The Empty Door Page 32

Publicity was not something Professor Cassell could now avoid. He spent the days following the investigation mulling around the house, halfheartedly cleaning up, and muttering to himself about the unfortunate way his plans had turned out. He anticipated the impending publicity to be immensely distasteful and felt certain he would find both his and Cassiopia's personal lives crudely portrayed in the forthcoming print of the day. The successful conclusion of the antique collector’s case had to be made public. The worried populace deserved to know that the threat to their community had been removed. But for the Professor, the unwanted exposure was certain to be a terrible nuisance.

  But the Professor's luck held. On the morning of the press release, he sat at his desk wearing his frayed, dull blue cotton robe, reading the morning edition with controlled jubilation. The front page of the city's leading newspaper read:

  --HOSTAGES RESCUED FROM MID-EAST TERRORISTS--

  The late-breaking national story nearly filled the front page of the newspaper, leaving the antiques dealer’s murder case as a bottom-of-the-page article, most of which was continued inside. The report contained no reference to the Cassell family directly, saying only that the murderers had been apprehended after breaking in to a local residence. The suspects had been overpowered by local residents. Markman’s name was conspicuously absent from the report.

  The Professor leafed quickly through the paper, elated to find most pages devoted to reactions to the hostage rescue, along with other stories detailing the different aspects of it. The military's unexpected and well-planned liberation of the American prisoners had been surgical and swift. A uniquely prepared Special Forces unit had been dropped into the desert on a moonless night. They had compromised the terrorist hideout in almost total darkness, recovered the missing hostages, neutralized the hostiles, then returned to the drop site to escape by helicopter.

  The operation was considered an unqualified success by everyone except the People's Right terrorist group who, to save face, claimed almost immediately that they had repulsed aggression by Satan's forces and would do so again whenever necessary. But, their statements to the press were disorganized and confused, and were easily discredited by pictures of the elated hostages reunited with their families.

  Professor Cassell leaned back in his leather chair and considered the secret details he knew had been omitted from the pentagon's press release--details he had learned through the same invisible military channels that had provided him with a multimillion dollar Drack computer. The U.S. intelligence agencies did not want the world to know that the special forces unit that had outmaneuvered the terrorists was in reality three carefully prepared TEL 100D robots that had broken through solid walls to locate their human objectives. In the near total darkness that had followed the robots' assault on the encampment's portable power station, chaos had resulted. The fearsome sight of the huge, reflective TELs, their visors glowing in the black night, had caused more than half of the guards to throw down their weapons and run screaming that they were being attacked by demons from hell. The few that remained fired wildly at anything that moved and had emptied their weapons uselessly. The armor plating on the relentless machines had barely been scratched.

  The newspaper article concluded by reporting that the religious extremists considered the infiltration to be one of their most embarrassing and critically damaging defeats. It had left them feeling even more vulnerable than the civilian targets they had selected for attacks. It had left them desperate.

  One week later, sitting in the same chair, wearing the same favorite robe, Professor Cassell opened his morning edition to find that the ingenious hostage rescue that had so conveniently shielded him from the tempest of the public eye, also carried with it the worst of consequences. In retaliation for the raid, a well-prepared suicide bomber had driven his counterfeit company van into the basement parking area of the TEL factory and detonated the several hundred pounds of explosives carried within it. The blast was heard for several miles and leveled the five-story building. It left a pile of twisted steel and melted glass, and killed the unfortunate executives that had been inside working late.

  The TEL corporation, in its legendary endeavor to consolidate toward near-perfect efficiency, had integrated nearly all of its operations into the single, computer-regulated complex. Its data files, financial records, and research had been largely destroyed in the colossus blast.

  The Professor removed his glasses and cleaned them. Wearily, he realized that he had escaped the glare of the public eye, but it had cost him his dearest friend. The body of the TEL executive who had been willing to provide him with a priceless 100D robot had been found in the debris. Computer records, stipulating the lease of the seldom-used prototype to be temporary, were now nothing more than melted silicone. The TEL 100D would remain his possession now, indefinitely, a small piece of a friendship, preserved forever. The only real consolation was that TEL science was certain to live on, and evolve. The robotic units that had already been distributed carried all the necessary technology needed to continue the ground-breaking work that had already been achieved.

  The Professor thought of friends lost and of the shiny silver biped machine that now waited in the smoke-blackened underground laboratory. The damage to the SCIP door was irreparable, but the Drack computer had emerged unscathed. To Cassiopia's dismay, it remained an unexplained possession. "Military surplus, loaned by a group of friends," he had told her, and to that story he held.

  When their obligations had been met, and the turmoil of the past weeks had settled down, Cassiopia and Markman drove to the Professor’s home to reflect and relax for the first time since the SCIP door had been opened.

  “You know, Scott, after everything that has happened, I find many of the things you’ve told me about to be very interesting. I’d like to hear more about your religion.”

  “Cass, it is not my religion. It has nothing to do with religion. The things I’ve told you about are the science of life. They apply to almost every religion. The evolutionists, the atheists, and others want to believe that this life we know here on Earth is a random chance, a one-time thing that has no order to it. What I’ve been telling you is that life here in our solar system is anything but random. It is carefully structured and managed by God and his disciples.”

  “But there’s so much suffering, and such terrible things happen.”

  “We come here to learn about free will. How could anyone learn about free will if they were not allowed to make bad choices, and see the effects of others who make bad choices?”

  “But there shouldn’t have to be such suffering. If God can do anything, why can’t he just wave a magic wand and declare that we can gain that wisdom without the suffering?”

  Markman shook his head and smiled. “That’s called the ‘irresolvable tragedy loop’ in some meditation circles. It goes like this; ‘tragedies must happen for God’s plan to be realized. But, if God is all-powerful, why can’t he just wish away the tragedies. Well, tragedies must happen for God’s plan to be realized. But, if God is all-powerful, why can’t he just wish away the tragedies’ and the loop goes on and on endlessly.”

  Markman gently turned into the Professor’s driveway and looked at Cassiopia. “That irresolvable question is one that everyone eventually comes upon in their journey through life. It sidetracks many people and hinders them on their journey. The answer is this; You can’t understand God’s plan until your mind and his are one, or better said, you can’t understand God’s plan until you and he are one. Remember Christ saying, ‘I and the Father are one.’ So, in this life, when you reach that impossible-to-solve question, you must bridge that gap in your life’s journey with faith. And remember, you are not waiting for God to give you the answer, you are waiting for yourself to be smart enough to understand it.”

  “Scott, you are truly a paradox. One minute you are slaying bad men and the next you’re a step away from the pulpit.”

  Markman sneered. “I�
��m a long way from the pulpit.”

  They found the Professor in his study. He nodded his greetings and sat back in his chair, drawing fire from a wooden match into the bed of tobacco that filled his briarwood pipe. He eyed his beautiful daughter, who sat across from him sipping wine, smiling, and pushing playfully at Markman. The mood was one of relief and intimacy.

  "No, I'll never remake the SCIP door. If I did though, I'd create an independent time base and dedicate it to the secondary transformer. That way, it might be possible to time track the Dreamland environment. I'd also design the door to be arched instead of rectangular. Analysis equipment could be transferred in there then. But, no, I won't ever rebuild it, ever."

  "So we’ll never know how people were seeing us in places we've never been," said Markman

  "Perhaps that's just as well," replied the Professor.

  "Father, the robot should be brought up from the lab since you won't be using him there."

  "A fair suggestion, dear daughter, but that's not possible, at least for the time being."

  "Why?"

  "Well, because the aboveground loading entrance was sealed off right after delivery of the Drack. It will take some time to reopen, I would imagine."

  "Then let's bring him up through the trunk entrance."

  "Impossible."

  "Why?"

  "Darling, you're far more experienced with robotic mobility than I. Surely you realize the rigid upper body of the thing will never allow it to get even one of those seventy-five-pound legs over the trunk compartment."

  "Can we not remove the trunk?" she persisted.

  "My dear, it too was intended for security. What you ask is not a simple matter."

  "Have you tried to bring Tel up?"

  "No, it did not seem a likely prospect."

  "Well, let's at least try it then."

  "My dear Cassiopia--."

  "Daddy, please let's try."

  "Daddy? You haven't called me that in years."

  "Well, that doesn't mean I don't think it. Won't you at least try?"

  "She has a real way with persuasion, don't you think, Professor?" joked Markman.

  "My boy, you don't know the half of it."

  "We must let Tel decide," Cassiopia insisted.

  The Professor threw up his hands in defeat.

  The trio regrouped in the SCIP lab and presented the problem in Tel terms to the amiable robot, who promptly replied, "objective attainable," at which time the Professor regressed into his rambling argument that the laws of physics would without a doubt prove everyone but him wrong. The fact that the gray-haired old man seemed to be intensely enjoying the debate robbed him of the credibility he might otherwise have commanded, though he did not seem to care.

  With anticipation, they climbed to the basement and stood staring down into the open trunk, watching the heavy robot easily climb the welded ladder. Its head and body emerged up through the trunk as it stopped at the top rung. From the waist down, Tel found itself still within the large, custom-built trunk. The persistent robot scanned around itself and paused as though not knowing what to do next.

  The Professor looked affectionately at Cassiopia and shook his head. He thought to find something to console her but she had obviously not yet given up hope. She stared at the robot with expectancy, though its analytical processes seemed all but thwarted.

  Finally, rather than attempt to raise one of its bulky legs out and over the restrictive side panels, Tel simply threw itself over the side, crashing loudly onto its back, banging roughly against the solid, wooden container and floor as it went.

  Everyone jumped back, startled. Cassiopia placed her hand on her heart and gasped in surprised delight.

  Unscathed, the invincible machine climbed to its feet and collected itself. It stood idle, facing the three aghast onlookers in a moment of interlude that seemed to ask, "Anything else?"

  The Professor was beside himself. "Well, that is just not possible. That cannot be considered a logical solution to the problem. You have tricked me, Cassiopia. This has all been prearranged."

  "No father. It's what I've been telling you all along. You underestimate the possibilities of artificial intelligence, especially in the case of Tel. It was a splendid solution to the problem."

  "Cassiopia, calculating that one should throw oneself down onto the floor is not logical. There is something strange about that machine I tell you."

  "I agree with you, Professor," blurted Markman. "Did you know that thing has made fun of me on several occasions? Once it even laughed at me!"

  Professor Cassell cast a skeptical glance. "My boy, that is completely absurd. Machines cannot comprehend humor. Many humans are not even able to. What you have just suggested is preposterous!"

  Markman slapped his forehead with one hand, shook his head, and looked to Cassiopia for support. With a smirk, she turned her nose up at him and stuck out her tongue.

  They returned to the study, each recovering the vice of their choice, the robot standing attentively in its preferred idle position in an empty corner of the small room.

  Markman sipped at his drink and leaned back comfortably. "One thing I've got to know, Cass. What did you see in the little silver box?"

  "You’ll think I’m out of my mind.”

  “After the stuff I’ve seen. No way.”

  “What I saw was life-changing. Beyond description. At first, I saw myself, and all that I am. There are some things about me that are pretty good, but there are some things that I need to improve upon. And, when I wondered to myself about what I was looking at, there was suddenly this kind of spontaneous understanding. I understood where it came from, but believe me, that’s going to sound beyond crazy."

  Markman leaned back. “This I’ve got to hear.”

  “Okay, but I warned you. Father, would you like to know what the big bang really was?”

  “My dear, I think you are starting to scare even me.”

  “The big bang was the firing of a single neuron in the mind of God.”

  The Professor and Markman sat silently dumbfounded.

  “The silver box contained a sample of God’s primordial thought-matter.” Cassiopia looked around as though she expected someone to laugh at her. Everyone stared silently.

  “Someone from the distant future, someone we might describe as a son of God who was misbehaving, sent a robotic device back into the past to a point in the cosmos where a big bang was about to occur. They arranged this device to arrive a nanosecond before the explosion happened. It was exactly the point in time and space where the center of this big bang would occur, except that at that moment there actually was no time and space, yet. This autonomous robotic unit sampled the sphere that would produce the bang just before it occurred, and immediately returned to the future. That sample was in the silver box. The box contained a fundamental sample of God’s thought-energy.”

  Markman spoke, “Are you trying to say the box contained a piece of God?”

  Cassiopia smiled. “You know better than I, Scott, that what was in the box was made of God, and of course the box itself was made of God, just as the ground we are standing on is made of God, just as we ourselves are made of God. It would be more accurate perhaps, to say that what was inside the box was a transmitter to God, or a direct line to God.”

  "Well, was there anything visual in there at all?"

  "There were colors I've never seen before. There is no name for them."

  The Professor interjected, "Daughter, you're saying you saw colors outside the known spectrum?"

  "It's crazy father. I know what I saw but I have no way to describe it. There's nothing to compare it to."

  "I think I understand, dear Cassiopia. It's quite explainable."

  Markman looked wryly at the Professor, who was smiling knowingly. "Would you consider explaining it then?"

&nbs
p; The Professor nodded. "I have no idea what she saw within the box itself, but I understand her dilemma quite clearly. Imagine that you yourself were asked to explain the feelings within you, to some creature who had no knowledge whatsoever of humankind. I dare say you would find yourself at a loss for appropriate descriptives. You would undoubtedly come up with several words or phrases with appropriate meanings, but a cogent explanation of human nature would be frustratingly difficult. In the same sense, Cassiopia is unable to tell us what she saw, since it also is too far beyond our experience for her to relate it."

  "It is very much like that, "Cassiopia added. "I kind of understand what I saw, but only vaguely. It was like actually seeing feelings or something."

  Markman shook his head. “You know, that part about the box being a transmitter to God is really ironic.”

  Cassiopia responded, “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, all that underhandedness and violence to acquire a transmitter to God, when my understanding is that we each already have one within ourselves.”

  A moment of reflection followed, until Markman's insatiable curiosity took over once more. "So Professor, do you still believe the creature that we spoke to in Dreamland was real and not a creation of our imaginations?"

  "Quite certainly. One thing none of us could create in Dreamland is an intelligence greater than our own."

  "And did I understand him to suggest that we are all living in a dream world here on Earth?"

  "Certainly a fair analogy I would say," replied the Professor. "I must admit I can't grasp it myself. He inferred that we exist in an alternate reality in which our lives here on Earth are but a dream state. Quite a profound concept, I would say."

  Markman paused to smile at Cassiopia. "And so that would also mean that even the worst of criminals eventually wake up from this life and have to face what he has done, but even for him there is a chance to make up for it."

  The Professor nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps.”

  "What amazes me the most, is that he implied that the little silver box did not come to us by chance, as though everything that happened was part of a purpose!" said Cassiopia.

  "Some of us believe that's true in all of life," replied Markman.

  The group paused in thoughtful silence.

  Cassiopia wondered aloud. “I guess he did say that all things that happen, must happen."

  "That's a direct quote from the Book of Tao Chane," Markman interjected. "There is a story attached to it. One day this student goes to his master and tells him, 'Master, if only I could go back and live my life over. I would do so many things differently.' His master replies, 'No, if you could go back, it would be the same.' But the student disagrees. Finally the Master explains, 'Do you not see? If you could go back, the very first change you made would set your life on a new course. You would be confronted by a whole new set of circumstances in which you again would make many mistakes. You would come to be the age you are now, and look back and again think of all the things you wished you had done differently. You would again wish you could go back and live your life differently. So, it would be the same. Each mistake you made was necessary in ordered to teach you a lesson you needed to learn. The worse the mistake; the greater the lesson. Even today you have made mistakes which you someday may look back on and wish you could change. Tomorrow you will make more. All things that happen, must happen. The fact that they did happen, is proof of that. The moral of the story is this; If you truly regret the mistakes you have made, and don't wish to repeat them--then your whole life has been worthwhile.'” Markman paused, and then spoke as though he were making a confession. "I had forgotten that story until now."

  "I will reflect on the visitor for a very long time," said Professor Cassell. "I only regret that we will never see him again. I would have liked to pose a few hundred more questions."

  "Oh, we'll see him again," interrupted Cassiopia.

  "How do you know that?" asked Markman.

  "Know what?"

  "You just said we would someday see the emissary again."

  "I said no such thing."

  "You did," insisted Markman who looked to the Professor for support. The old man nodded curiously.

  "I said that we would see him again?"

  The baffled trio sat silently in wonder for a few moments, considering the strange and unexpected message. Finally, Markman's familiar humor began to well up inside him. He locked his hands behind his head and leaned back. "Well, personally, my only real regret is that I missed Cassiopia dancing at the Forum."

  Sparks flew from Cassiopia's eyes. "Father, I did no such thing."

  The Professor frowned. Cassiopia shifted in her seat and looked wryly at Markman. "You know, Scott, I guess if there was anything in the world that could make a machine laugh, it would be the sight of you in my father's pajamas!"

  Markman stiffened and raised one finger, hoping to offer some witty comeback when he was abruptly interrupted by a vaguely familiar sound from the robot.

  "Neeeeeck, Nck, Nck, Nck, Nck!"