The Savants

by Patrick Kendrick

  The professor was fatigued and had become emotional, to his own surprise. His eyes filled with tears, and he had to stop talking. “I…have to go check on my son. He...might be trying to tell me something.” He walked away, sniffling and taking the hearts of everyone in the room with him.

  “Wait, Stephen,” said Cooper. “I’ll go with you.” He turned to James. “James, I’m going to pray, too. Maybe I’ll get some answers. Maybe, like you said, the solution’s there, if we’re willing to listen. Director Finney is outside. Tell him you need to talk to Carl Edwards about Starfire. Tell him I want you to talk to him. But, whatever you do, don’t tell Finney why. He’s too practical; he’ll never believe it, and he won’t help you if he thinks you’re crazy. Then, tell Dr. Edwards I need to talk to him.” He turned to leave, then pivoted and said one last thing, “And, keep this in mind: we do no harm. If you can stop or alter this crisis in a way that doesn’t endanger lives, let’s proceed.”

  Cooper left the room.

  James gazed around at his friends, grinning from ear to ear. “This is going to be fun!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Magritte and Mrs. Brown huddled in the kitchen, worrying about James, as well as Douglas Pevnick. Sipping coffee, they tried to console each other as the television played back the scene from the press conference. A shaky image showed James coming out of the seizure, spittle dripping from his mouth as he muttered what sounded like incoherent babbling. Mrs. Brown and Magritte knew now, it hadn’t been babbling.

  A pretty blonde anchorwoman shared her take on it. “There you have it,” she said, looking into the camera, “just a short while ago, President Cooper finally addressed the nation. And, while his comments tried to add stability and offer explanation to the current crisis facing America, what you just saw only invited more questions: Who are these people the President has chosen to guide the nation’s mitigation efforts? What are their qualifications? How did this rift between the President and Vice President happen? Who is right? And, will we figure it out in time to save the threatened east coast and the millions who live there?”

  She paused briefly before moving on to another topic. “In a related story, we talked with Homeland Security Director Alan Finney this morning, minutes before he was whisked off to join the President at the private research facility owned and operated by Dr. Stephen Pevnick, a former advisor to the President on national disaster planning.”

  The image on the screen changed to an earlier recorded interview that began with a microphone being stuck in Director Finney’s face. He looked none too pleased to answer questions, but stopped to make a comment.

  “Look,” said Finney, his eyes focused on the off-camera reporter holding the microphone, “I’m not at liberty to discuss the nation’s security, but I can tell you this: I’ve been coordinating with various government agencies from every country you can imagine, along with our National Guard, FEMA, The Red Cross, and stateside armed forces. We will be prepared to assist in evacuating people and establish recovery projects in every affected area. As for whom we should be listening to for direction, President Cooper is still the President of this nation. I know him not only as an outstanding leader, but as a trusted friend. I would…no, I am trusting him with my life and the lives of my family. You should, too.”

  ***

  Hordes of tanks, armed personnel carriers, and the rag tag militia soldiers charged forward through the countryside of Maine, dust and debris churning behind them like the wake from a battleship. They crunched through growing fields with no regard for the acres of produce they destroyed or fences they knocked down. Angry farmers confronted them, but were pushed aside or threatened with incarceration. If they emerged from their homes armed, they were surrounded and their firearms taken away. The militia plodded ahead, fueled by its singular mission to dominate and control their assigned areas. Prisoners, including several National Guardsmen who tried to stop the marauders were taken, bound and bloodied, and shoved into the backs of covered trucks.

  One field commander, a brash, hardened redneck, used a satellite phone to make a call to his leader. “General Haufman,” the officer greeted his superior. “New Dawn One field report.”

  “Go ahead, Commander,” said Haufman.

  “We are approaching the target, sir, about a half hour out.” He looked out toward the ocean, catching glimpses through the heavy forests along the coast of Maine, surprised at how easy their campaign was going. “We’ve encountered very little resistance, only one small band of Guardsmen we took prisoner.”

  Haufman was pleased. The prisoners would be beneficial to them. If the enemy could scramble their jets, they would never fire on U.S. citizens.

  “Very good, Commander. You shouldn’t have a problem at the research center. There are only about fifty Secret Service agents with the President. Your mission is to capture the President. Let nothing stand in your way. Understood?”

  “Roger that, sir,” said the field commander, excited his group would have the honor of apprehending the President. History was about to be made, and he would be a part of it.

  ***

  James was video conferencing with Dr. Carl Edwards of the Starfire Project. Director Finney sat in to assess the conversation and the direction of the “New Plan.” He was a smart, hard-charging manager of the premiere security force of America, but he found it extremely difficult to follow conversations among scientists.

  “What you’re suggesting has never been done, Mr. Tramwell,” Dr. Edwards said from his laboratory, his eyes looking preternaturally huge behind his thick glasses. “Actually, we’ve never even thought to try. But, I suppose, based on your figures, it could be done. I’m going to need additional data from you, the total power impact of your…device. I’ll also need coordinates of the methane field, at least a ballpark estimate.”

  Having anticipated this question, James leaned forward and rested his arms on the conference table. “That’s coming to you as we speak. But, I have to be honest, we haven’t fully tested the device, so we’re a little unsure on the total power factor. We think we’re working with solid theory here…but, until we actually do it, some of this will be best guesstimate.”

  Edwards looked perplexed. “Okay… Are you sure this is all right with everyone involved? I mean, we’re talking about my baby here, and my baby costs taxpayers about ten billion dollars.”

  “The President called you, didn’t he, Dr. Edwards?” Finney asked.

  “Uh, yes, sir,” the scientist replied, visibly uncomfortable. “But, I don’t know if he knows the science of all this. And, frankly, if it doesn’t work, or even if it does, I’m not sure a laser, even one this powerful, could melt a field of frozen methane that’s hundreds of square miles across. I mean, there are so many factors: how deep is the field; will it ignite rather than just melt…”

  “Dr. Edwards,” Finney interrupted, “while we appreciate your concern, your President has given you an order during a national crisis. We don’t question that. Understood?”

  “Well, sure. After all, you’re footing the bill.” He threw up his hands, then removed his glasses and wiped the lenses with the edge of his lab coat. Without the glasses, his eyes looked unnaturally small. “I’m just asking you, begging you…please don’t break my toy.”

  “I won’t,” said James, grinning. “Who knows, maybe it’ll work better when we’re finished.”

  “Haardy-har-har,” said Edwards, childishly. “Let me know when you’re ready, and we’ll flick the switch. Mr. Finney, you’d better make sure the Navy has moved out of the area.”

  “They were ordered out over an hour ago. I’ll check their progress,” said Finney. He dialed a number on a sat phone he pulled from his coat pocket. “This is Finney to Underwater Command. Confirm you’re clear.”

  A tinny voice, the commander of the SS Virginia, answered back, “We’re clear, sir. None too soon, if you ask me. We knocked down a good part of that shelf, but the more we knocked it down, the more the fault
line grew. It was like the weight of the debris was pushing it open. We started getting so many tremors, we thought the ship would shake apart.”

  “It’s not over, yet,” said Finney. “Just put a safe margin between you and that area. We’ll let you know if you have to go back in. And, Captain?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Thank you for what you’ve done. We won’t forget the sacrifice the Tennessee made. Hold on to your horses, and Godspeed.”

  “We’re tight and right, sir.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  President Cooper entered an upstairs room to find Dr. Pevnick kneeling by the bed of his son, holding his hand. Douglas was not looking well. He was comatose, sweating, breathing shallow, and pale.

  “Why did you let everyone believe Douglas was dead, Stephen?” the President asked.

  Pevnick turned his head to gaze up at his friend. “I don’t have a good answer for that, especially now. Maybe I didn’t want people to know, as one of the leading specialists in brain function and behavioral science, I was a flop who couldn’t help his own son. That, and in spite of all my training and experience, I could only believe what I could see.” The scientist returned his attention to Douglas while he continued to speak to Cooper. “His EEG showed little evidence of brain activity, the conventional tests we’ve used for decades to determine life. Today, I’m not so sure that is truly our best gauge, or if we know even half as much as we think we do. The ability he has shown to communicate is, well…”

  “A miracle?”

  Pevnick nodded, then bowed as he reached up to wipe a tear. “I’ve wasted so much time…”

  Cooper knelt next to Pevnick, and wrapped a comforting arm around his friend. “Let’s pray, Stephen. For Douglas. For everyone.”

  They began to pray.

  ***

  Outside, at the edge of the grounds to the Beehive, militia forces appeared, dark and deadly, from the tree line. The field commander in the lead armed personnel carrier stopped abruptly, stepped from the vehicle, and pulled a radio mike out of the cab.

  “New Dawn Command to all units,” he said with calm authority. “We’ll split right up the middle here, and flank to either side. Let’s move, soldiers!”

  XM8 tanks and Stryker units armed with 12.7 millimeter machine guns and 40 millimeter grenade launchers divided to each side, like Moses parting the ocean, and rumbled through the long grass, spreading across the acreage like an unstoppable plague.

  ***

  As the submarine fleet moved away from the fault, the line began to fail. Its cavernous maw opened, and the teetering shelf at its edge fell away, pushing an underwater wall of water toward the coast. Inside the SS Virginia, the crew watched helplessly as the ocean floor deteriorated and created the tsunami. To the onlookers, watching on video screens fed by remote cameras, the scene was like watching the end of the world and they were on the precipice. They’d be the first to see it fail and the first to go with it. Every seaman on theirs, and every other ship, couldn’t help but hold their breath. Watching the turbulences coming their way on the sonar screens was like watching the shockwaves from a nuclear blast.

  “Get the Homeland Security Director on the phone,” said the Virginia’s captain. “This is not good, gentlemen.”

  ***

  The savants were gathered in the workshop, along with Finney, when he got the call. Jeremy was just finishing up last-minute adjustments on his toy, a car-sized piece of sophisticated machinery, with wheels, blinking lights, tubes, and wires that emitted more noises than a video game arcade.

  Finney hung up his phone, sweat collecting along his brow. “It’s not good, people. Underwater Command has reported the fault line opened up. The shelf…has collapsed. Our evacuation plan is going to be too late!”

  “Then we have no time to lose,” said James. “Jeremy, are we ready?”

  “Are we ready?” Jeremy mimicked. “Are we ready? Do we have zee power?”

  “Yes,” James answered, “the Army Corps of Engineers set up the solar panels for us. At least some of them. Let’s hope it’s enough. You ready to hook up?”

  “Oui. Hook up. Ha! Oui.”

  “Let’s do it, then,” said James.

  The group wheeled the laser to the doors and out of the workshop. Scattered throughout the tall grass of the adjacent acreage were dozens of solar panels, huge cables the size of a man’s arm snaked out from them and up to the workshop. Jeremy picked up one of the cables and connected it to his machine. Everyone put on sunglasses as Jeremy hit the switch. The machine fell silent, then began to hum and crackle.

  James grabbed his phone and called Dr. Edwards. “We’re ready, sir. We don’t have tracking ability, so we’re going to fire the laser. You’ll have to pick up the beam and allow the Starfire scope to absorb it and re-direct. Got it?”

  “Yes,” he answered, after taking in a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

  Jeremy flicked another switch and a blinding light enveloped the group as a beam shot from the machine and into the atmosphere.

  Dr. Edwards and a group of assistants in his lab watched the wall of monitors that showed the Starfire Telescope in space. They could see the laser beam punching through the dark sky like a beacon.

  “Here goes,” said Edwards, turning knobs to maneuver the telescope.

  The orbiting Starfire began to turn and move forward. Slowly, it moved in the direction of the laser beam, and finally into its path, then absorbed the intense light until the scope, itself, was glowing impossibly bright. Turning again, it slowly re-directed the light back toward Earth, the beam finer but more intense, glowing blue-white, like the sun.

  The beam sliced down through the sea, where it lit up the ocean floor. A green glow began to spread. Small bubbles initially seeped through fissures, then grew larger. At first the bubbles were the size of golf balls, then grew to the size of footballs, then small cars, shimmering like an enormous curtain of diamonds. Then, a huge rumble sent shockwaves through the water as a giant, singular, gas bubble spewed up from the ocean bottom. Then another. The bubbles, the size of football stadiums and larger, belched from the depths, uniting and expanding as they ascended, growing ever larger.

  The captain of the SS Virginia watched through the sub’s periscope as the bubbles lifted, creating a forcible suction as they did. He called Finney, and reported, “Sir, we are seeing the bubbles, if you can call them that. But, it doesn’t seem to be doing anything, the fault is still opening. The first tsunami just passed us.”

  Finney had his phone on speaker, and everyone heard the message.

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” said James. “The beam is not widespread enough.”

  “Great,” said Finney, sarcastically. “I’ll go tell the President…”

  “No, wait,” said James. “I’ve got another idea. Or, I should say, Douglas had this idea.”

  He opened his notebook and looked at the strange symbols again, confirming his idea. He showed it to Finney. “I don’t expect you to understand this, but this symbol here means ‘sun.’ But, the one next to it means ‘distribute’ or ‘spread out.’ And this one means ‘satellite’ or ‘moon,’ which is a satellite. I think Douglas was trying to tell us to use a satellite system to distribute the beam.”

  Finney looked at James as if he were a madman. “You’re right, I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. But, the President seems to trust you and we don’t have many options. If you think it might work, just do it. And, son, you need to hurry.”

  James grabbed his phone again. “Dr. Edwards, we’re not getting the intensity we need. From where you’re at, can you track the old Vela Project with your satellites?”

  “The old nuclear detection system?” asked Edwards, confused.

  “Yes,” said James, his voice unusually urgent.

  “Sure, we have to navigate around it sometimes. Why?”

  “We need to use it to disburse the beam more; make it wider.”

  “Uh, how’s that?
” asked Edwards, shaking his head.

  “I want you to redirect the Starfire’s beam away from the ocean and aim it at the Vela satellite.”

  “And…what will that do?”

  “I’m hoping the bhangmeters, the photo sensors that detect the light from Earth, can act as mirrors, deflect the beam back to Earth and scatter it over a wider area, like a…a shotgun.”

  Edwards punched in data on his control board. “It might be worth a try, James, but we’ll need to redirect the Vela, and I’m not sure we can do it from here.”

  “You have to try, Dr. Edwards,” James pleaded. “The fault line is deteriorating quickly, and the shelf has already failed. There will be a massive tidal wave hitting the eastern seaboard in just over an hour, unless we can stop it.”

  “O…Okay,” said Edwards. “We can try, but I’m going to need permissions from—”