The Solar Sea (2 page)

"Company business,” muttered Jerome, already looking back at the computer.

"Yeah, but,” Thomas rolled up the plans and struggled to return them to a cardboard tube, “his first and last names are the same as my first and middle names. I'm just curious, that's all."

"Promising employee,” explained Jerome, tersely. “He's been coming up with some interesting ideas. Not all of them work, but those that do, save us money. I've been thinking about promoting him.” Jerome turned and picked up the sheaf of papers. Thumbing through, he came to a photo. He looked up at his son as though seeing him for the first time. “You know, he even looks a little like you—something in the eyes. Maybe that's why I like him so much.” Jerome winked.

Thomas rolled his eyes, then made sure he had all of his papers and stepped into the hallway. He whistled to himself as he returned to his room.

Two years later, Thomas ran into his brother's bedroom, waving a sheaf of papers. “I got accepted into MIT!"

Without looking up from the video game he was playing, Henry Quinn shook his head. “Dad's gonna go ballistic. He wants you to go to Harvard, so you can get degrees in both business and science."

"Harvard's good and all.” Thomas shrugged. “But I don't want a business degree."

"Suit yourself,” said Henry with the faintest suggestion of a shrug. “Dad already told us the deal—no business degree, no seat on the board."

"I don't care about the board of directors.” Thomas slumped his shoulders.

"You'll be lucky if you even get a back corner office somewhere. Dad may have a degree in materials engineering, but he's always said science is nothing without marketing."

"I don't care.” Thomas straightened his shoulders. “All those stupid meetings and all that publicity, it just distracts people from doing anything real—anything productive."

Henry shook his head and sighed as the warrior character he'd been playing died a horrible death on the screen. He turned around. “That just means I'll get the lion's share of the inheritance."

"You can have the money.” Thomas sighed. He looked up at the screen. “You're still playing that game I hacked for you?"

"Yeah, it's great. The characters are so much like real people, I never get bored.” He turned and faced his brother. “You know, you should show Dad some of the computer stuff you do. He'd probably take a lot more interest in that than all the space stuff you show him."

"Computers are just tools.” Thomas stepped over to the window and looked out. “When you know them as well as I do, you know you can only trust them so far. The real adventure's out there."

"In the yard?” asked Henry.

Thomas rubbed the bridge of his nose. He stopped when he saw Henry's smile and realized that his brother was amused by how reminiscent the gesture was of their father. “I'm talking about the sky,” said Thomas, irritably. “I'm talking about space."

"What is it with you and space, anyway? It's just a bunch of nothing that can get you killed real fast."

"It's not the nothing. It's the something—the places we haven't been to—six whole planets in our solar system humans haven't seen with their own eyes—more dwarf planets and moons than I can even name...."

"And if anyone could name them, it would be you,” quipped Henry.

"I'll find a way.” He looked at his watch and realized it was time to leave for the small municipal airport nearby. His father was paying for flying lessons and he nearly had his license. He left his brother's room and thought about Thomas Alonzo. He was glad his father was considering a promotion. That meant Alonzo would have greater access to Quinn Corp files.

Two years later, Thomas Quinn excelled as one of MIT's top physics students. He carried a stack of homework to his dorm room and set it aside while he logged into his computer and called up his email. When finished, he called up Thomas Alonzo's account. There was a message from Quinn Corp's facility on the Moon asking him to look at some data. It seemed they had discovered a new particle and wanted Alonzo's opinions. He looked at the data, then reached over and grabbed his general relativity text. As he scribbled notes and made calculations, his heart raced and his eyes grew wide.

Jerome Quinn read the latest report from Thomas Alonzo with growing curiosity. He sent a message asking for a videoconference with Alonzo.

An hour later, Alonzo's face appeared on Jerome Quinn's computer. “You read the report?” he asked.

Jerome Quinn was struck once again by the similarities between the young scientist and his oldest son, who was off at college. It wasn't that Alonzo and Thomas really looked alike, just something about their eyes and their mannerisms. He realized there might be a future for his son—even if he did devote his life to science rather than business. He turned his attention back to the book-sized report. “I'm still reading it,” he admitted. “Have the people on the Moon really discovered particles that can move through time?"

"Not exactly.... “Alonzo hesitated. “They've found particles that seem to jump into the fourth dimension. The dimension of time."

Quinn waved the scientist's words aside as though the details were unimportant. He flipped through the dog-eared copy of the report until he came to the page he wanted. “You say that if you had enough of these particles in one place, you could use them to send bigger objects into the fourth dimension, that it might cause them to move forward or backward through time?"

"Theoretically.” Alonzo nodded. “Although, I'm not sure how controlled such a journey would be. The objects might just disappear from our reality completely."

Again, Quinn flapped his hand in the air, as though the words had a disagreeable smell. “Do you suppose there are more of those particles at our quinitite manufacturing facility?” He pointed skyward.

"Are you asking whether we should mine the Moon for these particles?” Alonzo's eyebrows came together.

Quinn nodded.

The scientist shook his head. “There were only a few of these particles ... not enough to indicate that there's any great quantity on the Moon itself. It's like they're being generated from somewhere else in the solar system and we're only seeing the ones that pass by the Moon."

"Where in the solar system?” Quinn leaned in toward his computer monitor.

Again, Alonzo shook his head. “I don't know."

"What would you need to find out?"

Alonzo typed something on his keyboard. A graph appeared on Quinn's monitor. “The particles produce a very unique spectral signature in the radio band. I'd need to do a survey using a radio telescope like the Very Large Array in New Mexico."

"Is that facility still operating?"

Alonzo nodded. “It's old, but it's a good telescope for planetary work."

"The VLA has performed surveys of the solar system, hasn't it?” asked Quinn. “Can't you use archival data. It would save us some money."

Alonzo took a breath and let it out slowly. “I've looked. There have been some broadband surveys near the spectral region, but nothing that exactly overlaps this—nothing that helps."

"Very well, then. I'll get you some observing time.” Quinn reached out to terminate the connection.

"Mr. Quinn,” interrupted Alonzo, “May I ask what you plan to do if we find more of the particles?"

Quinn inclined his head, regarding the scientist for a moment, then took the report and flipped to the final section. “You're the one who gave me the ideas. Experimenting with time travel is one possibility. It would certainly bring us some good press."

Alonzo's face went pale as he looked away. He licked his lips. “A weapon is another ... you could send an enemy into the fourth dimension. They might disappear forever."

Jerome Quinn stood and walked to the window, letting Alonzo see only his back. “No matter what the application, if you find those particles, you'll have helped Quinn Corp more than you can imagine. I'll make sure you get a raise—stock options if you want them. Weapons make a lot of money for the manufacturer."

"I think Quinn Corp would get better press from a time machine and it could bring us still more money,” argued Alonzo, sounding uncertain. “The particles could even open the door to interstellar travel."

Quinn turned and smiled. “I like the way you think. No matter what the application, those particles will easily increase Quinn Corp's worth ten-fold. If you find them, how do you propose to get them?"

Alonzo stammered as though caught off guard. “We'd need a spaceship...” he said after a moment.

Quinn sat and eyed Alonzo carefully. “My son told me about an idea he had for a spaceship once. He called it a solar sail. Have you heard of them?"

"Y-Yes,” stuttered Alonzo. “The idea's been around for a while."

"I want you to look into it, see if Quinn Corp has the resources to build one of those ships."

Mute, Alonzo nodded.

Quinn reached over and terminated the connection, then sat back and folded his arms.

In his dorm room at MIT, Thomas Quinn stared wide-eyed at his computer screen. Hand shaking, he reached over and turned off the computer. He took a swig of the soda sitting on the desk, blinked a couple of times, then punched the sky and shouted, “Yes!"

[Back to Table of Contents]

The Very Large Array

John O'Connell was intently watching an old science fiction show about a starship that traveled to and explored alien worlds. He loved shows like that, but they were harder to find as the years wore on. People just weren't as interested in exploring space as they used to be. As the show finished, he sat back, adjusted his thick glasses and clicked the remote, shutting the television off. It was time to check the status of the Very Large Array telescope antennas.

The VLA—as the telescope was known—was about fifty miles away from the control room where John sat, on the plains of San Augustin. Old antennas with varying shades of white paint and black graffiti stretched out across the landscape like giant flowers blossoming from the desert. Even though funding for new paint had been cut years ago, the sight was still awe-inspiring. Though John preferred to work at the array site, he was in the Array Operation's Center in Socorro, New Mexico within easy walking distance of his faded adobe house.

The VLA was collecting data from the planet Saturn. The antennas were all functioning properly. John collected the data for an observer he neither knew, nor really cared about. The name Thomas Alonzo meant nothing to him. John was more concerned about his job. In spite of the fact that the VLA was a proven workhorse telescope, Congress threatened to close the doors. The money, they said, could be used better elsewhere. John wasn't sure what he would do with his life if the VLA were shut down.

He looked at his watch and yawned. The observations he was taking wouldn't be finished for another two hours. Time, he decided, to surf the Internet and see what was happening in the world. He lifted a tattered blue
Cassini 2
baseball cap from his head, brushed back an errant strand of sandy blond hair, and replaced the cap while adjusting his position in front of the computer terminal. He went to one of his favorite news sites and read about the state of Middle Eastern relations.

"The U.S.S.
Daniel B. Sherman
under the command of Captain Natalie Freeman has been ordered to the Persian Gulf,” began the article that appeared on the screen. “Given Freeman's success handling the Jordanian crisis, hopes are high that she will be able to negotiate a trade settlement and bring more oil to the United States."

The voice of the President of the United States, Oscar Van der Wald, sounded from the computer's speakers: “Iraq has been a valuable ally ever since their liberation earlier this century. We wish to stay on good terms with the new administration in Iraq while negotiating better oil prices. I can think of no one more qualified for the job than Captain Freeman."

John folded his arms, growing tired of the web. Rarely, if ever, was there any actual news. Rather, all he saw were opinions of people who knew as little as he did. He stood, stretched, then walked over to the coffee maker and retrieved an old white mug. Sipping overdone coffee, he stared out the windows at the small town of Socorro. While the day itself was lovely with fluffy gray-white clouds hanging in a brilliant blue sky, he couldn't help but wonder if he would ever get out of the little town. Beyond the grassy field, just outside the window, John saw his small adobe house. He sighed, wondering how he could keep paying rent on an operator's salary. Again, he looked at his watch. With some relief, he realized that forty minutes had passed.

He returned to his terminal and brought up a visual display of the radio signal from Saturn. He looked at the image, blinked twice, then smacked the side of the monitor.

"Hey, Alan!” he called to the site's programmer working at a nearby console. “Can you take a look at this thing? I'm getting some kind of double image on the monitor."

Alan Jones looked over and tugged on his long, dark beard. On the screen, he saw Saturn in red. Surrounding it were the dull blue, radio-quiet rings. Next to Saturn, in the plane of the rings was a bright yellow ball. “That's not a double image. It looks more like some other object."

John snorted. “What kind of object is it, though?” He looked at the color scale. “That thing's almost got the radio emission of Jupiter. It's gotta be a glitch—some kind of signal creeping in from somewhere, or old data."

Alan sat back and smiled. “You may know telescopes, but you don't know computers. You can't superimpose old data on a real-time display like that."

"Then how do
you
explain it?” demanded John.

"Supernova,” said Alan. “Or some previously undiscovered galaxy. Maybe they'll name it after you."

"Get real. And get over here and look at this thing, will ya? I don't want to call the boss in here for some kind of glitch."

"Whatever.” Alan took his time finishing the task that John had interrupted, then sulkily made his way over and plunked down in the operator's chair. Lithe, pale fingers tapped on the keyboard for some minutes. At last, he looked up at John. “Whatever you're seeing is real. There are no programs running, other than the autocorrelator that's giving you the display. That thing's really in the sky."