THE CUBE
Page 4
“Alan, stop trying to be attractive, you suck at it”, Hans said to him in lieu of a greeting.
“Good morning, Professor Rosenstein, glad to see you too”, Alan replied.
“Boys…”, Marcela tried to restrain them.
“There’s the other boy.” Norman waved to Michael, who had just emerged from the building. “Come on. Mike, we’ll be off.”
The undergraduate approached the group also holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
“I see something like an informal meeting here. Good morning, Madam”, he said, smiling at Marcela.
“With all these gentlemen around your stay in the desert might prove less unpleasant than you expected, Miss”, Norman said to her.
“Please, Major, we will stick together in the next few days, let’s drop the formal address.” Then she turned to Alan and Hans. “And let’s not quarrel over nonsense.”
“I’ll be glad to be informal, March”, Michael winked at her and took a drag from his cigarette. “Can I call you March?”
“If I can call you Mike”, she replied and they both laughed.
Alan sipped his coffee.
“Mike, how can you inhale this shit. It smells awful.”
“I can see you’ll get along just fine”, Norman said. “Anyway, it’s time to go now.”
“Let me have just a couple of drags more, Major”, said Michael and greedily sucked from his cigarette. “Just give me ten secs and I’m coming”.
“I agree with Alan, smoking is bad for you. Come on, the rest of you, we are off. You are in this truck. Myself, the smoker and the Colonel will ride in the first one.”
Thus, after the instructions of the Major, he himself, Michael, Ivanov and the young short baby-faced lieutenant climbed in the first SUV. The latter hardly said a word, but acted with the knack and efficiency of an experienced military person. His pretty head was hardly seen above the wheel, while he was driving – at a high speed but elegantly without straining the passengers.
Hans, Sergey and Marcela sat in the second truck with Alan in the driver’s seat.
The large leather seats were comfortable and the pleasant coolness of the air condition almost erased the memory of the hard bunks and the stuffed air at the base.
At first everyone was silent, deep in thoughts about home and family, mixed with curiosity and anxiety about the unknown that awaited them.
“So, Michael, not that it is my business, but since you’ve been selected, maybe you would show us why, eh?” Norman was not scoffing at the young man, but was rather asking in a fatherly manner.
“Well, I had just started at the State University with a major in Geography, when in summer I heard by accident about a practical course in archaeology. I joined it, the professor liked me and helped me for my history exam. I got an A and was admitted in Harvard. I had never even dreamed of studying there. You know, they mostly admit rich kids and ambitious crammers there, I can’t be a match for them… Anyway, partying is superb and the chicks are cool”, Michael laughed. He had a broad and sincere smile, infectious for the people around him.
“Still, you were the first option.”
“Come on, no way!”
“Well, according to that new program, a team like yours is formed with three options for each position. You gained the lead with great advance compared to the second person…”
“It figures then I’m some kind of genius, is that it, Sir?” Michael could not take all this very seriously yet.
“Let’s just say you are several levels ahead not only of your fellow students but also of 99 per cent of your professors…”
“You say I’m smarter than the professors in Harvard?” The young man felt the surge of satisfaction but he still found it hard to believe.
“Here, look”, Norman said, took out several sheets of paper from a file in his briefcase and handed them to him.
Michael’s eyes quickly scanned the pages from top to bottom.
Michael Stevens: 3rd year student, major History, Harvard University; age 22
Total score: 95.9%
- major (History): 97.9%
- physicochemical parameters (by Wilhelm): 95.3%
- coefficient API (absorbing primary information): 96.7%
- coefficient non-standard thinking (creating of ideas and images in complex systems of events): 94.2%
Strong aspects: Possesses general knowledge in different fields of science and excellent capacity to interpret them. Extracts the maximum of a minimum amount of data. Combinative and creative thinking with great potential for improvisation. Strongly developed imagination and good in team work. Keen interest towards engineering sciences and extraordinary practical technical skills. Social type, inviting trust and friendship.
Weak aspects: Unhealthy life-style. Inclined to excessive use of alcohol and narcotic stimulants. Prone to accidental sex contacts. Level of discipline: low.
“Ha-ha!”, Michael laughed aloud. “I don’t know about the first part, but they did a good job on me about the ‘weak aspects. My discipline is particularly poor…ha-ha…”
”Actually, the program is Russian, we just approved their choice. It has started before Perestroika, but was stopped eventually. When Putin came to power it was restarted. You have to admit that it employs an entirely innovative approach for evaluation and choice of a team for reaction in ‘unusual situation’ like that.” Norman smiled at him and took back the sheets, putting them in the black briefcase next to his feet.
“Yes, we are all cool guys here and the chick is superb. Only this German guy seems to have a stick in the ass, but at least he keeps quiet “, Michael lapsed to more relaxed language. “That whole business seems to be a little overstrained. How can a submarine, moreover a future model, sink here, in the desert? Anyway, it’s my first visit to the desert and I enjoy it… Tell me, Norman, do you really believe there are aliens in this submarine?”
“I don’t know, Mike, but we declared ‘Fourth A’ emergency level, since we supposed the inscription is of an alien origin, moreover the results of the carbon analysis are highly disturbing.”
“Well, maybe they are, but I guess this is too far-fetched, there must be some simpler explanation… don’t you think? Anyway, some of the things written about me might be true… like I always pass my exams without studying too much.”
“Still you don’t get scholarship for good grades, do you?” Norman noted tersely.
“Only because the universities are not what they used to be…
and what they must be”, Michael replied contemplating. “What do you mean?”
“He means that sometimes the army is preferable to the lie,
called ‘higher education’”, the lieutenant spoke suddenly. Ivanov was still silent at the front passenger’s seat. “Look the first university was founded in Bologna in 1088 if we don’t count the culture centers of the ancient Greeks or the
famous Magnaour School in Constantinople.”
“Were alcohol and marijuana legal there, Michael?” Norman
attempted for a joke.
“In those real cradles of knowledge back then”, Michael went
on, ignoring the question, “professors and students were searching
together for the truth and the path, leading to it. Even though,
from our contemporary point of view, some naive, romantic and
even hilarious theories were taught…
“Yes, for instance that the Earth was flat and stood on four
whales or turtles… what was it?” Norman interrupted. “Or that earthquakes were caused by enormous snakes and
spiders, hiding underground”, Ivanov spoke for the first time. “It’s not important how inadequate the theses from a thousand
years ago are, compared to the modern ones… Don’t forget that
back then the great minds also imagined they knew everything.
It’s totally realistic and very probable that after one thousand
doctrines.” Michael’s voice was filling the interior of the truck
and the other passengers listened attentively. “The problem of
today’s universities is that they don’t seek for the truth but serve
corporative interests and encourage dumb repetition of obsolete
and impractical theories. Look at medicine, for instance… If we
make an exception for Anatomy, which is a deeply conservative
discipline, all the sets of methods, studied at the universities are
already obsolete before the students graduate. I have friends at the
medical faculty who say that after graduation they need to pass
specializations all the time and they use only five per cent of what
they learned during the long terms at the university.”
“So, you think education is useless?” Norman raised his
eyebrows inquiringly.
“Well, not entirely, I personally prefer to read online about my
subject and about the world as a whole. There’s all you need to know there, without having to be stuck in libraries for hours on end. The whole info in the world is only a click away from you. I analyze the data and reach my own conclusions about the truth, I don’t need some stuck in time professors who require from you to be a parrot. I guess, the most precious thing in universities is the medium. I learned more from my fellow students than rom the professors… And if they sense you are a bit more different, they crush you at once and then you can forget about good grades.” Michael paused for a moment. “Well, whatever, I hope we enjoy ourselves here.”
They had been riding for two hours already. In the second Rover Alan had not uttered a word, he followed the other SUV and his gaze was glued to the horizon.
“You cannot wait to see it, can you?” Sergey said, trying to break the oppressive silence.
“Yes. That might prove to be the greatest discovery in human history. Do you know what the probability of a submarine appearing in the heart of the biggest desert on the planet is? Zero!”
“It can’t be zero!” Hans contradicted, not wasting a second to pick on Alan.
“What do you mean, Hans?”, Marcela asked. “According to me the probability is too negligible or at least very small…”
“Small, yes, but not zero! The probability is somewhere between 0 and 1, but by all means different from 0 and 1”, Hans went on. “It’s always greater than zero and less than one. From a mathematical point of view something is always probable no matter how small the probability. We’ll just have to write a lot of zeroes between the decimal point and the last figure. Look, it doesn’t matter how improbable a given event is… If we accept that time and space are infinite, after numerous attempts it is probable that a monkey, jumping on a typewriter, might have composed “War and Peace”. Quite accidentally…”
“I would not choose this particular example, but I agree”, Sergey replied.
“Still, at the same time” Hans was now in his own domain and not a trace was left of his previous quietness “the occurrence of an event cannot be absolutely inevitable because that would contradict the laws of physics. In the same way that it is not 100 per cent sure that at this moment we are in the Libyan desert and lead this conversation, nothing else can be 100 per cent guaranteed. Absolutely sure events just do not exist neither in mathematics, nor in nature.
“How can it not be sure that we are now riding and talking?” Marcela asked in amazement.
“The event might be sure for our mind but the probability never equals one. It is always smaller”, Hans explained, not hiding his satisfaction of being able to lecture on Alan.
“So, nothing is sure. Then is it a sure thing it is not sure?” Alan replied, happy with his line of defense.
“It is one way of saying this, but you, Alan, are simplifying as always”, Hans went on with his lecture in a serious tone. “According to Newton’s physics and the Theory of probability a coin tossed up falls back on one side – either heads or tails. This is the so called ‘sure event’, but according to quantum physics it can be in both states simultaneously. Although, if we talk of probabilities, the coin may fall on its edge and not be on either side.”
“Okay, since you are so smart, would you be so kind as to enlighten us, ignoramuses, in what way exactly the submarine dragged itself here?” Alan was holding the steering wheel and never took his glance away from the windshield.
“Gentlemen, we are all nervous, we don’t want to burden ourselves more with mathematical equations, do we?” Marcela tried to stop the forthcoming argument.
“It did not drag itself, Alan, it just was here. It has always been here and now we are just coming to it.”
“What re you talking about? Have you gone mad? From where?”
“Not ‘from where’, Alan, but on which side of the edge are we and what do we see? The coin, standing on its edge, remember?” Hans smiled imperceptibly and relapsed in his usual silence.
The Libyan desert, 220 miles west of ‘Abu Minqar’, military camp ‘Site 111-13X’, day 3, 2:20 p. m. Norman was the first to jump out of the truck and the soldier on duty saluted him, reporting to him in a hushed voice, so that the rest could not overhear.
The base was smaller than the one at Abu Minkar, it consisted of about a dozen military domes in amphitheatrical arrangement. They were all interconnected by soft couplings, similar to halls along the circumference of the base. In the middle of the semicircular space that was formed a 15-yard tall tower was rising and on top of it there was a guard with surveillance equipment and heavy armament. On one side of the base a tall rock stood, covered with less sand and overgrown with bushes, which was as if guarding the small valley and the camp in it. It was about three hundred yards tall and was hiding the sun, throwing a shadow over the entire base.
“What’s the machine gun for?”, Michael asked.
“To keep us from nosy people who ask too many questions”, Norman said and waved to them. “Come on, I am sure you all want to see it right away.”
They started climbing with a bent gait the narrow path along the sparsely vegetated barren rock. They were walking in a column of one and everybody tried to follow exactly the steps of the person in front. Nobody wished to be harmed by a poisonous snake or a scorpion. Very soon the camp was left far away down behind their back. While they were climbing, they were looking all the time at their feet, but when they stepped on the summit, they raised their heads and a sand desert was revealed before their eyes – a real ocean with gentle yellow waves, stretching all the way to the horizon. The dunes seemed at first glance void of any kind of life, beautiful and endless.
And then they saw it.
It was huge. Like the carcass of an enormous whale, washed out on the ocean shore. A thick body, once sleek and perfectly formed, that swam to the beach to find its death. Something that did not belong to the sand but to the ocean. It was not from this time or this place. Something that filled them with awe and at the same time paralyzed them with fear.
The submarine was just like in the photograph – half of it buried in the sand with its nose protruding lopsidedly in the air. It looked just like a plane, ready at any moment to get free from its sand restraints and take off. The bluish-grey metal was shining under the sun and was in sharp contrast with the hot Sahara sand. Almost half of the tower in the upper part of the submarine was submerged under sand.
Alan quickened his step and the rest followed him. Hans was the last one in the column. He obviously had difficulty walking in the sand and his immaculate black shoes were filling with sand grains, making him sweat even more. He did not look his best at the moment but that did not stop him from taking out his ubiquitous pipe and lighting it when he reached the ship.
Alan was the first to reach the submarine, having advanced about ten yards before the group. He brushed its corps with his hand and seeming to enjoy it l
ike it was a little kid, said:
“Cute baby, eh?”
“Well, we are good at manufacturing submarines”, Sergey grinned.
They all crowded around it, everybody touching it as if to make sure it was real.
“No, you are not dreaming, Seriozha, my friend, this is a real fucking submarine, no joking about it…”, Alan said, overjoyed with the perspective of his future story in the media about the event.
“Look, there are traces of shells and seaweed on it”, Michael observed, touching gently the surface.
“Well, I guess it is normal for a submarine”, Sergey replied and walked around to its opposite side.
Michael saw on the thick steel cover a thin layer of small crustaceous organisms, shells, seaweed and even small corals. Typical for a vessel that had stayed in sea water for a long time.
‘No, I mean, the seaweed is not dead yet, some of it is still wet even”, Alan said, picking with his nail the greenish layer over the metal.
“Look this shell is not entirely open”, Sergey said.
“It has definitely been floating in water”, Ivanov contemplated.
“And definitely it happened three days ago for the last time”, Hans added, gazing attentively at the submarine.
“This here is pure titanium”, Marcela announced, knocking on the metal with her knuckles.
Norman approached Hans and they started whispering.
Meanwhile Alan addressed the two Russians.
“Do you know, Ivanov, I used to serve on a submarine for four years and I find this one a little odd… No mini-submarine, nor openings for torpedoes. I bet there isn’t even one torpedo inside. And I’ve never seen such coating. Usually the metal on the corps is about six inches thick while this one here is about three feet…” Alan slammed hard the body of the submarine. “I wonder how this thing manages to keep on the surface.”
Ivanov and Sergey exchanged embarrassed glances.
“As we told you, this is an entirely new model, an improved one. There is no way you might have seen such a submarine”, Ivanov spoke slowly and tersely.
Only now Marcela and Michael saw the blood-red inscription, which was barely readable under the blown over sand. Even from a short distance the letters were hard to distinguish.