Foretold by Thunder: A Thriller

by Edward M. Davey

  Jenny stared into the sun. An aircraft buzzed across its surface, no more than a floater on the fiery retina. Humble star, minor outpost of the Milky Way, still blazing out light and heat as it had for billions of years before her birth. She frowned. Energy from nothing? Could it be?

  64

  Florence Chung leaned her forehead against the window of the private jet and stared at Rome. The hills of Lazio had given way to the city itself: sprawling and confused, the Tiber slithering through it. St Peter’s rose above the cityscape like a Baroque wedding cake, and – a heart in mouth moment – there was the Colosseum. It was stunted by comparison with modern Rome. Yet it seemed dogged somehow, unwilling to erode under the bombardment of time. Finally they were over the Forum; Florence had visited Rome often and still the sight of it humbled her.

  Another roar of “Happy Birthday to you!” interrupted her cogitations.

  Florence glared at her compatriots. What was officially a Chinese trade delegation had departed Addis that morning, but her team had played the part of a Shanghai business trip too well in that they were all roaring drunk. Florence had always felt superior to the China-born, and now she was reminded why. The middle class was desperate to emulate westerners; for the men that meant Anglo-Saxon feats of drinking. The result was this bilious little jamboree.

  “Happy Birthday to you!”

  She snorted. It was nobody’s birthday – the game was for everyone to charge their glasses until at some unknowable moment they downed their drinks and sang a verse.

  Florence closed her ears to the carousing and recited the incantations to herself again. First, the paean to dii consentes, the pitiless, advisers of the supreme God Tin. Istanbul would always be special to her – it was the place where she’d first managed to tune into the frequency. Then from Ethiopia had come the incantation to dii novensiles, casters of lightning. An extra je ne sais quoi had coursed through her veins since then – like mercury or liquid iron, white heat … Florence couldn’t explain it, but that inscription had done something biological to her. Her period hadn’t come for one thing. It was a worry, but never mind – with each discovery she had gained in potency. A glow emanated from her lower body at the thought and she wriggled in her seat, suddenly aroused. What was still to be found? It could only be an incantation to those numinous powers closest to the Great All-Seeing Eye, dii superiores, who advised Tin on when to throw the most dreaded thunderbolt of all: that of destruction.

  Florence’s prescience was burgeoning; indeed it was on her reading of the portents that they had travelled to Italy. But the final weapon in her armoury was missing – the ability to do to others what had been done to Roger Britton. The last inscription would be the key to it all, and without it her augury would forever be vague.

  She had to have it.

  “Happy Birthday to you!”

  Florence scowled at the party. Then she leaned back, succumbing to her memories. Like so many spies, her initial motivation on joining a secret service had been the thrill of it all. Despite her advantages in life she’d always lacked confidence in her intellect. She had a decent enough brain; she could learn by rote and through sheer hard graft she had made it to Oxbridge. Yet Florence felt self-conscious around people with real intelligence: the ability to make connections. People like Jake. So Gods, what a buzz it was to be headhunted by the land of her forefathers, to play her part in making China the most powerful nation on earth. And at this, the dawn of China’s millennium. Her peers may have been hoovered up by the chambers of the Square Mile, but Florence was part of something bigger. Something with the seductive scent of danger about it – and plenty of cash on offer too.

  Then they had told her to become an archaeologist.

  She smirked to recall how bitter she was at the start, scraping away in the dirt with a trowel while her friends sashayed through the Old Bailey. But then she began to understand what her paymasters had in mind for her, and a third motivation crept in alongside the excitement and the money. The most insidious vice of all: power.

  With her growing capabilities, the lust for it had elbowed lesser foibles aside. She bit her lip, aroused once again. Soon she had slipped into the realm of daydream, indulging herself with thoughts of how far she could go and what she might become. Were her handlers mentoring others to be fulguriatores? If not, and if she acquired the next inscription – why, then the People’s Republic of China would be in thrall to Florence Chung, rather than the other way around. Energy radiated through her at the thought, a crackle that began in her cranium and ran down her nervous system, through her bone marrow, the organs in her abdomen. It was an unnerving sensation. But an exciting one.

  The fantasy was interrupted by her ears popping; they were coming in to land. The sensation reminded her she was still human, composed of flesh and bone.

  No Augustus yet.

  65

  “So you’re saying energy can be created from nothing?” Jake felt like a chimpanzee subjected to a discourse on Voltaire.

  “Exactly so!” snapped Dr Nesta.

  “How?” asked Jenny, her eyes slants of doubt.

  “Imagine, if you will, two snooker balls colliding,” he said. “We expect them to move off away from each other in predictable, geometric angles.”

  Jake nodded. Now the scientist was talking his language.

  “But there is no overall change in the amount of energy in existence after balls have struck. One ball has transferred some of its energy to another, causing it to move off. The rest is bled away into the air and the felt of the table until the balls both lose momentum and stop.”

  “I’m with you,” said Jake.

  “Now imagine one of the balls is an atom. But instead of carrying positive energy, it carries negative energy. In this scenario, after they collide both balls will move off in the same direction.”

  “Negative energy?” said Jenny.

  Jake rubbed his scalp. “This is making my head hurt.”

  “Yes, negative energy,” said Dr Nesta. “Negative mass. The so-called ‘exotic matter’. It exists only hypothetically – although some of its effects have been produced in the laboratory.”

  “Explain please,” said Jenny.

  “Very well. Ask yourself, can space contain less than nothing? Common sense dismisses the idea. You would think that if you removed every atom from a space the least it could contain is a vacuum. Strangely, this is not the case. Under quantum theory, space can contain less than nothing. Which means the energy density – the energy-per-unit volume – can in fact be less than zero. This is negative energy. Now let us return to your colliding snooker balls moving off in the same direction.”

  “Yes, let’s,” said Jake.

  “The point is that under the influence of exotic matter, for this strange double sideways motion to take place, both balls must have gained energy – because there is a net increase in momentum. And this additional energy must have come from somewhere. It’s like a …” The scientist was lost suddenly. “It is like a breeding of the energies.”

  “How is this relevant?” asked Jenny.

  “Because we have shown it must be possible for energy to be created from nothing. And collisions have been going on between tiny particles in space since the beginning of time. My theory is that in the wake of each collision, each breeding, a filament of energy is left. The universe is strewn with them. I believe these filaments of energy are what holds the universe together and keeps it expanding, what stops it from collapsing in on itself due to the pull of gravity. You will be aware of the hunt for the Higgs Boson? The so-called God particle? Here it is.”

  Jenny had gone pale. “Filaments stopping the universe from collapsing in on itself? That’s like … that’s like the ether.”

  The concept of the ‘ether’ – a background medium which allowed gravity and light to be transmitted – had been around since Newton before being debunked by twentieth-century physicists.

  Dr Nesta’s eyes flashed. “But that is exactl
y what it is! A background medium spread throughout the entire universe. I tell you, I have seen it with my own eyes. I have seen it in my laboratory.”

  “But how does this relate to the Etruscans?” Jake repeated, hoping to pull the conversation back to a world he could comprehend.

  The Italian leaned forward. “Because in the course of my research I made a great leap, even if I say so myself. I found that this ether behaves like a super-fluid, similar to liquid helium. That is to say it is frictionless, yet it permits the flow of waves through the filaments almost instantaneously. These waves are spikes of intense energy, like the ripples on a pond.”

  Jenny’s anxiety cranked up a notch. They were standing beneath the Temple of Saturn; the eight remaining columns formed a gate of marble, enclosing the sky.

  “Thus we have a three-dimensional grid structure of energy which fills the entire universe,” said the scientist. “Through which ripples of energy can be transmitted almost instantly. To what does this bear an uncanny resemblance, you might ask?”

  Jake looked blank, though he too felt a growing disquiet.

  “Why, the network of neurones that makes up the human brain.”

  *

  “Are you trying to say you proved the existence of God?” Jenny asked, once she had recovered her poise.

  “God is a strong word,” said Dr Nesta. “It is more a kind of intelligent background medium, all around us. Energy travels down this network of filaments faster than the speed of light – like thoughts transmitted through the human mind.”

  “I don’t believe you,” said Jenny.

  Jake knew differently.

  He couldn’t pretend to understand the physics. Yet what this man proposed gave structure to the insanity of what he had already observed; a measure of rationality had returned to what seemed by its very nature irrational. The world made a modicum of sense again.

  “We are looking at a huge interconnecting system of switches,” said Dr Nesta, a fleck of foam at each corner of his mouth. “A system that developed the characteristics of consciousness and intelligence. A celestial supercomputer, if you will.”

  “This is science fiction,” said Jenny. “How could random filaments of energy develop consciousness? The idea is absurd.”

  “Respectfully, signora, you are not thinking on a quantum level,” Nesta replied. “It is true that large objects tend towards disorder. For example, if you knock a plate off a table it shatters into thousands of pieces. You don’t see shards of broken china leaping from the floor and reforming themselves. But at the level of the quark and the electron quite the opposite is true. Particles tend to order themselves. And here we have a googolplex of filaments, a matrix the size of the universe and thirteen billion years of development. The emergence of sentience was a certainty.” Nesta paused, kneading thumb and index finger together, as if assessing the fineness of an invisible fabric. “Imagine the power of calculation of a computer the size of every particle in existence,” he continued. “To such a consciousness, determining the future paths of molecules and the decisions of men is like adding two and two. This is a game it plays. And so it tests its strength.” The scientist’s tongue started from his mouth, licking each globule of foam clear. “It was this network my ancestors learned how to tap into, long ago.”

  “We’re wasting our time,” said Jenny.

  “Einstein himself said the religion of the future will be a cosmic religion,” the scientist said, urgent now. “It will avoid dogma and theology. And what better way for such a network to communicate its will than a bolt of lightning? The intelligence speaks to us in its own element.”

  Jake gazed at a patch of long grass. Poppies picked their way through chunks of column and statuary and Dr Nesta followed his eyes to a sandaled foot, broken off at the heel.

  “Do you not realize that, biologically, the whole human body is an electrical system?” he said. “Everything you see, feel or think is electricity. Every impulse and desire is carried through your body in ions. Energy flows through us, just as it flows through the universe. It makes us who we are. It is the language of the stars.” He looked up at the Temple of Saturn. “Of the Gods.”

  66

  “I’m not sure how much more of this I can listen to,” said Jenny. “It’s not helping us.”

  Jake pretended not to hear her. “Let’s say for the sake of argument you’re right,” he said. “How could the Etruscans have stumbled on this network when mainstream science” – on seeing the doctor’s glare he backtracked – “when all the rest of science missed it?”

  “This is a matter wherein Roger’s research correlated with mine so precisely that I became convinced we had found symptoms of the same phenomenon. Are you familiar with Etruscan religion?”

  “I’m not,” said Jenny.

  “Let me fill you in then,” replied Dr Nesta. “A child prophet named Tages was said to have dictated the Etruscan holy text to man.”

  “He was unearthed under a plough,” said Jake. “It was one of the only ‘revealed’ religions of the ancient world.”

  “Correct. Very good. But did you know that in 1982 a grave thought to be that of Tages himself was discovered here in Italy?”

  Jake was caught off guard. “No way.”

  “Indeed yes. At a place called Pian di Civita, an hour’s drive north from here.”

  “How did they know it was Tages’s grave?”

  “It dated from about 800 BC,” said Dr Nesta. “That coincides exactly with the beginning of Etruscan religion. And inside was the skeleton of a boy who was obviously revered.”

  “So he was a prince of some description,” suggested Jenny.

  “There was evidence of child sacrifice,” said Nesta. “For several generations after the boy was laid to rest, infants were killed and buried in the vicinity of his skeleton. This is unique for Etruscan burials.”

  A cold breeze stirred, whispering through the Temple of Saturn.

  “The bones also showed evidence of frequent periods of famine,” Nesta continued. “If you accept this was Tages, it would explain the Disciplina Etrusca’s preoccupation with agriculture, predicting whether the crops would fail.”

  Jake recalled the brontoscopic calendar.

  If it should thunder it threatens dearth of food.

  “More fascinating still, the child’s skull showed he’d had a cranial haemorrhage – it is likely he suffered from severe epilepsy. That could have led to …”

  “Hallucinations,” interrupted Jake. “Visions, like Joan of Arc had.”

  Dr Nesta nodded. “But Roger and I go further. We posit that this brain damage attuned the child to this background medium. He tapped into the grid, taught others to communicate with it. The incantations he set down in the Disciplina Etrusca … how can I put this? Flattered the network. It was compelled to listen.”

  “Carry on,” said Jake in a guarded voice. “What happened after Tages died?”

  Jenny glanced at him.

  “The Etruscans shielded their secret,” said Dr Nesta. “And for a time they were top dog in the western Mediterranean. But Rome stole it away. Whether by espionage or raid we can never know. But overnight the town’s fortunes changed forever. Then the conquest of Italy began. And as Rome rose, so Etruscan civilization fell. Roger even went so far as to suggest the exact year of the theft – 390 BC, when barbarians from Gaul sacked Rome. It was the last time the city would be overrun for nine centuries. Roger hypothesized that such a crushing defeat led Rome to try to mimic their Etruscan neighbours’ success. To covet what they possessed.” Dr Nesta lowered his voice. “In 390 BC the smooth flow of history was interrupted, like a … like a needle knocked from a record. Within a hundred and twenty years Romans had conquered Italy. The world was next. Only the theft of the Disciplina could explain it. Could explain this.” He indicated the Forum with a sweep of the arm. “This was the centre of an empire spanning from Spain to Syria, from Scotland to the Sahara Desert. Ask yourself – in a preindustrial age, co
uld such a feat of conquest and administration be possible without help?”

  “It pains me to engage with this fantasy,” said Jenny. “But if your theory’s correct, why didn’t the Etruscans take over the world?”

  “Because, signora, the Etruscans were by their nature pessimists. Every surviving inscription portrays a fatalistic race, a people who had long believed their civilization would end after its anointed ten saecula.”

  Jake felt a crackle of gloom on hearing the words.

  “For them the Disciplina Etrusca led only to a self-fulfilling prophecy of defeat and decline,” Nesta continued. “But in the hands of the Romans, a people with ambition and confidence? It became a golden circle of conquest. The skies would have predicted triumph after triumph.”

  “But Rome suffered defeats,” Jake shot back. “Long after you claim they obtained the Disciplina. When Hannibal crossed the Alps with his elephants it took the Romans completely by surprise – Carthage nearly destroyed Rome forever.”

  “Do not underestimate human arrogance,” said Dr Nesta. “The Roman senators may not have believed such a feat was possible, they may have ignored the warnings. Or perhaps the soothsayers were afraid to reveal what the omens were telling them.”

  “But Hannibal ravaged the Romans for twenty years. If they could predict the future, how do you explain the defeat at Cannae? Why did they lose a single battle?”

  “Perhaps the clouds predicted only losses,” said Dr Nesta. “And what preceded the final defeat of Hannibal? A great increase in devoutness in Rome. Religious rites were observed with especial rigour. For the first time in centuries slaves were sacrificed. The network was appeased – Hannibal met his Waterloo.”

  “What stopped Rome then?” said Jenny. “Why doesn’t the empire live on?”

  “That we know,” Jake blurted out.

  There was a moment’s silence. Then Jenny said, “It almost sounds like you believe it yourself, Jake.”