Jintao

by Jack Phillip Hall

  As the sky turned to dusk, he returned to his quarters. Nearing the front door, he heard something unexpected coming from inside: the sound of a baby crying. He heard it again.

  A baby? Sealy? No. Too soon.

  A light was on in the bedroom and the door was partially open. Reaching the threshold, he paused and called out, “Sealy?”

  There was no answer.

  Pushing the door open, he stepped inside. On the bed, swaddled in a yellow blanket, was a baby, lying there, all alone. He could see its tiny nose and mouth. It cried again . . . the exact same cry . . . the mouth unmoving. He stepped closer—and the world went black.

  Quan awoke in a dark space, on a mattress smelling of tobacco. Hazy light was filtering in from a small window high up on the wall. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dimness. There was a sharp pain at the back of his head. The walls around him appeared to be metal. The room was vibrating and his hands were bound tightly behind him.

  Where am I?

  Crouched in front of him was a boulder of a man. A lighter clicked and the flame was sucked into a short thick cigar clamped in his mouth. In the light, three scars on the back of the man’s hand—three smooth dots arranged in a triangle—tattoos of various colors beginning at the wrist, disappearing under the jacket. And the face—beads of sweat on the oily forehead—trails running down the cheeks.

  Holding the flame higher, the man held up a doll and dangled it helplessly a few centimeters from Quan’s face.

  Swinging the doll from side to side, he said, “Thought it was yours, didn’t you? You little shit.”

  “What do you want? Ransom? Is that what you want?” asked Quan.

  The lighter was tucked away. The man sat back, and smirked. “Your company will pay millions.” He exhaled a cloud of smoke into Quan’s face and with a big ugly grin he said, “And after they pay, I’ll see to it that you suffer for what you did to my men. And, when I’m done with you, I’ll ship your sorry ass back to China.”

  “You were able to get through our security field. How did you do that?”

  “I have my ways.”

  “Where are you taking me?” asked Quan, struggling to sit upright, fingering his wrist and his bonds.

  “That wrist disk of yours ain’t going to help you now. I killed it. Nobody’s coming to rescue you.”

  It took a little more finesse but Quan eventually learned that the man was Honzu and he had defeated the Research Center’s security field using a reflecting beam gateway, equipment procured from someone in Silicon Valley.

  “Silicon Valley, you said. So, we’re heading north. And just how do you plan on keeping me?”

  Honzu’s brow creased. He scoffed and pointed with the wet end of his cigar. “You stupid or something? You see where you are? You’re mine. You belong to me.”

  Quan studied his opponent then rolled over onto his side again. Without saying another word, his body became transparent. Shapes all around him turned to outlines and the world became undulating aspic.

  Rolling quickly away from Honzu, Quan pops up on his knees. He can see the road outside zipping by.

  Honzu jumps to his feet and kicks at the place where Quan had been. Ranting from one end of the boxcar to the other, he fumes and slams his fist into the side of the freighter, yelling, “Cào! Cào ni zuzong shíba-dài!”

  Quan channels his attention to the straps on his wrists. Still part of his awareness, he has inadvertently transferred them, too. He blocks the straps from his consciousness and they fall to the floor. Honzu snatches them up.

  “Where are you?” Pounding on the small window of the driver’s cab, he yells, “Stop!”

  Air brakes hiss and tires howl. The freighter lurches to a halt. Quan stumbles backward, falling onto a crate. Losing his concentration he becomes visible again.

  Honzu reacts instantly, directing his fury at Quan.

  Quan jumps to one side and becomes invisible again just as Honzu’s tattooed arms pass through him.

  Close to him now, Quan can make out the shape of the lighter in Honzu’s jacket. He reaches in and snatches it. Finding the trigger, he holds the lighter to the mattress and squeezes. The bed ignites.

  The flames rise and Quan backs toward the roll-up door. Honzu is stomping out the fire and smoke is rising. Quan turns around, takes a giant stride and leaps into the air, passing through the freighter’s back door. He hits the road hard, banging his knee and slapping his hands on the asphalt. The fall shakes him. He loses concentration and is visible again. Struggling to his feet, there’s a sharp pain in his knee. He forces himself back into the altered state.

  The driver is unlatching the roll-up door, throwing it open. A cloud of smoke releases into the night air. The driver turns his head away and coughs. “What’s going on?”

  Honzu crouches and. with two hands on the bed of the truck, he jumps down. Smoke continues to billow out from the cargo hold. Eyes watering, he coughs and yells, “Where is he?”

  “I didn’t see him. Too much smoke,” said the driver, holding his shirt up to his nose.

  “Find him!” yells Honzu.

  Quan is running south, plowing through the thick quivering gel. Spikes of pain are coming from his knee and his head aches. Behind him, the two men are searching the bushes next to the freighter.

  This is what father meant . . . danger from the east.

  As he trudges down the roadway, the reality of his situation becomes crystal clear. This will never end. Trouble has followed him from China and, no matter what he does, generations of Triad will hunt him. He knows there is no reasoning with them. Their brothers were killed in the explosion and they seek revenge; this is who they are. Quan pushes off from the scene, gliding through the gel, back to the compound.

  50.

  Quan was the product of all he had been through—stronger and wiser but weary from the struggle. Estranged from the life he once knew, separate from his life with Sealy, part of him wanted to roll back the clock to a simpler time. Now, however, the promise of great knowledge tempted him to immerse himself in the Braneworld. At the same time, he was being hunted by the Triad. Things had become so complex.

  He lifted his awareness to a vantage point high above and viewed his life as if it were a graphic novel. He followed each storyline—each leading to a different conclusion. All things considered, it became clear to him, there was only one path forward.

  Dragging a heavy teak chair from his terrace, he set it on the ground in the shade of the great oak. Red nasturtium and blue rosemary were blooming along the cliffs and there was a chill in the air. He sat quietly while his colleagues filtered in. Setting their chairs on the dry ground next to his, they came to his invitation.

  While they sat, bits of news was exchanged. Media stories were popping up everywhere, extolling the Research Center as the birthplace of a new science. Bloggers on the LÓNG website were excited by the news of research labs on other continents building machines and philosophical debates were ubiquitous.

  Lotus reported a huge influx of applicants requesting a visit to the center, and von Ang received queries from several other laboratories asking him to consult with them.

  Quan listened patiently, taking it all in. None of it surprised him.

  “There’s a movement under way,” said Quan. “What we started is a paradigm shift. It will ripple through the world. For the future of humanity it’s essential that the research continue. This is the epicenter. You have the lead. You must add more staff and grow this place.”

  “You’re the reason we’ve come this far,” said Lotus.

  “Perhaps, but I have nothing more to contribute.”

  “You’re the chief,” said McGowen. “You’re what holds this together.”

  “I think not. I’ve become a liability. My presence here puts you all at risk. I’m leaving it to you. Take it to the next level.”

  “You’re going back to China?” asked Lotus.

  “There are other worlds to explore,” said Quan, his eyes dar
ting beyond the group.

  “But what about Sealy?” asked Lotus.

  “I’ll talk to her.”

  “Immersion is what he’s talking about,” said von Ang. “He wants to stay in the other dimensions indefinitely.”

  Lotus trained her eyes on Quan. “How long do you think you can do that?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll see.”

  “If it helps,” said von Ang. “If it would make a difference, I’m open to bringing in other scientists.”

  “You should do that anyway,” said Quan. “It can only help. My presence here presents a risk for all of you.”

  “You know we can hire people to protect us if that’s the issue,” said McGowen. “And we can hire someone to do this immersion thing you’re talking about.”

  “It’s something I must do—something only I can do.”

  “You can’t stay in that altered state indefinitely,” said von Ang. “You know that.”

  “You’re the scientist. You investigate your way and I’ll go to it in my way. The research you’re doing is great. Let’s not debate this,” said Quan.

  The group fell silent for a few moments, then McGowen spoke out. “You’re a young man and you have a child on the way. Take some time off and enjoy life. You can always come back to this later.”

  “I appreciate that, but believe me, everyone here will be better off if I leave.”

  Quan had weighed the options and he knew what had to be done. If he stayed, the Triad would return. If he left, the research center would be safe.

  “Lotus, leak word to the media that I have left and my whereabouts are unknown.”

  “As you wish.”

  After stirring the dying embers of conversation, the group fell silent.

  Rising from his chair, Quan said one last thing. “I’ll see you all later on.”

  He went back inside his bungalow while the group stayed on, next to his empty chair, talking about what to do next.

  “How long can he maintain that other state?” asked Lotus.

  “I don’t think anyone knows,” said von Ang. “My guess is that he’ll be back soon.”

  David turned to McGowen. “If he doesn’t come back soon, I’ll be glad to go and find him.”

  “Right,” scoffed McGowen.

  Lotus lifted her gaze from Quan’s chair and smiled. “He wants to protect us.”

  “That might be true,” said McGowen, “but he doesn’t have to go. I can hire people and beef up security. What I believe is that he’s become obsessed with that other place and, even if it were safe for him to stay here, he’d be doing this, anyway.”

  “I’m sure he won’t be gone long,” said von Ang.

  51.

  The mission to find out what happened to his venerable father had been resolved. Quan had conversed with that cryptic intelligence who spoke in abstractions and learned that his father was at home in the other dimensions. There was no way to bring his father back and no need to.

  For Quan, exploring the other dimensions and expanding his knowledge had become an opioid. His mindscape had grown. Where there was once a house, there was now a mansion with endless rooms—rooms filled with truth. And he wanted to dwell in them. Yet there was his eternal bond with Sealy and their unborn child. He wanted to be there. He would need to cross the Pacific Ocean but his name was on a watch list and, once he reached China, he would be arrested.

  To live without worry, he would also need to deal with the Triad. No one had ever been able to defeat them, yet that was exactly what Quan needed to do. The question was how.

  While his lawyers worked to clear his name, Quan had to find a way to get back home and his options were limited. He could travel under false documents, but if caught that would make matters worse. Traveling across the Pacific by entering the Braneworld presented other problems. Could he propel himself that far? How long would it take? What would happen if fatigue set in somewhere over the ocean? And how would he navigate? Risky. But, if he could remain invisible, he might be able to board a flight to China. But first he needed to see how long he could maintain the altered state.

  I’m a constellation of memories. Memories and thoughts—thoughts and memories—that’s what I am. My mind is a pattern of synaptic connections—a connectome. I’m a multidimensional being in a multidimensional world and my connectome is free to move in different dimensions. What would happen if I stayed in the altered state? Would I become fixed there? I should be alright as long as I don’t forget what it’s like to be human.

  Quan possessed abilities that no one fully understood—not even him. And so, he set his plan in motion. He concentrated on the dimensions he knew best. Particles began to swirl.

  As the last of his team leaves, Quan returns to his seat near the great oak tree, invisible to them. He watches as they walk away into the swirling sand. He is alone and night is coming. The particles begin to dim.

  Remembering what the phantom said, Look to the north. Danger comes from the east, his senses reach out, trying to detect any threat that might be directed at the Research Center. Hours pass and the world seems placid. The only variance is the sun, as it slowly descends. But as twilight fades into night, he feels a disturbance. A negative energy in the distance—something sinister approaching from the north. Quan’s immediate reaction is to repel it—send it back to where it came from. In his mind, he constructs a gigantic mirrored wall around the Research Center. It stretches from the ocean cliffs to the nearby hills and towers ten stories above the ground. He holds the vision firmly.

  Ten kilometers away, on the main road, a freighter is humming toward the compound. It slows and comes to a halt a kilometer away. Two men quickly get out and lift the metal roll-up door.

  Standing inside the freighter bed, a heavyset man with tattooed arms struggles to pick up a heavy metal tripod. His face is fixed in a scowl and a short cigar is clenched in the corner of his mouth. Scraping the tripod against the tail of the freighter, he lowers it to the other two men, who accept the weight and carry it with lumbering motion to the center of a barren field. The man in the freighter bed touches a burn on his upper arm, a reminder of his recent encounter with Quan.

  Quan feels the negative energy, identifies it. It’s Honzu again—dragon head of the Triad with two of his soldiers. Quan concentrates on their negative energy, turning it back against them.

  The men repeat the same maneuver two more times, setting up a total of three tripods. Servos on the tripods began to whir, screwing augers into the soil. The men unlock panels on each device and lights switch from red to green. They run back to the freighter and the vehicle turns around and speeds away. Two kilometers up the road, it comes to a halt again.

  The men get out and go to the back of the freighter. One of them, a younger man with spiky black hair, swings a metal case up and onto the bed. He opens the case. Inside are three miniature drones, each the size and shape of a dragonfly. The young man takes a handheld device from the case and speaks a command. The dragonflies take to the air, hovering two meters above the truck bed. Suddenly, one of them speeds into the night sky, followed by another, then the third. A small viewer in the case lights up with three live images. Honzu watches as the drones fly toward the Research Center. The first drone lands on top of the laboratory entrance. The second drone flies to the top of von Ang’s bungalow, and the third goes to the top of Quan’s bungalow. Homing beacons on each of the little automatons switch on to attract the missiles.

  The men hustle into the front seat and the freighter speeds away just as flares from the tripods light and three rockets lift into the night sky. Fighting against gravity, the missiles growl angrily, gaining altitude. The two passengers in the freighter crane their necks, looking skyward. The rockets are out of sight, high above them, cresting, then descending in furious condemnation, following the dragonfly beacons.

  Something flutters in the rearview mirror and Honzu brings the vehicle to a stop. Whipping his head around, he stares through the small window,
into the freighter’s bed. A look of horror contorts his face. There inside the cargo hold are the little drones, facing him like three defiant little robots.

  “Run away!” he yells, vaulting from his seat. The men scuffle, running from the vehicle and mounting the rocky banks of the roadway. They’re almost to the top when a blinding flash consumes them.

  Quan never saw the freighter and its deadly cargo—only felt the negative energy. When it was extinguished, he knew. It was a feeling like sunlight shining through after a spring rain, a feeling so relaxing that he began to drift back to his native world. Shaking himself, he regained his concentration, continuing to stay in the Braneworld. Although the contest with Honzu had been tiring, for the remainder of the night quan maintained himself in the other dimensions without moving from his seat next to the great oak tree.

  During the night, he underwent bouts of panic. He spasmed as if he were drowning, gasping for air. Each time, he rode through the temptation to return to his native dimensions and each time it became easier to stay in the altered state.

  A higher level of understanding was opening up to him and, like chaff being stripped from grain, a winnowing process was underway. Layers of his identity were peeling back allowing his most essential self to emerge.

  Morning came and the summer sun illuminated the coastal lands. A breeze lifted the odor of putrefied sediment from the tide pools below and hawks wriggled above to maintain their positions in the weak thermal currents. As the sun rose in the sky, photons entered the Earth’s atmosphere at an ever more oblique angle and the churning specks took on psychedelic colors. In the brightening mist, he recognized Lotus. She had come to the bluff to watch the sun rise. He could feel her sweet reverence as she walked away, briefly touching the back of his chair as she passed.

  The immersion was changing Quan. He no longer felt a need to return. Drawing energy from all around, he felt sated, without any desire for food or drink. He sat throughout the day, marveling at the immensity and complexity of nature.