Wink of an Eye
Dr. Avery Salinger liked to tell everyone at his laboratory that he got the idea for his teleporter while watching a rerun of Star Trek. The truth was that the idea came to him while he was watching Mike Teevee's molecules soar through the air in the movie Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory. However, the former MIT professor believed his colleagues would be more apt to respect science fiction than fairy tales. Regardless of his inspiration, Salinger spent twelve years of his life working on a practical molecular transport system. The first eight consisted of research, brainstorming and a great deal of mathematics. It was not until the ninth year that the scientist actually developed a way to break matter down into molecules and reassemble it.
The scientist's first attempts at teleportation had been disastrous. The test cases, when reassembled, looked nothing like they did before being dematerialized. His first experiment, a child's ball, resulted in a wad of misshapen rubber that resembled a chewed piece of bubblegum. He was not too disheartened by his early failures, though. If history taught him anything, it was that science and technology usually prevailed in the end. If it took a lifetime, he would make his invention work.
It was not until the beginning of the twelfth year of experimentation that Avery Salinger was successful in reassembling a dematerialized object. While sending a Styrofoam coffee cup across the room fell far short of his desired goal of transporting human beings from one continent to another in the wink of an eye, at least it was a good start. A quick succession of other teleportation experiments followed involving a ballpoint pen, a paperback novel, a bottle of Coca-Cola, his wristwatch, and a Hershey bar. One day, he succeeded in transporting an entire McDonald's Happy Meal. Afterward, he examined the unwrapped cheeseburger.
I wonder if this is safe to eat, he thought as the aroma of the food reminded him it was after 9:00 p.m. and he had not eaten anything since his bowl of oatmeal at breakfast.
"I suppose I should have this tested by a chemist," he said, picking up a French fry, "but I'm hungry."
The scientist gingerly put the deep-fried shoestring potato to his nose and sniffed. The familiar scent of potato, oil and salt made his mouth water. He lightly touched the French fry with the tip of his tongue. He waited a few seconds. Since he felt no immediate effect, he bit off a small portion, chewed it and swallowed. Except for the fact that the fried potato was stale, cold and overly salted, it tasted no different than the billions of fries McDonald's produced each year.
The former professor smiled in triumph and celebrated his success by devouring the cheeseburger and Hi-C orange drink.
* * *
Dr. Ignatius Boone, a director of the research facility under whose auspices Dr. Salinger had labored for twelve years, watched as the scientist from MIT put a hot fudge sundae into the dematerialization chamber of his teleportation device and sent it to a receiving chamber in the adjoining room.
"Here it is," Avery announced proudly as he held the sundae out to Dr. Boone. "It's completely unchanged. It hasn't melted or lost any of its texture or flavor. Go ahead and try it."
Boone declined.
"No thanks. I'm on a diet."
Dr. Salinger waited patiently for the director's comments regarding the success of his project, but none were forthcoming. Finally, the scientist had to prompt the director.
"Well? What do you think?"
"This teleporter of yours utilizes a tremendous amount of power," Dr. Boone pointed out.
Avery's face reddened.
"That's true," he argued, "but my invention is a major breakthrough in ...."
"What are its practical applications?" the director asked, rudely cutting Salinger off mid-sentence.
"For one thing, it will replace the automobile as the most popular form of transportation."
Ignatius was skeptical.
"I don't believe we're going to see your gadget on the market any time soon," he said with a laugh.
"I'm ready to begin the next phase of testing," Avery announced, offended by Boone's referring to his teleporter as a "gadget."
The director looked nervous. Beads of perspiration formed on his brow.
"It's much too soon to begin testing on animals."
"I disagree."
"The other directors will not approve any further financing if you proceed too quickly."
The scientist eyed Dr. Boone closely. If this was a game of chicken to see who would back down first, Salinger was quite prepared to stick his neck out.
"That's their option," he said. "I hate to be blunt, but there are other organizations out there that might be willing to foot the bill for my experiments."
Dr. Boone wiped his brow with a monogrammed handkerchief. Unlike Avery, he was clearly not one to risk his neck.
"Don't be so hasty. Perhaps I could persuade the other directors to see things your way."
Dr. Salinger's face remained expressionless, although on the inside the scientist was smiling.
* * *
When Dr. Boone returned to his office, he took a cell phone out of a locked drawer in his desk. He knew never to call Mr. Smith on a landline.
"It's Ignatius Boone, Mr. Smith," the director announced when the phone was answered. "I have some rather disturbing news. Dr. Salinger is ready to proceed with phase two of his project. He's successfully teleported inanimate objects, and now he wants to experiment with lab animals. I told him we would cut off his funding if he proceeded too quickly, but he called my bluff. He threatened to find another backer."
Mr. Smith, who had enjoyed a long career and a successful record of sideswiping landmines, knew how to handle the situation. Boone listened carefully to his instructions.
"Yes, sir," the director said respectfully. "I'll bring him to see you on Friday night."
Ignatius Boone's hand was shaking as he ended the telephone call, returned the cell phone to his desk drawer and locked it. He did not want to see Mr. Smith. Quite frankly, the man scared the hell out of him. Boone much preferred dealing with administrative and financial problems to dealing with "human resources." He knew his limits: deep down, he was nothing but a pencil pusher.
* * *
"Come in, Dr. Salinger."
The voice seemed to echo through the cavernous room as Ignatius Boone and Avery Salinger entered the sanctuary of Mr. Smith's private office. It was a cold, dimly lit room; only a single bulb from an antique bouillotte lamp burned on the large, mahogany desk.
"Your presence is not required, Boone."
"Yes, sir," the director replied, anxious to return to the safety of investments, expenditures and perfectly balanced budgets.
"Sit down, Dr. Salinger," the god-like voice commanded.
The scientist was curious, but unlike Dr. Boone, he was not afraid. As he took a seat opposite Mr. Smith, he noticed a third man in the room.
"This is Fitzpatrick," Smith said.
Fitzpatrick—that was all; no first name, no title, not even a courteous address of "Mister," just Fitzpatrick.
Avery respectfully nodded his head in the elderly man's direction. Fitzpatrick returned the greeting.
Mr. Smith was not one to waste time or words. He immediately got to the point.
"You're ready to begin testing your teleporter on animals."
"Yes. I've been quite successful with sending and receiving all sorts of inanimate test subjects with no adverse effects. I'd like to try to send a few lab rats now."
"And what is your ultimate goal?"
"To transport people, of course. It's the only way to travel," he laughed.
Neither Mr. Smith nor Fitzpatrick laughed at Avery's feeble attempt at humor.
"Come now, Doctor. Do you honestly imagine that—thanks to your invention—one day people are going to teleport to New York for a business meeting or beam over to Europe for dinner?"
"Yes, I do."
Salinger was not one to be intimidated, not even by the mysterious Mr. Smith.
"The expense involved would be astronomical. Few people would be able to afford teleportation devices."
"Unlike automobiles with their ever-increasing price tags, the cost of new technology usually goes down over time. Back in 1979, the first Sony Walkman cost about $200, and now you can go down to Walmart and get one for under $50. It'll be the same with my teleporter. At first, only the wealthiest people will be able to afford them, then the technology junkies will want them and eventually every Joe Schmo will have one in his basement or, more likely, his garage."
"I'm sorry. I just don't see that happening," Mr. Smith declared with finality. "For one thing, you'll have a lot of opposition from the fundamentalist religious groups who will claim it is morally wrong for a person to dematerialize and endanger his immortal soul."
Dr. Salinger, an atheist, made a sound of disgust.
"Ignorant people have often claimed that if man were meant to fly, God would have given him wings. Should the Wright Brothers have listened to that narrow-minded drivel?"
"Putting the church aside, there are a significant number of men and women who will be terrified to set foot in your teleporter. There are people who drive three thousand miles by car rather than take a plane that can have them at their destination in only five hours and those who won't take a boat for fear of winding up on the bottom of the ocean floor alongside the Titanic."
"But that's just it," Dr. Salinger explained. "Each year there are close to fifty thousand transportation fatalities in the United States alone, and more than forty thousand are highway-related. In fact, the leading cause of death for people under thirty is traffic accidents. Teleportation might eliminate most, if not all, of these senseless deaths. It's a completely safe form of travel."
"Safe?" Fitzpatrick cried.
It was the first word the old man uttered. Up until that point, he had sat silently, unmoving, in the corner of the room, with his hat in his hand and his raincoat draped over one arm, as though he were about to get up and leave.
"Yes," Avery answered. "I don't imagine there will be any molecules colliding in midair or suddenly crashing to the ground."
Fitzpatrick hung his head and lapsed back into silence. Meanwhile, Mr. Smith sighed and placed his hands on the desk.
"Dr. Salinger, I'm afraid you must stop all work on this project. Disassemble your teleporter, burn your notes and wipe the hard drives of your computers clean."
Avery's jaw dropped in astonishment, and then he laughed nervously.
"You must be joking!"
"I never joke. For more than twenty-five years, I served with the Office of Naval Intelligence. I've long since retired, and now I work as an independent contractor and consultant to various branches of the federal government. Your project was brought to my attention several years ago. I took no action then because, quite frankly, I never believed you would be successful."
Salinger said nothing. He knew when to speak and when to listen.
"You say there is absolutely no danger involved in teleportation, but I tell you that you're wrong. I met Fitzpatrick here in the late seventies when I was still with the Navy. At that time there was a lot of talk about the so-called 'Philadelphia Experiment.' Someone had written a book on it, and there was a movie deal in the works. The official position of the Navy was that the whole affair never happened and that the ship in question was never even in Philadelphia at that time."
"Was that the truth?" Avery asked.
"No, but my only concern was national security. I was called in for damage control, and I did my job to the best of my ability. Soon the Philadelphia Experiment became a subject only for crackpots and conspiracy theorists. Most people today give it no more credence than they do the rumors about Bigfoot, the Loch Ness Monster or an alien crash site in Roswell, New Mexico."
"That's all very interesting, Mr. Smith, but I don't see what this has to do with my teleportation experiments."
"As I said, the official story was that the incident never happened, but I have since learned all the facts. Several scientists from Princeton University's Institute for Advanced Studies were working on a top-secret venture nicknamed Project Rainbow. They hoped to develop a form of electronic camouflage, a sort of cloaking device that would enable a ship to sail undetected by radar. The process utilized a massive magnetic field to refract light and radar waves around a ship, thus making it virtually invisible to the enemy. In October of 1943, these scientists tested their theory out on the U.S.S. Eldridge. Fitzpatrick here served aboard the Eldridge at that time. He can better tell you what happens when science oversteps its bounds."
As though on cue, Fitzpatrick continued the account.
"We were at the Philadelphia Navy Yard. Many of us had just returned from shore leave, and we were about to put to sea. Not long after the ship left the dock, a green haze descended upon us, and the men began to feel ill. I assumed it was some kind of gas leak. I felt lightheaded like I was going to pass out, so I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, we were no longer in Philadelphia. I later learned that the ship and its crew dematerialized and were teleported to Norfolk, Virginia."
"That's incredible!" Dr. Salinger said, eager to hear more.
If what Fitzpatrick said was true, the Navy might have records of the experiment, valuable data that could aid him in his own research.
"I don't know how long we were in Virginia. I was too ill to accurately notice the passage of time, but eventually, we found ourselves back in Philadelphia."
"So was teleportation the real aim of Project Rainbow?" the scientist asked the former Naval Intelligence officer.
"All I know for sure," Mr. Smith replied, "is that one minute the Eldridge was in Philadelphia, the next it was gone and four hours later it returned."
Salinger whistled.
"A destroyer and its entire crew teleported two hundred and twenty-five miles! I can't believe they had that technology back in 1943. We are only now chipping away at the tip of the iceberg. Is there any way I can get access to naval records on Project Rainbow?"
"And do what?" Smith cried. "Repeat the mistakes they made in 1943?"
"Scientists learn from mistakes."
"Sometimes the best lesson you can learn is not to pursue a dangerous course of action."
"Why is teleportation dangerous? What exactly happened to the Eldridge?"
Fitzpatrick resumed his tale.
"The ship was pretty much the same afterward. It didn't suffer any significant damage, but the men ...."
His voice trailed off. It was several minutes before he could continue.
"Not one man on the Eldridge was ever the same. The lucky ones died immediately. Some were driven insane. Others were in flames when the ship materialized in Philadelphia. A few were never even found. Perhaps their molecules are still out there in Philadelphia, Norfolk or somewhere in between."
Fitzpatrick turned away, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"Some men fused with the ship. You think your experiment poses no danger, Dr. Salinger. Have you ever seen a twenty-year-old kid screaming in agony because the lower half of his body had melded with solid steel? It's not a pretty sight. One of the officers shot him in the head to put him out of his misery."
Avery felt a profound sense of compassion for the older man's pain.
"I beseech you, Dr. Salinger," Fitzpatrick passionately pleaded. "Give up this project of yours."
"I can't imagine the horror you experienced, but with all due respect, I don't see why because of one failure—no matter how catastrophic the results were—I should give up my research."
"What makes you think the Eldridge was the only failure?" Mr. Smith asked.
Fitzpatrick seemed as surprised at this question as Salinger was.
"The Navy is used to losing men, especially in times of war. Project Rainbow was too important to simply wind up on the scrap heap, so they tried again. Not with anything as large as a destroyer, mind you, mostly with smaller ships and aircraft. But despite their success with inanimate objects, tests with humans always failed. Finally, when peace was restored, the Navy decided to cut its losses and cancel the project, but not before hundreds of lives were lost or destroyed."
"But that's Project Rainbow. That's not my project. I have no interest in military applications. My work will benefit mankind. I hope to someday replace all existing forms of transportation with teleporters. Not only will that save lives, but it will also eliminate a major source of pollution, drastically reduce the need for fossil fuels and do away with the necessity of millions of miles of roadways."
"I have no doubt your intentions are noble," Mr. Smith declared, "but do you think that just because you developed the teleporter for the good of mankind you can prevent others from perverting its use?"
"Are you suggesting that some mad scientist will use my technology to create a weapon of mass destruction? The idea is ludicrous."
"I'm sure Ernest Rutherford must have felt the same way when he first had the idea of splitting the atom. Fortunately for him, he died before he had to witness the carnage when the atomic bombs were dropped on Japan."
Salinger was silent for several moments before finally saying, "I'll have to think about what you've told me."
Mr. Smith nodded his head and rose from his seat. Dr. Salinger shook his hand and then extended his arm toward Fitzpatrick. The old man put his hat on his head and removed the raincoat that had been draped over his arm. A shockwave of horror and revulsion swept over Avery as he saw the piece of metal that connected Fitzpatrick's latex hand to his shoulder. It was no amputee's prosthesis. It looked like a thick metal pipe of some sort.
"You've noticed Fitzpatrick's war wound, I see," Mr. Smith said. "It's an injury he got aboard the Eldridge. When the ship returned from its little excursion to Norfolk, Fitzpatrick here found his arm had been fused to the ship. He was luckier than most. All he lost was an arm."
* * *
Dr. Salinger didn't return to his home. Instead, he went back to his lab where he stared at the dematerialization chamber—the result of twelve years of hard work. It had been his life's dream. How could he give it up now? He suddenly remembered the toy ball that had been reduced to a formless wad of pink rubber. After that failure, he reworked his figures and refined his instrumentation. All subsequent items, including the Happy Meal, were teleported without incident.
Salinger reached into his pocket, took out his wallet and placed it in the dematerialization chamber. Then he walked to his control room and switched on the teleporter's power supply. Twenty minutes later, when the device had reached the normal operating power level, Avery pressed the red button. A moment later, his wallet was gone. A green light on the console indicated that teleportation was complete. Salinger turned off the power and walked into the next room where the receiving chamber was located. The scientist opened the door to the chamber and saw that his wallet had been reduced to a smoking mound of half-burned leather.
For several hours, Dr. Salinger scrutinized every inch of his teleporter. Nothing appeared to be malfunctioning, so why had the materialization process not worked properly? He picked up and closely examined what was left of his wallet. The paper money in his billfold had turned to ashes, and the coins had melted and then hardened into one shapeless, multi-colored clump of metal. It was his driver's license, however, that upset Avery the most. The plastic on the laminated license had melted, and the scientist's photograph was unrecognizable.
Had any of the men aboard the Eldridge looked like that? Had their features been obliterated so that they no longer looked human? What could doctors do—even in the twenty-first century—for a man who had become half human and half ship?
Salinger's own words suddenly came back to haunt him. He had asked Mr. Smith, "Are you suggesting that some mad scientist will use my technology to create a weapon of mass destruction? The idea is ludicrous."
But was it? If the military wanted to use the teleporter as a weapon, it would more than likely find some way of doing so. Perhaps one day science might find a way to dematerialize the entire population of a country right out of existence. True, in this day and age, the idea seemed like a plot from a 1950s B-rated science fiction movie. But in fifty years? Or a hundred? Who was to say? Had Ernest Rutherford ever imagined that his discovery would result in the creation of Little Boy, a nuclear weapon that would destroy Hiroshima and kill an estimated eighty thousand Japanese civilians, and Fat Man, a weapon that would destroy Nagasaki? More importantly, if he had known, would Rutherford have discontinued his experiments?
"Well, I don't know what Ernest Rutherford would have done, but if there is life after death, I have no desire to spend eternity meeting eighty thousand or so victims whose deaths might directly or indirectly be my fault."
With a heavy sigh, Dr. Avery Salinger did as the mysterious Mr. Smith had requested. He disassembled his teleporter, burned all his notes and wiped his computers' hard drives clean. His years of work would fade into oblivion along with Project Rainbow.
"At least I can walk away with a clear conscience," Salinger declared with profound relief as he thought of the men aboard the Eldridge. "I'm fortunate that the worst casualty of my project was a misshapen rubber ball and a leather wallet."
While this story is fiction, it is inspired by rumors and theories concerning the U.S.S. Eldridge and the Philadelphia Experiment.
Salem once tried to teleport from his bed to his litter box and got stuck in the parlor wall. That will teach him to be so lazy!
