Once on a journey, a philosopher encountered an old man and asked the old man to describe the world’s place in the universe. “That’s easy,” the old man said. “The world is a great ball resting on the back of a giant turtle.” “But what is the turtle standing on?” the philosopher asked. “Another, larger turtle,” the old man replied. “And what is this turtle standing on?” asked the philosopher. “You can’t trick me,” the old man shot back. “It’s turtles all the way down.”
—Nick Paulson, Infinity Is Forever
FOX VALLEY, ALASKA
Vince Walters was a charismatic man when he was in control. He was a hypnotic speaker, physically intimidating, and had a tender touch that never failed to arouse the women he wanted. With neatly trimmed black hair, dark eyes, and fair skin, he had been a brilliant student, earning top grades until he reached graduate school. There he ran into self-promoting
professors who assigned him meaningless problems with no reasonable chance of discovering a solution. When he failed in his assignments, they dared to criticize his “problem-solving ability.” Feeling his degree slipping away, he seduced a promising first-year student and convinced her it was a privilege to work on an older student’s project. Blinded by love, the ploy worked and Vince made progress, completing the requirement of two published articles and earning his degree. He slept with his ghost researcher one last time at his graduation party, and then never saw or wrote to her again.
He took a position at the University of Michigan but soon realized the faculty were dumping the least qualified graduate students on him, students too dimwitted to complete the projects he assigned. Three years into his career he knew the senior faculty would block his tenure, and he would not settle for a second-tier university. After his fourth year, he took a job with the government, where civil service gave him protection from incompetent managers. There he discovered a gift for administration, managing the work of others and taking the credit. He began climbing the ladder.
Vince Walters was not charismatic when he lost control, and he was on the edge now. He didn’t like surprises, especially surprises he could not explain. Elizabeth Hawthorne, a stranger from the pyramid, and then dinosaurs! None of this was part of his plan.
Vince sat in Kawabata’s cheap executive chair, feet on his poor quality desk, thinking. He was in Kawabata’s office not because it was comfortable—it was not—but because it was a symbol. Whitey was with him, worrying.
“Marissa and I have been talking, Vince. Maybe we should delay a day or two,” Whitey said. “At least until we can figure out where those dinosaurs came from. That stranger, too.”
Vince feigned confidence.
“It’s not important. The stranger was probably with Hawthorne and is now hiding in the pyramid. You said yourself that Kawabata would not let you search thoroughly. As
for the dinosaurs, they were the result of an aberrant time wave that opened a hole, letting a few slip through.”
Whitey shifted his weight, uncomfortable in Kawabata’s worn side chair.
“Yes, that’s possible. Marissa thinks that drawing the orgonic energy may have pulled an unpredicted confluence to this exact point, but I don’t like that it wasn’t predicted. It should have shown up. I mean if we missed that, then what else did we miss? Maybe we could delay just a few days. I might be able to fit this into the model and figure out what is going on.”
“No delays,” Vince snapped. “The employees we gave extra vacation days will come back. Worse, the families of those we locked up will wonder why they haven’t received calls or e-mail. Don’t forget Elizabeth Hawthorne! What is she doing appearing mysteriously in the middle of the night, breaking into one of our bunkers? And then there’s the one in that shaft—dead? Alive? If the security team doesn’t find her, then someone will certainly come to investigate. No, Whitey, we’re past the point of no return. We have to stay on schedule. Besides, you’re the one who picked the timing. The conditions are perfect, right?”
“Yes. It’ll be another month before conditions are acceptable and even then they would be marginal.”
Now Whitey paused, avoiding Vince’s eyes, and nervously shuffled his feet.
“There might be another way to understand what happened,” Whitey said.
Vince waited.
“Marissa says that when they were in the pyramid, after the stranger appeared, that Kawabata instructed them to take recordings of the positions of the baffles. He seemed to have a hypothesis about what happened. We could ask him.”
Vince erupted.
“Kawabata is an overrated, penny-pinching, half-wit. I carried him on this project. He never understood the potential of the collector, never really understood the connection with time waves. I was the one with the vision. If anyone
could explain what has happened it would be me and I say that it is an insignificant side effect.”
“Sure, Vince, sure. It was just an idea.”
“We stay on schedule. The building conversion will be completed soon and then we can leave.”
Again, Whitey shifted in his chair.
“You know what will happen if we leave Dr. Kawabata and the others here.”
“We can’t take them with us, Whitey,” Vince said more gently. “At least this way they have a chance to survive.”
“But we know they don’t,” Whitey argued.
“Not true. For all we know, the government has kept the truth from the public.”
Vince was losing his temper again. Whitey had too many questions and he too few answers.
“What about Ms. Hawthorne? If someone knew enough to send her, won’t they be expecting to hear from her?”
“We stick to the timeline. By the time they decide something has gone wrong it will be too late.”
Suddenly Vince realized he had overlooked something. Finding Elizabeth’s parka lying over one of Kawabata’s Goodwill-quality chairs, Vince searched its pockets, finding a satellite phone. Swearing, he tossed the phone to Whitey.
“Find out if she made any calls!”
Trembling with rage, Vince was anything but charismatic and Whitey slunk from the room.