The Savants

by Patrick Kendrick

  “The last I knew he lived on the east coast, near the shore in Maine,” said Cooper. “If he shows any reluctance, tell him the truth. That might serve as a motivator for him. Maine might not get the full assault of the wave, but I am sure it will be negatively affected. Dr. Hisamoto, how much time do you think we have? I know it’s difficult to project with accuracy, but what’s your gut telling you?”

  “We’ve calculated the growth of the fault line. It’s growing at a measurable pace right now. We, the majority of the scientific community and I, believe we have another week, give or take a day. But, sir, I emphasize again, no one can be sure. The fissure is similar to the west coast San Andreas Fault, only less stable. In other words, it could go at any time. Please don’t blame me if it goes sooner…”

  “Blame you?” replied Cooper. “If it goes, I’ll be dead along with a third of America’s population. Let’s get started, people. Dr. Hisamoto, Dr. Heimel, I thank you and your colleagues for your presentation. Department Directors, I appreciate you being here. Go back to your departments and start making preparations for evacuations—that will be on my order only—as best you can. Tell them we are implementing a large scale practice of the National Emergency Plan we designed last year. We’ll need to get the UN involved, but we need to try to keep a lid on this for a couple more days. If the truth gets out, we should downplay the validity and/or severity of the problem until we can get a better handle on what our emergency and recovery plans are going to be. Everyone in this room has our top security clearance. Please don’t forget that. If we are to be successful at all, it will be due to our trust and cooperation with each other. Is that understood?”

  All heads in the room nodded in solemn agreement.

  The President continued, “Stan, inform the rest of the cabinet and let’s get every available member of the armed forces headed toward the east coast. Keep minimal staffing levels at our far western bases; California and Hawaii, particularly. Bring them east. Let’s make Ft. Benning in Georgia our staging area in the south. It’ll be close enough for deployment to the most affected areas but should be far enough inland in case the event is premature. We’ll make this camp the northern staging area and use the National Fire Academy for overflow. Close all National Parks that used to be military bases and let’s see what it would take to bring them back on line as such. This takes absolute priority. Start repositioning all state-side National Guard and Army reserves along the eastern seaboard in case we move ahead with the evacuations. Everything else is on hold for now.”

  “I’ll take responsibility for all military actions and planning, sir,” Vice President Proger offered.

  “Right,” said Cooper. “Alan, get your departments ready for mass migration planning. Try to anticipate every contingency and problem: communications is number one. Fuel, food, housing, everything we’ve talked about previously only on a bigger scale, comes after that. Get with the Departments of Housing, Commerce, Federal Reserve…hell, get with everybody and brief them. Start lining up emergency funding and all associated logistics. But stress this: no media contact. Madam Secretary, you will handle all international inquiries with the message we will have established by this afternoon and by which we will all maintain for consistency. Nationally, everything goes through the Press Secretary from me or, in my stead, Vice President Proger.”

  He turned to the rest of the group and addressed them:

  “Ladies and gentlemen, you all know the severity of this situation. It’s like nothing we’ve ever encountered before. Let’s make a pact, here and now, that we’ll share all knowledge. Don’t stop working on this, no matter how futile it seems. If you think of something, anything at all that might help us mitigate this event or assist with a rapid and orderly recovery, put it on the table. Nothing is off limits as far as ideas go. My staff will field and assess incoming ideas, but I will retain constant vigilance on this matter, and you will have personal access to me if you have any plans that might help us. Let’s put away any political differences we might have and reinforce those relationships and agreements that will help us produce a better outcome when this event occurs. Now, let’s pray.”

  President Cooper’s words were strong and encouraged agreement with everyone present. Scientists and political leaders nodded, then bowed their heads, but most of them had the same self-preserving thought: where can I go to be as far away from here as possible?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  In the Beehive, the group assembled in the library.

  The room’s walls were paneled mahogany on top of burgundy-striped wainscoting, positioned over a woodsy green carpet that felt like the lush moss floor of a forest. Etta, the demure girl from Japan, had slipped off her shoes and was burying her toes into the carpet.

  Dr. Pevnick gathered together the group of so-called savants, a task that had taken him close to three years to get permission from those in charge of their care; parents, physicians, psychologists, as well as the legal twists and turns, travel arrangements, and the biggest hurdle—convincing a bunch of extraordinary people that it would be in their own and the world’s best interest to allow him to study them as a group. None of them had siblings, or any close friends other than those caretakers responsible for their well-being. To most of them the idea was as foreign an idea as interplanetary travel. Most of them had never set foot outside of their hometowns. After a couple days to make them feel more comfortable, Pevnick asked them all to come to his study for the first time to explain his project to them as a group.

  Pevnick looked around the room smiling benignly, his eyes almost wet with emotion. If he could not succeed beyond this simple gathering, he told himself, it was still an achievement. But he wondered with unbridled anticipation, what could they do together? What could he, and possibly the world, learn?

  To his immediate right sat James Tramwell, who, in spite of being dressed for several hours now, was still silently counting his clothes, his hands under the table as they drifted over his garments while his lips silently mouthed: one, two, three…

  To James’s right was Jeremy Clemens. He was eighteen years old, black, and a rather large young man who looked more like a middleweight boxer than a sculptor. He was wearing underwear—no pants—that were neatly pressed, calf-length white crew socks with penny loafers that actually had pennies in them, and a black, knit pullover that made him look like a French underground resistance fighter caught in a wardrobe change. His “gifts” were the ability to accurately sculpt anything he saw or could think of, as well as “perfect appreciation,” the ability to tell time at any moment, anywhere in the world. His biggest hurdle was that he was echolalic, repeating words and phrases so often it typically rendered his speech unintelligible and confusing. Most people gave up the attempt after a few moments, including his parents, so that his total experience with meaningful dialogue had been less in his entire life than most people experienced in a week.

  Continuing to the right, there was Harvey Peet. He was twenty years old, Australian, and the oldest in the group. He was heavy set and wore thick glasses like James, though he preferred tortoise-shell frames, which were held together with a piece of silver duct tape. His head was large, almost mushrooming at the top due to his oversized brain, an organ that was an anomaly in itself as it did not contain the septum, the dividing membrane of the two halves of the normal brain. His eyes constantly scanned back and forth horizontally, so that it appeared he was watching something run by him, again and again. This aberration was actually part of his gift, which was the ability to read with almost lightning speed and remember everything he read. He could answer every question posed to him on any subject, including dates, the day of the week, persons involved, geographic locations, etcetera. His passion was anything to do with science. His hurdle was that he was a coprolalic, cussing uncontrollably like someone with Tourette’s syndrome. He had been trained to deal with this and knew it was socially unacceptable, so he tried to use various nonsense words to mask this affliction. Lately, he had
been endeavoring to use the word, cuss, rather than actually use a curse word. It was distracting, but certainly more socially acceptable. His clothes were disheveled and his hair constantly askew, as if the wind was his personal mad stylist.

  Lastly, there was Etta Kim from Japan. She was the youngest at seventeen. She was small in stature, truly a porcelain doll, and painfully quiet. Her features were small—specifically her nose, mouth and ears, but her eyes were too big for her tiny face, giving the overall impression of a nocturnal creature caught in the light. Her hair was long, black and cut as evenly as if a machine had trimmed it. She sat ramrod-straight, impeccably clothed in a dress that looked like it was made for a child. Her gift was an innate sense of engineering, the ability to design and draw, in three-dimension and to scale, anything she could imagine, some of which was inexplicable machinery and imaginary underwater cities. She told people these things were “from memory.” Her hurdle was that she displayed “stimming,” an uncontrollable movement of her hands and arms, which grew worse when she was nervous, but ceased completely when she drew a picture or was in close proximity to the sea or its abundant life.

  “We’ve all had a few days to get acquainted,” began Pevnick, in an attempt to break the ice. “I trust everyone is comfortable…”

  “Some of us, crap…I mean, cccrrruuudd, hellllll, hel-per…unicorn…cuss, cuss…more than others,” said Harvey, his constantly scanning eyes locking in on Jeremy.

  Jeremy replied, “I am, how you say, a-wake from I hear Harvey, snoring and farting in his sleep, oui? Snoring and farting, snoring and farting.”

  Harvey smiled proudly and took a little bow, a gesture that elicited quiet titters from the group.

  Pevnick smiled and resisted the temptation to correct them on social niceties. “What about you, Etta? Are you comfortable?” he asked.

  Etta’s hands were folded, but once the attention turned to her she became visibly nervous. Her hands went rigid and started flapping, which traveled up through her arms, and she began to jerk chaotically.

  Pevnick anticipated this happening and quickly reached into his inside coat pocket and withdrew a starfish. “I found this on the shore a few days ago. It was already dead or I would have thrown it back in the ocean. I thought you might like it,” he said, and placed it on the table in front of her.

  Etta’s arms came to rest at her side and her hands softened and calmed as she picked up the starfish, as if seeing one for the first time. She ran her fingers over the animal’s bumpy skin, her fingers touching it so delicately it was as if she believed it would shatter.

  “I…am…comfortable. Thank you, Dr. Pevnick,” she said, without making eye contact with anyone in the group.

  “You’re welcome, Etta. Now then, I told you all a few days ago that our goal here is for all of us, eh…that is you, to try to work on a common problem. All of you have such diverse talents I thought it best if I picked the project. I hope you don’t mind.”

  They all looked at each other briefly, and shook their heads.

  “Let’s fu…fu…fruitcake…sorry…hear it,” said Harvey, his face flushed with the exertion of trying not to use profanity. None of the others seemed to notice, or if they did, they didn’t show it.

  “Very well,” said Pevnick. “I chose a project that is nothing new, technologically, but it is something none of you have worked on previously on your own.”

  James cocked his head to one side and said, dryly, “The suspense is killing me, Dr. Pevnick.”

  “I want you to work on a solar-powered device.” Pevnick looked around at the group to note their reactions, his Steno pad close by. There was little to no reaction except from James, who shook his head and smiled. “You disapprove, James?”

  “No. I just thought it would be something more…difficult.”

  “Well, it would be for me. I wouldn’t have an idea where to start. And, it won’t be that easy for you. First, you have to agree on what it is you want to build—I’m only giving you the parameters that it has to be solar-powered. Second, you will have to research and design it. And, third, whatever it is, you will have to make it from scratch. All the tools and materials you will need are housed in a machinist’s shop located just down the road on this property. Anything else you discover you need, you will have to order. It might sound easy, as you say, but every step of the project will have its challenges. Your ability to overcome those challenges is all part of my research.”

  James looked at Etta and realized she might not understand everything that was being said. In anticipation of meeting her, he’d learned her language, and as Pevnick spoke, he translated the gist of the conversation to her. Then, he turned to Jeremy and did the same thing in French. It was, perhaps, the first time in his life that he had done something for someone else. It was a socialization skill, a subtle one, but it did not go unnoticed by Dr. Pevnick, who jotted down some notes. James turned back to him and nodded, announcing he was done.

  “Thank you, James. That was most helpful,” said Pevnick. He looked at the others around the table. “So, you see, there will be challenges.”

  No one responded initially and the silence was disquieting, then Jeremy spoke up, “Your watch is losing time, Dr. Pevnick, losing time, losing time…”

  Dr. Pevnick looked at his watch, curious. “Oh, I don’t think so, Jeremy. This is a very fine watch. A Rolex. The best there is. In fact, it was given to me by the President of the United States.” He said this as a way of affirmation and not braggadocio.

  His secretary, Mrs. Olivia Brown, came into the room carrying a portable phone. She was an older woman, her grey-streaked hair pulled into a tight bun; her collar buttoned high, her stature as straight as a colonial chair. Her attire was always professional, typically Ann Taylor, though on a whim she might wear J Crew or some other tasteful choice. She was all business in spite of her kind and still pretty face. Her assistance to Dr. Pevnick was constant and invaluable.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, doctor, but you have an urgent phone call…”

  Pevnick glanced at his watch again; a habit he had developed so that when he took notes, he had the time marked next to each one. He saw his watch had stopped. He frowned and looked up at Jeremy, his mouth slightly agape in surprise.

  “I can fix eet for you, monsieur…zee watch. Fix eet for you. Eet should read 1:11pm. Eet ees also 7:11 in Budapest and 9:11 in Anchorage.”

  Pevnick slipped off his watch and absent-mindedly handed it to Jeremy. “Who is it, Mrs. Brown?” the doctor asked his secretary. “I’d rather not be disturbed right now.”

  Mrs. Brown tilted her head up slightly. “It’s the President, sir.”

  “Of the United States?”

  “Yes. That one.”

  Pevnick looked confused for a moment. He was not a superstitious man, but the timing of the failure of his watch—the one given to him by the President—and the President calling him at the same time was, to say the least, strange. He took a deep breath, looked around the table apologetically, and accepted the phone from Mrs. Brown.

  “Do you believe in coincidences, Dr. Pevnick?” asked James.

  Pevnick shook his head, his hand over the phone.

  “You should, doctor,” James advised. “Coincidences are mathematically provable. They aren’t really miracles, you know. I can show you, but the numbers can be quite…long.”

  “Later, James,” said Pevnick, whispering. He turned to the rest of the group, “Excuse me. Please, all of you. I have to take this phone call.”

  The group—the savants—didn’t seem to mind. They began to mill about the room, which was filled with shelves of books. Without conversation, they individually began to pull out some of the volumes and started thumbing through them. Except for Jeremy, who found a letter opener in the room and was using it to pry open the casing to Pevnick’s Rolex.

  They were all quick readers, but Harvey read so quickly, it was almost comical. He turned pages so fast, it was as if he was making a joke; he could
n’t possibly be capturing the words much less retaining the book’s information, but he was. He smiled and adjusted his crotch absently and repeatedly as he absorbed the text. No one else seemed to mind, but Mrs. Brown frowned at him and tightened her mouth in disapproval. Harvey noticed and winked at her.

  “This is Dr. Pevnick,” he addressed the caller, just as Jeremy dropped the watch’s delicate inner mechanisms all over the floor.

  “Sacre bleu!” said Jeremy. “Sacre…sacre…”

  James acted as if he were helping to pick up the pieces of the disassembled watch, but he watched, listening closely to Pevnick as he spoke to the President. James did not believe in coincidences.

  Pevnick’s eyes went wide, but he was, obviously, obligated to learn what the President wanted. “Er, uh…hello. Yes, sir. I am well. How are you, Mr. President? Yes. Uh-huh. Well, no, sir. I have not checked my messages today. No, I didn’t know Director Finney was trying to reach me. No. But…yes. I’ve been working on a research project involving several subjects that have come from all over the world and…yes. I understand. Of course. Very well. I’ll…see you shortly.”

  Pevnick hung up the phone and looked at the group. “The President will be here in a few minutes. I’m sorry…but, I’ll have to…excuse myself. We will get back to, uh…the project shortly.”

  “He wants to talk to you about the end of the world,” said James, matter–of-fact, flipping through a post graduate studies book on partial differential equations as if he was reading something as simple as a comic book.

  “Why would you say such a thing, James?” asked Pevnick.

  James did not take his eyes off the book, but addressed the question, “Remember what I said about coincidences? This is not a coincidence; the President coming here, this group assembled.”

  Cars were heard pulling up the crushed rock drive outside. Heavy doors opened and shut. Pevnick got up and went to the window of the study. A procession of black, unmarked federal cars were pulling in. Secret Service agents piled out of the cars and began fanning out across the property, talking on small communication devices attached to their wrists, sunglasses glinting. They did a complete three-sixty of the compound before allowing the President’s car to approach. When the town car he was riding in did come up the drive, it was flanked by agents in dark suits.