“Be that as it may,” Kerrigan continues, “you have to realize that the press is going to have a field day after this.”
“All that matters is Akashic. As soon as I have it –”
“We.” Kerrigan adds insistently.
“Yes,” The General replies, correcting himself after a moment of hesitation. “As soon as we have the compendium, it won’t matter what a few journalists have to say.”
“I just don’t see how you’re going to pull it off. Last time I checked France was a damn big country, and you don’t have an exact location on Dia and the rest of them.”
“We have it narrowed down to a few key locations. As soon as my Trojan horse cracks open we’ll lock down the target. Then we move in and storm the castle.”
“Doug, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the Mayor replies with a chuckle, “but I do love it when you talk military. I would make sure that whatever you’re planning to do this time, it had better work, because you’re not going to get another shot.”
“We have them now,” says The General, running his hand over the folded blueprint. “When we hit them with the full-scale assault, they’ll never see it coming. I don’t care how many lives need to end – I’m getting Dia out of there one way or another.”
Chapter Twenty-Five – Aphotic
Paris | August 30, 2011 | 1:12 pm, Central European Time
With nothing left to do but await further instruction, Brodie and Jens lounge on the couch and clack away at their video game controllers, immersed in an unusually large pile of cans, wrappers and discarded food containers – even by their standards. The floor is littered with comic books and DVD cases, as well as discarded Muse pills, pretzels, and assorted action figures.
Franco paces back and forth in the hallway as Doritos crunch under his feet, sticking to his socks.
“You’re making me nervous,” says Brodie without averting his eyes from the screen. “Take a seat and relax, bro. At least have a couple drinks to take the edge off.”
“Or better yet, pick up a controller,” Jens adds. “What do Italian guys like to play, anyway? We have a soccer game, Super Mario Brothers...”
Franco runs his shaky hands through his hair and blinks his eyes several times, unable to focus. “I can’t sit now. I can’t just play games knowing that they could be out there, waiting to attack us. We don’t even have any weapons. We are like ducks, sitting here.”
Brodie chuckles dismissively. “Didn’t you hear Dia? All we need to do is call and we’re out of here in like, thirty seconds. Chill out. Not to mention I have this whole building wired.”
Franco stops in mid-stride and turns towards Brodie. “Wired...to explode?”
“No, check this shit out.” Brodie wipes a pile of garbage from the coffee table and flips open his laptop. With a few taps of the keyboard a security program opens, displaying eight screens that rotate every few seconds. “There are thirty-two cameras in this building, from the parking garage to the roof. I hooked it up last year, and Dia just hired some extra security guards. They monitor every cam twenty-four hours a day. If anyone looks like they’re doing some shady shit they buzz me.”
“Okay,” says Franco, “that sounds pretty secure.”
“Totally. And not to mention the door I installed here: reinforced bullet proof plates and a deadbolt strong enough to withstand a shotgun blast. If someone wants to get in here it’ll take a grenade.” Brodie points towards the huge bay window that overlooks the city. “That’s my next project – bulletproofing the windows. This place is going to be so freakin’ secure, by the time I’m done with it you’ll need to be strip-searched the next time you come over.”
“Sweet,” says Jens with a smile. “Do you think that Paige can be the one who does the searches?”
“Alright...I feel a bit better.” Franco finds a place to sit on the couch and leans back, attempting to alleviate his anxiety with some breathing exercises.
“See?” says Jens with a wink, “Nothing to worry about, dude. So if you’re not into video games, maybe we can watch a movie?” He gets down on his knees and starts sorting through the sea of DVDs that are scattered beneath the coffee table. “Let me see if I can find The Godfather for you.”
Brodie groans. “Come on, bro – Italian people don’t just watch the Godfather movies. Keep digging down there, I think I have the third season of The Sopranos somewhere.”
“I appreciate it, but I think I might just get a drink.” Franco makes his way to the kitchen and pulls the last beer from the fridge. As he searches the counter for a bottle opener the phone rings in his pocket. He assumes that it’s probably Dia or Paige contacting him from Barcelona, and his immediate instinct is to panic – they wouldn’t be phoning unless it was an emergency...would they? He quickly brings the device to his ear and hears a familiar voice; a deep, reassuring sound that instantly brings him comfort, and puts his racing mind at ease.
“Franco,” the man says calmly. “This is base camp. The willow tree has been torn out by its roots. Contact me when the storm has subsided.” He places the phone back in his pocket. His body stiffens. His pupils dilate.
A few moments later Brodie jogs into the kitchen and passes Franco, tearing open the fridge door. He digs through the contents in search of alcohol, brushing aside bottles as they clink together. “Son of a bitch,” he mumbles. “There isn’t a beer left in this place. Hey Franco, did you jack the last one?”
A jar of pickles smashes into the tile, sending shards of broken glass spiralling in every direction. Brodie is separated from his senses before his body collapses to the floor.
When he regains consciousness thirty minutes later, he’ll have no recollection of the cast iron frying pan that collided with the side of his skull.
Chapter Twenty-Six – Collision
The Basement
The observation level of The Basement is buried even deeper into the earth, several stories beneath the lobby. They’re not sure how much farther they’re descending, but the elevator continues to lower for nearly a minute before it comes to a jarring halt.
The doors slide open and they step into near-darkness. The air is more damp and cold in the vast concrete room, where a towering screen dominates the entire wall; it’s not unlike a movie theater, except with a row of computer terminals instead of seats. There are no overhead lights, but the area is illuminated by the monitors giving off a soft white glow.
Goto approaches one of the workstations and urges everyone to gather around.
He takes a seat and taps a few keys, activating the movie screen. The display is from a high-power telescope pointing into space; the moon is visible in the foreground, but as the lens continues to zoom in, something peculiar can be seen in the distance.
A tear.
A faint, glowing green tear, as if someone had used a broadsword to slice open space itself, and the universe was bleeding a swirling gaseous energy into the surrounding void.
“What the hell is that?” Cole presses his finger against the computer monitor, smudging it with his fingerprint.
“That is precisely what it looks like.” Goto retrieves a small cloth from his pocket and uses it to wipe away at the screen before continuing. “It’s a rip in the fabric of the universe. It appears somewhat small and insignificant from here, doesn’t it? We’re continually measuring it, and as of this morning the tear is nearly the size of California.”
Paige folds her arms, not sure what to make of this impromptu cosmology lesson. “Okay, I’m not a scientist here, but so what? Dia rips holes in space all the time, and they just close back up. Maybe this is nothing.”
“Oh, it’s not nothing, Miss Davenport. I assure you it’s very much something. And what you’re looking at – this rift – is leaking. It’s causing people here on Earth to manifest, and it’s continuing to spread. This is the catalyst; your ‘Muse’ drug and other accelerants allow you to manifest at will, but without the rift you wouldn’t be able to transform at all. Thi
s is what is allowing you to bend the laws of the universe that should otherwise be really quite rigid.”
“What caused this?” asks Dia.
“A Large Hadron Collider. The first one that was constructed in the United States, funded at your father’s request.”
Goto continues to explain the origins of the Large Hadron Collider – or LHC for short – which was conceptualized and designed for research purposes by the top scientists around the world. The multi-billion dollar Collider is buried hundreds of feet underground, which includes a massive oval-shaped tunnel with a circumference of seventeen miles. Particles are fired around the tunnel at nearly the speed of light, creating a tiny artificial ‘big bang’; when they collide it allows the observers to study what happened in the milliseconds following creation.
The primary goal of its construction was to discover a particle called the Higgs Boson, sometimes referred to as the ‘God particle’. This theoretical particle gives all matter its mass, and is one of the fundamental building blocks of the universe. Another possible discovery would be a fourth dimension: the ability to travel through time and space in a way never before thought possible.
“I’ve heard of this before,” says Paige. “But the Large Hadron Collider isn’t in America, it’s in Switzerland.”
“The original Collider,” Goto replies, “was in Texas, constructed in 1993 if memory serves. Rumor has it that funding was an issue, but The General saw to it that the project continued unabated once he realized its full potential. The second Collider sits several hundred feet above our heads, near Geneva.”
Richard rubs his arms for warmth, staring wide-eyed at the flat, featureless ceiling. “So you’re telling me we’re beneath the world’s biggest particle collider? Is that even safe?”
“It was the only place that was adequate for our power needs,” Goto replies dismissively. “The fear while constructing the original Collider was that it could cause a black hole, or a host of other undesirable side-effects – either here on earth or somewhere in space. But The General was determined to create his portal and find a way to get into the future, regardless of the consequences.”
“Looking for Akashic,” adds Dia.
“Precisely. After a few months the Collider was complete. But on first attempt an electrical fault caused a helium gas explosion, and the machine was destroyed. The nearby military base was vaporized, as were its occupants. Nothing remained but a sinkhole half a mile deep. And while it was believed at the time that no additional damage had resulted from the explosion, the scientists were unaware that the rift had torn open, six hundred thousand miles into space.”
“So what?” Cole responds dryly. “If it’s giving us powers and lets us manifest, then why would we want to close it?”
Goto deposits the remains of his cigarette into a nearby ashtray, shaking his head as his mouth curls into a sardonic smirk. “You’re not grasping the full scope of this issue, Mister Cole. Thirteen billion years ago when the universe was created, laws were put in place – laws that govern everything around us. While some of them have been flexible, there are others that simply can’t be broken. Time needs to be linear, which means time travel is not possible...or at least shouldn’t be. Doing so created the tear, and we don’t know how much more the fabric can withstand.”
“Uh-huh,” Paige scoffs, her patience growing thin. “So you know who created the universe?”
“Of course not, dear girl. Do be sensible. But whatever forces brought it about, there is only one true concern: balance. The Universe doesn’t care if a British pop star wins a Grammy or if the Denver Broncos score a touchdown; the actions we take on this tiny chunk of insignificant rock are largely irrelevant. But it does care if its laws are being broken, and when they are, things begin to unravel.”
Sensing the confusion surrounding his explanation, Goto motions to the terminal sitting in front of him. “Try to think of the universe as a big computer, with the laws of physics running as software programs. Things function smoothly, until something becomes corrupted with an error. And then what happens?”
“It shuts down,” says Paige.
“Exactly,” Goto replies. “The General created the virus without knowing it, introducing an error into the system, and it’s beginning to spread. If the situation worsens, the universe will hit the reset button and wipe the hard drive. So to speak.”
“The Big Crunch,” Allison exclaims, almost overly excited about her revelation.
Richard tilts his head, looking even more perplexed than before. “The big what?”
“I saw a special about it on television once; it’s like the Big Bang, but in reverse, right?”
Goto nods. “That’s a very strong possibility, Miss Smith. The entire universe; planets, stars, nebulas – everything we know could be pulled into a black hole. The timeframe for this was once thought to be billions of years. But at the rate the rift is expanding, it could be centuries away – maybe decades.”
Richard turns a sickening shade of green for the second time today, clapping his hands over his mouth. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Oh my god, Richard,” says Allison, rolling her eyes. “Grow a pair. First the sight of my trainer getting a tennis ball drilled through his chest makes you throw up like a little girl, and now you’re going to barf because of a little tear in space?”
Dia shuffles from one foot to the other, growing impatient as well. “So our father started this tear, and it’s getting worse – what can we actually do about it?”
“Very little,” says Goto with a small shrug. “The tear cannot be closed with any technology that exists today. My goal is simply to prevent it from widening, or another one from being ripped open, which means no additional attempts can be made. Thankfully the Collider that’s above us has been partially disabled, and won’t produce any significant results. After a few modifications from our technicians it is now the world’s most expensive laser-light show. But one problem remains.”
Dia freezes, her lips barely moving as she whispers the word. “Me.”
Goto’s dark eyes shift to meet hers. “The General could, theoretically, use you to tear open a portal and retrieve Akashic – so being alive makes you a liability.”
“So why haven’t you killed me yet?” She asks the question with a chilling calmness.
“It wasn’t for a lack of trying on my part, I assure you.” Goto responds as he rises from his chair. “Our team was originally sent here to stop any attempts at time travel. But Govinda, the fool that he was, decided that he would use our resources to strike a bargain with the New World Council; instead of stopping The General, he accepted a small fortune to work for him. He cheerfully looked the other way when it came to the Large Hadron Collider, and of course you.”
“That’s what I don’t understand,” says Cole. “If you were sent here that means you had orders – which means Govinda wasn’t the one in charge, at least not originally. So where did you come from?”
Goto turns to Paige and Dia, responding as if they should already know the answer. “The same place that the two of you came from. The year 3016.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven – Uragirimono
Paris | August 30, 2011 | 1:46 pm, Central European Time
Brodie awakens, lying face-down in a pile of debris on the living room floor. He blinks several times, the blood in his eyes blurring his vision. His short blond hair is stained crimson red, masking his face and dripping into a sticky puddle beneath his cheek.
He doesn’t know how much time has elapsed, or how he arrived in this room, but he vaguely recalls going to the kitchen for a beer and seeing Franco out of the corner of his eye...and then darkness.
He reaches up to touch the throbbing wound on the side of his head, but his arms are immobilized. His hands are shackled behind his back; the sharp metal is slicing uncomfortably into his wrists as he squirms to free himself. Shit, Franco must have found Paige’s handcuffs. Which means he’s searching the entire apartment..
.but for what?
Looking for anything he can use to free his hands, Brodie arches his head upwards and looks from side to side. That’s when he notices Jens lying beside the coffee table, bleeding profusely from several gaping wounds in his abdomen.
The wounds – which appear to have been inflicted by a knife – are spouting like tiny water fountains. What’s left of Jens’ t-shirt is nothing more than a blood-stained rag, torn from the struggle and sliced open from multiple stab attempts. His chest is slowly rising and falling as he draws long labored breaths. His eyes remain open, glassy and distant, fixed on some arbitrary spot on the ceiling.
Based on his ash-white complexion Jens has been bleeding for a while, and probably doesn’t have much time left. Brodie wriggles himself closer when he hears his attacker approaching. He closes his eyes once again and feigns unconsciousness, dropping his head to the floor.
Franco storms down the hallway, steak knife in-hand. His arms and chest are spattered with blood, leaving a trail down the hardwood as it drips from the tip of his blade. Once he reaches the guest bedroom the sound of drawers opening and slamming shut can be heard echoing through the apartment.
Brodie’s mind races; he assumes that Franco’s plan was to kill Jens and leave himself alive for questioning. For what, he’s not sure, and at the moment it doesn’t really matter. Fortunately Jens is still alive – just barely – but won’t last much longer unless he can formulate a plan.
Scanning the floor he notices a bright blue capsule sitting under the coffee table, lying on a stack of comic books. Muse. Thank god we don’t have a cleaning service here. He inches his way towards the pill and sticks the capsule to the tip of his tongue, forcing it down his dry throat with a painful swallow.
Seconds pass.
As his heartbeat races the seconds feel like minutes.
With intense concentration Brodie finally begins to manifest; thick black smoke billows from beneath his eyelids while his pupils turn to fire, glowing and crackling as his energy increases.
Relapse (The Vs. Reality Series Book 2) Page 13