by J J Perry
“I hope Bhat and I are double helixes.” Porliche missed him after only two days apart. The thought of him and of being together gave her a maudlin happiness that she tried to keep away from her face.
“Helices.”
“Yeah, that.”
“You are high on the scales of intellect, introversion, and logic. Do you think this Bhat fellow is the same?”
“Kinda, I think.”
“Why do you want to be his reflection, Por?”
Porliche looked into her glass as if the answer was written in the pattern of pulp clinging to the ice cubes. She took a sip, thinking. “I don’t think of it like that. I’m my own person. We complement each other.”
“I like that. It’s like up quarks paired with down quarks.”
Porliche had no idea what she was talking about. “I think it is romantic to go through life and grow old with one intimate mate. I love Bhat.”
“I love Bosan. He made me a better person. He opened up thoughts and insights like no one else could. I had some of the greatest times in my life with him. But my life went off in one direction, and his went in another. I know I changed his life as well, and I’m happy with that. But we became unhappy together. Our time was done. I still love him, and I always will.”
“Where is he?”
“He lives in Zealand.”
“What does he do?”
“When I knew him, he was faculty at the university. His passion is mathematics, and he publishes theory. Most of his income is from a real estate conglomerate. He develops formulas for the sales force to use to determine the personality dimensions of customers so they can sell vacation properties to all or almost all of the people they get into their presentations.”
“That’s a switch.”
“Like I said, we diverged. And you changed the subject. Why do you want to orbit Bhat for the next eighty years?”
“It’s not orbiting—it’s our ideal, our culture. We just think that marriage is for life.”
“Don’t people get divorced over there in the other hemisphere?”
“Oh, yes. My parents split up. About half of all unions end up lasting less than twenty years.”
“Do you see older couples that are miserable together that would be happier with someone else or living alone?”
“Well, yes, but…”
“These are people whose curves have diverged, but at least one dimension of their personality will not let the wave go where it wants to go, hoping to keep it constrained. This creates a great deal of tension and requires a lot of energy. Bosan says it is like a proton. It consists of three quarks weighing five something units each. But the weight of the proton is like nine hundred. So fifteen is the weight of the quarks, and the rest of the weight is the energy it takes to keep them together.”
“A weird mix of quantum mechanics and sociology.”
“Maybe you and Bhat are each helical waves with similar direction that can be the ideal you hope for, a double helix. Maybe you are not. I see you professionally as a hyperbola.” Porliche looked at her quizzically as Nin smiled. “I’m kidding. I threw out a random curve.”
“I find it interesting that you still love your ex.”
“I love every man with whom I’ve had a significant relationship except man number one. He became toxic.” She shook her head in distaste. Her hair flew in a halo.
“What do you see in Sparks?” She let a little of her disgust come out.
“Sparky is a diversion. His quiet balances my outlandishness. We have nice conversations about an area of life I know little about. I love to learn. He doesn’t threaten my career or compete in the work environment. He is a slow lover, which is a great thing for a change. Most men are in such a rush, don’t you think?”
“I wouldn’t know about most men.”
“I also think I will change him in ways he will both enjoy and appreciate.”
“Why would you want to change someone?”
“It’s not that I want to. People are dynamic, always changing regardless of interactions with other people. When people are close, they affect each other. Bosan used to call that the wave-particle duality of our life waves. He was such a lovable, objective, mathematical loon.” She laughed with a tinge of mist in her eyes. “These interactions occur with friends, coworkers, and sometimes people you meet briefly. The effect between durable lovers living together for an extended period is much greater. If you recognize that change is inevitable, as you get closer, you can better anticipate where a relationship will go. Sparky and I have waves that are pretty different, and I expect the intersection will be brief but productive for him and fun for me.”
“Strange.” She thought for a moment that Nin was more than just from a faraway country but some alien deposited on the planet from a passing flying saucer.
“Not strange. Normal for humans. Don’t misdirect your life with a paradigm that works for someone else. Find one that works for you. Don’t base your expectations on false assumptions or unreality. I know that reality is not always pleasant, and I enjoy escape and living in some other ideal world as much as anyone on this planet. But I find for me that life is easier if I accept what actually is, not grasp for what is supposed to be. Can I buy the next round?”
“You bought the first two rounds. This one is mine. How do you know the difference?”
“The difference?”
“Between what is and what is supposed to be.”
“The ‘supposed to be’ is an expectation based on an ideal. It may have dissonance with the world as it is. One must choose to ignore or simply fail to see the disagreements. Love is blind, they say. I say wanting makes you blind, and it doesn’t matter if its desire for some object or objective. Money, power, politics, fame, a long-term marriage,”—she smiled and rubbed the back of Porliche’s hand—“desire for them can make you ignore the negatives that accompany them. If and when facts finally get in the way, then there is a shift from your ideal to cold reality. For you, marriage should last a lifetime. That’s your paradigm. The truth is that most relationships change and people grow apart. It would be nice if we made the right decision when we were young, but who wears the same style when they’re fifty that they bought when they were twenty-five?”
“In this construct of yours, what about children?”
“Huge quantum effects on both mom and dad. If you continue in this life-wave way of looking at it, a child has a lot of mass and energy and dramatically distorts the path of the waves of those close to it. In the perfect world, the kid would help keep the curves together, a kind of triple helix or a braid. Research shows that children do best with two parents, a mom and a dad together. Prior to procreating, people should be comfortable with at least a twenty-year future together.”
“Do you have children, Nin?”
“No. It’s easier to theorize if you have no experience.” She smiled broadly for a moment before laughing loud blats that she could not contain. She shook her golden mane and looked around the sparsely occupied and dimly lit bar. “I’m probably just a flake, a sex addict who can’t commit to just one guy.” She stirred around in her fresh drink as her eyes wandered. “Having a kid was not even a consideration with man one or three. I hoped Bosan would have been a great father. I found he was a terrible father for his kids from his first wife. The more I looked at that, the less I wanted to have his baby. He did not want another, probably because he could see that he stunk at parenthood. So I have left procreation to others. Do you want a baby?”
“Yes, after I finish this degree and get a job.”
“Tell me about Tot.”
“Bhat. It’s late, and I need to call him before I go to bed. We’ll have to do this again. It’s been fun. I love your perspective.” She stood up, finished her martini, stretched, and yawned. She noticed a grizzly man looked hungrily through the gloom at her navel.
15.1
At nine o’clock, a uniformed ranger opened the glass door to the museum. Four obviously foreign travelers were the only people waiting. Porliche’s bulky sweater covered a loose, warm shirt. Her pants were burlap and ended well above her ankles. Nin and Quan wore insulated but tight, shiny, and colorful jumpsuits under long wool coats. Sparky was in a beat-up brown leather jacket and dirty black cargo pants. A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth. Porliche didn’t like standing close because he smelled like cheap liquor, even at this hour. “Where’s the supervisor?” Porliche asked with visible breath hanging in the still air.
A trim middle-aged woman in unfamiliar period clothing pointed at herself and spoke, “C’est moi, Suzette.” She wore a white dress, calf length with puffy sleeves covered with a blue pinafore. Her shoes looked like polished animal skin. Her name tag was pinned above her left breast.
Porliche squinted and furrowed her brow for a moment until she understood. Then she smiled. “That’s cute. French is spoken here. I am Porliche Pang. I made arrangements with the Ministry of Artifacts to look at the equipment in the Bunker.” From her handheld, she presented a hologram of a document outlining the permissions over the signature of the undersecretary. The ranger took the device and placed it in a slot of a console at the desk.
“It appears to be authentic. I was expecting you. Follow me.” Suzette spoke Universal. “I am the chief curator of the museum and have been here for over twenty years. I know everything there is to know. If you have questions, please ask.” She led the group with their wheeled trunks out a door marked Do Not Enter and into a long, sloping corridor without windows. Tiny LED lights were widely spaced randomly throughout the high, gray ceiling, giving a diffuse, low light to the passage below and a vague resemblance to stars above. The hallway was about fifty meters long, with one right angle corner near the end followed by a heavy steel door.
“Your interest is primarily with 23, no?” Suzette asked as she twisted a wheel and opened it into the end of a dark cement-walled long, narrow room with flickering overhead lights.
“Yes,” Quan said.
“Welcome to the Bunker. This end of the ruins is off limits to visitors. It contains the machine you wish to examine. The other side is to the public open. Since the appearance is almost identical, it seems to work out well.” She was speaking as she walked past two recesses that seemed to contain randomly stacked equipment. She stopped at the recess that contained a metallic box about a meter wide and twice that tall. There was a faded sign above, REAP 23.
As they stopped here, more lights came up. From the adjacent recess they had passed came an ancient-appearing wheeled robot, rectangular in general shape but covered with gadgets and tools. A deep, feminine voice projected from it, remarkable in clarity from what appeared to be a junk pile. “I am a guardian. What are your intentions?”
Suzette turned to the group. “We have security in this area. Madam Antoinette, here, is the guard. This robot will be observing what you do and will stop you from exceeding your permissions. Give madam your authorization.”
“An NG 7 model,” Sparky said as he took the handheld from Porliche and held it in front of the robot.
It extended an extremity, took the small device, and placed it under a lit area in the upper midsection. “Thank you. The authorization is valid, and I have confirmed your permissions. Other than Madam Suzette, each of you, please state your name then rest your chin on the lit spot and open both eyes for just a few seconds. and Then place your left hand on the flashing plate.” As it spoke, appropriate equipment appeared on its port side. There was a chin rest at an appropriate height from the floor. Sparky stepped forward and did as instructed. There was a soft flash of light for a bilateral retinal scan. Nin and Porliche followed. She struggled to get up to the level of the chin rest. The rest dropped down to meet her. Porliche opened both eyes wide, expecting the flash. “Please remove your eyewear,” it stated breathily.
“Oh. Sorry,” she mumbled as she whipped the thick frames from her face.
“No apologies are necessary. Security is very important to us.” The breathy voice had a slight nasal tone as if the soft palate would not touch the back of the throat. It was a bit melodious as well with an accent similar to the curator’s.
“Your permissions allow you to inspect and test the electronics of the box,” said Suzette. “Remember how old it is. We have replaced much of the hardware, bolts, screws, gaskets, and such. The access panels on the front are also not the original equipment. As you know, you may not alter anything. Before I leave, is there anything I can do for you?”
“We are going to try to uplink and communicate with my professor in Australia,” Quan said. “I need to get cable to the outside. Is there a way to do that?”
The supervisor walked past two cubicles, looking at the ceiling. “Here we go,” she said. “This small access panel,” she said, pointing at a square door about twenty-five centimeters square, “was put here after discovery. It goes up at angle maybe ten meters to the slope above. You should get a good look at satellites from that position. It is probably easiest if you start from the top. There is a heavy cover that looks and feels like a boulder that covers the top of the conduit. I’ll show you. Is there anything else?”
No one responded. “You have paid for three days. Young man, follow me. Grab your cable.”
She turned to Porliche and said, “Trouvez moi. Find me if you need anything.”
Porliche hardly heard the translation. Suddenly, she was in the cenote again. The black woman’s lips moved exactly like Suzette’s. Her words had been exactly the same. The apparition had spoken French. She became lightheaded for a moment, and the urge to succeed in the mission, in her project came over her, filling her with determination. Suzette seemed to notice nothing and left down through the end of the room that they had not yet seen and exited through the door with Quan following close behind. The French voice seemed to beckon from the box. “Find me,” it said. Like before, a solitary tear moved out of her eye, but she brushed it quickly away.
“I forgot to ask where the power access is,” Sparky said.
The robot responded by flashing a laser at a box flush with the wall about twenty-five centimeters above the floor and across from the adjacent bay. “Excellent,” Sparky said. He opened his trunk and removed a lighting panel about twenty centimeters wide and almost fifty centimeters tall. He placed it on a stand and plugged it in. The space filled with plentiful diffuse lighting. He flipped a couple of levers and removed the front panel of the console and peered inside. “Oh, baby!” he exclaimed. “This will be interesting. I have never seen anything like this. I think I’ll need to talk to the professor before I start. There are a bunch of colored wires in here. Bizarre!”
“That does not sound too good,” Porliche said. “Nin, I need to go thorough documents that are kept at the archival section of the museum. What do you want to do?”
“I want to get more clothes on. It is c-c-cold in here.” Porliche reacted with a soft chuckle through her nose. “It’s not funny! I think I’ll follow you to the archive so I know where you are going to be and then add another layer.” The two women left as Sparky was standing on a step stool opening the access panel in the ceiling.
Porliche thought the examination of the box was a good thing to do but held no hope that it contained any answers. Any memory device would have been removed or detached and either stored or destroyed. The only chance for a revelation she expected was a terse reference in some obscure document, maybe a log or personal journal. She found a terminal and dug into the immense storage by searching first on date created, using the summer following the discovery, and expanding from there.
Several ho
urs later, she and Nin returned through the door marked Do Not Enter, down the hall, and into the bunker. There was a glow coming from the bay of REAP 23. They heard Aulaaona’s voice. “Yes, I understand the wires are very distracting and confusing. We are probably looking for a small box or card, not part of a circuit board but something removable.”
They saw two images on a wide screen, one of Aulaaona’s face and the other of the view he must have been seeing. A pair of light stands with a hundred LEDs brightly illuminated the tunnel, making the walls a lighter shade of gray. Spider webs, bat droppings, water stains, and structural cracks all became visible—things that Porliche didn’t want to see. The robot was directly behind Quan and Sparky, who were both kneeling in front of the big machine, the entire face removed and leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the narrow room. A mass of wires was in the lower left side of the box, near the floor. About halfway up, a series of vertical plates were visible, only their edges seen. “Let’s look at this wire mess last,” he continued. “I doubt what we’re looking for is there. Look at the circuit boards.”
Quan redirected the camera to the vertical plates. “We’ll need to remove each one and inspect it,” said Sparky.
“Not permitted,” said Antoinette.
“The panels are designed to be removed for repair and replacement,” said Aulaaona through a speaker.
“It’s not destructive,” confirmed Sparky. “Let me show you.” As he spoke, he grasped one of the centerboards and began wiggling and tugging on it. A small spark shot from the robot. “Ouch! I was just demonstrating.”
“Not permitted.”
The two men stood up, stretching. “Can you remove it, Madam Antoinette?” Nin asked. The men turned their heads in surprise.
There was a pause. “Accessing,” it intoned every five seconds for half a dozen repetitions. “I am permitted to test the removal.” The robot slid forward and extended a pair of arms with grasping tools and gently manipulated one of the boards until it was free. The NG 7 then placed it in front of the camera, slowly turning it.