The Quantum Objective

By F. S. Habib

This book is a work of fiction. All characters appearing therein, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, spirits, gods, or artificial intelligences unborn, living or dead, is purely coincidental. For facts, opinions, theories and research which may, coincidently, exist in your experience of reality, please view the reference list made available at the end of your story.
Copyright © 2014 F. S. Habib
The moral right of the author had been asserted.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
All rights reserved.
Cover DNA Image: XVIVO
ISBN-10: 1505200768
ISBN-13: 978-1505200768
www.thequantumobjective.com

Acknowledgements
At home, I’d like to thank Adam for supporting this endeavour from its first rumblings over four years ago. My forgiving children who don’t hold the missing hours, days and weeks against me. The dear friends and family, Jenny, Julie, Nichola, Franklyn, Bertina and Nicolette, who kindly took time out of their busy lives to study the draft manuscript and cover. Your comments and encouragement kept me going through the long process. Thank you.

About the Author
Francine Habib has travelled around the world and brings her love for science, philosophy and an interest in the paranormal to her fiction. Prior to becoming a Chartered Psychologist, she graduated with a French and Business degree from the University of London and worked in the City. She finds inspiration at the frontiers of scientific knowledge as well as shared human values, beliefs and behaviours across cultures and through the ages.

Reality as an
illusion of Consciousness
is an ancient concept rooted in cultural narratives around the globe. It underscores every religion and now looms at the heart of scientific discovery.
Our beliefs about the origins of life impact our view of human nature and the meaning we attribute to our relationships, shared values and behaviours.
At the frontiers of quantum theory, all beliefs are being tested. New discoveries challenge our understanding of what it means to be self-aware and what mysteries might lie beyond our selves.
I was inspired by the fact that we don't yet understand the building blocks of our universe and the closer we look, the less we find. I wanted to build a story to bring the science to life. However, The Quantum Objective is a tale about trust, friendship, love and family.

London, England
She swirled the cocktail stick around her glass and watched a slow tear roll down its side. Turning eighteen was proving as great a disappointment as she’d anticipated. The sweet tang of loneliness filled her mouth and burned her lungs with every sip. This fake-it-till-you-make-it strategy just isn’t working.
Beth squirmed at the beams flung back into the darkened club by her sequined dress. They surely morse-coded her pathetic attempt at non-nerdom to all the cool kids jammed into the place. Frustration needled her lashes.
What the hell am I doing here? She thought for the tenth time. Mimi had assured her the right dress and a couple of drinks would kill her social incompetence.
Pah!
She straightened up and twisted on the barstool, hoping to spot missing-in-action Mimi.
The clubbers were as perplexing as prattling baboons. Their bopping and shouting seemed weird and unappealing. The relentless bass finally fractured her patience; she clambered from her perch, slipped, and clutched the bar to regain her balance.
Seriously, what the hell is wrong with these shoes? She yanked off the heels, surreptitiously rubbed her butt and tested the bar stool with her fingers.
Yep, hard as hate. Not the sort of thing my bony behind can handle for too long.
She tugged down her hemline and pushed through the crowd. Her gaze bounced off eye-contact like a moth on glass till she spied a familiar face through a knot of social dragonflies.
She pressed ahead.
‘Giles! Have you seen Mimi?’ she said.
He squinted through strobe.
‘It’s Elizabeth….Irving,’ she yelled and waved a length of fiery hair. His eyes widened then sparkled as he cleared a space.
‘Hey, Beth.’ He scanned her sequins. ‘I can’t believe you’ve been hiding such heavy weaponry under your academic bushel all this time.’ Beth couldn’t detect any sarcasm, but then Giles, like so many of Mimi’s exes, was a real charmer.
‘Sure…thanks. So any sign of Wonder Woman?’
‘I saw the latest Idol hanging around her - entirely unsuitable of course.’
Beth stared hard at his fine features. This was something to do with television again. She was sure of it. Note to Self: buy a TV. If you’re ever going to fit in, you’ll have to make more of an effort with popular social references.
‘What are you doing here?’ he said.
‘No clue…just a fish out of water. Mimi seems to think this geek will eventually grow lungs, but I have my doubts. If you spot her, please say I’ve grabbed a cab, okay?’ Beth stretched out a smile and made for the exit. She scratched at her forehead, desperate to escape the noise, the crush, the failure. She so rarely failed at anything…
‘Just let it go.’ She rolled the words around her mouth like a malfunctioning spell and swallowed against a tight throat.
‘You’re not abandoning us are you, lovely lady?’ A man blocked her path; his eyes followed her legs with interest. ‘How about some champagne? That usually makes the pain go away.’
Beth started. Is it that obvious?
He indicated the stilettoes she clutched.
‘Oh that.’ With a rush of relief she pushed past him into a street sparkling with drizzle, but devoid of taxis.
*
The gleam of streetlights shimmered on wet paving. A shop window, skirted with fresh litter, threw her reflection back at her. Skilful makeup made her glamorous as glitter, and genuine as granny’s teeth. Beth cringed away.
She sucked in a lungful of air, once more alone. She blew out her anxiety in a long breath. The loneliness always seemed lighter and less prickly than when she was around other people. Confidence returned with every step away from the club. A loitering paparazzo stepped into the rain to get a better view of her. She threw him a flat look and he retreated to a nearby huddle of smokers.
The facts hit out in unison - her mobile was warmly tucked inside Mimi’s purse, she had no money and the odds of finding a black cab in the rain at 3am on a Sunday were minimal.
‘Balls.’
She tasted metal on her tongue. Only two martinis, yet the chill air and drift of cigarette smoke churned her stomach.
Great. What now, Irving?
Cold and agitation clamped her teeth together and she longed to be home. She pictured her shower, her nightshirt and her bed, but home was miles away in Cambridge. She had to get to Mimi’s Chelsea apartment somehow. The doorman would let her in, even pay for the cab if she could ever find one.
She frowned down the quiet road. No vehicles of any sort. The thought of returning to the club shuddered through her and propelled her naked feet to the nearest cross street. She pulled a map to mind: only three blocks from Oxford Street, but everyone there would be vying for little yellow lights. Then again, the Langham hotel was only round the corner; they’d surely call me a cab.
She faltered and paused on the curb.
Mimi will worry. Beth glanced back towards the club; half hoping her friend would magically appear. She probably got chatting and forgot I was even there with her.
Her chin wobbled and she tightened her jaw. Droplets had gathered in her hairline and would shortly run ruinous paths through her makeup. She bit her fingertip to stop pointless tears exacerbating the damage.
Not that it matters, the night’s over anyway. I just need to stop feeling so God-damned sorry for myself and sort myself out.
A close hum startled her. She spun round, wide eyes taking in the black van beside her.
She yelped when the side opened like a gaping maw. Powerful arms surged out and yanked her into the dark. The slide and thump of metal shut the world out. The van slid back into the night.
*
What the hell just happened? Her brain couldn’t seem to process the last ten seconds. A faint fluorescent glow drew her stunned gaze to hard eyes behind a mask. The cold stare ruptured her calm.
Her legs shot her up and her arms jerked hopelessly against an iron grip that shoved her face-down against a rubbery floor. Her heart convulsed like a trapped cat.
I can’t let them take me.
Mouth wide, she gasped, but the shout was jammed back into her throat by a rough gag.
Beth’s futile retch released the tears she’d been holding back all evening. The scratch of a needle on her arm spiked her terror.
For God’s sake…Fight, fight, fight!
She kicked out and hit a wall of muscle. Pain knifed through her foot, but her scream echoed only in her head as she was lifted and flipped like a rag-doll. A hood blinded her and strong hands clamped her ankles together as the tight bond of tape bit her skin.
Trussed up, Beth focused on breathing. There was no air! Rank panic burned a fiery path through her chest, stomach, and bowels; a wave of darkness rushed to meet her mind.
Static buzzed close to her ear. A mechanical click, then a deep voice.
‘Base, this is 113. Target is secure. ETA in twenty-five. Over and out.’
Click.
Military? What the fuck is happening?
As the chill of dread and chemicals pulled her into a deep hole, the screech of tearing metal engulfed Beth before she was flung into a violent wind.
Then oblivion.
*
The darkness eased a little. Gurgling warmth pooled and cooled around her edges; a faltering rattle beat against her ribs.
Is that my heart?
She pushed at the intractable fog in her mind, forced heavy lids wider and turned her head.
Nothing happened. The cold wet tarmac wouldn't let her cheek leave. She couldn’t tell where her body started or stopped. She felt no pain, just cold. A terrible nitrogen chill that slowed her thoughts to a sluggish train of observations.
It was still drizzling. Beyond the strange gurgles that bubbled from her throat, a horn blared its uninterrupted irritation into the night. Her mouth was clear now, but the air wasn’t working. She couldn’t escape the icy fingers that pierced her chest and head.
A shadow flickered against the dirty brick wall that filled her field of vision. She watched its distinctly male outline shrink as the crunch of footsteps closed in. A warm hand pressed beneath her ear. The low curse wasn't in English, but the panic was clear and infectious. The first stab of understanding pierced the fog.
I’m broken, I’m dying. Shit, I can’t die; I’m only eighteen. I haven’t done anything yet.
Then hot hands sizzled against her shoulder blades. Delicious warmth soon swelled to searing heat. Beth screamed, but no sound came. His fiery fingers burned down her back, then moved along her legs to press her frozen feet. Confusion pushed through the pain.
What is he doing? How about a bloody ambulance?
Tears pricked her failing heart to a faster rhythm. She couldn’t die like this; she had to move. But her mind was letting go.
Just let it go. It suddenly seemed easy. She floated down into the now familiar blackness.
*

Perun swore roundly and drew on every measure of his will. His hands glowed like coals against the torn flesh. The damage from the crash was colossal. He cursed his panicked reaction to the snatch. He surely could have tracked her down again…maybe. He was thankful he’d been watching so closely tonight; he couldn’t risk her falling into the hands of the murderous monster. His gaze flicked to the crumpled van.
They’d been Khoen’s dogs, no doubt about it. I’ll have to act before he sends more. I can’t delay any longer, but first I have to pull her back.
He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to her cold chest. Her still heart jumped, faltered and then steadied.

Barcelona, Spain
The body of his commander hit the floor with a dull thud. The air prickled with strange electricity, the stench of fresh blood and shit blossomed around the two figures that stood over the corpse.
Khoen hid ebbing rage behind his stiff fingers.
Had regret just shaded those empty eyes of his? The soldier shook off the thought. Not a chance.
Eventually Khoen’s palms slipped off his twisted face. He turned toward the dawn sky, away from his kill.
‘If she is impaired…’ his fists squeezed white. Tight eyes opened black as the far side of the moon. A shiver shook the soldier, but he didn’t run like his body was telling him to. He forced his stare away from those dark orbs, down to the blood that oiled a path around the unmoving boots of his ex-boss.
‘The Sayan would have saved her, fixed her. He clearly wants her, or at least, doesn’t want anyone else…’
‘My information was good and I want my reward. Was the task so difficult?’ Khoen said.
‘No, sir.’
‘Yet, she is not here.’ His calm tone corroded the soldier’s courage.
‘The Sayan… ’
‘Sí?’
The soldier pushed mettle into his voice. Excuses wouldn’t cut it.
‘I will complete the mission. The target will be delivered as agreed sir, but we need to approach with more caution now.’
Pale grey shoes moved into his line of sight as Khoen came closer. The leather, soft as cloud, glinted.
Metal? How does he do it? How do any of these freaks do what they do?
‘Listen carefully, soldado. I
need
Elizabeth Irving.’
The soldier fixed his gaze on the chopper blades thumping in the dusk beyond. He itched to know why this chic was so important, but was close enough to smell the energy still pouring from the fiend. It filled his nostrils and pushed into his brain like napalm, killing his curiosity. Khoen leaned in…
‘Go fetch.’ His close whisper pumped hope and dread in equal measure through the soldier.
Heavy footsteps faded as he walked to the waiting chopper.
The motionless soldier flicked a glance at the retreating figure and then bumped the black soles before him.
Looks like I just got promoted. The big boys in D.C. are gonna be pissed as hell with the body-count, but that’s what you get when you team up with psychos.
He watched the chopper lift and bank away from the dock, heading out into the Mediterranean. That time was too close, he thought. We have to get back in control. Then he shook his head. Don’t kid yourself.
The fresh scab in the crook of his elbow itched, reminding him of his next job. He soothed the little tattoo with a few strokes. He now had go deeper into the viper’s nest over at Providence Central. He wondered how long before those boys would be after Miss Irving too.