Scarcity

by Robert Calbeck

  Eli smiled back, but Vika frowned. “What have you done to protect your research?” she asked.

  “All of my research has been very secretive, there is only one person not in this very room who even knows what we have done. And I trust him with my life.” Luthor thought fondly of his friend, Qwiz, back in Fermilab.

  “Are you certain of that? This is not the sort of secret that is easy to keep.”

  “I haven’t published anything because I was worried the government would just confiscate my work.”

  Nostalgia tinged Luthor’s thoughts. It would have been so easy 30 years ago to post his findings online. Everything had been free and uncensored. But that was before the war changed all that. To protect against Chinese cyber-attacks in the war America rerouted all internet and communication lines through central, controlled locations. Now there were tens of thousands of sensors who did nothing but monitor emails and online activity.

  Luthor sighed. “You know how they screen everything before it can be posted online. I think it’s fair to say that if it popped up on a censor’s computer, my government wouldn’t just give 126 away. That’s why I came here in the first place. The IEC is the only place I could publish my findings about 126 without fear they would be stolen first.”

  “What about your lab?”

  Vika certainly was persistent in her questioning.

  “They think that I have been running a bunch of unfruitful experiments for the last year. And I moved all relevant data to a more secure location.”

  Vika raised a skeptical eyebrow.

  “Trust me, in the world of accelerators and super-heavy elements, a year of trials to produce even a few atoms is considered impressive. They won’t suspect that we have been mass producing element 126 with such a historically inefficient approach. They wouldn’t even know why we’d want to.”

  Vika nodded. “What’s to keep someone from just stealing your laptop here?”

  “It’s heavily encrypted. And only two people know the code.”

  “I will not ask who the other person is,” Vika said, “for their safety.”

  “Besides, they would need to know what I am doing to even want to steal this old thing,” Luthor gestured at the venerable laptop in his bag, “it’s a powerhog.” Behind his smile, Luthor felt doubt’s creeping tendrils clawing their way into his mind. Had he thought of everything? And why was Vika so interested in their security? Her questions had been relentless, and suspicious. Mental note: be careful what you say around Vika.

  “Let’s make sure nothing happens to that computer,” Eli said smiling. “Shall I show you to your rooms? I am afraid we don’t have enough space to comfortably accommodate you here. But my office at CERN is more than ample. It also has the added benefit of 24-hour security. Unfortunately, we will have to walk there. The solar panels have not yet recharged my car.”

  #

  It was cold that night. The homeless shivered in the shadows and looked hungrily at Luthor’s suitcase. But the homeless inundated every city, it didn’t matter the continent. Even after the Culling, there were still so many left. Vika walked silently, glaring at any of them brave enough to peer out of the shadows looking for a handout. They shrank back from her gaze.

  After a short walk, they arrived at the CERN student lab where they could sleep in his office. Eli carried Tanya’s bags for her. Vika slid her right hand so the scanner could read her CPI chip. The door to the lab opened.

  As they began to enter the facility, the beam of a flashlight suddenly accosted them. “Halt,” a female voice said from behind the bulb.

  Eli said something in French, gesturing to rest of them.

  The light lowered. The outline of a pistol shaded the beam. “I’m sorry,” she said in slurred English.

  “That is one of the security guards that monitor this place. You will be safe tonight.”

  Inside was one of the many labs connected to the CERN complex. It was a basic lab for students to conduct general research on any number of subjects. Wide open spaces with tables scattered regularly end to end of the long room provided ample room for experiments. Eli pointed out projects in various stages marked by beakers, Petri dishes, and trays of pipettes. One end of the room held three large, industrial sinks and a laboratory quality dishwasher. Eli grumbled his displeasure when he noticed the far sink was full of soapy water soaking glassware students had been too lazy to scrub. Opposite the sinks was a bank of centrifuges, replicators and other equipment, and at the end, the most complete rack of pure elements Luthor had ever seen.

  Luthor placed the pieces of his prototype under the rack of elements, it seemed an appropriate place to store it. Apart from highly radioactive elements, 126 was the only missing piece of the periodic table. There was even a tray for the absurdly reactive Cesium; it was likely stored in vacuum-sealed glass tubes to keep it from setting fire to the lab. He was careful not to disturb the 126 and accidentally pull everything off the shelf with its increased gravity. That many elements crashing together would undoubtedly make for some violent, if interesting, chemistry.

  Eli and Vika led them to the back of the lab. There was a hall flanked by doors on either side. It led to another area of the complex they did not enter. The right door led to the lavatory, the left to Al’halsimi’s office. Eli discretely made a right turn, leaving his secretary, assistant, supermodel—whatever—to show them their room.

  Once inside the office, it was obvious why he had brought them here. It was an expansive room almost as large as his entire house. It was clearly a relic of the pre-Oil Crash days. It probably cost a fortune to heat. The floor was richly carpeted in warm earth tones, darkly stained bookshelves lined the walls, and a matching desk stood alone as a centerpiece. There was an old leather couch and two over-stuffed high-back chairs that completed the décor.

  “Tanya will sleep on the couch,” Vika said. It was not a request. Michael affected a sullen expression, which didn’t look like a joke. She didn’t give much direction as to where Luthor or Michael were to sleep.

  “Thanks,” Michael mumbled. Luthor shared a knowing glance with Tanya. Despite his appeal with women, Michael wasn’t exactly what one would call chivalrous. With a scowl for Michael, Vika left to sleep back at the house.

  It didn’t take long before Tanya and Michael were both twitching with the early signs of sleep. Luthor and Eli sat around one of the student tables in the lab quietly reviewing his presentation notes.

  “You really need to find a way to make your speech memorable or it won’t have the impact you want.” Eli waved his hand in the air as if grasping for an elusive word. “How is it you say… you need to make a splash.”

  “I can’t just come into a convention with the smartest people in the world and claim I can control gravity.”

  “You might very well be laughed off the stage.”

  “And my prototype isn’t exactly flashy. It looks like a high school science project.” Luthor pretended to look astonished. “Wow. A couple of LED’s turn on!”

  “Luthor…don’t be so hard on yourself.”

  “I’m just being realistic. What was it you said earlier, that simplicity was the hallmark of genius? It’s simple, not boring. I just won’t be able to turn it on and have the audience gasp.”

  “Your other problem is that your audience won’t instantly associate controlling gravity with generating electricity. They will think of space ships.”

  “And hover boards,” Luthor agreed. “Well, it seems like we need to scrap what I have here and start with 126 itself and what enhanced gravity actually does.” Luthor began scribbling notes on a new piece of paper.

  “You have to include how the proximity of the element’s atoms effect the strength of the gravitational pull. You were telling me that the closer the atoms are the greater gravity they have, correct?”

  Luthor nodded. “Yes. That is the quirk that makes the generator work. The more densely packed the 126 is, the stronger its gravity gets, and the wider the gravita
tional field becomes.”

  “So you can control the gravity.”

  “All I can do is turn it on and off. I need to emphasize that I can’t control its direction. Gravity— from 126 or not— pulls from all directions. When I spread the atoms out, their gravity all but disappears. When I smash them together, their gravity increases enough to pull the water up through the second set of turbines. On and off, that’s it. I cycle them quickly enough that I can create circular motion.”

  “Like the cylinder of an internal combustion engine.”

  “That’s a good comparison.”

  “Do you have measurements on that property exactly? What is the correlation between the amount of 126 and gravity?”

  “I can’t know for sure, but it increases dramatically. It’s possible that the gravity even grows exponentially the more 126 is there. We have been afraid to test densities much higher than it takes to run a generator.”

  “You could destroy your lab if it’s exponential!” Eli said in amazement.

  “Or for all we know it could create a runaway black hole. That’s why we haven’t tested it. Actually, that’s how we discovered we had been making 126 in the first place. It crumpled our detector and spilled our drinks.”

  Eli laughed and shook his head. “You made it on accident?”

  “Yes. The element we were trying to make would have had 132 protons. But it wasn’t stable. It kept crapping out helium atoms until it stopped decaying and stayed as 126. I don’t know why it works, but it turns out it is a very efficient production method. We are able to create thousands of atoms per trial that way.”

  Eli laughed again. “I am not sure I have ever heard anyone refer to alpha decay as a nucleus ‘crapping out helium atoms.’

  “Truth be told, it was Michael’s description. I just thought it was funny.”

  “You might want to stick with the technical terms at the conference.”

  “Agreed.” Luthor scribbled more notes on his page. The new developing structure of his speech just felt right. There was still the matter of creating the right “splash.”

  Eli’s eyes suddenly lit up, “Luthor, I know how we can finish your speech. You, my friend, are going to walk on the ceiling.”

  Luthor stroked his chin. “That’s a great thought, but how am I supposed to get the 126 to stick up there? And even if we did get it up there, how do we keep it hidden until the end of the speech?”

  Eli crossed the room to a locked supply cabinet. He opened the door with the turn of a key. Inside was a small safe.

  “What on earth do you need a safe for?”

  Eli began turning the dials. “Do you remember the post-doctoral research I began with one of my former students a few years ago?”

  “Only vaguely. It was something about geckos, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. We were researching the microstructure of their skin that allows them to climb sheer glass walls.” Eli excitedly removed a tray of a violently orange, gooey substance from the safe.

  Eli continued. “This was our result. We were trying to improve on similar research that had been done thirty years ago. Perhaps get it to market applications.”

  Luthor tentatively poked the orange substance, it had the consistency of moist play dough.

  Eli grinned excitedly. “This polymer has some remarkable properties. “It is essentially a strong, but removable adhesive, like a gecko’s feet. A gecko doesn’t get stuck on the glass, it can freely walk up and down. A palm-sized slice of this would be able to hold up a man of your weight on a sheer wall.”

  “You’re kidding.” Luthor said, poking the polymer again.

  “No, and here is the best part. A gentle twist and pull, and it will release, and come free. It also does not stick to fingers or skin.” Eli took a pair of scissors, and cut a square from the sheet. He folded it around the bottom of a beaker. Then, to Luthor’s amazement, stood on top of the table, and stuck the beaker to the ceiling. It held.

  “That’s fantastic! Have you found any corporate buyers?”

  “Unfortunately, I’m better at research than business. But there has to be some carbon credits in this thing somewhere,” Eli paused dramatically, “particularly if you knew I could hang from that beaker, and it would still stick on the ceiling. The beaker would break before the adhesion would.”

  Eli reached up calmly and with a twist and a pull, the beaker came free. “Imagine for a moment, what you could do in your presentation with some of this.”

  Luthor found himself leaning forward.

  “If you wrapped a few of your extra beads of 126 in this and then threw it at the ceiling, it would stick. You could have normal gravity for the entirety of your talk and then throw this up at the end and suddenly change the pull of gravity.”

  “Brilliant!” Luthor said. “Or I could stand on a wall, or simply suck some poor sap’s science project to the ceiling.”

  “The applications would be limitless.”

  “Looks like maybe you have found a buyer after all,” Luthor said.

  “I look forward to doing business with you.”

  “Looks like I won’t be needing this anymore.” Luthor crumpled his previous speech and tossed it in the trash. It bounced on the rim and flipped onto the floor.

  “You didn’t miss your calling as a basketball player, did you?” Eli laughed.

  “I’m better at throwing grenades. Harder to miss.”

  Eli nodded soberly. “Yes, but I much prefer paper to high explosive.”

  “Amen.” Eli was one of the only people with whom Luthor had ever discussed the war. He had still never revealed the blackest memories he’d locked up tight inside, but Eli had been a part of the European infantry in Antarctica; he understood the need both to commiserate and compartmentalize.

  “You still have dreams, don’t you?” Eli asked, “about the war?”

  “Every night,” Luthor admitted. “They never get any better.” Luthor flinched as the angry, scarred man he had imprisoned in the deepest part of his mind rattled his cage.

  “Me too.”

  “I sleep as little as I can, I hate reliving that frozen hell. Nothing helps.”

  “Maybe you should try my trick. I keep a loaded gun in every room in my house.”

  “Isn’t it illegal to own guns in Europe?”

  “Every bit as illegal as in the States. But I swear on my honor it helps. I no longer feel helpless. I wake up, check the magazine, and know that I will be able to protect myself. That is enough.”

  Mental note: buy a gun. “I hope you never fall asleep at your desk,” Luthor said.

  Eli chuckled. “I keep one there too. Duct-taped under my desk.” Luthor laughed too.

  “Come now old friend, let’s get some rest. I don’t feel like walking home.”

  Minutes later Luthor lay on the plush floor feeling comfort in his camaraderie with Eli. He fell asleep with a contented smile on his face for the first time in years.

  Chapter 3:

  Eleven Years Ago: Titan Dome, Antarctica

  “Don oxygen masks.” The speakers crackled. “Nearing jump zone.” The converted cargo plane rocked with the high-altitude turbulence common over Antarctica. They were flying fifty thousand feet above sea level and thirty seven thousand feet above the raised plateau of solid ice named Titan Dome. Luthor didn’t know what the hell it was in metric, and didn’t much care. He didn’t appreciate the government suddenly deciding that the whole country had to convert to meters and kilometers just because they had annexed all of the Western Hemisphere and were allied with Europe. United states of America or “the West,” miles or meters, Luthor just hoped they were far enough away from the Chinese surface to air missiles, guided artillery, and dragon gun installations they had been charged with destroying. With any luck there would be some cloud cover to hide their contrail, but there were no windows to be able to know for sure.

  Hundreds of men stood around him, lashed to the utility mesh that honeycombed the innards of the flying warehous
e. They shouted to each other in unheard conversations over the un-muffled roar of jet-engines. There were a lot of men, but their plane was only one of dozens of other aircraft similarly stuffed to capacity with specially trained, elite paratroopers. They were the first stage of the biggest allied offensive of the war to date. The men were calling it D-Day 2. And they, like their comrades 90 years before, hadn’t known when they would leave until the day before.

  Luthor played with his oxygen mask. He hated wearing it; it made him feel like he was suffocating, even though it was all that kept him from passing out from the extremes they endured. He had to use it long before the actual jump to help flush the nitrogen from his system, otherwise he could die from decompression sickness that soldiers called the airbends. His flight suit was shock-white, made of high-tech fibers that would repel water and reduce his drag in the air, while still keeping him alive when the temperatures dropped to 100 below zero Fahrenheit.

  He took a deep breath from his tank and removed his mask to adjust it. It was so itchy. When he exhaled into the open air a thick puff of white steam reminded him how cold it would be out there. A single stitch of exposed skin could net someone frostbite in minutes. He quickly replaced his mask, retightening his straps.

  “Won’t be long now, Ten.” Chaz had called Luthor Ten since they were kids. He thought it sounded better than Tenrel. The other men had picked it up too. “Jake, get your mask on!” Chaz shouted, his own oxygen muffling his voice.

  Jake fumbled with his mask. “How many smoggers you gonna cap this time?” He fingered the scope of his MX-5 fondly, like he could barely contain himself from pulling the trigger inside the aircraft. The MX-5 Assault rifle was a variant of the HK-436, the new standard issue weapon for coalition infantry. “Me? I’m gonna kill so many greedy Chinese Rats that they’re gonna start calling me the Orkin man.”

  Luthor grimaced. He had never relished combat, he just did what he had to do—what the commanders told him to do. Jake was one of those rare men, who made up only 2-5% of the military that were capable of killing without remorse or negative effects. At least that is what the military Psychologists said. The rest of them would likely suffer from PTSD, or at least need counseling, but not Jake. Jake would have made a great serial killer, if he hadn’t been drafted to shoot Chinese for the Coalition.