like a high-contrast PET scan—muscles, sinews, and bone. When he sweeps his arm through the air, cavitation trails are left behind, swirling in iridescent eddies.
At the sixty-second mark, Quan returned.
“It is different, all right. The opacity is gone. Everything’s transparent. The particles are gone and I could see each of you more clearly. Could you see me?”
“No, sir,” said McGowen.
Von Ang said, “I’m concerned that we don’t know exactly what we’ve got here. For safety, I think we should return to the settings we know . . . until I understand the changes.”
“It feels perfectly fine,” said Quan. “I want to go again. After that you can do whatever you like. Now please set it up again—five minutes this time.”
“Wait,” said von Ang. “Take the micro spectrometer.” He went to get the device.
“That can wait,” said Quan. “We’ll do it next time.” Quan needed to feel his body transfer into the new setting one more time without any encumbrances.
Von Ang acquiesced and went back to the controls.
The transfer was smooth.
Quan feels subtle differences. The transfer isn’t as granular as before. He commits the transfer to memory. How can this be? How was David able to guess at this? Can’t be just random chance. Something must have guided him. It’s too direct and focused to be a random act.
Giving in to an urge, he pushes off from where he is. Arms at his side, he slides through the air, curving around and back to the transfer bed. It’s smoother, as if he could travel great distances with little effort. He laughs. The idea that machinery is needed to cross the universe all of a sudden seems like something out of an early science fiction novel, where it takes many generations to cross the galaxy. The idea that our species would ever reach the distant stars by burning fuel and hibernating in suspended animation seems ludicrous. Only by evolving can we ever hope to reach the depths of space, he realizes; only by evolving.
He calls out, “Father?”
The foreground begins to ripple. Edges begin to fold. A full-sized figure is etching into the gel, creasing itself into shape. Multicolored lines are quivering, fashioning a bas-relief of his father.
“Is it you?”
[I am.]
“This is a different setting and you’re here?”
The lips don’t move. As always, the specter seems to be channeling some vast store of wisdom, boiling it down to a few well-chosen words.
[All is all.]
“You mean it’s all part of the same thing. Are you saying this is a different aspect of the same universe? Is that it?”
[All is all.]
“Your knowledge, the information you have. I want to learn.”
[Walk the path.]
“I understand. Each of us must walk the path, must see for ourselves. It’s the only way to really know what we are. But, why do you stay here? You’re all alone here, no one to share this with. I want to learn more from you but it would be more convenient if you were with us. Why not come home—be with your family?”
[Be liminal.]
“Both sides? How can you be in both places?”
There is no answer.
Quan turns from the apparition and looks up. Lifting himself, he ascends, past the laboratory ceiling, through earth and rock. Chin up, his arms trailing at his side, he rises . . . into the bright daylight . . . fifty meters above the Research Center. He knows he can go much farther, but his tim
e is almost up.
These dimensions are ours to explore. This is the way we’ll cross the universe—not in a metal space ship.
Quan returned to the lab and put a hand on David’s shoulder. “How you were able to find this is beyond me. It proves you were meant to be here.”
David smiled.
Looking from David to von Ang to McGowen, Quan said, “Nature does experiments blindly and most of its experiments are of no benefit. Evolution moves at a snail’s pace and speeding up the process is definitely the way to go. It’s time we took ownership of our own evolution for a change. What David did was a good thing. The new settings may lead to a broader understanding.”
Von Ang found it impossible to believe the new settings were the result of guesswork. Precise calculations were necessary. Either David knew something he wasn’t telling or he was some sort of intuitive savant. “A talented hacker, yes. That I agree. And he was very lucky.”
Focusing on McGowen, Quan said, “Maybe you were premature, chastising David. You should try it.”
“Maybe,” said the Scotsman, “but I still think he’s loose cannon. We should have a look at your readings now, sir.”
Quan complied, and after the scans checked out normal, von Ang picked up one of the test instruments from the bench and said, “To properly do our research, we must be disciplined. We follow scientific method and document as we go. I want to see if we can still achieve gamma transmission with these new settings.”
Stepping onto the gimbal mount, with instruments in hand, von Ang said, “If you would assist me, Mr. McGowen, I’ll only need two minutes.”
The bed flashed, sequencing the scientist and his instruments. He stood there anxiously, looking over his shoulder, watching the readouts until . . .
It catches him by surprise—vibrating gel everywhere. He can see through everything as if it were made of ice. He dismounts carefully and, setting an emitter on the ground, he turns on the receiver. It shows nothing. He resets the gain. No gamma emissions. No X-rays. He tries another instrument. The display is blank. He collects the instruments and climbs back onto the bed. Then something catches his attention. Startled, he whips his head to see a figure staring at him, a quivering outline. It is Quan. His lips are moving. He seems to be saying something. Von Ang can’t hear him.
The machine timed out and von Ang returned, still looking at the same location.
“What do you think?” asked Quan.
Von Ang bolted from the bed and dropped his instruments on the floor. Fingers trembling, he stooped to pick them up. “You followed me there. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’ve internalized the new settings.”
“You’re able to do that? How?”
“I just remember how the flux feels and how it manifests on the other side. It’s different from our original settings. I memorized it. It’s like what happens when you internalize moves, like in chess or backgammon. The moves become hardwired and you don’t have to think about them anymore. You just know intuitively what to do.”
“I appreciate the metaphor but it is not helping me understand what you are doing physically.”
“That’s understandable. It’s at odds with your knowledge base. This is all new. You may have to forget what you think you know and start over.”
Still somewhat shaken, von Ang set his instruments down on the bench and said, “Gamma frequencies are not transmitting and dark matter is not registering. The new settings may not be a full set of dimensions at all. It’s possible that the previous set contained a different set of dimensions and now we have others. It makes our work that much more complex. It could take a very long time to make sense of this.”
“I agree. The way we’ve been going about it, using traditional methods, it could take a very long time,” said Quan. “The irony is that the answers are right in front of us; it’s just our inability to grasp what’s going on—that’s the problem.”
“Can you think of a better way?” asked von Ang, his frustration surfacing as he picked up an instrument from the bench and set it down again.
Quan took a moment, then said, “Immersion.”
“Immersion? I’m listening.”
“Good science is good observation, right? Slow and methodical. That’s what you do. After observation, the next step is interpretation of what you’ve observed. There are many ways to interpret what you’ve seen, so you make a hypothesis. Then you go about testing the hypothesis. That takes time. Stay with me now. I see a better way—like learning a new language—immersion is a quicker way to learn about these other dimensions.”
“You’re suggesting that I should live in the Braneworld in order to better understand it?”
“Not you. I was thinking it should be someone else.”
“Who, then?” asked von Ang.
“Me, of course.”
“No, no, no,” McGowen weighed in. “You’re indispensible, sir. You’re the one who has held this project together. You can’t just put yourself in there for what? A day? A week? A month? With all due respect, that’s unacceptable. It may be the reason your father never came back. I’m sorry. I can’t go along with that.”
Quan put a hand on McGowen’s shoulder. “My father’s legacy is assured. The Research Center is up and running. It has a life of its own and it will continue with or without me. Trust me. It is better for everyone if I do this.”
“Think this through, sir,” said McGowen. “There could be serious consequences. We don’t know what could happen. What if you can’t come back? No one has stayed in there more than a few minutes. Immerse someone else. I’ll get another volunteer.”
“Gregory is right,” said von Ang. “He can recruit another volunteer to explore this idea of yours. We should take our time and do controlled experiments. What’s the hurry?”
“Volunteers are fine. You go ahead. But, I have an inside track. I have a connection with the other dimensions that nobody else has. I can find out more, faster than a volunteer can.”
Von Ang felt powerless. Scientific method and controlled experiments were the right way. He knew that. And the young Jintao, trying to sustain a long term stay in the Braneworld, was a bad idea.
Wise souls
leaving self behind
move forward
and setting self aside
stay centered.
—Lao-Tzu, 500 BC
49.
Leaving the laboratory, Quan went to the terrace behind his bungalow. In front of him stood the great oak tree, sunlight filtering through its branches. He began to walk around the side of the tree.
The tree’s form looks different depending where I stand. What my eyes see is only two and a half dimensions. My imagination puts the images together and constructs a three-dimensional model. That’s this world—just a mental construction. In David’s setting I can see through the tree. In this world, its inner form is hidden.
And who knows how the tree perceives itself? The tree keeps its secrets to itself.
He conjured up his memory of David’s new setting. The feeling it gave him was nice—like being in clear jelly—soft and cool. The change began within every cell of his body. He embraced it, latched onto it and, with a little push, he faded from view.
A huge transparent tree vibrates in front of him. Roots anchor it to the earth—tendrils explore the rocky soil. Branches reach into the air and leaves prostrate themselves to sunlight. The tree is its way into the world, inextricably bonded to its environment, rooted in every dimension—as are all living things.
“Father?” says Quan.
The gelled atmosphere begins to churn. Outlines form and the form takes shape until an effigy of his father is standing there.
“Your grandson will be born soon,” says Quan.
[The nexus.]
“The nexus? Connection to what?”
[The light.]
“The light?”
[The father.]
“And what of
you? You’ll be the grandfather.”
[A marker in space-time.]
His father had gone looking for a new frontier, something to challenge his intellect. He ventured into an unknown aspect of matter and stayed to study it—eventually giving up his physical self in the bargain. It was evident to Quan that the senior Jintao was going to stay in that quasi state of existence indefinitely. Would he die there?
As life evolved, it must have realized the usefulness of death—and death turned out to be one of life’s best inventions. It clears out the old and makes room for the new. Death is life’s perpetual agent of change—necessary for its evolution.
Quan wondered what would happen if he were to attempt a prolonged exposure to the other dimensions. Would his physical existence become forfeit like his father? Would know when to return to avoid that?
He turns and looks at the phantom. “What will happen if I stay in this altered state?”
[It is liminal.]
A stage?
“Where does it lead—what should I fear?” asked Quan.
[Look to the north. Danger comes from the east.]
“What danger?”
The phantom repeats the warning then dissipates in wavelets, rippling out in all directions.
Returning to his native state, Quan walked slowly toward the bluff, thinking about this strange warning—danger from the east.
He was proud of what his father had done. He could have grown old, surrounded by family and people who admired him. He sacrificed so much to explore that other place.
Quan thought about Sealy and how easy their life had been . . . easy and so naïve. Now their lives were complicated tenfold. She was safe in China where her parents could care for her. No doubt, she was better off there. If she had come to California, she would have been stressed. Better that she stayed.
If she were with here, she would ask him to give up the idea of immersing himself in the other dimensions—live the life of a good father and partner instead—that’s what she wanted. In the moment, it seemed impossible. An extraordinary path lay before him. If only he could do both—be with her and continue the exploration.
Jintao Page 33