Days of Atonement

by Walter Jon Williams

  Atocha wasn’t as much as part of the Third World as Jerry liked to think.

  “You’re a U.S. citizen now?”

  “For seven years, yes.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-nine, sir.”

  Loren sipped more of the horrible coffee. It tasted almost as bad as Coover’s at the Sunshine.

  “And you are employed where?”

  “I’m on the faculty at Caltech, but I’m sort of on loan to New Mexico Tech in Socorro.”

  Loren blinked. “Why is that?”

  “New Mexico Tech has this lightning lab up on a mountain— Langmuir?” Singh smiled hopefully, waited for a reaction from Loren, and didn’t get it. He shrugged. “Anyway, there’s a lot of hot science going on right now relating to the kind of plasmas that can be formed by lightning, so I thought I’d get in on that.”

  Loren decided to stick to the facts. “Could you tell us what you remember of your movements?”

  Singh cleared his throat. “I drove here from Socorro on Thursday night. I arrived around ten and called Dr. Dielh from the motel to let him know I was here. Dr. Jernigan picked me up the next morning and took me to the lab.”

  “In his BMW?”

  “Yes. License plate DELTA E.”

  “You remember that?”

  A modest smile. “It’s my job to keep track of Delta E.”

  Whatever that meant. “Okay,” Loren said. “Do you remember the time?”

  “Ten o’clock, I think.”

  “And then?”

  “We went to the labs. The experiment was supposed to start at ten-thirty, but there were computer delays, and the run started after noon.”

  “And the nature of the experiment?”

  Singh paused for a moment. “How much about high-energy particle interactions do you know, sir?”

  “Assume,” smiling, “that I’m totally ignorant.”

  “Very well, sir.” Singh pushed back his long hair with his hand, the one with the bracelet. “The new room-temperature superconductors have allowed us to see particle interactions at a higher energy level than before. But there has been a problem. During some interactions, at apparently random moments, the level of energy just seems to drop away, then resume. It’s really remarkable. If you put it on a graph, the energy dives clean off the scale in just a tiny fraction of a second.” One hand sketched a drooping line in the air. “Everything gets cooled down, and all the experimenters get really pis—get upset.”

  Loren took another sip. At least the awfulness of the coffee would keep him from falling asleep.

  “There have been several theories concerning what may be occurring,” Singh said. He seemed to have gone into a reflexive teaching mode: his tone was different, as if he were lecturing to students. “The most obvious thought was that the instrumentation was simply wrong— we are dealing, after all, with very tiny particles that exist for only a very tiny amount of time. The energy drops might conceivably lie within the span of experimental error. And Tim Jernigan suggested it might be a result of some unknown form of flux creep. But all of that was ruled out.” Singh halted his lecture for a moment, then offered a self-conscious smile. He’d realized he was lecturing. “Have patience, guys. This won’t take long.” The voice, and vocabulary, had returned to southern California.

  “That’s okay,” Loren said. “Take all the time you need.” Even if he didn’t quite understand any of this, there might be something here he could trip Jernigan with.

  “I had a theory as to what was happening. The run here was to test that theory.”

  “That’s all?”

  “It occurred to me that the energy might be filling up interstices in the Penrose tiling of the ceramic superconductors.”

  Loren didn’t have any idea what had just been said. There was a long moment while he tried to work out what to ask next.

  “So does it?” he said finally.

  “Guess not, man,” Singh said. “The idea behind our experiment was to run the accelerator for enough hours, and at a high enough energy rate, so that the interstices would be filled and the power dropouts would not continue. Either my theory wasn’t correct or the interstices can pack an awful lot of particles.”

  “So you were invited to watch the experiment because it was your theory that they were testing?”

  “Yes. That and the fact that I played a part on the design team that built the superconductors used here on the accelerator facility.”

  “It’s your design?” Surprised.

  “Mine and a few hundred other people, yeah.”

  Loren noticed that the formal vocabulary had eased, and that the “sirs” had vanished completely. Singh had forgotten he was talking to the authorities, and that was good— he’d feel a lot more inclined to talk freely.

  “In that case,” Loren said, “why aren’t you working for ATL?”

  “Ah.” Singh smiled again. “Too much of the work here is classified. I can’t get a security clearance.”

  “Why not? You’re a citizen now.”

  “I’m a Sikh!” Singh’s voice was almost jolly. “My grandparents were killed solely because they were Sikhs. As a consequence of this I have never ceased to work for the establishment of a Sikh homeland in the Punjab. My political activities put me at odds with the policies of the U.S. government, and the FBI’s been all over my ass for years, and I couldn’t get a clearance.”

  Huh, Loren thought. Maybe he is a terrorist.

  Cipriano, working through the information, reached a conclusion before Loren.

  “You mean the experiment wasn’t classified?” he asked.

  Singh shook his head. “No. There are loads of experiments done at ATL that have no national security application.”

  Cipriano and Loren looked at each other, then at Singh. “Do you have any idea,” Loren said, “why ATL is trying to invoke national security in this?”

  Singh shrugged. “Sorry,” he said. “I’ve no idea. Maybe it’s a bureaucratic matter. Maybe the head of security wants this to become his investigation.”

  Right on the money, Loren thought. Singh didn’t know William Patience but he sure knew the type. Maybe there were bureaucratic claim-jumpers in the sciences as well.

  Loren tried to think of any further questions in this line, but couldn’t come across any. “You were at ATL how long?”

  “We were in the control room or at the buffet till early the next morning. Three or four o’clock, I think.”

  “ ‘We.’ That’s you, Jernigan, and Dielh?”

  “And about fifty other guys, yeah. When a major experiment like that goes down, there are a lot of people who want to be a part of it— hook up their photon detectors and go crazy with the data. The list of authors on some of the papers is longer than the contents.”

  “What then?”

  “Dr. Jernigan took me home.”

  “You planned to see him the next day? That would be yesterday?”

  “Yes. We were going to repeat the experiment, but Dielh called it off. He said it would be more useful to reduce the data from the first experiment before beginning another.” Singh fell silent for a moment. “What an asshole!” he added cheerfully.

  Loren looked at Cipriano. Jernigan hadn’t mentioned this. “When did this happen?” he asked.

  “Yesterday morning. Perhaps ten o’clock. He said we would get together in the afternoon to go over the printouts from the first run.”

  Singh looked a bit deflated. Loren looked at him. “How’d you feel about that?”

  “I wanted to do the experiment at least twice. It decreases the chance of experimental error and makes the conclusions more certain.”

  “Did you argue against the decision?”

  “Yes. Dr. Dielh said we would schedule the second experiment for later, but I didn’t relish another drive all the way from Socorro in order to do something I could have done this weekend.”

  “And then what happened?”

  Singh looked annoyed.
“I got another call a couple hours later that it would take some time to assemble the data, and I wouldn’t be able to see any of it till evening.”

  “And you thought?”

  “I started getting tired of these people pissing around. And then when I was walking home from dinner I saw Dr. Jernigan’s car crashed in front of the courthouse, and I figured there’d be more delay.”

  Loren was surprised. “I don’t remember seeing you in the crowd.”

  Smiling. “I was in my turban.”

  “I did see someone in a turban, but he wasn’t you. Are there Indian tourists in town? Did you see the other guy?”

  Singh laughed. “I’m afraid that was me, sir. Normally I braid my hair and beard and put it up in the turban.”

  “Oh.”

  “I washed my hair this morning.” He fluffed out his beard with both hands. “It was getting a little gamy.”

  Cipriano cleared his throat loudly. Loren looked at him, then back at Singh.

  “I suppose we should get this back on track,” he said. “When did you see Dr. Jernigan?”

  “Eight or nine o’clock. He brought the data.”

  “And Dr. Dielh?”

  “I never saw him after we concluded the experiment.”

  “Really?” Loren looked at him in surprise. “Did he ever say why?”

  “He called yesterday afternoon, just before I went to dinner, to say that he’d been called to Washington on some kind of classified job. He took the ATL plane to Albuquerque.”

  There was a long moment of silence. “Funny,” Loren said.

  Singh smiled ruefully. “A little odd, yeah. But then Dielh’s a world-class jerk, anyway.”

  Loren was amused. He’d never thought scientists spoke of each other in this way.

  “What did Dr. Jernigan tell you?”

  “He said that his car had been stolen, that the man who stole it was shot— not by him— and that he hoped I’d confirm his story.”

  “He didn’t tell you what story he wanted you to confirm?”

  A tight smile. “No. I’ve told you exactly what happened.”

  “What’s your impression of Dr. Jernigan?”

  Singh grinned. “He’s a brilliant man in his field. One of the best. But he lives in the microatomic world all the time— I envy his brilliance, but not his life outside the lab.”

  “Ever known him to be violent?”

  Singh laughed out loud. “I doubt he would know how!”

  “Do you know if he drinks? Does drugs?”

  “I’ve never seen him take anything stronger than soda pop. He’s a Dr. Pepper man.”

  “Do you know his wife? Family?”

  “Slightly.”

  “Do you think his wife would have an affair?”

  Singh’s eyes widened. “Wow. I wouldn’t know. I never heard anything.”

  “Do drugs? Drink to excess? Become violent?”

  Singh shook his head. “Based only on a very brief acquaintance, my impression of Sondra Jernigan is that she’s someone who wanted nothing more than to be a housewife and raise children. Dr. Jernigan was the safest man she could find to marry. He’ll never run around on her, and he’ll bring in a big paycheck every two weeks.”

  “How about Dr. Dielh?”

  Singh cleared his throat. “I know Joe somewhat better. I think he’s probably a better politician than a scientist.”

  Loren thought about that one. “Political how?” he said.

  “Not national politics. Office and science politics. He’s very good at explaining science to bureaucrats and writing grant proposals, that sort of thing. And if you can be useful to him, he courts you. Pays you lots of compliments, lots of attention, goes out of his way to be nice to you.” He shrugged. “That’s why Tim’s here. Dielh went out of his way to get him. And that’s why I’m here, I guess. Joe thinks it’s useful to have me coauthoring his papers.”

  “Have you ever known him to be violent?”

  “Not really, no.”

  “What d’you mean not really?”

  “He’s never hit anyone that I know of. But he can be abrasive. Opinionated. Especially when one of his projects is threatened.”

  “Does he do drugs? Drink to excess?”

  “He drinks the odd social martini. I’ve never seen him drunk.”

  “Does he have a family?”

  “He’s divorced. No children. I think the wife lives in San Diego.”

  “Does he have a girlfriend?”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me. But I don’t know.”

  “Did you meet William Patience last night?”

  “I don’t . . . think so. What was the name again?”

  “He’s the head of ATL Security. He was driving Dr. Jernigan last night.”

  “Oh.” Singh shook his head. “No, he didn’t come in. Dr. Jernigan said when he left that he was going to take the maglev train back home.”

  “What time was that?”

  “About three this morning. We went over the results as thoroughly as we could.”

  “Did he leave the data here?”

  “It’s on the table next to you.” Loren looked in surprise at a stack of wide computer printout. Cipriano hurriedly removed his coffee cup from the pile. Loren flipped through it, saw nothing but meaningless figures and graphs.

  “What does it all mean?”

  Singh gave a shake of his head. “It means I’d like to do another run before I publish.”

  Loren looked at Cipriano and saw Cipriano looking back with the same questioning expression. Nothing left. Loren turned back to Singh.

  “Last question. There’s been a lot of changing of plans going on with your colleagues. Not to mention a body turning up in Dr. Jernigan’s car. Do you have any idea what happened?”

  Singh shrugged. “The confusion must have been caused by something coming up on one of ATL’s other projects,” he suggested. “The accelerator run couldn’t have been the cause of any of this— it’s a big experiment, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary. And as for the body, I have no idea.”

  Loren reached out for the disk recorder. “This is Loren Hawn, ending the recording at”— looking at the watch— “eleven-seventeen A.M.” He turned off the recorder and turned to Singh. “Thank you,” he said. “And thanks for the coffee.”

  “You’re welcome.” Singh started to rise from his seat, then dropped back. “I have a question, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure.”

  “Somebody at the labs told me that there was a UFO landing field outside town. How do I get to it?”

  Loren told him.

  “And a flying saucer supposedly landed there?”

  Loren and Cipriano grinned at each other. “Depends on who you talk to,” Cipriano said.

  Loren looked at Singh. “See, back in ’99 there were all these millennial movements?” Singh nodded. “One of these guys, this guy named Westinghouse, had a vision, or whatever—”

  “A saucer landed and told him,” Cipriano said.

  “Yeah. And the mother ship was supposed to land here, in New Mexico, on January 1, 2000, and pick up all the good people, and teach them how to deal with the chaos that would follow when this other group of bad aliens started bombarding Earth with evil rays.”

  “Zeta rays,” said Cipriano.

  “Westinghouse— except he changed his name to Millennium 2000— was ordered to build a field for the ship. So he rented some land from one of our local ranchers—”

  “Luis Figueracion,” said Cipriano.

  “Yeah, Luis. So Millennium’s followers built this concrete pentagram out there, so the saucer would know where to land. And they sold tickets for six thousand dollars apiece for rides on the mother ship.”

  “And suits!” Cipriano added. “Don’t forget the suits!”

  “Yeah. He also sold flying saucer suits— he called them ascension robes— for five hundred bucks each. So that the mother ship would know who to pick up first. It turned out they were white
gowns, like kids wear for graduation.”

  “This is fascinating,” said Singh.

  “He had to fence off the field to keep gate-crashers from getting a free ride on the saucer. And Cipriano and me had to help with crowd control, because there were a lot of curious and hecklers and good ole boys with a skinful showing up . . .”

  “Cops work on New Year’s Eve, anyway,” Cipriano said, “so we’re used to it.”

  Singh leaned forward. “What happened? I assume the mother ship didn’t arrive.”

  Loren grinned. “That was the great part. He got all his followers to start chanting, mantras or whatever they’re called. After he got all the chanting going for long enough, he interrupted and told everyone that the mother ship had showed up and had taken everyone away.”

  Singh seemed confused. “But how—?”

  “He said that people who are taken off for flying saucer rides usually have amnesia afterward, and that all the saucer literature proves it, and that they’d all remember their ride eventually. And he said that the mother ship would be back the next year for another ride, and they should all tell their friends.”

  “And then he got the hell out of Dodge with his money,” Cipriano said, grinning with his long yellow teeth.

  “The thing was,” Loren said, “he was back the next year, with a bunch of the same people in robes. Only a few hundred this time. The ones who said they could remember the saucer ride.”

  “But he never did get back for the third year,” Cipriano said. “I think there were a bunch of lawsuits.”

  “It’s classic,” said Singh.

  Loren looked at him. “Why are you interested?”

  Singh gave an elaborate shrug. “I come from India, which is famous for all the attention it pays to religion. But I’ve never seen so many religions as here in the States, or such a wide variety of believers. Southern California, then New Mexico— is the whole rest of the country like this?”

  Loren and Cipriano looked at each other. “We wouldn’t know,” Loren said.