Manny Levels Home Thoughtcrete - Page 2
THE THOUGHTCRETE DIMENSION
by Tony Giovia
Copyright 2001 Tony Giovia
My name is Manny Levels, and I am a troubleshooter for the National Science Foundation. One mission of the NSF is to find the causes of unusual events – mainly, we look for the equations behind the fireworks. The popular press says my work is a like the X-Files television show, but they are wrong. I do not investigate alien conspiracies trying to take over the world. At least, not exactly. I'll explain.
Now, I know you have seen the television and newspaper reports about Thoughtcrete. It was the number one news story in April. But the media reported only part of the story – the shiny part. Here are the high points, in case you forgot.
A new university was under construction in Paris. The main building, called Mattercrete, had been completed and dedicated to Doctor Joseph Mattercrete, the man who funded the school.
A companion library building, called Thoughtcrete, was scheduled to begin construction a week after the dedication of Mattercrete. Well, Thoughtcrete was built too.
Overnight.
Ten stories tall.
Floating 10 feet off the ground.
I was watching the story break on CNN when I got the call to get in to work.
* * * * * *
Netto is my boss at the NSF. He has the look and feel of command when he wants to use it, but he doesn't use it much. He has a big bald head, and today he had it polished like a crystal ball. I saw my distorted reflection in it as I sat down in one of his oversized, comfortable chairs.
I was used to his stares. This one felt pretty angry. He was under the gun. "You are the only person I know who will believe what I am about to tell you."
"I just saw it on the news. A levitating library."
Netto grunted. "This is less than an hour old, so I don't have much for you." He tossed a thin folder over to me. "You are on the next plane out."
"With no background?" Here at the NSF, we don't do things that way. " So what's the rush?"
"Don't ask me. The Special Committee has called me twice in the last thirty minutes. They want this investigated now. And they want you to do it.'
I nodded my head. Some years ago I had been sent to investigate the discovery of a new planet in our solar system. I landed on the so-called 10th planet, and met Bandwidth, its ruler. Since then, I've run into Bandwidth three more times. Right here on Earth.
I said what Netto was thinking. "They think Bandwidth is behind this."
Netto shrugged. "They think Bandwidth is behind everything as provocative as this. Here is what I have so far. You'll be updated with more as I get it.
"Some fellow named Mattercrete is building a monument to himself, calling it Mattercrete University. We have a newspaper photograph of him, taken at the University's dedication ceremony. But we have nothing else on him, not even a social security number. The money used to build the school came from the bank account of the architect. Apart from that news photo, Mr. Mattercrete does not exist."
"The money came from the architect. So the architect is Mattercrete."
"He says not. He volunteered that information in a published interview in Le Monde. The architect is Woodland "Woody" Marble, his real name, and we do have a record on him. He has designed a dozen projects around the world."
I recognized the name. "He designed the Monte Carlo Art Museum. The one shaped like a double helix. I've been there. Want to hear about it?"
"If it is relevant."
"It will tell you something about his class. Each floor of the Museum has 2 wings, North and South. The Museum takes a theme and isolates two floors for the displays. The North wing of floor A is connected to the South wing of floor B by moving stairs, and vice-versa. Each wing is dedicated to one form of the theme's expression – painting, photos, video, sculpture, architecture, music, literature, you name it. Mix and match any four." I smiled as Netto's eyes glazed over. "Not a bad idea, but the curator needs help on the execution."
Netto grunted again. It wasn't his problem. He continued as if I hadn't said a word. "Marble appears to be clean. Deposits were made to his bank by wire transfer from a Swiss account. That is the money Marble says was used to fund the building. I have someone working on Swiss cooperation, but no crime has been committed. That gives us no leverage."
"Got it."
"The Special Committee wants you to locate Mattercrete. They want you to find out if Mattercrete or Marble put up a building overnight, and how it was done." Netto took out his pipe and squeezed the bowl. His knuckles turned white. "Most of all, find out how he got a 10 story library to levitate."
I considered this for a while. "So, they want me to bring him in alive."
Netto's eyes softened, then hardened again. It's tough to make him laugh with one-liners.
He responded with "You'll take the assignment?"
It was always my option to say no, although I never have. Besides, Netto was feeling the pressure and it wasn't in me to let him down. I nodded.
Netto stood up and shook my hand, as was his custom.
* * * * * *
Netto is my big boss and hands out the assignments, and Tristater is my "field controller". I am supposed to report to him when I am on a case, but I usually don't. As a member of the Special Committee, Tristater gets all my reports from Netto anyway.
But I do talk to Tristater when I need help. On this one I thought I'd pick his brain, if only to sort out my own thoughts. At his suggestion I met him at Ground Zero, the Pentagon restaurant. The last place you want to be when it all goes bad.
We ordered coffees and Atomic Hamburgers. Thin and energetic, Tristater still had the honeymoon glow about him. He married a Senator's daughter about 3 weeks ago.
"You still look happy," I said.
He smiled. "It's groovy."
"Just wait." I was divorced.
Tristater laughed.
I was at the wedding. There were Senators and military big-wigs and blank-faced government types that you think exist, but can't prove it. The Special Committee members were there. And oh yeah, The President was in Jerusalem, but The First Lady made an appearance.
Get this straight – most of those people didn't show up to break bread with the Senator. They were there for Tristater. He was, as they say, well connected.
"That floating Thoughtcrete building just got even more interesting," he said. "I'm glad I'm the one to tell you."
"It's a spaceship."
"Nothing that easy. It exists, it blocks the light, it casts a shadow. But birds fly right through it.'
I wasn't sure what he meant. Based on my expression, he expanded.
"It's not solid. It is there, but it is not there. We have people poking things through it right now."
"Not solid?"
The coffee arrived and we spent a minute preparing it. Then I continued. "You mean, it's a projection?"
"If it is, it's a good one. And it is not a library. It appears to be an exact duplicate of the Mattercrete building." Tristater arched his eyebrows.
"Mattercrete II," I said.
"Located in the exact spot where the Thoughtcrete library was going to be. It has the same windows and floors as Mattercrete. You look inside and see the same rooms and chairs and computers that are in the Mattercrete building. But when you try to go in the front door you fall to the ground. A helicopter flew right into the middle of it and the pilot read the notices on the bulletin boards. He even said there was standing water in the toilets. "
I tilted my head back and looked upward. I wasn't sure how to think about this. All I came up with is "But how?"
"Hey, that's your job, not mine." After a time he smiled. He had an idea. Tristater has depths that can make you feel like you just dropped off a cliff. My guess is that he is the sharpest member of the Special Committee, which is itself composed of the best minds in America.
"Spill it. " I leaned back.
"The two buildings – one is named Mattercrete, the other Thoughtcrete. Must mean something."
"Everything means something. But what do Mattercrete and Thoughtcrete mean? Matter as a school, and thoughts as a library?" It made a kind of sense, but it wasn't the jolt I was expecting.
Tristater looked off to his left at a wall, long enough for me to look at the wall too. His style is to hint at solutions, but never lay it out for you. It could be very irritating. I looked at the wall but didn't see anything, not a painting, not a window, nothing. Just white stucco. At the time, it seemed no help at all.
"Is that it?" I asked.
"There's a lot there." The hamburgers came and we ate them. Later Tristater started into his second cup of coffee and became conversational again. He tapped a finger between his eyes. "So how's the hammer in your head?" he asked.
At the wedding, a friendly "drinking contest" broke out. I might have had one too many tequila shooters with the groom and several people who never told me their last names. I'm a good drinker, but no champ. After the contest the main thing I remember is Tristater cutting in on me when I was dancing with his bride.
"I'm all better now. Or so the doctors say."
"Martha wants me to talk dirty to her now."
Martha is his new wife.
I was pretty much expecting this. I had screwed up, and now I had to say the right thing. I said,
"My kinda girl."
Tristater busted out laughing.
This is why we are friends.
* * * * * *
I flew over in a modified Army transport plane. Not comfortable, but it got me to Évreux, a military airport outside Paris, in good time. A jeep and a driver/interpreter, who said his name was Mr. Smith, were put at my disposal. I don't usually get the military routine, but this was helpful because I don't speak French and this eliminated language and orientation problems.
The driver was wearing a Black Beret. I was careful not to offend him. He knew where to go, and after a half hour of winery fields I could see part of the Eiffel Tower. Twenty minutes more and I saw the tops of the twin towers Mattercrete and Thoughtcrete.
There was an enormous crowd, like Times Square on New Year's Eve. A perimeter had been set up around both buildings, with a single entrance point. At the gate Mr. Smith made it clear that he wanted to deal with the French military, not the local police, and he got his way. Within minutes we were passed through. People took my picture.
Mattercrete and Thoughtcrete made an awesome sight. They were both the same gray color, with alternating rows of round and square windows, Each was nominally ten stories high, because that's how many floors there were, but it looked like the ceilings were double height, because these were definitely twenty story buildings. Thoughtcrete was 10 feet higher than Mattercrete – that's how much it hovered off the ground.
"I feel like I'm dreaming", I said to Mr. Smith.
"I agree, Sir." For the first time he smiled. "Good luck. Woodland Marble is in the Mattercrete building, waiting for you. Do you want to see him now?"
"Let's take a look at Thoughtcrete first."
A platform had been set up that allowed people to walk up to the front doors of Thoughtcrete. Mr. Smith said a few words in French to the group of officers at the platform's base, and after some arm waving we were allowed up.
The doors were sliding glass, and they opened automatically when I approached. They looked awfully real to me. I headed straight for them, and I was almost there when Smith grabbed my arm.
"Sorry Sir, I go first if you decide to enter. I have my orders. "
"Whose orders?"
He didn't answer, and instead drew his revolver and proceeded through the doors. I stepped in right behind him.
And fell straight to the ground, almost landing on top of him, except he hit and rolled, while I hit and bounced. Layers of thick mats had been placed under the doorway, and they softened the blow. It was an eerie feeling. I saw the floor there, I put my foot on it, but there was no there … there.
A roar went up in the crowd, with plenty of laughter. Lights flashed. Mr. Smith rushed over, helping me up. "Are you all right, Sir?" I felt a twinge and a twang in my left wrist, but I wasn't going to admit it to a Black Beret. "Well, that was fun," I said instead.
I looked up. The bottom of the building was closed off, a solid gray rectangle that appeared to have incredible mass. Hanging just over our heads. I pointed the way out and Mr. Smith, no fool, followed quickly.
I had the idea that this was an advanced form of hologram, and I walked around the entire base of the building looking for a power source. I didn't see anything, but I didn't want to rule it out – yet.
After the tour I said "OK. Let's meet Marble."
*** CONCLUSION - NEXT PAGE ***