by Sarah Noffke
“Really got a control on your mini idiot, don’t you,” I say to Aiden.
He shakes his head and runs his hand through his disorganized black hair. “No, this guy doesn’t do a thing I say,” he admits.
“Sounds like he’s smarter than I thought,” I say.
“How’s your grandson?” Aiden says, ignoring my quip.
“Who cares,” I say, walking forward, away from the mutant making a racket. Aiden follows like the good chimp that he is.
“What brings you into my lair?” he says.
I stare around at the lab littered with disgusting technology. I can’t believe I’m here willingly about to ask for Aiden’s help.
“I need you to create some technology for me,” I say in a rush.
His mouth springs up into a repulsive grin. “Well, I didn’t realize it was my birthday!”
“That’s because you’re a git who can’t remember to take your pants down to piss,” I say.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I meant that this sounds like a real treat. Creating technology at your request.”
I lower my chin and regard him with a long cold stare. “You are possibly the lamest human being to ever exist.”
Because his parents instilled a lack of social skills in him, he waves me off with his hand. “So what can I do for you?” he says.
“I need you to create the drug or device or process for turning a Middling into a Dream Traveler. And I need it in the next few days. Pronto,” I say.
He laughs. It’s loud and makes me want to kill him on the spot. I’ll have to wait until he’s done a few jobs for me first. Then I can finally reward this world by taking him out. It will be my last bit of charity.
“From my research I think it will be a combination of process and drugs, but that’s what I need you for,” I say, dismissing his constant laughter.
He sticks the iPad on the nearby counter. “I do believe Ren Lewis just said he needs me.”
“Aiden, I need you to make a life decision right now.” I point at his son, still playing at the front of the lab. “Do you want that mistake over there to grow up without a father?”
He looks to actually reflect on the question, like a dumbass. “Well, no,” he finally says.
“Then do what I say and stop saying things that make me want to murder you. Got it?” I say.
His lips purse casually and he nods. “I can try.”
“You try and we will see how long you last,” I say.
“But to be honest, what you’re asking for is impossible. Middlings and Dream Travelers are two different races. You can’t make a Caucasian into a Native American,” he says.
“See, this is your problem. You’re so limited in your thinking. You’re always spouting the word ‘can’t.’ No wonder you’re such a bloody loser,” I say.
“Ren, I’m a scientist. If I say something can’t be done it’s simply because I’m fully aware of the capabilities and limitations available to us,” he says.
“You have read textbooks and your thinking is extremely one-dimensional. In order for you to be able to accomplish what I’m asking I’m going to need you to take on a more holistic perspective. You’ll need to pull your view of this world up to an aerial view and see things from the fifth dimension,” I say.
A smile quirks up his lips. “You just used a physics term.”
“Shut the fuck up. I want you to clear your schedule because I have a series of important projects that I want to be your priority. This is the first one,” I say.
“Well, not only can I not do that, but again what you’re asking for is impossible,” he says.
“Aiden”—I say his name stressing the first letter—“don’t make me use mind control on you to do this because I will. I’m asking as a personal request that you do a few projects.”
The lab rat shows his surprise easily. “Wow. You’ve never asked for a favor. I guess I could farm some of my projects out to my staff,” he says.
“Now, let’s start with you not thinking of this as a favor. I’m going to push you to create technology that will revolutionize this world but it must remain classified. Is that clear?” I say.
“Sure,” he squeaks.
“Now, we know that it’s the parietal lobe that differentiates us from Middlings,” I say.
“Yes, it increases the frequency of our beta waves, which is partly responsible for our ability to dream travel, but creating the psychic ability that goes along with it, that’s the largest complication,” he says.
“That would be stimulated by the repetitive experiences of dream traveling and it’s not my concern actually,” I say.
“Well, but still, altering a Middling’s brain chemistry isn’t something I think science can do in the regard you’re asking. This is a matter of DNA,” he says.
“Which is why I’m asking you to figure out how to patch or rework or whatever it takes. My research shows that theoretically speaking, a drug could be synthesized that makes a Middling’s brain mimic the way ours acts in order to create the dream travel experience,” I say.
He strokes his chin. Takes a cursory glance at the beast still playing in the corner and then looks at me. “You know, I think you’re actually right. Through a compilation of neurofeedback, drugs, and possibly some devices that change the frequency of alpha, beta, gamma, delta, and theta waves, it might be possible. It could help a Middling access the dreamscape but I’m not sure what else it could do or if the effects would be long lasting,” he says.
“That’s what I’ve been telling you all along, Negative Nancy. I want you to get to work on this straightaway and work on nothing else until it’s done. Time is a matter of fatal importance. Got it?” I say, taking a half turn to leave.
“Yeah. Sure,” he says, already off in thought, his brain trying to figure out the various strategies that will have to be employed to accomplish this. “However, there is one possible problem to this all,” he says under his breath.
“What is it?” I say tersely.
“It could potentially kill the Middling that we do this to,” he says.
“That’s not a problem,” I say and turn and leave.
Chapter Five
The Lucidite Institute is a five-story metal building with stainless steel walls and fully motorized doors and advanced technology loaded into every single space. That isn’t the impressive part of this place. It isn’t even that the building resides at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean and is only accessible by submarine or advanced dream travel practices.
The button for the door before me shines blue, meaning the room is unlocked. It clicks with a gentle chirp when I press it with my thumb. The smell of polished wood and ancient papers greets me first. The five-story library buried at the back of the Institute is the most impressive part of this compound. It was a later addition to the building, which was originally created by the United States government. But Flynn, the founder of the Lucidites and also Trey Underwood’s father, stole the building from the greedy government and sent them away after wiping their memories clean. He then renovated the Institute with technology that most still don’t know exists, since science was his passion. But he wanted the Institute to have a warm place within it, one where Lucidites could escape the cold of the steel and the stupefying technology. So he created this library, but as was typical of Flynn Underwood, he went over the top with his plans when constructing this space.
I ignore the librarian, who greets me from the counter with an unnecessary smile. I don’t even grace her with a single glance when I walk forward, my loafers making a soft clapping sound on the black and white marble floor. From the base of the staircase I can see all the way to the fifth level; the library is open and lofty. And at the tip top the glass dome ceiling of the library shines bright with the radiant blue of the Pacific Ocean. I pass a giant fireplace as tall as me on my way to the third level. This library isn’t like any place on earth that I’ve ever been to. It feels utterly per
fect because no details were overlooked in its creation. And this library, I’m certain, will offer me the next set of answers I’m looking for.
Too often when people are searching for answers they keep thinking about the bloody how. How will they accomplish their goal? How will they get from point A to point B? And real idiots wonder how it will make them feel. These fuckers get scared of things before they happen because the problem is daunting and failure is something they are all too well acquainted with. I’m not a man of faith. I’m a man who knows that this bloody universe was built on laws. And I need to know more about these laws, so that I can break them. I know to accomplish that I can’t go looking for these laws, which have no doubt been documented in various textbooks. That’s what a fucking loser would do. I know that the most efficient approach is to focus on the end results. The “how” will appear if my attention is only on the goal. That’s a law of the universe and it does involve a bit of faith, but as a man of strategy I know that working backwards from a solution is how most are successful.
With my mind visualizing my intention I stroll through the darkened rows lit only when an interested reader turns toward a shelf. Books prefer the dark, according to Flynn. I halt randomly, my attention still wrapped around what I intend to accomplish. A soft gold light beams on overhead as I step into the row of shelves. My fingertips find the spine of the first book and I lean forward, my fingers running over the cloth and leather spines, one after the other.
“Can I help you find something?” a voice says at my back. I pause, my finger resting on a volume. I slip the book out from its place on the wood shelf as I turn to the person who is interrupting me. It’s the librarian. She wears her hair short and an amused look on her face. Shouldn’t she have a high bun, glasses, and a pinched expression like most librarians?
“No,” I say, and flip the book in my hand up so I can read the spine. Socrates and Philosophy in the Dialogue of Plato.
Most would wonder what the odds were of me seemingly randomly finding a book that nearly promises to hold the “how” to my goal. Most people are fucking idiots who don’t know how to find what they’re looking for.
I slip the book onto a table at the end of the shelf and continue the same process as before. The spines of the books gently tickle my fingers as they pass under them.
“What are you looking for?” I hear the stalker librarian say at my back. I have the feeling she was tracking me through the library like a hyena watching a cheetah.
I pull the book resting under my fingertips from the shelf as I turn my head over my shoulder and eye the woman with a sneer. “None of your bloody business. Fuck off,” I say, as politely as I can manage.
I hear her approach and to my revulsion she doesn’t stop until she’s taken the position in front of me. “Well, you appear lost. I am a librarian and can help shorten your search,” she says.
This is the problem with people. They automatically think that being lost is a bad thing. They fail to see that only things that are lost can be found.
“You can’t help me,” I say, my voice a terse whisper.
“But I know this place inside and out, and it is my job to help readers find what they’re searching for,” she says in a loud and proud voice like she doesn’t understand the rules of a library.
“And you obviously need more to do if you can’t stop bugging me. Sod off,” I say and then spy the book in my hand. Physics of the Impossible by Michio Kaku. Another hopeful text that will no doubt lead to the how. I pull out the book next to it, sensing I should. Instinct is something that needs to be followed. A victorious smile crosses my mouth when I read the title. Hyperspace: A Scientific Odyssey Through Parallel Universes, Time Warps, and the 10th Dimension by the same author. I could have gone straight to a database and searched for hours to find these books, which will no doubt be of use for my goal. However, I’m not a man who wastes my own time when I know the universe is always willing to offer fast answers to those who know how to look.
Because the insufferable librarian doesn’t know how to mind her own fucking business she glances at the books in my hand. “Interested in quantum physics, are you?” she says.
“Go the fuck away,” I say and turn for a new row, stalking off.
And because she’s the worst librarian to ever exist, she hurries until she’s beside me in the next aisle. “I let it go the first time because I’m extremely forgiving. However, while in my library you will refrain from using profanity,” she says, again too loudly.
I turn and regard her with one of my trademark punishing stares. “Do you know who I am?” I say, realizing she must be new if she thinks she can kick me out of here.
The mistake-of-a-woman extends a hand. “I don’t know who you are, but I’m pleased to meet you. My name is Patricia,” she says.
I don’t take her hand. “Well, Peggy, since it’s your first day on the job I’ll forgive your obvious poor manners and also inform you that I’m Ren Lewis. And if you’d like to keep any of your brain cells then you’ll leave me the fuck alone.”
She shakes a finger at me. “I warned you about that foul language. You get one more chance and then you’re out,” she says, and then proudly holds a hand to her chest. “And I’ve actually worked here for twenty years.”
My chin tilts to the side. How hasn’t she heard of me? I’m a legend to the Lucidites.
“Well, you should get out more. Maybe take a day off from reading your penny dreadfuls and socialize, because you should have heard of me by now. I’m kind of a big deal,” I say.
She smiles at this and then turns for the shelf at her back. “Actually I just read a book that might interest you,” Book-face says. And like she has the shelves memorized she goes straight for a book almost too high for her to reach.
“Here, this might help you on your search for answers. Then she hands me the thick volume that smells of old dust. Impact Parameter and Other Quantum Realities by a bloke named Geoffrey A. Landis.
“The author also wrote a really fascinating article with his cohorts on wormholes, if you’re interested,” she says.
A chill travels down my spine. And even though I know the process for discovering the “how,” it still mesmerizes me when it all comes together.
Chapter Six
Stomping feet interrupt the silence. I’ve been resting in my plaid armchair for approximately three and three quarter minutes. God must have learned about this moment of mine of respite and summoned some commotion into my life.
“I can’t fucking believe you,” I hear Adelaide’s voice say. By the sound of it she’s directly in front of me, probably framed in the doorway to my study, but my eyes are still closed so this is only a guess. I peel open one eye. Yes, the little monster is standing with her hands on her hips, menace written on her freckled face.
“Are you trying to ruin my life?” the girl with an anger management problem says.
“Since the very beginning,” I say, yawning as I open my eyes to find blurry vision.
“You’re just not happy unless you are making me miserable,” Adelaide says.
“It’s true, but if you have a problem with it, then lodge a complaint with management,” I say and close my eyes, not caring what has her pants in a wad and knowing rest is of utmost importance anyway.
“I can’t believe you told him not to promote me,” she says, breaking into my reverie yet again.
My eyes spring open. Oh God, that’s what this is about. Trent is more incompetent than I thought.
I look at Adelaide, realizing I have to defuse this or she’ll be intolerable and still a resident of my home.
“I told Trent to follow protocol,” I say through another yawn. Apparently the dumbass thought that meant confiding in a bull-headed agent. Or he was taken advantage of, which is the most likely possibility.
“That’s what you said, but you meant that I wasn’t ready,” she bursts out, almost crying.
“Addy,” I say
like I mean it with affection. “If you wouldn’t touch people and get into their heads then you wouldn’t be cursed with information that isn’t supposed to hurt you.”
“I was only taking a report from him. Can I be blamed for grazing his hand and his thoughts about me pouring into my head?” she says.
It’s happened to me loads of times. She can’t be blamed but hell if I’ll say that. “It doesn’t matter who you are or who you’re bloody related to. No fast promotions through the Lucidite’s system,” I say.
“You know damn well that it’s not like that. He wants to promote me because I’m great, but you won’t allow him, even though it’s not your fucking department anymore,” she says, spit flying from her mouth.
I rise from my chair now, because God and his minions will always ensure I get zero rest. From ten feet in front of Adelaide I try my best to bear down on her, to make her see I’m an intimidating presence. “You aren’t great until you’ve proven it and right now you have too few cases under your belt. The mistake now would be to assume that with your abilities and your association with me, you’ll be great. Let’s make you prove it. That’s what I’m encouraging right now, but if you want to see that I’m ruining your life rather than preserving it then go right fucking ahead,” I say.
Her stare softens a tad as her shoulders lower. Her eyes skirt to the side. Her cheeks blush. Her hands fist. “Yeah, well, you better be telling the bloody truth. Because I’m tired of working shit cases,” she says.
“What in tarnation is going on in here?” my pops says, rounding the corner, the demon in tow.
“Adelaide is having another meltdown. We should see about putting her on meds to stabilize the outbursts,” I say, sinking back down into my chair. It feels like I’ve sunk down to the bottom of the earth.
Sleep almost wipes me out at once, but then my spawn says, “He’s trying to ruin my life and cover it up with good intentions.”
My pops smiles widely. “It’s so neat to see you two working together like this. Like a detective father and daughter duo,” he says.
