Einsteiner

by V. K. Fourstone

  “It’s not entirely a fluke. I admit I was lucky with the downloading when Elvis showed up. But choosing you and Wolanski was shrewd calculation. A risk it was certainly, but the analysis of the candidates was correct. Lady Luck likes hard workers; she doesn’t do everything for you herself. And what’s more, I had failures with a couple of other candidates.”

  “Dunno. I reckon you’re fluky. And you’ve got good intuition. Sometimes I think about how many little details came together for me to be sitting here, right at this moment, and I realize the math doesn’t explain it because it is unrepeatable from the standpoint of probability theory. I even ended up in the bar because I love motorbikes. The owner of the bar is a biker too. If I were not a biker, I wouldn’t have ended up in the bar, and you might have chosen someone else.”

  “You could say that about absolutely anyone starting at least with the fact that every one of us is born from the victor in a race of spermatozoa. One out of tens of millions. It’s like one person from the whole of France, one from Poland, five from America. So mathematics hasn’t got anything to do with it, its fate or something else. Maybe it is flukiness.”

  While they talked they had no less than three cups of coffee each. Heady, exquisite aroma diffused through the air and the delicious brew spread invigoratingly though Isaac’s body, clearing his thoughts. He always put in a lot of sugar. Now it was time to sit down at the computer.

  “Ok, Bikie. Any ideas on how to find Link?”

  “Considering how much sugar you just had, that’s really a question for you. Sugar is the brain’s main fuel. Your tank is over full right now.”

  “About the ideas, I meant your professional skills in the first place.”

  “Well, there are a few things we can do, and some we can’t. As always, we have to try everything. You never know where you’ll stumble across the trail. Either he’s a total hermit, which is quite likely for a scientist, or sooner or later he’ll leave tracks. Provided he is alive and hasn’t become a Happy.”

  “I still hope that he is present in the data base not just by accident or mistake. He’s definitely not a Happy, and clearly not officially listed as dead. Why keep data on the intellectual capabilities of a corpse?”

  “Who knows? Many people searched him. Although we are special since we have out-of-the-box thinking. I’ll try to turn the question round the other unusual way.”

  Bikie considered himself a super-analyst and was sure he’d find Link if there was even the slightest chance. He downloaded all the information he could find, at the same time creating and running a file comparison program to eliminate identical content. In the end he gathered a vast amount of relevant data.

  He also compared articles that were almost identical and copied out any differences into his list of leads. In one place he found the name of a hotel Link stayed in, in another - the make of car in which he was driven there. Then he found out how Link was dressed. He collected whatever could be collected.

  Leaving his partner to ruminate, Isaac went off to the next meeting about registering his anti-rain invention.

  Isaac hated Collective Mind more and more, his resolve to strike a blow at it was growing stronger. Five years ago his invention would literally have been grabbed out of his hands, they would have lined up for it. But now he was on his way to even more talks with the agent at the patents office, still not even knowing if this was the final meeting, or the first of yet another dozen bureaucratic discussions.

  The bald, plumpish patent officer, who introduced himself as Serge Morell, was also an Agency-hater. He had his reasons. He used to be the boss of a large department, almost twenty people, a big wheel and a well-respected man. Now his department consisted of just him, and it was only still considered a department because no one wanted to waste any time and energy on renaming it a section. He loved inventors and creative personalities, but nowadays they very rarely came his way. He felt awkward about Isaac’s case and tried to excuse himself saying that he was overwhelmed with doing everything alone; register the applications, check them, and even type out all the data.

  He assured Isaac that the next meeting would be the last, everything was almost ready, and he hinted that he would be happy to leave his job and become Isaac’s personal agent, marketing his inventions. Isaac promised to think about it. The agent added that his business card as a head of department still inspired respect and simplified negotiations. And he knew all about whom to approach and how – after all, he had thirty years of experience.

  The former Isaac, so unsure of himself would have agreed immediately. But now he felt like a different hardened hearted man - a man who wouldn’t fling himself at the very first offer with open arms. So he only said he’d consider it.

  When Isaac got back from the patents office, he glanced into Bikie’s room. Seeing his friend, tired from all his monotonous searching work, he decided to suggest an idea of his own.

  “I can see you’re tired. I’ll run a fresh eye over your provisional results and tell you what I think and how we could approach the analysis. And you will tell me what’s possible and what’s not, and maybe add something else.”

  “Go ahead,” said Bikie and turned back to the computer in his traditional style.

  “Well, we need to find things that could be important to him: rare objects or an old vintage motorbike, for instance.”

  Seeing that Bikie was really whacked, Isaac wanted to cheer him up and offered his suggestion with absolute seriousness. Bikie picked up on the gibe, turned his head and grinned.

  “But seriously, though,” Isaac went on, “let’s take a look at his credit card expenditures, his bank statements, habits and journal subscriptions and any other little details of his day-to-day life. What he loved and what he hated.”

  “Well, the journals could be a useful line, by the way, all right. There are all sorts of things on the internet, but good old paper journals, who doesn’t love them? That’s easy,” Bikie added. “And the same goes for phone numbers, his e-mail account, favorite sites and digital subscriptions.”

  “If he’s alive and well he might secretly be keeping in touch with a few friends, like Deputy Secretary Blake, for instance.”

  “I think I can find out Blake’s mobile number, and if it’s not a corporate UN phone, I’ll crack all his calls, but if it is a UN phone, then for sure it won’t be easy. Probably even hopeless. Lots of companies’ data protection programs are still not up to much, but that’s not the UN. Usually it’s the people themselves who are sloppy; they leave heaps of leads behind, without even suspecting it either because they’re negligent or because they don’t consider themselves important enough. There are still hordes of heavy hackers around…and get this….we programmers are actually underground types who have the lowest percentage of downloaders,” Bikie announced smugly.

  “Yeah right, but lots of you are actually employed full-time by the Agency.”

  “If need be, a couple of my friends can crack any tough nut and get the best porn movies off the computer of the Satan himself.”

  “And then,” Isaac reasoned. “I think we should take a look at where Link went most often before he disappeared. I don’t think he’s in Africa or the Antarctic. If you wanted to hide, you’d probably choose some place where you’d been before, the one you liked.”

  “That’s easier. I can track journeys, especially old ones. In those days the data protection programs were total shit compared with today. Anyway, I don’t think any crazy tourist company would lay out its dosh on a super-program to protect data about its clients’ destinations a hundred years ago. I reckon I’ll get in easily from about ten years back. I don’t think Link had time to handle all the tedious ins and outs of traveling. More likely he used an assistant or a secretary.”

  “Then there are frequent flyer programs and maybe he used a car-rental company. I doubt they have mega-protection either.”

  “You can’t be sure. But as far as I can tell three assistants worked in Link’s lab,
two male and one female. He wasn’t exactly the sociable type. There are only forty-two numbers that were called from the lab more than five times a year, and about another hundred for the female assistant. And there are obvious front runners among them.”

  “Excellent, that’ll be useful.”

  “Also,” Bikie continued, “we have to find his old bank card and at least pick out the most popular transactions.”

  “Yes, we might see something unusual. Buying medication, for instance, and if it’s rare, he probably still uses it.”

  “Get real. No more cancer, no more AIDS, remember? Or you think Link didn’t fix some allergic catarrh he had?”

  “Yeah, you’re right, not much chance. It depends on when it happened. It wasn’t invented, manufactured and distributed at once. But even so, please take a look. Meanwhile I’ll slip down to the gym, somehow this place has given me the urge to work out. I used to think I wasn’t kind of a person suited for fitness training and now I just can’t wait to pump some iron. It really clears out your head and calms the nerves. See how much stronger my arms are?” Isaac proudly displayed his slightly enlarged biceps to Bikie.

  Bikie nodded without speaking. Wolanski’s gym was certainly top-notch all right - put together by professionals, obviously a pricey job. But Bikie didn’t use it; he was as strong as an ox anyway.

  The next meeting with agent Serge Morell at the patents office turned out not to be the last. Some kind of typo had slipped in and all the documents had to be signed all over again. The agent assured him that this was definitely the final stage and next time Isaac would receive a certificate for his patent. And so he did, two days later. Isaac couldn’t believe his luck, it still wasn’t money, of course, but he was in the home stretch. The agent congratulated Isaac on officially becoming an inventor and solemnly presented him with the beautiful patent and a bundle of documents.

  Smiling, Isaac gathered up the heap of paper. Just in case, the agent reminded Isaac about his offer to work with him, but Isaac didn’t have time for that right now, he was too excited and delighted. He promised to think about it a bit later. Everything had ended well after all, and he set off back to the villa in a good mood. Bikie took one look at his super-delighted friend and asked:

  “Well, how was the meeting with the im-patent agent?”

  “Super! The invention’s registered. Bingo! Look!” Isaac triumphantly raised the brand-new certificate with the big gold seal above his head.

  “Ooh-ooh! Well done! Cheers! Today we celebrate.” Bikie gave his friend a tight hug.

  “It’s my treat!”

  “From Wolanski’s bar? Oh no! Today we’ll go to my McCarthy’s. I’m on a long-term leave, but I still kinda work there. Itching to pour someone a beer and mix a drink. I haven’t seen any chicks for ages. We live like monks! But I personally have never taken the vow. We’re like a pair of doting parrots, we're perched in this gilded cage.

  “OK! Let’s go into town!”

  “You can stand at the bar, and I’ll serve you! Live it up, it’s your day!”

  Early that evening they set out for the bar. Isaac put on his tattered jeans and a white shirt with skull cufflinks that he kept for special occasions.

  “The skulls don’t suit you, Isaac. I’ll make you some cufflinks myself, real heavy ones, will be a unique copy.”

  “Why, what’s wrong with these?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with them, but nothing’s right with them either.”

  “The skull, by the way, is a talisman.”

  “I know. It’s just that you somehow manage to look like a coxcomb. But screw that, let’s go!”

  Bikie had washed and serviced his Harley for the occasion, and even wiped the dust off his biker’s jacket.

  “Just don’t squeeze your tits against me too hard,” he grinned, gesturing for Isaac to sit on the back.

  “You have to offer a girl a drink first before you can expect snuggling like that!” Isaac squeaked flirtatiously in reply.

  With the old motor roaring powerfully, they hit the road to the center of Monaco.

  At McCarthy’s Bar Isaac felt jealous at first: it was his celebration, but everyone rushed to hug Bikie. They said hello to Isaac too, and Bikie introduced him to everyone. Then he solemnly poured a mug of beer, switched off the music and made a ceremonial announcement.

  “Today we’re celebrating the huge success of my friend Isaac, a great inventor who has conquered rain. He has registered his bizarre design with the patents office! Cheers!”

  The entire bar roared thunderously: “Cheers!”

  Hearing the sound of clinking glasses on all sides, Isaac felt a sudden rush of happiness. He’d never been the center of so much attention and absolutely everyone was shaking his hand and wishing him success. Sincere, genuine congratulations from people he didn’t even know. Everyone smiled at him and a pretty waitress even kissed him on the cheek. The bar was awash with festive cheer.

  Bikie proclaimed that the next twenty mugs of beer were on the house, and people surged towards the bar. It wasn’t so much that the guests were desperate for free beer, just that they all wanted to share Isaac’s pride and joy. Since they were caught up in his celebration, they wanted to be involved in it completely.

  “We are the champions…” the speakers thundered.

  “Of the world!” the entire bar sang, joining in.

  “Hoo-ray!” Isaac raised the cry, and everyone supported him with a roar of approval. He was the happiest man in the world, a triumphant conqueror.

  After drinking three mugs of beer in half an hour, Isaac felt a sudden urge to go to the bathroom. At the table furthest away, right in the corner, hidden behind the columns, he spotted a solitary figure sitting in the semi-darkness, someone not participating in the general merriment. Drunk either on happiness or beer, Isaac felt he had to dust off this melancholy customer’s sadness, and he set off confidently towards the mysterious stranger. Oh, so it was a girl!

  “Dear God, it’s Michelle!” Isaac thought in delighted surprise.

  Michelle was sitting there completely withdrawn and absorbed in her own thoughts. Standing in front of her was a half-empty glass of a cocktail.

  “Michelle, is that you? What are you doing here?”

  “Ahh, hi, Isaac. It is Isaac, isn’t it? I’m glad you’re here. Do you think you could bring me some water, please?”

  The realization that Michelle remembered his name sent a wave of warmth flooding through Isaac’s body. He immediately forgave her spiteful look at their previous meeting. Looking slightly sad and relaxed, she seemed a hundred times more beautiful than before.

  “Of course, just a moment, I’ll be straight back.” He realized the girl wasn’t feeling well, and the drunken haze in his head dissipated instantly.

  Isaac went in behind the bar, poured a glass of water, added ice and whispered to Bikie:

  “Michelle Blanche is sitting in the corner. I went to her before I found Wolanski. I don’t understand what she’s doing here.”

  Bikie craned his neck to see who Isaac was talking about.

  “I know her. That is, I’ve seen her here before. It’s not the first time she’s come. She doesn’t come often, but she drops in. A strange girl, she always by herself, never talks to anyone. Probably just taking a break from her jet-setter crowd. Maybe she’s unhappy or maybe she’s just pissed off with them all, and comes here to hide once in a while. Other people’s thoughts are a maze, and women’s thoughts are a maze to the power three. To me they are, for sure.”

  “I see. She’s so beautiful!”

  “Her face is beautiful. But her figure… I don’t like them that skinny.”

  Isaac brought Michelle water and she gulped down half the glass, then got up and asked him to show her to her car.

  Isaac had started dreaming of getting to know her better at last, and he was terribly disappointed.

  “Maybe you could stay for a while? Can I get you anything?”

  “No. It’s t
ime I went. I’m tired. Some other time.”

  Taking Michelle by the arm, Isaac carefully helped her to come to the exit. The customers were still congratulating him, but Michelle didn’t seem to notice that at all. That was a real bummer. He’d been enjoying a great triumph and she hadn’t seen any of it, and now she was leaving. Isaac’s mood was ruined.

  Outside Michelle didn’t look tired. Her driver was waiting at the entrance, holding the door of her luxury car open for her.

  “Thanks, Isaac, you’re really sweet! I saw you were celebrating. Congratulations. Enjoy your fling.” Michelle kissed Isaac on both cheeks, like a friend, said goodbye and drove away.

  Isaac realized he was in love. Definitely in love with her. What a shame she had to leave. He could still feel the touch of her lips. He was totally shattered emotionally – how easily and casually Michelle had conquered him, without even trying and surely not just him, but most of the men in her entourage. Isaac stood there in his loneliness for a while; he didn’t want to draw a line under this unexpected encounter. But then he had to go back into the bar.

  “Where did you go, Isaac? What’s wrong with your face? What’s got you so down?”

  “Just pour me a drink, will you? And not beer, make it a vodka. A double with two shots.

  “Oh, your problem is clear enough,” Bikie said with a jolly wink. “We’ve drunk to the patent, enough of that, now we’re boozing to love.”

  Isaac didn’t remember how much longer they spent in the bar and how they got back home. The next thing he felt was a fierce dryness in his throat and a splitting headache. He didn’t feel like getting out of bed, but the intense pain in his head was so bad that he reluctantly got up and shambled into the kitchen to look for an aspirin.