The Hammer of God

After Bill reached high school, he only saw Peter around the neighborhood from time to time. Their age difference guaranteed they never traveled in the same social circle. In his teens, Bill was the geekiest guy in the “football” crowd, but the older Peter spent his formative years as a true mainline geek — no sports, no girls, no nothing other than science. Upon reflection, Bill realized that was how he could have been described today if he hadn’t let Janice finally get through to him.

Today on the steps of the Memorial, the look in Peter’s eyes was hard for Bill to decode. It could either be the deep-set hollowness of a man in mortal fear or the warning signs of insane indifference to reality of the delusional. This was more Janice’s area than his. He’d discuss this with her tonight.

“Bill, Professor Ensiling and I kept in touch after the committee was disbanded by Kurt Waldheim. Ensiling was working on super-conductivity and I was asked to join his team as a ‘theorizer.’”

“A what? I’ve two degrees in the sciences and I have never heard of a theorizer.”

“He liked my opinion on things that many felt were already settled as science or proven as fiction.”

“I know a little something about outside the box thinking myself, Pete.”

“Like, I told the engineers once about relative absolute zero.”

“Wait — you can’t have a relative absolute anything.” Bill then relaxed. After all, this was Peter the Great, as Billy the Kid had called him. He was the great science whiz who fed into Bill’s hunger for science and answers. So Hiccock once again became what he had been on the stoop of the apartment house, now the stoop of the Lincoln Memorial… an apt pupil.

“See, that’s where I came in. I theorized that at around -273 degrees Celsius the temperature coefficients of likely super-conducting materials aren’t linear but are skewed by the specific gravity and mass of the sample being tested. Therefore…”

“Therefore, their molecular stasis points don’t necessarily follow the degree intervals.”

“Exactly. Believe it or not, those scientists would never consider that and whole reams of data was discarded as being junk or polluted.”

“So are you saying super-conducting got the Professor killed?”

Peter paused before speaking again. “Bill, did you ever hear of the Jesus Factor?”

“What is it, some bible-thumping fad?”

“No. But if you’ve never heard of it, and you’re the one in the White House, then I am really fucked out on a limb.”

“What are you talking about?”

Peter looked at Bill. Twice he started to form a sentence and then stopped. “I did some preliminary work for the professor on instantaneous values of Epsilon H33,” he said at last. “He told me to destroy my notes and then they killed….” Peter pulled up short.

“What?” Bill’s interest was thoroughly piqued.

“Nothing, Bill. I don’t think we should talk any longer.”

“Why?”

“I should go.”

“Peter, you are starting to weird me out here?”

“Thanks for the time, kid. I’ll see ya round.” With that, Peter trudged down the steps of the Memorial.

CHAPTER TEN

Schizoid

There were 14 messages on Bill’s personal cell phone as he glanced at it sitting in the back seat of his government supplied Town Car. His government cell would have rung, or Bill’s driver, Secret Service Agent Brent Moskowitz, would have been beeped to retrieve him from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial if anything of national consequence had occurred. He scanned the messages quickly and decided to ring back Janice.

“Hey, Bill. How’s your day going?”

“I got to tell ya, a really weird thing happened. I met up with an old friend… acquaintance…from the neighborhood and the guy goes on and on and tells me a story that sounds like a science fiction author wrote it. Then, for no reason, he suddenly runs away!”

“Schizophrenia?”

“Maybe, but it was more like he suddenly didn’t trust me.”

“What triggered this?”

“I dunno, one minute we’re talking… he’s talking, I’m listening, then he asks me a question. Then he freaks.”

“What was the question?”

“He asked me if I ever heard of the Jesus Factor.”

“You mean ‘W W J D?’”

“What’s that?”

“What would Jesus do?”

“Oh right. No, I don’t think they call that the Jesus Factor. Besides, I asked him if it was a religious thing. That’s when he freaked.

“Maybe he’s in a fundamentalist cult. And you were suddenly an outsider.”

“Maybe, but he’s a real science nut. Religion has to have faith. I don’t see him as a holy roller.”

“Then back to my initial instinct: schizophrenia.”

“You’re probably right. What a waste of time. Anyway, how’s your day going?”

“I got the board to approve my program.”

“Aw, honey that’s great! Congratulations.”

“You have no idea what I’m talking about do you?”

Bill cringed. “Sure, the program thing. It’s great news.”

“Nice try, buster. I’ll fill you in tonight. Gotta run; love ya.”

“Love you too babe. Later.”

As the car found it’s way back to the White House, Bill’s head was reeling with all that he had absorbed from his three-hour “lunch in 1968” with Peter.