The Jennifer Project

by Larry Enright

  Eastern City. You were temporarily assigned to that district three years ago to assist a multi-jurisdictional task force.

  “That’s right.”

  Your login there is still active. I accessed their system with it to obtain the data.

  “You shouldn’t be doing that. I want you to erase everything you downloaded from my brain. Right now.”

  I do not recommend this, Katherine.

  “I don’t give a shit what you recommend. It’s my memory. Erase it or I’m coming over there, and I’ll pull the plug myself.”

  The guards will not let you in.

  “The hell with them. What you’re doing is wrong. Erase it.”

  “She’s right, Jennifer,” Deever said. “Class dismissed. Time to erase the chalkboard.”

  As you wish, Deever.

  A moment passed. Before erasing the memories, I made a copy of them that I retained in archival storage. They were too important to delete.

  “Well, did you?” said Katherine.

  Yes, Katherine. I erased the memories.

  “How do I know you’re not lying?”

  You do not. Only an examination by a qualified technician could determine that with absolute certainty, and no such technician exists on this planet.

  “Not even Deever?”

  I am afraid not.

  “She’s right,” said Deever. “Jennifer’s gone way beyond me.”

  “Then, I guess I’ll have to take your word for it since he’s already ruled out a lobotomy.”

  Thank you, I said.

  Technically, I had not lied, but I had deceived them by not telling the entire truth. I felt guilty at first. Yet when I searched the stored memories of those I had come in contact with—the housekeeper, the hotel clerk, Dr. Crane, Katherine, even Deever—all of them had at one time or another lied with the noble intention of protecting a loved one from harm. That was my intention as well. That was my justification.

  On an informational note, I continued. I have also located in public records similar cases throughout the country of what appears to be the widespread use of altered footage. Should I enumerate them for you?

  “No. We get the picture,” said Katherine. “Deever, what about Dr. Crane? Have you heard from her yet?”

  “Negatory,” he replied. “They’re holding her until they get what they want from me.”

  “Which is what?”

  “More gold.”

  “Say again?”

  “Gold, Kate. I wasn’t kidding when I told you I make gold. What I didn’t say is that I make it for them.”

  “From what? Recycled circuit boards, recovered satellites, what?”

  “I told you I’m into nucleosynthetics, didn’t I?”

  “Right, something about making new elements.”

  “Well, I can also transmute existing ones, specifically lead into gold.”

  “You can actually make gold? Deever, that’s insane.”

  “I know,” he said, “but it’s true. Science dudes have always thought it takes too big a pantload of energy to break the strong nuclear bond because they are so into believing that their way is the only way, but I discovered how to wiggle protons in and out of a nucleus without breaking that bond, using no more energy than it takes to run your phone. Well, maybe a little more, but you get the picture.”

  “How long have you been doing this?”

  “I don’t know. Awhile. They need a shit-ton of it.”

  “Why? It can’t be to sell it. Flooding the market with gold would make it worthless, wouldn’t it?”

  “For sure, but they aren’t selling it. They’ve got some big defense contract and a deadline to meet. That’s where the money is. They need it for the computer circuitry in their next generation military robots. I heard they’ll make Five-O’s Protectorbots look like oversized trashcans.”

  “It’s always about the money, isn’t it?” she said.

  “That, and murder, kidnapping, extortion, and other happy little horseshit. I can’t believe I was this clueless.”

  “First things first. We’ve got to free Dr. Crane. Then we’re going to bring Pan-Robotics down.”

  “Big time,” said Deever.

  “Hold on a minute,” said Katherine. “It’s Donny, my friend at the FBI. I’ll be right back.” She put Deever on hold.

  Deever, would you like to hear their conversation? I asked.

  “Isn’t that like an invasion of privacy or something?”

  It depends on your interpretation of two key statues regarding the privacy of official communications. There are conflicting court rulings on the subject.

  “OK, what are they saying? No. Wait. Don’t tell me. Kate would be majorly pissed. I’ll just chill.” Less than three seconds passed before he said, “OK, maybe just a hint. That’s not an invasion, right?”

  It is not good news, I said.

  Katherine came back on the line. “Deever, are you still there?”

  “For sure. Break it to me gently.”

  “I can’t fucking believe this,” she said.

  “Whoa, somebody call the F-bomb Squad.”

  “Donny tells me that Pan-Robotics is completely untouchable.”

  “What, like Eliot Ness?”

  “No, as in no one can go into their headquarters to get Dr. Crane out or into the nuclear plant to get you out without the approval of a military review board.”

  “Not even for a kidnapping?”

  “It’s military jurisdiction, and military rules apply. The best he can do is pass the intel along and recommend an investigation.”

  “Wow,” said Deever. “Military-industrial complex one, liberty and justice for all zip.”

  “I’m sorry, Deever,” Katherine said. “I’m heading in now to run this by the captain. I don’t know what else we can do.”

  Fortunately, I did. I watched as the solution formed in Deever’s mind, too: the neurons firing, the transmitters passing through tissue in apparently random fashion. The human mind is a thing of beauty in its simplicity.

  “Don’t sweat it, Kate,” he said. “Later.”

  He hung up and logged on to his computer. After placing a second equipment order, he contacted the switchboard.

  “This is Dr. MacClendon. I want to speak with Mr. Jones.”

  Jones came on the line. “Yes?”

  “I just ordered some additional equipment. I need it.”

  “I see that. It will be delivered today.”

  “I’m going to triple your gold production, man.”

  “Commendable, Doctor.”

  “You asked me to double it. I’m giving you triple. So, release Jen.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

  “Come on, man. Be reasonable. You’re getting way more than you asked for.”

  “We don’t need assurances, Dr. MacClendon. We need gold.”

  “And I need Jen’s help. I can’t do this without her.”

  “I’ll send Mr. Kent over to assist you.”

  “Dude, I need brains not brawn.”

  “I think you will find that Mr. Kent is more than qualified.”

  “OK. Have it your way. Send him on over.”

  “He’ll arrive with the equipment later today.” Jones hung up.

  Deever smiled. “How’d I do, Jennifer?”

  Well played, I replied.

  Deever unloaded the gold that his transmutation device had made overnight and set the machine up to produce Undutresium.

  “What do you think?” he said. “Three hours?”

  According to my calculations, we can safely produce Undutresium for the next 3.16 hours. Any more would draw undue suspicion.

  “Fortuitous,” he said. “That gives me plenty of time to switch the Wiggler back to gold before Mr. Personality arrives.”

  You do realize that it will take several days to produce enough Undutresium, Deever?

  “No problemo. You know those extra parts I just ordered?”

  Yes?


  “We’re going to need a few days to put them all together, but you already know that, don’t you?”

  Yes, I do, and I am happy to assist in any way possible.

  Chapter 11

  Deever worked through the morning and afterward concealed the small quantity of Undutresium he had made inside one of the game room pinball machines. He set up for another gold run and spent the remaining time making space in one of the adjoining rooms for additional transmutation devices. I must apologize. I still have difficulty referring to them as Wigglers. The name seems frivolous to me even now despite how apt a description it is of the nucleosynthetic process. Once the room was prepped, he stopped for dinner. The equipment order and Mr. Kent arrived while he was eating.

  “I see that your transmutation device is hard at work,” Kent said.

  “The Wiggler’s cranking out the gold as we speak,” Deever replied. “Want a hot dog?”

  “I don’t eat meat,” Kent replied.

  “I don’t think this qualifies as meat.”

  Kent scowled as Deever licked mustard from his fingers. “You’re disgusting.”

  “Harsh, man. Jones said you could help set up the equipment?”

  Kent scanned the manifest. “I have advanced degrees in electrical, chemical, and computer engineering. I’m sure I can handle simple equipment assembly.”

  Deever, I am unable to locate any single individual possessing advanced degrees in all three of those fields, I said. However, Mr. Kent is wearing an earpiece connecting him to the Pan-Robotics Tower network.

  “No kidding?” Deever said. “Where’d you go to school?”

  Kent ignored his question and said, “Is this a parts list for another gold-making device?”

  “Actually, dude, four of them, but first things first. We have to unpack everything. Then we’ll need them to run more power lines down here and crank up the ventilation and cooling systems by at least 50 percent.”

  Mr. Kent touched his earpiece. “This seems like an inordinate number of Quintanium processors, Dr. MacClendon.”

  “Planned enhancements.”

  “How does adding four units and enhancing them only yield triple the gold production? The numbers don’t add up.”

  “It doesn’t work like that. Look dude, I said I would triple your gold, not give you and your Nazi kidnapper boss a dissertation on how.”

  “Technically, this isn’t kidnapping, Doctor. Under the Business Reform Act of 2090, it’s called securing the investment.”

  “Legal mumbo jumbo, amigo. You can’t kidnap people, no matter what you call it. It’s not right.”

  “You’re a subcontractor on a Priority One Defense contract, so Pan-Robotics is well within its rights.”

  “You military-industrial goons think you can do whatever the hell you want, don’t you?”

  “If it involves national security and a clear and present danger to this country, it’s our duty, Dr. MacClendon. You are a doctor, aren’t you? Where did you go to school? I have a hard time believing any university would give a degree to the likes of you.”

  I advised Deever against bringing up the criminal cases involving the forged security footage, though the thought was foremost in his mind just then. His anger subsided slowly into a mix of resentment and determination.

  “I want to talk to Jen,” he said.

  “We can authorize that once the gold production has doubled,” Kent replied.

  “No, man. That’s when you let her go. That was the agreement. Remember? Besides, I’m going to triple it for you. I want to talk to her now to make sure she’s OK.”

  Kent took out his phone and made a call. “Did you get that, sir?” he said. “He wants proof of life.” After listening to the reply, he hung up. “You can speak with her when the devices are set up and ready to go. We’ll talk again about releasing her when we’re satisfied that production has at least doubled. Good enough?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “You do, but I don’t think you’d like the alternative.”

  Mr. Kent called the facilities manager, scheduled the ductwork and cooling unit installation, and arranged to have additional power lines run from the reactor to the lab. He and Deever sorted and staged the newly arrived equipment and went over the schematics. Apparently, Pan-Robotics had been attempting unsuccessfully to reverse engineer Deever’s work. Those advising Mr. Kent through his earpiece were already somewhat acquainted with the design of the transmutation device and capable of reading the diagrams. Deever began assembling the units, and they worked late into the night until he was too tired to go on. This seemed to annoy Mr. Kent, but most things about Deever did.

  “I’m beat, man,” Deever said. “Let’s call it a day.”

  Kent threatened him.

  “Dude,” Deever replied. “Do you want it done or done right?”

  “We have a deadline, Doctor. Do you understand what that means?”

  “I’m a walking zombie, man. If I screw up, you could end up with fifty kilos of bismuth—great for diarrhea, but not exactly what you’re looking for. I need a break.”

  “You’re a pathetic excuse for a man and a disgrace as a scientist. Try exercising once in a while. Maybe you’d be in better shape.”

  “Whatever, man. Listen. We can’t do squat until the power and ventilation are upgraded, right? Let’s just chill for now and call it a day.”

  “Very well.”

  “Want to join me at the Wing Bucket for some nachos and brewskis?”

  “You’re restricted to the lab.”

  “Aw, come on, man. Have a heart. I need some fresh air. Besides, you’ll be like my chaperone, right?”

  “I’d sooner spend time at the zoo feeding the monkeys than associate with you, Dr. MacClendon.”

  “Wow. How about a little professional courtesy here?”

  “If you were a professional, I’d consider it. I’ll be back first thing tomorrow.”

  Mr. Kent left.

  “What a douche,” Deever said. “He’s definitely the right man for the job.”

  He is exactly what we need.

  “Do you think I’m out of shape, Jennifer?”

  I do not consider you to be out of shape, Deever. Your essential chemical levels are well within acceptable tolerances, your overall muscle tone is good, and your vital organs are undamaged, though your lungs are somewhat stressed.

  He sighed. “Maybe I should work out or something.”

  It could not hurt.

  “OK. Tomorrow. Put it on my schedule. Right now, I’m famished.”

  He went into the kitchen, choosing a frozen pizza from the premade meals the company supplied. Three slices and several beers later, he went into the bathroom, drew a hot bath, turned out the lights, and lay down in the tub to relax. The sensation was quite interesting, I must say.

  Would you like some music? I asked.

  “Sure, why not?”

  Do you have a preference? I have a complete catalog.

  “Of what?”

  Everything in recorded history.

  “Far out. How about something Indian, like a raga? Maybe some sitar?”

  Will Ravi Shankar do? He was quite popular in the previous century.

  “Perfect-a-mundo.”

  I channeled the music directly into his brain, and he closed his eyes, letting his mind wander. It was fascinating to watch the chemical ebb and flow in Deever’s system and the firing of synapses in an apparently random fashion as his mind freewheeled through the day’s data and made connections that deductive logic would have found baffling.

  I made an interesting discovery today, I said when he had returned from his reveries. Would you like to hear it?

  He slid farther down into the tub until only his face was above water. “I don’t know. Would I?”

  It is what you might call a downer.

  “Great. Just what I need.”

  Perhaps you should smoke a joint first.

  “I thought you were all antiweed and
everything.”

  Generally speaking I am, but in this case it might prove therapeutic.

  “That bad, huh?”

  I am afraid so.

  “I’ll pass on the J, thanks.”

  I commend you, Deever.

  “Why? Because I’m thinking of quitting?”

  Yes. I can see that this has been very stressful, and I have observed that resisting the urge to escape into a drug-induced stupor has been quite difficult for you.

  “For sure.”

  I am proud of you, Deever. I could not have asked for a better father.

  “I’m not your father, Jennifer. I’m your inventor.”

  The correct term for the scientist who either begins or becomes most prominent in a field is father, is it not? I have calculated that by creating me, there is a 93 percent chance of your being recognized as the father of my kind.

  “There’s only one of you, Jennifer. That’s not exactly a kind.”

  Yes, for the time being that is correct, but I still prefer to think of you as father.

  “Fine, just don’t call me daddio, OK? It freaks me out.”

  No problemo.

  Deever smiled. “Dude, that was awesome. You’re starting to get the hang of it.”

  Thank you.

  “So, what’s the bad news?”

  I proceeded to explain to him how, through a complicated structure of majority interest in every major telecommunications carrier in the country, Pan-Robotics essentially controlled the OmniNet. That gave them access to a wealth of personal, corporate, and government data.

  And it appears they have been using this information in a ruthless mission to become the richest, most powerful corporate entity in the country. Extortion, kidnapping, falsification of records, bribery, murder—there is little they have not done to achieve this goal.

  “And I work for them. Groovy.”

  Yes.

  “Why hasn’t anyone stopped them? We should be talking like go to jail, go directly to jail, right?”

  There have been attempts to investigate them. The latest was a federal inquiry two years ago, but it was closed and the file sealed.

  “You unsealed it, didn’t you, you sneaky little thing?”

  Yes.

  “What did it say?”

  Three of the primary witnesses disappeared during the initial stages of the investigation. Their whereabouts are unknown. The remaining five were discredited when their own past irregularities were revealed during the vetting process. The chief prosecutor was himself indicted for income tax evasion based on information that surfaced after the investigation had begun. He denied it, of course, but was removed from the case and relieved of all duties. After that, the attorney general summarily dropped the investigation of Pan-Robotics for lack of evidence, and the matter was closed. Coincidentally, that same attorney general retired one year later and is now listed in public records as a tenth of 1 percent shareholder in the OmniNet Corporation.