“I know the protocol, Agent Perrot,” Director Sully said. “It was my call. Sometimes you have to set aside protocols for expediency. We couldn’t afford any delays in finding out if the natural-gas disasters were a result of sabotage. Based on the nanites that were found, I would say we have the answer to that question. I’m sorry for your loss, Agent Perrot, I really am. But you’re not the only one who has been affected by this gas crisis. The body count is up to four hundred in the North African Commonwealth and even more at the Derby site.”
“What Derby site?” Valerie asked.
“You and your team are supposed to be leading this investigation. I would expect you to be aware of what is going on in the world.” Director Sully shook her head. “One of the Deep Horizon gas refineries in Western Australia imploded twenty-three minutes ago. Five hundred people are dead.” An aide showed Director Sully something on a PCD. She finished, “Get it together, Agent Perrot. Find out whoever is sabotaging these gas wells.”
“You’re the one who should have been promoted to director,” Sylvia said to Valerie when Sully and her aides were gone.
Valerie gave no sign of acknowledgment. “Have we got any more of that amber foam? I’d love to bury her in some of it.” Sylvia tried to smile. “She is right about one thing, though,” Valerie continued. “We need to figure out who or what is behind all this.”
Sylvia took a deep breath and slid her chair in front of a computer station. She pressed a few controls and brought up a projected image of a round gray object. It was the same image they had looked at earlier, a sphere with six legs with a longer and thinner protrusion that looked like a tail. “Goshi was analyzing the fuel samples we received from the North African Commonwealth. This is a magnified image of one of the nanites that is causing all this chaos. This afternoon, after we were kicked out of the lab, I did some more analysis on these little monsters at home. This is a methanophiles cell. It’s classified as a prokaryote, a unicellular organism. The nanites appear to be a molecularly modified version of methanophiles.”
“Methano-what?” Valerie asked.
“Methanophiles are able to metabolize methane,” Sylvia explained. “We learned a lot about them during the 2010s, when the world was dealing with global warming. Some governments deployed forms of methanotrophs to reduce the release of methane into the atmosphere.”
“I remember learning about that in history class,” Valerie said. “Rice fields, landfills, and swamps were blamed for emitting huge amounts of methane. Several countries in Europe sponsored an effort to deploy methane eaters into the ecosystems in 2020. Are you saying this is what’s messing up the natural-gas supply?”
“I think so,” Sylvia answered. “Natural gas is seventy percent methane. As these nanites consume the methane, the natural gas is rendered useless.”
“You said these nanites were modified.”
Sylvia nodded. “In a couple of ways. First, as they consume the methane, they multiply profusely. In theory, you would only need a single nanite to take out a whole natural-gas field. But they don’t live very long, as we witnessed in the Bubble. All that gray soot in there is dead nanites.”
“And second?” Valerie asked.
“Second, these little things also consume oxygen,” Sylvia said. “But what’s even stranger is that when they absorb either gas, they don’t release anything back into the atmosphere. Unlike humans, who consume oxygen and release CO-two, these nanites hold on to whatever they consume. That’s why a vacuum formed in the bubble. The more O-two we pumped in, the faster the nanites metabolized it and the faster the vacuum grew. The beasts consume, multiply, and die.”
“And we’re positive these were man-made?” Valerie asked.
“I found mutations that do not occur naturally. There were also what we call watermarks in the DNA of the nanites. Watermarks are genome sequences added to DNA so that the synthetic organisms can be differentiated from the normal ones. They’re not easily accomplished. These things are man-made, I’m certain of it.”
“What about the mutations?” Valerie asked.
Sylvia rotated the image and zoomed in. “You see this thing that looks like a tail?” she asked. “I think it’s some kind of antenna. One of the big questions is how you turn these organisms off once they come alive,” Sylvia said. Valerie gave her a quizzical look. “Once these things start consuming oxygen, if left unchecked, they wouldn’t just stop at one gas well. They would keep going until the air on the whole planet was consumed.”
“You could freeze them like we did,” Valerie said.
“It would take a tremendous amount of nitrogen to do that. The only nitrogen in the samples we received from the Commonwealth was put there by the North African WCF lab technician for transportation. There has to be another way to turn them on and off.”
“And you think this antenna has something to do with it?” Valerie considered that possibility for a moment. “I wonder if Goshi accidentally activated one during his testing.”
Just then, a call came in on the HoloPad next to Sylvia, projecting an image of Alex. “Hey, Val,” he said. “Just heard about Western Australia.”
“What’s the update from the Commonwealth?” Valerie asked.
“Tensions are pretty high over here. The politicians are bent on blaming this whole thing on the Republic of South Africa. They’re convinced that the RSA is attempting to destabilize their country. I’ve had a tough time getting anyone to consider any other possibility.”
“Not surprising, considering the escalating tensions between the two countries since the first President Jabral was assassinated,” Sylvia said.
“There are very few leads here,” Alex said. “No one saw anything out of the ordinary. I’ve talked to at least thirty people, and none provided anything more than what the technicians said. This is all pointing to someone on the inside. Which is not hard to believe with the political atmosphere around here.”
“I’d agree with you if it wasn’t for the Australian site,” Valerie said. “They’re not embroiled in any power struggles. And the fact that two different companies were attacked makes a disgruntled employee less likely.” She thought for a moment. “Why destroy the energy supplies around the world? Who benefits from that?”
“Terrorists,” Sylvia suggested, “or a competitor.”
Valerie nodded. “Alex, I need to you to go to Western Australia as soon as you can. Since that attack just happened, there might be fresh evidence there.” Alex nodded, and the call ended. Valerie grabbed a chair and sat down next to Sylvia. “Bring up a list of all the companies in the world that are in the natural-gas business.”
Sylvia did so quickly:
NAF Atlantic, Inc.
North African Commonwealth, LLC
South America Holdings
Kimberly Gas
Harlen Oil and Gas
Siberian Drilling and Exploration, Inc.
“Siberian Drilling and Exploration is the one heavily invested in the Western Australia site,” Sylvia said. “Not a very long list.”
“I’m not surprised,” Valerie said. “With all the regulations put into place after the Great Disruption, energy exploration is a capital-intensive business and not easy to get into.”
“All of these companies emerged right around the same time. About twenty years ago, after they figured out how to fracture rock by using sound. Little-known fact, but sound is an underappreciated science. If you find the right frequency of sound, you can break apart anything.”
“What about alternative energy companies?” Valerie asked. “Wasn’t there a company trying to deploy a solar collector in space?”
Sylvia manipulated her display. The list in front of them tripled in size:
NAF Atlantic, Inc.
Oceanic Breeze
The Tripod Group
Solar Navigation
South America Holdings
Arbatro of India
Kimberly Gas
Harlen Oil and Gas
&nbs
p; NovaCon International
New Light Wind and Power
Siberian Drilling and Exploration, Inc.
“Not sure that helps us,” Sylvia said.
Valerie’s eyes widened. “What about those DNA watermarks you talked about? Is there any way to trace them?”
“We may not be able to trace the watermarks, but . . .” Sylvia thought a moment, then began to manipulate her display. “There is only one company in the world that makes the equipment to insert watermarks of this kind: BioGen, Inc. They have a device called a DNA spectrometer. We may not be able to track the watermark itself, but we can see who has purchased one of these devices.” Sylvia brought up another list:
SimCon, Inc.
Albiet Research
Kilakore Pharmaceuticals
The Tripod Group
Bentley Pharma, LLC
NovaCon International
Zolton Five
Medi-Tech, Inc.
“In theory, each of these companies has the capability to create those killer nanites,” Sylvia said.
Valerie nodded, scanning rapidly. Suddenly, she stopped. “Tripod,” she said softly, placing her hand on Sylvia’s shoulder. The name was on both lists. “That’s twice in the last three days I’ve heard that name. The Tripod Group is behind the excavation of the pyramid Logan and I visited in Mexico. Mr. Montez, the archaeologist at Teotihuacán, said Tripod is funding his work.”
“Did I hear you mention the Tripod Group?” Chetan asked, as he arrived at his desk. “I almost went to work for them. They are one of the world’s leading think tanks. Rigel Wright is an impressive man.”
“Impressive or not, he might be behind what’s been happening at the gas wells,” Valerie said.
Sylvia projected her findings for Chetan. “Man-made methanophile nanites,” she said. Chetan shook his head in disbelief.
“What do we know about the Tripod Group?” Valerie asked.
Sylvia brought up a picture of a short man with beach-blond hair and a confident smile that showed off his pearly white teeth. “This is Rigel Wright. He is forty-seven years old and a billionaire many times over. He started the Tripod Group eight years ago after he sold off his interests in his stem-cell organ replication company.”
“He is a genius,” Chetan said. “I heard that the Tripod Group holds thousands of patents.”
“Twenty-two thousand five hundred forty-four, to be precise,” Sylvia read. “He’s not married, he has an older sister, and both of his parents are dead.”
“Where is the Tripod Group located?” Valerie asked.
“They have offices all over the world,” Sylvia said. “But their primary office is in London.”
“Well, then, looks like we’re going to London,” Valerie said.
“Mr. Wright is not there,” Chetan said, shaking his head. “He lives on a boat. A two-hundred-meter yacht called the Water Shadow. He travels around the world doing pretty much whatever he wants.”
“Where is his yacht now?” Valerie asked.
“It’s currently docked in Southampton, United Kingdom,” Chetan answered.
“Why in the world would you know that?” Sylvia asked.
“I read that Mr. Wright is retracing the path of the RMS Titanic. He had a special submarine constructed that is going to attempt to raise the ship from the bottom of the ocean. He is going to start in a few days. I’ve been tracking the expedition for the last year.”
“Well, then, looks like you and I are going to Southampton,” Valerie tried again. Chetan nodded. “I’m also arranging a little side trip for us.”
27
Move past the roadblocks of your own expectations. Only there will you find something new.
—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA
NEW CHICAGO, 7:20 P.M. LOCAL TIME, MARCH 22, 2070
After supper, Ms. Sally took the children to a movie, and Logan used his time alone to listen to more of his mother’s recordings. He hoped to come across one that revealed what she and her music teacher knew about the Munch painting and the voice of the earth. Based on Jamie’s reaction to the picture that afternoon and her telling him that it represented what happened to people when the earth lost its voice, Logan suspected that his mother’s music teacher possessed a deep understanding of Munch’s work, and he wanted to gain more insight into it before he and Mr. Perrot returned to Mexico the next morning with the restored whistling vessel. He had much to discuss with Mr. Montez, especially now that Valerie had told him of her suspicions concerning the Tripod Group.
Logan didn’t hear anything related to his line of inquiry until the third recording on a chip dated February 15, 2036, at 3:34 P.M. He heard his mother say:
’Bye, Madu . . . You know I’m going to get Nadine to tell me what you and Sumsari are working on.
There were male voices laughing and talking in the background, followed by the sound of a door closing. Logan’s mother continued:
That was Madu. He’s working on some top-secret project with Sumsari and won’t tell any of us about it. Anyway, Sumsari said that I could record our lesson today. I’ve been having trouble mastering a few of the techniques he’s been teaching me. I’m hoping that if I record the lesson and listen to it again later, I’ll stand a better chance of picking up what I’ve been missing.
Logan heard a gentle male voice and figured it was Sumsari Baltik’s:
Sumsari: I smell a delicious aroma coming from your bag.
Cassandra: I baked you raisin scones. I thought they might remind you of England.
The rustling of a paper bag could be heard.
Sumsari: These are wonderful, as good as the ones I enjoyed at a castle I frequented during my travels in the British Isles.
Cassandra: I brought you something else.
Sumsari (laughing): Where in the world did you find that? I haven’t had a good London porter since the Great Disruption.
Cassandra: Camden brought it back from Switzerland. He just got back a couple of days ago.
Sumsari: Thank you for this, and please thank Camden. I hope he had a productive trip.
The recording had been made two days after an entry Logan had read in the pages that had been ripped out of his father’s journal. Camden had traveled to Switzerland because he suspected that Fendral Hitchlords had lied about how he discovered his set of the Chronicles at the Zurich train station. During that trip, Camden had spoken to several people who lived in the station’s ruins and uncovered evidence indicating that Fendral stole the Chronicles from the man who had originally found them, Giovanni Rast, and then killed him.
Sumsari: So how is our mother-to-be? I can see by the glow on your face that motherhood agrees with you already.
Cassandra: I’m fine. I have a few more months to go.
Sumsari: Boy or girl?
Cassandra: We don’t know.
Sumsari: Would you like to know? I can show you how to find out.
Cassandra: Do you have an ultrasound machine in here?
Sumsari: No, but I do have a piano.
Cassandra: How can your piano tell?
Sumsari: Music can tell. More precisely, we can tell from a fetus’s reaction to particular musical sequences called the Coffa and Solokan progressions. Girls react to one, and boys react to the other.
Cassandra: Even in the womb?
Sumsari: Oh, yes. Would you like me to show you? Place your hands on your belly, and tell me when you feel your baby move. This first one is the Coffa progression.
Logan heard seven notes being played on the piano. There was a slight pause, as the sound faded away.
Sumsari: Nothing? All right, this one is the Solokan progression.
There were more notes, different now and repeating.
Cassandra: Oh! I felt two strong kicks! When you played the second sequence. Play the first one again . . . Now the second . . . Yes! The baby is kicking and moving. What does that mean, boy or girl?
Sumsari: It means that you will have a boy.
More note
s sounded again, of the second sequence.
Cassandra: Where did you learn to do that? I’ve never heard of anyone predicting the gender of a fetus that way.
Sumsari: I just tickle their souls. There is a sound constantly flowing all around us. These sequences enhance that constant melody surrounding us in a very subtle way. Babies are quite aware of it. They know when their soul is moved. One day, I will tell you more about my journey through Europe and what I learned at the castle. But that is not why you are here today. We are here to continue your violin training.
Cassandra: Yes, that’s right. But I’m having trouble with the son filé. I’m just not able to get the proper bow angles, the pressure, the speed, or even the contact. I even went to the Library of Congress, or what’s left of it, and found a few books on it. I followed the explanations to the letter, but it didn’t seem to help.
Sumsari: You are trying too hard. Stop attempting to become what you think a good musician should be. Instead, you must find your own voice. The great secret of the grand composers and musicians was that they created their own ways of playing. They created their own styles, rhythms, and techniques. Do you think that Mozart ever wrote a book about how to do what he did? What about Beethoven or Bach? Can a great poet ever write a poem about how to be a great poet, when the reason he is great is that he has found distinctiveness? Uniqueness makes one great, not conformity to what others say you should do or should be. There is only one way to play that violin sitting next to you, and that is Cassandra’s way! Stop trying to do it like someone else. What would Mozart have been if he tried to emulate Bach? What would the Beatles have been if they had attempted to emulate Beethoven? Each had their own sound, each had their own voice, each had their own groove. As it must be with you. Those books you read can only teach you what the author knows. But what if your destiny is to be greater than the author? Or simply different from the author?
Cassandra: I’m not sure about that.
Sumsari: Then I will be sure for you. I do not teach my students so that I can remain their teacher forever, I teach them so that one day, I can become their student.
Journey Through the Mirrors Page 19