Zig Zag (81 page)

In
the barracks, she found some opened backpacks. Evidently, Carter had
been hungry, too. She found cookies and chocolate, and devoured them
frantically. Then she found a canteen with some water in it. After
drinking her fill, she limped out to the beach.

The
sea was calm and gentle, different shades of blue showing through in
the sunlight. With the ocean as a giant backdrop, Carter was
scurrying around like an ant. He'd built two fires and was on his
third. They were all in a row on the shore. Elisa walked over and
watched him work.

"I'm
sorry about last night," he said, finally, not looking up at
her, focusing on his task.

"Forget
it," Elisa replied. "Thanks for the blanket. What are you
doing?"

"Just
taking precautions. I'm pretty sure they know where to find us, but
there's no harm in giving them a little extra help, don't you think?
Would you mind standing in front of me to block the wind? It's hard
to get these matches lit..."

"They
should have been here by now," she said, scanning the horizon.

"That
depends on a lot of factors. They'll be here; don't worry."

The
branches took light. Carter watched them for a second, and then stood
and joined her on the shore. She stared out to sea, hypnotized by the
ceaseless rhythm of the waves that came ashore and pulled out,
leaving behind a layer of foam that sparkled like jewels, waiting to
be covered by the next wave. She remembered what the sea had looked
like when it was paralyzed—those sharp waves of glass and hard,
wiry foam—and she shivered; it was horrible, and sickening. She
wondered what Carter would have thought if he'd seen it.

"Still
think this is all just a dream, Professor?" Carter asked. He'd
unwrapped a candy bar and stuffed it into his mouth. "Well, you
think what you like. I'm no scientist, but I know this is 2015, and
that today is Monday, March 16, and that they'll be coming for us any
time now. You and your privileged little brain can think whatever you
want. But that's what I know."

Elisa
kept staring out at the horizon. She recalled the words of one of her
physics professors: "Science is the only thing that knows, the
only thing to give a verdict. Without it, we'd still think that the
sun rotated around us and the earth sat still."

"You
want to bet?" Carter asked. "I know I'll win. You speak
from the head, and I speak from the heart. Up until now, we've been
doing things your way, and look where that got us." He nodded
over toward the barracks. "So you've seen what wonders your
marvelous brain is capable of. Don't you think it's time to trust
your heart, Professor?"

Elisa
made no reply.

Science
is the only thing that knows.

Carter
laughed quietly, but she didn't look over at him.

She
was searching the sky, as still and empty as if frozen in time.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

MANY
people
helped guide me through the maddening maze of modern physics.
Professor Beatriz Gato-Rivera, at the CSIC Institute of Mathematics
and Fundamental Physics, answered questions about everything from
university experiments and studies to the most complex issues in
theoretical physics, and did so with both patience and kindness. I am
tremendously grateful to her. Likewise, I owe Professor Jaime Julve,
of the same institute, a debt of gratitude for the warm afternoon we
spent together, chatting about all things divine and human. Many
thanks to Professor Miguel Angel Rodriguez in the Theoretical Physics
Department of Madrid's Complutense University, for having found time
for me in his busy schedule at the always hectic end of the term.
Other professors at Spanish universities preferred to remain
anonymous but were equally patient and enthusiastic, even reading
through my manuscript and making important revisions; I thank each
and every one of them wholeheartedly. Obviously, any errors or
flights of fancy, as well as the unforgiving opinions of some
characters about physics and physicists, are not in any way connected
to my excellent informers, though in my defense I will also add that
it was never my intention to write a scholarly work on string theory
nor to express my own opinions; this is a work of fiction. For
readers who may be interested in finding out more about the
mysterious reality that contemporary physics has opened up for us,
mentioning the books on my nightstand might be of use; almost all of
them are available in Spanish, published by Critica in its Drakontos
collection. Brian Greene's
The
Elegant Universe
is
an excellent introduction to string theory. Stephen Hawking's
A
Brief History of Time
and
The
Universe in a Nutshell
are
extraordinary, as are Paul Davies's
About
Time
and
Gerard't Hooft's
Understanding
Elementary Particles by Gauge Theories.
I
must also add Emilio Chuvieco Salinero's
Teledeteccion
ambiental
(not
available in English) to this list for having helped me understand
satellite image transmission. I also recommend Paul A. Tipler and
Gene P. Mosca's
Physics
for Scientists and Engineers,
which
refreshed my memory about many things I'd forgotten since medical
school (where we also studied a little physics), and
Quantum
Questions,
edited
by Ken Wilber, which is a fascinating collection of texts that are
not exactly about physics (some are even mystic), but were written by
physicists. And I wanted to save for last a really wonderful book
called
The
God Particle,
by
Leon Lederman (with Dick Teresi). It not only taught me about
experimental physics and those enigmatic monsters known as
accelerators, but also tickled me pink (parts of the book are
laugh-out-loud funny, like a great comic novel) and made me realize
that anything, no matter how dry it might seem, can be fascinating if
it's told—or written—in the right way. Congratulations,
and thanks, to Professor Lederman.

I
would also like to thank the amazing people at the Carmen Balcells
Agency, without whom this book would never have been published, the
editors at Random House Mondadori in Spain, and my loyal readers who
are always, always, one the other side of the page. Finally, I
couldn't do anything without the encouragement and enthusiasm that my
wife and children show me every single day, or that insatiable reader
of good novels who is my father.

J.
C. S.

Madrid,
August 2005