Infidel's Corner

by David Robert Morais

  Mezox extended a formal and courteous greeting, followed by a succinct introduction. Many had gathered around the entrance and steps.

  Inaya took the controls while Mezox hooked up all components to a bank of batteries. “Can you demonstrate that the input isn’t responsible for what we’re about to witness?” asked Professor Jones.

  Inaya turned to him. “Can two hundred volts at eighteen amps levitate six kilograms without propellers, jets or rockets to your knowledge?”

  “If there’s trickery, I’ll find it,” he warned.

  She grinned and flipped the switch. The room’s lights flickered, and the object hissed. Controls were handed to Mezox, who paused in the absorption of what could be an auspicious moment.

  “Would you believe in God if this worked?” he asked of Joe standing adjacent to him.

  “How about the future?” he replied.

  Mezox bowed his head. Joe’s response had inspired his urge to press ahead. He couldn’t wait any longer for its conclusion. Handheld variable switches turned and the hypertron hummed to life with a higher but louder pitch.

  Joe nervously asked Inaya, “Could it explode?”

  She offered an uncomfortable truth. “Of course,” she said with a smile. “Don’t worry; your body would vaporise faster than it takes pain signals to reach the brain.”

  At which point Joe edged further behind her.

  The device screeched. Vibrations jiggled organs and pierced the core of minds. Any temptation to leave was subverted by intrigue among its small audience.

  “I thought you said it’s quiet,” said Joe at the top of his lungs with hands over ears.

  Inaya attempted to explain design issues and that of efficiency, which was still low. A definitive haze blanketed the circular vehicle. Indoor lighting flickered with ever-maniacally until sparks descended. Building lights snuffed and the hyperdrive’s plasma cocoon was their one source of light.

  Unbeknown to them, other residences experienced similar happenings. Their inhabitants evacuated in mass panic as sparks and glass rained upon them. More injuries were sustained from those typical of stampeding. Outside, many heard distant wailing, like a ghoul in the wind. It lured those that dared to investigate. A tower shimmered with beams of purple light through the misty entrance.

  Inside, the plasma turned a light blue when it ascended independently of the platform’s power feed. Crackles of lightning arced to the ground as it went.

  Mezox feared failure from drainage of their capacitance chamber – since it was independent of all inputs - and dropping like a brick. Yet, as seconds passed, it remained stationary by hovering three feet from its dock. All stared as the object continued to generate a robust strobe-like effect. All that moved were jaws and shadows.

  He peered back at his audience when Professor Jones approached in bewilderment. Inaya warned against getting too close, which Mezox could concur.

  Jones circled the device but spotted something worthy of suspicion. “What’s this wire for?”

  “A kill switch,” said Inaya. Her words were difficult to decipher. She demonstrated the action by triggering its deactivation. The vehicle descended like a feather.

  The vehicle’s provision of light faded with it. Darkness dominated for a few brief seconds when Sallace and two accompanying personnel engaged their flashlights. All left the building without uttering a word.

  Sallace and Mezox turned to the professor for thoughts, who wandered around stroking his chin and gawking at the floor.

  He turned to Inaya. “If you hadn’t deactivated it, how long could it have lasted?”

  “An hour - but because of overheating. With better materials it would last indefinitely,” replied Inaya.

  Jones interjected. “This breaks so many rules – I mean, that’s perpetual motion.” –

  “Not exactly,” implied Mezox. “It simply manipulates one aspect of particle behaviour. By doing so, we can achieve a profitable energy margin for applications such as flight, energy and weaponry. That pulsing action snags energy drawn through its core.”

  Jones looked at Sallace as if to ask, “Is this for real?” to which Sallace smirked out of delight.

  The professor told Sallace, “Okay, do your thing.”

  Sallace’s troops flooded in and surrounded the local vicinity with fencing and barbed wire. Nosy neighbours were pushed back as emergency secrecy measures came into force.

  Jones told Mezox. “It’s not often one enjoys having been wrong. Believe with all sincerity that this is one of those rare but enjoyable versions.”

  “This will change a lot of things,” said Sallace.

  Still in disbelief, Jones replied, “No kidding. We require an emergency meeting to get our foot down on this thing.”

  Back to Mezox, he said. “I take it you’re in charge of flight?”

  Mezox was thrilled to have his position recognised and next to officiated. “Plans for the first people-carrying vehicles are close to completion.”

  “You don’t need to impress me further,” said Jones. “Continue your design processes until this area’s fully reconstructed. You’ll have a large team. And should it all pan out, we can begin weaponising it.”

  Mezox’s chest throbbed in excitation and turned bug-eyed. “Okay.”

  “And out of curiosity, will these flying vehicles appear similar to what we saw?”

  “Yes and no,” confirmed Mezox. “It depends on desired speeds. The problem comes back to efficiency. We can levitate through Electrokinetic lift, but adding direction takes from that upward thrust – unless it had wings. Otherwise, it falls.”

  “So, a disk with wings?”

  “Sort of. To gain sufficient speeds, we could, in principle, add antimatter engines. You see, the hypertron produces positrons in excess. Instead of the age-old problem of antimatter storage, the hypertron generates positrons on the go.”

  Professor Jones felt there were more surprises to be had.

  Sallace responded by saying, “And no weapons inspectors from London will arrive for another year,” reminiscing about the arduous activities he had the lead inspector, Mr Andrews, endure.

  At this point, the visitors had returned to London and their homes. Andrews’s report was completed on his journey back. It was handed to the Archbishop’s administrators and personally reviewed by him.

  Andrews stepped through his front door after midnight. The house was quiet as his wife and two kids slept upstairs. A fresh cup of juice in hand, he sat at the table with blistered feet propped on an empty chair. And just before he could take a sip, someone knocked on his door three times.

  He answered it to find Summanus at the doorstep, who walked in without saying a word. Andrews proposed they initiate a conversation within the kitchen where it was least prone to disturbing his family.

  Summanus seised the cup of juice resting on the table and took a few gulps before sitting. Andrews sat opposite. “I trust your stay in the land of infidels was most displeasing?”

  “It’s like you said; a godless place.”

  “Did you feel threatened?”

  “They were at their best behaviour, guided by our presence. So much, in fact, two citizens had necklaces of the cross.”

  Summanus snorted with mildly tickled senses. “Wolves in sheep clothing. You understand how I feel about that hellhole?”

  “Who doesn’t,” he sniggered.

  “Then you’ll know how I feel about your report’s conclusions.”

  Andrews paused in apprehension, sensing a build in tension. “I was asked for honesty by the Archbishop himself.”

  Summanus leant forward. “The Archbishop’s an old fool losing his mind. What about justice, retribution and the creation of Christ’s kingdom?”

  “But I follow Christ’s compassion and a plea to love thy enemy.”

  Summanus sat back and chuckled. “These aren’t enemies devoid of threat. Jesus also said, ‘Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I have not come to br
ing peace, but a sword.’ Mathew ten, verse thirty-four.”

  “But” –

  With an elevated voice, Summanus said. “Are you daring to say that our lord’s wrong on such matters?”

  Andrews perspired with dread. “I would never dare.”

  Summanus eased back. “Good. Now we’re on the same page, you’ll use your position wisely. You could be a hero, Mister Andrews. Think of it. You find something that demonstrates the threat posed to England. And thanks to you, our enemies are vanquished, and England’s people kiss your hand in thanks for saving their souls.”

  “That does sound nice.”

  “Yes. This is quite an honour I’m handing you on a plate.”

  “What threat do I discover there?”

  “A kid lives there. He stole our designs for a device with powerful magical properties. I have people on the inside but know nothing. By this time next year, they should have something to hand,” said Summanus before tapping his finger on the table. “I want that device.”

  “If your people can do that then I’ll play my part.”

  Summanus stood and headed for the door. “I trust you will. You also understand how I have a low tolerance for failure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Failure’s a sign of betrayal.” Summanus turned back to face Andrews. “It’s not only you that pays the consequences.”

  A child was heard faintly calling for her mother upstairs. Summanus peered up before staring back at Andrews.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Fifteen months later

  October 2132.

  Change is afoot. The city’s pace of development had skyrocketed. New materials and imports saw the first multi-story constructions take shape. Energy was plentiful and cheap, but few were aware of the hypertron’s existence.

  Mezox’s work area had also transformed. Several towers were modified and connected to one another via new labs. These extended underground, forming a large complex where hypertron disk units of various diameters were manufactured. A dozen employees producing them were young trainees. Each of them was born or raised mainly within Hypatia. A healthy aptitude and sense of dedication were paramount qualities. Secrecy was the game. This resulted in a small community within another.

  Due to oversee the testing of an antimatter thruster, he rushed to quantify the disk segments and inspect their quality.

  A young woman nearing her twenties was enthused by Mezox’s visitation. His examination of her handiwork prompted an opportunity to strike a conversation. “I heard there’s this new material called polyminium. Some say it’s literally bulletproof.”

  “There is indeed such a material. These new units are made from a new superconductor with similar properties,” replied Mezox with a unit getting flipped between his palms.

  “What’s it made from?”

  “In all honesty, I have no idea. I’m not a materials scientist, but I believe the polyminium’s made by super-pressing molten carbon and aluminium.”

  “Is it to protect our soldiers?”

  “Well, I would assume that’s its primary application.”

  She hesitated to ask, “How could I become a pilot like you?”

  Mezox sniggered. “I’m not much of a pilot, if at all. I take the passenger seat and help identify technical issues. Anyway, if you wish to try your hand at piloting then apply.”

  “To whom and where?”

  “I’ll send you an application form,” said Mezox with a smile. He excused himself and left with a morale-boosting compliment on her construction skills.

  A miniature version of a thruster awaited his arrival. Although housed behind a protective screen, a radiation suit doubled against exposure to gamma-ray exhausts. He approached its lead researcher. “Tell me, Mister Fosler. How’s it looking?”

  “Ready. I can’t promise much on the radiation front. We should go with my earlier suggestion; situate any future airfield well away from populated areas.”

  “It does appear that we lack choice on that matter. Let’s see what we’ve got,” replied Mezox.

  They and three others watched as an engine of several stacked disks and vents burst to life. A bonfire’s crackle and hiss arose with the appearance of a blue flame hazing from the nozzle. Fosler read and translated the operation’s statistics.

  “Yes, yes, yes. She’s thirty-eight percent more efficient than H-three generation thrusters, twelve percent less vibration and… eighteen percent more consistent output thrust.”

  A celebratory atmosphere evolved back into a system of routine. “You know what to do, Fosler. Upscale and have guinea pig Joe test it out.”

  “He’s not tested H-three’s upscaled version,” said Fosler.

  “Why not?”

  “New tests come in just weeks apart now. H-three’s upscaled version remains incomplete.”

  Mezox had assumed that time’s rapid passing was an illusion. Days coalesced and muddled within his mind, unable to tell Tuesdays from Thursdays.

  He travelled across the halls to his former residence tower. There, a twelve-foot-long fighter was taking shape and nearing completion. The cockpit stretched away from a four-foot disk. A pilot, all suited up, would sit in the usual fashion. Their head slipped into a fixed helmet where a tilting action controlled the fighter’s manoeuvrings. Few controls occupied the dashboard, permitting a wider field of view outside.

  One of two engine were in the fixture stage. With extreme caution was it raised into a groove between the wing and disk’s junction. The whole thing was black with a silver tint when viewed from the correct angles.

  Joe spotted him and welcomed his visitation. “They’re still on it?” asked Mezox.

  “No longer than usual. You’re the one that refuses to hire more workers.”

  “Too risky.”

  “Yeah. Well, it’ll have to happen one day. Air forces don’t build nor pilot themselves.”

  “Now’s a little premature,” said Mezox gazing into the ship’s new features.

  Joe found Mezox’s baggy eyes telling. “You really should rest.”

  “I’d love that, too, but not enough time in the day.”

  “Nonsense. How about a night off and having one of those ‘celebratory’ drinks?”

  Mezox levelled his head. “I thought you hated them?”

  “Because someone here thinks I can handle his number of units.”

  Mezox reminisced about a night where one woman flirted with Joe, who believed she was a man thanks to his level of intoxication. Joe’s memories of the following morning were seared into his brain. “Now you know I can’t resist such an offer.”

  “Well, this gay man also knows how to metaphorically grab one by the balls.”

  “Fine, what’s the catch?”

  “Catch?”

  “You had me approach some young ladies last time, fully aware I’d choke it.”

  Joe’s snigger grew into laughter. “Yeah, because you approached them and said, ‘Would you like to see my hyperdrive?’”

  Technicians and engineers paused to ogle as Joe almost fell to the floor in hysterics.

  Mezox prevented him from falling further. “It was an innocent question taken out of context.”

  Joe collected himself and said, “Take this weekend off, including Friday. And, I want you to co-pilot this during her test flight this Thursday with me.”

  “Not a chance. No can do.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you throttled me around like a ragdoll in H-two – on purpose. Vomit got slung around the cockpit and, somehow, you still found it hilarious.”

  “Please, I apologised. Besides, Ellen refuses to take the seat.”

  “Because I may have mentioned our last flight episode with her,” admitted Mezox.

  “You shit. Now you definitely owe me. I can’t fly without a co-pilot.”

  “Do we still get that night out?”

  Joe feigned a profound struggle to decide. “Fine. Everything we discussed plus your co-pilo
ting offer.”

  The two shook on it and continued with their day.

  Two days had passed when Mezox’s day of dread arrived. The coming of the night provided obscurity.

  Suited up, they climbed into their respective seats. The roof opened out like a blossoming flower on a warm and bright spring day. Technicians scrambled for safety, well away from the radiation. Concrete walls inadvertently provided that protective layer for initial test phases.

  And so it was that Joe engaged all hypertron systems, spending twenty minutes monitoring their stability and readiness for flight.

  Powered up and self-sufficient, starter cables jettisoned from their vehicle as fuel lines did with liquid rockets of old.

  The prototype raised from its perch. Thrusters engaged at minimum output. Cockpit contamination remained neutral.

  Over the tower, lights encircled the entrance. All else were pitch black aside from a few city lights South West of them.

  “I’m to direct more energy toward the Electrokinetic-side of things this time,” declared Joe.

  “What for?”

  “It’s strange, but I believe it lowers the level of inertia.”

  “Is that an excuse to go crazy?” suspected Mezox.

  “Yes and no,” he responded before pointing his ship toward the starry sky of few clouds. Thruster output raised to twenty percent of max output.

  Their acceleration was instantaneous but smooth. Within seconds they had surpassed the lower cloud layer.

  “That’s it, remain at this speed. It feels fine,” said Mezox.

  “I’m accelerating more than last time.”

  Mezox was stumped. “Maybe there’s something to your inertia hypothesis?”

  “Well, it’s not psychological if I do this.” Joe then made a steep turn. A chest-compressing sensation was felt by both but within comfortable ranges. No straining of legs was required to prevent one from passing out.

  Mezox could begin to enjoy his flying experience. Higher applications of the Electrokinetic effect correlated with a noticeable and measurable loss of inertia.

  Joe could maintain a steadier head for controlling his directionality. And after a little sky-dancing among the stars, they returned. Electrokinetic forces were maxed as thrusters disengaged. Their vehicle came to a rapid halt over the launch tower for a safe landing.