September 29, 2008
by Volt and Electra Penn

Toward the end of his life, Einstein's Unified Field Theory was a tangled knot of math equations. Right after his departure into the eternal, American physicists of all persuasions started voicing varied opinions about why the old man's Unified Field was so overgrown in weeds.

In the mid-eighties, 'String' theorists crawled out of a 'Worm Hole', and in an empty North Texas field declared, "Waxahachie is where we'll build the Super Conducting Super Collider and solve this ultimate mystery once and for all."

By February 1993 the riddle still lay unsolved. The sad fact was that the never-to-be-completed-super-collider was to be auctioned off on the courthouse steps in Ellis County, Texas.  On auction day I was determined to write the sorry epitaph of the collider's demise, even if I had to stand shivering in the middle of a bunch of bargain-hunters and collectors of leftover American castaways. 

With no inspiration inspiring a point-of-view, all I could think of amid the sea of junk was my warm cozy house. But when Emile Zindak, an old shipmate who I hadn't seen in years, tapped me on the shoulder, the old salty-dog in me perked right up.

Both of us decided to leave the noisy bidding for a greasy spoon and found a back booth to tell sea stories. We began in 1966 at the Great Lakes Naval Training Center and ended up two years later, when both of us were stationed on the U.S.S. Lexington CVT16 in Pensacola, Florida.

"I was one of your first customers," Emile said.

My friend was referring to the after-hours black-market movie theater I ran, out of the Lex's Personnel Office. It was standing room only when the crew's favorite flick flickered. Happy Feet was the grainy 8mm black and white film that starred a young ensign named John McCain. McCain's costar was the Dixie stripper---ala Blaze Starr, a husky woman who could make her man grunt for joy.

But the mood and the subject changed when out of the blue Emile groaned, "The horrid reality is that what could have been the most significant advance in physics has been cancelled. And now, I'm out of a job."

I had read in Mother Jones that the government nixed the collider because it might create a black hole and destroy the universe. T. Leary wrote in Playboy that the Gangster Business Class wasn't sure what the thing would do, but if it had the potential for limitless free energy, they wanted to know 'where was the buck?'

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The big wind herself, Madalyn Murray O'Hair, blew up, out and over, hollering that the country's religious leaders were afraid that knowledge from the collider would illuminate minds, and release gaggles of flocks from the strangle hold of blind faith.   

"No, no," Professor Zindak said. "None of that is true. They pulled the plug because of American incompetence. We should have brought in the Europeans. But I still have hope. Mark my words, Volt, it may take years, but someday we'll build a bigger one. The end result will be that we'll understand dark matter, and Einstein can rest his case."

I had to ask, "What's next for you?"

That's when Emile told me about a personal project. It was something he'd been working on since attending M.I.T. for his doctorate in rhetorical physics. He had shelved the endeavor many times, only to drag it back out. Since he was gainfully unemployed, the thing was nagging him again.

"It's a novel," Emile said. "The setting is Planet Silicon, in another galaxy made of sand. Instead of carbon, life is based on the silicon molecule. Planet Silicon's government is an oligarchy of overlords, where 'The People' are encouraged to believe they vote in a democracy. But instead, their leaders are always chosen for them by pre-programmed computers."

"Hold on E. Z.," I said, slapping myself for showing so much curiosity. "That sounds Swift. What's the title of your novel?"

"The Black Halo," Emile said. "Say, maybe you and Electra will edit the manuscript, no?"

And that's how a thick stack of papers ended up in a cardboard box in my closet. To this day they remain unpublished due to Professor Zindak's fatal motorcycle accident in 1994.

The box had been totally forgotten until l heard the news they'd cranked up the particle accelerator in Switzerland.  E.Z., Einstein, etc. got squashed up with the Super Conducting Super Collider, so I had to reread The Black Halo.

By the time I finished all 450 pages my eyes were blurry and my palms were sweaty. It was spooky how Professor Zindak had predicted that votes would be cast and counted by computers. In his novel the voting system was stacked just like the decks in Mecca (the gambling capital on Planet Silicon).

Emile wrote that the Siliconians had their own version of a Bible called a Scribble. Their God was named dOg and GeezuS their personal savior. The Scribble even contained an anti-GeezuS known as HaraS, who'd been cloned from the negative image of GeezuS that was imprinted on the Holy Shroud of Burka.

In the novel's last chapter, an election year on Silicon, the overlord oligarchy programmed the machines to shoo-in a president. He was a slick-skinned silver Siliconian named PhatA. On the opposing ticket was HaraS who was wildly popular with certain Scribble thumping Siliconians. But since the fix was in for PhatA the overlords weren't concerned.

The story goes that on the night before the presidential election, the voting machines are hacked by SniT, an apostle of HaraS. The next morning instead of waking up to a new dawn, a new rule and the change promised by PhatA, Siliconians tear their hair out when HaraS and her dark minions are discovered doing the dirty in the imperial office. 

Hmmmm---The Black Halo: a passport into an alien space that sounds oddly familiar.

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Have Penn they'll listen. Volt Penn writes speeches for Progressive Populists and reasoned arguments for those on the left of center. He has also written speeches for anybody who has read his work. You can reach Volt Penn through his artist friend, b.b.kemp, at bbkemp@bbkemp.com

Volt/Electra Penn copyright 2008

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