“Balmy.”
“The Holy Grail of superconductivity, though, Ben, is a metal that demonstrates absolutely zero electrical resistance at room temperature. Such a marvel would revolutionise the world — power distribution, electronics, transportation. You name it.”
King peered at the image displayed on the tablet’s screen. The Xibalban mask stared back at him.
“The mask, in fact, both the masks — the iridium-like section of the one you found inside Xibalba, and the entire thing that you found with the remains of Kha’um — both demonstrate that attribute. Whatever the metal is, it’s not iridium, and it’s not of this world.”
“A meteorite?” King asked, although he had always suspected the answer. The original Bouda legend told of a king who had fashioned the original mask out of a piece of the moon which had fallen to earth, only to have it confiscated by the gods and scattered around the globe.
But what about the second mask? he wondered. His first thought upon finding Kha’um cradling a second mask in the remains of his ship was that he had stolen a decoy, a fake mask used to dupe thieves. But if what Langley was saying was true, then both the ‘fake’ mask and the piece of the original, were fashioned out of the same miraculous lump of metal that had fallen from space hundreds, even thousands of years ago.
“That’s right, though not the same one. The so-called ‘fake’ mask, while demonstrating the same super-conductivity as the piece of the original, is not emitting any tachyons.”
So they had finally arrived at the real heart of the matter.
Tachyons.
That was what everyone was really after; the Chinese, the soldiers in black, the Americans, the U.N. None of them cared about the impact these space rocks had had on ancient cultures, how the tachyon radiation had destroyed an entire ancient civilisation and manifested itself in other cultures’ mythology. None of them cared about Kha’um, the Bouda, the Xibalbans or the Progenitors.
It was all about the tachyons. Because, it seemed, tachyons were power in more ways than one.
He placed the tablet computer on the coffee table, drained his cup and looked Alex Langley squarely in the face. “What do you want from me?”
“A tachyon bomb has the potential to wipe humanity off the face of the earth.”
Alexander Langley’s profound statement echoed across the United Nations Security Council chamber, twelve hours after his conversation with Benjamin King had finished.
“NASA is not too sure how the tachyon particles are being generated in the piece of the original mask,” he explained. “One theory is that they are in fact a bleed-off of the superconducting metal’s current. At its critical temperature — in this case, room temperature, 300 kelvins — zero electrical resistance is found in the metal. However,” he continued, “the physical mass of the material, the mask itself, could have a limiting effect to the amount of energy it can store. Effectively, the mask is at full capacity and is bleeding off some of the excess energy in the form of tachyon particles. These in turn, as they decay, emit harmful radiation.”
“Has the science team attempted to recreate this effect with the ‘fake’ mask?” the Australian representative asked.
“They have, but to no avail. The current they applied to the fake mask is self-sustaining itself, in that the energy flow is not dissipating, however it is not emitting tachyons.”
“This is all very interesting, Mister Ambassador,” the president cut in. “But I’m not sure what the point you are making is.”
“We’re all aware of the danger a tachyon bomb poses to world peace. Just the promise of it has claimed too many lives already. No one nation must have that type of power.”
“I agree. So, what is it that you are suggesting?”
Langley turned to look at the little man, and then scanned his calculating eyes across every man and woman seated in the immense, circular hall.
Crunch time.
“A joint mission, Mister President,” he said. “Under the control and the authority of the United Nations, I propose that we send Doctors Benjamin King, Alysya Siddiqa and Nadia Yashina in search of the other pieces of the Moon Mask.”
“Doctor King hardly has the soundest reputation in the academic world,” the British representative protested.
“And what about protection?” his old opponent, Sergei Dityatev, the Russian representative, spoke up, casting an accusing eye at his Chinese counterpart.
This is going to hurt. “I propose that the scientific team will be protected by the same Unite States Special Forces team that retrieved them from Venezuela three days ago.”
The uproar of indignant voices was even louder than he had anticipated, yet he nevertheless stood his ground in the centre of the council chamber. The torrent of voices hurled everything from laughter to outright obscenities, in a veiled, politician’s way, at him. Sergei’s voice was the loudest, however, the powerfully built Russian rising to his feet.
“An American military force?” he scoffed. “Now, that really is convenient Mister Representative.”
Langley knew the implication behind his sparring partner’s words. Over the last few years, the two men had developed a mutual respect and mistrust of one another that had seen them share a few shots of vodka between locking antlers in the council chamber.
He knew how it looked, and he would have acted in an identical manner if Sergei had proposed sending the Spetsnaz to protect the team.
It looked like he was putting the interests of the United States before his obligation to the United Nations.
“What is convenient, Mister Ambassador,” he raised his voice to be heard, nevertheless retaining that infuriating sense of calm and self-righteousness that had seen him through battlefields. “What is convenient is not alerting even more people to a potentially disastrous situation.”
The tirade of voices quietened down as outraged delegates tuned into his words.
“We have worked very hard to contain a very delicate situation,” he continued, capturing their attention. “We have all agreed that the fewer people who know about this, the better.”
He turned his attention to the British representative. “We could assemble a new team,” he agreed. “Of course we could. Totally independent. Fresh faced. And in so doing, we would be alerting yet more people to the existence of the Moon Mask, and more importantly, tachyons. Not to mention, we would be wasting valuable time bringing them up to speed on the events of the past days, the history of the Moon Mask, of Kha’um and Edward Pryce.” He paused, allowing his words to hang there.
“Benjamin King,” he continued, “may not have the best reputation among British scholars, but the fact remains: he was right, everyone else was wrong.”
The ambassador was about to object but Langley talked right over him. “King is the world’s only expert on the Moon Mask. Doctor Siddiqa is a distinguished archaeologist in her own right and will provide valuable, and I believe after talking to her, unbiased opinions to King’s work. In short, she’ll keep some of his more outlandish ideas in check.”
He looked now at Sergei Dityatev. “Doctor Nadia Yashina is widely considered to be one of the most intelligent people on this planet. As well as her archaeological credentials, she is a recognised expert in the field of theoretical quantum physics. It was she who, with limited resources in a field base on a mountain-top, detected the tachyon emissions in a matter of hours. It took the staff at John Hopkins hospital days to discover the same thing.”