by Scott Jarol
“What is this place?” Ezekiel asked. “It looks like a giant particle accelerator.”
Willis couldn’t help but look proud. “You are partially correct. Triton’s three particle accelerators are its largest systems. You are inside the most complicated machine ever built. In fact, Triton is a power generating station.”
“It’s a nuclear reactor? I thought those were banned after the massive meltdown in 2035,” said Nate.
“Triton is unlike any of those primitive twentieth-century devices. It is based on an entirely new technology that converts matter directly into pure energy, leaving no radioactive waste.”
“You invented a new way to make electricity?” Nate asked.
“Not me alone, of course.” Willis straightened his tie, as if preparing for an impromptu lecture. “The greatest crises of our civilization have been the consequence of our hunger for energy—war, famine, endless suffering. Burning fossil fuels like oil, coal, and natural gas led to catastrophic climate change. After the warming atmosphere disrupted ocean currents and stemmed the flow of heat from the equatorial regions to the middle latitudes, winter descended upon us. We consumed even more fuel to fight the cold, until supplies dwindled and left us in our present state.”
He paused dramatically before continuing. This guy loved to hear himself talk. “And yet energy is abundant. It is all around us. In fact, it is in us. The energy locked in the atoms that compose just your own individual body is sufficient to power the entire world for two months. We humans are like the thirsty survivors of a shipwreck adrift at sea, surrounded by undrinkable water.”
Ezekiel could tell that Dr. Willis had given this speech before, probably many times. He also suspected he knew what was coming next.
“Ezekiel’s brilliant father theorized a process that would transform common matter into energy. Triton is my humble attempt to fulfill his vision.”
Nate stared at Ezekiel. “Wow, your dad did that? That’s so cool.”
The group stood in stunned silence as the seconds ticked by.
“We didn’t mean to sneak in,” Margaux said finally. “It was an accident, kind of an emergency.”
“No need for apologies. Regardless of circumstances, if Ezekiel invited you to join us, then you are all welcome—especially Mrs. Kapopoulos, who in spite of most difficult challenges, has nurtured this boy to maturity so he may carry on the work of his father.”
The others looked to Ezekiel’s mom for acknowledgment, but she remained silent and glassy-eyed, breathing shallowly as if seized by the whispers of her own thoughts. Ezekiel stood equally stony-faced.
“This was no accident,” Dr. Willis continued. “I invited Ezekiel.”
Margaux strode up to Ezekiel and poked him in the chest. “You knew we were coming here? Why didn’t you tell us?”
Ezekiel stood steadfast. “I didn’t ask you to come.”
“Well,” Nate reminded Margaux under his breath, “to be honest, we kinda had no choice, with the fire and stuff.”
Dr. Willis turned his attention to two young scientists who had rushed up to the group, breathing hard.
“Once again, you are late.”
“We went to check out a cryo leak, but it turned out to be a bad sensor,” said one.
He ignored their excuses. “These two young men, Dr. Howard Steiner and Dr. Gary Chang, are my most promising students. They were the first to detect the effects of Ezekiel’s device. At first, we regarded it as a source of interference. However, Drs. Steiner and Chang recognized its beneficial effects on Triton. I’ll admit I was skeptical, but the data supported their hypothesis.”
Ezekiel noticed that Dr. Willis’s acknowledgment seemed to be news to Drs. Steiner and Chang, who looked at each other with surprise.
“Ezekiel’s device? You mean Zeke’s QuARC?” asked Nate.
Dr. Willis removed his black gloves and reached for the QuARC, still cradled in Ezekiel’s arms. “May I?”
Ezekiel unwrapped the device, tossed his parka over one shoulder, and held out the QuARC. As he did, he noticed a scar on Dr. Willis’s left hand, a puncture through the fleshy part between his thumb and first finger, just like the one on Doc’s weak hand. He caught Margaux’s eye; she saw it, too. Weird.
“This device is far more than a simple collector,” said Dr. Willis. He touched the cool copper coils of the densely wound object, lingering as if connecting with it telepathically. “It’s just as your father designed it.”
Ezekiel glanced at his mother. Still pale and disoriented—something had her feeling seriously rattled. How could this all fit together?
“How could you have seen my father’s drawings?” he asked.
“I wasn’t always blind,” said Willis, as if that explained everything. “The accident affected us all.”
He turned to the taller scientist. “Dr. Steiner, take this device to the core and install it as close as possible to a focal point.”
“That sounds awesome,” Nate whispered to Margaux. “‘The core,’” he intoned directly against her ear.
But Dr. Steiner was staring at Ezekiel. “Your father was Dimitris Kapopoulos?”
Ezekiel nodded.
“Yes, that’s Zekie’s father,” said Ezekiel’s mother unexpectedly. “Have you seen him? He hasn’t been home for weeks.”
Dr. Steiner looked uncomfortable. “No, ma’am. I haven’t seen him,” he finally replied. He took the QuARC from Dr. Willis.
“It may be a tight fit in there,” he told Dr. Willis. “The core is getting crowded. Could be a little dangerous.”
“Then I suggest you exercise appropriate caution,” said Dr. Willis.
These guys didn’t even know how to tune the QuARC. “It needs an antenna,” Ezekiel said. “It’s kind of like a radio. You have to connect it to something metal so it can absorb photons and stuff.” Even with a hint they probably wouldn’t get far on their own.
“No problem,” Dr. Steiner said. “Metal structures are one thing we have plenty of in Triton.”
Dr. Willis smiled triumphantly. “And we can observe from the control room. Please follow me.”
Chapter 25
Triton Control Room, North Star Laboratory
Ezekiel’s eyes flew over the control room floor, trying to make sense of what everything did and what was happening.
“In our universe, most matter is exceptionally sturdy,” said Willis. “It must be—otherwise, we wouldn’t be here. The atoms in our bodies have survived billions of years of repeated punishment by heat and pressure within the hearts of stars. Yet the energy locked inside every atom is like a bottled genie, wishing to be released—and like Aladdin’s lamp, if you rub it just the right way, it will free the spirit.”
“By rubbing, do you mean blasting it with high-energy particles?” Ezekiel asked.
“An excellent inference, young man. Consider this: Each time you push a child on a playground swing, he reaches greater heights. You can affect a solid object such as a sheet of glass similarly with tuned sound waves, adding energy until it shakes so violently it shatters. In theory, you could destroy any structure with vibrations, if only you could discover its resonant frequency. Triton bombards a stationary target with energetic particles at ultra-high frequency until its atoms vibrate with such intensity that they disintegrate.”
“All set,” Dr. Steiner’s voice announced over the intercom.
Dr. Chang punched some commands into a keyboard.
“But doesn’t Zeke’s machine work the opposite way?” asked Nate. “I thought it soaked up electrical vibrations.”
“At the time Ezekiel’s father left us, he was devising a method to prevent unpredictable fluctuations that were preventing Triton from operating steadily and continuously,” said Dr. Willis.
“He’s always thinking,” said Ezekiel’s mother absently. “Always working in his head.”
Willis continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “Ezekiel’s device is based on that work, and as you’ve surmised, it
does absorb certain vibrations. However, within its intertwined coils, it uses that energy to generate and re-emit a pattern of resonant harmonic frequencies that stabilize Triton. You may observe its effects on the video monitors.” He pointed in the general direction of the display screens that covered one wall of the control room.
Ezekiel gazed hypnotically at the rippling lines pulsating across the monitors. “It’s a spectroscope. I’ve only seen pictures in books.”
“I don’t see any stable spectrum,” said Dr. Chang.
“Are you certain Dr. Steiner has placed the device in the core?” asked Willis.
Overhearing the question through the intercom inside the core, Dr. Steiner looked up at them through the nearest observation camera. “It’s at dead center.”
Ezekiel ran one hand through his hair impatiently. Why couldn’t he be down there so they didn’t mess it up? “It doesn’t work unless you tune it.”
“Is that why it has this gutted PTab attached to it?” Dr. Steiner’s voice crackled over the intercom.
“Cynthia let us borrow it,” said Nate. “Gosh, I forgot all about her. I hope she’s okay.”
“Can you balance the harmonics?” asked Dr. Chang.
After a few seconds of silence, Dr. Steiner asked, “Any better?”
“Nope. Worse.”
“Ezekiel, could you make the proper adjustments?” asked Dr. Willis.
“I’d need to get to the controls,” said Ezekiel.
“Then I will take you there—but before I do, I want you to understand that the core is a dangerous place, the heart of Triton. As long as Triton remains offline, it will be safe, but you must understand that anything can happen there. Do you understand me?”
Ezekiel shrugged impatiently. “Aren’t we just going down there with all those other people?”
“What you see from here is merely the tip of the iceberg, the many systems that feed and control Triton. The core, in which Triton converts matter into energy, lies directly beneath that, three hundred feet further below ground.”
Ezekiel felt his mother’s grip above his elbow again. “Zekie, it’s too dangerous.”
But Ezekiel was already nodding in agreement. Willis was planning to catch Doc by taking Ezekiel into the core, where Doc would follow. Willis was using him and the QuARC as bait. “I get it,” he said.
“I’ll escort you there myself,” said Willis.
Ezekiel’s mother dropped his arm and leaned on Margaux. Margaux squeezed her hand.
“Can I go too?” asked Nate.
“It would be unwise to take any unnecessary risks,” said Willis. “You and your friends will remain here with Dr. Chang. We’ll return shortly.”
Chapter 26
Triton, North Star Laboratory
Ezekiel followed Dr. Willis through a dull gray room bigger than the school’s gym. Hooks and straps hung on chains from ceiling hoists. The tinny odor of oiled steel and new electronics lingered in the still air. Parked along the walls were wheeled carts and platforms for moving heavy loads.
Their footsteps reverberated as they crossed the bare concrete floor to reach an open cage elevator so large it could have held Ezekiel’s entire trailer home. The gates closed and the motor groaned deeply. Geared to carry great weight, it lowered them slowly.
“Fear,” said Dr. Willis, “or as Buddha called it, anxiety, is the source of all suffering.”
“I’m not scared,” said Ezekiel.
“At this moment that may be so,” said Dr. Willis. “Have you ever experienced fear?”
Ezekiel wasn’t sure what the right answer might be. To say yes might mean he was weak, while to say no could mean he was too arrogant to confess, which was just another form of fear. Was the question a trap? “I guess.”
Dr. Willis stopped the elevator and turned out the light. “Does the darkness frighten you?”
“No.” Which was true.
There was a moment of silence before Dr. Willis spoke again. “He will come looking for you. And you and I must do whatever is necessary to stop him. Are you prepared?”
“How do I know you’re not lying?”
“I do not expect you to believe me. That would be unscientific. You will observe, evaluate, and act according to your own conclusions.”
Ezekiel felt nothing but an urge to get on with whatever Dr. Willis had planned. So far, it was Dr. Willis’s game, and as much as he claimed to offer Ezekiel the freedom to make his own moves, he controlled the board. Ezekiel needed to take care of Doc and then find his mother before the Chairman figured out he’d broken their contract.
In the total darkness of the underground elevator shaft, Ezekiel held his hands in front of him. Nothing. With no light, the walls, floor, ceiling, and everything fell away as if he were suspended in space. His weight reminded him that he stood in a fixed position, but he quickly became disoriented and had to grab a cage wall to maintain his balance.
“What about you? The darkness, I mean? Does it frighten you?” he asked.
“Endless darkness can be tedious. The mind occupies itself with other sensations. Darkness brings focus. Less noise to distract the mind. But anxiety surfaces now and then.”
“Was it like this, like the lights going out—I mean, when it happened?”
“In the first moments,” said Dr. Willis. “Right now, you know the light will return with the press of a button. For me, it soon became clear that the darkness into which I had been plunged was not caused by something so simple as a switch. As days, then months and years passed, I had to accept that my vision would never return. Had my efforts to rescue your father been successful, the price would have been worthwhile. As it happened, the loss of my eyesight only compounded the tragedy.”
Ezekiel realized he couldn’t hear Dr. Willis making any of the small movements people couldn’t seem to help but make when they were supposedly standing still. Creepy.
“You’re angry,” he said.
“At first, but no longer. I gained something that day. I experienced a metamorphosis. Until that moment, I was blind in other ways.”
“I heard that when people lose one sense, the others get stronger.”
“True,” said Dr. Willis, “and also beside the point. I lost more than my sight. My mind had been clouded by ideals and philosophy. I couldn’t see truth because I had always viewed it through the haze of doubt.”
“What does philosophy have to do with blindness?”
“When I was a student, one of the greatest mysteries in physics was the nature of dark matter and its alternate form, dark energy. What were they? They couldn’t be seen or measured directly, only through their effects on ordinary matter. I obsessed over that question for eight years. Then late one evening I was sitting at a pub with a few of my fellow PhD candidates—gossiping about inept undergraduates, no doubt—when an idea flashed from my subconscious. It was if it had emerged fully formed. I began sketching graphs on a napkin and left the table without saying goodnight. On my way home I was so distracted I nearly stepped in front of a bus. I worked all night, filling pages with beautiful equations.”
Ezekiel had run out of things to say, and he wasn’t sure where this conversation was headed. When was Dr. Willis going to turn the elevator back on? “So you solved it,” he said, thinking or hoping that would be the end of Dr. Willis’s story.
“I did. But no one knows of my achievement.”
“No one understands dark matter?” He saw where this was going. Time for another speech.
“In fact, dark matter is very well understood today. However, the accepted theory of dark matter was not the result of my own work.”
“So you were wrong. That whole story was to tell me that you blew it.”
Dr. Willis chuckled, but Ezekiel didn’t hear any humor in the sound. “I did blow it, as you say, but not in the way you mean. My theory was correct in every detail. When I awoke the next afternoon after collapsing from thirty-eight straight hours of work, I pored over my equations. I was sure
I had made an error somewhere, so I began analyzing my conclusions from every possible angle. For seventeen years, I kept my conclusions to myself while I pursued a teaching career as an assistant professor, left behind by my colleagues.”
Ezekiel heard the elevator floor creak, as if Dr. Willis had shifted his weight.
“And then one day,” Dr. Willis continued, “while walking to a lecture, I opened my tablet screen to the newest issue of the Journal of Physical Sciences. There it was. I devoured the article where I stood, scrolling continuously through the text and equations. It was complete and elegant, the seminal paper on dark matter, the work of a talented theoretician in Denmark. I had missed the opportunity to claim a career-defining discovery. No one but me would ever know of my achievement. Fear had cost me dearly—fear of ridicule, fear of failure.”
Ezekiel shifted uncertainly in the dark. “I still don’t understand how going blind made you see the truth.”
“Blindness was coincidental. As I said, I lost more than vision. During the accident, I was changed in manifold ways. Sometimes a loss is a gain.”
Ezekiel was growing impatient with Dr. Willis’s philosophical rambling. He wished he’d just get to the point. “That makes no sense.”
“What if you lose something undesirable?” asked Dr. Willis. “At the moment I lost my vision, I was transformed in other ways, as well. Most significantly I lost the weakness that had cost me my greatest achievement. Suddenly I was free from self-doubt, from all forms of fear.”
The lights blinked on, stabbing his eyes with a thousand tiny needles of pain. Ezekiel felt pinned beneath the light, as if Dr. Willis, with the flick of a switch, had shoved him into a separate universe bounded by darkness, up and down, left and right, before and after. He felt smaller.
“I stepped out of the shadow of those I perceived as greater than myself, including your brilliant father, and claimed my own place among them,” Dr. Willis said.