Chapter 21
The national news media was rife with speculation about the sensational quadruple murder in Los Alamos. Fingerprints found in the house had quickly been identified as belonging to the international terrorist known as Abdul Aziz, and although a stolen car with the same prints was discovered nearby, no trace of Aziz himself had yet been found, despite a wide net of roadblocks and FBI raids.
Since the murdered man was one of the inner circle of physicists reputed to be working with Dr. Stephenson on the Rho Ship, a host of theories were being generated about what information might have been forced out of him before he died. Dr. Stephenson made the rounds of several Sunday-morning talk shows in an attempt to provide reassurance that nothing of great national significance could have been revealed. Project information was far too compartmentalized for that. No single person on the project had unfettered access to all the information.
“Except for you,” a reporter had pointed out.
Dr. Stephenson had merely smiled that cold, thin smile of his and moved on to the next question.
Amidst congressional outcries, government security for the lab and its personnel was increased yet again, with special security contingents now being assigned to protect top figures on the Rho Project in much the same way that the secret service provided security for the president and his family.
In the midst of all of this excitement, Heather and Jennifer had finally gotten Mark’s interest focused back on something other than basketball, although that game remained at the top of his priority list.
Over a year ago, Heather had read an article on quantum twins. Quantum theory predicted and experimentation had shown it possible to produce a pair of particles that shared the same quantum state. If something was done to one of the particles that changed its state, the state of the other particle changed at exactly the same time.
This was true no matter how much distance separated the pair, something that at first glance appeared to violate the special theory of relativity's prohibition on any information traveling faster than the speed of light. But the twin particles were bound together as if by magic.
The alien equations suggested a way to create a pair of semiconductor switches, each doped with a quantum twin that controlled the open and closed state of the switch. Apply a current that closed one, and its twin would close, no matter if it was located across the room or across the galaxy.
As Heather finished explaining the workings of the quantum twin microswitches, Mark’s eyes lit up.
“The switches communicate with no transmissions?”
Heather nodded. “None whatsoever.”
“That means we could send untraceable communications,” Mark said.
Jennifer leaned forward. “More than that. We could send and receive any kind of digital data—video, audio, computer data, anything.”
“And,” said Heather, “if we put one of the twins in a device, all we have to do is hook up the other twin the same way and we get a clean remote copy.”
Mark rose to his feet. “We’re going to need some decent electronic tools to build them.”
“I think we should ask Dad,” said Jennifer. “You know how he’s always trying to get us interested in the stuff he does.”
“That’s a great idea,” Mark responded.
“And I’ll see if my dad will chip in a little cash too,” said Heather.
Convincing their fathers to outfit them with a set of good electronic instruments turned out to be the easiest part of the task. Both dads were ecstatic that their kids had finally gotten interested in electronics projects. They even scrounged up a used oscilloscope and red laser, the types commonly found in college labs.
All that week, working around homework sessions and basketball practice, the smell of solder hung heavy in their workshop, which was set up in a corner of the Smythe garage. By Thursday night, the laser modifications were complete, and while it would never burn a hole through metal, the end product was a laser capable of producing variable frequency light in a very tight beam, something that was crucial for the doping process that made the alien microswitches work.
Given time, Heather felt confident they could eventually improve the process to the point where mass production would be possible. For now, though, they just needed a single working quantum twin microswitch pair.
Exhausted but happy, Heather said good-bye to her two friends and made her way back to her house. It was funny. There were boatloads of news media reports and, no doubt, scads of foreign agents scurrying around the area, trying to dig up something on the Rho Ship. But here, right under their noses, was a small lab getting ready to produce its own alien technology components. And the whole thing was being done by some high school kids out of a garage in White Rock.
Heather’s dad greeted her as she entered the kitchen.
“You look happy. What are you smiling about?”
“Oh, nothing, Dad. Just high school stuff. You know.”
Giving her a hug, he nodded. “I can only imagine. It’s getting late, though, and you do have school tomorrow. Not to mention, we’re all going to Mark’s first game tomorrow night. I hear he’s pretty good.”
“He'll have to be for good old LAHS to have any chance. Last year was embarrassing. I felt sorry for our cheerleaders.”
Her father grinned. “We can always hope.”
“Where's Mom?”
“Oh, she’s taking a bath before bed. I’m headed up to join her.”
“Okay, Dad. That sounds really good, think I’ll try it myself.”
By the time Heather finished her bath and tucked herself under her covers, her eyelids were so heavy she could barely keep them open. The dreams began almost before her head hit the pillow.
She was in their workshop in the corner of the Smythe garage. Mark was there. So was Jennifer.
Heather found herself staring at the oscilloscope readout, the display filling her head with equations as Mark manipulated the laser. His fingers moved the controls, delicately positioning the beam with a dexterity that he alone could manage, using the microscope to confirm his pointing accuracy.
Suddenly the images in Heather’s head changed, the equations governing the quantum manipulation decaying toward a singularity.
The laser was not generating the quantum twins. Instead a microscopic black hole appeared, a tear in the space-time fabric of the material being manipulated.
Spotting the danger, Mark’s hand moved with unnatural speed to turn off the power switch on the back of the laser, but the subatomic blackness continued to grow. And as it grew, it consumed the nearest atoms. In an accelerating spiral, the event horizon expanded until the garage itself shrieked with the force emanating from the microscopic aberration.
As Heather looked up to see the horror in Jennifer’s and Mark’s faces, she realized the truth. The end of all things lay there, growing beneath that microscope, and there was absolutely nothing they could do to stop it.