The Einstein Equation

6 Apostate

At 10.30pm, the congregation of scientists adjourned.

“Good night, Kasper,” cried a female rector from Rotterdam, visiting on behalf of the Dutch University Allegiance. She waved at the scatterbrained man she addressed before getting into a taxi. Demurely he waved back, grateful that she did not approach him about his thesis — the Einstein Report — which he submitted the month before. He was not a man who enjoyed attention unless it was from those who could educate him on his field of study. And those, admittedly, were few and far between.

For some time, Dr. Kasper Jacobs had been at the head of the Belgian Association of Physics Research, a secret affiliate to the Order of the Black Sun in Bruges. The academic department, under the office of the Ministry of Scientific Policy, were closely working with the clandestine organization that infiltrated most powerful financial and medical institutions across Europe and Asia. Their research and experiments were funded by many of the world’s foremost facilities, while senior board members enjoyed complete discretion and a wealth of benefits beyond that of the mercenary sort.

Protection was paramount, as was trust, between the main players of the Order and politicians and financiers of Europe. There were a few government organizations and private institutions wealthy enough to have engaged with the devious, but rejected the offer of membership. Thus, these organizations were fair game on the hunting grounds for worldwide monopoly in the fields of scientific development and monetary annexation.

This was how the Order of the Black Sun perpetuated their relentless pursuit of world dominance. By garnering the aid and devotion of those greedy enough to relinquish power and integrity in the name of mercenary sustenance, they assured their positions in seats of authority. Corruption was rife to such an extent, that not even the straight shooters realized that they served crooked deals anymore.

On the other hand, some crooked arrows were aching to shoot straight. Kasper pressed the button on his remote locking device and listened for the beep. His vehicle’s small lights flashed momentarily, ushering him toward freedom. After fraternizing with the brilliant criminals and unsuspecting Wunderkinder of the Science world, the physicist was desperate to get home and attend to the bigger issue of the evening.

“Your delivery, as always, was splendid, Kasper,” he heard from two cars down in the parking lot. Within obvious earshot, it would have been very odd to ignore the boisterous voice in pretense. Kasper sighed. He would have to react, so he turned in full charade of cordiality and smiled. He was mortified to see that it was Clifton Tuft, an insanely wealthy magnate from Chicago high society.

“Thank you, Cliff,” Kasper replied courteously. He never thought he would have to deal with Tuft again, after the bitterly embarrassing rescindment of Kasper’s employment under Tuft’s Unified Field-project. So it was a bit gritty to see the arrogant entrepreneur again, after he categorically called Tuft a baboon with a golden ring before storming out of the Tuft Chemistry facility in Washington DC two years before.

Kasper was a bashful man, but he was by no means unaware of his worth. Exploiters like the magnate sickened him, using their riches to buy prodigies desperate for recognition under a banner of promise, only to take the credit for their genius. As far as Dr. Jacobs was concerned, people like Tuft had no business in science or technology, other than to make use of what real scientists produced. According to Kasper, Clifton Tuft was a monkey with money, with no talent of his own.

Tuft shook his hand and grinned like a twisted priest. “Good to see that you are still progressing every year. I read some of your latest hypotheses about interdimensional portals and the probable equations that could prove the theory once and for all.”

“Oh, you did?” Kasper asked, opening his car door to signify his haste. “It was scooped up by Zelda Bessler, you know, so if you want a piece of it, you would have to persuade her to share.” Kasper’s voice was justifiably bitter. Zelda Bessler was the head physicist at the Bruges chapter of the Order, and although she was almost as smart as Jacobs, she rarely managed to do her own research. Her game was to scavenge off other academics and intimidate them into believing that the work was hers, simply because she had more influence amongst the big cocks.

“I heard, but I thought you would have put up more of a fight to keep the rights, bud,” Cliff drawled in his annoying accent, making sure that his condescension could be heard by all about them in the parking area. “Way to let a goddamn woman take your research. I mean, God, where are your balls?”

Kasper saw the others glance or nudge as they all headed for their cars, limo’s and taxi cabs. He fantasized about putting his brain aside for just a moment and use his body to trample the life out of Tuft and kick his oversized teeth in. “My balls are perfectly adept, Cliff,” he answered calmly. “Some research demand real scientific intelligence to apply. Reading the fancy phrases and writing the constants in sequence with variables is not enough to transfigure theory to practice. But I am sure a strong academic like Zelda Bessler knows that.”

Kasper enjoyed a feeling he was not familiar with. It was apparently called gloating and he seldom got to kick the proverbial nuts of a bully like he did just then. He looked at his watch, relishing the astonished looks bestowed on the idiot magnate, and excused himself in the same confident tone. “Now, if you will excuse me, Clifton, I have a date.”

Of course, he was lying through his teeth. Then again, he did not state with whom, or indeed what, he had a date.

After Kasper told off the boastful prick with the bad hairstyle, he drove along the bumpy grit of the east road of the parking lot. He only wished to avoid the queue of flashy limousines and Bentleys exiting the venue, but after his well-placed line before bidding Tuft adieu, it certainly looked stuck-up as well. Dr. Kasper Jacobs was a mature and innovative physicist, among other roles, but he had always been too modest about his work and dedication.

The Order of the Black Sun held him in high regard. Throughout the years of working on their special projects, he realized that the members of the organization were always readily available for favors and cover-ups. Their loyalty, as it was to the Order itself, was unrivaled; something Kasper Jacobs had always admired. When he drank and became philosophical, he thought about it a great deal and came to one conclusion. If only individuals could care this much about the common goals of their schools, welfare and health systems, the world would flourish.

He found it amusing that a group of Nazi ideologists could be the model of propriety and progress in a social paradigm these days. By the state of the world’s misinformation and propaganda of decorum that enslaved morality and deterred individual consideration, it was clear to Jacobs.

Flashing in cadence across his windshield, the highway lights lulled his thoughts into dogmas of revolution. According to Kasper, the Order would easily be able to overthrow regimes, if only civilians did not see representatives as power objects, casting their lot into the abyss of liars, charlatans and capitalist monsters. Monarchs, presidents and prime ministers held the fate of the people, when such a thing should be an abomination, reckoned Kasper. Unfortunately, there was no other way to govern successfully, but to deceive and sow fear on one’s own people. He found it regrettable that the world population would never be free. That even thinking about alternatives to a single, world dominating entity was becoming ludicrous.

Turning away from the Gent-Brugge Canal, he shortly after passed Assebroek Cemetery, where both his parents were buried. On the radio, the female broadcaster announced that it was just past 11pm and Kasper felt a sense of relief he had not felt in a long time. He likened the sensation to the glee of waking up late for school and realizing that it was Saturday — and it was.

“Thank God, I can sleep a bit later tomorrow,” he smiled.

Life had been hectic since he took on the new project directed by that academic equivalent of a cuckoo, Dr. Zelda Bessler. She was managing a top-secret program only a few members of the Order knew of, excluding the architect of the original formulas, Dr. Kasper Jacobs himself.

As a pacifist genius, he always shrugged it off that she took all the credit for his work under the mantle of cooperation and teamwork ‘for the good of the Order’, as she put it. But lately he had begun to feel more and more resentment toward his colleagues for the exclusion from their ranks, especially considering that those tangible theories he came up with would be worth a lot of money in any other institution. Money he could have all to himself. Instead, he had to be content with receiving but a fraction of the value while the Order’s highest bidding pets enjoyed preference in the salary department. And they all lived comfortably off his hypotheses and his hard work.

When he stopped in front of his apartment in the secure complex off the cul-de-sac, Kasper felt sick. For so long he had been avoiding the antipathy inside him in the name of his research, but tonight’s re-acquaintance with Tuft reinforced the hostility all over again. It was such an unpleasant topic to stain his mind with, but it refused to be repressed all the time.

Up the stairs he skipped, to the landing of granite slabs that led to the front door of his detached apartment. The main house lights were on, but he always moved quietly as not to disturb the landlord. Compared to his colleagues, Kasper Jacobs led an astonishingly reclusive and modest life. Save for those who stole his work and profited, his less intrusive associates made quite a decent living as well. By average standards, Dr. Jacobs was comfortable, but by no means wealthy.

The door creaked open, and the smell of cinnamon wafted into his nostrils, stopping him in his tracks in the dark. Kasper smiled and switched on the light, affirming the secret delivery by his landlord’s mother.

“Karen, you spoil me rotten,” he said to the empty kitchen as he went straight for the baking tray full of raisin buns. Briskly he scooped up two of the soft breads and stuffed them into his mouth as fast as he could chew. He sat down at the computer and logged in, swallowing clumps of delicious raisin bread.

Kasper checked his e-mails, after which he proceeded to check the latest news on Nerd Porn, the underground science website he was a member of. Suddenly, Kasper felt better after the shitty evening as he saw the familiar logo, utilizing symbols from chemical equations to produce the lettering of the website name.

Something caught his eye under the ‘Latest’ tab. He leaned forward to make sure that he was reading correctly. “You goddamn moron,” he whispered at the picture of David Purdue with the thread subject line:

‘Dave Purdue found the Dire Serpent!’

“You fucking idiot,” Kasper gasped. “If he puts this equation into practice, we are all fucked.”