The Savants

by Patrick Kendrick

  “As I said, I was going to have them try to work on a project together,” said Pevnick hesitantly. “See how they do. How they react to group dynamics. See if their communication skills can be improved, or at least, better understood. They don’t think, or solve problems like you and I do because they process information differently. It would have been interesting to see what would have come out of the collaboration. Now, with this event…we may never know.”

  They stepped into the library and found Mrs. Brown putting away stacks of books and cleaning up. It looked as if a children’s daycare group had been trashing the room. The savants were not there and Pevnick’s anxiety grew.

  “Where are our guests, Mrs. Brown?”

  She looked up, slightly frazzled, a stray strand of hair falling out of her critically pinned-up bun, her face shiny with exertion. “I’m sorry, I thought you knew. They went out to the workshop as soon as you stepped out to greet the President.”

  “I wonder what…” began Pevnick, feeling his heart begin to race.

  Mrs. Brown was looking out the window with a quizzical look on her face. “Well, there they are now. But I wonder what in the world…?”

  Through the window of the library they saw James, Harvey, Jeremy and Etta riding on a contraption: an old tractor that had undergone a quick but efficient makeover. The vehicle was covered in wire, batteries, and solar panels, bumping along the dirt road and coming from the workshop at the back of the property. As they approached in a cover of dust, Secret Service agents rushed up and surrounded the tractor. They drew their guns and one of them grabbed the driver of the vehicle—James—and pulled him out of his seat.

  “Oh, my God,” said Mrs. Brown, her face pressed against the glass. Dr. Pevnick and the President stood, transfixed, staring out the window.

  James looked toward the window and flashed a peace sign before he was pushed face down to the ground.

  “I think we better intervene,” said the President.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Dr. Pevnick and the President rushed outside, flanked by Secret Service agents. The scene was complete chaos. Jeremy, trying to defend James, had squared off with one of the Secret Service men and three more pounced on him. He was incredibly strong and gave them a run for their money. Harvey was driving them crazy with his incessant talking and cursing; the words flowing from his mouth would shame a sailor, and he had the volume turned up all the way. Etta was stimming, her arms flailing wildly from the stress and excitement. James was calmly lying on his stomach, smiling and waiting for the agent to get off of his back. By now, the Secret Service men realized the people they are assaulting were “different” and probably no threat, but couldn’t back down.

  “It’s okay, gentlemen,” said President Cooper. “You can release them. They are guests here.”

  The agents released their captives and began to brush themselves off. Most of them were embarrassed, partly because they realized the savants were no threat to them, or anyone else. Partly, because trying to subdue them was more difficult than they would have thought.

  Dr. Pevnick approached his group, scrutinizing the odd-looking vehicle that they rode up in. “What in the world is this?”

  James methodically brushed off his trousers and re-buttoned his grass-stained shirt. “C’mon, doctor. Did you really think it would take us a month to complete this assignment?”

  “Well…I…had no idea. You…all, just did this?” he asked, touching the vehicle as if to see if it was real, admiring the craftsmanship and technology that had obviously gone into it.

  “It was, fu…fu…fudge! …easy,” said Harvey. He began to walk past one of the agents and couldn’t resist. He turned and pushed the man. “Back off, bast…bass…bass…oh, hell. Turd!”

  “All right, Harvey,” said Pevnick. “That’s enough. This was all a misunderstanding. These men were doing their job, protecting the President. Etta, are you okay?”

  Etta sat on the ground holding her legs, whimpering, and rocking back and forth. Her huge eyes, wet with tears. Pevnick reached into his pocket and found another gift for her, a seashell. He handed it to her and she almost immediately stopped crying and sat very still, like a small animal hiding from a larger predator. She held the shell up to her face as if it was the only thing in the world, her fingers playing over its surface as if she was reading Braille.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. President,” said Pevnick. “Harvey is a coprolalic, that is, he involuntarily shouts curse words at times.”

  The President was cool. “That’s all right. I do that now and then, myself. Why don’t you introduce us?” He approached with his hand out, displaying the warm, winning smile that got him elected.

  “Sure,” said Pevnick. “This is Harvey Peet.”

  Harvey bowed—his favorite gesture, it seemed—sweeping his hand out in a grand arc as if he was meeting the Queen of England. “Hello, Mr. Pr…Pr…Prick, er, uh, Pres-ident.”

  Pevnick’s face turned scarlet. “And, uh, this is James Tramwell.”

  James stepped up to President Cooper and shook his hand, then wouldn’t let go. The President smiled and let James keep his hand though the Secret Service men were on high alert and moving in.

  Pevnick shook his head, exasperated. “And over here is Jeremy Clemens. Uh, Jeremy, couldn’t you find some pants?”

  Jeremy was still wearing a sweater and underwear, his knees muddy from scuffling with the agents on the ground. “Sorry, monsieur. Sorry. My English ees not so good. My English… Eet is 11:42 in Dubai.”

  President Cooper extricated his limb from James and approached Jeremy, extending his hand. Jeremy just kept his arms crossed and looked at him quizzically.

  Pevnick gave him a scowl and sighed. “And last, but certainly not least, this is Etta Kim,” he said, helping her to her feet. She bowed in the traditional Japanese manner of respect. “Everyone, in case you don’t know, this is President Cooper. He, uh, runs the United States.”

  Harvey continued to bow, animatedly, over and over, like a puppet out of control.

  “Well, it’s my pleasure,” said the President. “Dr. Pevnick has told me about your project.” He looked the vehicle over. “How did you finish so quickly?”

  “It was easy,” said James. “Harvey read all the literature we needed on the subject and told me. I translated it to Etta and she designed it. Jeremy said he could build it—he had the hardest part—he had to construct some capacitors and transducers out of copper wire and magnets, then convert this gasoline motor to electric. Once it was electric, we just needed to power it up using the sun’s power. We found everything we needed in the workshop out back. Well, everything except the solar panels, which we took off the roof of Dr. Pevnick’s home.” James looked sheepishly at Dr. Pevnick. “Uh, sorry, doctor, we probably won’t have hot water in the house tonight.”

  President Cooper continued to look over the vehicle with obvious admiration. “This is amazing.”

  “Not really,” said James. “We cheated. If we wouldn’t have found this old tractor, it would have taken us at least a few days to build a vehicle.” Then, without missing a beat, he asked, “So, are you here to tell Dr. Pevnick about the end of the world?”

  The President had been smiling broadly, until now. He glanced at Director Finney with a concerned look on his face, then back to Dr. Pevnick. “Is he clairvoyant, too?”

  “No, sir. But, he can draw conclusions quickly based on mathematical probabilities.”

  James butted back in. “While the others worked on our solar tractor, I took the time to do some research on the web. Is the problem that unstable fault line off Cape Hatteras, or that bomb that was detonated off of Georgia the other day? Or…are the two related?”

  “James, please!” said Pevnick, aggravated at his lack of respect.

  The President looked stunned. Then, he noticed James was talking to him with his eyes shut. “I can’t really…talk about…uh, why are you keeping your eyes closed? Is the sun bothering you?”

>   “No,” James said, bluntly. “If I open my eyes, I’ll try to count the blades of grass in this field. A weakness of mine. But, don’t worry, President Cooper. We can keep a secret. We are all committed to being here for a month. As part of the project, we’ve been isolated from our families. None of us drive…well, obviously I can drive a tractor, but my point is, we aren’t going anywhere. And if we did, who would listen to a bunch of, if you’ll excuse the colloquialism, retards, anyway?”

  “I don’t care for that word, Mr. Tramwell,” the President remarked.

  Pevnick stepped in again, horrified at the outcome of the meeting. “I’m sorry, Mr. President. I’ll address this. I know you have to be going…”

  “I have a minute. Go on, James. What do you know about the situation?”

  “Just what I can find on the Internet, so far. Dr. Pevnick probably told you, I do lightning calculations. I am not bragging. That is my gift and my curse. If you extend this ability to logic, which is really just a form of mathematics, it’s easy to draw some conclusions.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, I know Dr. P worked with your government previously on post-disaster probabilities before and after Katrina. Suddenly, you show up at his research facility. I deduced you were not coming for a social call.”

  “And from that you were able to get to an impending disaster?”

  “Well, not quite. I have an online business; I work with communications and am a consultant to various international corporations and interests, primarily doing translations and so forth. I am on the Internet constantly. There is so much information out there that it almost overwhelms me, but if I focus, I can put things together.”

  James squinted through his eyelids and approached the President, his arm extended. The Secret Service men grew edgy, but President Cooper held up his hand to let them know it was okay. James reached the President and looked into his face, inches away as a deliberate distraction from the grass he was compelled to count. He continued his explanation, speaking quickly and mechanically.

  “A few days ago, when Etta and I first met, she told me she had a feeling there was something wrong with the ocean. I was not alarmed, initially, but the more I came to know her, the more I realized how outstanding her abilities are. I began doing some searches on the web. I drew some conclusions. I looked for disasters around the world that might affect the oceans. No significant storms anywhere. No giant oil spills. But there was a tabloid report of a possible nuclear detonation off the eastern coast yesterday. It was confirmed by an old, outdated nuclear monitoring project called Vela. There is a small group of people, sort of like ham radio operators, who still monitor the project, though it almost never shows anything. It’s like those people who are always monitoring the skies, looking for alien life, you know? Did you know Vela means vigil in Spanish? Anyway, I found some old stories about a bomb that went missing some fifty years ago. Then, while exploring that subject, I found some articles about the continental shelf off Cape Haterras. It’s much farther away than where the bomb was presumed to have been lost, but this was a particularly powerful bomb, wasn’t it, Mr. President?”

  The President didn’t answer, but he felt an icy sweat form on the back of his neck as he wondered: who else can put this together if this young man can?

  “Anyway,” James continued, “there are entire websites devoted to the subject of various potential tsunamis striking the U.S. due to tectonic plate shifts and so forth. But, the one that poses the most danger is the Cape Haterras fault. Most believe that when the fault fails, it will cause a massive underwater landslide that will, in turn, cause a massive tidal wave. This wave is believed to be what will trigger an Armageddon, if you will, in the United States. I haven’t done so yet, but I could make calculations on the economic collapse…”

  President Cooper interrupted him, “So, when I came here today, you drew the conclusion that I came to ask Dr. Pevnick for his advice again?”

  “Of course. And, it isn’t hurricane season yet.”

  “I see.” The President pondered the information. As he did, a flock of birds flew overhead, in formation again, and he watched them as if he were looking to nature for some answers. The answer he found only added to his anxiety. A great deal of wildlife would be lost, too. Something most people didn’t consider when they study disasters. Zoos and wildlife collections are not part of a National Emergency Plan. He regretted this massive oversight, but knew he had to focus on the people and the infrastructures for now. He swallowed dryly and took the needed time to compose himself.

  “Well,” Cooper said, “it has been…interesting to meet you all. I…wish you luck. Stephen, we’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you…for your patience.”

  “Is that it?” asked James, perturbed. “Are you done talking with me, Mr. President?”

  President Cooper, walking toward his car, stopped and looked back. “I’m afraid so. Even if you’re right, James, I could not discuss it with you. It would be a matter of national security.”

  James smiled. “You just told me everything I need to know, sir, except for one thing.”

  “And that is?”

  “If such a scenario did happen, is there a plan for it?”

  The President’s face grew grim. “How could anyone plan for something like that?”

  “I don’t know,” said James sarcastically. “I lead a sheltered life. But, have any of your people in the scientific community, or your military come up with a contingency plan?”

  “James,” said Pevnick, “please don’t be disrespectful!”

  The President continued toward his waiting car. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. You’re a brilliant young man, James. I hope we meet again someday.”

  “Sure. I’ll just tread water until then,” he said with passion, if not outright anger, in his voice. “Before you leave, listen to this and ask your scientists—you know, the ones that are not disabled like me? Ask them this simple question: could they not reduce the inertia energy by reducing the force?”

  President Cooper turned back to James. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Remove as much of the deteriorating shelf before it fails, and you will lessen its impact.”

  “Really?” said the President. It was difficult to say if he was being sarcastic—that was not his way—but his tone had taken on an edginess as his patience wore thin.

  “Yes,” said James, confidently. “My calculations suggest for every one hundred billion tons of earth moved, we would reduce the kinetic energy by one thousand trillion joules. Depending on how it was moved, that much might save, oh…New York, or maybe Florida, and it would certainly reduce the impact on America overall.”

  There was a tense moment as the President contemplated James’s theory, his jaw muscles working. Jeremy broke the tension as he approached the President with a gift: a small figurine of Abraham Lincoln that he had fashioned out of copper wire. He handed it to President Cooper.

  “Copper for Cooper! Copper for Cooper! Zee time in New Delhi is 12:44, in zee morning.”

  President Cooper’s smile returned as he accepted the gift, cautiously keeping an eye on Jeremy, who moved away, walking backward, smiling from ear to ear. The President’s car pulled up behind him. The door was opened for him and he got in, placing the copper figure in his shirt pocket. As the car pulled away, the President stared out the window at James. The young man was doing something with his hands, gesturing at him. As a father of a deaf child, he had learned to read and utilize some sign language. He recognized James was signing to him. He squinted back at him through the tinted window, trying to remember the meanings of the hand motions and realized as they pulled away what James was saying: Tell your daughter everything will be okay. President Cooper felt a chill run down his back; goose bumps formed on his flesh.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Etta Kim: Acquired Savant

  Eight years ago: Shizouka, Japan

  Etta watched her sister’s friends r
unning around the pool, jumping in, splashing water, while the mothers flitted around the patio table, setting up birthday balloons, laying out paper plates and cupcakes. It was busy and loud.

  Her sister was turning seven, and so they were doing the Shichi-go-san Festival, or Seven-Five-Three Festival, a very special day for Japanese children. Etta had learned that these ages were celebrated at one time because children often did not live past those ages, though most people had forgotten that eerie origin. She was nine then, and past that age, but she remembered her Shichi-go-san as a party that lasted all day and into the evening, and she received so many gifts, including some nice, tinted swimming goggles that she still used in their pool.

  Their family was very well-to-do. Her father was a scientist who worked at the nearby nuclear power plant in Shizouka and made a lot of money. Her mother had obtained a doctoral degree in ocean sciences in the United States and taught at the university until Etta’s sister was born, then became a stay at home mother. They often went on beach vacations where they snorkeled together and, very early on, Etta learned to love the sea. Their home was close enough to it for her to smell the ocean. With a view of the mountains from their backyard, they felt like they lived in heaven, save the occasional rumble of the earthquakes that were common to the area.

  The smaller girls were splashing Etta so much, she decided she might as well just jump in again, and take the pool back over. “I’m a sea serpent,” she exclaimed, spreading her fingers and arms wide in an attempt to make herself look fierce. All the little girls screamed. As she splashed in, a roar of giggles went up and the smaller girls got out of the pool to continue their melee, which included an assault on the sea serpent with blow-up beach balls. Etta laughed and dove down where the silence of the water around her was comforting. She could hold her breath for a long time, and she cruised along the pool bottom like a flounder.

  Above the water, the girls started to beg for the waterslide to be turned on so they could launch themselves at the “serpent.” One of the children’s fathers heard their pleas, strolled over to the pool pump, and pushed the lever for the waterfall to the “On” position.