Velocity Squared

Book One

‘Electric power is everywhere present in unlimited quantities and can drive the world's machinery without the need of coal, oil, gas, or any other of the common fuels.’

-- Nikola Tesla

‘All peoples everywhere should have free energy sources.’

-- Nikola Tesla

*************

Chapter One

Eighteen Months Ago

OK, Ken. You said it was important, so here I am! Tom yelled out as he hurried into the building.

He scanned the area for his friend but it was impossible to see more than ten feet in any direction. Affectionately known as ‘Crazy Ken’, Ken had a tendency for jumping from project to project without actually finishing anything. Even the metal building he’d built was yet to be completed, the upper floor still missing walls and even guard rails, though it had been built over two years ago. ‘At least he has gotten around to pouring the concrete floor’, Tom thought as he headed around back where the lone room, a small office, sat.

Tom passed by stacks of old equipment, from six hundred pound transformers to hand held radios, astonished at how much more equipment there was than even last month when he had come by. He assumed the phone call was prompted by Ken’s latest project, or at least the latest that Tom knew about. This one started a month ago, the reason for Tom’s last visit. Ken had called it an ‘aetheral telephone.’

Tom poked his head in the office and found Ken in a heated discussion with someone on the phone. Making sure that Ken saw him, he walked back out to the floor to wander. Catching sight of the huge drill press, he wove his way to the back corner to see if Ken had been doing any more metalwork.

A year or so ago, Tom had helped drill out some complicated patterns of holes, grooves, and channels for some type of demo. It had something to do with ‘sour gas’, whatever that was. Metal shavings littered the floor, like the work of a giant mechanical bird and his nest of steel. Picking up a clump of the spun metal, he knew immediately that it wasn’t the aluminum from last year. First off, it was still shiny--almost white--and second, it was too heavy.

Following the path where the thick coating of dust had been disturbed, he wandered over to a table set up with a strange conglomeration of stands holding metal balls the size of ping-pong balls, maybe a little smaller. Some of the balls were cut in half exposing the hollow center. ‘Steel ping pong balls cut in half. He should have been an artist instead,’ Tom thought as he admired the sparkle of light playing across the shiny surfaces.

Sorry about that. The damned French are refusing to pay. I had to pull out the big guns and threaten to go public, Ken said giving Tom a warm hug with his bear-like chest and short arms.

French? Tom asked.

The sour gas engine. The one you helped me with. The prototype worked so well they almost stopped there. I had to convince them to go for the final solution and they’re glad I did. The prototype finally exploded on them last week. Aluminum isn’t meant for pressure and heat you know. Damn near killed two of them, Ken said peeking over his bifocals.

Tom smiled as he realized that he had helped with the invention. He still didn’t know how the contraption worked, only that he had helped drill a bunch of holes in some blocks of aluminum.

So how much do they owe you, Tom asked, assuming that was the reason for his summons.

Three million and change. The original bid was for ten million but I let them talk me down to three. I just wanted to get rid of it really. It was taking too much of my time.

Three million dollars? Tom exclaimed, his face turning pale as his jaw dropped.

Damn sure not going to let them pay me in Francs or Euros or whatever the hell they use now.

At the current exchange rate, you should have, Tom said, dumbfounded at his friend’s success.

Anyway, that’s not why I called you. This is, Ken said, waving his hand over the garden of silvery balls.

Tom looked down again at the table before them. Whatever Ken was doing here, it surely had to be less pressing than three million dollars.

I thought you were working on something called an aetheral phone.

I was, or am. Well actually, I’ve finished it. Never mind, he said shaking his head and hands wildly, It’s what I found while building the crystals that’s interesting. Do you know how long it takes to grow these crystals, and how perfectly they have to be controlled? It’s damn near impossible. Then I found an article about growing them in zero gravity. Of course I can’t fly to outer space to set up a lab, so I did the next best thing.

You had someone else fly into orbit, Tom joked, knowing Ken’s fear of flying.

No silly, I built a zero gravity growing chamber upstairs. The trick is using a strong magnetic field to repel gravity. Ever see them levitate the frog on nothing but a magnetic field?

Tom shook his head slowly as he frowned.

Anyway, a strong magnetic field was the trick. Now I’m able to grow crystals in half the time with a couple orders of magnitude better quality. That’s when I found it. What do you know about diamagnetics?

Repels a magnet I think, Tom said sheepishly.

Regardless of the multiple degrees and awards, Tom was always self-conscious when it came to Ken. Ken wasn’t called crazy because he was nuts. He was ‘Crazy Ken’ because he was brilliant--Einstein type brilliance.

Yes, exactly. See, I needed to shield the rest of the lab from the magnetic field. It’s a little more powerful than your average MRI machine so I couldn’t just set it up without protection. So naturally I studied all the different ways to shield the equipment and found the perfect method.

A diamagnetic shield, Tom said proudly.

Exactly! One of the reasons scientists were so keen on superconductors, besides the obvious zero resistance, was their diamagnetic properties. A perfect diamagnetic will have a magnetic susceptibility of negative one. That means that it repels magnetic force one-hundred percent, and therefore has no flux pinning.

I’m not familiar with flux pinning, Tom admitted.

Ever see that video on the Web with a magnet floating above a super cooled disk of Bismuth?

You know how to use the Web? I thought you hated computers? Tom asked incredulously.

Tom was beginning to worry about his friend. It wasn’t like Ken to finish projects and use the Internet. He had probably even started flying in airplanes.

They have their uses, especially in research. You know how easy it is to find information on the Internet? Amazing stuff. Anyway, it also shows that Bismuth is not a perfect diamagnetic. The magnet doesn’t slide to one side, but rather sticks to the disk. Of course, the biggest problem with diamagnetics is temperature. There had never been a room temperature diamagnetic material with any strength.

You say that in the past tense. Does that mean you’ve created one? Tom asked, a smile spreading across his face.

Hell no. That would be too much work. I leave that kind of stuff to the experts, Ken said, almost offended.

Then what have you created? Tom sighed.

I’m getting to it. Bear with me. Now, a small company in Fresno called DMI, which I think stands for Diamagnetic Materials Inc. or something close to that, just announced that they have created a room temperature diamagnetic material with a perfect negative one rating. Amazing. World changing stuff here. However, no one is jumping on their bandwagon just yet, which makes me wonder why. Anyway, the stuff is non-conductive and looks and feels a lot like fiberglass, even woven together in much the same way. So I ordered some, shielded my lab, and started growing my crystals. While I waited for the crystals to grow, I started playing with the stuff.

Ken paused to push his glasses back up and brushed a strand of hair, what little there was, back in place.

I start out with some small magnets and use heat to bend the diamagnetic material into a bowl shape. First off, heat damages the stuff so I ruined a lot of it before I was able to keep the heat low enough to retain most of the diamagnetic properties. I was looking at the possibilities of making train tracks out of the stuff and using electromagnets to float the trains over the tracks. No friction equals less cost to run the train. Anyway, that’s when I found out that a magnet could be weighted and aligned just right to start it spinning. Here I’ll show you.

Ken led him around to the far corner of the lab where one of the cut ping-pong balls was sitting in what appeared to be an eggcup.

Egg cup? Tom asked.

Yep. Works perfectly. Now this one is not one of the ones I bent. When I figured out what was happening, I ordered a dozen perfect half-sphere shaped ones. I also ordered some spherical magnets and tried balancing them myself. Here’s what I found.

Ken dropped the small BB of a magnet into the bowl and it started to spin. It bounced around a little before settling into a perfectly balanced spin. A small white line drawn down the side of the black magnet was the only way to tell it was in motion. Even that was hard once it reached higher speeds, the ball becoming a grey blur.

Is that what I think it is? Tom said, eyes bulging.

Yes, and more, Ken answered, but Tom cut him off.

It’s a perpetual motion machine isn’t it?

Yes, but...

Tom cut him off once more, You are going to be famous. Scientists have claimed for years that it wasn’t possible, but here it is. Oh my God!

There’s more, Ken said sharply.

More? There’s more? More than the impossibility?

Much more, Ken sighed.

Well then, by all means continue, Tom said, patting him on the arm.

Picking up a small coil of wire connected to a small light bulb, he placed the loop around the spinning magnet and the light pulsed on and began to fade rapidly. The magnet’s spin dropped sharply and finally stopped almost completely.

A generator? Tom asked.

I call it a gravoelectric generator. It is actually taking the gravitational force of the Earth and converting it directly into electricity. See, the ball is spinning due to the force of gravity. The Earth’s gravitational force is a weak force. Magnetic force is ten to the thirty-sixth power stronger than gravity. So what I’ve done is balanced the magnetic lines such that the downward force of gravity is turned into an angular force. Think of it as a ball rolling down a hill, except the ball never loses altitude but rather begins to spin.

Why did the light go out? Tom asked.

Not enough mass and/or magnetic force. Or velocity, Ken smiled weakly.

So you could build one big enough to run this light bulb? Tom asked, his mouth gaping open.

Of course.

My God, you’ve discovered free energy, Tom exclaimed.

Actually, this experiment doesn’t use aetheral energy at all. The phone I’m working on does, however, Ken replied, thinking that Tom was referring to Tesla’s ideas of free energy by harnessing the aetheral field.

But you can use this to build generators to extract free energy from gravity.

Yes, but there’s more, Ken said solemnly.

Ok, Tom nodded, trying to slow his pounding heart.

In the ten minutes he’d been here, Ken had managed to bombard him with so many Earth shattering discoveries, he wasn’t sure his old heart could take it. Both of them were in their mid-fifties, though Ken had always had the energy of a twenty-year-old even if his body showed every bit his age and then some.

"Mathematically speaking, the energy of the generator is based on magnetic force and the velocity of the wire cutting through the magnetic field lines. By increasing either of these, you get more energy. As I said, yes, I can build it larger and thus have a stronger magnetic field. I can also increase the velocity. You noticed that the light burned bright at first and then trailed off. That was because of the velocity. Due to wind resistance, friction from the surrounding air, the ball is limited to a terminal velocity of only around ninety meters per second.

Tom nodded expectantly. He knew what was coming next.

So I put it in a vacuum, Ken said, leading Tom around to the other side of the table where a large vacuum jar sat.

Inside the vacuum, there is no resistance, nothing to slow the magnet’s spin. Theoretically, there is no limit to the velocity and therefore no limit on the electrical output.

So you are saying that this small magnet is capable of powering what? A house? A city?

Realistically, a small house.

My God. You’ve just solved the energy crisis! You’ve obliterated the oil and gas industry’s dominion! You’ll be elected supreme ruler of the world. You’re... you’re a god! Tom stammered, reaching out and finding the chair in time to guide him to a seated position before he collapsed.

There’s a slight problem though, Ken said quietly.

Think of the ramifications. An end to civilization as we know it. Electricity, clean, efficient, and my God, cheap. Electricity will save the world. We could build plants anywhere, even in the middle of the jungle. An end to poverty, hunger, war.

But there’s a problem, Ken said firmly.

Problems? We can solve problems. Problems that...

Ken cut him off with an uncharacteristic outburst, It’s a bomb!

*************

Chapter Two

Present Day

Sydney stared at the metal ball sitting on her desk, just as she had for the last week. Cool to the touch, it was almost welcoming. Smooth and perfectly round, meticulously so. Hardened steel, exactly one inch in diameter, but not solid. The hollow core was as much a mystery as the ball itself.

Opening the drawer to her right, she used a long nail to slowly roll the ball to the edge of the desk. She thought once more about the tests before letting it drop into the drawer with a loud thud. Closing the drawer with her hip as she leapt to her feet, she hurried down the hall once more.

Poking her head into the open door she asked, What about an MRI?

You, he paused, might need one. The ball doesn’t. It’s metal. Remember? Metal plus large magnet equals trouble.

Shaking her head, she backed out of the room, wondering what in the hell had possessed her to think of that ridiculous idea. It was tough enough that she was a beautiful woman trying to work in a man’s world, but she had to make it worse by completely losing her mind--and this wasn’t the first time either.

She didn’t purposely play the role of the dumb blonde. Hell, she wasn’t even blonde. Dark brown, almost black, hair slid smoothly over her shoulders and down her back. Nothing blonde about her, but she did have a knack for saying the dumbest things at almost random times.

It didn’t matter that she graduated at the top of her class at Cornell. It didn’t matter that she held a BS in Engineering, that she had graduated near the top of her class at Quantico, or that she could out run, out shoot, and out think half the people in the building. Once they saw her body, they drew their own conclusions.

And she’d be damned if she was going to dress like a nun just to gain their respect. She didn’t run around in short skirts and plunging necklines. She did wear clothes that fit her, though--and fitted shirts were not just to show off her chest. That was how a shirt was supposed to fit!

The sounds of keyboards, of hushed conversations, of phones gently singing their electronic rings, mocked her as she walked back to her desk. Every person she passed smiled up at her with that knowing look. She returned each look with the appropriate glare. The whole floor was nothing but a sea of cubicles filled with people who would love to see her fail. There was not one friend among them.

Returning to her desk, she paused, staring at the image hanging on the cube wall. The mountain was the key. She knew it even if no one else agreed. Sighing, she sat down and brought the video back up. The first scene, well, first as shown on the video, was Bill the Goat. There is someone sitting or kneeling in the grass beside a small hole dug previously. The person drops the steel ball in the hole, then wags a finger indicating ‘no’ and then retrieves the ball. The camera pans to the statue of Bill, the mascot for the Naval Academy.

Second scene, same routine. A hole dug in the ground, a wave of the finger, and the camera pans to Camden Yards. Third, Central Park. The fourth scene is the only one that counts because it’s the reason the case was given to her, given to the Washington Field Office (WFO). A thin leather glove does its routine in the grass and then pans up and zooms in. The White House – not two miles from where Sydney now sat.

The hand beneath the glove could be male or female. Statistics indicate male. Maybe this person is smart enough to know that high-resolution images of fingerprints are just as good as latent prints left at the crime scene. Though sunny, the footage was shot in the early winter or late spring. Clues, but no answers.

The fifth and sixth scenes were of Montana. The person or persons--she thinks two--first film the scene from the road. The video shows the image of the flat expanse of the landscape as the car travels down the road--approximately fifty miles an hour based on visual references. Intentional or not, she thinks intentional, the video also captures the highway sign. Plain and simple, it reads ‘Montana 200’.

The sixth scene worries her. This time the steel ball is left in the hole and buried. A thumbs up confirms it. Then the camera pans the area. Nothing distinguishing. Flat land, no roads. Far in the distance, fifty, a hundred, maybe two-hundred miles away, is a mountain. That’s the only reference. No stars, no time of day, nothing to indicate a location. The question was why. Why bury the object if you wanted people to know about it, but not find it? That frightened her.

The last scene, number seven. Was that a sign? She makes a note to confer with a numerologist about the number seven. She studies the scene. The video shows a gloved hand placing the CD, radio and steel ball into a small bag sitting in a locker and shutting it. It shows the locker number and then pans to the locker area. The seventh scene was also shot in the WFO territory--the National Portrait Gallery.

Security had notified them as soon as the package was found and opened. The CD case had a printed note, ‘Attention FBI. This is your warning.’ They weren’t sure how long the package was in the locker or how long it sat in the lost and found area before someone decided to look inside the bag. ‘Could have been weeks’ was the best estimate they could give.

They had gone over the security videos and found nothing. The museum’s tapes went back a week, so the package was left more than a week ago. Fingerprint analysis showed only four sets of prints. Two security guards had handled the contents before calling the FBI. The bag had come from the gift shop and held prints from one store employee. The fourth one was unknown. Judging from the size, it was female and therefore assumed to be unrelated--women rarely, if ever, made terrorist threats. IAFIS returned no hits on the print.

The contents had been wiped clean and then handled with gloves. That’s not to say there wasn’t any evidence. Sydney had found plenty, just nothing to lead her to the perpetrator. First, there was the CD. Tracing the serial number on the CD through the manufacturer, she found that it was sold to a store in DC. Security video of the store only went back a day or so and records show that no CDs were sold during that time. A dead end.

Second, there was the video itself. It was shot with a Sony Mavica FD-95 camera. Both JPEG and MPEG, still and video formats, included a tag to indicate the make and model of the camera. It could be changed of course if the person was knowledgeable enough, but she didn’t think it had been. She felt the terrorists wanted her to know almost everything about the crime and still not be able to stop it. The terrorists were taunting her.

The camera was at least ten years old, expensive when it was new. Ten power zoom, two-megapixel resolution. It wrote the images, both still and short video, to a three and a half inch floppy disk. Most computers made in the last five years didn’t even have a floppy drive unless you special ordered it.

The MPEG video format also stored the date and time of the image captured, which is how she knew the videos had been rearranged. The time stamps showed that the images were almost two months old. It also showed the order to be the Montana road sign, the burial in what is assumed to be Montana, then Central Park, Baltimore, Annapolis, the White House and finally the locker where the items were left.

Conclusion? The perpetrators were male, thirty-five to forty, lived in the DC/Virginia area, and were extremely intelligent. They want something, but don’t want to hurt people to get it. They want to talk. The big unknown was the threat. What was the threat from a one-inch steel ball?

*************

Chapter Three

Present Day

They’ve effectively shut down most of the major cities, Thomas said firmly as he watched the President pace the Oval Office in his characteristic half trot.

As chief advisor, Thomas had as much sway with the President as anyone, which was little to none, but he had to try.

And so what, we give in? the President snorted.

"Have you looked outside today? There are eighteen-wheelers parked throughout the city. We have every tow company we can find trying to clear the