Unknown 9, Layton Green [good books to read for 12 year olds txt] 📗

He turned to flip through the journals on the coffee table. Most of the headlines concerned recent developments in theoretical physics. The discovery of quarks, leptons, and bosons. Brand-new theories of cosmic inflation and quantum computing.

The magazine covers were a snapshot of events over the last decade. Chernobyl. Famine in Africa. The Challenger explosion. Iran-Contra. The rapidly expanding network of computers around the globe that was bound to change the world.

“That is your vehicle?” Ettore asked, returning with a cup of coffee that smelled burned.

Dr. Corwin glanced at the window. “I purchased it in Mendoza and drove here. I didn’t trust a rental company.”

“Ah.” Ettore nodded absently as he handed him the coffee, eased into the armchair by the stove, and looked down at his hands. Puffs of gray hair poked out from the sleeves of his sweater. “What does one say when one is confronted with an identity one has taken pains to conceal for half a century?”

“What do you want to say?” Dr. Corwin asked gently.

Ettore gazed back at him for a long spell. “No,” he said. “You are not like the others.”

Dr. Corwin held a hand out toward the bookshelf. “You have an interesting collection. Not what I expected.”

“What did you think to find?”

“Math and science. And T. S. Eliot.”

A hint of a smile. ‘“Between the idea and the reality, between the motion and the act, falls the shadow.’ That’s from ‘The Hollow Men,’ my favorite poem. Do you know what he meant by that?”

Dr. Corwin pondered the question. “That our true natures are thwarted by unseen forces? Or that some cannot overcome the barrenness in their souls?”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps he wasn’t using metaphor.”

Dr. Corwin felt his hand twitch at his side. “Are you speaking of the Fold? Is it your infinite tower of particles, Ettore? Is it all really two sides of the same coin? The more I study your work, the more I understand its brilliance. You conceived of a universal solution so many decades before anyone else . . .”

When Ettore started to cough again, he pulled the afghan across his shoulders and clutched it tight until the fit passed. He wiped his mouth with a handkerchief, and Dr. Corwin noticed flecks of fresh blood staining the satin cloth.

“If I have learned anything,” Ettore said weakly, “it is that science, while beautiful, can never provide all the answers. We are human beings and not theorems. And yet the numbers are so perfect, in ways even I don’t understand. In ways that are more than human.”

Dr. Corwin caught his breath. “What do you mean?”

“The infinite is all around us. Yet to truly see it, we must bridge the gap between the world of forms and the world of flesh and blood.”

Dr. Corwin worked to corral his frustration. He didn’t quite follow, and he needed Ettore to focus. They might not have much time.

“What happened at sea, Ettore? Why did you disappear?”

“A devil chased me away.”

“Stefan Kraus?”

Ettore shrank into his armchair at the mention of the name.

“How did you escape?” Dr. Corwin prodded. “Did you plan it beforehand?”

“I hired a private schooner to rendezvous with the boat. They sent a smaller rowboat for me in the middle of the night. I did not know if the device . . . I didn’t know if it would work.”

Dr. Corwin’s hands clenched again. “A device? What kind of device?”

“And it did work,” Ettore said, with a faraway smile. “For a moment, nothing more. But it was enough to see it. I was there.”

“The Fold?”

After a moment, Ettore met his gaze. “‘That which can be named is not enduring and unchanging.’”

“T. S. Eliot again?”

“Something a few years older. The Tao Te Ching.”

“I see you’ve supplemented your science with metaphysics.”

Ettore looked at him strangely. “Do you know why I love poetry so much? Because poets can describe the infinite, everything we scientists are searching for, far better than any textbook. Do you read Borges?”

“A little.”

“‘Time is the substance from which I am made. It is a river which carries me along, but I am the river. It is a tiger that devours me, but I am the tiger. It is the fire that consumes me, but I am the fire.’”

“That’s very beautiful.”

“Do you understand it?”

“I promise to think about it. Ettore, do you still have the device you made?”

He blinked. “Of course.”

Prepared for a negative response, Dr. Corwin almost giggled with excitement. He still has it. “Can I see it?”

Another coughing fit overtook Ettore. “I thought you understood—the device broke when I was at sea. It needs so much work . . . The materials science isn’t available yet . . .”

“Maybe we can fix it together. Isn’t that why you met with Nikola?”

Another small, satisfied smile crept to Ettore’s lips. “You found the wine cellar?”

“And the cannon.”

“I apologize,” he said, almost shyly. “I did that to confuse them.”

“No offense was taken. I’d still love to see the device, if I could. Even if it’s in pieces.”

Another round of coughing stained Ettore’s handkerchief with more blood.

Dr. Corwin rose to his feet, concerned. “Can I get you a glass of water?”

“Yes,” Ettore said in a whisper. “That would be helpful. As you can see, I’m not well. I’m afraid my lifelong habit did me no favors. Perhaps you could return in a few days?”

“Perhaps,” Dr. Corwin murmured, and walked into the kitchen.

A few days? I don’t have a few days. And then what—will there be more delays?

But he had prepared for this contingency. After he poured a glass of water, he withdrew a stoppered vial from the inside of his jacket and held it above the glass. He hesitated, knowing he was on rocky moral ground. But Ettore seemed very ill, quite possibly with advanced stage lung cancer, and could die at any time. If Dr. Corwin didn’t act, Ettore’s research might be lost to the world forever. Or worse: it might fall into the hands of the Ascendants.

Steeling his nerves, Dr. Corwin squeezed three drops of a clear,