Dark Matter

Dark Matter

John Rollason

Copyright © 2013 John Rollason

Cover Images of “Earth” & “Stars”

Courtesy of JPL/NASA

All rights reserved.

ISBN-10
:
1483996646

ISBN-13
:
978-1483996646

DEDICATION

In memory of Sheila Rollason

25th March 1934 – 6th March 2013

  
CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

“I would like to thank all of the characters in this book for their help and support without which this would not have been possible…and thanks for helping me get back to (relative) sanity.”
.

Prologue - Discovery

19:03  26 October  [16:03  26 October  GMT]

Petersburg Nuclear Physics Institute, St. Petersburg, Russia

‘Dermo’ swore Professor Doran in his native Russian.  The late nights, the lost weekends, all had been worth it in his search for a signal.  Just when he thought he was ready to release his findings there it had been, a second signal.

The second signal was troubling indeed.  Not it’s content.  He was not able to decode the signals, so he had no idea what the communication was about.  What troubled him were the relative distances between the two sources of the signals and his receiver.  The first signal was more or less, where he expected it to be, about thirty thousand light years away. 
Not a great distance in cosmic terms, about one-third the distance across our own galaxy, but a nice safe distance from us.  Travelling at the speed of light it would take them thirty thousand years to get here.  So,
he had thought,
aliens exist, they are far enough away not to be a threat but we can communicate with them. 

Then he found the second signal.  Its origin unnerved him.  This was much closer to home, much closer.  He had hardly slept since.  The second signal was not thousands of light years away, not even a few light years.  The second signal originated on earth, from inside Russia itself. 
Someone in Russia is communicating with aliens. 

It had been three weeks since Professor Doran had discovered the second signal.  A week since he had located its origin. 
Has it really been only a week?
  He thought to himself,
it feels longer.
  Scientists are cautious, Russian scientists especially so.  Professor Doran had continued his research, telling no one, just making meticulous notes. 

He rechecked the second signal.  Just to be thorough he decided to recheck the first signal. 
It’s been a week since I’ve looked at the first so….That is odd
, he thought, he rechecked it again,
no, that can't be right, the figures on the display have to be wrong..
.  The location of the first signal had been thirty thousand light years away; now it was only twenty-five thousand light years away.

Shit, this means...they are moving.  They have travelled five thousand light years in just a week!
  A chill ran through the Professor. 
At this rate, they will be here in just five weeks
.  Fear of ridicule changed to fear of the unknown
.  I can't keep this to myself.  I have to tell someone.  I have to get this information out.

If Professor Doran had been a member of a security organisation he might have given thought to what he was doing and its ramifications, unfortunately for him he was not.  He never thought that as he was trying to find the source of the second signal, someone might have been trying to find him.

So enmeshed in his own thoughts the Professor never heard the door to his lab open, the quiet but deliberate steps moving towards his back.  The end came quick, a cloth placed over his mouth held there by arms younger and stronger than his own.  He struggled for breath, for understanding, for hope.  In less than a minute his struggle was over, his lungs had absorbed too much of the fumes and his muscles relaxed.

19:11   27 October  [16:11  27 October GMT]

Petersburg Nuclear Physics Institute, St. Petersburg, Russia

The Militsiya, the Russian police force, made their entry now that the
fire brigade had extinguished the fire and given the all clear.  Unfortunately there appeared to be some structural damage, although the fire engine had arrived quickly most of the combustible materials were of an “intense burn” type.  The fire chief had said that the fire had burned similar to a small tyre factory and that was why it had taken nearly a day to make it safe. 

The discovery of the body happened quickly; trained on procedure it didn't take an expert to work out that the person lying on the floor was beyond medical care, even though the flames had not touched them.  The officer left the body as he had found it, giving forensics as much to work with as possible.

1
Change

20:45   07 October  [20:45  07 October GMT]

Research Laboratory, Cambridge University, Cambridge, England.

John Deeth hit the carriage return kicking the program into life.  He stretched out his arm retrieving his cup of tea.  A thick skin had formed, not remotely fresh, a cold dark reflection of itself.  John didn’t care, he was used to it this way, even preferred it sometimes.  The program would take some time to run the latest test, giving him the opportunity to slope off for a cigarette.  A man of science he knew the effect the toxins would have on his health, life expectancy, fertility, but like any human, he was also fully capable of fooling himself.  Stepping outside into the courtyard it was night already, and John couldn’t remember when that had happened.  Some days he would hardly leave the lab at all.  His PhD was still troubling him though; it wasn’t going well, at least it wasn’t going as expected.  Not by a long way. 

It was supposed to be a relatively straightforward piece of research but unfortunately, it was providing the wrong results.  John’s dream when he was young was alchemy, creating precious metals from base metals.  He had grown up a lot since then and was now seriously intent on producing a much better method of extracting pure gold from ore.  John didn’t want to extract just some of it or even most of it; John’s vision was being able to extract all of it, every single atom.

It should have been simple enough.  Take some Gold ore, nothing more than dust really, subject it to extreme pressures and low temperatures, not easy given Boyle’s law, but with the right kind of equipment not impossible either.  Then pulverize the ore down to the atomic level and supercharge it with electromagnetic radiation.  This would produce an atomic soup of Gold atoms, plus all the various debris of the base ore, carbon, hydrogen, helium, and rhodium atoms to name a few.  That was not what was happening. 
True, I am getting the separation as expected.  I am even getting the gold, well most of it.

He was, by any standard, getting the most amazingly small “loss” using his process, 1x10
-12
% or 0.000000000001%.  This was far better than existing methods and he could have left it there.  He could have finished his research, patented the design, and earn a fortune.  However, according to his theory, there should not have been any loss at all.  None.  What made it worse for him was that when he tried upping the experiment, by applying a higher exposure of electromagnetic radiation, the loss went up.  John had tried it again, the loss increased even further, and again, and again.  The rate of loss was now up to 1x10
-7
%, ten thousand times greater.  He had just set another test running, ramping up the electromagnetic radiation to the limit of his equipment.  He knew this was poor science but he was frustrated with his lack of progress and just wanted to see some different results.  He stood outside in the dark, drawing down the smoke from his Marlboro.

John’s head hit the ground, knocked off his feet by the pressure wave from an explosion.  The sound was as if an old gas cooker had exploded and thrown off its heavy cast iron door.  John staggered back to his feet, realising with a mixture of intrigue and dread that it had come from the lab,
my lab
.  As he reached his feet, he passed out, collapsing back to the ground.

Universities are communities of people and like most communities; they are interested in events, interested in accidents, and sometimes just plain nosey.  A considerable number of people were now at the scene.  The explosion, not in itself large enough to justify the attendance of police, ambulances, fire crews from three stations, armed police and an anti-terrorist unit; they had been activated in accordance with the University’s Anti-Terrorist plan.  They had stayed on because they couldn’t understand how the explosion had happened. 

John was currently in the refectory, carried there by the attending ambulance crew who had also kindly wrapped him in a blanket and brought him round to consciousness.  Once they were satisfied that John was generally unharmed, just a little shaken they allowed the Task Commander, the head of the attending anti-terrorist unit, to interview him.  John tried his best to explain how his laboratory blew up.  The task was proving difficult because he currently had no idea, or at least not much of one.  He explained that his experiment utilised high pressures, and this could account for the explosion. 

He knew this to be a lie; although the testing chamber was pressurised to 10,000 atmospheres before the explosion, the size of the chamber was only around four cubic millimetres, multiplied out this would have expanded to something about the size of a light bulb.  John looked out of the broken refectory window towards his laboratory and at the hole in the side of the building that you could drive a medium sized van through. 
No, definitely not the pressure,
he thought.  He had mentioned to the Task Commander that his experiment had also utilised electromagnetic radiation.  He had to refer to it that way having used the phrase with the fire-chief, who had reacted by putting his men in full “Haz-Mat” suits for their own protection.  The Task Commander was more clued up simply making a note for his report.

John’s mind focused on whether he would be able to complete his thesis.  It vaguely troubled him that he could have, would have, been sat in front of the test chamber when it had blown had he not decided to go outside for a cigarette.  In which case he would have been dead and his thesis unfinished.  The latter thought causing him almost as much trouble as the former.  Now however, his thoughts turned to where he would find another test laboratory, new test chamber, electromagnetic source, thirty litres of liquid nitrogen and most importantly more super-conducting materials for the electromagnetic grid delivery system.

Bollocks
, he thought, doubting that his “Research Angel” would provide any further funding given his apparent lack of progress.

They might even withdraw my personal bursary.  Out of work and out on the street in one foul swoop.  Damn.

08:40   08 October  [08:40  08 October GMT]

Cambridge University, Cambridge, England.

The following morning saw John returning to the campus.  Walking past the remains of his laboratory, he headed for the faculty offices.  He considered walking straight past the faculty, head to the student union bar, and drink himself into a coma. 
No
, he thought,
I’ll see the head of department, then go and get drunk.
Upstairs he was ushered into the vice chancellor’s office instead.  This was one of those occasions where time itself appeared to slow down.  The room was full with academic and faculty staff, some he knew, others he had never met.  Almost everyone in the room seemed to have their boss there, nothing said, just that feeling you get that everyone is on their best behaviour.  John was handed a simple one-page document, which he read.

John couldn’t speak.  He re-read it thoroughly twice and then scanned it a further three times, only then did he look up and acknowledge all those around him. 

'We’ve also had a call from our supplier…' the Vice Chancellor offered, '…apparently, they have also heard of the accident and somehow seemed to know that money would not be an issue.  They have assured me that they could re-fit the laboratory within a few weeks.  I think that should give you sufficient time to write the report that your sponsor has requested, don’t you think so?'

'Oh yes, yes I think so, yes.’  John stammered. 

Not knowing quite what else to do he decided to excuse himself from the assembled hordes and return to his accommodation,
maybe by way of a drink or two
.  He needed time and space to think.

That
, thought John,
is the third time the barmaid has smiled at me.
  Barmaids in student union bars are not paid to smile making John very dimly aware that she might be offering more than just beer.  However, John was no Romeo, no Don Juan; in short no bloody good with women. 
Sure, if I wanted to I could probably talk most women in to bed, that’s easy.  In fact, I wouldn't even have to do much talking, if I just let them talk and listen to them, really listen and show them that I am listening to them then I would be home and dry.
  No, as far as John was concerned that was not why his mind was given to him.  The prize he sought was in Stockholm.

He left thoughts of the barmaid behind and returned to his favourite seat.  He decided that trying to make sense of everything that had happened to him over the past twenty-four hours was an impossible task and definitely one that he should not attempt.  Instead, he simply wrote down the events in his trusty pocket notebook in chronological order so that he had them recorded.

This last item regarding the barmaid John wrote down just because she had made eye contact with him again, was very attractive, young and obviously in pretty good shape.  John decided that in order to stop worrying about his problems he should spend the rest of the day and that evening listening intently to someone else's
, the barmaid's perhaps...

At six foot tall with short, close-cropped blonde hair and a good physique from his daily workout John Deeth appeared quite attractive.  He, however, never considered himself so.  During his teens, he had carried more weight than his classmates causing his self-image to suffer.  He found women complex and relationships confusing, still seeing that chubby child reflected in his bathroom mirror. 

John grew up in a loving but somewhat dysfunctional family.  His father had worked hard all his life, but had lacked the opportunity of a good education.  He had done well providing for his family and the love he showed his family was in his own way.  John's mother was the caring type, almost too caring she feared the unknown so John’s emotional growth was often stifled.

His non-identical twin brother Edward “Eddie” Deeth was currently working as a second-hand car salesman.  Eddie, unlike his brother, was everyone's friend; more outgoing and confident in social situations especially during their teens.

They had both left school with few qualifications and flirted with different jobs but neither could seem to settle.  John was luckier; he managed to gain a place on a short computing course.  An outstanding student it gave him the confidence to apply for direct entry to Cambridge as a mature thirty-four year old studying physics and mathematics.  He was now close to finishing his PhD.

06:30   09 October  [06:30  09 October GMT]

Student Accommodation, Cambridge University, England.

John awoke, startled by the barmaid’s alarm.  His mind was clear now;
a good stroll, followed by a cooked breakfast will help me to think straight.
  Something he knew he had stopped doing the day before.

Back in his own apartment, John took out his pocket notebook and reviewed the list that he had made the day before.  He now realised he had missed two vital items off the list, strictly speaking three items.  Item one was increasing the amount of electromagnetic radiation in the last experiment to the highest available setting; in the previous experiment, it had been less than sixteen per cent.  The second item was that the Research Angel had requested a report and that he had people to review the report and offer suggestions.  This was most unusual, especially when coupled together with the third item.  No one had even batted an eyelid at asking a researcher to produce a report before his work was complete and without any peer review.