Infidel's Corner

by David Robert Morais

  A few tables and chairs were available for those sticking around. Inaya remained in bed. Joe, half asleep, sat with Mezox Some possessed an identical book and took notes.

  “What are they reading?” asked Mezox.

  Joe raised his head from the table. “The same thing you’ll be doing.”

  “Oh,” he replied. “What questions can I expect to see?”

  “I don’t know,” said Joe before consuming a gulp of juice. “Something like ‘Describe the function of Hypatia’s monetary system.’”

  “And understanding that would be helpful.”

  Mezox’s fleeting moment of interest was worth additional effort. Joe’s first priority was to seek extra time to finish breakfast and invigorate his mind. “Then get a notepad and stationary from reception. And register our bed numbers while you’re at it.”

  There, Mezox found the acquisition of equipment was more straightforward than assumed. As he turned to leave, a request for a calculator, protractor, ruler, pencils, sharpener and eraser sprung to mind. They found old or spare units to hand.

  Back in residence, Joe raised an eyebrow over Mezox’s amassing of items strewn on the table. “I’m to teach the basics, not turn you into an economist.”

  “Very funny. It’s for my father’s work,” said Mezox before opening a notebook and waiting for Joe to begin.

  “First thing. We don’t have things like investors, shareholders, consumer or business confidence, inflation and” –

  “Why not?”

  “Two reasons. One, you can trade pounds for Hypatian credits, not vice versa. This leads to point number two; who’d invest? No country recognises Hypatia nor its currency.”

  “How did Hypatia get all that steel for example?”

  “Those fleeing England tend to bring all their valuable assets. One trades them for Hypatian credits, and our government buys resources from England’s Northern cities or Scotland. We also grow an excess of food and trade it with those cities. It serves to build relations and mitigate the Church’s propaganda.”

  Mezox took a while to write everything before moving on. “How are Hypatian credits circulated?”

  “From those raw ingredients, we produce everything ourselves and, while choices are limited, we do quite well.”

  A new and exciting thought came to Mezox. “If all else fails, could I buy the materials to build my father’s creation?”

  “Not here,” tactfully said Joe. “Unless you’re an approved contractor with a plan, you can’t access the realm’s valued resources.”

  Mezox understood the significance of his project’s oversight, eating its way through his confidence.

  Joe put a halt on the day’s lecture. “I’m sure they’ll find it too irresistible,” he said before declaring his urge to spruce himself up.

  In the meantime, Mezox walked to the library, employing his relation to Sallace as a means to pass the gate, and loaned two physics books. A display case of early hominid fossils was unveiled that day. A palaeontologist began to discuss their history and significance, but Mezox couldn’t afford any emotional wrangling that day and left.

  He returned to find Joe missing. Silence offered an excellent opportunity to begin his studies.

  Two hours later and he’d fallen asleep within his pod. Someone prodded his shoulder a short while after. He initially failed to recognise the beardless and clean man.

  “What did you do to yourself?”

  “I’m glad you like it,” said Joe smoothing back his hair. “I applied for a job and had to look my best.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Collection and transportation of ash – An ingredient used in the manufacture of some unique concrete recipe.”

  Mezox sat up. “When will you learn if your application’s successful?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Joe. “Why don’t you have a trim like me?”

  “Me?” giggled Mezox. “I’ve known this face for seven years. You could say it has grown on me.”

  Joe had almost forgotten about a letter in his hand and passed it to Mezox. It detailed the importance of receiving immunisations against common pathogens. Obligatory in nature, he and Inaya could attend a drop-in clinic within the next three days.

  “How exactly do they administer the vaccine?” asked Mezox.

  Joe smiled and tapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll see.”

  Mezox’s expression turned glum.

  “Would you like me to hold your hand,” said Joe sarcastically.

  “I think I can manage.”

  Instead, Mezox found himself whimpering against Inaya’s arm as a smallpox vaccine was administered the next day.

  The nurse gave up on Inaya. Every needle appeared defective since none could penetrate her skin.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Day four

  Much of Mezox’s time involved a lot of rest and reading. His mother’s work provided some variety.

  Inaya continued to spend much of her time asleep. She rarely visited any facilities and emerged to eat, drink or check on Mezox’s progress. Joe, on the other hand, had left to attend an interview.

  Mezox would shun anyone and everyone while concentrating. His pod provided the seclusion and privacy necessary. Yet, its limited space was a frequent source of frustration.

  A morning jog helped initiate his day. A couple of phone calls to Sallace came up trumps for news on his project.

  Cleaners finalised their duties after one in the afternoon. Their exit from the amenities gave Mezox a fresh idea on splitting a potentially tedious day of stable reading; trim his facial hair.

  Inside the men’s, he found ready-to-use cutthroat razors stored in a tub. A visiting barber would sit clients in the chair, or one could self-serve.

  A stylist wasn’t around to help. Boredom got the better of him as he picked a razor and unwrapped its protective cloth. A chart between two mirrors listed the shaving procedure. One had to froth up a bar of soap for use as shaving foam. With a dash of water, he rubbed the soap vigorously for merely seconds. The lathered froth was applied to the ramus of his jaw – a preferred testing ground over one’s throat.

  Blade unfolded, nerves required steadying before it could touch his face. Even then, all he felt was the tugging and plucking of hairs. He couldn’t tell if that was an average experience one had to endure for a smooth look. Unable to identify himself as a quitter, he went for a rerun until Sallace yelled his name from outside. And with a perfect excuse to stop, he placed everything back before snatching a towel.

  In the hall, Sallace held an envelope that tickled Mezox to his core. “Is that what I think?”

  Sallace passed the envelope. “I wasn’t told anything, but came in the hope of it containing good news.”

  Mezox’s heart thumped with trepidation. He tore the letter open and stripped its innards like an experienced hunter gutting a fish. It read:

  “I read your work with delight. The level of thought and dedication is admirable. However, I do not agree that ‘spring theory’ holds any scientific validity. The hypothesis lacks the evidential power required to risk wasting vital resources on wild goose chases. I am sorry.”

  His heart sank into a cauldron of despair within his stomach. The note was handed to Sallace, who placed it on a nearby table, aware of what his nephew’s morose expression implied.

  “It works, you know. I didn’t have a chance to prove it.”

  “I’m sure there’s another way,” implied Sallace.

  Mezox stooped in overwhelming disappointment. Thoughts of his father’s notes came to mind when Sallace offered a ride there to retrieve it, which he couldn’t refuse.

  Throughout the short journey, he contemplated in silence, wondering what went wrong. Fingernails scratched the doorframe in anticipation of an impending encounter. His sense of indignation also stemmed from an indirect slandering of Alex’s name. And Mezox was keen to rescind the insult.

  At the governance building, Professor Jones was absent from his off
ice. That and an increase in people traffic pointed to another meeting. Without warning, Mezox scampered off in pursuit.

  Outside parliament room, he dared himself to enter unannounced and uninvited. The room fell silent as important figures faced his way. Mezox began to question whether his move was such a great idea, but pressed on given that he’d made it that far.

  Professor Jones was in the process of taking his seat. “How can we help you, Mister Watson?”

  “The letter. A little feedback might have helped.”

  “If particle physics were your forte, you’d understand why the principle of particle spin is egregious at best.”

  “I may not be a whizz kid, but nor am I stupid,” said Mezox with an elevated voice.

  “Very well,” said Professor Jones interlocking his fingers across his thorax. “Particles have angular momentum, but not a physical spin. The strength of an electron’s magnetic incidence suggests that its spin would have to be greater than the speed of light. And I hope you understand the contention there.”

  Mezox huffed in disbelief. “You’ve read merely a few pages - or skipped several. No such rule was ever violated. In fact, page twelve specifies that if we took the energy of an electron – Its rest mass multiplied by its charge – and divide that by Planck’s constant, we get its frequency, do we not?”

  The professor sat more upright in his chair. “Yes.”

  “And if we took the largest estimation for the electron’s radius, and applied it to my father’s core principle, these units of energy would move in and out at two-hundred-and-forty-six kilometres a second – under ten percent the speed of light. Not only do you have a new mode of action with the core for your magnetic incidence, but plenty of room for everything else.”

  Mezox slapped the table several times. “It’s the mode of action. We’re not talking about dynamo theory.”

  Professor Jones paused with delight. “Impressed as I am, it would take more than a good performance to convince a majority.”

  “Well let them know that any questioning of credentials isn’t a one-way street,” said Mezox before leaving a stunned audience.

  The long walk to residence felt more arduous than that to Hypatia itself. From the entrance’s steps, Inaya was seen dashing across the fourth floor back to her pod. Upon inspecting his own, he found new marks on the lock. Stuck in a dead-end situation, his temper flared. The disk was ripped from his bag and flung like a frisbee, narrowly missing Inaya, shouting, “I believe you’re looking for this,” and landing into bed.

  Inaya retrieved the item before she approached Mezox. He peeked to find her flipping the disk and asked, “Please don’t kill me.”

  “It’s beautiful,” she said.

  Mezox’s eyes widened with a mild frown to the right. “Eh?”

  “Quite primitive, but it might work.”

  Mezox stumbled for an adequate response. She had no apparent means of deciphering its application, let alone the potential. “How can you know?”

  “I’m a scientist.”

  That still didn’t satisfy his question.

  “Do you have drawings?” she asked.

  Her words were nearer a declaration of support than that of the committee. Another advocate who could fight his corner was worth the risk and surrendered Alex’s rougher work.

  She sat next to him on the floor and, without pause, initiated her analysis. Her varied expressions of concentration influenced Mezox’s desire for her thoughts.

  Joe returned in a flamboyant mood of enviable positivity, boasting of his successful interview.

  Mezox congratulated him while fixated on Inaya.

  “So, how did it go for you?” asked Joe with an attenuated tone of exhilaration.

  Mezox passed the letter which Joe read in the belief it contained good news. “How can they say this? You saw it work.”

  “In all fairness, witness testimony is the weakest form of evidence in science.”

  Joe handed over the letter. “True, but it sure is a bummer.” A potential solution to his friend’s predicament was conjured during a brief moment of silence.

  “I think there’s another means to acquire your materials.”

  A hundred percent of Mezox’s attentive faculties flipped to Joe’s proposal.

  “But, you must first allow me to remove the fuzz from your ugly face if wishing to hear it.”

  He figured there was nothing to lose – besides his facial hair, and eagerly accepted. Inaya remained quite content with her reading.

  Mezox remained nervous. He couldn’t trust himself in the art of scraping one’s face with a sharp instrument.

  Joe gave a demonstration of the shaving process. Not a drop of sweat emerged from a pore, nor did he pause with discomfort. The blade appeared to glide effortlessly across his skin.

  “Should you be shaving if venturing outside Hypatia?” wondered Mezox.

  “Two words, my friend; fake beard.” Joe rinsed away the excess foam with a towel and tapped the chair.

  Mezox jumped aboard before a splash of foam was applied. “I’d love to hear this idea.”

  Joe presented a fresh blade while also holding back Mezox’s forehead. “Mister blade doesn’t like gabbers, but sure loves to hear them say, ‘quick, I need a plaster,’ – or better still, ‘Help, I’m bleeding profusely.’

  Mezox froze in his seat with a firm clutch of the armrests. He could not bear to watch as the blade approached his throat. But, the first stroke felt no worse than a light scrape. His tension eased with the steady progress that came.

  “A cousin of mine lives in nearby Carlisle, and he owns a scrap yard full of crap.”

  Mezox quivered with exhilaration.

  “Remember when I left you at your dad’s house?” asked Joe, and confirmed with a grunt. “I retrieved some savings hidden in a derelict shithole. They remain uncashed for Hypatian credits.”

  Joe moved to wipe the blade when Mezox sprung up in his seat.

  “You’re offering to purchase me the materials from your cousin?”

  “What would I need with scrap?” he responded playfully.

  “But it would cost thousands.”

  “I get family discount – and besides, there are more Hypatian credits than that in my account.”

  “You’re a rich Hypatian?” laughed Mezox.

  “I wouldn’t say rich. Let’s just say I earned a lot of backpay and compensation while in England.”

  One final hurdle plagued Mezox’s mind. “How do we bring the stuff here?”

  “My job holds that answer – but not for two weeks. I must adjust and learn where to take advantage.”

  Mezox was overwhelmed by the gesture. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “You just did - but I want to pilot one of those flying thingies,” joked Joe.

  Joe offered to tidy the mess while Mezox emerged a new man - although a little itchier and naked-faced.

  Inaya had disposed of the notes and re-reviewed the disk’s features. With great curiosity, he asked, “What did you think?”

  Inaya was baffled. “Why seek answers of certainty with expressions of uncertainty in calculations?”

  Mezox didn’t quite understand the question. “You don’t like it?”

  “Principles are good. It requires more work, but expected.”

  Mezox sat adjacent to her. “How can Hypatia’s best minds not follow and you can?”

  Inaya thought hard about how she would convey her answer. “I studied the history of physics and their applications across many places.”

  “I’ve never heard of such a profession.”

  “Doesn’t mean it can’t exist. The existence of things isn’t predicated on yours.”

  A mild tangent occurred from the desire for another perspective. “I have to ask. Do you believe my father’s correct about the fabric of the universe?”

  “About ninety percent.”

  “How can it exist rather than nothing?”

  “There’s no vol
ume without energy,” she said. “Energy is the fabric that gives dimension to the cosmos. Its absence implies a void devoid of space in which anything could ever come to exist.”

  “The universe has always existed?”

  “Energy’s always existed, just not in its present state,” she confirmed. “The essence of nothing is a paradox.”

  “Why a paradox?”

  “You have a box. Empty it with your imagination. What’s happening?”

  Mezox closed his eyes and held out his hands. “I see nothing but darkness.”

  “Now visualise the fabric of space within and take it away.”

  Mezox imagined lines getting sucked away from the box’s walls. He strained to push it further until his mind could take him no further. “I tried but couldn’t see what happens next.”

  “Something tells me you don’t want to,” she said with slight annoyance. “You can’t hide from reality. Brave it if you hope for a chance to build on Alex’s achievements.”

  He gave it another shot. All fears hopes and expectations culled from his thought processes. “The box refuses to empty.”

  “What’s stopping it?”

  “Bloody walls. There’s tension, a force being exerted, doing work.” Mezox’s eyes snapped open. “Ah, any attempt to empty the box is futile. The surroundings experience a force and therefore work. Energy is defined as the ability to do work.”

  Inaya gave a warm smile. “See what happens when you think objectively.”

  Mezox felt a real sense of pride and achievement, but also a growing sense of inferiority. “You’re better suited to the hypertron’s next developments.”

  “My educational attainment would give me the edge. But, just sometimes, new ideas come from those with a fresh perspective, and whose minds remain uncorrupted.”

  “Then, how about you teach me?”

  Inaya’s head turned to Mezox with a greater smile. “I hoped you would ask that.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Luck’s not-so-perfect streak

  A rude awakening welcomed Mezox to day five as Inaya opened the pod door and stuck a pencil in his ear. It was a shock to his senses that resulted in a bout of rapid arm and body movements. His failure to subconsciously remove the object frustrated him into a frenzied stir.