by A. G. Riddle
He smiled. “Well, that leaves no doubt that you’re Lin’s daughter.” He raised his eyebrows. “Not that we could spare the DNA testing equipment at the moment.” He laughed at his own joke, almost giddy. Peyton realized that the arrival of the samples was like the ultimate Christmas present for him; she understood why he couldn’t wait to sequence them.
She spoke quickly, knowing she had little time. “What is this place?”
“The Desertron.”
“What?”
He shrugged. “Some people know the name. It was the unofficial designation. The formal name is the SSC, or Superconducting Super Collider.”
Collider. That caught Peyton off guard. “Colliding…”
“Particles.”
“Like CERN.”
Ferguson soured at the mention, as if he had tasted a bad bit in his food. “Yes, like CERN—only this accelerator’s ring is over three times larger than the LHC and uses three times as much power.”
Peyton remembered hearing something about it now—when she was in middle school. “You’re government?”
“No. The Desertron got canceled in 1993 due to budget cuts. Your mother convinced a consortium of investors—like-minded people—to purchase the facility and complete the work. It took almost twenty years. But it’s operational.”
“I don’t follow. My mother’s work is in genetics.”
“True. But she believes the Invisible Sun operates at a quantum level, that it is a fundamental force in the universe, akin to gravity.”
“A force that does what?”
“Directs the flow of particles. Specifically, particles that influence the conversion of matter to energy. That’s the purpose of the universe, after all.”
Peyton couldn’t hide her shock.
Ferguson cocked his head. “Your mother didn’t tell you any of this?”
“No,” Peyton whispered.
“It’s the Citium’s fundamental theory. That the universe is a quantum machine that oscillates between matter and energy. The Big Bang wasn’t a singular event—it was one in a cycle of many big bangs. At the end of this universe there will be only energy, then another big bang will occur, and so on. This has been going on for an infinite amount of time. And will continue for just as long.”
Peyton felt lightheaded. She braced a hand against the wall. For some reason, she thought of Alice, growing tall and feeling trapped. The corridor seemed so small all of a sudden. She wanted to get outside.
Ferguson studied her. “Are you—did I upset you?”
Peyton shook her head, glancing down. “I… just give me a minute.”
“Sorry. I haven’t told anyone in a long time. We take this information for granted.”
Peyton tried to focus. “So, the code, in the DNA samples. I don’t understand how it’s involved.”
“Well, it’s quite simple. We believe that in the past, this fundamental quantum force—the force of the Invisible Sun—exerted very little influence on our DNA. But as we evolved, developing more complex brains and increasing our calorie intake to power them, the quantum changes accelerated, like a feedback mechanism, changing our DNA at an increasing rate. There’s only one known force that could affect changes at a subatomic level over great distance: quantum entanglement. The phenomenon Einstein called ‘spooky action at a distance’.”
Ferguson saw the confusion on Peyton’s face. “Let’s see, how to explain. We believe the Invisible Sun is a quantum force that has existed since the Big Bang. It exerts a subatomic pull on all matter—but some matter connects with it more strongly. In particular, brain matter is strongly tethered to it, and as our minds became more powerful, this quantum force reacted more strongly in turn. The result was a feedback mechanism that changed our genome. We believe that over time, this quantum force left a pattern, a sort of callback number for us. Now that we have the archaic samples, we can establish a baseline over time and see that pattern. The code, your mother calls it.”
“And what will you do with it?”
“Feed it into the accelerator, of course.”
“To do what?”
“The Invisible Sun has been interacting with us for a very long time. For the first time, we’re going to start generating similar subatomic particles. The running joke around here is that we’re going to make the first quantum phone call. To us, the code in the human genome is like God’s phone number.”
Chapter 55
Awareness came gradually, like a sunrise, a ray at first: the realization that he was in the hangar at San Carlos Airport—and that this wasn’t a memory. Desmond was awake and in the present.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw corkboards littered with photos and pages. Strings connected the pins where FBI and Rubicon agents had tried to tie the pieces together, to unravel the Citium conspiracy. They had failed. And so had he. His last memory lingered in his mind: of him staring at his future self in the mirror, saying, “You have to figure out what to do.”
Conner leaned closer. “You all right?”
Desmond nodded. His voice came out weak and hoarse. “Thirsty.”
Conner spun and yelled at one of the two Citium special ops soldiers. “Get us some water!”
Desmond realized then how hungry he was. And sluggish. How long had he been sedated? Days? A week? With a shaking hand he reached up and touched his face, trying to measure the stubble. Three days’ growth, give or take a day.
Conner handed him a canteen, and Desmond grabbed it, held it to his mouth, and let the water pour in and down his chin, onto his shirt.
Conner gripped Desmond’s hand and steadied the canteen. “Easy, Des.”
When the water ceased, Desmond panted. “Food.”
Conner didn’t turn or even say the words this time. The sound of plastic wrappers ripping echoed in the space, and a second later, one of the mercenaries was there, holding out a cold MRE, a spork dug into the home-style vegetables in sauce with noodles and chicken.
He sat up and braced himself, his legs dangling over the edge of the table. He took the tray and shoveled the tasteless meal into his mouth, pausing only to swallow, breathe, and take another bite.
When he was done, he stared up at the hangar ceiling, waiting for the sustenance to take hold. His hands were still shaking, his breathing heavy.
“Another one!” Conner yelled.
When Desmond finished, his eyes met Conner’s.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Still hungry?”
Desmond shook his head, which was pounding. “Just got a headache.”
“Doctor—give us something.”
A slender Asian man with round glasses and sweaty, disheveled hair approached, took a bottle from his backpack, and shook out two red pills, which Desmond swallowed down with a gulp from the canteen.
The two Citium operatives seemed to be the only other people in the hangar. Perhaps Conner had more troops stationed outside. It was unlikely that he would be here with such a small contingent.
“What do you remember?” Conner asked.
“A lot.”
“Rendition?”
“I remember creating it.” Saying the words brought memories to mind, mostly of long days and nights he’d spent on the project. He saw himself in his office, writing code, in a team room, drawing lines on a whiteboard, the developers gathered around him, the hardware and software teams arguing, working through issues. He saw the meetings with the integration teams from Rapture Therapeutics and Rook Quantum Sciences, his private meetings with Conner and Yuri, the things they didn’t tell anyone else.
“Where is it?” Conner asked.
Desmond stared at his brother. “Let’s talk. Just you and me.”
Conner smiled. “Good. Okay.” He motioned toward an office in the hangar.
Desmond slid to the edge of the table, lowered his feet to the ground, and stood, legs shaking. He had to hold the table for balance.
Conner grabbed his upper arm. “You need help?”
; “No. Just—I just need a minute.” He glanced at the corkboards. “Did you read them?”
Conner paused. “I did. They knew so much about us. The Citium subsidiaries, even me, you, and Yuri. Why didn’t they act?”
Desmond swallowed. “I stopped them.”
“What?”
“I told them I was going to do it. To wait.”
Conner nodded. “Then in a way, you helped us.”
Desmond couldn’t think of a response. His head was still clouded from the sedatives. He took a tentative step, then another, Conner still holding him.
He stopped at a corkboard with pictures of a crime scene. The exterior of a large house in the country, framed by towering trees. A crushed gravel drive led to a fountain in front of the double doors. The pictures of the inside of the house were not so elegant. Dead bodies, lying on the floor—but with no signs of trauma, gunshots, or knife wounds.
“Did you see this?” Desmond asked.
“Yes. The last conclave.”
“The purge.”
“It’s very sad,” Conner said.
“Very.” Desmond let his eyes wander down to a picture of a wine glass and the toxicology report next to it. “Yuri poisoned them. Makes sense. They were his friends and his competitors. He wanted a painless death for them, something at arm’s length.”
“There’s no proof—”
“He survived, Conner.”
“So did Lin.”
“And her husband. William told me the truth about the purge. Yuri killed all these people so he could take control of the Citium.”
“If he did, there’s more to the story. They must have been a threat. He’d only kill if he had to.”
“Like unleashing a pathogen on the world and killing millions.”
Conner’s eyes flashed. “That wasn’t our fault. We offered the world the cure the day after the infection rate hit the tipping point. All we wanted was to distribute the cure, and Rapture with it.”
“That’s not all. You wanted control of world governments.”
“What difference does it make? The Looking Glass will give us that anyway.” Conner glanced back at the other three men. “Come on, Des.” He apparently didn’t want them to hear the conversation.
He led his brother to the office. Each step was easier for Desmond, his gait less labored.
Conner slammed the door behind them. “Now tell me: what do you remember?”
Desmond inhaled. “I remember going to Australia thirteen years ago and learning that you had lived. I remember the horror and joy of that moment. I remember the day I saw you leave your apartment. My heart broke that day—”
“Get on with it.”
Desmond ignored the outburst. “I watched you from afar. Your transformation, Conner. What you accomplished, your strength, breaking that drug’s hold on you. Your leadership at Rook. How hard you worked. You were an inspiration to me. I didn’t realize it then. But I saw in the memories… what you did for me was every bit as profound as what I did for you.”
Conner glanced around the office, unable to look Desmond in the eye. There were maintenance schedules on the wall, mandatory flight safety posters, a large-scale picture of a Cessna Citation sitting in a hangar, its doors open, a smiling pilot standing beside it.
“We don’t have a lot of time here,” Conner said. “We’ve had our differences, but that’s over now. I know you don’t agree with how we distributed Rapture. Fine. Let’s just put it behind us. Rapture has been distributed. Rook is ready and waiting. If you can recover Rendition, the Looking Glass will come online. That’s always been our dream—our promise to each other. Now we can make it happen.” He stepped closer. “Think about all the suffering happening around the world. We can end it. Right now. We can ensure humanity survives another thousand years—another billion years.”
“It’s not that simple anymore.”
“It is.”
“Listen, Conner. Really listen to me. I saw what happened before the pandemic. The reason I hid my memories. It’s not what you think.”
Conner stared, confused.
“I went to see Lin Shaw after we met on the Kentaro Maru.”
“And?”
“And she told me that the Looking Glass couldn’t be stopped. That it was inevitable. That it had happened before on other worlds and would happen again—”
“We know that—”
“She also said that we—you, Yuri, and I—didn’t understand what it really was.”
“And she does?”
“She thinks so. She told me only one thing could change: who controls the Looking Glass.”
Conner made the connection immediately. “So whatever she’s doing, it would allow her to take control of the Looking Glass.”
“I think we can assume that.”
Conner paced across the office.
“She wanted me to stop Yuri,” Desmond said.
“To keep him from controlling the Looking Glass, so that she could.”
“Yes. But I think it’s more than that. She knew what Yuri was capable of. The purge. The pandemic. Conner, he’s not the person we thought he was.”
“Yes he is. He brought us together. He helped you… bring me back. He’s just like us: born in fire and raised in the ashes. He’s dedicated his life to building a better world.” Conner turned to his brother. “We’re fighting a war, Des. The first battle was more bloody than we expected, but only because our enemy chose that. If they had relented—”
“Conner—”
“No.” Conner shook his head. “Yuri placed his faith in us. He gave each of us a piece of the Looking Glass. We can’t break faith with him. Not now. I won’t. He’s done too much for us. You have to see that, Des. You have to see that I wouldn’t desert him any more than I would desert you.”
Desmond did see it then: the full genius of Yuri’s plan. He had assessed Conner McClain, like a piece on a chessboard, had seen his capabilities and his position, seen how he could be maneuvered. Conner’s mind for strategy and tactics had enabled him to build Rook and to be a formidable commander of Citium Security and paramilitary forces. But most importantly, his devotion and loyalty to Yuri and Desmond was unbreakable.
“This is just a little bump in the road,” Conner continued. “We knew there would be some. I talked with Yuri. He says he’s already forgiven and forgotten. He’s ready to finish this. So am I.”
“He’s forgiven me?”
“Can we move on, brother? Can we finish this—together? Please? You promised me, Des. You swore to me.”
Desmond saw only one way out. A single choice that might change his life forever.
“Yes,” he said. “We’ll finish it. Together.”
Chapter 56
“Where is it?” Conner asked.
Desmond stared out the window of the hangar’s office. The two Citium Security operatives were leaning against a black Suburban. The slender Asian man was wandering around, reading the pages pinned to the corkboards.
“It’s on a solid state drive,” Desmond said. “In a safe deposit box.”
“Where?”
“San Jose. At the Bank of the West. Box 2938.”
Conner eyed him, as if trying to get a read. Desmond resisted the urge to swallow.
“Look, it’s like thirty minutes from here. Let’s go. I’ll prove it to you.”
“Where’s the key?”
“No idea,” Desmond said. “But you’ve proved quite adept at breaking into things lately. And the world is kind of over, so I figure no one will care.”
Conner smiled, but Desmond sensed that his brother still didn’t trust him fully. All the same, Conner walked to the door, opened it, and yelled to his men, “Load up!” He turned back to Desmond. “If you’re lying to me…”
Desmond met his gaze and said nothing.
Conner broke eye contact and muttered, “All right, let’s go.”
“I need to use the bathroom.” Desmond shrugged. “It’s been a few days.”
<
br /> Conner touched his collarbone. “Grant, join us in the office.” When the mercenary arrived, he said, “Keep watch.”
Conner opened the bathroom door in the corner of the office, his right hand gripping the handle of his gun. He flipped the light on and walked inside. Desmond heard him take the ceramic lid off the toilet, open and close the cabinet doors under the vanity, then set the toilet lid back on. He heard boots on top of the toilet, ceiling tiles being lifted and tossed, and a light clicking on, then off.
Conner emerged. “All yours, Des.”
He and the other man stayed in the office as Desmond entered. He closed the door and locked it behind him. In truth, he desperately had to use the bathroom, but he didn’t have much time. Seconds at most.
He flushed the toilet to create some noise and began feeling along the corner of the back wall, hoping David Ward had been true to his word.
He found the indentation as the water drained from the bowl. He pushed, and the wall swung in. Whoever David Ward and the FBI had hired had done a great job. The seam between the wall and the hidden door was virtually invisible. It opened just enough for Desmond to slip through.
Before he did, he flushed once more, then turned on the faucet in the sink.
Just inside the hidden door, a small, motion-activated LED turned on, its light barely enough to illuminate the small space, which was about four feet wide and six feet deep. A round shaft led down, a metal ladder in its center. Desmond closed the door, gripped the rails, and descended with all the haste he could manage. His body was still shaky, but it was responding better with each passing second.
At the base of the ladder was a tunnel, round, with metal walls, like a giant iron sewer pipe with tiny LEDs on the ceiling.
Desmond ran for his life.
The Suburban was cranked, the men loaded inside, waiting. Conner stood in the office, listening to the running water.
“Des?” he called. How long has it been?
He began counting the seconds. At thirty, he walked to the bathroom door and listened, but heard only running water. He knocked. “Des?”