Reder E-Book

Patrizio Tamorri

• Herausgeber: Youcanprint
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

A catastrophic asteroid is on a collision course with Earth, and all known weapons have proven useless. The only hope lies in TX-1, a newly discovered parallel dimension where time flows strangely and prehistoric creatures rule wild and inhospitable landscapes. An elite team of scientists and soldiers, each with extraordinary skills, is sent through a portal to seek a solution that could save humanity. However, surviving in this hostile land is only the first hurdle: intrigue, rivalries, and unpredictable bonds threaten to derail the mission. As desperation intensifies, some members of the group discover deep, unexpected feelings, capable of giving strength in the darkest moments but also sparking lethal conflicts. In a world where every choice can mean the difference between life and death, love proves as powerful as it is dangerous. With Earth's fate hanging by a thread, betrayals, groundbreaking scientific discoveries, and a race against time intertwine in an epic adventure, where humanity battles not only for survival, but for the hope of a future.

Leseprobe

Patrizio Tamorri

REDER

Title | Reder

Author | Patrizio Tamorri

ISBN | 979-12-22785-27-1

© 2024 - All rights reserved by the Author

This work is published directly by the Author through the self-publishing platform Youcanprint, and the Author holds all rights to it exclusively. No part of this book may therefore be reproduced without the prior consent of the Author.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any way for the purpose of training artificial intelligence technologies or systems.

This story is a work of pure fiction. All characters, places, and events described are the product of the author's imagination and have no connection to real facts or people. Any resemblance to actual individuals, events, or places is purely coincidental and unintended.

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I’ve spent a lot of time in my life thinking about

what I would do one day.

This book is one of those things.

Never give up.

A special thanks goes to my beloved Giulia

and to my daughter Diana.

You are the reason I wake up with a smile every morning.

Preface

The idea of exploring the unknown has always been rooted in human nature.

It drives us to look beyond the horizon, to challenge the boundaries imposed by our understanding of the world, and to imagine realities in which everything we know can be questioned.

This book was born from my passion for narratives that intertwine science and adventure, reality and imagination.

In these pages, I’ve tried to build a world that, while different from our own, is grounded in scientific plausibility.

Every theory, every technological or natural detail was conceived to anchor the reader to a sense of reality, allowing the imagination to soar without ever losing touch with what might be possible.

This is not just a story of parallel worlds and ancient creatures: it is also a journey through emotions, the bonds between characters, and the struggle against one’s own limits.

The heroes of this adventure are not invincible; they are people who face fears, doubts, and sacrifices—just like us.

I hope this book can transport you to a place where the possible and the impossible meet, and that it may leave you with questions, reflections, and, why not, a renewed curiosity about our own universe.

Enjoy the read,

Patrizio Tamorri

An ancient evil

The Mariscador Porteño was a modest fishing vessel, built with sturdy metal to withstand the rough waters of the Atlantic. Its shape was simple and functional, with a high bow and a flat stern. The fuselage, painted with anti-corrosion paint, showed signs of prolonged use at sea.

The wheelhouse was essential, with a steering wheel and basic navigation instruments. The main deck housed the fishing equipment, including rollers for the nets, hooks, and storage bins for the catch.

It wasn’t a flashy ship—on the contrary, someone might easily have thought it looked run-down at first glance. Javier Rodriguez and seven other people made up its crew.

They were south of the island of Culebra fishing for tuna with longlines, in April of 1971.

Longline fishing was a traditional technique used by fishermen to catch ocean species such as tuna and swordfish. It involved the use of a long main steel line extended into the water, supported by floats and weights to keep it in a vertical position. To this line, numerous secondary hooks, known as “branch lines” or “snoods,” were attached, each baited with sardines or mackerel. After being left in place for a predetermined time, the fishermen would retrieve it, collecting the fish caught on the hooks.

Captain Vargas was shouting. The weather had worsened suddenly and unexpectedly, and the fishermen would soon be forced to return to port to avoid the perils of the stormy sea. But before doing so, they wanted to recover the longlines they had already cast into the water. The waves in the Caribbean area, to which Culebra belonged, were generally lower than in zones more exposed to the open ocean, but the storm could change that considerably—and if strong winds picked up, they could certainly damage any unrecovered fishing gear.

Javier Rodriguez was both the helmsman and navigator of the small ship. He was thirty-five years old and had grown up in the lively streets of San Juan. He had an olive complexion and dark eyes. His curly black hair was often hidden under a worn baseball cap. With a contagious smile, Javier radiated a friendly energy, but he also knew how to stay calm when needed. He had quickly left the helm and was now trying with the others to retrieve the longlines. The rain had come fast, and loud claps of thunder could be heard not far off.

Carlos, one of the deckhands, was helping him set the retrieval hooks on the winch. The bait had been in the water for about an hour—too little to expect many fish to be hooked. The recovery operation would be quick.

Javier: “There must be high-altitude wind—this storm is going to waste our whole day, damn it!”

Carlos, a boy of few words, shrugged to symbolize his surrender to the unpredictability of life. He wore a white T-shirt soaked by the rain, and his young face was hardened by the hardships of the sea.

“Go there and start the winch! I’ll hold the retrieval hook in place,” Carlos shouted over the noise of the rain and waves.

Javier understood more from his gestures than from his words and headed toward the winch—but he didn’t make it.

A strong flash, then a deafening noise hit him.

He distinctly saw two lightning bolts strike the ship—one on the discharge point atop the mast, and the other on the hull at the bow. He instinctively looked for something to hold onto and felt the bow sinking. Then the sensations became clearer, and he realized the motion didn’t feel like a slow submersion, but more like falling into emptiness. The movement was too fast—it was as if there was no more water beneath them. A sudden, intense light blinded him. Then he heard a loud thud, as if the ship, in falling, had struck something, and he saw the floor rushing toward him. He hit his head on the deck and passed out.

He slowly regained consciousness. His ears were ringing loudly. Then he saw Carlos above him. Suddenly, his mind cleared, and he understood that Carlos was shouting and slapping him.

Carlos: "Get up, Javier! Wake the fuck up!"

He was disoriented for a moment. The sky was clear. It seemed the storm had vanished as if by magic. He must have been unconscious for a long time, he thought.

Javier: "Carlos... My god… What happened?"

Carlos: "I don’t fucking know! The ship is sinking and the radio’s dead, nothing works anymore!"

Javier pulled himself together and stood up. He saw in horror the captain lying lifeless on the ground, with one of the deckhands, Alejandro, beside him, hands buried in his long black hair in a gesture of despair. The elderly commander was clearly dead; a crate must have fallen on him. His abdomen was crushed unnaturally, and his head looked shattered. Javier felt a wave of nausea.

Carlos: "The captain’s dead, we haven’t found anyone else… They were all below deck… It’s completely flooded… It’s just the three of us left, fuck!"

Alejandro: "We have to hurry! If the ship goes down, it’ll drag us with it! We have to get out!"

Carlos and Alejandro were very young—they were clearly terrified—and the helmsman realized it was crucial that at least he stayed calm. At the bow, the lightning must have cracked part of the metal, but the ship seemed to be sinking evenly, which meant the stern was probably heavily damaged too—perhaps due to the violent impact afterward. Javier estimated it wouldn’t last long. Soon, water would reach the deck and pour inside, which was already mostly flooded. That would cause the ship to sink. The greatest danger was that the water, pouring into the interior, might pull them in. If that happened, they would surely drown.

Javier: "Hey, hey, calm down! Yes, we need to get out of here fast. The ship is small, but it could still pull us down."

Carlos: "Let’s get the life vests! We can swim for it!"

Carlos pointed to the land not far away, then ran off to find them.

The three quickly removed their shoes and outer clothes to avoid being weighed down, put on the recovered life vests, then jumped into the water and started swimming toward the shore. After swimming for about thirty meters, they heard the water entering the upper part of the ship and flooding what remained of the interior. Javier didn’t look back—he wanted to save his strength—he knew they were far enough.

His mind was focused on trying to remember the nautical maps and the currents of the area. He had seen them, but didn’t remember them well—it was all still confused in his head. He took some reference points on the coast, and for the next two minutes he monitored them to try to understand where the waves were pushing them. The trick was simple. You just had to take three reference points, one nearby and two farther away, preferably higher than the first. By monitoring the angle formed by the nearest point and the two farther ones, you could understand whether you were moving away or drifting sideways. It was a technique very similar to calculating perspective in paintings. To his joy, he noticed that the current was pushing them toward the shore, even if with a slight drift to the right.

He started laughing. He thought it was his reaction to stress.

As a child he used to swim often, and would have found that lateral drift really annoying—it would have taken him away from the spot where he had left his things on the beach—but now thinking about it made him realize how many of those problems were insignificant.

Thinking back to his childhood, however, he also noticed something else. The coastline didn’t look like Culebra. As a child he often went fishing there with his father, he knew it well, and he was almost certain he had never seen that coast before. Maybe the currents had taken them farther south.

He turned to look at the two surviving companions. Carlos was swimming close to him while Alejandro was struggling at the end of the line.

Javier: "We’re halfway there! The current is favorable… Let’s stop for a moment, I’m exhausted."

The three stopped to recover their strength. The sea was calm, so staying afloat with the life vests was rather easy.

Javier: "That doesn’t look like Culebra… Maybe we’ve been pushed farther south… How long was I unconscious?"

Carlos: "Not long, maybe a minute…"

Carlos said it slowly, he was trying to control the stress and fatigue.

Javier: "A minute??"

Javier looked at him closely to see if he was serious and convinced.

Javier: "That’s not possible… Did you see what happened to the ship? Did we crash into something?"

The two quickly described an experience similar to his. Carlos had been thrown violently to the deck, then had gotten back up and had seen him unconscious. But he had prioritized the captain, who had been crushed by one of the crates meant to store the caught fish, which must have rolled over him.

The crates had been unfastened from their locks shortly before. The sea was calm enough before those fatal seconds—it was a fairly normal procedure to remove the hooks to facilitate the recovery operations.

What had struck Carlos the most was the storm. According to him, it had vanished suddenly and the sunlight had blinded him, making it difficult to get his bearings at first.

Alejandro had been luckier. He was below deck getting some tools, and the thud had made him fall onto a pile of rags, leaving him unharmed. He had managed to climb back onto the deck shortly after Carlos had found the commander.

Carlos: "This is like my grandmother used to say—we disturbed the mujer de Caguana…"

Carlos had his eyes fixed on the horizon and a trembling voice. The legend told of a woman who had the power to control nature. It was said that, when she was angry, she could unleash furious storms and raise and lower the tides quickly. Javier found the theory far-fetched, and his expression made it clear.

Carlos: "Did you see how the weather changed? We have to get out of here…"

The boy began reciting something indistinct, which sounded like some sort of supplication.

Javier was Catholic, and that Puerto Rican folklore disturbed him, as if someone had said they believed in the devil. He didn’t like it at all. There was only one God to pray to, if anything, at that moment. Those old superstitions weren’t for him. His conviction wavered only for a moment when he thought a sudden change in tide might have caused the fall, but he quickly came back to his senses.

Javier: "I'd say let's move on, we've rested enough."

The two deckhands nodded and resumed swimming. Javier saw the nearby shore; the current had helped them even while they were resting. They would probably feel the sand under their feet soon. There was a stream at the shore and a thick tropical jungle just beyond the beach—he could see them clearly now.

He stopped swimming, suddenly feeling himself dragged by the water.

He instinctively looked toward the shore to figure out if they had crossed into a new current. His thoughts went to the river at the shore. Currents near river mouths could be dangerous due to the mixing of fresh and salt water, which could create turbulence and unpredictable currents.

Then the current ceased.

Carlos swam past him noisily and fast.

The helmsman realized he was screaming.

He turned, but didn’t see Alejandro. Maybe the current had been some large underwater animal. If that were the case, it meant it had to be very close and very big. His mind immediately jumped to a great white shark, and he felt fear invade his brain. He stayed frozen in place for a second. Everything was silent. No fin. In an instant, fear took over his body—he turned and began swimming as fast as he could. He reached Carlos, and when he was close to him, he felt the sand under his feet. His unfortunate companion was crying, but they were both too exhausted to speak. They stumbled onto the beach and collapsed, gasping from the effort. It took Javier about ten seconds to recover.

Javier: "What happened? Where's Alejandro?"

Javier was afraid to ask. The boy hadn’t made it to shore, and visibility was excellent over the calm sea—the answer seemed obvious.

Carlos replied, crying: "Something took him!"

Javier: "What took him??"

Javier stood up to see the sea better and to look for any sign.

Carlos: "It was a marine Chupacabra! It was a mouth full of long teeth! It took him from below! He grimaced in pain… There was so much blood… Fuck, it was full of blood, marine Chupacabras suck it all out of you…"

The legend of El Chupacabra Marino told of a mysterious marine creature that was said to feed on the blood of fish and other marine beings. This creature, derived from the imaginary figure of the giant bat Chupacabra associated with the land, took on a marine variant in some communities of Puerto Rico. It was believed that this creature roamed the marine depths, terrorizing local fishermen and leaving death in its wake.

Javier was less skeptical this time. Something had hunted him and devoured Alejandro. Maybe the Chupacabra and Caguana were demons from hell, sent to shake men's faith. After all, the Bible said that the devil was a roaring lion that wandered the world in changing forms. He thought back to all the things the priest had told him in catechism, then returned to rationality. It must have been a shark, for sure.

Javier: "Poor boy…"

Javier ran his hands through his hair, shaken, then weariness got the better of him and he lay back down on the sand.

The two rested for minutes that felt like hours, both anguished over the sailor's fate but secretly glad it hadn't been them. Then they began to speak again.

Javier: "We need to figure out where we are… Are you sure I was only passed out for a minute? Maybe you passed out too…"

Carlos replied in a fiercely aggressive tone, still under stress from what had happened: "I didn’t pass out! I’d know, wouldn’t I?"

Carlos stopped answering, and staggered away from fatigue.

Javier reflected. The coast wasn’t familiar to him. There was no sign of any human trace, who knows where they were. He tried again to rationalize what had happened. He asked Carlos once more what he remembered, but the boy didn’t answer. Carlos must certainly be wrong about how long he had been unconscious, too many things had changed, most notably the different weather and almost certainly the geographic location. Drifting for an extended period was the only logical explanation. The problem was figuring out where they had ended up. Then he tried to examine the sequence of events, the fall and the sharp thud that had made him lose consciousness, but he couldn’t imagine any plausible dynamic. He stayed there on the sand thinking for a couple more minutes, while regaining his strength.

Ten minutes had passed. Carlos had walked over to the plants near the river to rinse off the sand from his body and his wet shirt. They were both sweaty from the effort, and the heat on the beach was intense. The river was relatively small, just over ten meters wide, and the water at its deepest point probably reached chest height. The boy stepped in, took off his shirt, and rinsed it. Then he wrung it out and put it back on after removing the sand and algae from himself. The water was much colder than he expected, and he hadn’t dared to wash further, but he still found it pleasant to just dip his feet in—it helped him recover from the heat and forget the fear, even though he was still having sudden crying fits.

Javier had stood up and decided to go to the river too, imitating the actions of the other castaway. His head felt like it was going to explode—some cold water on his face would do him good. He walked toward Carlos, sitting among the low plants that marked the beginning of the jungle to find a bit of light shade and stretch his feet into the river. He sank back into his thoughts after confirming with a glance that the deckhand still didn’t want to talk. He wondered how they would justify what had happened. The captain had two small children—it was an immense tragedy—six people had died. He fully realized it only then, as the adrenaline was evidently fading.

The water was too cold; he pulled his feet out, stood up, and walked past the boy to find a tree to sit under and finally escape the scorching sun. The vegetation near the river was too thick to sit comfortably under the trees, so he headed toward a tree closer to the sea, with less undergrowth around it.

Then he heard a sharp thud, immediately followed by another. It sounded like someone had dropped something heavy. It came from the thicker vegetation.

Carlos stood up from his tree, trembling. Another sharp thud—but this time the source was farther away.

They exchanged a questioning glance, trying to figure out if the other had identified the source of the noise, but the uncertainty in their eyes said it all. Javier thought there must be a construction site nearby or maybe some animal that had heard them and fled.

Two enormous jaws snapped shut on the unsuspecting Carlos. The force of the bite was so powerful that his arms and part of his legs were torn clean off with a terrible crack. The boy’s bones gave way without resistance, as if the creature had bitten into potato chips.

Javier saw a massive V-shaped head, scaled like that of a snake. He screamed instinctively and backed away.

The giant lizard took a step forward, then raised its head to the sky to swallow the bite, in a surreal silence compared to the noise one would expect from such a massive creature in motion. Javier saw a huge reptilian tail, two muscular front legs, and two tiny arms flailing in the air. The beast had to be at least five meters tall. Its color was a dark green, like military camouflage, with some dark red patches. The head was the most horrifying part. Two enormous rows of teeth ran along the entire jawline, smeared with fresh blood and swarming with flies. They looked like giant kitchen knives in shape.

A demon, thought Javier in horror, a demon from hell, certainly something not of this world, an ancient forgotten evil told in legends no one remembered anymore.

Javier did not hesitate any longer and turned to run into the thick of the forest, screaming. The reptile's head snapped toward him, drawn by the new movement, and Javier realized he was being chased by the sounds of branches breaking under monstrous, terrifying steps. He saw a tree with thick roots that seemed to form a kind of small natural hut and, instinctively, slipped into it. The beast was almost upon him. He could hear it snorting, but the shelter had come just in time. The sailor kept watching the animal’s movements from his hiding place, but he could only glimpse it now and then through the gaps left by the plant. It seemed to be studying with its gaze this new problem separating it from its prey, not entirely convinced.

He looked at the roots, at least 30 centimetres thick and made of sturdy wood. He considered them good protection. The animal seemed to ignore the insurmountable obstacle while Javier, terrified, watched its every move. The beast lifted its head, out of Javier's line of sight near the high foliage of the plants.

The helmsman felt calmer; the beast was searching for him up there. He saw the large hind legs with their claws spreading slightly and heard it sniffing powerfully. The head was too big—it couldn’t reach him through the narrow gaps between the tree’s roots, he was sure of it. Maybe it was looking for another prey to chase, he thought.

A violent crack shattered his hopes.

The creature had bitten the roots, and the force was such that it cleanly cut through the wood, severing also the hand resting on top of it. The castaway froze for a moment, then screamed in pain and blind fear as he saw the severed forearm spraying a violent jet of blood. Instinctively, he tried to stop it with the only hand he had left, the right one, paralyzed by terror. As he screamed, he saw the creature’s jaws approach through the tear they had created. He could see clearly, as if in slow motion, the teeth of the jaws sliding down both sides until they surrounded him. He had just enough time to plead for forgiveness for all the wrongs he had committed. It was a test of faith, he thought, now too tired and overcome by pain to keep fighting. God had put them to the test, but he had not wavered, he thought. He smelled a strong stench. Then he saw the mouth’s muscles swell with the contraction of the closing.

Another crack.

Neutrino resonance

Located in the majestic Gran Sasso massif in Italy, the Gran Sasso National Laboratory (LNGS), managed by the National Institute for Nuclear Physics (INFN), had represented a focal point in global scientific research. Its peculiarity lay in its underground location, situated about 1400 meters beneath the Gran Sasso mountain, in central Italy. This location provided a natural shield against cosmic radiation, creating an ideal environment for particle physics and astrophysics experiments, characterized by extremely low background radiation noise, shielded by the rock. The LNGS played a crucial role in dark matter research, hosting landmark experiments such as DAMA/LIBRA and XENON.

Dr. Isabella Rossi worked there. She was a woman in her forties, with curly blonde hair and a prominent nose that characterized her face. That day was very important for her. Her group had been preparing for months to carry out one of the phases of the OPERA experiment (Oscillation Project with Emulsion-tRacking Apparatus) with CERN.

Founded in 1954 near Geneva, Switzerland, CERN, acronym for "Conseil Européen pour la Recherche Nucléaire", was one of the most important European organizations for nuclear research.

From there, through a process involving particle accelerators, neutrinos would soon be generated, then focused and guided through the Earth toward the Gran Sasso laboratory, about 730 km away. And there, Isabella and her team were responsible for measuring them.

Isabella: “Make sure all the equipment tests are finished before 12:00.”

Isabella was speaking with Domenico and Gianluca, her assistants. Domenico was trying to validate that the instrumentation was fully operational, while Gianluca was monitoring telemetry on the screens, checking the various temperatures on the sensors. They had run the third simulation with synthetic data, and everything appeared in order on the detectors, but Isabella was clearly anxious, and, partly to keep her calm and partly to pass the time, the two continued their checks.

Isabella looked at the large room where the structures supporting the lead plates, the various nuclear emulsions, and the detectors were set up. Looking at it, it resembled a large cube made of metal plates. If everything went as expected, the neutrinos would be intercepted by the emulsions. From there, it would take weeks of analysis to obtain the results or identify any errors in the data collection process. That’s why it was essential that everything be tested.

Neutrinos, elementary subatomic particles, first proposed in 1930, still represented a relatively new field of study, and Isabella was so fascinated by them that she dedicated most of her time to them.

Isabella: “The experiment starts in five minutes, make sure the others haven’t gone off to get coffee…”

The two assistants looked each other in the eyes for a second, then followed the instructions with thinly veiled mental fatigue. The doctor was too anxious for their liking.

Since she had started studying neutrinos, Isabella had been obsessed with them. Even the jokes she sometimes made somehow used blends of her favourite term. But her assistants hadn’t been surprised—in the scientific field, it was a relatively common thing. Isabella had studied Physics in Rome at the "La Sapienza" University, and then had been one of the very few to receive a grant from CERN to support her further studies. It was common practice in Italy to make use of European funds for research projects, and this had helped her enter that world more and more deeply. But having had to constantly, and from a very young age, report the results obtained within scientific publications under the scrutiny of international scholars had made her obsessive. Now she had the opportunity to lead the data collection of the most important experiment of her time on her field of research, and she wanted at all costs to minimize the risks.

Neutrinos were extremely light subatomic particles with neutral charge, like neutrons, belonging to the lepton family. They were one of the fundamental constituents of matter and were elementary, which meant they were not made up of smaller particles. There were three identified types of neutrinos: electron neutrino, muon neutrino, and tau neutrino. Their most important characteristic was that they were subject to the possibility of changing their type while traveling through space, a phenomenon that made them complex to study.

The clock on the table emitted a loud beep, and Isabella quickly moved toward the control panel. Everything was in order. CERN was sending the stream of neutrinos toward them, which was also confirmed to her via chat message. The doctor checked that the sensor telemetry data was in order. She sat down as her assistants returned.

Isabella: "Telemetry is good! I just got a message on the internal chat confirming everything’s in order! Great job, gu—"

She couldn’t finish the sentence because she saw a strong light coming from the laboratories behind her, followed by an immediate, extremely loud noise, like thunder striking very close by.

It took a moment to recover from the surprise. She saw her assistants looking at the darkened glass door of the room, which was still vibrating. Then she saw them walk briskly to leave the lab. Only then did she hear the call for help.

She ran outside as well, following the others, still unable to grasp what was happening.

Domenico: "It’s coming from there!"

The door to room B was open, and a man was on the ground. He didn’t seem injured.

Gianluca: "Hey, are you okay?"

The man was helped to his feet. It was Vincenzo Raggi, one of the researchers from the XENON project for dark matter research.

Isabella: "What happened?"

Vincenzo stood up, still trembling and stunned from the tremendous noise he must have endured from very close by, and pointed toward the interior of the room.

They stood in silence for a moment, looking. A large xenon gas container had been ripped diagonally, and blackening was clearly visible on the edges of the fracture. Part of the contents had escaped and gathered in a central zone mid-air. It was emitting a strong blue light, making its distribution clearly visible. The aerators of the ventilation system were functioning— the xenon should already have been expelled, or in any case should have sunk to the ground, being very dense— but the gas mass didn’t seem to move.

Vincenzo: "I was here and suddenly everything exploded!"

Vincenzo was speaking very loudly.

Gianluca: "Calm down, I’m going to call someone to have you checked out, the emergency room area is in the main building."

While Gianluca ran off, Isabella kept alternating between dismay at the accident and observing the luminous gas mass. Vincenzo had sat back down on the floor but immediately seemed to feel better.

Vincenzo: "I don’t know what happened! I didn’t touch anything! If I’d been any closer, I’d be dead!"

He was clearly still agitated. Isabella brought everyone back to order.

Isabella: "I don’t understand what’s going on over there… Xenon doesn’t explode, it’s not even flammable…"

Vincenzo and the rest of the researchers who had rushed over were also looking at the gas mass.

Domenico: "Yeah… and why is it emitting light?"

Xenon was used in lamps because it could emit a bluish light if excited by electric current. The problem Isabella was now also pondering was why it was emitting that light, since it was floating in the air outside the breach. Where was the electricity coming from?

Domenico fearfully put forward the hypothesis that maybe the container was in contact with some damaged power wire, but Isabella immediately refuted it. The container wasn’t conductive, and besides, to transmit electricity through air you’d need an enormous voltage, several orders of magnitude higher than what’s available from power outlets.

Now Vincenzo had also gotten up to take a look. Gianluca had returned with a doctor, but by that point the dazed researcher was almost more interested in the phenomenon in the room than in getting medical attention. The light didn’t seem to be fading. Everyone had agreed that it was also inexplicable that the gas wasn’t dispersing or falling to the ground. It seemed to orbit slowly around a central point as if attracted by a gravitational force.

The phenomenon was interesting, but the researchers who had gathered were also afraid of possible further explosions, which is why they kept a safe distance.

Vincenzo: "We should try throwing something at it to see if there’s electrical conduction. If so, we need to warn them to cut the power…"

The idea wasn’t stupid at all and Isabella agreed, followed by her assistants, who had waited for her stance before speaking up.

If there was electric current, they would certainly have seen sparks.

The task was given to Domenico, using an empty can of canned peaches recovered from a bucket.

The throw passed fairly close to the hypothetical orbital center of the gas mass. Domenico couldn’t see the result of his throw, as he had immediately run for cover. Isabella, on the other hand, was watching closely. The can didn’t have any effect, the gas was only slightly disturbed, then returned to gravitating around the point as before.

Vincenzo: "Where did the can go?"

Isabella realized what Vincenzo meant just as he finished the sentence. There had been no sound.

The can should have crashed into the rear container, and thus produced some kind of impact sound, or bounced and come back.

It just seemed to have disappeared.

Then the gas suddenly stopped emitting light, just after an initial movement evidently caused by a renewed sensitivity to gravity’s pull, which until that moment had apparently just been ignored.

Dr. Rossi heard her phone ringing. In English with a strong French accent, a CERN researcher informed her that they were stopping neutrino generation and that data collection could begin.

Isabella: "We need to get out of here, xenon isn't dangerous in itself, but it could make us faint if it spreads through the room..."

Vincenzo: "Yes, the ventilation will disperse it, we'll monitor the situation from the control station—I'll go there right away."

They all headed together toward the outer area. Vincenzo also decided to speak with the facility administrator as soon as possible to explain the situation. The breach was small enough, and xenon wasn't particularly expensive. It was also used in medicine for general anaesthesia. He planned to restart the experiment within a week, obviously after the necessary safety checks. Isabella and her assistants headed toward their office, considered far enough to be safe from any repercussions of what had happened.

Gianluca: "What do you think about all this mess, doctor?"

Isabella was already sitting at her desk and staring at the wall, clearly deep in thought, her feet stretched out in front of her.

Isabella: "I think maybe while looking for India, we found America..."

The two assistant researchers looked at her puzzled, not immediately understanding what she meant.

Isabella: "That thing immediately made me think of my research on neutrinos."

The doctor had conducted research for a project originally focused on measuring weak interaction between subatomic particles, theorizing that neutrinos, not being highly reactive particles but capable of producing effects through weak interaction, could cause state changes in matter.

Her thesis started from the fact that neutrinos, being subatomic particles with no electric charge and an almost negligible mass, rarely interacted with surrounding matter. This behaviour was due to the nature of the weak interaction, a fundamental force in physics that operated only on extremely small scales and with an incredibly low probability of interaction. As a result, neutrinos passed through entire planets and layers of matter without ever losing energy in collisions or impacts.

Isabella had hypothesized that this same characteristic, apparently limiting, could hide a more complex phenomenon. Although it was extraordinarily unlikely that a single neutrino could influence a particle, the accumulation of a huge number of neutrinos, under specific conditions, could create a cumulative effect that had not yet been observed. According to her hypothesis, the very nature of the weak interaction could behave like a quantum resonance, influencing the wave function of the particles that make up matter.

In quantum mechanics, the wave function describes the probabilistic state of a particle: its position, energy, momentum, and other properties. Isabella suggested that neutrinos, when present in extraordinarily high density, could alter these wave functions without directly modifying the matter. In other words, they would not change the particles themselves, but would perturb their quantum description, shifting them toward unstable states or slightly altering their energy or probability of position.

This effect would not be perceptible under ordinary Earth conditions, where the density of neutrinos is too low. However, Isabella theorized that in particular environments, such as in the proximity of extremely intense electric fields or in contexts with an exceptional density of neutrinos, the weak interaction could amplify its effects. Such amplification, though rare, could cause a collective behavior to emerge: the neutrinos, acting as a coordinated multitude, would influence matter in ways not predictable with current knowledge.

Isabella compared the phenomenon to an orchestra in which each musician plays an imperceptible note, but the sum of these notes creates an audible harmony. In the same way, each neutrino exerted a minimal influence, but the combination of a huge number of neutrinos, under the right conditions, could produce measurable effects.

Studying such a phenomenon, however, was extremely difficult. The weak interaction, by its nature, made it almost impossible to obtain relevant experimental data under normal conditions. The possibility of creating an environment with a sufficient density of neutrinos was remote, and current technologies did not allow for direct observation of such perturbations. For this reason, despite its theoretical elegance, the thesis remained confined to the realm of hypotheses.

Domenico could not hold back a smile. To his eyes, the doctor had an evident fixation, and from the look he exchanged with him, Gianluca seemed to think the same.

Isabella: "You laugh, but I believe that out there we saw what I would call a quantum remodulation on a scale unimaginable until now..."

Then she composed herself in the chair and began to search for some files on her computer, to better document the hypothesis.

Isabella: "If my hypothesis is correct, the blue light from the xenon came from the decay of a huge number of tauons…"

The tauon was a subatomic particle belonging to the lepton family, similar to an electron but with a much greater mass.

Isabella: "The tauon is extremely unstable and has an incredibly short average lifetime, on the order of 10⁻¹³ seconds. When it decays, it transforms into other particles, mainly neutrinos and lighter particles."

Domenico and Gianluca exchanged uncertain glances, trying to understand the connection.

Isabella took a breath and continued, trying to clarify further: "The formation of tauons under these conditions is not something that happens spontaneously. I believe the key was the interaction of neutrinos—normally elusive—with a catalyst like xenon and a discharge of extraordinary intensity. It’s as if this combination had destabilized the surrounding particles, particularly the oxygen ones in the air."

Domenico raised an eyebrow, confused: "Destabilized? In what sense?"

Isabella: "I think the oxygen particles, rich in electrons, were modified at the quantum level. Neutrinos, although they are particles that interact weakly, can, in sufficient quantities, produce a cumulative effect. This sum of influences could have created a sort of quantum resonance, capable of perturbing the wave functions of the oxygen particles, releasing negative charges—electrons, precisely. Once released, these electrons would have increased the probability of tauon formation from residual electrons, triggering a self-sustaining cycle of decay and neutrino production."

Gianluca scratched his head: "Wait… Are you saying that a chain reaction led to an uncontrolled release of neutrinos? And how does all this connect to the can?"

Isabella made a gesture, as if to calm the growing perplexity: "We’re getting to that. During the process, the massive production of neutrinos reached a critical level. It’s possible that, in that area, the accumulation of neutrinos altered the very stability of matter through a resonance involving the surrounding particles. But this is not just a matter of ordinary matter. Here comes a possible deeper theoretical explanation into play."

Domenico, visibly skeptical, crossed his arms: "And what would that explanation be?"

Isabella took a moment to organize her thoughts, then explained more clearly.

Isabella: "Have you ever heard of string theory?"

The two assistants exchanged a confused glance.

Isabella: "According to string theory, all fundamental particles are not really point-like, but are made of tiny vibrating strings. These strings vibrate in different ways, and each vibrational state corresponds to a particle with specific properties: an electron, a quark, a neutrino, or even a tauon. But what makes the theory so interesting is that these vibrations happen not only in the spatial dimensions we know, but in other dimensions beyond those we can perceive."

Gianluca tilted his head, trying to follow: "And what does this have to do with neutrinos and resonance?"

Isabella: "If this chain reaction was intense enough, it might have altered the vibrational frequencies of the strings that make up the matter of the can. This vibrational change, in theory, could push the matter 'out of phase' with respect to our space-time continuum. In other words, what we perceive as matter might have shifted into another physical state, which no longer belongs to our ordinary reality."

Domenico leaned in slightly, his face a mask of disbelief: "Are you telling me that the can… wasn’t destroyed?"

Isabella shook her head: "Not in the classical sense. I believe that the structure of the matter changed in such a way that what we call a 'can' no longer exists in this space-time. It may have transformed into something we can no longer directly observe."

Gianluca stared at her in disbelief: "Doctor… Let me get this straight… You're telling us that, according to you, that can ended up in another dimension?"

Kessler syndrome

Rashid Khan, lead technician at the Mission Control Center in Karachi, Pakistan, was the typical balding and out-of-shape office worker. He had built his career through years of hard work, and had finally become head of the technical fault-response team at the company TecnoPak, which earned him a certain degree of respect among the people who knew him. He had been assigned to follow and manage several public companies, and he mainly dealt with resolving their technical issues. That afternoon, he was investigating the data coming from the latest reading of a medium Earth orbit satellite from the COSPAS-SARSAT program, regarding a problem that had started about halfway through his eight-hour shift. They had been managing that client for three years, and almost nothing had happened, except for some issues related to system upgrades not exactly performed properly, which were solved by working a couple of overtime nights on the weekends.

The international satellite search and rescue system had been created in collaboration with Canada, France, the USA, and Russia, with the participation of many other countries as early as 1988. The goal was to quickly identify distress signals of various kinds (such as ships in distress or airplanes in trouble) and initiate search and rescue operations when necessary.

The satellite had reported some kind of malfunction. Rashid had initially assumed it was a system bug and had started investigating methodically, but his superiors—probably pressured by the client—were now tormenting him.

The satellite was indicating malfunctions, and the message

**MALFUNCTION IN SECTOR 3-A**

kept flashing on the control console displayed on the tablet he was holding in his hand.

He had run all the necessary tests and launched verification routines twice. He had also remotely rebooted the satellite software, but the error persisted. The manual indicated that Sector 3-A was the system of external panels. He had asked a colleague for help, but it had been useless. After three hours of failed attempts, he headed toward his superior’s office to report the matter as per protocol. He wasn’t happy at all—he expected the usual superior attitude.

Rashid: “Good evening, Ahmed.”

Ahmed: “Good evening. Have you solved the problem?”

Ahmed Abbasi, head of the facility, a man in his forties with very short black hair and a face that reminded Rashid of a bulldog, was a very direct type.

The technician explained the facts, in a simplified manner, adding that the problem was some unknown malfunction in the external panels.

Ahmed had then consulted the operations manual for about twenty minutes, as he almost always did when something happened that the technicians couldn’t explain. His role was mainly to manage and balance the accounts at the end of the month—he didn’t know much about those things; he had studied economics.

Ahmed: "According to the operations manual, if there are no other amperage errors or fluctuations in the detected radiation, it might have been hit by a fragment of some kind."

Rashid had considered the hypothesis of possible collisions, even though the probability of an impact between a MEO (Medium Earth Orbit) satellite and a piece of debris was considered rather low. They orbited at an altitude between 2,000 and 35,786 kilometres above Earth’s surface, in an extremely rarefied and low-density atmosphere, in the space region between low (LEO) and geostationary (GEO) orbits. This condition, with little friction, allowed them to maintain orbit for prolonged periods without frequent adjustments, but it also increased vulnerability to the presence of space debris. Despite the significant number of debris entering the atmosphere every year, including those generated by human activity, Rashid was inclined to consider it some kind of software issue.

Rashid: "It could be, the system is pointing to the external panels as the cause of the problem… Sure, it’s highly unlikely…"

Ahmed simply quoted the law of large numbers, according to which every event, however improbable, will eventually occur.

Rashid was thinking about what he would eat that evening, and his stomach often brought him back to the topic with frequent rumblings. His boss was definitely too finicky for his taste and kept making outlandish guesses. The matter had lost interest as far as he was concerned—he had done his part. Now the problem was in someone else’s hands. Ahmed knew he would probably have to spend a week on phone calls and paperwork related to the issue if they didn’t get to the bottom of it, and that pushed him to at least find a plausible explanation to report as the cause. Rashid had even had to suppress a smile when the boss had suggested that maybe it would be enough to update the software and reboot the systems, again quoting the manual. Ahmed had probably imagined the satellite as a big flying office computer, to reboot and kick, Rashid had thought—then quickly went back to thinking that he just wanted to go home and enjoy dinner.

Hassan, another technician from Rashid’s team, entered suddenly after a single knock, apologizing to both.

Hassan: "Two more satellites in the area are offline, NASA says it’s an unknown meteor swarm!"

Ahmed was almost pleased, judging by the expression Rashid saw on his face. He had been afraid he wouldn’t be able to justify the situation adequately, but now a possible issue was turning into the opportunity to manage an emergency—which added advantages for the company, like possible bonuses, and removed all responsibility.

Ahmed: "Which area of space?"

Hassan was keeping his arms tight, and Rashid guessed that the short-sleeved shirt was probably soaked with sweat from the run.

Hassan: "It looks like a limited area over Korea, everyone’s trying to figure out why the sensors didn’t detect it."

The problem of monitoring such events was taken very seriously, given the high number of satellites, and many agencies exchanged data on the matter every day. NASA, ESA (European Space Agency), and ROSCOSMOS (Russian Space Agency) were the main ones. The fact that Russians and Americans were actively collaborating, exchanging unfiltered data on the topic, in itself showed its importance.

Ahmed picked up the phone and called NASA’s central control centre to get further information. He had to wait a bit and go through a switchboard. The two technicians stayed there waiting. Finally, a hoarse voice answered, and Ahmed began asking the necessary questions. It took five minutes filled mostly with “Yes” and “Ok” before the conversation ended, interspersed with phrases in which the manager tried, without much success, to sound much more worried than he actually was. He hung up and dismissed the two technicians, saying they could go and that there was nothing they could do for now, at least not until they had more information. Rashid considered asking questions about the conversation, but then his stomach convinced him to avoid prolonging the discussion.

The two left the office and headed together toward their computer workstations. Hassan waited until they were far enough down the large carpeted hallway that connected the office open spaces. Then he gestured for Rashid to come closer to say something more private.

Hassan: "Boss, when I was on the phone I heard the NASA guys in the background were afraid of a Kessler syndrome!"

That was a piece of news for which Rashid was willing to delay, for a moment, reaching the dinner he so craved.

The Kessler syndrome had been formulated by Donald J. Kessler, former NASA scientist, in 1991, and derived from an observation of the increase in space debris following the space race, in the form of rocket parts, satellites, space stations, and even simple trash created by astronauts during their stay.

This debris often possessed enormous kinetic energy derived from average speeds of around 16 km per second, caused by orbital effects. To give an example, a modern artillery shell had an average kinetic energy of about 5 million joules on impact; a simple bolt, at those speeds, had 13—almost 3 times as much.

The primary problem observed was that collisions between the more massive debris could give rise to smaller fragments, increasing their overall number and amplifying the risk of further impacts, all at extremely high speeds.

This vicious cycle could threaten not only the stability of individual space objects, such as satellites, but the entire orbital ecosystem.

The Kessler Syndrome suggested that, with a specific critical density of debris, collisions could become so frequent as to create a domino effect that would rapidly shatter the majority of satellites—if not all of them. The result would be a sort of unstoppable storm of fragments, which could last for decades, if not hundreds of years. If this truly was the current scenario, the situation would have taken on nightmare proportions, posing an immediate serious danger to space stations and other crucial satellites, not to mention the imaginable long-term consequences.

Rashid had thought quickly, and it was possible that a meteor shower could have triggered such a scenario if large enough.

Rashid: "Are you serious? We’re all going home if something like that happens!"

Hassan: "Yeah, but I’m telling you, those NASA guys looked really worried! It seems like a big deal!"

Then Hassan gestured to come closer, even more secretively. Rashid was reminded of his grandmother when she wanted to give him sweets behind his mother’s back.

Hassan: "I also overheard something else in the background… They sounded really angry with the Russians for some reason! I think they’ve got something to do with it!"

Rashid motioned for Hassan to be quiet and looked around. He had spent years studying to get into that institute, and the idea of losing his position because of an overly zealous subordinate didn’t sit well with him. Hassan was the kind of person who would hear a single sentence on a topic and then tell everyone ten different interpretations. And that situation had all the signs of something journalists and bloggers would feast on like vultures. He made sure to keep speaking in the same discreet tone.

Rashid: "This is the kind of crap that gets you begging on the street, Hassan! I’m warning you—don’t breathe a word of this to anyone! Or you’ll end up stamping papers at the front desk if you’re lucky!"

Hassan understood it wasn’t the time to push further, but he knew Rashid well enough to tell he wasn’t angry. He took it as a fatherly scolding.

Hassan: "Yeah, yeah, I was just talking—obviously I’ll keep it to myself… Want a ride home?"

Rashid looked at him for another second to make sure he got the message, then made a conciliatory gesture.

Rashid: "Yeah, okay, I’m starving."

The chief technician convinced himself that Hassan had understood.

He wondered if there was anything they could do before leaving. He again convinced himself that, if a disaster like the one NASA was talking about were real, staying at work longer to gather more information would be pointless.

It would be enough to turn on the TV the next day.

An invisible enemy

Dr. Elena Petrova was finishing her pirozhki while observing the other researchers focused on their tasks through the elevated glass window of her office. Pirozhki were small stuffed buns or pies, often filled with ground meat, rice, eggs, cabbage, or other ingredients. Elena was particularly fond of them. In Moscow, they were easy to find, but the Roscosmos headquarters had banned outside food, and sneaking one in had required a bit of ingenuity.

To eat it in peace, she had isolated herself in her office—but it was mostly a courtesy to the rest of the team. Since being promoted to Chief Engineer, she had much more freedom, and she was convinced that no one would complain about something like that.

She was a woman of average height, in her early thirties, with long dark red wavy hair, dark green eyes, and an olive complexion inherited from her family’s ancient Armenian roots. She wasn’t unapproachable, but she knew how to command respect, and her face carried an air of authority that few questioned. And being a beautiful woman helped her assert herself, especially in a scientific environment where the female gender was relatively rare.

Things had gone differently with the soldiers, at times. A good portion of the military personnel at Roscosmos consisted of Soviet-style veteran pilots who had taken part in the war in Chechnya and had climbed the ranks. People not easily intimidated by looks. So Elena had often been forced, throughout her long career as a researcher, to put them in their place. And she had become very good at it.

In the past, one of the military consultants had called her a gypsy, supposedly as a joke, probably encouraged by one too many shots of vodka. She had publicly humiliated him in the common dining hall, in the stunned silence of the other scientists. “Strike one to teach a hundred” was how she described that story to her friends. And it had worked. She thought she was almost feared—and that amused her.

Physically, she probably wouldn’t have been able to overpower even one of the soldiers, not even if he were handcuffed.

Vladimir Petrov entered after knocking and waiting for Elena to invite him in.

Vladimir, one of the three army colonels present that day, was a tall and imposing man. His piercing ice-blue eyes always seemed to scrutinize the world carefully, even if Elena found them a bit unsettling. His short blond beard, meticulously groomed, gave his mature face an air of authority and resolve, accentuated by his military uniform and short-cropped blond hair, which was beginning to turn white with age.

Vladimir greeted her, and Elena returned the gesture with a nod, still silently chewing the rest of the snack she had hurried to finish. Then the colonel began to explain the reason for his visit.

Vladimir: “What I’m about to tell you is strictly confidential and must not leave this room.”

Elena nodded and motioned for him to sit.

Vladimir: "It seems the Americans are having problems with some satellites over Korea. This morning, a few went offline, and among them, the FSB suspects there are some KH-11s."

The KH-11s, also known as Key Hole-11, were a series of American spy satellites used for Earth observation for intelligence purposes, designed to provide high-resolution images and other data. The term "Key Hole" came from their ability to "unlock" intricate details of objects on Earth. The Razdan was the Russian equivalent, with lenses capable of producing images with a resolution of up to 0.15 square meters per pixel.

While reading the dossier Vladimir had handed her as he spoke, Elena understood that at least two of those satellites were no longer responding, bringing the total number to at least three. The FSB, the Russian secret service, described the event as "destabilizing," which was the term used to indicate high-severity incidents.

Elena: "Two KH-11s??"

The report literally stated: "distributed physical damage to casing elements and external panels."

Vladimir: "Yeah… Our ambassador in Washington is in a meeting with the Americans—they want answers from us."

Elena: "From us?"

The answer came to her before she finished the sentence.

Elena: "The Americans think we attacked them?"

Vladimir: "Their official stance is that they want our support to verify the state of things… But in practice, we believe they’re trying to figure out if we used some new anti-satellite weapon."

Elena thought it over again. North Korea was the only one that could have done something like that, but they lacked the necessary tools. It was therefore logical that the Americans would suspect them, even though the idea was obviously absurd. Not that they weren’t developing anti-satellite weapons, but any designer would certainly be aware of the issues related to any kind of explosion in space. The debris generated by a conventional explosion would also likely threaten the attacker's own satellites. A high-altitude nuclear explosion (HANE, High-Altitude Nuclear Explosion) would have been even less feasible. Both Americans and Soviets had already tried that approach with disappointing results. The Starfish Prime explosion, for example, which occurred in 1962, had generated a belt of artificial radiation in space that damaged several satellites, both American and Russian. The satellites in polar circular orbit, even if well shielded, had received such a strong radioactive dose in the four months following the explosion that space agencies raised concerns about the potential risks to astronaut crews in exploration programs. Moreover, even if used against a satellite target, a nuclear weapon would produce an electromagnetic pulse strong enough to damage all electronic equipment on Earth within a radius of up to a thousand kilometers. Containing the damage was impossible. The weapons currently being studied—and Elena was sure the American side was researching them too—were more aimed at disabling the satellite and rendering it unusable while keeping it intact, through the use of high-energy lasers, computer viruses, and jamming signals, for example. Nothing that could produce “distributed physical damage,” as the report in the dossier indicated.

Elena: "The usual Americans…"

Vladimir: "We redirected the target of one of our Razdan to get more visual detail, but the images are strange, the computer reports an anomaly. I wanted you to take a look."

Elena took the printed satellite images. Without Earth's atmosphere creating distortions, the quality was definitely better than the images taken from the ground. The doctor took from the folder one of the various photos of a satellite. It had a large COSPAS-SARSAT label on one side and was heavily damaged on the panels by what looked like a burst of heavy machine-gun fire.

Vladimir: "If it had been on the ground, I’d have thought of some drunk soldier…"

Vladimir wanted to joke, but his tone came out much more serious than he intended.

Elena was focused.

Elena: "Yes, it looks like a swarm of fragments of some kind… Off the cuff I’d say they were small meteorites… There are too many and too concentrated to be space junk like bolts or rocket parts…"

She paused for a moment, staring into space.

Elena: "And then there’s the issue of the number of satellites hit…"

Vladimir: "Right, the Americans told us the same thing. The probability that more than one satellite gets hit in the span of a few hours is statistically zero."

Elena leafed through the folder for a while, looking at the various photos. She didn’t notice anything strange or relevant.