by Wendy Devore
“It’s remarkable that we can have this conversation,” I observe, gazing at the night sky. “I was always just a witness to the things I saw in my dreams. I was never a participant.”
“You’re like her, Kathryn, yet so different. You seem lost. You are capable of far more than you think.”
He sounds remarkably sincere. For Andrew. I let that sink in.
“You know, where I come from…you’re kind of an ass,” I say suddenly.
“You…she…tells me that all the time.”
I look up and catch his eye. A wry smile spreads across his face, and he does not look away. There is a measure of humbleness, of vulnerability, of safety that I have never perceived in the Andrew of my reality.
Something about the openness in his gaze offers me clarity, and boldness. “What is it?” I ask. “What is it that brought you together? What binds you to her?”
“I love her. With every molecule of my being,” he replies, as if this is simplicity itself.
I sat up sharply and gasped for breath. My heart was pounding, and the sleeping bag fell away from my shoulders, leaving my skin exposed to the chill of the fall coastal air. The temperature had dropped considerably, and I immediately felt the crawl of goose bumps across my arms and up my back. My teeth started chattering, and I quickly pulled up the sleeping bag. I braced myself, waiting for the inevitable echoed physical manifestation of my dream. Waiting for the inevitable migraine. Minutes passed, but neither materialized.
Andrew slept on, completely oblivious to my dreaming or my alarming waking. As quietly as I could, I lowered myself onto the tent floor. I tried in vain to settle back into sleep, but I couldn’t shake the sudden feeling of abject and forlorn isolation that descended upon me.
After many miserable minutes, I quietly inched my shrouded feet toward my companion until my sleeping bag made the slightest contact with his. An almost disturbing feeling of relief washed over me, and I was suddenly so very, very tired. With a sigh, I closed my eyes and finally sank into a deep, dreamless slumber.
Chapter 23
Kate
September 29
I awoke to the sound of sizzling. Then I smelled it—bacon.
A quick glance confirmed that Andrew had somehow managed to dress and slip out without waking me. I pulled on my skirt and blouse, then unzipped the tent. I stepped outside to a morning that was clear and calm—and fifty degrees. I couldn’t help but shiver.
“Grab a jacket from the car,” Andrew instructed from his post at the picnic table.
I scurried to the car and dug around the cargo area until I found a warm, cinnamon-colored jacket made of fine, thick wool and buttoned myself into it.
“Coffee?” Andrew asked as I stomped my feet to warm my chilly legs. Damn this reality’s insistence on skirts for women! He pointed to an enamel carafe.
“Yes, please,” I replied through chattering teeth.
The coffee warmed me from the inside, and the bacon and eggs were hearty and delicious. As the sun ascended over the hills in the east, the temperature began to rise, and I finally stopped shivering.
Andrew dropped Defying Discovery: Milestones in Medicine on the table before me. “Time to hit the books.”
I drained the last of my coffee and pulled the volume closer. “Sure thing, boss.” I found his dog-eared page and started reading.
It was nearly lunchtime before I finally found something interesting.
“Andrew,” I asked, eyes still scanning the text. “When were superconducting quantum interference devices invented?”
He looked up and to the left for a second. “SQUIDs? 1964. Why?”
“This book says that a SQUID based on superconducting loops created a sufficiently sensitive magnetometer for MEG to become a viable mechanism to study brain function in the seventies.”
He stared at me blankly. “Meg?”
“No, magnetoencephalography. It’s a very sensitive brain imaging technique that has only become common in the last several years.”
That piqued his interest. Andrew closed his book and rested both elbows on the picnic table. “What else does it say?”
“‘Concurrent developments in the rapidly growing field of theoretical computer science in the late 1950s and early 1960s brought the introduction and rapid rise of machine learning—’”
“Deep learning didn’t take off until around 2010,” he interrupted, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “But here, machine learning and AI have been on the rise a full fifty years earlier than in our slice?”
I nodded. “And get this—‘The development of detection methods for studying the brain coincided with the swift advance of machine learning over the next two decades in a perfect storm of scientific synchronicity. By the late 1980s, researchers were first able to reliably decode signals from the brain.’”
Andrew moved to my side of the picnic table, sitting so close that our elbows touched. I slid the book over.
He continued reading aloud. “‘By 1992, the content of a subject’s visual thoughts and even dreams could be reliably decoded, saved, and examined. Concurrent studies in reading and written language processing centers resulted in the ability to map the brain’s use of text.’”
My mind was flying now, imagining the possibilities. “They can literally read your mind,” I gasped. “Their understanding of brain function is light-years ahead of ours.”
“That’s not all,” Andrew added. “Since they can both read and transmit, that means they can also formulate signals that can communicate directly to the brain as well.”
I pictured grotesque photos I’d seen where researchers inserted wires directly into the brains of cats. I cringed at the thought. “But how?”
Andrew read further: “‘All that changed in 2005 with two startling developments: compact, noncryogenic atomic magnetometers and the advanced photoacoustic imaging of the brain using nanoprobes, pulsed laser, and ultrasound wave detection. These advances made possible a device which could be worn anywhere and was capable of detecting and transmitting a wide range of neurological signals.
“‘The device was christened NeuroCereLink Notus. Combined with a neural network housed within a micro-quantum computing device, it became possible to understand and visualize anyone’s cognitive state, and also to wirelessly send signals that could induce visual, auditory, and text-based sensations directly in the wearer’s brain. With these tools in place, CereLink became the de-facto bridge to networked computing devices worldwide.”
My palm smacked my forehead as it all fell into place. I turned to Andrew and caught the full force of his intense stare. “Holy hell, the headbands are the CereLink!”
He nodded, and a canny grin spread across his face. “People here don’t have computer terminals or computers or mobile phones because they don’t need any of those clumsy devices. They just think—their web searches, their messages, even voice-based communication. They just think about what they want to know, and the answer is right there, right inside their head.”
“We need to figure out how they’re doing it,” I insisted. My head spun as I imagined what I could learn about my nightmares if I completely understood every system, every synaptic pathway; it would completely unlock the totality of the neurological workings of my brain.
The gleam in his eye was impossible to miss. “Agreed. The library at UC Berkeley is the perfect place to start.”
I spent the first two hours of our trip to Berkeley gawking at the insanely beautiful coastal views. I silently vowed to devote a decent chunk of my next Albaion paycheck to bringing Michelle to this lovely place. When we reached Monterey, we turned inland, and I finally acquiesced to Andrew’s insistence that I finish reading Defying Discovery: Milestones in Medicine. By the time we reached the university, I was nearly jumping out of my skin in anticipation.
The UC Berkeley campus was vast and bustling. The car circled for fifteen minutes in underground parking before inserting itself into an available space. Based purely on the popu
larity of its facilities, it would appear that Cal was definitely still among the most elite universities in the world and just as much a powerhouse research institution in this reality as it was in ours.
“Why are we researching this thing instead of, you know, justifiable appropriation?” I asked as we approached the broad, white steps of an enormous, blindingly white neoclassical building.
“It’s not just the CereLink. It’s the nanoprobes. You need the whole system, and we have no idea how it works, what the risks are, or even how to acquire the probes.”
The sweet, musky smell of books hit me the moment we passed through the entry of Doe Library. My footfalls echoed as I struggled to keep up with Andrew.
“How are we going to get what we need?” I whispered.
“The old-fashioned way.”
After hours of poring through periodical indexes, we’d found several detailed papers that discussed the inner workings of the strange headbandlike device named CereLink, and another three that discussed the nanoprobes that were required inside the body in order to make the system function.
It was taking me forever to get through just one paper outlining how text is processed in the brain, and how this decoding could be interpreted by the device. I couldn’t even comprehend half of it—but I understood enough. Enough, I hoped, to be able to replicate the results myself.
“Fascinating,” Andrew murmured as he turned page after page of dense scientific literature.
“Maybe we can figure out some way to try it. Would it work on us, you think?” I scratched my head and wondered if wearing the device was at all uncomfortable.
“It might work…while we’re here. But what we really need is to have it work back there.”
“At home?” My brows furrowed. “How is that possible?”
“You already know the answer,” he replied, eyes intent on the texts.
“Oh, yeah, right. Your wacky-ass memory. You mean you can actually remember all of this? Is it really like a photocopy in your brain?”
He closed one periodical and pulled another journal toward him. “That’s why they call it a photographic memory. Though there’s a limit to how much I can recall, and the finer details tend to fade after a while. It’s been a very useful gift in my line of work.”
I frowned. “Is this the reason you’re slice traveling at all? You put me in mortal danger—just so you can steal technology?”
“Keep your voice down,” Andrew insisted, breaking his concentration to glance around.
No one was looking, but I found I didn’t care if they were.
“Is this how Andric Breckinridge makes all his money?” I didn’t even bother to temper the accusation. My chair scraped the hardwood floor loudly as I stood.
Andrew stood and clasped both my arms. “Kathryn,” he said calmly. “Please sit down and let me finish this last paper. It won’t take long, and I’ll explain everything, I promise. Remember, this is not just about Albaion. It’s also about you.”
I did remember that it was also about me. The technology behind CereLink was so far advanced from the imaging, decoding, and encoding technologies that were available to me. And I wanted them, too. I sat in my chair, arms crossed, angry with Andrew for deceiving me but also knowing that I was complicit in his crime. If it even was a crime.
I closed my eyes and tried to focus on my breath. Minutes passed. I spent more time seething than achieving enlightenment.
“Okay, let’s go,” he whispered, breaking my focus.
I tossed him a dark scowl.
We left the library, but he didn’t offer the promised explanation, and I was still too furious to initiate the conversation. We were deep in the maze of underground parking, within spitting distance of the car when I noticed two women approach the vehicle. They wore the ever-present iridescent bands, but they were also wearing navy-blue uniforms. Uniforms with badges.
“Looks like our unwitting hosts have noticed that we borrowed their vehicle,” Andrew said, frowning. His face was a mask of pure composure—no indication at all that he was on the run.
“Turn left,” he said, intentionally looking away from the parking spot. “And don’t look back.”
My heart beat faster as I skittered away from the little car. I did my best to suppress my rising panic as I followed his directions, but in the end, I looked back. “I think they’re onto us. They’re coming this way.” My throat constricted. What would they do if the caught us? Would we be thrown in jail? And if they separated us—there would be no way I could extract Andrew from the slice.
Andrew grabbed my hand, and we darted erratically through rows of parked vehicles. Moving faster now, he ducked behind concrete pylons. Over my shoulder, I could see that the policewomen had separated, and while we’d eluded one, the other still had us squarely in her sights.
“She’s still following us…” I panted. Thank goodness for the sensible nature of my borrowed shoes.
He nearly yanked my arm from its socket as he darted through a heavy steel door.
“Quickly, down a floor,” he instructed, taking the stairs two at a time. He moved with the cadence of a trained athlete. I stumbled behind, trying to keep up.
At the next landing, he shoved open the door and wove through several more rows of cars before he stopped abruptly and tugged me toward a support column. He dropped to his knees and pulled me down with him.
“Why did we go downstairs?” I hissed, swallowing hard. My heart was beating so rapidly that it was making my ears ring. “We need to get out of here!”
He moved his hand over my mouth and shook his head.
I tried to calm my ragged breathing as I listened for the inevitable clang of the steel door. To my profound relief, it never came.
After five unbearably long minutes of waiting, he gestured for me to stand. Incredibly, he was just as poised as ever. I pulled back loose strands of hair with trembling fingers and tried to match his level of self-composure.
We walked the length of the garage calmly, until we reached the access stairs farthest from where we’d parked the car. Three flights up, we burst into the light of day, surrounded by disinterested students but blessedly free of police presence.
We’d narrowly evaded the authorities, but all our supplies had been in the car. There were no extra clothes, no sleeping bags, no books—nothing.
We’d walked over a half mile before my adrenaline tapered off, and then I remembered that I was still infuriated with him. As we approached the edge of campus, Andrew veered abruptly from the sidewalk onto a path that led through a grove of towering eucalyptus trees. As we moved deeper into the park, the sound of traffic died away, and I was enveloped by the fragrance of peppermint and pine and honey. We passed a few students as they hurried by. A bridge traversed a peaceful trickling creek, and as soon as we crossed, Andrew abandoned the path. Late afternoon light sent golden rays dancing through the urban forest, casting long shadows. Great strips of bark peeled from the enormous trunks and littered the forest floor. My shoes crunched over dried bark and leaves, releasing tiny bursts of pungent minty scent.
Andrew stopped abruptly, and I nearly plowed into him.
“Are you ever going to answer my question?” I asked. The fire of my anger had cooled to a dull exasperation.
He turned and fixed those alarmingly blue eyes on me.
“I am in the business of solving problems,” he said.
“Which problems, exactly?” I glared at him. “What does that even mean?”
“Of course our stay here was meant to avert a climate crisis. But we got lucky—we got so much more. If we bring back the knowledge to build that device, along with the understanding of the nanoprobes that allow it to work, we’ll blow the doors open on brain imaging research for years to come. Not to mention revolutionizing consumer computing. If we can understand and reproduce the decoding and encoding algorithms that make translation of brain signals possible, then we can leapfrog our current technology by forty or fifty years. Maybe m
ore. And that iridescent solar material that’s so ubiquitous here? That solar tech by itself could change how we power our world.”
“Yes, I can see how all of that will be excellent for Albaion’s bottom line,” I replied curtly, unable to suppress the cynicism.
“You’re right. Investors have short memories and little faith. Albaion is, after all, a public company, and innovation like this could catapult us into the stratosphere.”
“So it’s all about the money,” I said bitterly, looking away.
“It’s not all about the money,” he insisted. “It’s about the science.”
He reached out and took my hand, which startled me. My indignation began melting away, and I felt butterflies in the pit of my stomach. I hated how easily he could placate me.
Andrew spoke fervently. “It’s about giving you the tools you need to understand your dreams and what they mean. It’s about finding tools and technologies to make our world a cleaner, safer, more peaceful place. And it’s about understanding how our reality and the multiverse coexist and intersect.”
He seemed so sincere. And he was holding my hand. Was he playing me? If he was, it was incredibly hard to resist playing along. What Andrew was doing—what Albaion was doing—felt wrong. But he was right about one thing. I wanted the brain scanning and decoding technology just as much as he did.
I sighed. “You have some big aspirations, Dr. Crackpot Visionary.”
I’d never been to Berkeley; its world-class university nestled at the edge of a thriving city was completely new to me. I was unprepared for the sudden transition back to civilization—as soon as we stepped out of the eucalyptus grove, we were plunged immediately into downtown’s wide, busy streets.
We had traveled just two blocks when I spotted another uniformed officer advancing down the street on foot. Wordlessly, I grasped Andrew’s arm, and he nodded, immediately ducking into the nearest doorway. Landscaped topiary bushes in pots flanked the entrance. We passed through the heavy glass doors below the arched entry into an elegant lobby of the Hotel Peralta.