Halon-Seven (55 page)

Cyrus gave them a few moments to take in the strange object.
 
The two just sat there staring at the screen. Cyrus knew what they must’ve been thinking. The object was a perfect sphere, unblemished in any way, even after traveling through space and ultimately crashing to Earth.

“When Meade was able to split the sphere into five separate sections, he began to wonder whether it might be possible to integrate them into the design of the platforms. That was when he started to consider using the ore to deal with the power problems of the platforms.”

“Hold on,” Reese said. “You’re saying Walter cut the orb into five sections? I have a hard time believing he would do that, especially after what happened in Russia. Even more so after he found out the object inside the meteorite was this sphere. That raises so many additional questions! A perfect sphere doesn’t happen in nature.”
 

Cyrus took a moment to consider his next words. “This is actually where things get far more complicated. Meade didn’t actually cut the sphere. According to his notes, he made a discovery while performing a battery of experiments. After he cleared away the detritus that was the outer layers of minerals, he had unfettered access to the sphere at the core. He started all of his tests over again from scratch. All new scans and tests of the object, as if he were looking at it for the first time.

“In one of his most important tests, he was sending different voltages and wattages into the orb to measure its output response. He found that the orb could not only store the energy passed to it, but it could amplify it. Essentially, he found a sort of control interface for the orb. He would send specific ultrasonic bursts into the object, and based on those harmonic frequencies, the orb would react differently to the power he fed it.”

Judging by the look he was getting from both Reese and Hondo, Cyrus could tell he was in danger of losing them. But this was a crucial bit of information. He had to make this part clear.

“It was as if the orb was not a rock but a
manufactured device
. A device that could be controlled with ultrasonic audio commands.”

Cyrus changed to the next image and showed the meteorite on the left side of the photo. On the right of the photo were five equally sized spheres, each the size of a BB from a BB gun.

“In response to one frequency, the orb split into five identical but smaller versions of itself. Each with exactly one fifth the mass of its previous configuration.”

Reese stared at him, apparently stunned. Each time she tried to speak, she stopped short, seemingly tongue-tied.

Hondo found the words more succinctly. “What the bloody hell is that thing?”

Reese nodded absently. “He’s right,” she mumbled. “There’s no way that orb is naturally occurring.”

“That was Meade’s conclusion as well,” Cyrus confirmed. “As you said, a perfect sphere is virtually impossible in nature. Add to that the characteristics exhibited, and there could be no other conclusion. Halon-Seven must be a manufactured device.”

Sitting back in his chair, Cyrus gave them both several minutes to think about the implications. Similar thoughts had been on his mind since reviewing Meade’s files. There was some catharsis in sharing the information with his friends.

The pale look on Hondo’s face betrayed his concern with his next question. “Manufactured by whom?”

“Let me ask you a question, Reese.” Cyrus said, and he waited a long moment for her attention to return from the overhead screen. Her mind was clearly reeling from the implications.

A barely coherent “Uh huh?” was all she could manage.

“Did Meade ever explain why he called it Halon-Seven?”
 

She thought for a moment and finally shook her head. Her eyes sharpened and met his. She was back to focusing on the conversation rather than the far-reaching implications of the orb. “No, I guess not. It seems odd now, but I never thought to ask. I don’t think any of us did.”

Cyrus nodded. “I suppose it’s understandable.”

He tapped a key on his laptop, and a new image appeared on the screen at the end of the room. A massive, seemingly endless sequence of 1s and 0s filled the screen from edge to edge, top to bottom.

“One of the harmonic tones Meade sent into the orb caused it to emit an audible signal of its own. He put the tone through heavy analysis and discovered that the tone could be equated to binary code. This binary code,” Cyrus clarified.

Both Reese and Hondo looked back at him, shocked once again.

“The orb played a sound?” Hondo clarified.

Cyrus nodded. “The sound was translated into what turned out to be binary computer code. That binary code was resolved into ASCII text. It’s the same word, repeated over and over again in seven different languages. Mandarin, English, Spanish, Russian, German, Portuguese, and Arabic.

“The seven most widely spoken languages in the world today,” Cyrus elaborated.

“Seven languages?” Reese muttered, her voice a mere whisper.

“What was the word?” Hondo asked.

“Halon,” Cyrus said with a smile. He once again sat back in his chair. “When Meade named the—substance—he was using the name provided to him,
by the orb
. He called it Halon-Seven, because the meteorite, or the device we now know it to be, told him the name ‘Halon’ in seven different languages.”

The silence of the room seemed to stretch on forever. It was clear that neither Reese nor Hondo knew what to say. Cyrus was right there with them. Where they were simply shocked, he had moved on to the point where all of this made his head hurt.

“I have to ask,” Reese said finally. “Are we sure that Pellagrin confirmed that this was a meteor? Was he absolutely certain this object came from space? Keeping in mind that this meteorite came to us by way of the Russians?”

“He had conclusive documentation,” Cyrus confirmed. “And Meade further confirmed it. The outer layers were comprised of minerals at concentrations not native to Earth. In fact, there were elements never before discovered.”

“But if that’s true, and the device contained seven Earth-based languages…”

“It would mean that we’re not alone after all,” Cyrus confirmed.

“Bullshit!” Hondo laughed. “Very funny.”

Cyrus pushed on, undeterred. “Shortly before he died, Meade got access to a state of the art, next generation, electron microscope that was being tested by a German corporation. It has the most powerful magnification optics manufactured to date. He used the microscope to examine one of the Halon-Seven orbs. The description he used for what he found was what he called a ‘micro-lattice.’ Something he described as being manufactured at a nano-scale. His conclusion was that we don’t have the technology to fully examine the composition of the Halon-Seven orbs, let alone manufacture them. Wherever Halon-Seven came from, it wasn’t here.”

When the silence stretched on again, Cyrus decided to continue.

“This also explains why we won’t be able to find any more Halon-Seven. All we have is what Meade collected from the three meteor strikes.”

“That’s right,” Reese said. She seemed to snap out of her state of awe and back into the moment. “Back at the warehouse, you mentioned two additional meteorites.”

Cyrus nodded. “Once Meade knew the characteristics of what he was looking for, he conned the White House into getting him time on several satellites. He didn’t go into great detail due to the sensitive nature of the satellites utilized, but he was able to search the entire surface of the planet for any additional signs of Halon-Seven. He found two more impact sites and immediately had the meteorites retrieved. Each of the other two contained an orb that was a duplicate of the one Meade already had. He was able to split each orb into five separate pieces. Together with the samples he already had, those orbs are now used to regulate power in the Meridian teleportation platforms currently in service.”

“And where did those meteors make land fall?” Hondo asked.

“Russia, Australia, and South America,” Cyrus confirmed.

 
Reese cocked her head. She’d thought of something. “Walter’s scans—did they include the oceans, or just dry land?”

“He was able to scan 100% of the Earth’s surface. Land, sea, and even the ice caps.”

“I don’t know,” Hondo said with a chuckle. “What are the odds that the only three meteor strikes made landfall? Isn’t three quarters of the planet covered with water? I think there’s a good chance the Professor missed something.”

“Four,” Cyrus corrected.

This brought questioning looks from Reese and Hondo.

“There were four crucial meteor impacts to make landfall. All four of them had a payload with the potential to change our world forever. You should include the first meteorite, the one Rumsfeld Pellagrin discovered. It was different from the three containing Halon-Seven, but it was every bit as significant—maybe even more so. That’s actually where all of this started. Had it not been for what we learned there, we wouldn’t have the science necessary to understand the secrets of the subsequent meteor impacts.”

“Fair enough,” Hondo admitted. “I think you just proved my point. Those are really long odds. What are the chances of people actually finding those meteorites, let alone understanding what they had once they did?”

Cyrus tapped a button on the keyboard, bringing up a new slide. This one showed the surface of the planet as a map. Each meteor impact location was marked, along with its impact date.

“It was those odds that haunted Meade,” Cyrus explained. “He believed that those meteors didn’t arrive here by accident. He thought they were sent to those locations.”

Reese’s jaw waggled as she struggled for something to say. “Sent by whom?” she finally asked.

“He had no idea,” Cyrus said sadly. “And that bothered him more than anything. Pellagrin recovered the first meteorite. Together, Pellagrin and Einstein discovered that it contained secrets of the universe. Later, Meade cracked the code of Halon-Seven and found two duplicate meteorites. He knew the three meteorites could be the key to solving the world’s energy problems as well as allow him to perfect the teleportation technology that Pellagrin pioneered at the start of the twentieth century.

“He believed these resources were sent to us intentionally, but he never knew who sent them or why.”

“Based on the evidence, I’m inclined to believe him,” Reese admitted. “But I’m afraid we may never know the who or the why.”

Cyrus leaned forward in his chair. He was personally excited about this part of the presentation. “Walter Meade never realized it, but I think the explanation was right under his nose.”

He brought up another slide showing a photo of the Russian scientists standing in their lab in 1907. Another tap of a key added a new photo to the screen. This image showed Rumsfeld Pellagrin’s lab team working in 1932. Another image popped up showing Professor Meade standing in a lab with a very old Rumsfeld Pellagrin. That photo was dated 1955.

The three of them sat there in the darkened room with the three photos glowing larger than life on the far wall. Finally Cyrus hit one more button, and a photo of Meade and his current research team joined the set. Four images showing the progress of the Meridian project over the last century.

“Meade wanted answers for so long,” Cyrus explained. “He had all of these photos in his archive, he must’ve looked at each a hundred times. But I think it’s what all four have in common that will answer so many questions.”

Each looked across the four images for several long moments, but no one spoke up. Finally Cyrus tapped another key. The image collage on the display was replaced by a duplicate of the first. But the new image had a red circle around one face, which appeared in all four of the photographs. It took several long beats, but when he heard a gasp escape Reese’s mouth, he knew the connection was made.

Cyrus tapped one more key and a new photo was added to the edge of the screen. The large overhead display now showed five photos in total, taken over the last one hundred years. The one he had just added was taken the day before, in Australia. It was a solo shot of Tracy Clark. Her hair was different in each of the photos, but the characteristics of her face made for a match.

Hondo’s voice sounded like gravel. “That’s not bloody possible!”

“I don’t believe it,” Reese muttered, almost to herself.

Looking across the four primary photos, the face of the young woman they called Tracy could be seen in the background of the photo showing the Russian science team. She had been setting up some sort of device behind the lead scientists when the photo had been taken. But she was a primary member of the photograph showing Pellagrin’s team in 1932. In the photo of Meade and a very aged Rumsfeld Pellagrin, Tracy was caught at the edge of the frame, with a clipboard in her hand and wearing a thick pair of glasses. And there she was again, as they knew her today, standing alongside Reese and Professor Meade, in a recent photo taken in the California lab sometime in the last year.

The same woman, wearing different clothes and differing hair styles was in every one of the photographs. But most shocking of all, Tracy Clark had not aged in the years between photos.

“I don’t believe it!” Reese stammered.

“Seeing is believing,” Cyrus said simply.

“But how?” Hondo asked. “How can that be? And for what possible purpose?”

“Those are the million dollar questions,” Cyrus admitted. “If I had to guess, I’d say that it was her job to make sure we stayed on track.”

“I don’t understand,” Reese admitted.

“You lost me,” Hondo confirmed.

“Someone went to a lot of trouble to point these, quote unquote, ‘meteorites’ at specific parts of our planet. Like you said, Hondo, it makes for some pretty long odds that they would be discovered and land in the hands of the right people. But those odds improve if you have someone on the inside, making sure to nudge people in just the right direction. The right suggestion here, an advantageous accident there, who says whether it’s serendipity or happenstance that shapes our future? Maybe it’s a more corporeal presence.”

Sitting back in his chair, Cyrus watched his two closest friends take in the most earth-shattering news of their lives. This changed everything they ever believed about the world around them. They had proof that some guiding hand was, at least in some way, responsible for the most significant scientific breakthroughs in human history. And if our race was urged, leveraged, or coaxed in a given direction, in such a way, over the last hundred years, how might we have been influenced over the millennia prior? How might human history have been influenced by an unseen intelligence?