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  “Although, I do understand them.”

  Mezox was confused by Kalu’s daring move to prescribe the separatists any empathy. “Why?”

  Kalu took a sip from his mug and rested it on the table, staring into it. The water turned into an abyss of dark memories. With an obligation to expand on his statement, he recalled the past - a period that had almost elapsed from memory.

  “History always repeats itself. When I left Nigeria, my friends were butchered by the marauding caliphate. Like the infidels, I was purged. Only now, there’s nowhere left to run.”

  “Do you think the Archbishop will order their destruction?”

  “Maybe. And if he doesn’t, well…” said Kalu before quenching his thirst.

  “Well, what?” Mezox wondered.

  “They could grow too strong.”

  “And that’s a bad thing, right?”

  “That depends,” said Kalu. “Would they treat us the way we did them?”

  Mezox reflected on Kalu’s wise insights. A sense of dangerous curiosity fired up from deep within. Its means of satiation, he believed, was still arguing with the lunch staff.

  The Director entered without Mezox noticing as he faced the television to his right, away from the entrance. Kalu warned of his presence using a light cough. The director was best recognised as the head of the thought police.

  The Director would always push to the front of the queue and collect his meal. It was an enviable selection of beef burger and chips. Only those of high-status were granted such a privileged choice.

  Alone and near the window, he leaned back with his feet propped against the table. His pointy elf-like shoes were a source of humour amongst the staff. The black suit was worth several months of Mezox’s pay.

  Mezox turned as the Director read his paper. His eyes wandered when the Director peered shamelessly over his tabloid. The act of surprise in locating Alex sent the Director diving back into his article. He left early to avoid attracting further attention.

  The Director tucked into his meal as Alex joined Kalu, but promptly left to find Mezox.

  With his back to the Director, Kalu felt an uneasy presence. It was a familiar and persistent sensation whenever it occurred. This time, it became unnerving. A hand firmly grasped his shoulder.

  “Kalu. How are things progressing?”

  Kalu recognised the Director’s distinctive tone – overconfident and devoid of stutter. His brevity and pace were intentional.

  Kalu prudently responded. “As well as they should, sir.”

  “Good to hear. Now, you are to meet me in my office in one hour,” said the Director.

  “I’ll be there,” said Kalu after failing to gulp.

  The Director tapped several times on Kalu’s shoulder and said, “Good.” He left with a stretched gait and newspaper tucked under his armpit.

  Fifty minutes later, and Kalu declared his departure to Alex. It almost came off as a last goodbye. Alex understood the reasons and wished him luck.

  A trip to the Director’s office was akin to walking the gallows – up the stairs and through a door that would alter one’s life.

  As Kalu passed a set of office windows, the Director was seen observing live footage of the premises. Another gentleman stood behind him with his head wilted. And when the door opened, he brushed past Kalu while appearing to cry. Kalu hoped for an exception in treatment.

  “Do take a seat,” said the Director.

  Kalu took the one guest chair. It was made of leather.” The Director rarely permitted anyone to sit during a discussion. “How can I help you, Sir?”

  “I’m concerned,” said the Director as he walked behind Kalu, placing his hand upon his shoulder once again. “Your odd friend – the new assistant,” –

  “You mean Mezox, Sir?”

  “Ah, yes. That’s his name,” said the Director as he returned to his seat. “Tell me, I understand he’s asking around for details of our technology. Have you suffered this?”

  Kalu recalled the moment Mezox entered the stores, hoping to understand what made their prototype stand out.

  “I deal with the high capacitance, pre-discharge, side of it,” Kalu explained to Mezox. “Your father deals with the discharge phase.” Kalu opened out the skin around the barrel. Inside was a series of disks that widened towards their centre. “I believe these accelerate and amplify the output.”

  Mezox inspected their guts before continuing with his role.

  Back in the moment, Kalu explained, “He’s just young and curious.”

  The Director squeezed his eyes shut and slowly said, “Curiosity leads to great evil.” His expression eased. “You’re a Christian and understand.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  The Director returned to his desk. “This boy must learn a valuable lesson.” He summoned for Mezox through Kalu.

  In the Director’s office, Mezox wasn’t handed the luxury of a seat. “You have one role here, do you not?”

  “As far as I understand it,” replied Mezox.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, I have a job title with few specificities.”

  “You signed a contract,” said the Director, placing his hand on the document to his left.

  “You mean the one I haven’t read?”

  The Director leaned back in his chair with a hard stare. “I’m curious to know why you’re snooping around and asking questions.”

  “What, you think I’m a spy?”

  “I didn't think that until you suggested it.”

  Mezox didn’t reply.

  “Really, you’re a naive young man. Your inquisitiveness will lead you to the devil. You must learn of its consequences to be saved. As such, you’re suspended for a week without pay.”

  Mezox laughed. “For wanting to do a better job.”

  “If you were a true Christian, you’d appreciate my great generosity.”

  Mezox restrained his tongue for fear of harsher reprisals. He explained the situation to his father and returned home upon acquiring the keys.

  Back to square one, he removed a bottle of moonshine hidden within the sofa. The cushions were re-adjusted before sitting to a quiet drink and self-contemplation.

  Wages in hand, a broader range of activities were open to him.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The Shack

  Alex returned to find his son absent. An empty bottle laid conspicuously on the sofa. A quick sniff confirmed all he needed to know.

  At two in the morning, a series of knocks on his door rang out. Mezox repeatedly begged, “Let me in.” Alex refused to answer.

  Mezox surrendered after ten minutes. Back on the street, he paused to estimate his funds. A quick dive into his pockets served as a reminder of the night’s poor run of cards. Out of pocket, sleeping rough was the only viable option.

  A sing-song later, his father’s shack came to mind. He backtracked down the road to find the side gate ajar. The adjacent wall was his guide through the dark. Behind the house and disorientated, he stumbled to the ground. From there, he crawled along the path. With fond memories in mind, he sniggered until his head struck the shack’s door.

  Handles offered him a means to his feet. From there, he attempted to open the doors with greater ferocity until they gave way and shelter was granted for the night.

  The following morning, he awoke to find a collection of hair, dust and miscellaneous objects against his mouth. The dirt sparked a coughing fit, exacerbating a migraine.

  In the corner, a silvery shimmer caught his attention as it protruded from a pile of waste. Upon closer inspection, various other metal fragments were present. Materials, such as titanium, were found only in the storeroom. Private individuals couldn’t purchase such rare items.

  Within the mesh was one of those disks found within his father’s laser. It had a thicker core but narrower circumference in spacing between the two plates. A large hole appeared to have formed from excessive heat. Inside were hidden features that he hadn’t
expected to find. It was placed in his pocket for later.

  He dug around for further clues, but to no avail. Alex had mentioned hidden compartments in the past. And so, believing they were hidden under the floor, he tapped for cavities. The uniformity in sound that reverberated back gave no such indication. He hopped to his feet and repeatedly stomped across the surface for deeper hollows. The stomping evolved into jumping like a toddler having a tantrum. And still, no success.

  The pulses of blood pressing against his skull made his urge for continuance futile. Hungry and cold, he made another attempt to catch his father’s attention. The door clunked, and he entered.

  Alex wasn’t in the mood to deal with his son, making it to the kitchen as Mezox entered the hallway.

  Mezox laid upturned on the sofa and rested his eyes. It lasted for mere seconds before his father returned.

  Alex couldn’t refrain from seeking vital answers. “Why do you never learn?”

  Mezox emerged from his mild slumber. “Relax, it was just the one night out.”

  Alex raised his voice. “It’s not just that. I told you to keep your nose out of trouble.”

  “I asked work-related questions. How’s that ‘trouble?’”

  “I could have you educated if you’re that interested in getting involved.”

  Mezox chuckled. “Well, I wonder what you’re involved in?”

  With a frown and the pulling back of his head, Alex simply replied, “What?”

  Alex sat up and leaned towards his father. “Yeah, I was in that garbage box of yours last night and found some rather interesting things.”

  “Okay, I take the scraps and find a use for them. I bring my work home,” said Alex with a minor stutter and rapid flutter of his eyelids.

  “They’re rather large scraps, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Just what do you want, Mezox?”

  “Just tell me about the land of infidels,” replied Mezox with a passive-aggressive tone.

  Alex stared before picking up his backpack and turning away. “Just watch the news.”

  “But you repeatedly stated, ‘Never trust the news’ throughout my youth,” he said with a raised voice.

  Alex’s progress towards the door reduced to a pause.

  Mezox stood and approached his father. “Certain subtleties tell me you’re hiding something.”

  “Nothing more than mere figments of your imagination.”

  Mezox chuckled. “You used to have visitors – you know, family and friends. I remember because you all awoke me regularly with your hilarities. And then it all ended one night.”

  Alex’s memories of the purges came back to haunt him. Aware of the police’s impending arrival, he laid on his bed having given up on life. Sadness for the past and future that was enough to cripple anyone’s outlook.

  “My ability to build weapons of death is the reason we’re still around. I suggest we leave it there.”

  Alex’s dissonance was enough for Mezox to discontinue causing further upset. Mezox had another pressing issue to resolve; the accelerator component.

  The moment Alex left, Mezox scrambled for the wall unit adjacent to the living room’s entrance. There, minor details and notebooks were stored since there was something odd and unsatisfying about Alex’s claims. To bring one’s work home, he assumed, signalled a level of dedication to advance the rate of progress. However, this contradicted the ideals his father had expressed.

  Alex’s journals contained rough notes and sketches. The mathematical expressions were as though he’d discovered an ancient language of hieroglyphics. Some pictographs resembled internal components of the device. Another possessed two arrows, one-hundred-and-eighty degrees apart, advancing from the circumference and spiralling to the core.

  The machinery didn’t appear complex. There were no moving parts. A thin tube contained a one-way valve, indicating its air was evacuated. Miniature electron guns dotted the inner edge. Electrons, Mezox realised, were represented by the arrows.

  While putting together a sandwich, he came to ask of its significance. Electrons bunched at the core of the barrel wouldn’t act as an accelerator for other incoming electrons. They would just repel each other.

  Little came to mind as he consumed his breakfast. To visualise the concept, he found a piece of old string and a rubber ball. After piercing a hole through the middle, he threaded it with cotton. With a grasp on each end of the thread, he swirled the ball in a loose, circular, motion. A couple of seconds later, he would yank each end apart, tightening the string straight. The pulling effect translates as a push on the ball towards the centre, known as centripetal force. The angular momentum of the ball was transferred to its axial spin. Its rate of spin depended on the initial radius and time to reach the centre. The ball’s spin increased with a bigger, initial, circumference, and shorter time to reach the middle.

  Only snippets of knowledge returned to his mind. The principles of physics were easy to comprehend. Expressing them in the language of mathematics wasn’t so forthcoming.

  The ball was spun again and again as he sank into the soft cushions and backrest. His mind would stagnate as the spinning action proved too mesmerising. Its ability to dominate his limited attention span sparked a sharp outburst. He flung the ball without care for its direction. It struck a picture frame upon the wall unit, knocking out the glass pane. Mezox continued to sulk without concern as it crashed onto the floor while feeling intellectually incompetent and somewhat sorry for himself.

  After two minutes, his temper waned. He moved to clear the broken glass, but only as a means to overcome boredom, even if it was for just two minutes. And just as he leaned over, the distribution of shattered glass inspired a eureka moment. Fragments and shards were spread radially from the centre. Its structural integrity was subdued by the impact. The ball, he thought, could do the same if its spin was high enough – ergo, the electron, if it continued to behave like a particle, would also splash its contents away from the core and turn into a wave. The expanding wave would create a potential difference between it and the now empty core.

  His excitement was soon killed off. Such an action could explain how capacitated electrons, in the laser, were accelerated. Its core could produce a powerful positive potential for accelerating particles to higher energies down the barrel as though it were a quantum railgun. All hopes for a hidden and exotic application had vanished.

  The day did resurrect interest in the sciences. He felt a sense of nostalgia upon opening old books found in the cupboard. Much of his week came to involve reading to pass the time.

  The books were returned when his father came home. A style and pace of learning were modified to suit his abilities. And none could infringe.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Revelation

  If Alex could take his work home in secret then, Mezox thought, why not vice versa? In the storeroom, he often spent extra time alone to read. Adamant in his urge to contribute, and earn a bonus, he tampered with the cannon bit by bit. With each visitation, he spent an additional five minutes fulfilling his alterations.

  Concerned about eddy currents and other signal interferences, the series of disks were insulated from one another. It was a simple concept and easily reversed should it fail. His father’s progress had stalled for a month. It was time for that small step of progression.

  There was no telling his father of the modification. He had one means of verifying the weapon’s effectiveness; to tip-toe out the door while Alex slept early one morning.

  Alex felt something was amiss almost immediately. For one, his son had never ventured to work alone. Breakfast was skipped as he sought to play catch-up.

  Through security, he approached the building’s entrance. Half-way across the open ground, a loud bang, crashing of metal, and smoke emanated to his right and around the corner. Everyone crouched instinctively. Those within the vicinity ran to inspect its cause. With a head start, Alex had a good idea where to look.

  In the warehouse, he fo
und his son staring at the hole in the wall, trigger still in hand. “What are you doing?” he cried.

  Mezox glanced at his father without a change in expression, then back at the wall that had ceased to exist.

  Alex approached as confusion took over. He disconnected the power supply and orbited the smouldering prototype in bewilderment. It had recoiled from its original position. “What did you do?”

  Still shocked, he said, “I can’t say.”

  “What. Why can’t you say?” Alex moved to detach a covering plate when it burnt his fingers. About to curse, the Director came storming through the double doors.

  Eyes wide open and with barely a blink, the Director approached with a more focused and continuous laugh. “I like what I see, and that smell ever so sweet.”

  Everyone was astonished at how the Director hadn’t entered guns blazing. “I used a target plate – I swear,” said Mezox. “It went straight through.”

  “You see, Alex. That’s what I’m talking about,” said the Director with a quirky smile.

  Alex couldn’t respond despite his desire to. Words were either unconstructive or a jumbled mess.

  The Director placed his arm around Mezox and led him away. “I might have a new job for you, my boy.”

  Alex, Kalu and his fellow colleagues were left to pick up the pieces. Their day’s preoccupation was the hole’s repair. Alex saw nothing of his son throughout the day’s shift.

  Desperate for answers, he rushed home for the first time in years, unsure if Mezox was back. Out of breath, he approached as his son laid on the sofa and reading a book. Several other books and paperwork littered the floor.

  “Do you mind telling me what that was all about?”

  “I had an idea, tested it and gained the Director’s favour,” said Mezox while turning a page and having never acknowledged his father with so much as a glance.