Maribel shrugged her shoulders and climbed into the car. From her comfortable seat and through the tinted windows that blocked people from looking in, she saw that someone appeared to be taking care of Chen and Luisa.
“It’s nice that we could meet in person,” said the man in the seat next to her.
She turned around in surprise. The interior of the limousine was only dimly lit, but bright enough to know she had seen this man’s face before, online. It was the prime minister.
“I’m sorry for stealing you away like this,” he said, “but the media is rather relentless right now. We thought that your layover before your flight to L.A. would be the best chance for me to speak with you in private.”
“That’s probably true, yes. I’m very busy.”
Actually, she had been planning to use the time going through the draft of Jean-Pierre’s paper while they waited in the lounge, but she would still have time for that during the nine-hour flight.
“Is there anything new?” the prime minister asked.
“Scientifically, yes, we’ve detected a certain type of radiation that might be able to help us answer the question of what exactly this rift might be.”
“And do you know anything more about possible dangers from this phenomenon? Can we continue to reassure the people that it’s harmless?”
“They can see for themselves, yes. The rift hasn’t changed at all, and there are also no signs that it might expand.”
“And what if something went into it?” The prime minister spoke quietly and leaned toward her. She could smell his deodorant, a masculine and most certainly expensive fragrance.
“That’s difficult to say unless we try. It doesn’t appear to be very easy to get close to it. Or have there been any accidents that I don’t know about?”
Perhaps the conspiracy theorists and tabloids were right with their stories about the government covering up evidence of how dangerous the rift really was, in hopes of preventing panic?
“Believe me, Ms. Pedreira, you would be the first person we’d tell if something like that happened.”
The prime minister sounded convincing. What reason would he have for covering up any incidents in connection with the rift? The phenomenon looked menacing in the sky, but it still appeared harmless.
“There are some strange characteristics that we’re following,” she said. “One is that the rift appears to be fixed in space.”
“How so?”
“The earth moves about 30 kilometers per second around the sun. In other words, the earth seems to be dragging the rift along with it at precisely the same speed. And then there’s also the rotation,” Maribel explained.
“Hasn’t it been doing that with the moon for a few billion years already.”
The Prime Minister is a smart man, she thought.
“Yes, the earth’s mass pulls on the moon much like its mass pulls on us. We call that phenomenon ‘gravity.’”
“And there’s something different going on with the rift?”
“That’s the problem. We haven’t been able to determine the rift’s mass. And without any mass, there’s no gravity.”
“But, nevertheless, it’s moving along with the earth.”
“Yes, that’s the problem. You’ve got it, Mr. Prime Minister.”
The man laughed. “I’m not used to being praised for participating in intellectual mysteries,” he said, his expression turning serious again.
“Physicists always use the same explanation when we don’t know what’s going on—we just assume that we’re dealing with some exotic form of matter that doesn’t follow the known laws.”
“You mean something like dark matter, Ms. Pedreira?”
“Actually, we have thought of that. You really know your stuff.”
“Let’s just say I’ve had very good briefings.”
“But unfortunately, everything doesn’t fit together yet. I told you about this radiation. Now, that tells us that the rift must have a very large mass. But if that were the case, it would change the earth’s orbit.”
“And surely you’ve been measuring the earth’s orbit?”
“We don’t need to. It’d be a catastrophe that everyone would notice right away. The earth would move closer to the sun and it would get hotter and hotter every day,” she explained.
“You could get that impression just by following the weather reports.”
Maribel looked at the prime minister.
“That was a joke. I know that’s due to climate change. Different topic.”
“I hope I’m not being rude, but I’d like to return to my family now.”
That was only partially true. If she could still get through Jean-Pierre’s paper while they were in the lounge, maybe she could sleep on the flight to California.
“Of course, Ms. Pedreira, I understand. But please, tell me. What do you intend to do next?”
“The plan is to take a look at the rift from up close. We’ll probably also throw something in to see what happens.”
“That sounds interesting, but kind of obvious. Why hasn’t anyone tried that already?”
“I don’t know. But you’re right, it is rather the obvious thing to do.”
Since he belonged to the wrong party she hadn’t voted for him, but the prime minister had seemed very sensible to her. He had asked the right questions at least.
“Please come this way.”
The man who had picked them up from the airplane now led her through a narrow corridor. They came to a gate that was being guarded by a soldier in uniform. The man pointed to his ID and then to Maribel. The soldier nodded and opened the gate.
“After you,” the government official said.
They entered a narrow room harshly lit by a neon lamp.
“That narrow door in front of you,” the man said, pointing. “We took your family to the first-class lounge. I have to leave you here. Thank you for your time.”
“Of course,” Maribel said.
Then she opened the door. The smell in the air told her that she must be in the transfer area. She closed the door behind her. It blended into the wall so well after it was completely shut that it became almost invisible. A dark-skinned, bearded man looked at her in surprise. A woman in a short dress appearing out of a hole in the wall must have been a strange sight. She smiled at him and walked toward what sounded like a crowd of people. Next to the Duty-Free Shop she found a departure board where she noted the gate for her flight to Los Angeles, and then she asked an employee where she could find the lounge.
May 26, 2085, Ceres
The upgrade had been approved. He had received it yesterday, and since then he had been busy installing and testing it. M6 hadn’t known how exciting the theory of general relativity could be. So that no one could try to claim that he lied, first he corrected his own positioning calculations for the influences of gravitational fields.
But of course he was much more interested in the cleft. He compiled the data that he had already collected on it. Then he tried to find a solution to Einstein’s equations that fit the data from his measurements. M6 first tested models that were similar to those of black holes—without success. Then he tried descriptions of dark matter. But the little that scientists knew about dark matter didn’t fit the data he had for the cleft. He tried more exotic models—and failed again. The main problem was that he could not find a way to get the mass out of the equations. The fact that the cleft didn’t appear to affect its surroundings by means of gravity meant that it shouldn’t actually have any mass. That wasn’t provided for in the theory of general relativity, and he couldn’t find a special case in which mass no longer played any role.
But, to look at other measurements, the cleft must have an enormous amount of mass! Just the fact that the Hawking radiation consisted of high-energy photons in the gamma spectrum was proof of that hypothesis. M6 quickly ran some numbers and couldn’t believe the result: the mass of the cleft would have to exceed the mass of the entire universe by severa
l times. If that were true, all of the planets of the solar system—and the sun itself—all would rotate only around the cleft, and he would have long ago been ripped apart into individual atoms. Something is not right here, he thought, and in a huge way.
May 27, 2085, Ottawa, Kansas
“Man, Derek, have you looked at yourself?”
Isaac looked at him from top to bottom. Did he really look so terrible? Maybe he should have looked in the mirror after getting out of bed.
“Why, what’s wrong?” he asked.
“You look totally messed up. You have too much to drink last night?”
Derek shook his head. “No, nothing at all. Honest.”
He was telling the truth. Last night he hadn’t had a drop of alcohol. He couldn’t remember the last time before last night that he had gone to bed sober. That was probably why he had slept so poorly.
“You’re not getting sick on me, are you?” Isaac asked.
He is actually worried about me—that made Derek feel good. Maybe he should accept Isaac’s invitation one of these times and have dinner with him. He was always raving about his wife’s cooking.
“Nah, just didn’t sleep well,” Derek said.
“Must’ve been one really lousy night.” Isaac put his hand on Derek’s shoulder.
Yes, that was it. Derek had had many crazy dreams that had felt absolutely real to him last night. It was as if he were constantly being thrown back and forth between different versions of his life, or as if he were watching his life as a Netflix series with throw-of-the-dice consequences, some of which he had no idea what would happen. Nothing fit together, and everything only seemed peripherally related to his real life. How many hours had he slept? Two, if he rounded up, he estimated.
He wiped his sleeve across his forehead. Maybe if he could get a little rest at lunchtime, he’d be able to make it through the day. Today they were fixing up the lawn between the hospital and the parking lot. Not much was left to do.
“Come with me to my truck?” Isaac asked.
Derek nodded and followed him. Isaac climbed onto the truck bed and pushed the lawn dethatcher toward the back of the truck.
“Be careful, it’s heavy,” Isaac warned him.
The thing was much heavier than Derek was expecting. It was a professional machine for use on large areas.
“A bit oversized, huh?” Derek remarked.
“Better that than too small!” Isaac laughed.
“True.” Derek groaned as he strained to put the dethatcher slowly and carefully down onto the pavement.
“Go ahead, I have to get the seeds and spreader.”
“Okay,” Derek said, then dragged the dethatcher to the grass. Doug had already set up barrier tape on all sides. ‘Do not enter’ was written on the tape.
Derek moved the dethatcher onto the damaged lawn. Then he pulled it once lengthwise across the marked-off area. The rotating blades of the device cut into the soil. At the end of the area, he turned it around and marched back in the opposite direction. It was pleasant work, not too tedious, and not so complicated that he had to concentrate a whole lot. Also, it was still long before noon, and the spring sunshine was still pleasant.
Again and again Derek went past the sliding double doors of the hospital entrance. He thought of the name that had come into his mind yesterday. Atasoy. It must have been around 9:30 when a man who looked like he was from a Mediterranean country entered the hospital. That is him. Derek was completely sure that he had seen him sometime before. Does that mean something? No. Ottawa was a small city. As a city employee, they had often done work in areas around the hospital. It would have been a wonder if Derek had never noticed this Atasoy before.
“Watch out, Derek.”
“Sorry.”
He stopped suddenly. He had nearly pulled the dethatcher right into Doug, who was kneeling next to the grass, preparing the seed and fertilizer. He should have been concentrating more on his work. Derek turned the dethatcher. He had to go over the entire area again, but this time perpendicular to his earlier direction. Whenever he came close to the entrance, he felt an urge. This is all crazy, he thought. What good would it do to talk with this Atasoy person? He’d only be able to help if he were a psychiatrist. Maybe this was some sort of delayed reaction to his military service. In the war in Turkey he had seen some things he would rather forget, but he just couldn’t. Post-traumatic stress disorder, they called it. His discharging doctor had warned him about it when he left the military, and had told him to seek medical care if he had any mood changes. But Derek’s mood had never really changed—it had been consistently lousy. So everything was fine... right?
Except it wasn’t, really. He wiped the thought away, but it came back. On the other hand, it wouldn’t hurt anything to say hello to the doctor. He could claim that his father had been diabetic, and he was concerned about getting it too. Is diabetes inheritable? Doesn’t matter.
“Derek, just go do it,” he thought...
“What’d you say?” Doug asked.
Did I just say that out loud? “Nothing, Doug, nothing,” he said.
“Are you almost done?”
Derek stood there and looked around. He was almost done, there was only a small corner left. “Looks like it,” he replied. “You can go ahead and start at the other end.”
He watched as Doug pushed the spreader over the prepared ground, finely spreading the grass seed. Then he remembered that he wasn’t finished operating the dethatcher yet. He finished his work and pulled the machine onto a small path. He took its cover off and cleaned it with a stiff brush that he had in his pants pocket.
He didn’t remember putting the brush there, but there it was in his pocket. Is this similar to this mystery of Atasoy? No, he decided. He had simply forgotten that he had put the brush in his pocket. He hadn’t forgotten the doctor.
“Here, boys, I brought you something.” Isaac was walking toward them, swinging a paper bag.
“What’ve you got?” Derek asked.
“Six burgers. Two for each of us,” Isaac answered.
“You got burgers, even though your wife is such an amazing cook?” Doug asked.
“She’s a healthy cook, if you catch my drift.”
Doug laughed. “Yes, brother, I get it.”
“But seriously, you have to come to dinner sometime. Tastes real good, what my wife cooks. You won’t be disappointed.”
“You already convinced me,” Derek said. Next time Isaac invites me, I will definitely say yes.
They sat on a bench in the shade and ate their burgers. They were lukewarm and only so-so, but the burgers filled their stomachs. After the last bite, Derek wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He had made a decision.
“I’ve got to go take care of something,” he said. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.” On his way to the entrance, he could feel the eyes of his two co-workers on his back.
Dr. Atasoy’s office was on the second floor. He found it without a problem, as if he had already been there before. But the hospital also didn’t have a complicated layout. Derek paused and thought. It was on the side of the building that went out to the parking lot. ‘Akif Atasoy, MD, Diabetologist and Allergist,’ was written on the sign on the door.
Derek rang the door buzzer and the door lock clicked open. He entered the office. There was a small reception area, a waiting room whose door stood open, and to the left of the reception area, a door to the doctor’s office. Behind the receptionist’s desk, he saw a black head of hair. He cleared his throat. The woman must have opened the door. Why hadn’t she noticed him enter?
The receptionist turned toward him, and a very friendly, rather round face greeted him. Clearly Indian, he thought.
“Hello, my name is Gita. What can I do for you?”
“Hi, I’m Derek McMaster.”
He didn’t see any sign of recognition on her face. Gita appeared to have never heard his name before.
“I’d like to talk to Doctor Atasoy,” he explained.
As Gita spoke, the door to the office opened. Dr. Atasoy stepped out. He looked at Derek curiously.
“It’s okay, Gita,” he said. “Mrs. Meyers just called and canceled. I’ve got a little bit of time.”
“But...” Derek could see in her face that she was thinking hard. Probably she was annoyed that this Mrs. Meyers had called the doctor and not her. Always giving the patients special access, probably.
“Sorry, Gita, I don’t know where this impertinent woman got my number.”
Now the Indian woman smiled again. She was clearly in love with her boss. Derek noticed that right away.
“And what can I do for you?” Atasoy asked.
The sentence sounded especially polite. It almost seemed like the doctor had even made a slight bow.
“Well... I... my father was diabetic,” Derek said.
“And now you’re worried you might have inherited it? There is indeed a certain hereditary component to the disease. Do you have any symptoms? Have you been especially thirsty, frequent urination, any weight loss, any problems getting an erection?”
Derek turned red. But it was clear that the man was a doctor and he had to ask.
“Uh, erection problems, I don’t know,” he said, “not much opportunity there, you see. The others? No, not any of them.”
“Then I suggest we have our lovely Gita here draw some blood. We will send that to the lab and tomorrow we’ll have the results. You would only need to come back if the results were positive.”
“So, if something wasn’t right with my blood?”
“That’s correct. However, you’d need to pay for the test yourself. I know it’s not covered by the city employee’s health insurance. Not to suggest you wouldn’t pay for it.”
The Rift: Hard Science Fiction Page 9