Rick Mofina - Free Fall

The day after she’d landed, Veyda had met with her research advisor, who’d been aware of her family tragedy and had offered her heartfelt condolences. Veyda had brushed them aside and alerted her to her name change and that, while she was in the final stages of completing her thesis, she’d wanted to switch topics.

Veyda had intended to spike all of her research, which had involved new perspectives on transmission probability, independent Gamma random variables, innovative methods on employing the infinite-horizon LQR control in satellite systems; her new ideas on approaches on the stochastic first-order system with linear dynamics and nonlinear measurements. She would cast aside her new work on Gaussian white noise processes.

I’m going to surprise you with my new subject. It’s going to blow your mind.

Alarmed, her advisor had reminded her of procedure and rules on dissertation requirements, but Veyda had demanded the change.

For the next few weeks, she’d worked eighteen to twenty hours a day on her new thesis while her advisor, the members of her thesis committee and the graduate officer had waited with trepidation.

When Veyda finished, she’d delivered her report to her committee.

Her advisor and the committee had been concerned about her sudden switch in academic disciplines and disturbed by the subject matter and her handling of it.

Her new thesis championed the real-life application of German philosophers Hegel and Nietzsche as being critical to the betterment of mankind. Like the Russian novelist Dostoevsky, Veyda had refined their theories on the Superman to encompass “extraordinary humans.”

Veyda had argued that the extraordinary being embodied the highest passion and creativity of all humanity and would exist beyond the conventions of good and evil.

This was absolute.

She’d written that extraordinary humans possessed skills, gifts and talents that elevated them above ordinary humans. Extraordinary humans possessed the God-given duty and right to take any action, commit any crime or immoral act, without conscience or consequence because it is the extraordinary human whose achievements take civilization to unprecedented heights, lighting the way forward for all of human existence.

Less than a week after Veyda’s submission, her thesis committee had called her to a critical meeting.

Your paper sanctions bloodshed in the name of progress, articulating that if the ends are noble, the means are justified, one professor had observed. How can you possibly defend this idea?

Easily, Veyda had said. As noted in my section on use of weapons of mass destruction, Hiroshima and Nagasaki ended war, but also advanced nuclear technology for the betterment of civilization. Look at the uses in nuclear medicine, the uses in energy.

But Veyda, you applaud research conducted by the Nazis in the Second World War, another professor had said.

We cannot deny that Nazi advances in rocketry put us on the moon. In both cases, atomic weaponry and rudimentary aerospace technology, much blood was shed for what ultimately benefited mankind. Look at space travel, satellite technology, telecommunications-the benefits are endless. My work clearly demonstrates a fundamental law of nature-without pain, without blood, there is no birth, no advancement for humanity.

I have to admit your paper is not only disturbing, it’s long, rambling and in many parts incomprehensible, another professor had said.

Troubled by her thesis, Veyda’s committee had concluded that she’d experienced a breakdown stemming from her family tragedy and injuries. In their report to the graduate program chair, her thesis committee had rejected her work and recommended she seek counseling and take a sabbatical.

Veyda had done neither.

She’d quit MIT and drifted to back California, where she’d met Seth Hagen.

The only child of Silicon Valley computer scientists, he was a genius who, throughout his childhood, had been ignored by his parents. Seth had become a multimillionaire in his teens after designing cutting-edge video game programs while getting his first degree at Carnegie Mellon University. Later, he’d received his master’s degree from the University of Washington, and his PhD in computer systems from Stanford University.

But Seth had soon grown bored and had lived as a recluse until he’d met Veyda through an online comments section on an article about a NASA breakthrough. Their friendly exchanges had led to a meeting at a Starbucks in Pasadena, then subsequent meetings and walks on the beach.

Seth had been so impressed with Veyda’s “extraordinary people,” thesis, he’d deemed them fated to be together, destined to put her theory to work.

We are exceptional people, he’d said. We’re destined to advance mankind. We must expose weaknesses and failures in order to enlighten and advance understanding. We must teach people to learn from their failings in our digital age. It’s the only way to elevate human understanding.

Together they’d moved into the house Seth owned in Maryland.

It’s quiet there. We can get a lot done.

They’d begun by defeating the cybersecurity systems of banks, retailers, internet providers, broadcasters and an array of corporations. It had been fun and easy; nothing was ever traced back to them, but they’d received little recognition-no glorious headlines affirming their advancing of understanding.

That’s because no blood was shed, Veyda had said, and proposed commercial aviation as an effective target. Nothing seizes the world’s attention like an aircraft tragedy.

The bigger, the better, Seth had agreed.

So, several months ago, they’d employed their combined and formidable skills to test the safety of air travel, starting first with the New York and London planes.

If my father thought his work important enough to sacrifice my mother to it, then it’s my duty to expose the flaws of his system, no matter the cost. It must be done, for it will ultimately advance our technology .

Now, after finishing the pizza and before they resumed their research planning for further operations, Seth played a documentary on the 1977 crash at Tenerife.

As Veyda watched the flames of the tragedy, she heard her dying mother scream her name. She clenched her eyes shut and willed her memory to return her to better times when…

She’d been six and her mother had been brushing her hair, telling her that she had an exceptionally high IQ. You’re our miracle. You’re going to accomplish monumental things when you grow up, sweetie. I know it in my heart.

Clear River, North Dakota

The earth had shifted under Robert Cole as he’d watched the slow-motion swan song of Shikra Flight 418.

Ice tinkled against glass as he lifted his drink.

No, stop! It won’t help. Be strong. Keep your mind clear .

He set the drink down without tasting it.

Still, the images of the crash haunted him and guilt crept into a frightened corner of his heart.

Fifteen people dead.

In the days that had followed since the Heathrow crash, he’d gone online, scrutinizing every news report he could find, examining every image, absorbing every published detail.

Speculation in the British press on the cause had ruled out a terrorist act, pointing instead to a double engine failure, even though such occurrences were rare. Some reports referred to an earlier incident-the crash landing of a Shanghai-to-London charter jetliner at Heathrow sixteen months ago. In that case, ice buildup had choked fuel flow to both engines on landing, resulting in loss of power. Dozens had been injured, but no one killed. In that incident, the route had taken the jet over mountainous regions of China and Russia, where temperatures plunged, which had caused ice to form in the fuel system. But Cole knew that ice couldn’t be a factor in the Kuwaiti flight because its path presented warmer temperatures, and fuel mixtures in the industry had been adjusted since.