“Say what?” John responded slowly.
Marvin nodded briskly, as if understanding his confusion.
“I know, it’s crazy. But technically it fits what we know of physics so far. There are certain subatomic particles that are traveling so fast, they are literally going backwards in time. We only catch the briefest glimpse of them as they whiz by us on their way into the past, but we know that’s what they are doing. It’s what Einstein told us with E=mc2. And because you’re somehow getting this boost in the weak nuclear force, that’s what happens to your atoms. They speed up so fast, they fall backwards through time.”
A thick silence fell over the table as everyone considered this, not quite grasping it clearly enough to even form questions about it.
Marvin drew in a deep breath and huffed a steadying sigh.
“I know,” he said, “It sounds totally nuts. But at least it more or less fits with what we already think we know. The problem is, the mathematics break down because, in order for either of those things to happen to you guys, it would require an incredible amount of energy. In your case, Mr. Kleinschmidt, more energy than actually exists in the entire universe.”
Dan shook his head as if to try and clear it.
“This is way too complicated for me,” he said.
Marvin fixed on him.
“Actually, it’s way too complicated for… anybody. Even the experts. This is the ragged edge of what we think we know. And normally we’d all just sit here scratching our heads and feeling stupid. But I happen to know about something that might just help explain it. Trouble is, it’s way classified stuff. Like, national security-level stuff. And I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you about it.”
For the first time Marvin turned to look over at where White was standing in the corner.
“Is that right, Mr. White? I’m not allowed to tell them?”
White barely leaned forward to make his contribution to the discussion.
“Unless it’s been cleared by the Director, anything you might disclose regarding that matter would be a Federal violation. As to whether anyone would prosecute, that wouldn’t be up to me.”
“What if it didn’t leave this room?” Dan said, fixing on White and surveying him like he was a suspect.
White paused a moment, and for the first time the faintest hint of a smile wrinkled the corners of his eyes.
“Then it wouldn’t have actually happened, would it?”
Dan regarded him thoughtfully.
“Tell us,” Roger said, his attention returning to Marvin.
Marvin nodded slowly, leaning forward and lacing his fingers together on the table before him, his demeanor turning serious.
“Thirty five years ago an experiment was conducted. From what I understand, it was an attempt to communicate in some way with a parallel dimension. Another universe, basically. One occupying the same physical space as ours, but on a different wavelength or frequency.
“The experiment was a disastrous failure. Blew up an entire facility. But it was out in the middle of nowhere, somewhere in Russia, so nobody noticed at the time.”
He paused to toss a quick glance at where White continued to stand, impassively, then turned back to the others at the table.
“That experiment somehow unleashed an incredible amount of energy of a type that doesn’t exist in this universe. We call it Dark Energy. I won’t go into details, it’s a very hard concept to grasp, but basically it has to do with being somehow outside our universe, yet able to influence it. We think gravity, our normal, everyday gravity, actually leaks into our universe from this… other place.”
He paused as if to shape his next thought, then turned to focus on John.
“Mr. Kleinschmidt, you’re thirty five years old, correct?”
John blinked, momentarily confused, then nodded.
“That’s right.”
“And your birthday is…?”
“October 8th,” John replied, “Why?”
Marvin turned to look at Roger.
“And you, Mr. Malloy, you are also thirty five years old, correct?”
Roger nodded slowly.
“And your date of birth?”
“October 12th.”
Marvin nodded, thoughtfully.
“So what happened to you couldn’t have had anything to do with your birth. Different days. But…”
He paused, searching carefully for his next words.
“I think it might have something to do with your conception.”
“Our what?” John asked.
Marvin fought down a slight grin.
“When you got started, so to speak.”
John’s face crunched up in confusion and he gave his head a sharp shake.
“When your father’s sperm,” Marvin went on, clinically, “Merged with your mother’s egg, and the DNA combined in the nucleus of that first cell.”
John seemed to ponder this, then his brows rose in an awkward understanding.
“Oh,” he said. “I got it. When we got started. Nicely put.”
“Thank you,” Marvin responded, then focused on them once more.
“What I find most interesting is the timing. It’s nothing that anybody can prove, but it does make you think.”
“What makes you think?” Dan asked.
“Well, think about it. Both Mr. Malloy and Mr. Kleinschmidt were born in October, thirty five years ago. That experiment was conducted thirty five years ago. And according to this computer program I was tracking the data on, it happened on a particular day of the year. February 14th. Valentine’s Day.”
He looked at them meaningfully, but was disappointed to see the confusion in their features.
“Valentine’s Day,” he repeated. “Nine months before both of you were born. I have no way to prove it, but I’m willing to bet both of you were ‘started’ on Valentine’s Day. And considering the timing, the experiment happened when it would be just getting close to midnight in the eastern part of the United States, on Valentine’s Day. Where both your parents lived at that time.”
John leaned suddenly forward.
“So, you’re saying…”
“That it’s possible,” Marvin interrupted, “That the combining of the DNA that wound up becoming you two guys, happened on Valentine’s Day, and at exactly the same instant that the experiment went off. In other words, at the precise moment your gene strands were joining, they got hit with this massive blast of whatever that energy was that escaped during the experiment.”
“That’s pretty weird,” Dan said.
Marvin gave a crisp nod.
“I agree. And there’s no way to calculate the probabilities. But it makes it at least possible.”
“But if that’s the case,” Dan asked, “Wouldn’t it have effected everybody whose DNA what’s-it was combining at that moment, all over the planet?”
Marvin nodded once more.
“It very well could. There’s no way to tell.”
“So there could be others out there like us?” Roger asked quietly, his tone awestruck.
“I don’t see why not,” Marvin responded gently. “Then again, how statistically possible is it that two totally unconnected conceptions would be in exactly the same stage at exactly the same micro-second the energy was released? Out of seven billion people on the planet? I’d bet the odds are several hundred million to one against more than a faint handful, if that many. Who knows? Maybe you two are completely unique. I just don’t know.”
John turned to where Dan sat, staring off, his expression tight, thoughtful.
“I don’t get it,” John said. “You mentioned something about me needing all the energy in the universe to make a jump. How is that possible?”
Marvin smiled at him.
“That’s what I’m getting at,” he said. “I don’t think you’re getting that energy from this universe. I think you’re drawing it from wherever that first blast came from. It could be that a part of you is even from that place, wherever it
is. Or has some means of tapping into it. Either way, when you need that energy, I think that’s where it’s coming from. And since we don’t know anything about its nature, what it does, how it reacts…”
He shrugged.
“But if gravity really is leaking into our universe from there, maybe you’re tapping into something from there as well. The both of you. Only in different ways.”
“So,” John said, carefully, “We’re… aliens?”
Marvin considered this.
“Who knows?” he said. “Aliens. Mutants. Or just a part of you is not from around here. Not anywhere near here.”
The room fell silent, and Marvin leaned back in his seat.
“So,” Dan said quietly, “What now?”
The silence swallowed the question.
The room was an odd combination of a normal office, indistinguishable from one in which the main goal was the acquisition of more and more profits, and the attention-directed arrangement of small cockpits deliberately placed to focus all attention to a single point.
There were dozens of desks, most of them occupied by intently concentrating analysts, poring over the cascades of data that was constantly sucked into this space. The bits and pieces were presented on dozens of computer screens while it was consumed by vast artificial brains that digested it and spit back fragments of interest.
At one particular desk, tucked back in a disregarded corner, an analyst scrolled slowly down the long list of intercepts pulled from the unending stream of data that blanketed the world, but pinpointed on the name Dr. Walter Montgomery.
There had been thousands of hits about hundreds of individuals bearing that name, but they all seemed to wander too far afield from the vague profile the analyst had been given. He had spent many hours pouring through, and ultimately discarding, those whose expertise was medical, or philosophical, plus a dozen other disciplines.
From the remaining dregs, he had built a number of files in which he stored anything that had a faint reference that might eventually tie to a solid connection to the single man he sought.
Now he pulled up the next category of mundane data for examination. This was yet another broad search through bank accounts, this time filtering millions of transactions with a cross-reference to flag any found to tie to major news stories.
It promised to be another grinding day of searching for a needle in a solid block of concrete, and the analyst was just beginning to consider if he could make a visit to the vending machine in the small lunch room, when his computer made a faint noise and the screen began to fill with data. The system had found something.
The analyst leaned forward to scan the screen.
Amid a long list of financial transactions pulled from the private records of a well known national bank, were several highlighted lines. They were transfers of sizable sums from an account in the name of the Karillan Foundation to someone named Joseph Franklin.
The analyst tapped a key to see what the intersect might be. A small window popped up on the screen, revealing a police report. A Joseph Franklin had been gunned down in a parking lot of a small airport in Arizona.
Focusing on the location and plunging into the records of the airport, he discovered a shipment that very evening from Joseph Franklin to Prague, the Czech Republic.
A few minutes more and he had unearthed an address from the Arizona Department of Motor Vehicles for a Joseph Franklin.
He made a note to pass this information on, not bothering to try and understand its significance. He had been specifically instructed to simply find the fragments and send them directly to Mr. Crawford himself. And though he wasn’t quite sure where Crawford loomed in the torturous structure of the agency, he knew he was someone to whom attention needed to be paid.
Several minutes more and he was beginning to construct a profile for Franklin, and he paused when he discovered that his small, private company devoted its energies to prototype development for major corporations.
Interesting, the analyst thought, but God knows what it means.
He noted each new piece of information until he could give a quick, broad picture of this individual, then picked up the phone.
The three men sat at the table in the far corner of the small café just a block away from the massive medical facility, each consumed with his own thoughts.
Dan absently swirled the spoon in his coffee cup, his attention fixed on the table before him. John and Roger sat on the other side of the booth, trying to digest what they’d been told.
At last John shook his head and released a weary sigh.
“I still can’t…” he began, then fell silent, raising his eyes and glancing around before turning to focus on Dan.
“So we really are freaks,” he finally added. “Somebody’s science project.”
His tone turned sour as he mimicked a different voice.
“Hey, let’s monkey around with this science thing. Oops, it’s gone wrong. Oh well, at least we didn’t hurt anybody.”
He dropped the mocking voice.
“Assholes,” he muttered.
Dan smiled and glanced up at him.
“At least you didn’t wind up with two heads or something,” he said quietly.
John’s face twisted sourly.
“Yeah. That’s a blessing. I’m just a frickin’ Frankenstein. That’s not bad, is it?”
Dan shrugged weakly.
“You’re not a monster,” he said gently. “You just have this… extra thing you can do. Some people would consider it a blessing.”
“A blessing?” John shot back. “You know what it feels like when I use it? What it does to my gut? It’s like somebody’s hit me with a two-by-four. It’s not pleasant.”
Dan fixed on him sharply.
“So why do you do it? If it sucks so badly, why do you keep doing it?”
John seemed about to spit back an angry response, but caught himself and leaned back in the booth.
“This thing has fucked up my whole life,” he muttered. “I could have just been… normal. And why me? Out of everybody on the planet, why me?”
“You heard what he said,” Dan responded, “it was an accident. Just bad timing.”
John smirked.
“Yeah. Thanks a lot, God. Nice going.”
Dan glanced at Roger who seemed deeply lost in his own thoughts, then back at John.
“Well, there isn’t much you can do about it, is there? It’s what it is. The question is, what are you going to do about it?”
“Do about it?” John replied. “What do you mean, do about it? What am I supposed to do?”
Dan hesitated, then had to look away as he responded quietly.
“You could do some good with it,” he said.
John stared at him, startled.
“Some good? You mean like stopping a guy from shooting another guy during a robbery? Or how about preventing an explosion that would have killed a couple of hundred people? That kind of good?”
Dan’s expression turned to one of defeated exasperation. John gave a tight, sour smile.
“Yeah, that worked out real well, didn’t it?”
“Okay,” Dan said, “Point taken.”
“I’m not a hero,” Roger said softly, causing the other two men to turn to him.
“What?” John said.
Roger paused before responding.
“I’m not the ‘good guy’. I don’t want to save people. If I’d wanted to do that, I’d have been a cop, or a fireman. I’m a computer programmer. I like doing that. It’s private. I don’t have to deal with other people.”
“Right," John added. “Besides, we’d look stupid in stretchy costumes. I had to wear some tights in a high school play once, and that felt really creepy. You get wedgies like you wouldn’t believe.”
For the first time Roger turned to him, his expression puzzled.
“Wedgies?”
John nodded.
“Yeah. Where they ride up your ass crack? Not fun.”
; Roger’s face opened in surprise and he turned to stare at Dan, who locked eyes with him.
Then a smile began to tug at Roger’s lips, which Dan’s eyes picked up, and despite themselves, their smiles bloomed and bubbled into laughter.
John frowned, shooting a look between the two men.
“What?” he said, suspiciously.
That seemed to release the restrained amusement, and the other men boiled into full laughter.
“What’s with you guys?” John snapped, annoyed. “What did I say?”
Dan let his laughter boil away and turned to him.
“Super skidmarks,” he managed to say, then erupted into laughter once more.
Roger merely shook, his body smothering and absorbing each jolt of amusement.
John shook his head, rolling his eyes.
“Okay,” he said, “I get it. But you know what I mean. That’s comic book stuff. It’s not real.”
There was a moment's pause as the laughter finally wound down.
“We’re real,” Roger said quietly.
John gave a sharp, dismissive nod.
“Yeah, we’re real. But that isn’t. I mean, what, you want to spend your life running around saving people? How you going to do that? You going to sit around with a police scanner waiting for reports about… I don’t know… shoot-outs or fires and stuff, then rush over and save everybody? How’s that gonna work?”
Roger fixed on him seriously.
“It felt good, didn’t it?” he said, simply.
“What did?” John responded.
Roger examined him thoughtfully.
“Stopping that explosion,” he replied. “Didn’t that feel like you’d accomplished something? Done some good?”
John gaped at him.
“I got arrested,” he shot back, his voice rising. “They thought I was a terrorist.”
“They didn’t understand,” Dan added gently.
John’s attention snapped to him.
“That’s right,” he spit, “They didn’t understand. Nobody would understand. Hell, I don’t understand. What I am. What I can do. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“According to what that Henry guy said – “ Dan began, but John shot up an arm to cut him off.
“I know what he said. I get it. He’s got an idea to explain it. And maybe he’s right, who knows? But it’s so frickin’ out there, that as far as regular people are concerned, I’m just this weirdo freak. I’m like some high school nerd, only times a hundred. A thousand. I’m like the ultimate creepy outsider. We both are. And every time I use it to help other people, I wind up getting fucked over. Well, no thank you. I’m doing the tests, I did what they wanted, and as soon as they’re all finished I’m done. I’m just going to go home and start packing. The trotter races start in Jersey next month and I’ve got to make a living. So that’s it. I’m done.”
Class Fives: Origins Page 24