Rise of the Beast (49 page)

So they had a quiet dinner and listened to the radio. They listened until
well past 11
P.M
. Nothing particularly troubling emerged from what they heard. They agreed to continue the vigil the following evening to gather more data, to get a better idea as to where they stood.

“Engaging safeties, current to the ring in one minute,” said a voice over the loud speaker in the control room.

Through the thick Plexiglas windows the science team gazed out from the control room at the shimmering ring illuminated by the high-intensity lights. This was it, the first test. Could they form a stable wormhole joining two rings almost 4,000 feet apart? They would soon know.

Les and Nabuko stood side by side amidst the other members of the science team. Almost without noticing, Les had taken Nabuko’s hand. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“We’ll begin with a million volts at 1.6 billion amps,” announced Malnar, who stood near the back of the group, his arms crossed. “Mr. Wilson, watch for any power spikes in the flow. If you see anything at all that makes you nervous, hit the breaker. We’ll sort out the data later.”

“Yes, sir,” confirmed Wilson, who sat at one of the three computer terminals before the observation windows.

“Engage,” said Malnar.

Les was astounded. He could actually feel the power as it flowed into the ring over 50 feet away. The gasp from the crowd told him that he was not alone in that. Right now, he could just make out a faint aura around the ring. In the midst of the ring, a blue luminous fog was forming, even as the wall behind it rippled, as if viewed through waves of searing heat, then it began to fade. In the midst of the fog, a myriad of what looked like sparkling stars appeared.

A gasp of wonder arose from the group as the swirling clouds brightened. Never had they seen such a wonder.

Les glanced at the readouts before him then turned to Malnar. “I recommend we increase the current by 20 percent.”

“Agreed,” said Malnar.

The clouds within the ring brightened, even as what looked like daylight appeared within the heart of the ring. Les recalled the view from the ring on the far side of the island. It was out in the open air, perched upon a thick concrete slab covered by a sort of ramada. Was that what he was seeing through the ring? He wasn’t sure. Still, something wasn’t quite right. The image was intermittent, it twisted and undulated. Les moved forward to the center terminal. He made some quick adjustments. The image began to clear.

“Come on, think, what am I missing?” muttered Les.

“Adjust the phase discriminator,” suggested Nabuko, “Narrow the band.”

Les understood. The image became even clearer. Yes, they were looking at the beach. A cheer arose from the group.

“Let’s give it a try,” said Les.

“Go ahead with experiment one,” said Malnar.

A research assistant stepped in front of the ring. In his hand were three silvery spheres, about the size of golf balls. Each was a miniature scientific probe that would record factors ranging from temperature to radiation intensity during their brief flight.

The assistant lined up, took aim, then tossed the first one underhand into the maelstrom. There was a flash of light as it passed through the mists.

Les followed its course carefully from the control room. He was certain that he saw a second flash still deeper into the mists.

“It came through!” said a voice over the radio. “Test sphere one just flew out of the destination ring. Man, was that something to see.”

Again there arose a cheer from the team. The research assistant threw the second and then the third ball through the ring, after which the power was cut and the wormhole collapsed. The team was ecstatic. They had just created the first stable manmade wormhole.

Yet their triumph was short-lived. When the probes were recovered, they were found to be twisted and distorted. The trip through the wormhole had fundamentally altered their atomic structure. They had recorded no data that had survived. One could only imagine what the trip would have done to a human being.

“This was just the first step,” said Les, examining the distorted sphere at a round table discussion some hours later. “We’ve weighed each one. No matter was lost in transfer. At least we got that part right. Now we have to figure out what happened, what went wrong.”

“I don’t think the wormhole was truly stable,” said a woman at the far end of the table. “Space-time through the wormhole was twisted and undulating. We need to find a way to regulate the flow through the corridor, make it more laminar.

“Perfectly laminar is more likely,” noted a man standing near the door.

Others around the table nodded in agreement. It seemed to make sense.

“Then let’s get working on it,” said Les. “We’ve made tremendous progress. We should celebrate. We will make this technology work. Once we review the data on the computers more carefully, we’ll figure out what to do next. It’s just going to take time.”

There was a general agreement among the others. The concept was sound; today’s experiment had proved that. It just needed to be refined.

Today’s experiment was the center of conversation as Les and Nabuko had a quiet dinner in her quarters. They listened to the random security transmissions over her radio. They were only about half listening to it when one particular conversation caught their attention.

“These humans can be quite resourceful when they want to be,” said a voice over the radio. “Their progress today with the ring was quite impressive. I was there; I saw it.”

“I still think they look better burning in a fire pit, crying to me for mercy,” said another, a sense of mirth in his voice. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to treating them as equals.”

“Enough,” said a third voice. “I don’t want this sort of talk going out over the airwaves in English, even on an encrypted channel.”

Nabuko seemed to turn very pale. “What was that all about? Do you think it was a joke?”

“It didn’t sound like it,” said Les.

“Who are these people,” said Nabuko, leaning forward on the table and placing her face in her hands.

“I don’t know,” admitted Les, “but they talked about us as if we were a different species altogether.”

Nabuko looked up. “It was they who guided our work. They seemed to know a lot of the science, the ins and outs of the universe, but needed our help to make the technology work. Could they be some sort of aliens?”

“What about the comment about humans in a fire pit, pleading for mercy?” asked Les. “That almost sounds like some version of Hell.”

“We have a form of Hell in my faith,” said Nabuko, “but it’s more like an enormous pot of boiling oil, not coals and fire.”

“Lovely,” noted Les. “To be honest with you, I’m really not religious. I believe in the big bang, evolution, not the creation of the universe by some powerful all-knowing being.”

“Even after what you just heard?” asked Nabuko.

“Even after what I just heard,” confirmed Les.

“What are these people?” continued Nabuko.

Les took Nabuko’s hand. “Now we’re not going to start making wild speculations based on a few sentences spoken over the radio. It could have been some sort of an inside joke for all we know.”

For a while they spoke of escaping this place. This weekend they could take the shuttle to Fiji, on the excuse that they needed a weekend vacation. From there, they could fly to Australia or New Zealand, even Japan. Yet in the end they agreed to stay, to keep working. What they were doing was too important, too incredible. Perhaps it was their scientific curiosity overriding their common sense. And they would keep eavesdropping on Lusan’s people too, gathering as much information as they could. Of course they couldn’t tell a soul, because getting caught could be deadly, literally. They just hoped that they were making the right decision.

In Lusan’s conference room in the Davidson Building, the usual gathering of his minions was assembled before him. Winter had given way to spring, and with it had come word of progress on his pet project, the ring. Yes, it wasn’t fully functional yet, but they were making progress. Soon it would allow him to move his minions and the spirits of his minions back and forth between Earth and Hell. No longer would they need to squeeze through that tiny fissure in the ethereal realm beneath well number 14 in the Kurdish Republic. They would be able to pour through this gate by the tens of thousands. And when that time came, he would have them possess the souls of every last scientist and engineer who had made it all possible, thus keeping the secret of the ring from the world. These humans were such fools.

“We have another potential problem,” noted one of his minions. “His name is Detective William Strom of the New York Police Department. He has been snooping into our business. My lord, he has been listening to that wench, Serena Davis. I fear that he is beginning to believe her story. He is attempting to prove that you are not who you say you are.”

“He will have a great deal of difficulty on that score,” noted Lusan.

“Perhaps,” said the minion. “But I have been observing him nevertheless. He has not invited the Holy Spirit of God into his being so I am able to follow his movements without hindrance. He found the falsified airline records that show that you entered this country legally, but he didn’t stop there. He located the row and seat that you supposedly occupied, 24B. He questioned the person in the seat beside it. Strangely, the woman in 24C remembered the flight perfectly. She claimed that 24B was vacant.”

“How could that be?” objected Lusan. “That was almost three years ago.”

“She remembered it because she had a long conversation with the man who had been sitting by the window in seat 24A. Apparently he had been quite remarkable.

“Pagoni’s people provided you with a very convincing history. The paper trail is impressive, but it is not ironclad. If this Detective Strom follows the paper trail to Northern Africa or convinces some more significant organization such as the FBI or INTERPOL to take it up, they might find that you do not have a true life history on Earth. That might be difficult to explain. It might lead to your deportation or, worse, your exposure.”

“Then eliminate him!” Lusan yelled in frustration. “Make it look like an accident or an incident of gang violence. I don’t care.”

The minion smiled. “It will be a pleasure, my lord.”

“I will not allow a mere policeman to stand in my way at this point!” Lusan said, furious that he was being challenged by a mere man. “He should have confined his efforts to pursuing humans. He is not up to the challenge of confronting us.”

C
HAPTER
20

It was nearly dark by the time Detective Bill Strom reached his modest three-bedroom home in Montclair, New Jersey. It was quite a commute every day, almost an hour, but Bill wouldn’t have had it any other way. Montclair was quiet, away from the gangs and the crime of the city. It was the kind of place that you could raise a family in, free of fear.

He pulled into the driveway. He would have pulled all the way into the garage if there had been room. But that was his weights room, the kid’s playroom, and his workshop. After all of that, there wasn’t room for a car.