Dark Matter. Cameron Cruise
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are merely a matter of probability, which opens the door for free will. Come on, Theodore, you can’t tell me it’s not at least worth discussing?”
“It’s worth discussing about as much as it is worth pondering the question do pigs fly?” Theodore scoffed. “You’re trying to use quantum mechanics as the scientific basis for free will. And there is no scientific basis for free will. You can’t observe it, you can’t measure it, you can’t study it.”
Martha placed a calming hand on Theodore’s. “And yet, before Galileo, we didn’t know the equation for the relationship between velocity and acceleration. Perhaps, Theodore, we merely do not yet know the equation to study free will.”
Theodore grimaced. “Don’t you see what he’s trying to do? If you buy his argument, you can use quantum mechanics to legitimize anything—even his kiddie camps for pseudopsychics.”
Zag leaned back in his chair, enjoying the moment—the great Theodore Fields losing his cool. It seemed to happen more and more these days. And Zag was just getting started.
“Is that how you see the Halo-effect schools? Kiddie camps for pseudopsychic ability?”
“Or worse,” Theodore said.
Zag grinned. “Oh, please, Theodore. Don’t hold back.”
“I can understand bamboozling some rich asshole who wants to cultivate some fantasy that his child is special. But this recent addition of working with autistic children at these schools—really, Zag, it’s too much. You tell their poor, desperate parents that their children are unique rather than disabled, that you can help them develop their unusual gifts, milking them with that hope.”
“But they are unique, Theodore,” Zag continued coolly. “I’ve been working with autistic children since graduate school. I’ve seen these children do incredible things. You want to put them in a box and drug them, I see them as an evolutionary next step in brain development. My work is to try and use psychic tools to access their potential.”
“Psychic tools? What is a psychic tool? Oh, wait!” Theodore reached for an empty space on the table and held up his hand as if holding something. “Here it is! My psychic tool!”
Morgan held up a hand. “Enough, gentlemen. While I enjoy your verbal sparring, I believe we were discussing Zag’s unorthodox use of the uncertainty principle. Lionel?” Morgan asked, reaching out to the group’s resident mathematician and referee, who was sitting between Theodore and Zag. “Do you want to chime in here?”
Dr. Lionel Cable had recently been recognized for his seminal work in algebraic topology. A compact man of African American descent, he had a prominent scar in the middle of his forehead caused by a childhood accident. He was the most recent recipient of the Fields Medal, the equivalent of the Nobel Prize for mathematics and the only cool head in the room.
He didn’t hesitate to step in. “It is true that the uncertainty principle can be misused. Since Einstein, we’ve been trying to apply quantum physics on the cosmic scale. We have no idea if these principles are even relevant at the macro level.”
“We don’t know being the salient point, Lionel,” Martha argued. “So why run from the discussion? During the eighteenth century, the French Academy of Science denied the existence of meteorites. Museum curators all over Europe threw out their collections of meteorites for fear of appearing backward. Stones falling from the sky? It smacked too much of religion—the hand of God and all that. Once it was the church persecuting theorists, now it’s science? Well, I for one refuse to be bullied from discussing the topic at hand.”
Morgan turned to Lionel. “Isn’t the macro level merely the summation of what happens on the molecular level?”
“Wonderful,” Theodore said. “You make up a law and then find a way to apply it broadly. That’s great science. Did we read the same article, people?” He looked around the table, sounding almost desperate. “The man quoted Edgar Cayce and Madam Blavatsky!”
Edgar Cayce, the sleeping prophet, was possibly the best-known American psychic. He was also responsible for some of the more controversial theories about the lost city of Atlantis—a favorite topic of Zag’s and another one of Theodore’s pet peeves.
“Cayce believed that the Atlanteans had a great crystal that allowed its people to focus their extraordinary abilities to achieve fantastical things. Helena Blavatsky claimed that Atlanteans invented airplanes and grew extraterrestrial wheat,” Theodore continued, his face growing ever more florid. “Atlantis is fodder for Disney, for God’s sake, not science. Is this the kind of hogwash you want to sign your name to, Morgan? I can’t believe it was published in a peer review journal.”
“Both Cayce and Blavatsky were mentioned as historical context only,” Zag said.
“Or to keep the tabloids interested,” Theodore countered. “The man feeds these ridiculous rumors that he is some kind of descendant from Atlanteans who escaped in aircrafts before their own big bang.”
“I actually found Zag’s discussion on Atlantis quite fascinating,” Lionel said, again acting as mediator. “I don’t believe anyone has ever postulated the possibility that it was in attempting to isolate dark matter that the Atlanteans caused their destruction.”
“Well, then, perhaps you don’t read enough science fiction,” Theodore added.
“Then there’s the idea of the Atlantean crystal,” Lionel continued. “It’s somewhat reminiscent of Morgan’s psychic artifact, the Eye of Athena. I believe it was your point to connect the two, Zag?”
But before Zag could answer, Theodore threw up his hands. “Now it’s back to psychic artifacts? More mumbo jumbo!”
The crystal, the Eye of Athena, had been an ongoing topic of conversation with the Brain Trust. Ten months ago, it had made the headlines as part of a collection of psychic artifacts confiscated after the murder of David Gospel. The man, a local real-estate mogul, had accumulated quite the collection—most of it obtained on the black market, of course. And while many of the artifacts had been authenticated by their own Martha and colleagues, the Eye of Athena had turned out to be a fraud.
Soon thereafter, Morgan began discussing the crystal, artfully dangling the possibility that he’d gotten his hands on the real deal. Thus far, Morgan had refused to produce it, talking about the Eye of Athena only in the theoretical, claiming his interest in the artifact had been brought on by the recent headlines and his own history with the stone.
It was a facile explanation. Morgan’s lover, Estelle Fegaris, the mother of his only child, had been obsessed with the Eye. Some said the crystal had even cost her her life.
“The comparison seems more than plausible,” Martha mused. “The theory is that the Eye works on the brain, helping to enhance certain psychic abilities…facilitating what Zag refers to as brain evolution. I believe Cayce made similar claims for the Atlantean crystal.” She turned her attention back to Zag. “You suggest, of course, that the artifacts are related. But do you also believe that the crystals actually are dark matter?”
Again, Theodore answered. “If this object—a theoretical object that Morgan refuses to even admit he possesses—were dark matter, our humble building would be weighted down by what was essentially over a ton of gravitational pull. Tell us, Morgan. Do you have a miniature atom bomb hidden somewhere?”
“I know how much you enjoy sounding important, Theodore,” Martha said with a wink, “but for those of us in the room who speak English and not techno nerd, please elaborate.”
But it was Lionel who answered this time. “As I explained last week, the existence of dark matter was first theorized to explain the rotational speeds of galaxies. An answer to the missing mass problem,” Lionel explained. “Dark matter reconciles observable phenomenon with the big bang theory. It, along with the more nebulous concept, dark energy, allows for a sort of fudge factor. Theodore is right. If the crystal were dark matter, it would be significantly heavier than plutonium.”
“Couldn’t