Quantum

19

When she left Moscow a lifetime ago, Avvakum had journeyed east aboard a cramped and ancient car on the Trans-Siberian Railway. For her return trip, a corporate jet waited to whisk her from Sverdlovsk 23 to freedom. As she walked across the tarmac, she saw VIO FinProm’s logo, a golden double eagle on a field of royal blue, emblazoned on the jet’s triangular tail.

‘Welcome aboard, Dr Avvakum,’ the uniformed pilot said as she stepped into the luxurious cabin of the needle-nosed aircraft. Inside she saw Zoshchenko talking with a distinguished-looking man. Both rose as she approached.

‘Lara, it’s good to see you again. I would like to introduce your patron, Victor Ivanovich Orlov.’

Orlov clasped Avvakum’s offered hand with both of his; the grip was firm but gentle. ‘I’ve looked forward to meeting you, Lara. Oksanna has told me a lot about you.’

‘Thank you,’ Avvakum said shyly, not sure how to respond to Orlov’s attention.

‘What do you think of my new jet?’ Orlov crowed proudly.

‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’

‘Considering where you’ve spent the past decade, I’m not surprised. It’s the latest design from Dassault. Supersonic. Capable of Mach one point eight. It’ll only take about two hours to fly to Moscow from here.’

‘Two hours! My last trip by train took days.’

‘Welcome to the twenty-first century.’

The pilot sealed the fuselage door and walked into the passenger cabin. ‘We’re just about ready to leave. If you’ll please take your seats.’

‘Thank you, Brody,’ Orlov replied.

Orlov motioned to a wide leather captain’s chair. Avvakum sat and felt herself slowly melting into the supple material as the chair conformed to her shape.

‘Don’t get so comfortable that you fall asleep on me, Lara,’ Orlov warned. ‘I still want to talk with you.’

Avvakum, Orlov, and Zoshchenko buckled themselves in for takeoff as the jet’s three engines began powering up. A subtle change in the frequency of the engines’ whine accompanied a gradual forward motion of the aircraft. Were it not for the visual cues passing by the cabin windows, Avvakum might not have been able to tell they were moving.

The sleek white jet taxied out to the end of the runway, where it paused for a minute. In the distance members of the airport ground crew stood outside the hangars watching the jet take off. The engines wound up again, louder than before, and the thirty-four-meter-long, delta-winged javelin hurtled across the runway. The world raced past the windows in a blur of colors as the aircraft’s speed increased to the point at which it freed itself from the ground. Minutes later they broke through a layer of low-lying clouds and into a blue sunlit sky.

‘It’s so beautiful,’ Avvakum said as she stared out at the billowy cloud tops.

‘Isn’t it,’ Orlov agreed. ‘Shall we get to the business at hand?’

‘Of course,’ Avvakum agreed, a little embarrassed at her naive display.

‘For security purposes, Oksanna has told you little about what you’ll be working on for me. I assume that you’re curious about the project.’

Avvakum nodded.

‘I’ll give you a little background information first. My company was involved in a research project with an American corporation. Both sides provided funding and staff, and most of the work was carried out in the United States. This project ran for almost two years, but then there was an explosion in the lab. Following that incident, my American partners dissolved our collaboration claiming a loss of faith in the project.’

‘Do you still have people working on this project?’

‘Nyet. One of the men I sent to the United States was killed in the accident. The other decided to stay there. What I do have is all their research. Are you comfortable with English?’

‘I am reasonably proficient.’

‘Good, because all the project materials are in English. My researchers were bilingual — theirs were not — so the project documentation was kept in the common language. Since this is going to be your project from now on, you can choose any language you like, as long as it’s Russian.’

Avvakum and Zoshchenko laughed along with Orlov’s joke.

‘Will I be working with anyone?’

‘In the beginning, no. Oksanna and I have discussed this, and we believe that it will take you several months to completely familiarize yourself with the work. Once you have an understanding of what you are dealing with, then you can make a recommendation to me regarding your staffing needs. I want you to pick your own people.’

Avvakum smiled. When the time came, she would have the opportunity to select the best people she could find rather than struggling with someone else’s castoffs.

‘Can you tell me more about the project?’ Avvakum asked.

‘Oksanna, would you?’ Orlov deferred.

‘Da, Victor Ivanovich.’ Zoshchenko took a moment to compose her thoughts. ‘You are, of course, familiar with negative energy state theory.’

‘Certainly. The early theoretical work in this area brought about the prediction of antimatter, which has since been proved to exist.’

‘Well, our researchers were studying the use of fluctuating electrical fields on evacuated chambers to see whether they could develop a better method for producing and containing antimatter. The result of these experiments was a device that outputs roughly two thousand times the amount of energy they put into it.’

‘I would like to see that,’ Avvakum said skeptically.

‘You will,’ Orlov promised.

‘I understand your skepticism, Lara,’ Zoshchenko continued. ‘I once shared it. In fact, that’s one of the reasons you were selected to continue this line of research. The team that discovered this phenomenon has never been able to explain how it works, which is essential in securing as broad a patent as possible on technological applications. We need to know why this device does what it does.’

‘You’ve brought up another interesting point,’ Orlov said. ‘Regarding patents. My former partners said they are no longer interested in continuing the project. Both sides parted company with identical copies of the research. While I have no proof as yet, I believe that they may also try to continue working on this project. If so, we are in a race, and the winner will control a technology worth billions of American dollars.’

For a mind that regularly pondered the mysteries of the universe and plumbed the depths of subatomic structures so small that their existence could only be inferred, Avvakum found herself mentally unable to grasp the economic stakes involved in this project. If she succeeded, even a small share in an enterprise so vast could be worth more than the past twenty generations of her family had earned in their entire lifetimes.

Orlov glanced at Zoshchenko, who smiled slyly back while waiting for Avvakum to recover her senses. A decade in an impoverished scientific backwater had turned Lara Avvakum into the perfect candidate for the job. She had both the ability and, more important, the incentive to succeed.

‘Would you like to see where you’re going to be working?’

‘Da.’

Orlov opened his briefcase and pulled out an eight-by-ten photograph of a large, nondescript industrial building. A flag bearing the conglomerate’s logo fluttered from a pole mounted on the parapet. Below the flag, a string of large black letters spelled out the name VIO FINPROM.

‘I admit, it’s not the most elegant building I own, but the renovations are going quite well and security is excellent. It was built back in the time of Stalin; Gipromez used to design metallurgical facilities there. It’s on Prospekt Mira, about thirty minutes away from the center of Moscow. Your apartment is just a few Metro stops away, but we’ve arranged for you to have a car as well — a Saab.’

Avvakum stared at the photograph but saw her new life instead. Here she was, hurtling across European Russia in a supersonic jet. Ahead lay an apartment, a paying job, a new car, and the culture of Moscow.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered, barely able to speak. She felt as though her life had just been saved.