by Alton Gansky
“Hey.” He turned, pulled her close, and swatted her on the fanny. Another hug. Another kiss.
“Can I fix you anything?”
“I haven’t eaten for a while. How about a baloney sandwich and a glass of milk?”
“I can do that.”
“Perry asleep?”
“I doubt it. I sent him to bed at nine, but I think he’s been waiting for you to come home. If you had called earlier, I would have let him stay up.”
“Let me see what the rascal is up to.” Henry crossed the living room and made his way to Perry’s room. He eased the door open and peeked in. A night-light shone in the corner, casting its dim glow on pale blue walls and making grotesque shadows out of the model airplanes that hung from the ceiling. The first time Henry saw it, he thought the eerie images might frighten the ten-year-old. It didn’t. Perry loved them and made up stories to go with each shadow.
The bed was centered under a window, and a lump of something rested in the middle. A vague light pressed up and through the covers.
“You wouldn’t be reading under the covers against your mother’s orders, would you?”
A snoring sound wafted up from the bed.
“You’re too late, you little runt.” Henry jumped on the bed, and Perry squealed. “Come here, you little sneak.” He pulled the covers back. The flashlight beam hit him in the eyes. “Ouch.”
“Take that,” Perry said.
“I plan on giving more than I take.” Henry pressed his face against his son’s and rubbed his stubbled chin on Perry’s check. “Death by whisker burn!”
“Mom! Mom! Help! There’s a crazy, hairy man in my room.”
“That’s just your father, dear.”
“Oh.”
The two laughed. Henry sat on the edge of the bed, and Perry sat up and hugged his father. “I missed you.”
Henry hugged back. “I missed you, too, boy. You don’t know how much.” The embrace lasted a long minute. “Now I have a question for you. What am I sitting on?” Henry rose and reached under the covers and removed a paperback copy of Journey to the Center of the Earth. “So you’ve been reading after lights-out, eh?”
“I want a lawyer,” Perry said. He laughed at his own joke.
“I’m a little behind,” Henry said.
“No problem. You can catch up. We were on page fifty-six when you left.”
Anna walked in with a sandwich on a plate and a glass of milk. Henry set the book down and took the plate from his wife. The sandwich was cut along the diagonal. “You want half?” he said to Perry.
“Henry Sachs,” Anna snapped. “You know a boy his age shouldn’t eat this late. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Henry lowered his head. “I am. I’m sorry.” He looked up at Perry. “So, you want half?”
“Yeah.” Perry took it and bit down.
“I don’t know what to do with you two. Can I get you anything else?”
“Cookies,” Perry whispered, as if his mother couldn’t hear him.
“I’d like some cookies,” Henry said. “Several of them, please.”
“Chocolate chip,” Perry whispered again.
“Do we have chocolate chip?”
“You know we do.” Anna left the room.
“Scoot over, boy. If you eat half my sandwich, I get half your bed.” Henry propped himself up, reached for the light on the nightstand, and took the book. “Page fifty-six, eh?”
“Yeah.”
Anna returned with a bag of cookies and one stuck in her mouth. Henry stared at her. She bit off a piece and said, “What? You think I work for free?” She sat at the foot of the bed.
Henry opened the book and glanced at the page. “Oh, this is the part about Arne Saknussemm. I love this part.” Henry began reading aloud.
Present Day
Perry trod down the polished floor of a corridor in Seattle Medical Arts Hospital. It was a path he had come to know well over the last week. Each day he would make his way through Seattle traffic to arrive at 8:00 in the morning. It was too early for visiting hours, but no one had yet complained. His father, Henry Sachs, had become a bit of a celebrity. For the last two days, Perry had arrived with a laptop computer and a case of files. Dad was growing cranky at having to spend so much time in bed. A little work eased his nerves.
This morning was special. Henry had endured several days of harsh chemotherapy. There were various forms of the treatment, and Dr. Nishizaki, working with a team of doctors who specialized in such treatment, had to guess at which approach would be the best. Since Perry had informed him that Zeisler had received treatment for colon cancer, he started with that. The results were immediate and dramatic. Henry came out of the coma within a day of the first treatment. Two days later, he was strong enough to eat and to sit up.
There were still many questions, but a partial picture was beginning to appear. Perry was going to share what he knew with his father. He turned down the wing that led to his father’s private room. He had been moved out of MICU early yesterday, and Perry took that as a very positive sign.
Perry walked through the doorway of room 425 and found his mother hovering near his father’s bed. Henry was eating oatmeal and, judging by the expression on the man’s face, not enjoying it very much.
Henry looked up when Perry entered. The sight of his father sitting up and eating brought a tear to Perry’s eye. He blinked it away.
“Hey, boy,” Henry said. “It’s good to see you, and I mean that literally.”
“Hey, Dad.” Perry kissed his father on the top of his head and looked into his eyes. When Perry had left for Nevada, his father’s eyes had been as white as milk, as if covered with solid contact lenses. Today they were merely tinted white. His vision had not fully returned, but the ophthalmologists were hopeful that all traces of the cataracts would dissolve over time.
“You didn’t happen to pack a couple of fried eggs in that computer case of yours, did you? I need a real meal.”
“As you can tell,” Anna said, “he’s feeling much better.”
“Sorry, Dad, no eggs in the case, but if you feel up to a little trip to the cafeteria, I might be able to get you some dry, stale toast to go with the glue you’re eating.”
“You’re too good to me,” Henry said, stressing the sarcasm.
“How about it? You feel up to a little wheelchair ride?”
“I can walk.”
“Maybe so,” Anna said, “but you’re not going to.”
“You’re my wife, Anna, not my mother.”
“I didn’t know there was a difference.”
Henry looked at Perry. “Do you see what I’ve had to put up with for all these years?”
Perry smiled. “I bet you’d do it all over again.”
Henry laughed and reached for Anna’s hand. “In a heartbeat, son. In a heartbeat.”
Perry helped his father into a wheelchair. He was still weak, and Perry had to support him as he negotiated the short distance from bed to chair. Once his father was situated, Perry stepped behind the wheelchair and pushed Henry from the room into the corridor.
“You drive like your mother,” Henry said, then gave a little laugh.
“Hospital rules,” Perry replied. “I can’t afford a ticket. You don’t pay me enough.”
The banter continued, and Perry was glad for it. The bizarre illness that had nearly taken his father’s life had not damaged the man’s mind. For that, and for Henry’s continued life, Perry had offered up countless prayers of thanksgiving.
In the elevator, Henry’s mood changed. “I haven’t had a chance to say this, son, but thanks. You went far beyond what any man could expect. At least from what little your mother has told me. I want the whole story.”
“You’ll get it,” Perry said. “You may not believe it, but you’ll hear it.”
The elevator doors opened, and Perry guided the wheelchair down the corridor, his mother close to his side. Like many hospitals, the cafeteria was in the basement. The s
mell of breakfast foods and coffee hung the air. Before they reached the entrance, Perry could hear the drone of people talking.
“The place sounds full,” Henry said.
“It’s okay, I made reservations.”
They eased through the doorway of the cafeteria. Men and women in white smocks milled around. Others dressed in surgical greens or maintenance uniforms carried trays of food or sat at tables. In the corner of the cafeteria, a series of tables had been pressed together. Perry moved in that direction.
The other diners parted like water before the prow of a ship as Perry pushed the wheelchair. Soon they arrived at the tables where Jack, Gleason, Dr. Nishizaki, Janet, and Carl sat. As Perry closed the distance, Jack stood, and the others followed suit. They applauded. Perry noticed tears in Jack’s eyes. He seemed unashamed.
“All right, all right,” Henry said. His voice was choked. “Sit down.”
Perry eased the wheelchair to the head of the table and sat to his father’s left. Gleason vacated his spot so Anna could sit to the right.
“It’s good to see you, Mr. Sachs,” Jack said.
“It is good to be seen.” Henry looked around the room. “My vision is still a little cloudy, but there are two people here I don’t recognize.”
“That’s because you’ve never met them. This is Janet Novak and Carl Subick. They’re the deputies who helped us.”
“Former deputies,” Carl stressed. “We were invited to leave.”
“I’m sorry,” Henry said.
“In some ways, it’s a relief, sir,” Carl said.
“There’s some good news,” Janet interjected. “Carl and I are getting married, and you’re all invited to the wedding.”
There was another round of applause, and Jack slapped Carl on the back hard enough to knock dentures loose.
“I’ve invited Dr. Nishizaki to join us,” Perry said. “I think he has earned the right to be in the loop.”
“From what I hear, you had to call in every favor owed you to get that treatment for me.”
“It was a small thing,” the doctor said.
“Not in my book, Doc,” Henry replied. “It takes great courage to swim against the tide.”
Anna rose and returned with a tray of coffee cups and passed them around. One of the cafeteria staff poured coffee, then returned to her post behind the food line.
“Get comfy, Dad,” Perry said. “This is going to take a little time to tell.”
“I have nothing but time,” Henry said.
Perry started at the beginning and related the story, pausing when he came to Zeisler’s sacrifice. It was a hard part of the story to tell and, from Henry’s expression, a hard part of the story to hear. Henry listened, occasionally stopping Perry to ask a question or two. Thirty minutes later, the highlights had been told. Henry sat in silence, his eyes closed.
For a moment, Perry thought his father had fallen asleep.
“We have much to thank God for,” Henry said.
“Amen,” Jack said.
“I’ve gathered everyone here so they could see how well you’re doing and so they can know that the efforts they expended made a difference.” Perry paused. “I also wanted to share a few things we’ve learned since getting back. Dr. Nishizaki has some information for us.”
Nishizaki cleared his throat. “I have a team working on what happened to you, as well as a team at the CDC. The truth is, we’re not going to get very far. The lab was able to filter some of the particulate matter from your blood and examine it. It is extremely small. I think Gleason is onto something with the biotronics. I just can’t prove it. The material we removed from Mr. Sachs’s blood before we began the chemo matched that taken by the coroners from Mr. Grant and Ms. Wagner. All that has been sent to the CDC and is being analyzed. We won’t know anything for some time—if they choose to reveal anything.”
Nishizaki took a sip of coffee and continued. “The material—whatever it turns out to be—began to multiply. As it spread through the body, it encountered water in the tissue and blood. You know what the substance does in the presence of water. Humans have a great deal of water in them. In the case of Ms. Wagner and Mr. Grant, both of whom are older, the toxic shock killed them in short order. You, Mr. Sachs, were lucky to get the attention you did. Dr. Hibbard’s decision to pump you full of antibiotics saved your life. For still to be determined reasons, the antibiotics inhibited the growth of the substance. Unfortunately, it couldn’t undo the damage or drive the infection out. All it could do was stabilize the situation. The chemo however, did the job, and it kept this Zeisler you mentioned from coming down with it at all. His bout with cancer and chemo may have killed the substance that was residing in the others.”
“It might be something else,” Perry said. “Somehow these biotronic flakes communicated. It was the only way they could orchestrate themselves to make changes, take on new appearances, and all of it in keeping with the goal. It’s possible that the entity we think of as a base realized it was killing the very people it was trying to draw to itself.”
“What I don’t understand,” Carl said, “is how something that happened in Nevada could affect people in Seattle, San Diego, and Kingman.”
“I’ll take a crack at that,” Gleason said, “but you’re going to find it all hard to believe.”
“Everything about this is hard to believe,” Jack remarked.
“I’ve been chewing on this since we left the mountain, and the answer I can come up with is rooted in quantum mechanics.”
“Uh-oh,” Janet said. “I think my ignorance is about to show.”
“Quantum mechanics,” Gleason said, “deals with physics at a scale smaller than an atom. At such small scales, the normal laws of physics no longer apply. Weird things happen that seem impossible and illogical.”
“Such as?” Henry asked.
“Such as being unable to simultaneously determine a particle’s place and momentum. You can do one, but not the other.”
“That makes no sense,” Carl said.
“Such is the world of quantum studies.”
“How does that relate to Carl’s questions?” Perry inquired. “And spare us the math.”
“Okay, here goes,” Gleason said. “There is a great deal of research being done in what is often called ‘entangled quantum systems.’ Reduced to its most basic level it says this: Particles that interacted in the past are entangled so that an action taken on one particle brings about an action on another particle, even if they are separated by great distance. In other words, if I have a subatomic particle in my hand and I give it a good spin, its entangle partner in New York would spin in an observable way—instantaneously.”
Henry cleared his throat. “So you’re saying that the material that was in me and the others was tied, entangled, to the material in the cavern.”
“That’s right,” Gleason said. “Zeisler told us how you were each covered with dust after the light spread through the room. Then your ghostly clones appeared. I’m guessing that some of that material was inhaled or absorbed through the skin. When the base realized it was dying, it sent out a call for help. Even though you were hundreds of miles away, the particle in you heard the cry and became active. Good for them; bad for you.”
Jack scratched his chin. “If all that’s true, instantaneous communication could occur over great distance, even around the world.”
“Or across galaxies,” Gleason said. “While there has been some experimentation on entanglement theory, it’s far from being an open-and-shut case. If it is true, however, it could explain what we’ve experienced. And it would explain how acres of dormant material could change shape to create jungles, deserts, and everything else we saw.”
“But who built it?” Janet asked. “If the U.S. didn’t, then who?”
Henry leaned forward. “We knew very soon after we entered that no country on earth could build such a system. Remember, computers were relatively new in 1974. Not unheard of, but they were nothing like what
we see today. The idea of a self-controlled system was beyond us.”
“You’re not suggesting aliens from some distant planet built that thing,” Carl said.
Henry shook his head. Perry could see his father was growing weary. “The truth is stranger than that,” Perry said. “You remember those terms Zeisler told us about? How the McDermott thing kept saying that Zeisler’s team did not fit?”
“Yeah,” Janet said. “You had your handheld computer and a Bible program. You were looking up the words.”
“I’ve been working on that. Here’s what I’ve come up with.” Perry pulled a file folder from the computer bag. “The foreign terms used were keroob, kahee, Mishmar, and ophawn. We established a possible link to Old Testament Hebrew terms. Kahee is similar to the Hebrew of ‘living one,’ or ‘living being.’ They appear in the book of Ezekiel, chapters one and ten. In chapter one they are called ‘living beings,’ in chapter ten they are identified as ‘cherubim.’ ”
“Baby angels?” Janet said.
Perry shook his head. “That image is from Renaissance paintings. The biblical description always shows them as majestic and powerful.”
“And odd,” Jack said. “Four faces, hoofed feet.”
“But in other passages they appear different,” Perry said. “It’s as if they change for each vision. Keroob is similar to the Hebrew word for cherub. You’ll remember that we learned that ophawn meant ‘wheel,’ and wheels are often associated with these creatures. The disks we saw might be considered a wheel. They were round and spun.”
“And Mishmar meant ‘ward or prison,’ right?” Jack said.
“I’ve looked it up a dozen different ways. Mishmar can mean a place of confinement or a place to stay.”
“So, when we were told we didn’t fit,” Henry began, “we were being told that we were the wrong kind of life. That the place was made for a race of beings unlike us.”
“Yes,” Perry said. “Thirty years ago, Dad, you were standing in something made for life forms vastly different than us.”
“Time-out,” Carl said. “I thought angels lived in heaven.”
“The word angel is a catchall term. Cherubim are created beings just like humans.”