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  “After what I’ve seen, I can only imagine what will follow. This is a great opportunity and the research should continue however, my main objective is to find out what happened to my father. The science is your domain.”

  “I agree. This is a rare opportunity and I’m delighted to be involved.”

  “It’s clear that you are the most qualified person on the team. Father trusted you and so do I and I want to make sure we have a solid working relationship. To put it plainly, I want you to lead the project from here on.”

  “You want me to lead the project?”

  “You’re the logical choice,” said Quan. “We’ll want to document the experiments and eventually publish our findings. You’re the most qualified to do that. You’ve published papers before and you should be the main signatory, but of course my father should receive credit for the work he did.”

  Unfolding his arms, von Ang perked up. “You honor me sir. Yes. I would like that very much.”

  Quan tapped his wrist disk, and above the low table between them a view field activated. Two pages appeared, churning in midair, as if in a slowly moving cyclone. He swept his hand across and the pages unfurled. “I was confident you’d feel that way and so I prepared a consultanting contract.” His hand brushed the air again and the documents turned to face von Ang.

  Von Ang sat straight, his back not touching the chair. Reading through the document. It included a salary plus an equity stake if there was any financial outcome. He he asked for clarification. Looking past the floating image to where Quan sat, he said, “This is very generous. How will you fund the project?”

  “The Jintao Corporation won’t be involved. My family trust will fund the project. However, if there is any applied technology, Jintao Corporation will have first right of refusal. What I want out of this is finding out what happened to my father. At the same time, I’ll be happy to help with the research.”

  “Naturally. Learning what happened to your father should be a first priority.”

  Quan placed his hand in the view field and Von Ang did the same. With business concluded, Quan said, “We have a deal. I’ll store the docs where we can both access them.” The pages vanished from view.

  Quan’s wrist disk bipped. It was Sealy. He excused himself and left the room. A moment later, Ning appeared at the doorway and asked von Ang if there was anything she could bring.

  Quan was helping Sealy with her packages. Coming in from their shopping trip, Lotus immediately went looking for von Ang. She found him alone in the study, with his back turned to the doorway. She sidled up next to him and said, “We’re back and I’m famished. Are you finished with your meeting?”

  “Yes. You’re back,” he said. Columns of data vanished from the surface of his cornea. “How was shopping?”

  “I think we bought too much. But, better too much than too little. Don’t you agree?”

  “You are talking to a man who owns eight identical suits.”

  “Are you hungry? Let’s go to the front room.”

  “Alright,” he said, following her.

  “My feet are just killing me,” she said, kicking off her shoes. “Would you like to hear some music? You probably like classical, right?”

  “I enjoy a wide range of music.”

  “Really? Tell me what you think of this one.” Lotus playfully worked something in her hand that was too small to be seen, syncing it to the penthouse sound system. Music blared from every corner and she quickly turned it down.

  The track was a disparate mixture of styles: African tribal drumming, rockabilly rhythm guitar, jazz piano, and an amazing woman’s voice, half singing and half reciting lyrics.

  “Foof Trizkit,” said von Ang.

  “Seriously? That’s unreal,” said Lotus, with eyes and mouth wide open. “I’ve never met anyone over twenty who’s even heard of them.”

  “I travel quite a bit and I sound bite constantly.”

  “That’s orbital, and you’re a scientist?”

  “Theoretical physicist.”

  Lotus smiled broadly, showing her perfect teeth. “I’ve heard it’s like trying to find a black cat in a dark room.”

  Amused, von Ang replied, “Most of the time it feels like trying to find a black cat that isn’t even there at all.”

  Lotus played several more of her favorites and, one after another, he named the artists.

  “Honestly,” said Lotus. “You are the full quantum package.”

  For lunch, Ning set out a centerpiece of dried quince blossoms on the large dining table and, from a silver tureen she ladled soup into riceware bowls sitting on top of synthetic pearl chargers. She was careful to see that each bowl contained the same amount of broth, shrimp wonton, green onion, and bok choy. At the last, she put a sprig of Chinese parsley on top of each bowl and set the tureen aside.

  Quan and Sealy, Lotus, and their guest took their seats. Opalescent rice grains imbedded on the sides of each bowl were letting light into the broth, making bright dots on the ingredients inside.

  Lotus said, “Love these bowls. It’s like tiny sidelights in a koi pond.”

  “They were handed down from my great-grandmother,” said Quan.

  Ning brought a silver wine cooler from the sideboard and placed it next to Quan in a stand. She uncorked the bottle and asked, “Shall I pour?”

  “No. I’ll do the honors,” he said.

  He filled the ladies’ glasses, then reached across the table and poured for his guest and then himself, setting the empty bottle down in the cooler.

  “Wine with lunch?” asked Sealy, holding up her glass. “Are we celebrating?”

  “In fact, we are,” said Quan, raising his glass. “Gaston has agreed to lead our research project.”

  “Congratulations,” said Sealy, lifting her glass.

  “I’m honored,” said von Ang, picking up his glass.

  Quan took a sip and set his glass down. “You’re our first guest since we’ve been back.”

  “That makes you a guìbīn,” said Lotus.

  “Lotus means you’re an honored guest,” said Sealy.

  “Thanks for the translation, sis,” said Lotus, turning her face to von Ang. “My sister is always so helpful. Do you have brothers or sisters?”

  “I have a sister. She lives in Lausanne. She and her husband have a farm. It’s very picturesque—a lake—the alps—cows wandering on green hillsides—very picturesque.”

  “I’d love to go there. I bet it’s magic,” said Lotus.

  Something quickened inside Sealy. She wasn’t going to let Lotus dominate the conversation, like she usually did. “The Swiss are such an interesting culture. Switzerland is a cultural crossroads—German, French, Italian. And yet it’s been able to retain its own unique character. I suppose that’s because it’s so isolated in the mountains.”

  “The mountains definitely had an influence,” replied von Ang. “They occupy so much of the country that natural resources are scarce. The Swiss have had to do a lot with a little. You know ages ago we were known for precision watches. Now we make nano-scale machines. Tiny country, tiny things.”

  “And, of course there are the Swiss banks,” added Quan.

  “True. That’s another benefit of isolation,” said von Ang.

  Fully aware of the impression her comment would make, Lotus dropped a bombshell. “Someone told me Switzerland is the money-laundering capital of the world. Is that true?”

  Von Ang gave a little laugh. “In fairness, Swiss banks are one of the oldest safe havens, but certainly not the only ones.”

  Adding fuel to the fire, Lotus added, “Oligarchs always seem to come out on top, don’t they? Stuffing their fortunes into hidden places.”

  Quan listened with amused interest, enjoying the controversary… and the soup.

  “Inequality is an ongoing problem,” said von Ang, “and if you don’t have a way to get it under control, then people with the most money invariably take power. It’s happened throughout history. Every
country has its elite.”

  “Our Central Committee has done a good job of keeping it under control,” said Sealy, sitting up straighter than usual, as if speaking on behalf of the government. “Looking out for the welfare of the general population, they’ve rebuilt the infrastructure—new power plants, new cities and glideways, and new industrial centers. And, at the same time, they’ve managed to clean up the environment.”

  Lotus dove in with gusto. “As I recall, their policies created the pollution in the first place. And didn’t they uproot whole communities to make way for the new infrastructure? Don’t forget the Three Gorges Dam.”

  Quan interjected, “And to their credit, after all the talk about colonizing Mars, they added up the cost and realized it was cheaper to clean up Earth instead. That was smart.” Then he called to Ning for another bottle of Riesling and said, “Let’s hear more about Switzerland.”

  Von Ang thought for a moment. “I suppose I could tell you about the work I did at CERN.”

  Lotus let out a heavy sigh. “I’d rather hear about the interesting things you’ve done.”

  “Really,” said Sealy, in a deprecating tone. “Tell us whatever you’d like.”

  “I just love that you’re at our table,” said Lotus, perky and beaming. “I want to know all about you.”

  “All right. I could tell you about racing in Cannes,” said von Ang with a big smile. “That was exciting.”

  “Yes. Tell us about Cannes,” said Lotus, leaning forward. “Vintage automobiles?”

  “No. Actually, gasoline powered vehicles have been banned throughout the EU. Only electrics are allowed. But no, this was sailboat racing. I was on crew for the Figaro 81 yacht race—Cannes to Istanbul. I crewed on the Prometheus out of Wales and we came in second. We would have taken first except for one bad turn around the Isle of Man. Wind gusts of forty knots almost capsized us. We were skimming along with the starboard rail touching the water. The helmsman pulled us out just in time.”

  “Wonderful!” said Lotus, clapping her hands together. “I would never have guessed you were a sailor in addition to your other talents.”

  Sealy rolled her eyes and Quan almost laughed.

  “It was a long time ago,” said von Ang.

  Ning entered with a newly opened bottle of Riesling and stopped next to Quan. “Shall I pour?” she asked.

  “Yes,” said Quan. “And some egg rolls or spring rolls would be nice.”

  “Will NutriSynth be all right?”

  “I think so. Everybody?”

  “Sure. Why not,” said Sealy. Her eyes slid from Quan to von Ang. “You’ll stay, won’t you, Gaston?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  The foursome ate and drank and bursts of laughter rose from the table for the better part of an hour. At the last, von Ang set his napkin down and looked at Quan. “This has been very nice. I appreciate the opportunity to know your family. I should be getting back. There’s work to be done.”

  “I understand,” said Quan, rising from his chair. “We should all get together again.”

  Von Ang rose from the table with the others and Quan walked him to the foyer. He shook von Ang’s hand and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Ning approached with von Ang’s coat and Lotus asked for her coat, as well.

  Von Ang said good-bye again, thanking Sealy for a pleasant lunch. Lotus quickly put her coat on and went out to the rooftop with him. In her time, she had known them all: the would-be intellectuals, the urbanites, the playboys, the jocks, and the lecherous old rakes. Von Ang stood out. He was brilliant, and handsome, comfortable with himself, and above all, he was a gentleman.

  The air was cold and Lotus pulled the collar of her jacket up close to her chin. “Tell me,” she asked. “Where do you live?”

  “I have a house in Geneva overlooking the lake, but I’m hardly ever there. I have apartments in two other cities.”

  “Sweet. Is one of them here?”

  “Yes.”

  Her eyes grew larger. “Peut-être vous m’invitez à votre maison.”

  “You are a constant surprise,” said von Ang. “Yes, of course you’re invited. How could I say no?”

  “Bon savoir,” she said.

  Seeing a glide on approach, Lotus became more formal. “It was very nice to meet you, Gaston. I’ll be here for a few more days. Maybe I’ll see you again before I leave.”

  The taxi-glide began its slow descent.

  “It would be my pleasure.”

  Placing a hand on his forearm, she leaned in and gave him a light kiss on the cheek, then stepped back smiling impishly—as if she’d done something naughty. He smiled, said good-bye, and boarded the glide, unaware of the nanites migrating down his coat sleeve. On the way home, a gentle vibration drew his attention. He pushed up his coat sleeve and looked at his arm. There, written on the underside of his wrist, was her message: “LOTUS—092752.” He laughed, shook his head, and spoke the number to his wrist disk. Then he brushed the expired nanites into the trash receptacle in front of him.

  19.

  Kau Yi Chau Island

  Quan fastened a utility belt over his skinsuit while von Ang fed in scan data for the instruments.

  “This one’s on the bleeding edge,” said von Ang, handing him an instrument fashioned with a pistol grip on one end and a rectangular block on the other end. “I’m hoping it will tell us what those particles are made of.”

  “What do you call this?” asked Quan, turning it over in his hand.

  “It’s a micro mass spectrometer.”

  “It’s incredibly small. Who built it?”

  “One of my go-to people,” said von Ang. “There are only two in existence. Treat it with care. I pledged a vital organ to borrow it.”

  Clipping it to his belt, Quan said, “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care. Let’s keep your organs stay where they belong.” He attached the other gadgets, then climbed onto the mesh. Watching von Ang set the machine, he thought about their contract. Giving him an equity stake had secured his allegiance and rekindled his enthusiasm.

  “You’ll have half an hour,” said von Ang, “and the experiments should take about five minutes each.”

  The big Scot crouched down next to where Quan lay, attaching something to the leg of the frame. Looking over the side, Quan saw a red-and-black mountain-climbing rope with metal rings and carabiners. “How long it that rope?” he asked.

  “Fifty meters,” said McGowen.

  “I’ll walk out about fifty meters,” he said to von Ang. “Is that within the boundary effect?”

  “That should be fine,” said von Ang. “I calculated energy dissipation at about sixty meters.”

  McGowen clipped the end of the rope to a ring on Quan’s belt and stepped away.

  “I’ll do the experiments first, then I’m going to look around.”

  “Affirmative,” said von Ang.

  Waiting for the surge, Quan heard a whirring sound and looked over to where McGowen was starting up the medi-bot system. It was a reminder of how serious a malfunction could be. These were the treacherous minutes, a surplus of time to think about the risks.

  “I’m ready,” said Quan. “Can we get on with this?”

  Von Ang initiated the transfer sequence, and three seconds later the young Jintao was gone.

  ~~~

  Waves of multicolored specks rush over him, fizzing like the static on a broken view field. Swinging down from the mesh, his feet touch the floor. Colors are inverted. Shapes come and go. The torus and the large stainless steel tanks are purple outlined in black. Shadows are orange. Boundaries dissolve and reform. Walking away from the equipment, he passes the dark shapes of his team members, continuing out to what he calculates to be about twenty meters out.

  Looking down at the instruments on his belt he sees three grainy shapes bristling with particles. Quan grabs the spectrometer by what appears to be its pistol shaped handle and unhooks it. Holding it at arm’s length, he presses the trigger. Dig
its on the readout aren’t legible. He brings the instrument closer to his eyes. It may have identified seven different elements . . . but then four . . . then eight. The readings are erratic. He hooks it back onto the belt and picks up another device, a reticle scanner. Holding it steady, it seems to be measuring something. Particles appear at a magnification of ten thousand . . . then they’re gone. He triggers it again. It’s not working. Before putting it away, he holds the trigger down continuously and sweeps the instrument around. Still nothing.

  He unclips the last gadget and activates it. The display is impossible to read. The numbers are too small. Quan clips it back onto the belt and stands there, engulfed in the billowing waves of color, his eyes searching for patterns in the storm.

  This is the inverse, he thinks. This is what the space inside atoms is made up of . . . space filled with dark matter and dark energy . . . another reality attached to every particle of our world. It’s the other side of the scrim . . . the backstage of the universe.

  His father’s last words resonate inside his head: Must see with my own eyes.

  Yes. This is the only way.

  Surrounded by the bristling firmament, he feels strangely safe, as if the thick atmosphere is cloaking him—protecting him. Then comes an odd feeling. It’s as though a gentle breeze is blowing across the back of his head, moving across his exposed neurons It’s as if the nerves are extending right out of his head, reaching into space, connecting to everything. He’s alone, and yet not. The feeling is exhilarating, empowering… and yet frightening.

  I am and I am not. Parts of me are flickering in and out of existence.

  Looking down he sees a black form. It’s his body—blackness outlined with needle-fine filaments of light. He moves his arm. The needles are radiating directly out from his skin, like the needles of a pine tree. Some are pointing directly at him, hardly visible, only pinpoints. Others are long, tapering to nothingness.

  Raising both arms, he yells out, “I’m here. Do you see me? Anybody?”

  No answer.

  Then there is something—something in front of him—something forming in the mist. It’s as if the particles are clumping—sticking to an invisible shape. Something is definitely there.