Tides of the Continuum 1: Making History (2 page)

3

Aurora gripped the mechanical pencil tightly as she focused on the tiny piece of lead in her other hand. She had to line up both the pencil tip and the lead just right, as she held the eraser with her thumb. Success. Aurora was happy. She continued writing where she left off.

Several weeks before, she had glued the eraser on her mechanical pencil in an attempt to keep from losing it as it had a tendency of late to fall out while she wrote. Only too late, she realized that she’d effectively sealed off the easiest way to refill the lead compartment. So in an effort to save just a few cents she began to fill her pencil from the tip, instead of buying a new one. It still worked, and she could make it continue to work if she did so carefully.

As she wrote a rough draft of an essay on engrained behaviors, she stopped. She gently put her pencil down on the table and sat back. Her thoughts turned introspective as she realized what she had been doing. She was a statistic. Some children raised in foster care had certain characteristics. Some hoarded things, collected things, destroyed things. Some gave their love too easily to others, while Aurora found herself closing her heart to the majority of society. As she thought back, she saw that she didn’t actively make friends. In fact she shied away from others when not required to interact with them.

Casually Aurora looked up from her table and noticed that indeed most of the people in the large room in which she worked were congregated toward one half of the room. But she had either consciously or unconsciously chosen to sit in the more empty area of the room.

Tears started to well up in Aurora’s eyes as she realized she was pretty much no more than a product of her environment, and she hated being predictable. She stood and walked over to a trash can. She threw the mechanical pencil onto a pile of discarded nachos resting atop a small mountain of crumpled papers. She knew she would not try to retrieve it after the cheese bath it received.

She walked briskly back to her table and began to gather her materials. But to her surprise, a voice from behind her caused her to pause. “Darn, I thought I’d join you.”

Lincoln sat down at the table she had been about to leave. Another student stood near Lincoln, as if he were his butler. But then the other guy spoke softly and Lincoln replied to him, “Thanks Paul. I’ll see you in a few days.”

The other student left, leaving Aurora and her friend mostly alone. Lincoln looked up to her expectantly. Slowly Aurora sat back in her chair, hoping he wouldn’t stay long. But then she again realized her pattern and changed her mind. She decided to hope he would stay longer.

“Have I been cold to you?” she asked in a low tone.

Lincoln thought for a second before he answered her, “Well, yes. But I’m not offended by it. As near as I can tell most people who grew up in foster care sometimes have that as part of their personality.”

Aurora looked at him, not knowing exactly how to take his comment. But he continued, “I think it just comes from uncertainty in a child’s life. Children need a level of stability in order to develop properly. If they learn that they can’t count on anyone to stick around, they’ll begin to believe that they will always be abandoned. And so they begin to close themselves off from the world, ensuring they will never be hurt.” Lincoln paused and then said, “They may never lose friends, but they may never gain friends either.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been rude to you. I didn’t mean to fence you out or hurt you.”

“No harm done. So what’re you working on?”

Aurora answered him by opening her book and showing him the title written largely across the top of her page: Developmental Disabilities Related to Childhood Trauma. To which he replied, “Sounds like a knee-slapper.”

She caught his sarcasm and slapped his knee. “Hey, you were right.”

“I didn’t expect that, though,” said Lincoln back to her.

She replied softly, more to herself than to him, “I didn’t expect that either.”

-MESSAGE RECEIVED FROM 'BISHOP'

-FILTERING...

-DECRYPTING...

-TRANSLATING...

-DISPLAYING MESSAGE CONTENT:

Scheduled checkin. Have

you found it yet?

-COMPOSING REPLY FROM 'ROOK':

I found what you've been looking for.

She will be easy and gratifying to kill.

4

“Lincoln!” The shout rose above the dull tone of students milling around the halls. “Lincoln, wait up!” He turned toward the voice just in time to see Aurora’s red braid swaying from side to side as she strode toward him.

To his left, Lincoln felt the unwanted presence of a previous potential. “Who’s this, Colonel, another volunteer?” Lincoln’s skin crawled and his neck muscles tensed as the voice, tainted with a tone Lincoln hated, pierced his calm. He was being mocked. James Marlow was a potential three months before Aurora was considered. Jimmy, as he liked to be called, was very closed-minded. These days he was turning many of Lincoln’s potentials against him and in the process making his job ten times harder.

“What's he talking about?” Aurora was completely confused by Jimmy’s remark.

“Nothing, just ignore him. He’s jealous that I made the advisor position.” Lincoln hoped that would pacify her for now.

They were almost to their next class, one that they shared, when Aurora spoke up. “Why did that kid call you Colonel?” She was sincerely curious.

“I’ll tell you later.” He didn't want to be so short but this wasn’t supposed to come up yet. Jimmy was such a pain.

Their next class was a math class: Advanced Calculus Theory. There were twelve students in the class and only one female. Aurora didn’t mind being surrounded by guys. She didn’t even notice because she was too intent on the lessons. This intrigued Lincoln; it was odd to find a girl in any of Dr. Graf’s classes let alone this one, the highest math class offered by the small community college. The challenge excited Aurora. This was one more reason Lincoln thought he had found his last recruit for this trip.

During the class, Dr. Graf wrote a rather complicated equation on the chalkboard. He was moving into an area of the curriculum the class hadn’t learned yet. Lincoln knew he'd seen this concept outlined on the class semester syllabus, but had silently hoped he’d be gone before this specific qualifier was introduced. Each semester had its qualifying moments, where the metal of potentials was tested. Candidates had to face a series of qualifying challenges he or she must pass in order to move to the next phase. Lincoln audibly sighed as Dr. Graf continued formulating the challenge in white chalk on the green blackboard.

Lincoln had always thought it funny that all of the slate chalkboards were referred to as blackboards, including the green ones. He concluded that he would be forever confused.

Dr. Graf elaborated his equation until finally he was finished and set his chalk in the little tray and faced the class. There were a lot of wide eyes and open mouths. Dr. Graf began to speak; his was one of those voices and personalities that somehow made math fun. “Now I know some of you are thinking to yourselves that this is impossible or prohibitively difficult to solve. I thought that, too, just last night. I was thinking to myself ‘How can I slay this monster? It is too big for a mere math professor as weak as I. I'll need my allies, Conrad the Gradient, and brave little i, the imaginary integer.’ I have found that it is best to slay this monster with two feet on the floor and two hands on the chalk.”

Then, amidst the courtesy giggles and smirks, Dr. Graf started to attack “The Beast”. He didn't start at the main mass as most would. Instead, he seemed to be prodding it and taking out small chunks here and stabbing it lightly there until the creature took the form he intended. And then Aurora realized his plan of attack and her hand shot up as she shouted, “Professor!”

Dr. Graf was waiting for this with a keen smile under his bushy mustache. Lincoln watched it all in silence. “Yes. Ms. Dane you have a comment?”

“Sir, you're not trying to solve it. Are you?” Her brain was still puzzling it through as she spoke.

“Why no, I'm not. Can you see why?” He rolled back and forth on his toes and heels, giddy with anticipation now.

“Because it can't be solved. It's not that kind of equation.”

Dr. Graf was pleased with how fast she caught on. Lincoln was also pleased; he was very pleased indeed, but not to the point of automatic acceptance. He gave Dr. Graf a slight nod to signal that Graf continue his explanation of the problem on the board. Dr. Graf caught his gesture and eagerly continued.

“This is not merely an equation, but a tool to be used in the solving of other equations. Think of it as a piece of raw obsidian. We slowly chip away at it until it is a stone axe head, a weapon we may use to slay the greater beast.” And with that remark still ringing in their ears, Dr. Graf turned to the board and scribbled an equation larger and more complicated than many had ever seen. A pencil dropped and a younger student near the back of the room was heard to squeak something unintelligible.

Aurora was the first to speak up. “You're right. With the axe equation this will be easy to solve, but time-consuming.”

“Indeed, this one took me three and a half minutes to draw but last night it took me four hours and twenty-six minutes to solve using the axe equation.” Dr. Graf blew off his chalk and set it in the tray. He gave Lincoln a slight nod and announced, “Class dismissed. And remember the equation assignments from last week are due next Tuesday.”

Lincoln waited until the rest of the class was gone before he approached the professor. “That was a close one.”

“Colonel, I know this isn’t your favorite qualifier, but it is the most telling. And
I think that young Aurora has ‘the right stuff’. Sorry, I don’t want to step on your toes, but she is the smartest student I have had in a while.”

“Actually, I am inclined to agree with you. She shows a lot of potential. You did good.” Lincoln patted Dr. Graf on the shoulder and left.

Dr. Graf looked up to the board and with a sly grin spoke to the axe equation, “Well, my friend, we did it again.”

Lincoln had a 45-minute break before his next class with Aurora. He used his time conversing with Dr. Boren, the professor who taught quantum and particle physics. The class was actually a mix of quantum physics and particle physics, two separate and distinct classes, with two separate and distinct books, and, in an ideal world, two separate and distinct teachers.

This however wasn't an ideal world. When the classes were brought to LFCC, the school’s budget was just small enough to prohibit hiring two separate professors and dedicating two separate classrooms. Therefore, the administration decided to buy both sets of books and hire one professor who would teach both fields in one room. It was a good idea in theory, but how it turned out was one room with over 500 students, one teacher, and not a lot of productive learning.

Dr. Boren, an astronomer by hobby, wasn't versed in either field. As a result, when a student came to his office for additional guidance, he couldn't answer any question immediately. Many a student left his office frustrated.

Lincoln was asking Dr. Boren to make a change to his teaching plan. “What you're asking me to do is intentionally make a mistake in the middle of my lesson!” He sounded incredulous.

Lincoln hadn't worked with him before this time; he'd never had to. The positions he'd been trying to fill had never required this qualification. But Aurora’s case was different. “I'm asking you to get mixed up and nothing more.”

“Why should I do as a peer-advisor asks? You don't even know what you’re talking about!” Dr. Boren lowered his head and continued reviewing his lecture notes. “It’s hard enough to keep order in this class without a child trying to order me around.”

Without a sound, a single page of LFCC letterhead fell gracefully to the desk, landing on the book from which the professor was reading. The page was slightly tattered and had several creases across it. “What’s this?” asked Dr. Boren.

“Read it,” was the only reply he got.

Dr. Boren began to skim through it, and then looked up with a jerk. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“Check it,” was Lincoln's terse reply.

Dr. Boren reached over to the phone on his stack of books and notes. He dialed the extension mentioned in the page. Lincoln left Dr. Boren's office. He knew what was being said on the other end of the phone line, and he knew which office of the state department had been reached. He knew what kinds of threats were being shot toward Dr. Boren's career as a professor. Lincoln would wait patiently, if not a bit smugly, for a more humble Professor Boren to find him and apologize.

When Dr. Boren did exit his office, he looked a bit like a puppy that had just been beaten with a pipe for chewing on his master's shoe. He didn't want to look up at Lincoln's face. “I guess it helps to have friends in high places, eh Colonel? I'll do it, but not for you. I’m only doing it to keep my job.” He turned, went into his office and slowly closed the door. Lincoln smiled to himself as he too turned and left the auditorium. Class didn't start for another 30 minutes, and he was hungry.

Lincoln ate his sandwich in silence, alone, waiting for his potential to pass him. She was very predictable, always walked the same paths, doing nothing extra. She came around the corner and noticed him; she picked up some speed. “Hey fellah, what's new?” she asked as she came even with him.

Lincoln stood up and lifted his satchel. It was heavy. “Nothing. You?”

Aurora smiled, “Nothing. Are you ready for Dr. Boren's class?”

Lincoln looked forward, and with a comical glare, snorted, “Bring it on!”

Lincoln's seat in the auditorium was mostly hidden from the rest of the class by a small, stationary pillar on which stood a multimedia projector, used mainly for elaborate presentations. The wall opposite the class was large, white and completely void of decoration. It featured one 4x12 dry-erase whiteboard that Dr. Boren often used to augment his slides by scribbling in marker while the image projected over his rough artwork.

Dr. Boren began his lesson for the day. He had planned to go into an area concerning bosons, an interesting sub-atomic particle. For the sake of keeping his job he decided to compare two particles and mix up some of the facts. He didn't like it, but he didn't like being unemployed either.

The lights dimmed, the projector turned on and began to heat up causing its cooling fan to turn on automatically. “This is a sphere,” Dr. Boren began, “I know you all know this, but what you don't know is what this sphere represents. For today's lesson, it will represent a muon.” The slide changed to show a black dot. “This is a dot. This dot is not the proper size proportion, but for easy imagining, this dot will represent a boson.”

Lincoln had to fight the urge to let his eyes droop and allow sleep to overtake him.

Dr. Boren continued, “Today we will compare these two particles. The muon is classed as a lepton, along with electrons, neutrinos, and Tao particles. A boson is not a lepton. I am not sure how it is classed, but I'm certain it's classed somehow.”

That was Lincoln's cue, the next statement Dr. Boren made would be false and Lincoln had to correct him, and then watch Aurora's reaction. He waited for Dr. Boren to continue as planned.

“The boson is roughly one twenty-fourth the volume of the muon.” Dr. Boren paused long enough to allow Lincoln to interrupt and correct him.

Lincoln opened his mouth and took in some air; he would have to yell to get his attention. But before he could get out a peep, another yell filled the room. To his surprise, it was coming from right next to him.

“Wait!” Aurora shouted.

Dr. Boren was as surprised as Lincoln and barely got out a crackly, “Yes?” He looked at Lincoln who in turn gave him a shrug and a look just as confused as the one the Professor had used.

“I was reading ahead last night
, and I think you've mixed up the two particles, or mistaken them for others.” She was genuinely confused on the matter. “Or the man who wrote the book was wrong; or maybe the man who wrote the book was told wrong, or-”

Dr. Boren interrupted, “Your point, Ms. Dane?”

She began “I read that the average Z º
-
boson is actually point-like in nature and mathematically has no volume at all.”

Dr. Boren looked at Lincoln who gave him a sign to keep the conversation rolling. Lincoln was getting more interested as it went along. “Well, the book must be wrong; what I mean is the boson's rough diameter is estimated at one twenty-fourth the diameter of the muon.”

“But wait!” she cut in. This was getting better all the time. “That’s not right either. Your math is off. If the boson actually has measurable dimensions, and if the ratio between the two diameters is 1:24, then the ratio between the two volumes would be slightly more than...” there was a slight pause as she went over the figures in her head, “Slightly more than 1:1300.”

Lincoln checked her figures in his notebook. She was right; the ratio would be 1:1357.

Dr. Boren was getting shaky. Small beads of sweat were growing on his forehead. His eyes looked as if they'd pop out of their sockets. He looked pleadingly at Lincoln, his eyes begging for help. All he got was a gesture, something like two hands breaking a stick in half. He caught the clue, “Class, take a five-minute break.”

The lights came on and the students slowly filtered out of the auditorium. “I’ll quit if I have to endure much more of this.” Dr. Boren slumped in a chair and sounded on the verge of tears.