by Wendy Devore
I glared at him. “I’m not sure. But according to the CDC and the World Health Organization, over the past thirty-six hours there has been a spike in cases of deadly bird flu, in extremely unlikely places. Oh, and PEG-grafted alginate, zero-point-six-five chains per nanometer squared,” I said, fuming.
“I don’t understand…”
“He said you would overlook the wetware, and that this will fix the problem with the nanoprobes. Write it down; I’m not sure how much longer I can keep all this in my head.”
He stared at me, puzzled, then finally his eyes widened with comprehension.
“I don’t know how this is possible,” he slowly reasoned, “but you must have met Cerise.”
I didn’t reply.
“Kathryn,” he started, rising from his desk, “did you dream? Did you dream your way into the CereLink slice?”
I nodded, and his eyes grew wide.
“Did you do it intentionally? Are you able to direct your dreams now?”
I shook my head.
Exhaustion compounded with confusion was plastered all over his face.
“Kathryn, talk to me,” he urged. “Please.”
The part of me that was still pissed at the alternate Andrew wanted to storm out of his office. But then again, there was the matter of the vaccine.
“There have been a few times—under stress—where I ended up someplace I needed to be. I didn’t try. I can’t control it. And if I ever can figure out how to control it, I’m telling you right now—I never want to see that version of you again.”
“You know that’s not me, right?” His voice held a desperate edge. When he stepped closer to me, I involuntarily leaned away.
“Can you honestly tell me that you’re not attracted to her? To women like her? I’ve seen what you do to literally every single female you come in contact with.”
Andrew sighed. “In the interest of complete and total honesty, I should tell you that I’ve spent my fair share of time with women like Cerise. Maybe more than my fair share of time. But things change, Kathryn, and people change, too.”
In my mind, I imagined a long parade of leggy blondes. “In the interest of total and complete honesty, that doesn’t make me feel any better,” I sulked. “But since we’re sharing, I guess I should tell you that the way he looked at me totally creeped me out.”
“But how did he… I don’t understand. You talked to him? And he could see you? I thought you had no ability to interact with the environment of your dream. I thought you just had a window.”
My jaw set, I stared at him defiantly. “Things change.”
The uncomfortable silence between us intensified.
Finally he spoke. “This is a whole new ball game. How long have you had this…ability?”
“It began about five weeks ago.”
I wasn’t prepared for the hurt expression that arose on his face. It occurred to me that I’d never seen him look so wounded, and my anger faded into gnawing guilt.
“I didn’t tell you at first because I didn’t trust you, and then later…well, things just started happening so fast. And now there’s this new crisis, which reminds me—tell me that some corner of your father’s empire makes vaccines. Because that asshat version of you also told me how to manufacture a reliable universal vaccine for influenza.”
Andrew frowned, deep in thought.
“There is a biopharmaceutical company in the Albaion portfolio. I can definitely get a message to the chief development officer. Why do you suspect the Luzon Flu?”
“It can’t be a coincidence,” I insisted. “The samples are with the CDC, so they’ll eventually determine whether it’s a bird flu strain that can be transmitted between humans. But I’m telling you now—there’s no way my sister has been exposed to the avian flu from actual birds.”
“There has been some preliminary research that indicated that avian flu should respond well to our existing antiviral treatments,” Andrew replied hopefully.
A wave of anguish washed over me as I pictured my sister, pale and delirious, attached to a ventilator. All alone, except for the machines keeping her alive. “So far, nothing is working.”
He turned his gaze to the ceiling, cradling his chin in his hands. The longer he sat in stillness, the more amped up I became. He eyed me pointedly. “Even if we can produce this vaccine, you know it can’t help Michelle, right?”
It was as if I was riding an emotional roller coaster, and suddenly I was speeding down the big hill, right back into furious.
“Of course I know that!” I snapped. “I’m not an idiot. But if this is Luzon Flu, it’s going to be lethal, and extremely contagious. And I can’t let the death of half the population of this planet happen on my watch.”
Andrew nodded. He was almost certainly the only other person who could understand. He simply gazed at me for a long time, with those deep sapphire eyes, now awash in sorrow.
“We have to stop it,” he said.
“Of course we do. Hopefully the vaccine can be produced quickly. With any luck, the quarantine will happen fast enough and hold long enough to avert a global disaster.”
“I’m not talking about the vaccine.”
His words expressed a new sense of quiet determination. In a flash of understanding, I realized he meant all of it; none of this ever should have happened. But for his hubris, my sister would be well. His hubris, and my complicity.
The careening parade of vacillating emotions and lack of sleep was taking its toll, and I could feel myself collapsing under the strain. I slumped into the black leather armchair in the corner of his office, folded myself into a ball, and surrendered to my dismay.
In an instant he was kneeling before me. He took my head in his hands and wiped away my tears with a swipe of his thumb.
“I am a mess,” I sniffled.
His smile was wan. “That’s understandable.”
“The version of you that you might have been… Seeing that broke my heart,” I admitted, examining the worn laces of my sneakers.
His pressed his forehead to mine, and I closed my eyes.
“I am sorry,” he murmured. “I’m sorry you had to experience that. But have no doubt, Kathryn Rathman, that I am here for you, and with you.”
“I can’t for the life of me imagine why,” I whispered.
He didn’t even miss a beat. “Hmmm…yes, why would I want to be with a woman who can literally bend reality to her will?”
Chapter 28
Andrew
November 3
The clock was closing in on two in the morning, and he was still at his desk, composing the daily progress report for Project Satori. His eyes were weary; his mind was spent. But a team of sixty-three preeminent experts was counting on him to lead this project. Sixty-three extraordinarily driven scientists and technologists who had accepted extremely lucrative contracts, signed stringent NDAs, and agreed to the very unusual request that they remain sequestered in the compound for the duration of the project. Sixty-three brilliant and extremely motivated specialists who never seemed to sleep. In a moment of irreverence, Amir had nicknamed them the Brain Trust.
She had been right; or, rather, the alternate version of himself had been right. The nanoparticles were the problem. Once they made the adjustments to the particle coating, the Satori device trials became much more interesting. He’d had his head inside the ponderous shell for more hours than he cared to recall, watching video clips of everything under the sun and waiting for the machines to process the signals collected from his brain, but the results were extraordinary.
The prototype and accompanying algorithms were providing copious data. Machine learning specialists had already adapted the deep learning processes previously identified using functional MRI scans to retrain a convolutional neural network to recognize the classification of the images he viewed. The neural net could now name the dolphin or sunset or kiwi bird in the movies he viewed faster than he could shout them out.
Earlier this evening,
he’d integrated Kathryn’s code for visual text recognition to work with the Satori signal, and he tested it against the gold standard for image reproduction, the Deep Generative Multiview Model. The speed, accuracy, and detail of the algorithms astounded everyone. He scanned printed pages. Each page was decoded as fast as he could sweep his eyes over the letters, and a facsimile appeared on a screen across the room. So much for the eidetic memory, he thought.
No wonder the Brain Trust was unwilling to rest. The advances were coming fast—on the order of days rather than years. Not a single team member doubted that this work would have impact far beyond everyone’s wildest imagination.
Now that they had a concept decoder and the functional equivalent of a brain-to-text teletype, the experts were eager to tackle the previously daunting prospect of decoding and reproducing visual images in real time. Which would mean he’d soon be back under the cumbersome helmet. It would also mean he’d have to be careful—very careful—about what was happening in his head.
A distinctive knock startled him just as he hit send on the progress report. Amir let himself in, carrying a broad, wide white porcelain cup on a saucer. He was wearing a gray shirt that read “npm install caffeine,” and he looked as exhausted as Andrew felt.
Andrew closed his eyes, relaxed in his chair, and ran a hand through his disheveled hair.
“Your timing couldn’t be better,” he sighed. “It looks like it’s going to be another all-nighter.”
Amir placed the coffee on the desk and shook his head. “This is insane, man. I’m just as juiced as anyone about this project, but even I’m beat. And I’m a decade younger than you are.”
Andrew reached for the cup and sipped the warm, foamy cappuccino, fighting to keep his eyes from glazing over.
“Eight,” he replied. “You’re only eight years younger than I am. Let’s keep things in perspective here.”
“Whatevs, Gramps. You got an eye on the outside world at all?”
“Nope. No time.”
“CNN just broke a big-ass story about a deadly bird flu outbreak in Texas. Apparently a cluster of eighty-eight patients were admitted to the hospital in San Antonio in the last twenty-four hours, and forty-seven are already dead.”
Andrew closed his eyes, dropping his head into his hands.
“It’s definitely getting worse. Every time we fix one disaster, another one pops up in its place. I was hoping it was a fluke. That the virus would surface in a few places and just burn out.”
Amir frowned. “So why’s it happening now? You said the slice suffered their pandemic in the forties, right?”
Andrew was silent for a long time, then raised his head and stared listlessly at the ceiling. “Honestly, I have no idea. My track record for predicting the effect that slice travel will have on our reality has been abysmal.”
“You don’t mince words, bro. Guess it was super-sketch to use the multiverse as our dog-food program.”
“I’m still optimistic we can contain this before it becomes a pandemic. I received an email from Ebhardt at the biotech subsidiary in Frankfort an hour ago. The samples we delivered from Kathryn’s sister and the information about the vaccine target she provided allowed the team to immediately ramp up production on the DNA vaccine. Normally it would take at least ten weeks to get the drug into production, but the CDC and the WHO are already beating down their door. They are optimistic that they could have a viable product in as early as four weeks. Maybe we can get this beast contained before it can do any real damage.”
Amir sat heavily in the leather chair and clenched his hands. His normally mirth-filled eyes were dark with worry.
“Michelle didn’t deserve this. How’s Kate holding up?”
Andrew’s look was guarded.
“Her parents are here. I’m sure she’s fine.”
Amir’s expression shifted to exasperation. “Oh, come on. We have been working together for years. I’ve been sitting right next to you in the same room for, like, sixteen hours a day. Every day. I’ve known you had a hard-on for Kate since the moment she walked through the door. Plus all those one-on-one meetings? You’d have to be a total bonehead to miss that.” Amir gave him a hard stare. “I’m actually a little offended that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me.”
“I’ve tried to be discreet. He doesn’t know about my…attachment to Kathryn. And he doesn’t know that the slice we raided has encoder technology to go along with the decoding that we’re developing now.”
“But that doesn’t matter,” Amir argued. “Since there’s no way to get back there to pick up the extra tech.”
“Well, it turns out that’s not completely accurate.” Andrew drained the last of the thick, creamy coffee from his cup.
Amir stared, blinking furiously. Suddenly his eyes widened. “It’s Kate, right?”
Andrew nodded. “He can’t find out.”
“Well, you know he won’t hear it from me. So, when’s our girl coming home?”
The look on Andrew’s face made Amir wish he hadn’t asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve pulled every string I have to get the foremost medical experts on the west coast on the case, but it’s been two days, and Michelle still isn’t improving. Kate and her parents have been living at the hospital. Beyond that, I don’t know much. She knows it’s wise to guard her communications.”
Andrew’s computer chimed; one of the sixty-three experts needed his attention.
Amir stood, reached over, and nonchalantly retrieved the empty cup and saucer. “You could take a few hours off and go see her.”
Andrew’s eyes were fixed on the computer screen, and he began typing furiously. “And leave all this?” he replied, his eyes rapidly scanning incoming messages. “Besides, she specifically asked me not to come.”
“Well, you’re the boss. I’m just saying…it’s not always about the work.”
“You’ve met my father, right? It is always about Albaion.”
Amir shrugged and moved toward the door. “Then I guess I’ll get back to it.”
With a wry half grin in his eyes, he gave the door a definitive jerk. “Party on, Wayne.”
Andrew fought a cynical smile. “Party on, Garth.”
Andrew was startled awake when the door to his office slammed violently against the wall. He sat up straight in his office chair, rubbed his dry eyes, and tried to focus. When had he fallen asleep? What time was it?
“Don’t you ever knock?” he muttered as Andric Breckinridge marched to the edge of his desk. The man was staring daggers; Andrew knew whatever came next wouldn’t be good.
“You have been withholding information.”
“I sent out a status report just a few hours ago. It was very thorough. The project is running ahead of schedule; the trials are going well. You know everything I know.”
Breckinridge’s eyes narrowed. “What I know is that you neglected to describe the methodology for encoding and broadcasting signals back into the brain.”
Andrew clenched his jaw and intentionally slowed his breathing. He rapidly ran through a mental list of his actions over the last day. How had information about the encoder found its way to Andric? Or had he simply made the mental leap himself—the logical next step?
“There was a lot of tech that I didn’t retrieve. We were only there for two days. And there is only so much I can realistically recall with any level of accuracy. This has always been a factor. The information I did retrieve is incredibly promising. Can’t you just be satisfied with what we have?”
Andric waved his hand dismissively. “A minor inconvenience that will soon be irrelevant, as you can wear the device during your future travels. We will observe and record all of your movements and experiences, so this bothersome dependence on your memory will no longer be of concern. A definite advantage. But with only half the function if I cannot direct your actions.”
“You know I don’t have the ability to re-access a slice. If you want the encoding technology, you’re going to have t
o develop it on your own.”
“On the contrary. I’ll simply use that little tart you’re infatuated with to return and retrieve it.”
Andrew was unable to suppress his dazed expression. How could he know? Could it have been Amir? Andrew dismissed the notion immediately, as the more likely explanation dawned upon him.
“You’ve bugged my office! What kind of cynical bastard spies on his own son?”
“The kind whose intractable offspring turns out to be a disloyal recreant.”
The two men stared at one another with mutual smoldering animosity. Andrew clenched his hands so tightly that his fingernails dug deep half-moon indentations on his palms. The oppressive silence stretched on until it was suddenly broken by the vibration of Andrew’s phone. Despite his father’s scowl, Andrew took a deep, calming breath and answered the call.
“Hello?”
There was a long pause. On the other end of the line, he could hear ragged, uneven breathing.
“Andrew…”
His heart leaped into his throat at the sound of Kathryn’s nearly hoarse voice. Something was terribly wrong.
“What is it?” He wanted to say so many things—none of which would be acceptable with his father still fuming in his office.
When she finally spoke, she sounded incredibly small. “She died, Andrew. My sister is dead.”
Chapter 29
Kate
November 5
The week my sister died, I learned many things—many macabre and horrible things no one should ever have to know. For instance, when someone succumbs to a highly contagious influenza strain, her body must be handled by as few people as possible. Under no circumstances will her ravaged and lifeless corpse be made available for viewing. Not to say goodbye. Not even to her family. The rules say she must be cremated immediately.
When all is said and done, the remains of an adult female weigh only four pounds. Cremains, they call them. When you’re transporting cremated human remains via airline they put them in a temporary urn, which is just a fancy name for a small, black plastic box lined with a clear plastic bag. The temporary urn was tall and narrow, and the lid on top opened on a hinge. I couldn’t stop thinking of it as a tiny trash can. Another thing I shouldn’t have to know.