Almost always, Voorhees wrote, such virtual particles are tiny quarks, the smallest building blocks of matter. However, there’s no rule that says the particles have to be small. Far larger particles could just as easily spring into being, say a particle pair made up of an elephant and an antielephant. It’s not that these scenarios are impossible; they’re just enormously unlikely. So unlikely, in fact, that we’ll almost certainly never observe such an instance. That doesn’t mean such cases haven’t happened and won’t again. However, if a pair of enormous virtual particles did spring into being, it’s a fair bet we’d never know it, as in such a situation vacuum genesis would likely occur: A new universe would form in a bubble around the particles, concealing them from our view.
At that point, Deirdre had been forced to consult the index, and to go back to the section on vacuum genesis. It was one of the most difficult topics in the book, but also one of the most fascinating. According to Voorhees, various disturbances might cause a bubble to form in the primordial vacuum. Within the bubble, the symmetry of nothingness is broken, and all sorts of stuff falls out of the vacuum, creating a universe. That’s how our own universe might have formed. And countless other universes might have formed in similar fashion. They could exist as bubbles within the vacuum of our own universe, and we’d never even know they were there. And there would be no need for the laws of physics to operate the same way in different bubble universes; each one might have its own logic.
It was a wondrous notion: all these bubbles floating in the dark sea of nothing, like crystalline balls with galaxies inside. But there was a troubling side as well, Voorhees warned.
For if two of these bubbles were to collide, she wrote, the result would be the catastrophic destruction of both.
Deirdre had to admit, Voorhees seemed to enjoy predicting ominous outcomes. Then again, she could very well be right. Was that what perihelion meant? Were two bubbles drawing close even now? The copy of the TimesDeirdre had picked up at the station described how the rifts continued to grow at a fantastic pace. They were enormous now, each covering over 20 percent of the night sky.
And yet the trains were still running. When Deirdre glanced out her window, she saw people trudging along the sidewalks and cars jamming the streets. The end of the world was coming. At least that was how it looked. So why weren’t people panicking? Why weren’t there looting and riots?
A throng of people in white holding black signs flashed by her window, and she understood. They’ve already surrendered. That’s why they aren’t rioting. Why panic when there’s no hope? You either keep going on, keep going through the motions. Or you give up.
But she hadn’t given up. Not yet.
Deirdre set down the paper and picked up the book. Again she had the feeling that she was close to understanding. But understanding what? What did astrophysics have to do with alchemy and catalysts? If she could just find the link between them . . .
The train rattled as it began to slow. Ash-colored buildings blurred by, then were replaced by darkness as the train entered a tunnel. They were nearing the station. She touched Beltan’s shoulder, waking him, and nearly lost her arm as he grabbed her wrist in an iron-hard hand. Only after a moment did he blink, realizing who she was, and let her go.
Never wake a sleeping warrior, Deirdre thought, wincing as she rubbed her wrist.
The train rattled to a stop.
“I’m hungry,” Beltan said.
Deirdre handed him the candy bar. “Come on.”
They exited the train with the crowd of business travelers and wended their way across the platform, up and out of the station.
“Are we going to take the Tube?” Beltan said, tossing the empty candy wrapper into a trash bin.
Maybe the people of the world weren’t panicking, but now that she was here in London, Deirdre felt her own panic rising. “No, there isn’t time.”
They took a cab instead, dashing in front of a businessman and climbing inside. As the taxi pulled away from the curb, Deirdre waved at the businessman, who was giving them a rude gesture.
“Where to?” the cab driver asked in a musical Punjab accent.
Deirdre pulled the scrap of paper from her pocket and gave him the address. The cab rolled away from the station, winding through the cramped streets of London.
Beltan let out a snort. “I drive much faster than this. We should have taken my cab.”
Deirdre didn’t reply. She was just as glad the cab wasn’t racing; this was her last chance to think, to decide what to do. However, by the time the taxi rolled to a stop in a blue-collar neighborhood south of the Thames, she still didn’t have a plan. She paid the driver, then watched as the cab drove away, leaving them in front of a strip of red brick storefronts.
“This is Brixton,” Beltan said, looking around at the grimy, half rundown, half newly-gentrified street. “I take fares here sometimes. Isn’t this where—?”
“Where Greenfellow’s Tavern was,” Deirdre said, her throat dry. In her pocket, she clenched the scrap of paper Marius had given her. She had known the moment she glanced at it that the address was the same. The Philosophers must have built a new building on the site where Surrender Dorothy had burned.
Deirdre started walking; at her instructions, the cab had dropped them off a few blocks away.
“So what are we going to do?” Beltan said, easily keeping pace with his long legs.
“We’re going to get in there and stop the Philosophers from doing whatever it is they’re doing,” Deirdre said, surprised at the steel in her voice.
Beltan bared his teeth in a grin. “Now that sounds like a plan.”
Despite the dread in her stomach, Deirdre grinned back. A moment ago she had felt so tired she could have lain down in the gutter; now she felt awake, and freshly alive.
“Let’s go meet the Philosophers,” she said.
45.
They walked a block down the street, and Deirdre caught sight of the building. It looked like a bank or a courthouse, with a facade of imposing columns and a frieze above the cornices wrought with Greek heroes, gods in chariots, and goddesses. Although brand-new, the building had been stained to match the more weathered architecture around it. No one was going in or out; the tall front doors were shut.
“This way,” Deirdre said, ducking down an alley.
She imagined all approaches would be watched, but there was no sense in walking up to the front door and knocking. At least not until they had gotten a closer look. They picked their way down the alley, ducking behind overflowing Dumpsters and into dim alcoves for cover. Then Deirdre caught a glimpse of the back of the building, and fear jabbed at her.
Ahead, a large moving truck blocked the alley. A ramp reached from its cargo hold to the loading dock on the back of the building. The steel doors on the loading dock were shut, but the truck’s rear door was still open. Its cargo hold was empty.
She opened her mouth to tell Beltan they were too late, but before she could speak he clamped a big hand over her mouth and pulled her into the shadows behind a stack of empty boxes. Deirdre stared at him with wide eyes. He shook his head, indicating she shouldn’t speak, then held up two fingers and mouthed a word. Guards.
Deirdre nodded, and he let her go. She peered around the boxes. A moment later, two thick-shouldered men, clad in black, appeared from behind the truck. One spoke something she couldn’t make out into a walkie-talkie. The other held a gun. So the Philosophers did indeed have minions other than the Seekers.