Psychic Warrior pw-1 Page 5

  Hammond considered her audience for a few seconds, then spoke. “Scientists in the last couple of hundred years have been digging deeper into the physics of what makes up reality. If you’d asked a scientist two hundred years ago what they thought reality was, you would have gotten a very different answer than a hundred years ago, and fifty years ago, and so on.

  “For centuries the most learned men of their age believed that matter and reality consisted of four basic substances: fire, earth, water, and air. We have made great strides since then, but it is foolish to believe we have reached the end of that path of knowledge. In some ways, people two hundred years from now may look at us as we look at those who believed in the four base elements composing all matter.

  “Early in this century it was believed that the atomic level was the basic building block of matter, and thus of reality. But with the discovery of such things as quarks and further research into quantum physics, the realm of reality has been extended further into levels that couldn’t even be conceptualized by the early atomic scientists.

  “We at Bright Gate believe the psychometric plane is beyond the plane of quantum physics, which scientists are still groping to understand. We call it the astral or virtual plane, and there are some proven laws of physics we can connect to it.” She smiled. “I don’t think we need to get into the nuts and bolts of the theory, do you?”

  Colonel Metter glanced at Dalton, who returned the look, his face telling the colonel what he thought. “As a matter of fact,” Metter said, “I think we do.”

  Hammond frowned. “Well, let me see if I can lay it out moving from the known to the unknown. You are all aware that there is such a thing as a magnetic field, which your compasses work off of?” With four heads nodding, she continued. “You are also aware that electricity can produce an electromagnetic field. But have you ever wondered what produces the electromagnetic field? What it is made of?”

  She didn’t wait for an answer. “We call fields which produce the electromagnetic field, hyperfields. Quantum physics, with its quarks and wave theory, is a hyperfield. But there are others. They are around you all the time. In fact, there is a concurrent hyperfield to the quantum physical one. A virtual field. It is this virtual field that is the psychometric plane; the two terms are synonymous. Existing side by side at times with the real plane, at other times existing very separately from each other. It is the boundary between these two planes that is the entire focus of our efforts at Bright Gate.

  “And without getting into the philosophy of it, a mental field— what you perceive in your brain— is a virtual field. If you perceive something to be with your mind, then it exists in the virtual field.”

  “But not in reality,” Dalton interjected.

  “Most physicists would say no, not in reality as it is currently defined,” Hammond said. “But if our thoughts are not reality, what are they? Everything man has ever invented or done has come out of his thoughts. So they are real in some way. So I say yes. I say that there is a link between the virtual world and the real world. That the line between the two is an artificial one that is constantly being breached. And that, with the proper equipment and training, we are able to breach at Bright Gate and will continue to go through with Psychic Warrior.”

  “You say?” Colonel Metter said. “Is there any proof?”

  “I’ve been there,” Hammond said. “I’ve been on the psychometric plane.”

  “And what happened?” Captain Anderson asked.

  “I RVed— remote viewed— at several points on the globe.”

  “An out-of-body experience?” Dalton asked.

  “You could call it that,” Hammond said, “but that is a crude simplification of a complex process.”

  “How do you know it wasn’t just a hallucination?” Dalton asked.

  Hammond smiled, revealing even white teeth. “It might have been what you call a hallucination, but does that make it any less real? When we checked, we found out that what I saw was real, so how I saw is not as important as the fact that I saw it. I existed in the virtual world and saw the real.”

  She tapped the side of her head. “We must stop limiting our minds with the boundaries of our physical brains. We accept that we can impart what exists in our minds to others through speech, or through the visual spectrum, or any of the senses in various modes. To understand Psychic Warrior, you have to consider that there is another way to bring our minds out of the physical limitations of our bodies beyond the methods that we use every day. Those of you who were in Trojan Warrior were introduced to these concepts.”

  Hammond clicked through the slides quickly until she came to the one she wanted.

  “These are the two planes I am talking about. Think about it. They quite clearly exist inside each of us. We have our minds, which operate on the psychometric plane, and then we have our bodies, which operate in the real plane. And somehow they are connected, are they not? We can take ideas from the psychometric/virtual plane of our imagination and make them real in the physical world, say in a painting. And we can process things from the physical world into our brains, remember them, even change them with our thoughts!

  “What my remote viewers are able to do is travel outside of the confines of their physical brains on the psychometric plane and observe what is happening at a distance on the real plane. It is the greatest journey man has ever made! Far more significant than the first travelers across the oceans or even our journey to the moon.”

  “But you’re talking about something very different with Psychic Warrior,” Captain Anderson noted.

  Hammond nodded. “Yes. What we plan to do with the Psychic Warrior is travel along the psychometric plane, then not only ‘see’ into the real world at a remote location, but act in it through the projected avatar.”

  “Is there any precedence for this?” Colonel Metter asked.

  “You’ve all probably seen or heard of psychics who can bend a spoon with only the power of their mind? Well, some of those are frauds who employ trickery, but some of them are quite real. This is a very base-level effort, given that the psychic is in the same room as the spoon and can physically see it. We’re going much further than that.”

  “But this is theoretical, correct?” Colonel Metter pressed.

  Dalton caught the glance Hammond exchanged with Raisor. “We’ve conducted some limited trials,” she said.

  “And?” Metter prompted.

  “And the trials were indeed successful.”

  From long experience in the covert world, Dalton knew she was both lying and telling the truth.

  “Amplify your answer,” Colonel Metter prompted.

  “We sent an individual into the psychometric plane. That individual was able to, at a remote point, come out of the psychometric virtual plane as an avatar and influence the real, physical plane.”

  “Doing what?” Metter asked.

  “A simple task. Rearranging some blocks in a room on the other side of the country from where he— his physical body— was located.”

  “Like a child in kindergarten,” Metter noted.

  A flush swept Hammond’s face. “Yes, like in kindergarten, Colonel. We had to start somewhere and we started with the very basics.”

  “What went wrong?” Dalton asked.

  “Excuse me?” Hammond again looked at Raisor. The CIA agent gave a very slight shake of his head.

  “I asked, what went wrong?”

  “You have to understand”— Hammond was picking her words carefully— “that the psychometric plane is very much unlike our reality. In some ways it is much more complex; in some ways it is much simpler. The biggest thing to know, though, is that we hardly understand it at all.

  “One thing we do know is that distance can be very confusing on the psychometric plane. Just because you are here, that doesn’t preclude you from being right next to something occurring on the other side of the world in the virtual plane. Something which we are only beginning to understand is that this space, the line�
��— she pointed at the empty spot in the center of the slide— “between the psychometric and the real plane, is very unique. We don’t know exactly what separates the two, even though we can travel through it. But in going through, there is some cause and effect, it appears.” Hammond paused, as if considering how to continue.

  “Sometimes our RVers can travel great distances in an instant by jumping’ from one known point to another. At other times, though, especially if the end point desired is not clearly defined to the RVer, the trip may take time. Sometimes, the trip cannot even be completed.” Hammond shrugged. “It is quite complex and requires an understanding of very complex math to even begin to understand.”

  “Who else is over there?” Dalton suddenly asked.

  Hammond was startled, as was everyone else in the room. “No one is over there.”

  “But your man ran into someone or something, didn’t he?” Dalton pressed.

  Raisor shook his head as he spoke up. “No, he didn’t run into anyone. Something happened and his mission ended before we would have liked it to. But by moving those blocks you make so little of he did prove that it is possible to come out of the virtual world and into the real at a remote distance.”

  “Where is this guy?” Dalton asked.

  “That’s classified information,” Raisor said.

  “This is a classified briefing,” Colonel Metter noted.

  “That first trial with Psychic Warrior,” Raisor said, “occurred a month ago. Since that time we have been refining the procedure.” He gestured toward his partner. “Dr. Hammond has— ”

  “What happened to your man a month ago?” Colonel Metter’s voice was flat, but it caused Raisor to pause.

  “We had a problem with our equipment,” Dr. Hammond said. “The problem occurred in the real world on our end. A mistake was made, a mistake which I take responsibility for and which will not occur again because I have corrected the problem.”

  There was silence as everyone in the room stared at her, waiting.

  “Our man died. He drowned in the embryonic solution you saw on the slide.”

  Chapter Four

  “No one knows, but more importantly, no one really cares,” the man in the long black leather coat said irritably. “You soldiers are fools caught in the past. Don’t you realize the State has changed?”

  The other man wore an olive drab greatcoat, the three stars on the shoulder boards indicating he was a colonel in the army, the small insignia on his collar the symbol of the once dreaded GRU, the military’s KGB. The two men were meeting in a remote park on the edge of Kiev. The snow had been dusted off the concrete table they were seated at. A black Mercedes, smoke coiling out of the exhaust pipe, was idling on the nearby road, a hundred meters away. The car rode low, due to the armor plating built into it. The windows were tinted, hiding the interior.

  Three men, also in long black leather coats with fur-lined collars, waited outside the car, their right hands suspiciously inside the front of their coats. The park had been chosen because it was very broad and open. Anyone approaching could be seen a mile away. It had originally been built for the power elite under Communism, those who summered in the villas along the river nearby. Given the fall of Communism and the bitter winter temperatures on this day, they had the park to themselves.

  Colonel Seogky didn’t trust the man across from him, but he didn’t really trust anyone anymore, so that mattered little. His focus was on the metal briefcase the man had next to him on the bench.

  The other man, Leonid Barsk, followed that gaze and knew the colonel would not be any trouble. “All is ready? You have the papers?”

  Seogky rubbed his rough leather gloves together. “Yes. I’ve told you that.”

  “The CD-ROM?”

  “You did not give me much time,” the colonel said.

  “Do you have it?”

  “I have it,” Seogky said. “But it will cost you more.”

  Barsk tapped a finger against his upper lip, showing off the expensive Italian-made gloves he wore, a further contrast between the wealth of the Russian Mafia and the poverty of the Russian Army. “We will not have any unforeseen problems, will we?”

  “I have done what you wanted me to,” Seogky protested. “What happens beyond that is not my responsibility.”

  Barsk waved a finger. “Ah, that is where you are wrong, my colonel.” He ran his hand over the metal case. “When I give you this and you give me what you say you have, you become responsible. Even for those things that happen that you know nothing about.”

  Seogky twisted on the cold bench, anxious to be going. His vehicle was parked over two miles away. It would be a miserable walk through the snow and ice. Barsk had told him to park that far away, citing security reasons, but then why was Barsk’s car here? Seogky knew the reality of the situation was that Barsk had made him walk in and would make him walk back out as a sign of power. Seogky’s feeling of cold was replaced with a warm glow of anger in his gut, not so much at Barsk but at the breakdown of the system and the fools who had allowed it to collapse to the point where he was sitting in this park today negotiating with this reptile of a man.

  Seogky stood. “I have done what you have asked. If you wish to ask more, it will cost you more.”

  Barsk also stood. “No, that is where you are also wrong, Colonel. If I ask, you will do as I say. You are ours now.” He held out the briefcase.

  Seogky hesitated, realizing the truth and import of what Barsk had just said, but he also knew that he had crossed too many lines already. He might as well be comfortably situated in his new position. Still he didn’t take the case.

  “Why do you want this?” he reached in his coat, pulling out a sheaf of papers wrapped in plastic and bound by a rubber band. With his other hand, he pulled a plastic CD case out and put it next to the papers.

  “That is my business,” Barsk said.

  “This information is old. Surely— ”

  “You are thinking too much, Colonel. Just give me the papers and the CD-ROM.”

  Seogky hesitated. “Is the money in American dollars?”

  “It is, as we agreed.”

  Seogky threw the papers and the CD on the tabletop and picked up the briefcase. Barsk stuffed the items into an inside pocket of his coat.

  Seogky paused. “You’re not going to check them?”

  “Even you wouldn’t be that stupid,” Barsk said. “I assume you want to be able to spend your hard-earned money.”

  Seogky turned and began walking across the park. He had gone less than ten feet when he felt pain explode in his right side, doubling him over. His first thought was that he’d been shot. His second that the firer had used a silencer, as he had heard no sound of a weapon. His hands were over the spot of the pain and he brought them up before his eyes— no blood. The pain came again and Seogky sank to his knees.

  “What is it?” Barsk yelled.

  Seogky turned his head. The Mafia man was backing toward the Mercedes. The three guards had submachine guns out, and they were turning to and fro, searching for the attacker.

  Seogky went bolt upright as pain ripped up his spine, as if a fire were burning inside. His hands extended out in front of him on their own, the fingers rigid in a claw, as if there were someone stronger behind him, moving his body. As they came up toward his face of their own volition, he finally knew what was happening. It had only been a story, whispered about in the dark corners of barracks and officers’ quarters, only after much cheap vodka had been drunk, but he knew now the rumor was true.

  His fingers closed on his face, despite his most strenuous efforts to stop them. He could see through them that Barsk had paused before getting in his car and was watching from a hundred meters away. It was the last thing Seogky ever saw as his fingers ripped into his own eyes, gouging the orbs out of the sockets.

  Seogky’s scream jolted Barsk. “What is it?” he hissed at his guards.

  “I don’t know,” Dmitri, his chief bodyguard, replied, a fin
ger pressed against the plug in his ear, listening to the reports from the outer rim of security they had deployed around the park. “Our perimeter guards report we are secure. No one has passed. And I know no one was here.”

  “What the hell is he doing?” Barsk stared at the colonel’s hands as they ripped at his own face. “Come on,” he said, tapping Dmitri on the shoulder. “He has our money.”

  The two carefully walked across the snow to the colonel, who was still on his knees, bent at the waist, rocking back and forth and moaning in pain. Barsk paused as he saw the blood-covered hands.

  “What is that?” he asked, nudging his hand-tooled boot toward something dark and red in the snow.

  Dmitri took a closer look. “His eyes.”

  “His eyes?” Barsk scanned the surrounding area. “What is going on?”

  Dmitri knelt in the snow and grabbed Colonel Seogky’s shoulders. “What happened?”

  Seogky moaned. Dmitri pressed down on the colonel’s shoulder, but that produced no response.

  “What happened? Why did you do this to yourself?”

  “Chyort,” Seogky whispered.

  “What did you say?” Barsk stepped closer, avoiding stepping on the eyeballs out of concern for his boots.

  “Chyort,” Seogky repeated, then he screamed, his head snapping back, his bloody sockets pointing skyward. His hands slapped against his ears. “Make it stop!” he shouted, then blood bubbled out over his hands from his ears while a gush of red also came out of his nose. The colonel collapsed forward into the snow, the area around the body slowly turning red.

  Dmitri felt the colonel’s neck. “He’s dead.”

  “Take the money. Let us go.”

  Dmitri looked around suspiciously. “What did he mean, Chyort? What devil is he speaking of?”

  “Let’s move,” Barsk snapped.

  Dmitri scooped up the case, and they were walking quickly toward the Mercedes when Barsk suddenly paused. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?” Dmitri held the briefcase, his submachine gun slung over his shoulder.

  “The voice.” Barsk turned to and fro. “There’s a voice.”