Jintao Page 16

  The world was stranger than anyone had imagined, existing in multiple dimensions at the same time. Matter itself was ethereal . . . a projection . . . an illusion. And by extension, life wasn’t anchored to anything tangible. Life itself was ethereal . . . existing in all dimensions at the same time.

  It was late afternoon when he closed the session and walked out into the great room. Sealy was there. At first he wanted to talk about his insights but then it would only cause more discord. He sat next to her and said not a word.

  Sealy greeted him with a forced smile and poured tea, “You were up late,” she said. “What were you working on?”

  He had to open up to her. Start with something simple, he thought. “We are not the first to know about the Braneworld.”

  “Oh. So, you have a name for it now.”

  “It’s a name Gaston came up with but I’m sure it’s gone by other names. We’re not the first to know about it.”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Sealy.

  “I’ve been gathering research and I found other narratives that are too similar to be coincidence. There were others, long ago, who described the same thing. Did you ever hear of Ching Tu? They called it the land of pure consciousness and enlightenment.”

  “Yes, when I was very young,” said Sealy.

  “We had a nanny who told us about Ching Tu,” said Sealy. “It’s a fable.”

  “Right. And there are similar fables in other cultures. The ancient Egyptians had stories about the Land of Two Fields. The Vikings, the Christians, the Hindus . . . Hopi indians, aborigines . . . lots of other people . . . they all have similar stories.”

  “And you think they were all describing the same thing?”

  “It’s only a matter of semantics. I mean, imagine if people of the first century could see one of our autoglides. They’d relate to it in ways they were familiar with. They might say it looks like an enormous shining egg floating on the wind, with flashes of colored light from jewels on its shell. And they might easily have described Braneworld in the same way as Ching Tu, or Heaven, or Valhalla.”

  Sealy’s face went deadpan. “I was concerned about your physical safety, I never thought to worry about your mental health. Now, I’m not so sure. You’re telling me you’ve been to Ching Tu? That’s not very scientific—sounds paranormal.”

  “In a way, we’re like those ancients. Even with our sophisticated sciences, it’s practically impossible to describe the experience. There’s no map or legend to guide us.”

  Ning entered the room and stood for a moment as if trying to remember something. “Do you need my assistance?”

  Quan wheeled round in his seat, one arm over the back of the circular sofa. “Ching Tu. Remember? You used to read stories about it.”

  “The estuary where dragons spawn,” said Ning.

  “Huh, I don’t remember that part,” said Quan. “It’s like one of those things that people try to describe but can’t—like blind men trying to describe an elephant.”

  “I see,” said Ning Her face, drawn in serious contemplation. “Blind men and elephants.”

  “Okay. Now, that was random,” said Sealy, under her breath.

  “I think people have been aware of other dimensions since ancient times,” said Quan. “They tried to describe it in ways that people would understand, and probably weren’t very successful. Without written records, explanations were easily misinterpreted as they were passed down through the generations.”

  “Like writing in the sky,” said Ning, sweeping her hand in an arc.

  Sealy rolled her eyes. “Does she really need to be part of this?”

  “Come on, Seal. No harm. She’s deducing abstract ideas. At least she’s trying to think outside her parameters.”

  “Where is all this going, anyway?”

  He pressed on. “We can measure and test and catalog that place. We can describe it more accurately than those early people, but it’s still an enigma. We don’t have a language for it. I’m just beginning to understand it, just beginning to explore its potential and it’s changing me.”

  Sealy perked up. “What does that mean? How is it changing you?”

  “I’m beginning to see things differently. The world we live in is just the visible part of a much more complex reality. We are all made of the same stuff . . . and the stuff we’re made of is constantly recycled. Life is pushing itself into existence, like the unseen fingers inside a puppet. What would it be like if everyone saw the world that way?”

  Sealy wriggled on the sofa. “That’s all speculation on your part. Maybe philosophers and theoreticians would be interested, but I don’t think most people are looking for that kind of revelation. Most people are looking to be entertained, not enlightened. And, if you try to force a different reality on them, they’re most likely going to ignore you—or worse. They might want to silence you.”

  He knew she was right, in the way she was right about so many things. “True,” he said. “People come with all levels of understanding. Don’t get me wrong. Converting the masses is not my thing, but this is a revelation of monumental importance. There must be a way to communicate what this is . . . but just how to do that isn’t clear.”

  “Unwashed windows obscure the view,” said Ning.

  Amusement flickered across Quan’s face. “In a way, Ning’s right. I’m looking for clarity. I need help.”

  Sealy folded her arms. “Looks to me like you’re wandering off course. You think there are others who’ve experienced this other dimension without the equipment you have?”

  “My father, and the anomaly, and the quantum flux between dimensions—it’s all tied together somehow. Maybe there are others out there who are better able to understand what’s going on.”

  “So, what is it that you’re trying to communicate?” asked Lotus.

  “The illusion of this world—beyond the physical stuff—nine-tenths of what exists is hidden from us.” He got up and faced her. “I built a model of the experience to help me understand it. I put it online—anonymous, of course. I’m hoping others might know what this is about.”

  “I need to caution you. I love Lotus, but if you want to keep your work private, don’t share any of this with her. I’ve never known her to keep a secret.”

  “I can see that. You’re right, Seal. I’m the caretaker. I have responsibility.” Looking across the room, he said, “Ning can keep a secret. Can’t you, Ning?”

  “Ching Tu is not secret. Many know of it,” said Ning.

  “What we’ve been talking about in this room is to be kept secret,” asserted Sealy. “You are not to discuss this conversation with anyone. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” said Ning. “I am not to speak of these things to anyone.”

  21.

  At the Jintao Corporation Quan sat at his father’s desk. The floor to ceiling glass wall was to his left and the gold framed awards to his right. His hands were on top of the two-meter wide desk in front of him. His fingers traced the inlaid panel of black leather at its center. Reaching across the panel, he felt the kidskin surface, soft and yielding. His fingers explored the edges—feeling for a secret compartment—searching for something that wasn’t there.

  The only clue his father had left was the pyramid puzzle in his lab, a puzzle that only Quan could solve. And there was the rabbit’s foot, an ingenious key to the hidden files.

  Outside the glass wall, a seagull glid past, white and bright in the noonday sun.

  Leaning back in the executive chair, haunting images of his father’s face came to him. If he didn’t return, the Corporation would eventually declare him in absentia and Quan would be expected to take part in company management. He would be given the power of a majority shareholder which would also encumber him like a suit of armor.

  The process had already begun. His next scheduled meeting was with the government officials who sealed his father’s laboratory. He had done his best to keep the discovery under wraps but it was entirely possi
ble that they already knew about it. Maybe someone told them or maybe they’d been spying on Master Jintao for some time. Maybe there was a mole inside the company, or maybe one of the consultants told them. In any event, Quan was prepared to do damage control—and push them away if he could.

  A secretary in the outer office spoke over the intracom, “Your appointment is here.”

  “Show them in,” said Quan.

  To his right a door opened and three government officials entered the room. They wore identical blue suits, white shirts, and black ties—two men and a woman. McGowen followed in behind them.

  “You asked to see me,” said Quan, remaining in his seat. “Who are you?”

  One of them, a man with a particularly narrow face and thick glasses, made the introductions, claiming they were from the Central Science Committee. Quan asked to see their credentials and was shown their name badges.

  “Have a seat,” he said.

  Finding only two chairs in front of the desk, there was brief hesitation until the man with the narrow face ordered the other two to sit. McGowen stood at the wall next to the door.

  “I’m looking forward to hearing about your investigation. What have you learned?” asked Quan.

  The two who were seated looked at each other for an answer. The man behind them spoke directly. “What are you referring to?”

  “Aren’t you here to look into my father’s disappearance?”

  “We’re here on a matter of national security. A research project is being conducted here that should be under the jurisdiction of our Committee.”

  “What project are you speaking of? We have so many.”

  “You know very well, I’m referring to the scientific research that was under your father’s supervision.”

  “Who told you that?” asked Quan.

  “We are not . . .”

  Holding his hand up as if to silence them, Quan finished the sentence, “ . . . at liberty to say. I knew you would say that. Listen, the only research I’m interested in is research related to the disappearance of my father. When I was told you wanted to see his files, naturally I thought you were here to help with the investigation. If that isn’t the case, I see no reason for this meeting.”

  “Police are looking for your father. As I explained, we are here on a different matter and it is not for you to decide.”

  Quan walked to the glass wall overlooking the harbor and stood with his back to the blue suits. Father kept the discovery hidden from these bureaucrats. It’s too important to be handed over to them. Besides, there’s more to be learned.

  Speaking with his back to them, Quan said, “So far, the police have found nothing. It’s shameful. It’s as though my father wasn’t important . . . as though failure was acceptable. I fail to see how the Central Science Committee can help.”

  “Again. We are here to examine the research your father was involved with, and I advise you to cooperate.”

  McGowen stood by quietly, taking it all in. Quan wouldn’t be bullied. He’d learned strategy and tactics from his father. He was confident the young Jintao would prevail.

  Turning to them, with the sun warming his back, Quan’s tone became stronger. “Jintao Corporation doesn’t engage in scientific research. Speculative research isn’t profitable. We’re in the business of applying technology to things we can sell. That’s what made this company great and I’m sure our CEO, Dr. Hao, explained that to you. Now, if you want to do something productive, turn your attention to finding my father. Here we are, almost two months later, and no answers. It’s entirely unacceptable.”

  Squinting against the sunlight, the man with the narrow face said, “We believe your father made a discovery that is far too important for the Jintao Corporation to keep to itself. We are here to offer the state’s assistance.”

  The state’s assistance, ha! thought Quan. What they really mean is the state’s assurance that they will take it from us.

  Walking back to the desk, Quan pointed a forefinger at the leader of the group. “I think someone is playing a trick on you . . . a trick that might ultimately embarrass you. This search of yours for some hypothetical research project is a fool’s errand. Clearly, you’re wasting your time . . . and mine.”

  The man raised his voice, saying, “We have the authority to demand full disclosure. You will provide a list of all projects underway at this company.”

  Quan replied in a stern voice. “Our projects are proprietary and are not open to public disclosure. You’ll need an official order to see such a list and you’ll need to sign a nondisclosure agreement. And I can assure you, you’re not going to find any speculative projects on that list.”

  “We’ll take your agreement to our legal department and we’ll be back to look inside your father’s laboratory. Until then, the laboratory is sealed and no one is to enter. Breaking the seal is a criminal offense.”

  “My secretaries will provide you with the NDA on your way out and, if you need anything more from me . . .” Quan waved his hand in the air. “make an appointment.”

  After the officials left, McGowen drew near. “What about the files and the prototypes?”

  “Taken care of. All they’ll find are the survey files and a schematic of the first prototype, the one that didn’t work.”

  “Nicely done. Who do you think might have tipped them off?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Something like this was inevitable. They’ll go through what’s in the lab and try to make sense of it. That gives us time.”

  McGowen could see the change in Quan. He was growing up in a hurry and his father’s coaching was evident. A game of chess had begun.

  22.

  Quan was piloting one of the company’s glides to Kau Yi Chau Island. Taking a different route to the island, he was gliding low across the eastern side of the bay with GPS switched off. The simple life of a student was far behind him. The idyllic safety of university life was gone along with the domestic bliss he enjoyed with Sealy. It seemed far in the past.

  Today he was on task for a third excursion into the Braneworld and he was determined to interrogate the thing that looked like his father, intent on getting solid answers.

  Inside the laboratory, von Ang’s breath condensed in front of him as he crouched over a workbench. Operating nano-scale manipulators inside a scanning microscope, he was navigating through layers of circuitry. In the view field, his fingertips looked the size of elephants descending on a cityscape. He was replacing the standard components with precise, mil-spec components—connecting them with transparent filaments thinner than human hairs. He covered the circuitry with a flexible membrane and prodded a thin metallic film into position, then attached a vacuum line and sucked the foil down over the circuits. Then he began sealing the outer housing with an ultrasonic wand.

  He heard the freight elevator door open and, looking up briefly. Seeing Quan he said, “Good. You’re here. I want to ask you something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You said there was something that looked like your father. You said it materialized and then disappeared.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “It occurred to me that what you saw might be a sort of afterimage, like a data echo—something left over from your father’s experiments—a ghost in the machine.”

  “I don’t think so. I was communicating with it, back and forth. Would an echo do that?”

  “Not in the conventional sense. What exactly did it say to you?”

  “It was cryptic—ambiguous—something about infinite manifestation. Frankly, the look of it was so weird it was difficult to concentrate on what it said. It had only a vague resemblance to my father. Whatever it is, it seems at home in there. Matter of fact, it said that I was the one who was trapped . . . trapped by the idea of being here or there.”

  “So you were able to have a conversation with it. That suggests some kind of intelligence on the other side. If it happens again, I’d like you to ask some specific questions.”


  “What should I ask?”

  “There are several things that would be good to know. First of all, if your father subjected himself to the transfer, I’d like to know why he didn’t return when the machine energies shut down. I’d also like to know what he’s learned about that other place and how he’s been able to survive so long in that set of dimensions.”

  “I know. It seems impossible.” asked Quan.

  “It makes me think you encountered some sort of projection.”

  “A projection. Maybe . . . I suppose . . . some sort of artificial intelligence. That’s possible, but projected from where?”

  “Could be something your father set up.”

  “I’ll ask more questions . . . see if I can figure it out. Give me at least twenty minutes.”

  Clipping the rebuilt instruments to his belt, he mounted the mesh-bed.

  “Wait. I’ll get the tether,” said von Ang.

  “Don’t bother. I’m not going far.”

  At the control panel, von Ang started the sequence. “Bonne chance.”

  The system counted down, the wave guides bellowed, and Quan vanished.

  Detaching the first instrument, a reticle scanner, he aims it . . . triggers it . . . again, and again. Grainy illuminated numbers flicker. The digits change erratically. The readings are inconsistent. Next, he tries the micro mass spectrometer. Holding it close to his face, he activates it. The numbers are grainy and almost imperceptible but they don’t fluctuate. Good news. He moves it around, pointing it at different places. Six stable readings, atomic numbers. Excited, he tries the third instrument. After several attempts, it yields no better results than the first.

  Clipping the last instrument back onto his belt, he looks out into the mist. There is pressure building in his head and his eyes tingle. Something is taking shape in the sandstorm before him.