Codename- Ubiquity

by Wendy Devore

  She welcomes me with a wide and genuine grin.

  “Hi. Do you want the mint tea or the green tea?” She holds out the matching pair of brown and green pottery mugs.

  I am dumbfounded. She can see me. She can speak to me. And apparently I can share a pleasant teatime with a version of myself. I recall how disconcerting it was to meet my double in the lab, but for some reason I can’t explain, talking to this version of myself puts me oddly at ease. I consider her offer and remember my five thirty a.m. call time. I reach for the mint tea, though it seems unlikely that caffeine in a dream would affect my waking life.

  She sits beside me and takes a sip.

  “I had a feeling I would find you out here. How’s your tea?” Now that she’s close, I eye her aquamarine kurta tunic and white linen shorts. I marvel that I suddenly know what Mojari shoes and kurta tunics are.

  I think back to the patient in the biohazard ward. It feels both strange and totally expected that we are having this conversation, and that I can interact with her world.

  I try my tea. It’s amazing. “This is literally the best tea I have ever tasted in my life.”

  “Fresh mint. Grown here, right in this courtyard. Makes all the difference.” The other Kate smiles.

  “Where am I?”

  “My home,” she replies. “In Bel Air. You’re in Los Angeles.”

  “You live here? This place looks like a mansion!”

  She nods, tucking a lock of her beautifully styled hair behind her ear. I make a mental note to find a salon that can replicate Other Kate’s hair, just as soon as I graduate and get a job. Then I remember Albaion’s exorbitant paychecks, and think…maybe next week.

  “The home is a little extravagant,” she admits, while still somehow projecting an air of modesty and self-composure that I am astonished emanates from me—or at least a version of me. “But it’s also a sanctuary. A place where I can refine my practice. Do you want to go inside?” she asks with gentle wave of her hand. “I can give you the tour.”

  “No,” I reply quickly, already overwhelmed. “Is it okay if we stay out here and talk for a bit?”

  “Sure.” She smiles. “I’ve got all night.”

  I wish that I did, too.

  I take another sip of tea and inventory the numerous questions I’m dying to ask. “I feel stupid asking you this, but I can’t think of any other way to begin. Who are you? And how does the daughter of two farmers from central Illinois come to live in a Mediterranean palace in Bel Air?”

  She throws back her head and releases a burst of laughter, a sound that fills my heart with pure joy. I realize that I cannot recall ever laughing with such abandon.

  “Well, clearly you dream,” she replies with a smile so wide that crinkles the corners of her hazel eyes, so like my own. “And your travels have brought you here, so you must have something to learn. So let me tell you my story.

  “My parents aren’t farmers; at least, they haven’t been for many, many years. They moved to Los Angeles before I was born, and in fact, they still live in a quaint little Craftsman bungalow in Pasadena. Dad is almost ready to retire from NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory, where he has been engineering components for space flight for most of his career. He went to work there right after completing his degrees in electrical engineering from the University of Illinois.”

  I nod. I always suspected that my dad harbored a secret regret that he chose to maintain the family farm, but now I understand why he is so good at keeping the old farm machinery in perfect working order.

  “When I was four years old, I started having these night terrors, and the dreams were terrifying.”

  “I know…” I murmur.

  “My parents found that my pediatrician was of absolutely no help at all, nor were any of the psychologists. One day one of the scientists my dad worked with recommended we visit a friend of his. My parents were desperate; they were willing to try anything. That friend turned out to be my Gurudevi.”

  “What is a Gurudevi?” I ask, perplexed and intrigued.

  She laughed with delight. “Not a what, a who. She is a sannyasini—a Hindu monk—my meditation teacher,” she responded. “At first it seemed like she was just my caretaker. My visits to her home seemed like unusual day care where all the other children’s parents were from India. But later, as I aged, I understood that she was actually teaching her students yoga and the meditative practices of Ananda Marga, which translates loosely into ‘The Path of Bliss.’”

  I nod. “Meditation is the only thing that helps me, too. But for me it was just a technique; a mental exercise.”

  “For me, it was a deep and expansive study. Through my discipleship with Gurudevi, I learned that the dreams are not some horrible mental defect, but a sacred and precious gift.”

  I snorted and nearly choked on my tea. “A precious gift? How can debilitating nightmares be considered anything other than a vile curse?”

  Her lopsided grin reminds me of my mother. Our mother, I guess. “First I learned how to leave them. Then I learned how to become engaged with them. And finally, I learned to harness them. Your dreams don’t have to be nightmares, you know. In dreams, as in life, you tend to find what you’re looking for. You expect disaster, so that’s what you find in your travels. But trust me when I say there’s more to your gift than you know.”

  “What on earth does that mean? And how does any of this translate to living in a mansion?”

  She smiles again. How could she be so self-assured when I am such a basket case?

  “Now I decide where I go and when I dream. I have the most amazing job in the world. Whenever I choose, I meet exceptional people living extraordinary lives, in places that are like this yet vastly different. I visit them as often as I like, until they become my friends and confidants and then I write their stories.”

  “Wait, you’re a writer?”

  She nods. “Though I think of myself more as a scribe, or a chronicler. The first novel was published when I was nineteen. I’m working on my seventh book now. They’re quite successful.” Again that beatific smile, tempered with genuine modesty.

  “Can you tell me how you do it?” I ask breathlessly. This may be the most important question I’ve ever asked in my entire life.

  “You simply follow the path to bliss,” she replies cryptically. “Sit with me for a while, here in the garden. It will help.”

  She and I sit in companionable silence for some time; with any other person and in any other place and time this would seem awkward, but despite these shocking revelations, I am at peace here in a way I’ve never felt before. It is like basking in the best parts of myself. I wish I could stay here with her indefinitely; I wish I could meet her Gurudevi, and I wish more than anything I could attain the inner peace that seems to radiate from her like rays from the sun.

  As we sit, I seem to lose time; I have no idea how long we have been breathing the sweet scent of star jasmine on the warm night air. But then another figure appears at the grand door beneath the arch.

  The door swings open, and someone speaks.

  “Come in, love, it’s late.” The figure steps out beneath the light of the big iron sconce. Although by now I shouldn’t be, I am in fact shocked that the person standing illuminated in the pool of light is Andrew.

  And then I wake up.

  Chapter 20

  Kate

  September 28

  It was just before six when Janine and I sailed through the corridors of Stanford Medical Center. She navigated the byzantine passages without hesitation, and I followed nervously, hopelessly lost after a half-dozen twists and turns. As instructed, I had not eaten breakfast, but I was dreading the day so completely that my empty stomach was the furthest thing from my mind. Finally we arrived at a large patient room in an otherwise unmarked ward. I was immeasurably relieved to find Dr. Daniels waiting for us.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” I sighed, giving him a quick hug.

  “I’ve cleared my schedule. I
can’t say I support this procedure, but I will monitor you until it’s over,” Dr. Daniels replied curtly as he patted my arm and gestured for me to take a seat on the teal-green institutionally upholstered sofa.

  I glanced around the room nervously. “Where is, uh, everyone else?”

  “Andrew will be here shortly,” Janine replied. She pressed a call button on the wall.

  I took the opportunity to look around the room. When I realized it was the place where Lily had died, my mouth went dry. I took deep breaths to fight the alarming surge of dread that swept up from my gut.

  The two hospital beds were separated by only a few feet and divided by a small table. The EEG caps waiting in their containers of saline solution were almost comforting, as were the monitors, but there were also stacks of other unfamiliar medical consoles looming over the gurneys. A server rack packed with electronics was bolted securely to the floor to the left of the beds.

  “I’m going to have the nurse draw some blood,” Janine explained. “We need baseline levels for liver and kidney function. Our nurse will also insert an IV. You may be unconscious for some time, and it will allow us to keep you hydrated. The IV will also allow us to administer any medications, should intervention be required. We will monitor your EEG, cardiac function, heart rate, respiration, oxygen—all the usual stats.”

  “How will I…eat?”

  “We’ll insert a nasogastric feeding tube, which is a narrow plastic tube that is inserted through your nostril, down your esophagus, and into your stomach.”

  I shuddered. “That sounds fun…”

  “Don’t worry. We can place the NG tube after you’re asleep,” Janine assured me.

  “Do I need to change into a hospital gown?” I asked, fidgeting on the sofa.

  “Not unless you want to go exploring with your ass hanging out,” Andrew suggested as he pushed through the door into the room. He was carrying a large, heavy-duty, shockproof plastic case. Amir was right behind him, looking drained and wearing a rumpled navy T-shirt that read “If you don’t understand recursion read this shirt again.”

  Andrew had ditched his usual well-tailored button-down shirt in favor of a washed-out jersey tee, and his jeans were faded and ripped at the left knee. I’d never seen him dressed with so little care, but the thin cotton of the shirt hugged his well-defined torso, and my gaze lingered. I caught myself ogling and quickly looked away, shutting down this line of thought before it could pile any further tension on my already overwrought psyche.

  “I see you brought your walking shoes,” Andrew remarked. “Leave them on. You’re going to need them. It may take us a few attempts before we find the right slice.”

  He placed the case on a bed, snapped open the clasps, and almost reverently removed the two Bugs that were nestled securely in the contoured foam. Amir attached the devices to cables snaking from the back of the rack-mounted computer, pulled out a keyboard tray, and began typing with quick, efficient keystrokes.

  The nurse Janine had summoned arrived and adjusted a hospital bed into its reclining position. She motioned for me to sit and clipped an oxygen sensor onto my finger, then inserted an IV into the vein in the middle of my forearm and carefully taped it down. I was no fan of needles, but after the constant invasive burrowing of the Bug, the IV seemed like a walk in the park. As the nurse proceeded to draw three vials of blood, I mused about how particularly unnerving it was to lie in bed fully dressed and with my shoes on. I pulled my hair out of its messy bun and slid the elastic into my pocket. Janine helped me attach the EEG cap while the nurse explained that she would be attaching EKG leads under my shirt to monitor cardiac function. I glanced nervously at Andrew as the nurse snaked the leads and contacts under my fitted cotton T-shirt, but she was discreet and he was completely engrossed in programming the Bugs.

  Amir detached the Bugs and placed them carefully on the small table between the beds. With a practiced air, Andrew adjusted his hospital bed to recline and climbed in. The nurse moved to his side and prepped his arm for the blood draw.

  “Give us three hours once we’ve sliced,” Andrew instructed Janine. “That should be long enough to assess our location. If we’re not back, assume we’ve found the slice we’re looking for and take the necessary steps.”

  “Uh, what are the necessary steps?” I asked nervously.

  “We’ll need to determine quickly if the slice we hit is the slice we want. If it’s not, we need to get out quickly. We can’t risk any additional cross-contamination, and we have no time to waste. If it is the slice we want…we’ll need to park ourselves there long enough to get some cross-pollination.”

  “How long is long enough?”

  “We can stay as long as we’re free of symptoms, but we definitely need to be out before we reach the sixty-hour mark,” Andrew responded. The nurse had finished placing his IV and had just drawn her final vial of blood.

  I bit my lip and released a ragged breath. “What happens at sixty hours?” I asked.

  “Your mind begins to shut down due to the strain,” Janine explained gently.

  Andrew’s businesslike tone counteracted Janine’s reassurance. “No sense sugar-coating it. Your eyesight goes, you develop tics, then it’s convulsions. If you don’t exit, then death.”

  “Right, no pressure then…” I mumbled.

  I turned to Janine, unsure how to phrase my next question. “Uh, how will we…uh…take bathroom breaks?”

  She smiled reassuringly. “Once we have determined that you’ll be out for the long haul, we’ll remove your clothing, place a catheter and the NG, and gown you.”

  This is not going to be fun, I thought. I was thankful that I wouldn’t be conscious for most of the unpleasant poking and prodding.

  I had the sudden and unnerving image of my shirt morphing into a flapping hospital gown. “My clothes won’t suddenly disappear in the slice, then, will they?” I asked nervously.

  “Your instance in the slice is unaffected by your outward appearance in this reality, beyond your initial emergence,” Andrew replied.

  Sensing my unease, Janine walked over to my bed and reached around all of the cables and leads to give me a warm and comforting hug. “You’ll be okay,” she whispered in my ear. “I’ll be here the whole time, rooting for you. I know you can do this.”

  The best I could do was reply with a nervous nod, which she returned with her reassuring smile.

  Andrew finished attaching his EEG cap. “Let’s get moving. There’s no time to waste.”

  Dr. Daniels handed me the anti-nausea pill and a small cup of water. Andrew popped his meds dry.

  With his free right hand, Andrew reached for a Bug and handed it to Janine. Andrew grabbed the second device and deftly positioned it even though his left hand was hampered by an IV line and an oxygen sensor.

  “Unless our vitals drop, or it’s been longer than sixty hours, don’t administer the propofol,” Andrew instructed.

  Janine’s lips turned down in a frown, but she nodded her assent.

  Amir gave a thumbs-up. “Lock and load!”

  Andrew activated his Bug.

  Here we go, I thought. I took a deep, centering breath and clenched my teeth as the needlelike protrusion buried itself deep under my skin.

  I opened my eyes, saw the world lurch wildly, and tried to hold back dry heaves.

  “The anti-nausea isn’t working…” I complained thorough clenched teeth.

  “Take a few deep breaths,” Andrew advised, “then open your eyes—slowly.”

  I breathed as instructed, and when I slowly opened my right, then my left eye, the world stayed situated on its proper axis. I was sitting on the dusty floor of a storage room that looked like a graveyard for dead medical devices.

  “Shake a leg,” Andrew suggested, already on his feet. “We need to assess the situation quickly.” He grasped my hand and pulled me up. After the first few unsteady steps, I felt fine.

  “So, what’s your plan?”

  “We need to do a l
ittle quick reconnaissance. If we can get a feel for the average water temperature and ocean rise statistics, we can decide if we’ve landed someplace worthwhile.”

  “Okay,” I agreed, dusting off my backside. With no idea what to expect, I crept quietly behind Andrew as he strode purposefully through the storeroom door.

  It was obvious that we were still in the hospital. We roamed the corridors, following the signs to the cafeteria.

  Andrew began to walk casually around the seating area. He weaved between tables as if he were meeting a friend he couldn’t quite locate.

  “What are you doing?” I whispered.

  “Keep up,” he insisted, the tilt of his head indicating that I should follow.

  We heard a loud clatter; the entire dining area turned its attention toward the dish return station where an employee had dropped a large pile of plastic trays.

  Andrew grabbed my arm and pulled me quickly along, toward the entrance.

  “Here, hold this.” He shoved a women’s handbag underneath my arm.

  I stared dumbly at the black leather mass. “Where did you get that? Did you just steal some woman’s purse?”

  He explained, as if I was a dull child. “Right now we’re in survival mode. Now, go stand over by that refrigerator case and rummage around in the bag so we know what we have to work with.”

  I’d never cheated on a test, lied to my parents, or even stolen so much as a breath mint. I felt a wave of guilt wash over me as I dug through the stranger’s purse. Perhaps more troubling was the unexpected rush of heady elation that displaced it when I found her wallet. I plucked out a bill that appeared to be made from reflective Mylar.