Shivering uncontrollably, anticipating the warmth of the outside hallway, he stumbled through the swirling icy fog to the entrance door.
There, under the crimson glow, unable to see his hand, he reached for the pull handle and jerked back. It was gone. Damn. They must’ve replaced it while I slept. In its place, a cold metallic panel, he assumed to be the new cipher lock, awaited the exit code.
He fumbled his fingers through his pockets and pulled out a folded slip of paper. Clumsily he held it up to his face and tried to steady it, catch a number. Unsuccessful, he leaned his forearms against the door and stabilized them. Then miraculously as he drew closer, a number pulled into focus. It was a 2. The one beside it, a 3.
“S-Shit,” he muttered, “T-These are the l-lottery numbers N-Nissy just g-ga-gave me. They w-won’t d-do any g-good h-here.”
Angered at his vulnerability, he realized his mind, more confused with each echoing tick of the overhead clock, would soon fail him. He had already forgotten the cipher lock numbers he created only hours earlier and couldn’t remember where he left the notepad listing them. Suddenly a thought of Amy, not the girl but the word, flashed through his mind but he didn’t understand why. Letters beside numbers, he remembered. Assign to each letter its alphabetical order, concatenate them, and form a cipher.
He tried to smile at his revelation but his taut face prevented it. Shakily, painfully, he held up his left hand, spread his numb fingers, and began to awkwardly sequence through them with his right. A is 1, M is 13, and Y is 25, he counted in his mind. If only Jen could see me now, her genius husband counting on his fingers in a whiteout, he thought.
Chuckling at himself, he felt for the cipher pad and once found, began to key in the code. He entered 1-1-3-2-5 and waited, expecting an immediate reaction. But it took a full five seconds for the lock to click, which seemed to him the longest five seconds of his life.
Weak and shuddering, he pushed open the door and stepped into the hallway, letting it slam behind him. He staggered five steps through a flurry of frosty mist before collapsing in a heap, welcoming the warmth of the floor.
It was almost ten minutes later that he gained strength to move his hands. Then, as some feeling returned, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and speed-dialed Jen.
“Oh, thank God,” she said in an unsteady voice. “Are you okay, Jace?”
“I am now that I got out. Still cold but I’ll make it home okay.”
“Are you sure, honey?”
“I’m not sure of anything anymore but the odds are pretty good, I’d say. Tony Jackson is driving, remember? No car.”
“Oh, crap. I forgot. I was going to ask if you would mind stopping by the school to pick up Amy.”
“Why can’t you? You have the car.”
She lowered her voice. “Sorry, Jace, I’m in a New Science on Mars selection meeting with potential contractors. It may go on for hours. I can’t leave.”
“Then don’t worry your pretty little head, honey. I’ll send Tony on his way and call a cab. We’ll meet Amy at the school in no time. Where?”
“She said she’d be in the computer lab, right around the corner from the recital hall.”
“Really? Sounds like she’s already taking after her old man. Huh. I’ll see you at home. Burgers okay?”
“Sure,” she said with a resigned sigh. “They’ll be fine. See you at home.”
Chapter 9
FROSTBITE
A s artificial hedges out the bedroom window spread their robotic petals welcoming morning’s first light, Jen awakened, nudged Jason still snoring, and went about readying herself for another day of meetings. Rousing slowly, rubbing his hands, he sat up, inspected them, and found them spotted with small watery sacs. He at first wondered if they were frostbitten, but he knew they were; he had endured the cold far too long without protection.
“Jen, I think I may have frostbite,” he said, examining the newly formed blisters.
She stepped over to the bed. “Let me take a look.”
Reluctantly he held them out, foreseeing another wasted morning.
“I hate to tell you, honey, but you need a doctor, ASAP.” She tore a small page of paper from a notepad on the nightstand, briefly scribbled on it, and handed it to him.
“Now back you go to the ER. See that doctor,” she said pointing, “she’s a friend of mine, very competent and we’re kindred souls.”
He stared at the note as she spoke. On it, she had jotted Dr. Louise Lipinski ̶ intern CICU.
“Oh, I remember her… vaguely. She tried to stop us from leaving. Is that the one?”
“Yes, but I was impressed with her integrity and knowledge. She only tried to stop us, Jace, following hospital rules, but she didn’t succeed. She knew better.”
Knowing she was right about him needing a doctor, he gave in to her wish.
“All right,” he sighed. “Let me get dressed and I’ll call for a taxi pickup.”
“Can you drop Amy by the school on your way?”
“Sure,” he smiled. “What time do her classes start?”
“Her first class is at seven-fifty and she gets out at exactly three-fifty-four. Same as yesterday. Better get cracking.”
“Oh, does that mean I’m picking her up, too?”
“You can count on it. We’re in final selection today.”
“And you might be home late, right?”
“Good morning,” Amy interrupted brightly, standing in the doorway, rubbing her eyes. Still in her blue and red Super Girl pajamas, she was becoming accustomed to her new family, not crying nearly so much, but still hesitant about what to call them. She had thought about referring to them as mother and father as her deceased parents had required, but she found it a bit stuffy for them---and it made her cry, remembering Mother and Father---they were better suited for Mommy and Daddy.
She stepped forward, tentative, surprising them with wisdom. “I’ve been thinking about something. Is it okay if I call you Mommy and Daddy, now? I’ve always wanted a mommy and daddy but I always had to say mother and father before.” Waiting for an answer, she wiped her eyes and sniffled.
Jen and Jason smiled together, tears glistening from their eyes, as they held out their arms.
“Of course you can, Amy,” Jen said, her voice breaking. “Come here and give me a hug.”
“Me too,” Jason echoed. “You’re daddy’s girl now.”
She ran across the room into their arms, eagerly hugged and kissed them, then abruptly backed off with a somber face and stared at Jen for a moment.
“Good. Now that the formalties are over may I please have a strawberry pop-tart, Mommy?”
“You mean formalities, don’t you Amy?” Jen asked, grinning.
“Oh, of course. Sorry. But may I, Mommy?” she said, looking down, pouting.
“You can have two but you’ll have to hurry,” she said, then turned to Jason. “Better call for a cab or she’ll be late.”
Ten minutes passed and they stood ready at the front door awaiting Jason’s appearance. They had heard footsteps shuffling, drawers and doors slamming from the floor above so they weren’t too surprised when he descended the stairway toting a large suitcase, rolling on small wheels, bumping down the stairs one step at a time.
“Unexpected trip, hon?” she asked, a hint of bitterness in her voice. “You could have told me.”
“No, Jen, not a trip,” he said, assuredly. “Just back into that freezing lab that gave me this damn frostbite. Not again, though.” He hefted the suitcase a few inches then let it slam back down on the stairs with a thud. “This is the protective gear from my arctic trip a few years back.”
“Lucky you kept it this long, huh? Now what was that trip about?”
“Don’t ask. Just trying to get my head together.”
“And how did that go for you?” she asked, smiling.
“Well, mainly I gained a new respect for sub-zero temperatures. And this Arctic suit.”
“Daddy. Let’s g
o. I’ll be late,” Amy said, tugging his sleeve, her eyes widening, following the taxi into the portico.
Jason noticed on the cab ride to school that Amy was opening up a little, more talkative about herself and her family before the devastating earthquake. They had pushed her into music and she had grown to like it. It had soothed her need for mathematics and provided an avenue for her to excel, but her heart was in the complexities of rhythmic structure and the science of harmonics. It all seemed too familiar; she was unknowingly following in his footsteps.
After dropping her off, he directed the cab to the hospital, told the driver to wait, and rushed onto the ER.
“I need to see Dr. Louise Lipinski,” he puffed, reading the crumpled note from his pocket.
The receptionist, a frail red-haired woman in her fifties, glanced up from her screen with a smile. “Do you have an appointment, sir?”
“Uh, no ma’am. My wife is a friend of hers. She was our doctor during the earthquake ordeal last week.”
“Oh, I see. Is this a return visit?”
“Sort of. I want her to check out my hands for frostbite. My wife recommended her.” Trying to expedite the questioning, he held out his hands.
She scrunched her face. “Ooh. That’s bad. Now, you received that frostbite in the earthquake? How… I’m confused.”
He chuckled. “No. I’m sorry, the two incidents aren’t related. I received the frostbite in a lab accident yesterday. I was hoping she’d see me again.”
Shaking her head, she thumbed down a list of names and stopped on Lipinski.
“There she is,” she muttered, then looked up. “And what is your name, sir?”
“Jason Godwin. Dr. Jason Godwin. My wife is Jennifer Lowe Godwin. She should also remember Amy, our recently adopted daughter.”
A brief telephone interchange between the red-haired receptionist and Dr. Lipinski brought her double stepping down the stairs to the front desk.
“Good to see you up and around, Dr. Godwin,” she said, holding out her hand, approaching him.
He offered his hand then pulled back.
“Sorry, Dr. Lipinski, my blisters really hurt. I can fist bump if you’d like but gently.”
She chuckled then frowned as she glanced down at the blisters. “No need. Let me see your hands, front and back.”
She quickly examined them, turning each one between her gloved hands.
“Hmm. It’s not so serious that you need immediate treatment. But it may take three or four weeks for the skin to heal or die.”
“Really? What about the pain?”
“There’s not really much you can do except take painkillers. Start off with Ibuprofen and if that doesn’t help, contact me and I’ll call in a prescription for something stronger.”
He winced in pain at her touch. “That’s all?”
“For now, I’m afraid so, Dr. Godwin. If the blisters show infection, or you develop a fever, please see me again.”
“Thank you so much for seeing me without an appointment, Dr. Lipinski. Now back to my lab. I have to tend the beast.”
She started to leave then turned back. “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question, Dr. Godwin?”
“Please… call me Jason.”
“Okay, Jason, your wife Jennifer mentioned that you are researching artificial intelligence with computers… quantum computers, specifically.”
He tilted his head and smiled. “True. Do you have an interest?”
“Only because I’m watching new forms of existence develop from the other side of science using DNA sequencing to create synthetic life.”
“Oh, really? Who’s doing that?”
“My husband, Dr. Blake Lipinski. You may have read of his work in synthetic genomics.”
He shook his head.
“No, ma’am, can’t say that I have.”
“He’s renown in his field. He’s worked with Craig Venter at SGI but after a difference of opinion he struck out on his own.”
“Haven’t heard of him, either. I guess I’ve been in my quantum cocoon for quite a while, now.”
“You should read up, Doctor. He now runs Biodna Labs, an advanced research organization he formed to make bioprinters, er… DNA printers, space-worthy.”
“That’s great, Dr, Lipinski,” he added, “but why would I be interested? That science and mine are worlds apart.”
“It’s a small world, Jason. Your wife Jen just selected his Biodna project to be part of the New Science on Mars payload. It launches in a month.”
Eyebrows arched, he stepped back and bowed. “My honor, Doctor. It is a small world. You must be quite proud of him. But that concerns Jen not me.”
She glanced up the stairs at a waving nurse, then nodded, acknowledging her signal and back at him. “Thank you, I am. But he’s also helping the world of computing with his DNA massive memory research.”
“What? Now that you have my attention, please go on.” He grabbed her arm, holding her back, ignoring his pain.
“I have to go now,” she said, pulling away, “but all I know is he’s getting three zettabytes of memory from six grams of sequenced DNA in a liter of life-giving fluid. Unprecedented storage, I understand.”
In a flash, she was gone, halfway up the stairs, when his mouth dropped; in his mind, he had finally converted a zettabyte to something recognizable: a billion terabytes.
* * *
Returning to the lab by way of his favorite convenience store, one he felt worthy of collecting over $2 million from the winning ticket sale, he directed the taxi driver to stop out front and wait.
He stepped up to the counter, pulled a folded note from his pocket, and then began to blacken the winning Powerball numbers. Next, he checked the single draw option for Wednesday night. Done, he handed the ticket to the cashier and tried to act nonchalant. But he was no actor; he shook like a leaf in the breeze, about to bet two dollars on a small fortune, especially when he knew it was a sure thing. To him it just didn’t seem right.
“I need two dollars, s-sir,” the frightened elderly cashier in a peaked blue turban and long gray beard spoke, a slight Middle Eastern accent affecting his speech. Concerned at Jason’s nervous demeanor, he had been warned that potential robbers would show such signs. He held out his right hand while his left waited over the panic alarm button just under the counter.
Jason reached slowly into his coat, his face grimacing in pain, and gently pulled out his wallet, holding it out between the two least injured fingers.
“Would you mind taking out the two dollars? My hands are quite blistered as you can see.”
The old man shuddered at the sight and refused the billfold, then printed out the ticket and with both hands placed it on the counter as a gift.
“I see you have more problems than me, my son. Put your money back. Let me pay for it. Pay me when you’re well.”
Jason stared at him for a moment, nodded, then returned the smile. If only he knew.
“Thank you, kind sir.” he said, “You can count on it.” Carefully stuffing the ticket into his shirt pocket, he didn’t look back, he was finally on his way to see Nissy.
Chapter 10
RESPONSIBILITY
H e felt estranged as he entered Qubital’s once gleaming lobby, noticing it had lost some of its luster with the defunding of his lab. Coworkers in the hallways ignored the suitcase he towed, milling about like zombies, emotionless, without the sparkle their eyes once had. On a normal day, they would have stopped him to comment on the baggage, usually making jokes about a sudden trip, but not today. Something was drastically wrong. Perhaps it was just him but he could see morale-crushing, cost-cutting measures everywhere that weren’t there before the Quaid Lab was severed. Generally when an asset was sold or dissolved, the company would flourish for a while or at least remain stable, but the new signs were not good. Qubital was in severe financial trouble and it showed.
But then, he wondered if it was his doing. If so, he had no clue so much was riding on his w
ork. Noah Sherman, his CEO, had brushed off his pioneering work, stopping it dead in its tracks at Bill Crane’s seemingly unfounded recommendations. That decision seemed too impetuous to Jason, too soon to cut the funding. He knew Nissy was within months of sentience and possibly omniscience but those goals were nearly impossible to prove. So was its future-vision which he wanted kept under wraps, but he was only a day away from validating that with a first Powerball win. He patted his shirt pocket and unlocked his office door.
The scribbled note on his desk appeared unimportant at first; he had found them before and they usually detailed missed calls or upcoming meetings but the signature line on this one caught his eye.
He scooped it up, sat in his chair under the watchful eyes of Mozart, Einstein, Jobs, and Cooper, and began to read.
“Jason - So you know, a very serious situation has developed with Dr. Bill Crane, a senior employee and friend of ours. Early this a.m. he called in a report of a fully involved warehouse fire not far from here. When they responded there was no sign of a fire, everything was normal, but two hours later, it erupted in full force and burned to the ground. Three people died. Since then, after voice print verification of his call, police arrested him on charges on arson and murder. Suggest you stay mum on the subject.
Noah Sherman”
Perplexed, needing more facts, he wanted to smile at Crane’s misfortune but the loss of life stopped him. In fact, the whole situation was so strange, he wondered in the back of his mind if Nissy had some part in it. Could Nissy have foreseen a future fire and taken advantage of an accident to implicate Crane or had it developed a pyrokinesis power, ala Steven King’s Firestarter? A physical impossibility, a staple of sci-fi stories it was, but in trying to create quantum omniscience, he was navigating through uncharted waters. Was anything impossible with quantum entanglement under omniscient control? No time like the present to find out, he thought. Crumpling the note, he put a match from his desk drawer to it, and tossed it into the trash.
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