Music of the Spheres (14 page)

Shaking his head, George said, “What good will that do?
Without a computer to translate, it will all just sound like jumbled words to
us.”

Michael opened his hands. “At this point, what harm can it
do?”

George shrugged and turned to Yaxche. “Are you able to tell
us the story on the ancient scroll from memory?”

“Ahyah,” the old man said, as if the question had stung his
pride. And then he closed his eyes and began to recount the tale of the end of
the Fourth World in his native language.

At first, Michael strained to listen to the
words and phrases, trying to find anything familiar in the lyrical sound of the
story. He hoped his brain could make any kind of connection, that some kind of
revelation was forthcoming.

Soon, however, he realized George was correct.
It was just a big jumble of incomprehensible sounds. Out of politeness, he
waited until Yaxche finished reciting the complete tale, and then turned to
George to acknowledge the researcher had been right all along.

But when he looked at George, he saw in his
eyes what Yaxche must have seen in his grandson’s eyes. A quick glance at
Yaxche confirmed it.

Somehow, George had figured it out, too.

“What?” Michael demanded. His voice was a
little too loud, and Humberto jerked his head and took a step toward them.

Raising his hands in a pacifying gesture,
Michael said to the Cruzado, “Sorry. Everything is all right. We’re just
debating something. A scientific point.”

With a grunt, Humberto eased himself back
into his post, but he kept suspicious eyes fixed on the three of them.

Yaxche took a deep breath in anticipation
of what George would say next. There was a pained look in the old man’s expression,
and Michael guessed that having not one, but two people understand something he
did not, something that he was entrusted with, was difficult to accept.

“What is it?” Michael pressed.

“I wish I had a computer right now,” George
replied in a growl. He licked his lips. “I can’t be a hundred percent, but I
think I know the key to the secret, at least.”

His eyes moved back and forth, as if scanning
his own memory. “You know how, in grade school, when you wanted to remember
something for a test, there were a number of mnemonic techniques you could
use?”

“You mean like acronyms or acrostics?”

“Or rhymes or songs,” George said. “In this
case, I think the tale itself is a way to get the teller to remember the song
itself.”

Michael made a connection. “When Yaxche was
telling us the tale, it did have a lyrical quality to it.” He tried to quell
his excitement, in case it drew Humberto to investigate. “You think we need to
analyse the story as if it were a song?”

“Not for the lyrics, but for the melody. I
think the story is just that: a story. It could probably be of any subject. It’s
simply there to help the keepers of the scroll remember the
melody
. There
were certain parts of the tale where Yaxche’s voice hit a certain note and used
a particular inflection. I think that’s important.”

George turned to Yaxche and spoke very
quickly in Spanish, summarizing his theory.

“Yes,” Yaxche said in Spanish. “That is how
I was taught the Song of the Stars. It is very important to sing those parts in
the correct manner; to honor the gods.”

“The Song of the Stars?” Michael asked. “That’s
the title of the story? I’ve never heard mention of this in any of the
translations. It’s not written on the scroll. Is it?”

“No,” George said, “but then again, no one
ever asked what the name of the story was.” He let out a breathless laugh.
“It’s more than a lack of translation, it’s about a lack of a common frame of
reference.”

“What do you mean?” Michael felt his face
flush as he couldn’t put the pieces together in his own mind.

“From Yaxche’s cultural point of view, he
must have assumed we would already know that the tale was in the form of a
song. After all, that’s how stories have been passed down from generation to
generation. We have ballads that date back centuries.

“On the flip side, from our scientific
point of view, we were so busy looking for measureable evidence in this
document that we didn’t take into account the one fact that was obvious from
the start.”

Michael still didn’t make the connection.
“And that is?”

“The song itself is a translation from
another language. Not in the literal sense of the words on a page, but as a
means of passing down the melody itself.”

“Sonics,” Michael said in a gasp. “When
Macklin’s Rock first reacted, the
Dis Pater
gave off cyclic wave
emissions which corresponded with the changes in its light spectrum.”

“Different notes on the musical scale can
be charted by their compression waves,” George said. “And although the
difference between the wave-particles of light and the frequency in sound would
be in the factor of, I don’t know, a billion hertz or so, I think there is a
solid correlation, and I think this is something a suitably advanced civilization—one
that used computers—could program and calculate.”

“We need to get you to a computer,” Michael
said in conclusion.

“And we need to record Yaxche’s song in a
sound room.”

All the while the two of them talked,
Yaxche looked back and forth between them. The look on his face was a mix of
consternation and panic. He had no idea what they were talking about.

George, flicking his eyes up to make sure
Humberto wasn’t listening, said to the old Indian, “We need to get you out of
here and to safety.”

“I am not concerned for my well-being,”
Yaxche said, making no effort to lower his voice. “But if you wish, I can show
you a way out.”

Michael cocked his head. “You know a way to
escape this place?”

“Ahyah,” Yaxche said. “My friend Humberto told
me of it.”

23

Lucis Observatory :

Venus Orbit :

The
Mayan culture
had always placed great significance
in Venus, which they referred to as both the morning star and the evening star
because it could be seen at either time.

As some of the most sophisticated
astronomers of the time—and being a calendar-conscious and mathematical
civilization—the Mayans had charted Venus’s yearly cycles and discovered that
five of Venus’s years correlate almost exactly with eight Earth years. To them,
this was an obvious sign of its link with Earth and proof that Venus itself was
a deity. The Mayan people would time any of their great events, such as a war
or the coronation of their leader, with the cycles of
Noh ek’,
their
name for the sky god.

And so, when Terry first realized Klaus had
set up his main base of operations on Venus, a part of him felt it was more
than coincidence; it had to be some kind of divine influence.

From the moment Terry had joined the
Cruzados, he had imagined that he had been chosen to spearhead a holy
revolution, that he would singlehandedly restore the Mayan culture to the
frontlines in the quest for interstellar progress. In his naive fantasy, the
world would honour him as an ambassador for Earth once mankind had overcome the
limitations of travel between the stars, and made first contact with the
thousands of alien races who were waiting out there.

Terry had been taken in by the romantic
notion of a holy crusade, with an army of Cruzados at his back.

Terry, however, had no idea how he was
going to accomplish that, and after two days on the orbiting observatory, he
began to give in to despair. Gradually, he realized that once he had handed the
Song of the Stars to Jose and Klaus, his dream had begun to unravel bit by bit,
and it looked more like a nightmare with each passing hour.

The Cruzados were not an honorable group. They
did not have the ancient Mayan spirit in them. He was coming to understand that
they were just another gang of disgruntled peasants and greedy opportunists who,
in turn, had thrown in their lot with someone Terry could only describe as a
madman—granted, one who certainly knew more about computers, Kinemet and
astrophysics than most.

In one of the Lucis Observatory’s workshops,
Klaus Vogelsberg sat hunched over a haptic console. There were seven holoslates
set up in a half-circle around him. Periodically, he would adjust an input or
type in a series of commands.

Terry stood half a dozen steps to the side
and waited. He had been relegated to the role of Klaus’s personal servant, and
though it grated on his pride, he knew he only had himself to blame.

There was one other person in the workshop.
Jose watched as his partner in crime tended his programs. There was a look of
dark concern on his face as he stared at the monitors, clearly unable to
decipher what he saw.

“You’ve been at this for days. Are we any
closer to the solution,” Jose asked.

“Every minute that passes brings us
closer,” Klaus said sardonically.

“You know what I mean.” Jose pointed across
the room. “He’s the third, so far. At this pace, we will soon run out of lab
rats. And every day we spend here increases our risk of being discovered.”

Terry grimaced at the words, and couldn’t
help but look past the two men where Jose had pointed. Adjacent to the workshop
was a lab, shielded with titanium and electromagnetically sealed. A wide pane
of tinted glass—created with particles of titanium—allowed them to see inside
the experiment area.

Strapped on a medical gurney, one of the
captured American soldiers lay unconscious and naked. Dozens of sensors and
leads were attached to his arms, chest and head.

Beside him was a tray on which rested one milligram
of unshielded Kinemet—which Klaus had shaved with what had looked like an
invisible saw. He had told Terry the beam was simply a non-reactive laser
coupled with a chemical coolant, and that he required complete concentration to
get the cut just right, “so kindly keep your mouth shut from now on, unless I
ask you a question,” he had said through gritted teeth at one point.

When Klaus didn’t reply to his last statement,
Jose said, “You promised us you could unlock the secret and give me complete
control of space travel. That was the only reason we agreed to your terms. I
wonder if you maybe overestimated your capabilities.”

“There is always a measure of trial and
error when conducting scientific experiments,” Klaus replied evenly, speaking
with much more patience to Jose than he had to Terry. “I assure you, I will
have the proper sequence locked down very soon.”

A moment later, however, he matched Jose’s harsh
tone. “And don’t forget, the power will be ours together. You may have
contributed men and the ancient scroll itself, but without my money and
knowledge, you would still be sitting in a darkened warehouse making empty
plans. We are
partners
in this.”

A ripple of irritation passed over Jose’s
features, but he quickly reined in his emotions. “Very well,
partner
. If
we are equals, then we should both know exactly what you are doing now.”

“I’m not sure you would understand the
scientific terminology.”

Jose narrowed his eyes. “I have taken a few
physics courses at university. I’m certain I can follow.”

Klaus shrugged and turned back to his
computer. He took a deep breath and seemed to debate his next words. “All
right,” he said finally. “We have a little time before we can measure our
subject’s reaction, anyway.”

He called up a file and played one of the
many animated presentations of the Kinemetic reaction which had peppered the EarthMesh
newsfeeds over the past decade.

“Back when Quantum Resources was in its
heyday, they used a bombardment of hydrogen photons to create a reaction in
Kinemet; it caused the metal to convert into a quantum kinetic force. As a raw
fuel, this works, but there’s no control once it quantizes. Whatever is in
proximity to its sphere of influence at the time of reaction gets
quantized—turned into light. Any electrical impulse is neutralized. When the Kinemet
stops reacting with the photons, and returns to solid state, all the electrical
systems are disabled. Someone, or something, needs to kick start them, or
you’re adrift in space without light, heat … air.”

“Yes,” said Jose. “I know this much.”

“Just making sure.”

Klaus called up another animation. This one
was watermarked with the NASA logo on the bottom right, the Quantum Resources
stamp on the bottom left, and the word ‘Confidential’ along the top. It was a
conceptual recreation of Alex Manez’s voyage to Centauri.

“Now,” Klaus continued, “that problem is
compounded. After rematerialization, there is a secondary reaction in the Kinemet,
a nuclear fission, which causes the Kinemet to release its photons in an
exothermic reaction—something like an atomic bomb. Why? Well, when you drop a
rock in water, and it causes a temporary void, when the surrounding water
rushes back in to fill that void, there’s a splash. Energy is released. The
splash is enough to cause the Kinemet to start reacting to itself. Instead of
quantizing, it fissions, and this happens quite quickly.

“The ‘pilot’ is there to give the
electrical generators a kick start, so the dampers can prevent the fission from
occurring. In the case of the
Quanta,
the pilot was too slow to
rematerialize, and that is why the ship exploded, and that’s the problem
they’ve been struggling with for the past few years. How to stop the bomb from
exploding once the fuse is lit.” He chuckled at the concept.

Jose asked, “So how does the ancient scroll
fix that?”

“The problem is not with the Kinemet. The
problem is with the pilot, or more specifically, the irradiation process to
create a Kinemetic pilot. It’s something far beyond the quantizing process,
which in and of itself is biologically harmless.

“Alex Manez was exposed to the reacting Kinemet
under unknown and uncontrolled circumstances, and was irradiated during that
process. Among other things, he became electropathic—and gained the ability to
manipulate those electronic dampers needed to stop the ‘splash’—but there is
something in him that failed to complete the change. He was unable to
materialize in time, and the Kinemet exploded. The incomplete Kinemetic process
also resulted in his deteriorating health and will be the cause of his inevitable
demise.

“Unfortunately, no one has been able to
reproduce the exact conditions that created Alex’s new physiology. They tried
photons from other elements like helium and the other noble gases, but that had
no effect. The closest they came was to try to prime the Kinemet with a burst
of ultraviolet rays. They were on the right path working in the electromagnetic
spectrum, but their methodology was wrong—they didn’t have the proper sequence
to prime the Kinemet, and so the
Quanta
experiments continued to fail.

“Some pilots died moments after initial
exposure in the lab environment. Two lived for a month before radiation
poisoning killed them. Those were the earliest experiments. Five survived the
process, but in the field they—like Alex—were unable to rematerialize quickly
enough to engage the Kinemet dampers. Boom. Even though Alex somehow managed to
survive the explosion on the
Quanta
, he is also considered a failed
conversion.

“So now, the question remains: what is the correct
process to create a Kinemetic pilot?”

Klaus pointed to the ancient scroll, which
was resting at an angle on a nearby worktable. “You see, the Mayan document
contains a key code, a sequence of sound waves which the computer can map to
their particle-wave counterparts. We then bombard the Kinemet with that
frequency before the quantizing process. Different frequencies—and combinations
of frequencies—elicit disparate reactions in the element, conditioning it to
give off a subtly different form of radiation.” He shook his head. “It’s an
amazing element, and I’m certain it will take decades to chart every aspect.”

Klaus turned in his chair to face Jose and
drew in a deep breath. “So you see, I’m reproducing some of Quantum Resources
failed experiments, but using the correct frequencies I recorded from Terry’s
vocal rendition of the story to prime the Kinemet first. Of course, this is all
assuming Terry recited the story exactly as his grandfather taught him—” Klaus
glanced over at Terry, who stiffened at the implication that he had made any
mistakes.

Klaus continued, “I’ve mapped the notes where
he used particular inflections, and I’m hoping they provide the proper
combination to unlock the puzzle.”

“Hoping?”

“Well, it’s been a millennium since the
scroll was first written. Even if Terry recited the song exactly as he’d been
taught, how can we know that every generation passed down the sequence without
a single mistake? There are a few other dynamics to consider.”

Jose took a few measured paces towards the
window, as if he could see the internal changes in the soldier in the other
room. “What are you telling me? How many uncontrolled factors are there?”

“I don’t have complete records from Quantum
Resources, so I have had to repeat some of their failures.”

Jose ground his teeth. “How many more
failures?”

There was a hint of a smile playing across Klaus’s
lips; it seemed he enjoyed tormenting Jose. “Quantum Resources underwent more
than a dozen full trials, and established a number of constants. For the
purposes of my trial, I’ve been using those confirmed results. There are still some
variables in their tests, however, and once we get past candidate number three,
here, I only have two more factors to account for, and then we will know
whether Terry’s rendition of the Song survived unchanged over the centuries.”

Jose inhaled, then let his breath out in a
slow hiss, as if to release the tension that had built up inside him. “Good.
Then by all means, proceed.” He turned back to the window to watch.

Klaus wrinkled his forehead in annoyance,
but Terry was the only one to see the movement. There was obvious friction
between the two partners, but Terry didn’t know if he had the wit to use that
against them.

He knew any action he took that made him
look more disloyal at this point would most likely earn him a bullet. Now that
he had given them what they wanted, the scroll and the song, they had no use
for him outside of being Klaus’s personal attendant. After Terry’s behavior on
the liner, Jose didn’t trust him anymore and wouldn’t allow him to even carry a
gun.

For now, Terry would bite his lip, endure
the heartache brought on by witnessing the inhuman experiments, and bide his
time until he saw an opportunity to repair the wrongs for which he was
responsible.

∞

They did not have to wait long until one of
Klaus’s monitoring programs let out a short alarm.

“Ah,” Klaus said. “The sequence is now programmed
into the computer. We can proceed with trial number three.”

“How long will this take?” Jose asked.
“When will we know if it worked?”

Without answering the question, Klaus
punched in a command to his console. “Here we go. Now I’m bombarding the Kinemet
with the thirty-two ultraviolet frequencies of photons in the prescribed order,
and the sensors indicate the Kinemet is undergoing the transformation. All
right, now for the main attraction: hitting it with hydrogen to start the
quantization.”