Story #219 - Disappearing Act

Disappearing Act

The world was disappearing.

When he heard the words, Buster assumed they were some half-assed statement made by yet another government official, yet another would-be leader who wanted to take whatever their agenda might be seriously. As it turned out, and perhaps for the first moment in the history of time, a politician was being not only literal, but entirely factual.

It started in Antarctica, which was no surprise to anyone who followed the old tenants of global warming. The theory had been proven false two decades ago, but just like those who argued the earth was flat, it was still a strongly held belief in some quarters.

Despite initial reports that the landmass had simply vanished, common wisdom held that it must have melted away, and those who had seen something different were either delusional or suffering with some form of temporary madness. It took eight full research teams to confirm that not only had a portion of the permafrost-covered area of the Antarctic disappeared, but that it hadn’t melted, or burned off, or been catalyzed in some way; it was simply gone.

Striations in the rock closer to sea levels showed that nothing had disturbed the fossils, no chemical reaction had taken place, at least not until the portion of earth covering them was missing. Suddenly, eons-old pieces of history were unearthed and study was furiously conducted by expedition after expedition – everyone who could make the trek down.

They were all lost when the disappearing act happened again.

Now, over half the Antarctic was gone, and sonar readings indicated that water in and around the area had vanished as well. With the loss of some of the world’s best minds, there was a global panic, at least until politicians got up and started lying again – one could only hope for blood from a stone for so long, and so it was with the time of honesty in politics. It was short-lived.

Buster shivered in his parka as the plane touched down on the landing strip. The strip was newly-built, part of the initiative to ensure that as much research on the “Antarctic problem” was done before the next “issue” arose. Buster knew he wasn’t exactly the government’s first choice when it came to scientists – they didn’t care for disgraced community college professors, no matter what the first five years of their careers looked like – but they didn’t have much choice in the matter.

He took a deep breath of mostly-warm air before stepping off the plane. Buster knew there was little chance he’d be this comfortable again for months, but the chance to see the destruction first-hand, to help understand what might be causing it was too tempting to pass up. The fact that he’d just been fired again helped make the decision for him, and before he knew it he was on a plane to Houston. Three long flights later in progressively smaller planes and he was over the miles-thick ice that covered the southern pole. Buster had never expected such a trip.

An hour later had him shivering so hard his muscles had begun to ache. He knew that the accommodations to be provided were limited at best, but in person they were less impressive than he’d been led to believe. Even inside, the chill permeated everything, every surface five or six degrees colder than what he was used to. He couldn’t bring himself to remove his parka.

“Buster Pollack!” A sharp voice jolted him out of a half-doze. He’d been ushered into a small conference room with the seven other scientists that had been with him on the plane, though he couldn’t put a name to any of them. They were all the bottom of the barrel, and each seemed wrapped up in their own particular problems, which suited him just fine. He wasn’t looking for friends.

“Here!” He bellowed back. Buster had always been contrary, and while he was glad for work, he wasn’t exactly happy to be freezing cold and crammed into a metal box with two hundred other sub-par minds.

The director of the expedition, Major Tom Gallaghan, shot him a glare and then bellowed out the remaining names on his list. Once finished he stepped back, and a young woman in a heavy lab coat took his place.

“I’m Dr. Lindsey Price,” she said sweetly, “thank you all for coming.”

Buster had a hard time keeping his eyes where they were supposed to be. Even under the lab coat, Lindsey had a fine figure. He forced himself to listen to her words – something about a lack of physical evidence – and his mind wandered again to her physical evidence.

She was reading off numbers when his attention perked back up.

“What did you say?” He asked abruptly, and sudden silence followed his words.

“Pollack!” Gallaghan bellowed. “You’re here to listen and learn, not comment!”

Buster ignored the fuming Major and looked at Lindsey – her eyes, this time. “What did you say? What are the specific numbers on the landmasses missing?”

She rattled them off with the precision of one who’d spent far too much time chewing on their meaning.

“Fibonacci.” He said when she was finished. “Clearly.”

There was a silence in the room as his words went out. It was obvious, based on the numbers, that not only was the problem growing, but that it was following a particular pattern. Trouble was, the pattern could actually be found in nature, so despite the outcries of the religious right and the liberal left, what was happening might not be punishment, might not be an alien attack. It might just be the natural order.

“Pollack,” Price said shortly, “you’re with me. The rest of you, stay here with the Major – he’ll see to your accommodations.”

“I don’t get to be accommodated?” Buster asked with a smirk on his face as she led him out of the room.

“Damn it, Buster – now isn’t the time!” Lindsey said through clenched teeth as the door to the meeting room closed behind them. “It’s been over for ten years, and I don’t have time for your nonsense. We have work to do!”


- D