by Wendy Devore
Rathman’s own sleep disorder led her to meditation at an early age. “I was shocked to discover that the brain patterns of the meditating monks looked similar to readings taken during my nightmares.” Is Rathman planning to voyage to an alternate dimension anytime soon? The young doctor hasn’t dismissed the idea. “Creation is vast and mysterious, so why not?”
Lily sat in silence, staring at the newspaper.
“Well, damn,” she said. “I guess you win.”
Andrew’s self-satisfied grin never failed to irritate her. “You were right. The beef is excellent. However, we have just found someone who thinks her brain structure may allow her to traverse the multiverse. It’s almost too good to be true. I want to know what she knows; perhaps it can further our own investigation. Maybe she can slice without the Bug? If she can get in whenever she wants, maybe she can get out, too. The strategy for tomorrow will be to find that research.”
The late-afternoon sun beat down through the haze, cooking the smog into a toxic ozone soup. His pace was purposeful, but given the poor air quality, he did not drive to exertion. He circled the concrete municipal building, moving toward the slight figure that slipped out from a side door.
Lily fell into step beside him, her long black hair knotted into a severe bun.
“Where have you been?” she hissed. “There’s no telling how much longer before we converge. You’re wasting time.”
“I took a little field trip to Woodside.”
Lily’s features transitioned from annoyed to concerned. “You were looking for your mother.”
Andrew nodded, his expression grim. She didn’t need to ask to know that he hadn’t found her.
“Did you locate the research?” he asked.
Though her stride was easy, her pursed lips betrayed the fact that she had returned empty-handed. Lily was not accustomed to failure, and it left a bitter taste in her mouth.
“Negative. Data here is locked down tight. If you want access to research, there are just three ways to get it—you’re the originating scientist, you’re a bigwig politician, or you own one of those damn multinational corporations spewing out this toxic crap we’re breathing.” She waved her hand in front of her face, as if the action could cut through the noxious smog choking the skyline.
“You can’t get access to anything? Pick some locks? Hack some network?”
Lily shook her head. “Nothing that won’t get me arrested.” She frowned. “Seriously, these people lock up their scientific data like we lock up nukes. I wasn’t able to access any research at all, let alone your gal’s paper. These people seem terrified of the free exchange of scientific ideas. It’s obvious that corporations run the show here, and protecting intellectual property is priority one. Credentials to access the data are impossible to fake. They use biometrics extensively. So unless you want to cut off someone’s finger or pluck out their eye…”
He raised an eyebrow. “Is there any good news?”
“I couldn’t find your research, but I did find your girl; data is hard to come by, but it seems it’s just as easy to access personal records here as it is at home. I have an address. I think there is potential for…compromise.” She handed him a small slip of paper.
Andrew glanced at the slip, nodded, and crumpled it in his hand. “How should we approach the subject?”
“Are you in the mood for a little assault and battery with a side of petty theft?” she suggested, with the slightest of smiles.
He nodded once with determination. “If that’s what it takes.”
Lily stretched into a lunge, took a deep breath, and coughed. A bead of sweat trickled down her brow. “Are we ever going to converge? It’s over forty-eight hours—I don’t know if I can handle much more bad air.” She raised her hand to her left eye and rubbed vigorously.
“Something wrong with your eye?” he asked.
“It’s been twitching all morning,” she complained, blinking rapidly.
“Let’s just focus on the mission.”
She raised her chin and nodded. “Roger that.”
The midday sun tried in vain to pierce the haze, enhancing the sickly orange glow; the smog obscured even the closest of the foothills. The short cab ride to the Stanford campus took mere minutes. As the taxi traveled down an uncharacteristically darkened and foreboding Palm Drive, he was shocked to see a nine-foot brick wall topped with razor wire stretching around the campus perimeter. Andrew and Lily feigned animated conversation as they fell in behind a group of students who strolled through the gates.
Inside, the campus looked as he expected—an oasis of familiarity in a Palo Alto gone horribly wrong. Even the air seemed lighter, which he realized was due to a series of enormous humming ionizer towers littered throughout the Quad, purifying the choking air.
“According to her schedule, she’ll be heading this way for lunch anytime now,” Lily said, her voice low. “Get into position.”
He nodded and slowed his pace, trailing well behind. Within minutes, he caught sight of Lily tailing her mark, and he was careful to avoid detection. When he saw her dart into a trash-strewn parking lot behind a coffee shop, he knew it was time.
He ducked behind a row of hedges and watched as Lily sprinted toward the pretty auburn-haired woman with the bobbed haircut and hazel eyes. With practiced moves and feline grace, Lily grabbed the woman’s large tote bag, wrenching it from her shoulder.
The woman was initially startled but was not going to surrender without a fight. She grabbed the heavy bag’s strap, using her superior weight to swing both the bag and her attacker around. The target balled the fingers of her left hand into a fist and caught Lily in the chin with a clean uppercut. Andrew flinched at the sound of knuckle on bone. He had to admit, it was a good punch.
Lily snorted in pain but refused to loosen her grasp on the bag. She stood just out of range as the woman kicked and scratched in an attempt to regain her belongings. Lily ducked low, swung around quickly, and in a flash was behind the woman. She lashed out at the kidneys, then smashed her foot into the back of her target’s knees, propelling the woman to the rough and broken pavement.
The victim let out a sharp cry as gravel dug into her hands and knees. Lily pushed her down once more, then tugged violently at the tote. As it finally loosened from the woman’s grasp, the bag sprang open, and its contents scattered around the parking lot.
Watching intently from behind the hedge, he knew his cue and was not about to miss it. He burst through the foliage and ran toward the scene, shouting at the top of his lungs.
“Hey!” he yelled. “What’s going on here? Miss, are you all right?”
Lily looked up and glared; then she dropped the bag, turned on her heels, and ran.
He dropped to his knee and reached for the woman’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Kathryn Rathman looked up from the ground, tears rimming her eyes, breath quick and ragged. Despite the heat of the day, she was trembling.
“Can you stand?” he asked, offering a hand.
She nodded, accepted his arm, and rose slowly.
“Your things—let me help.”
She stood, nursing her wounds as he scurried around, collecting her books, pens, a tablet device, and a large sheath of papers, now smudged and creased. He placed the items carefully back into the bag, which he threw casually over his shoulder.
“You’re bleeding,” he said. “Let me see your hands.”
Kathryn turned over her palms and winced as she realized her elbows were casualties as well.
“You’re going to need to get these washed up. And you should report this…”
“No,” she pleaded, her eyes wide. “If the authorities get involved, I’ll just sound…careless.” She sighed and pointed to her bag. “Nothing lost except my pride.” She looked up with a weak smile. “Thanks to you.”
“Still, you’re in pretty bad shape,” he observed.
She gingerly limped a step, then another. “I think I’ll live. Though I’m sure I
’ll have some cringe-worthy bruises tomorrow.”
“Can I help you get cleaned up? You could use some bandages, at least.”
She pointed to the back alley door of the café. “I’m a regular. I can wash up in there, and I’m sure the barista won’t mind if I raid her first aid cabinet.”
Kathryn hobbled gingerly toward the coffee shop. Once inside, the barista took one look at her, gasped, then shepherded the injured woman directly to the back room.
Andrew ambled to a small table near the back of the nearly empty café, far from the windows. He allowed the bag to settle to the ground near his feet, and with a furtive glance to ensure he was positioned out of sight, he reached inside. He pulled the sheaf of paper onto his lap and paged through it deliberately, spending only seconds on each page. When he reached the end of the document, he slid it carefully back into the bag and moved to a well-worn brown leather armchair near the front of the shop.
Kathryn emerged from behind the counter wrapped in bandages and beginning to regain her composure. She sank down into the adjacent armchair. The barista brought her a cup of steaming mint tea.
He sat quietly as she sipped.
When she finally spoke, her eyes were downcast, and her shoulders remained slumped. “I should thank you, but I don’t even know your name.”
A sincere and confident smile spread across his face as he handed her the tote. “I’m Andrew. No need to thank me; it’s what anyone would do.” He extended his arm and enfolded her bandaged hand in a gentle handshake with a precisely calibrated amount of pressure. Keeping her hand pressed within his own, he fixed his gaze directly on her face until she finally looked up. Her shy smile was exactly the response he was hoping for.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Andrew. I’m Kathryn. I really am grateful; I can’t begin to explain what kind of complication it would cause if I’d lost this.” She instinctively gripped the bag tighter.
He allowed a look of recognition to blossom in his eyes. “Hey—your picture was in the paper! You’re studying the brains of Hindu monks.”
She straightened and looked at him curiously. “I can’t believe you saw that. It was buried on page sixty-three. But yes, the results of my study have just been published.”
“The article said you are the youngest fellow in the psychology department.”
She blushed, but nodded and beamed with pride.
He smiled even more warmly and nodded toward her bag.
“Your paper is in there?”
“Yes,” she sighed, looking at her bandaged hand as it cradled the steaming beverage.
A moment passed in silence. She sipped more tea. A bittersweet love song played in the background, and she tapped her foot to the rhythm, but she said nothing.
As the song ended, he sighed, turning his steady, intense gaze toward her, confident that she would not detect his subterfuge.
“My father was a scientist. He always thought that there was infinite potential locked inside the human brain. Too bad he didn’t live to see your discovery. He would have been thrilled to read about it.”
She raised her head and met his gaze directly, scanning his features for any hint of insult. Finding none, she waved a hand dismissively. “If he was a scientist, I’m sure he would have scoffed at my research. Psychology is a soft science, you know.”
He tilted his head and arched an eyebrow. Time to take a calculated gamble. “I’m not so sure. According to the work of Hugh Everett—”
Kathryn pursed her lips in an attempt to suppress a smile. “Are you a physicist?”
Andrew allowed the slightest of smiles and gave a halfhearted shrug.
She leaned forward slightly and self-consciously rubbed the bandages on her left hand. “Then you know that Everett’s many worlds theory of quantum mechanics was discredited. I believe he was described as ‘indescribably stupid’ by his contemporaries.”
“You’re familiar with Everett’s work?” Too late, Andrew realized he’d momentarily lost control of his careful mask.
Her eyes sparkled; she’d caught his fleeting moment of surprise. “Why? Because I’m a psychologist? That sensationalist rag implied I’m off my rocker, but I’m no random whack job. I’ve done my homework. String theory, quantum theory…the scientific community is a tough nut to crack, but from the inside, I have access to a great deal of information.”
Andrew felt his pulse quicken. He lowered his voice and shifted his weight almost imperceptibly toward her. “What would you say if I told you that I believe Hugh Everett’s theories, and that I’m incredibly interested in knowing more about how they apply to your work?”
She snorted and shook her head. “I would say I have never met any physicist quite like you.”
“No,” he replied, in a moment of unguarded candor that surprised even himself. “I doubt you have.”
She considered him for a long time, eyes searching for even a hint of derision. In the end, she didn’t find it.
“Would you have another drink with me?” she finally asked, smiling shyly. “If we’re going to have a deep and meaningful conversation about the nature of the multiverse, something a bit stronger is in order.”
His genuine grin illuminated his vivid blue eyes. “I can honestly say I’d like nothing better.” He stood and offered her his hand.
She accepted his gesture but startled him when she kept firm hold of him as she slung her bag over her shoulder. Hand in hand, they headed toward a trendy wine bar three doors down. As soon as they settled into a booth, she requested an expensive bottle of Heidsieck rosé champagne.
“Now, Kathryn,” he said, folding his hands and giving her his most earnest smile. “Tell me more about your musings on multidimensional travel…”
Chapter 3
Janine
September 19
The darkened hospital room sat at the end of a long, desolate hallway. Isolated from the bustle of doctors and nurses, the space radiated an unnatural silence. The man in the rumpled white coat standing guard outside was the only indication that the corridor wasn’t completely abandoned. He might have been a medical resident, except for the military-style buzz cut, his hard, chiseled features, and the presence of a poorly concealed sidearm.
Within the dimly lit room, two identical hospital beds flanked a utilitarian plastic chair. In the bed on the right, an unconscious male form nestled beneath the loft of a silver Mylar warming blanket, his breathing rapid and uneven. A thick umbilicus of wire snaked from a dense web of sensors intermingled with his sandy blond hair. EKG leads covered his chest, and an oxygen sensor was clipped to his finger. A metallic device, three inches tall, balanced on spindly legs on the back of his right hand. Under darkened lids, his eyes flickered erratically and unceasingly. Monitors recorded the wild spikes in heart rate and brain activity, and relentless beeping permeated the gloom.
The other hospital bed was occupied by a slight woman, her long black hair wrapped around a matching set of leads, sensors, and wires. An identical silver device rested on her right hand. The machines monitoring her recorded similar readings, suggesting an identical malady.
At vigil beside the patients, visibly uncomfortable in the unyielding plastic chair, sat a woman in her mid-fifties. Dr. Janine Mori’s slight frame was dwarfed by an immaculately pressed white doctor’s coat. Under a helmet of short, stylish salt-and-pepper hair, her obsidian eyes bore a look of weary resignation.
In the adjacent bed, the young man gasped and convulsed; the doctor leaned forward in expectation and frowned before cautiously gripping the patient’s arm. There was no response.
The door to the room swung wide, revealing the towering, lank silhouette of Andric Breckinridge. Intensity radiated from his gaze, and he looked ready to pounce at any moment, despite the deep circles beneath his icy blue eyes. When he spoke, it was with authority; his voice was cold, succinct, and imperious.
“Well, Janine?” He didn’t bother to fully enter the room, his features etched into a permanent scowl.
“And the vitals?”
Dr. Mori picked up a tablet and swiped through a series of charts and reports.
“Elevated temperature, pulse, and breathing. Andrew’s white blood cell count is unexpectedly high, and increasing. Lily’s last MRI has uncovered an unsettling swelling of the brain stem.” Dr. Mori sighed, shaking her head. “I don’t know how much longer they can hang on.”
Andric Breckinridge took two long strides into the room and snatched the latest round of test results from her hands. She stood deathly still as he flipped through the scans on the tablet.
She shook her head and breathed heavily. “It’s been over two days. With every passing hour, it’s more likely they won’t converge. We can’t allow this to continue.” She regarded Andric expectantly. “It’s destroying them, from the inside out.”
Andric scowled and vehemently shook his head. “I refuse to throw away four years of R and D. The experiment continues.”
Dr. Mori’s frown deepened. “If you don’t end this, you will kill them both!” Despite the rising volume of their argument, neither patient showed any sign of consciousness.
“For your sake, I hope you’ve bought them enough time,” Andric hissed as he pressed the call button for the nursing station and the intercom sprang to life. “I want the anesthesiologist in here immediately. It’s time to medically induce coma.” Andric stared pointedly at Janine. “This had better work,” he growled, “because if it doesn’t, we’ll be doing some recruiting.”
