by Peter Clines
“So, how safe is it?” asked the colonel.
“Utterly safe,” said Arthur.
The Asian man tapped his pen on the table. “What about Benjamin Miles?”
A small swarm of ants carried out images and sounds. Mike had visited Washington thirty-two months ago. Reggie had introduced the freshly promoted assistant director as they walked past him in the hall. Short, but with strong shoulders, a square jaw, and sun-blond hair. His tie pin had been a tiny silver-and-red Captain America shield. His office was three doors down from Reggie’s, on the left.
A low murmur passed through the room. A few glances flitted over to Reggie. Olaf and Jamie shifted in their seats. The colonel and the senator leaned forward. Arthur met their gazes.
BEN? scribbled Mike. Reggie shook his head again.
“The problems Mr. Miles has had are regrettable, of course,” said Arthur. “We all liked him during his brief visit to San Diego. But they have nothing to do with the Albuquerque Door.”
“He used it,” said the Asian man. It was not at all a question. “Seven weeks ago. And then his first episode happened right afterward.”
“His first episode also happened right after he flew back to Washington on Virgin America,” said Arthur. “Have you spoken with Richard Branson?”
Mike glanced at Reggie again, but his friend’s face was a blank slab.
“That’s not an answer,” said the Asian man.
“You haven’t asked a question,” said Arthur. “You’ve falsely imputed a line of cause and effect between the Door and Mr. Miles’s condition. I can tell you with absolute certainty the Door had nothing to do with it.”
“How?”
“Because the Door doesn’t affect the traveler in any way,” said Arthur. “It’s still possible to be hurt by misusing the equipment itself, but that would have nothing to do with the actual act of traveling.”
“So it’s dangerous to some degree,” said the colonel.
“It’s like asking if a freeway is dangerous,” Olaf said. “A freeway’s just a long strip of pavement. In and of itself, it’s harmless. But it’s still possible to get hurt on one if somebody does something stupid.”
The colonel considered this and scribbled a note.
The athletic woman who’d begun the meeting flipped through her file again. “Dr. Cross,” she said, “there’s no actual specifications for your project here.”
“No, ma’am,” said Arthur.
“Is there another file?”
“No,” he said. “Part of our agreement is that we don’t share our research, findings, or technology with anyone until the project is ready to go public.”
Her eyes widened a bit. “But this is a review board.”
There was a moment as the scientists and board members looked at one another. Reggie leaned close to Mike. “This is why you’re here,” he murmured.
“Doctor,” said the man with the glasses. “We’re going to need to see your research if we’re going to have any discussion about extending your budget for another year.”
“As I just explained,” Arthur said, “no one sees our work until the Albuquerque Door goes public. Not one equation, not one line of code, not one blueprint. This was the deal we worked out with Mr. Magnus when we switched our research over from SETH.”
Several heads turned to look at Reggie. He didn’t flinch.
The Air Force colonel slapped his file closed. “Why are we just hearing about this now?”
“Because you don’t read your e-mail,” said Olaf. “This has been the standing agreement for almost two years now.”
“It seems like we’re done, then,” said the senator, shooting a tired look at Reggie. “If you can’t show us any actual results, we can hardly be expected to continue your funding.”
“On the contrary,” said Arthur. “We can show you the only result that really matters. As I said, the Albuquerque Door works.”
“Do you have video?” asked the Asian man.
Arthur shook his head. “On site, but nothing we’ll allow out of our labs.”
Another sigh of frustration from the board.
Mike picked up the pen, but Reggie set a hand on his wrist and eased it back down.
“I’m sorry,” said Arthur, “but it was decided very early on that all information regarding the workings of this project would be on a strict need-to-know basis.”
“Well, for the funds we’re being asked to contribute,” said the man with glasses, “I think we need to know.”
“Why?” asked Jamie. “None of you are physicists. You’re not engineers. You’re not programmers. You wouldn’t understand anything we gave you anyway.”
“But we have people who would,” said the athletic woman.
“And that,” said Arthur, “is why we’re not sharing information with anyone.”
They all focused on him. Jamie and Olaf straightened up, flanking their boss. He glanced at Reggie for support and got a small nod.
Arthur took a brief moment to collect his thoughts. “The Albuquerque Door,” he said, “is the greatest thing mankind has achieved since we reached the Moon. Possibly since the creation of the steam engine. It’s not exaggeration to say it is going to change everything. Transportation, communication, commerce, the energy industry, space exploration, all of it. Every human being on the planet will have their lives changed by this technology once it’s released.
“Until then, we can’t risk having it leak out in bits and pieces. You show it to your aides and consultants, they each share it with their own staff, their staff members share it with their assistants and departments. Some of them might even talk about it with friends and family members. That’s a hundred people, just off this one meeting, and the more people who have access to that information, the better chances it will get out there. To be blunt,” he said, gesturing at Olaf and Jamie, “this is our life’s work, and we’re not going to risk it being torn apart and fought over by vultures before we’re allowed to say anything publicly.”
“So this is about recognition,” said the colonel.
“Of course it is,” said Olaf. “Have you been paying attention? We’re going to win every Nobel Prize for the next ten years. Even the ones for Economics, Physiology, and Literature. We’re going to get them just on general principle.”
“I can understand your concern,” the Asian man said, “but this isn’t like handing over your college thesis to an old professor who can’t work his e-mail. We’re talking about the federal government.”
“Yes,” said Jamie, “exactly.”
“You can’t keep your own secrets,” Olaf said, “but you want us to believe you’ll do a better job with ours?”
The colonel’s jaw shifted.
Reggie cleared his throat and the athletic woman glanced over at him. “Mr. Magnus?”
“I understand this seems highly irregular,” he said, “but it really isn’t any different than the numerous high-security programs DARPA has carried out for your branches and departments in the past. On and off the books.”
The senator muttered something at her file, and then turned her attention to Reggie. “So DARPA expects us to just funnel an extra three hundred million into this project based on…what? No explanations, no status reports, nothing.”
“Based on the fact that it works,” said Olaf. Arthur hushed him with a wave. Olaf threw himself back into his chair and crossed his arms.
Reggie pointed a finger at Olaf. “The man has a point,” he said. “In fact, it’s the only point that matters. The Albuquerque Door works. I’ve seen it work with my own eyes. We’re not talking about another year to see if they can get results, we’re talking about another year so they can finish testing and have ironclad documentation that no one will question.”
“But without knowing what they’re doing—”
“We know what they’re doing,” Reggie said, cutting off the senator. “They’ve built a system that lets you go from New York to London with one step. That’
s exactly what they said they were going to do.”
The man with the glasses tapped his pen against the file folder. “Even though none of us knows how it works.”
“None of you know how it works,” said Arthur.
Reggie raised two fingers and the athletic woman said his name again. “When we hire the best chef in the world to cater a dinner,” he said, “we don’t expect him to share his recipes. He’s just supposed to serve the food we ask for and make sure that it’s exactly what we want. That’s what Dr. Cross and his team have done. They’re giving us a taste of some great food with the understanding that we’ll get even more—and the recipe, too—somewhere down the line, when it’s perfect.”
The athletic woman leaned over and whispered to the Asian man. He nodded and glanced over at the senator. The Air Force colonel was still glaring at Olaf.
“In addition,” said Reggie, leaning forward again, “I’m sending one of my top men to do a full on-site evaluation. He’ll be bringing back a detailed report of the project for your examination.”
He gestured across his body to Mike.
Everyone in the room followed the gesture. The board members. The scientists. The seven people taking notes. Mike could feel their stares on his skin. Arthur Cross straightened up. Jamie’s eyes narrowed. Olaf scowled.
“I haven’t agreed to anything,” he whispered.
“Too late now,” murmured Reggie.
“Well,” said the athletic woman, “under the circumstances it seems like the question and answer session we had scheduled for this afternoon is a bit pointless.” She closed her file and exchanged a few glances with the other board members. “I think that’s that, then. Many thanks to you and your team for coming out this morning, Dr. Cross. You’ve given us a bit to think about.”
He bowed his head.
“Mr. Magnus,” she continued, “I think we’ll still want a few words with you after lunch.”
“I thought you might.”
She nodded. “Let’s be back here at one-thirty then.”
The board members rose, were joined by aides, and broke off into pairs and trios. The scientists huddled together and spoke in low whispers. Their gazes flicked between Reggie and Mike.
“That,” said Mike, “was very uncool.”
“You’ve been hanging around teenagers too long.”
SIX
“You tricked me,” said Mike.
“I didn’t trick you,” Reggie said, settling in behind his desk. “I just know you.”
Mike looked around the office. The ants carried out images from his last visit. A new computer monitor sat on the desk. Two more black poker chips, each with the logo of a different Las Vegas casino, had joined the three around the monitor’s base. The walls were eggshell now, instead of stark white. There were nineteen new books on the shelves and fifteen of the old ones had vanished. There was a hardcover and paperback copy of Arthur Cross’s The History of What We Know. The spine of the paperback was smooth and pristine.
“Once you were down here,” continued Reggie, “and heard what the project was, I knew you’d be up for it.”
Mike skimmed the other items on the shelves. A framed certificate. A windup robot. A pair of plaques, one brass, one silver. A photo of Reggie in casual clothes smiling with a younger Asian woman. A postcard from Disney World featuring Tomorrowland. The ants cataloged each one under a dozen different topics. “You could’ve told me before,” he said.
“You hadn’t been cleared.”
“You just said you knew me.”
“Do you want an apology?”
Mike flopped into one of the chairs on the other side of the desk.
“I needed you on this. I couldn’t afford to have you say no, so…I may have stretched the truth and put you in a position where it’d be tough for you to say no.” Reggie tapped his palms against the desk. “I’m sorry.”
“You know what something like this will do to me. To my life.”
“I do. But I really need you on this.”
Mike forced a few ants back behind their walls. “You’re a jerk.”
“Nothing I haven’t heard before. Do you want the flight home?”
“And the thousand dollars.”
“Yeah, of course. If you’re really not interested, if you think you’re not up for it…I get it.”
Mike counted to five. It was a habit he’d developed early in life. Answer too quickly and everyone assumed you hadn’t thought about what you were saying.
Reggie tapped the table again. “Is that what you want?”
“No.”
“And I’m supposed to be the jerk.”
“As long as we’re clear on that.”
“Can we stop wasting time now?”
“Sure.”
“I’m going to have to go back in and face the board again in less than an hour,” Reggie said. “You should be with me. What did you think of this morning?”
The ants wiggled loose. They carried out sound bites and images, first impressions and gut reactions. “This is all serious? Cross has made an actual teleporter? A machine that moves matter from one place to another?”
“Yes. Well, you heard them. More of a doorway.”
“Like a Stargate or something?”
Reggie shook his head. “Don’t say that around Arthur or Olaf. They hate the comparison.”
“Noted. How long have they been working on it?”
“Three years on the Albuquerque Door. Before that was two years on SETH.”
“I thought DARPA only gave one-year grants.”
“Usually, yes, but we’re not going to cut off something really promising just because twelve months have passed.”
“And there’s no question it’s real? Not some magic trick or something?”
“I’ve seen it myself,” Reggie said. “Three times. Last time they offered to let me and Kelli do it.”
The ants flashed a quick image of Reggie’s petite assistant. Her hair was red, but there was an eighth of an inch of brown at the roots. “Did you?”
“Yes. Both of us.”
Mike straightened up in his chair. “So it was hers, yours, and another was three times? Or saw it twice then did it once together?”
“You’re nitpicking the math?”
“Hell, yes.”
Reggie smiled. “I saw a rat the first time. And a baseball.”
“A baseball?” The ants assembled a picture before Reggie could take in a breath to respond. “It’s an open doorway. They throw the baseball back and forth as a test.”
“Right. Second time was a chimpanzee. Last time was nine weeks ago. Kelli and I did it one right after another. Me first, then her.”
“What did it feel like?”
“Like nothing,” said Reggie. “Like stepping from one room to another.”
“Is the Albuquerque Door a Bugs Bunny reference?”
“Yes. Arthur loves the old cartoons. You’re the first person who didn’t need it explained to them.”
Mike nodded. “Okay, don’t get me wrong,” he said, “but if Cross has done it, what do you need me for? I don’t understand why you’re having a problem with funding. Hell, I don’t understand why you haven’t announced it.”
“A few reasons.” Reggie lifted his hands off the desk and laced his fingers together. “One, as you may have noticed, they’re very secretive. Arthur and Olaf have been pretty much obsessive about keeping the whole thing under wraps, and they’ve got a serious cult of personality going with their team.”
“How big’s the team?”
“Six people.”
“Not much of a cult.”
Reggie ignored him. “People in Washington don’t like it when things are kept from them. It’s a status thing. You saw how the senator and the colonel tensed up at that ‘need to know’ comment.”
“Yeah.”
“In this town, that’s not just an insult, it’s a slap in the face. So a couple of those folks just want to shut him down for
ego reasons.”
“Stupid, but I guess I can see that.”
“Two, it’s been a very long project by DARPA standards. If it was anyone except Arthur Cross, it probably would’ve ended years ago. But he’s probably the third- or fourth-best-known scientist alive today, after Stephen Hawking and Neil deGrasse Tyson.”
“Is Bill Nye your other possible third?”
“Of course. So I gave Arthur two extensions, he showed some very impressive results, and I gave him a third.”
“And this is the fourth?”
“Hopefully.”
“Still not seeing anything you need me for.”
Reggie unlaced his fingers and picked up one of the black poker chips. He flipped it across his knuckles, threading it between his fingers with a magician’s grace. “I think there’s something wrong.”
“You just said it worked.”
“It does.”
“Did somebody come through with a giant fly head or something?”
“It doesn’t work that way. And the problem’s not with the tech.” Reggie walked the chip over the back of his hand and shrugged. “Okay, maybe it’s with the tech. I don’t know. Everything looks fantastic on paper, so to speak, but there’s something wrong.”
“Something like what?”
“There’s a bad vibe out there. They’re all on edge. The tone’s off on personnel reviews. People are taking a lot of sick days.”
“Like the physicist who was supposed to be here today?”
“Maybe. It’s hard to pin down. I mean, they’re a bunch of reclusive scientists, so, yeah, I expect to feel like a bit of an outsider. I’m used to it with some of the people I deal with. But for the past six or seven months, things just seem…wrong.”
“Wrong how?”
“That would be point number four,” said Reggie.
“Why do I get the sense this is the one you should’ve led with?”
“Probably. I sent Ben Miles out there two months ago, right after my last visit. He was one of my—”
“I met him last time I was here,” Mike said, holding up a finger. “You’re using past tense. What happened to him?”
The chip paused in its spiraling trip around Reggie’s fingers. “He went out to San Diego for a more formal review. We talked a bit when he got back, and he sounded overall positive. Felt good about the project, good about the people. He kept calling me ‘pal,’ which I remember thinking at the time was odd for him, but I figured he’d picked it up out there. He said he’d have a full report in a couple of days. Then he went home and called nine-one-one. Said someone had kidnapped his wife and replaced her with an impostor.”