Alex Gore - The Cube

“What do you think this might be?”, Michael asked.

“Could be, for instance, huge amounts of energy or huge mass… or both… It could be deformation of the time-space continuum due to the passage of a large number of protons through the earth sphere as if through a cylinder…”

“Could you explain that for the unsophisticated biologists?”, Marcela asked, staring at him without expression.

“Well, it is similar to laboratory experiments in which we bombard a given target with a flow of electrons or protons… It’s not hard to understand. It is as if in this case the whole Earth was the target for exploration.”

Norman interrupted them abruptly:

“As you know, now we are at the base camp, but tomorrow we are going to the facility at the object itself. We are leaving at 7:00. Any questions?”

“Whoa, whoa… wait a minute, do you mean that this submarine appeared here three days ago out of thin air?”, Alan exclaimed, who had come to himself after the initial amazement and was now looking forward to the sensation, which would get him back in the game.

“That’s right”, the Major replied.

“Well, whatever, what’s that got to do with me and why did you call us here out of everyone else? I am a biologist. By the way, have you any details at all about this ‘little boat’?” Marcela asked, believing she had at last found the man with the answers and trying to make up for the lack of information during the last couple of days.

“They summoned a biologist because there are little green men… True, isn’t t, Major?”, Alan asked.

“We needed a specialist like Miss Tarantino because of the data of the spectral analysis. The experts defined them as ‘more than strange’. I should tell you that she has also a PhD in Chemistry.”

“What data?”, Marcela jumped from her seat.

“The data from the interior of the submarine. The spectral analysis showed enormous amounts of carbon, more than 60% of all the atoms there.”

“But this is not possible!” she exclaimed. “In all living creatures on the Earth carbon does not exceed 25%!”

“I am afraid this is very real, we doublechecked the data many times and the results were identical.” Norman dropped his glance, held his breath for a moment and added: “There is one more thing… On the corps of the boat… just under the tower with the periscope we found an inscription…”

“What kind of an inscription, Norman?” Alan was looking at him in feverish anticipation.

“The one that wrote it was either in a hurry or his hand was shaking violently… Anyway, we saw on the metal corps the words Come, follow me, and I will send you out to fish for people. And they were written in…” – Norman held his breath gain and looked at the group.

“That’s from the Bible, the New Testament”, Alan offered. “Christ said it to His future apostles. It was described in the Book of Mathew, 4:19.”

“Alan, are you are priest? How do you know this Bible shit?”, Michael asked.

“Actually, after my military service I studied Theology for two terms in the University of Pennsylvania”, Alan replied, perfectly serious.

“May God help us with such priests”, Hans remarked and made a mocking cross.

“Come on, Major”, Marcela urged, burning with impatience.

“It was written in something which we initially thought was red paint…”

“Oh, my God!”, Marcela cried.

“…but the analysis proved it was human blood.”

“That’s terrible and yet what are we doing here?”, Michael asked, trying to calm the heaving of his stomach.

“As I told you, this is a joint operation with our Russian colleagues and you are selected and approved on the basis of a totally new program. I must inform you that Professor Rosenstein and Mr. Allen Parker are former members of the Control and Security Commission at the Committee for Research of Extraterrestrial Intelligence and Critical Situations. They were under the direct command of the President of the United States but that did not have any influence in their selection. Both of them were, like Michael and Marcela, filtered through the innovation program of our colleagues from Russia.

“No influence, my ass”, Michael whispered to Marcela.

“As far as I can remember, at our last meeting Hans was talking of the mathematical NON-probability of encountering aliens. You seem to have been proven wrong, Hans?”, Allen sneered again.

The scientist was wiping his fogged glasses in his shirt and didn’t award him with as much as a glance.

“These are not aliens.”

“But I’ve never even been to Russia…”, Michael mumbled.

“If the gentlemen could explain, please”, Norman gestured politely to the Russians at the back.

One of them rose from the dark corner. He was short and slender, with a boyish face and ‘John Lennon’ type of glasses below long black curls, falling on his high forehead. His clothes were civilian: blue jeans and a Chinese T-shirt. The typical distracted scientist, careless with hygiene and with neglected appearance, who was unpopular with girls in high school. Or at least up to his first million. Which did not happen so often in Russia to people, dealing in science. And Sergey regarded knowledge rather in its pure unadulterated form, than in terms of career or money.

He started talking, trying to subdue his thick Russian accent:

“My name is Sergey Radlichenko and I am one of the coauthors of the project for response to crisis situations like this one. The latest research we conducted showed that the general IQ is much more important than the expertise in a narrow field of science.”

“But I have not hit very high results in these tests”, Michael interfered again, as if trying to sneak out on the basis of worthlessness.

“So, we are here for the reason that we do not have very high IQ and are quite dumb in general, is that it?” Marcela asked with arms folded on her chest.

“Of course not. And I didn’t mean the standard IQ tests. Since 2016 a special branch has been functioning in our Institute, that collects data about all potential collaborators by means of a special computer program.

Alan leaned towards Marcela and whispered with a smile in her ear:

“Now we are collaborators.”

The scientist went on:

“Three basic features are taken into account. First, medical/ physiological indicators, that do not include, for example, how much weight you can lift from bench press or your speed in 100 yards sprint, but rather the potential of your constitution to survive in adverse surroundings and to adept to extreme life circumstances. These are natural factors you’ve been born with like the count of red blood cells per unit of blood plasma, number of muscle fibers per unit volume of muscle tissue, regenerative potential of the liver cells etc.”

“With all my respect, Sergey, but in what way exactly Hans, who does not possess a single muscle fiber, passed through the filter of that program of yours”, Alan interrupted.

“And you, Alan, do not possess a single gray matter cell”, Hans retorted to this attack, quick as a lightening.

“Gentlemen, please!”, Norman raised his voice.

“The second indicator is not how much you studied and what marks you got, but what efficiency your brain possesses.”

“I can guarantee for my liver”, Michael tried for a joke again, “but I am not very keen on studies…”

Sergey smiled at him, well used to ‘alcohol jokes’ as any Russian. “Fine. So, we’ve been right. The coefficient of your laziness is what matters. We don’t care about the common standards of efficiency but how much you can remember with minimum efforts. The program is not interested in your high marks and awards but in the potential, making you superior to other people.”