Now & Again (5 page)

Jonathan Newbauer, the Senior Vice President of Operations, was chairing the meeting only because the founder and Chief Executive was out of the country. Newbauer gulped iced water from a cut crystal glass and counted the minutes until he could escape back to his office. Balding and heavy, Jonathan consoled himself by noting that herding these particular cats was not what he was hired to do. He stole a quick look at Quyron, who sat next to him, with her hands calmly folded, and cursed her roundly inside his head.
God save us from snooping women!
He knew he was sweating but he couldn’t stop.

The remarkable U-shaped conference table was handmade from African ribbon mahogany, no doubt an attempt at continuity with the avian namesake of the room. The hardwood was hand rubbed with a natural clear finish and complemented by the unique chairs gathered around it. To gain a seat at the table was considered a badge of achievement, and it set one apart from those consigned to the outer chairs, forced to share space with the lower staff and support personnel.

Presenters generally stood at the open end of the table where bright, wall-sized screens were suspended from the ceiling behind them. However, in practice, they were free to roam wherever they wished, since subsidiary screens dominated two other walls, and convenient eye-level interfaces were clamped along the entire inside lips of the table.

Currently, all the screens were filled with sets of captivating 3-D graphics and enhanced photos. Neville Vandermark, a vibrant middle-aged man in a stylish tie and a crisp lab jacket, was delivering a lively presentation. Neville, a physicist, was an early hire of the foundational group that created
the Reive
, and as such, enjoyed a great deal of power and autonomy; both of which he exercised freely.

Flanking Vandermark were two longtime members of his team, and both hired due to his lobbying efforts. Song Lee Hahn was a short, coldly introspective biophysicist from South Korea. Her lifelong struggle for professional recognition was as much a fight against her own culture as it was against the male dominated scientific community. Behind, and frankly towering over Song Lee, stood Taylor Nsamba, a quantum physicist from Africa. Always impeccably attired, Taylor spoke with the slightly European flavor to his language that was typical of his native Uganda.

Vandermark was clearly enjoying himself. “It’s been a long hunt, and I won’t deny it. However, we’re confident that we’ve finally tagged the right wave function, at the right time. And here he is.”

A series of photos flashed across the screens showing a pleasant-faced scientist with brown hair. To an outsider the images might have felt invasive, like covert surveillance shots: here he was in a lab with research assistants; there in his office; at a hotel conference podium delivering a paper; at home with his wife and child; in the morning in his car; late at night working at his desk.

“This is Dr. Joseph Severson, a research scientist at the Center for Applied Genomics in Canada. He works hard, and he works his people hard.” Neville smiled. “We can verify that.”

The screens transitioned to images of a multi-storied research facility next to a huge brick and glass hospital complex.

“And this particular center is connected to a hospital called The Hospital for Sick Children, so the good doctor’s motivation is always just outside his window.”

The screens showed layered images of sick children being treated in hospital rooms, their families interacting with staff members, and finally, a series of interior shots of Severson working beside gowned medical techs in a crowded, equipment strewn lab.

“We think our bright boy is right on the edge of a breakthrough to identify the disease genes for Autism Spectrum Disorder. Well, to be more accurate, one of his alternate versions will. So far, we’ve tracked him through seventy-three major splits and sifted the numerous subset branches and, if the good doctor will just make up his mind, we’ll have it.”

An animated build-slide illustrated the linear flow of numerous parent and child lines, along with their associated branches, spreading left to right from Severson’s initial timeline.

Vandermark nodded to Song Lee and, in a practiced handoff, she continued the story without a hitch.

“About 1 in 88 children in the United States has autism, or a related disorder. Among boys, the rate of autism spectrum disorder is 1 in 54.”

As the petite Korean talked, the images dissolved into a variety of animated bar charts and line charts. Her voice grew more confident as she warmed to her topic. “Around the world, the rates are growing at 14% per year, and as yet, there is no consistent medical way to identify the disease except by behavioral observation. We discovered that Dr. Severson had isolated potential glitches in a DNA region, namely chromosome 16, and in particular, a range of bands at positions 16q12 through 21.”

Complex chromosomal ideograms with their characteristic multi-colored banding patterns appeared on some of the screens. Other images grew the bands to a larger size and identified the actual cytogenetic locations of the range of genes Hahn was talking about.

“We’ve copied his work into our own labs and are now ahead of him. He’s definitely on to something. We think that if we can understand the gene encoding mutations in the…”

“Please, Dr. Hahn,” Vandermark interrupted with a smile, “there’s no ‘if’ here. And let’s not get bogged down. The takeaway for this group is that we got it. And we will understand it very soon, one way or another. We always do.”

Beside him, Hahn wore a pleasant porcelain face for the audience but inside, a familiar furnace glowed red hot.

“And it was such a fluke we tracked this guy anyway.” Vandermark grinned at the faces around him. “Honestly. Our own Joey Severson, I mean the version of Dr. Severson that we have in our own line, is a Canuck corner druggist – and not a very good one either, from what I hear. Really!”

Only a few scattered laughs responded to his joke. Neville sniffed to cover his misstep and made a small, hurried hand signal in the air. All the screens immediately reverted to the Reivers company logo.

“Okay, that’s our last update, for now. I just want you to know that my team appreciates your efforts to help us.” His look went first to those around the table and then to the employees in the galleries. “We couldn’t do the important work we do without you.”

Wearing his well rehearsed warm and serious look, he waited a beat and then nodded at the large African standing quietly beside him. “Anything to add, Dr. Nsamba?”

Taylor carefully shook his head. “Not at this time, except, of course, to add my gratitude to yours.”

“Then, unless there are questions?” Neville paused briefly, checked the room for hands, and then caught Newbauer’s eye. “Thank you for the time, Jonathan. Echo, no further slides.”

There was polite applause as the presenters sat. All the screens went to black, leaving only three small white dots and a blinking square in the lower right corners.

Newbauer nodded to Quyron and she rose to walk toward the open end of the table. A sudden low buzz of confused comments spread around the room. Obviously, this speaker was unexpected.

Newbauer raised his hands defensively, “I know this is not on the agenda and I apologize in advance for whatever inconvenience this causes. However, I have been…instructed to give some time to Quyron Shur, one of our archive specialists. She will update us on the recent,” he consulted some scribbled notes, “flux event and those other transmission troubles we keep having.” He looked at Quyron, puzzled. “Is that right?”

“Close enough, Mr. Newbauer. Thank you.”

She stood relaxed, facing sets of guarded eyes. “And I regret the disruption from your important work here, but I believe something irregular is happening in the multiverse.”

Quyron took a few steps to the center of the presentation area. She had everyone’s attention now. “The truth is we’re not quite sure what we’re facing, and yet my team and myself feel a growing sense of…urgency.” She paused for effect. “We have never seen transmission problems like these before, and their numbers and severity are increasing. We can’t explain it. In addition, our initial investigation into the recent overload event exposed something that disturbs us even more. Frankly, we’d like your reaction to what we found.”

Quyron quietly watched the faces around her, waiting. Baffled, Newbauer muttered, “Well, okay. You’ve sufficiently baited the hook. Carry on then. We’re waiting.”

Quyron launched into her presentation, her voice clipped and businesslike. “Initially, post event, nanos were sent to tag all familial segments. We chose a standard .15 decisional radiance from the parent, and filtered for temporal proximity.”

Quyron spoke to the ceiling, “Echo, please run the parent event.”

All screens immediately displayed a high resolution, aerial view of a crowded freeway. A lone dog dashed across the lanes and a single car braked. A surprised van smashed into that car’s back bumper. The minor mishap quickly escalated into chains of more serious accidents behind them. Rising chaos spread across all the lanes and eventually reached over the centerline barrier to involve vehicles on both sides of the roadway. The freeway disaster culminated in a massive detonation of a gas truck.

“Pause, please.”

The view froze on all the screens. A bloated wave of orange flames, tinged with blue, was held still in the act of engulfing a swath of defenseless cars.

“This is the parent event TL-1708-NAOH-RT1, a major vehicle accident near Cincinnati two days ago, in real-time. Echo logged it as a D5-level nexus due to the number of splits and branches and sub-alternate lines spiraling out of it. Nothing unusual there, except for its magnitude, but it, surprisingly, pushed an atypical temporal spike right up through our entire system. Since then, as I said, we’ve dispersed fleets of fresh nanos into the new archives to hunt for branch deviations.”

Quyron put her hands behind her back and demurely tipped her head. “For completeness, let me say, our investigation actually returned eighty-eight potential deviants, but Echo disqualified eighty-four of those. The remaining four have been edited in lag-time order, along with enhanced views. I’ve included ID slates in between each line for clarity.”

Quyron glanced up again. “Echo, isolate the target vehicle.”

The scene quickly rewound to somewhere in mid-accident and zoomed in on a clump of entangled vehicles. A cross line target reticle appeared and settled over a black pickup truck.

“Pay attention to this vehicle. Echo, replay the parent event and then add the edits, one after another.”

The earlier scene rewound to the beginning and replayed. The reticle smoothly tracked the truck through the event to its final destruction by a tumbling Chevy 4X4.

The next shot was a digital slate with an ID tag indicating a different timeline. Like the parent, this child line began just before the accident. This time the truck reacted more quickly but ended up pinned against the center barricade where flipping cars still crushed it.

A slate appeared with a new ID tag. The next sequence began from the same place again, but this time it was raining. Suddenly, the pickup swerved across the lanes even before the first collision had happened.

Newbauer and Vandermark blinked their eyes in sudden alertness. Vandermark leaned forward in closely guarded interest.

On the screens, the desperate pickup spun around, rammed into other cars, and became stuck. An out-of-control dump truck plowed through the side of the trapped pickup in a horrifying T-bone collision.

Some staff members winced at the distressing violence. Song Lee Hahn remained stoic, her mouth held in a tight line.

A new slate appeared. This time the pre-accident weather was sunny. The actions of the pickup were immediate and clear. It swerved recklessly trying to get off the freeway, well before any braking or collisions had begun. Its efforts were frustrated at the edge of the freeway when it caught a bumper and flipped over numerous times.

Some of the division managers shifted nervously. A few researchers whispered stunned comments. Hahn jotted a hurried note into her binder.

On the screens behind Quyron, the gas truck erupted again and engulfed the cars in roiling waves of flame. A new slate appeared with a new ID tag. This time the red pickup under the reticle expertly threaded through the traffic, fought across all the lanes, and was already headed off the freeway before the initial collision had even started.

Vandermark was spellbound. Newbauer sat mesmerized, watching the final actions on the screen in front of him.

The truck bounced up the steep incline and struck a rock. It slid dangerously sideways and stalled out in a hole. Slowly, it tipped over sideways. Two men crawled out from the passenger side door as the truck tumbled back down the hill. On foot now, the injured men raced frantically up the hill as the chain-reaction-accident progressed below them.

“Echo, freeze.”

Around the room, a striking image of the two anxious men in mid-flight was held suspended on all the displays. Quyron moved to stand in front of one of the large screens behind her.

“During each of these four child lines, the men in this truck behaved as if they knew what was about to happen. As if they were testing alternate solutions to avoid a death they had
already
experienced.”

The room was hushed. Everyone soberly chewed on the unimaginable implications contained in those remarks.

Vandermark spoke quietly but it penetrated the room. “Oh what a tangled web we weave…”

Quyron turned to him. “Excuse me?”

“Quyron, I’m sorry, but it seems to me that you’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to make a case for what is clearly not possible. I’m not saying you set out to deceive us. I’m sure you meant well, but your efforts are misguided.”

Quyron fought to keep her face neutral. “Continue.”

Vandermark looked around the room, seeking agreement. “For those of us used to the complexities of the archive, we ignore nexus points. They’re nothing but knots of confusion. In practice, they’re irrelevant to our real work, and we skip over them; but not you.”