Now & Again (4 page)

The idea surfaced when scientists were confronted by the
atomic divide
. They knew that at some point in their technological battle to pack ever higher processing power into ever smaller packages, they would arrive at sizes that were no larger than a few atoms. When that happened, problems would arise, because at the atomic scale, physical laws switched to quantum mechanical laws. Why, no one knew, but the prospect of these problems raised a fundamental question. Could an entirely new kind of computer be devised based on the principles of quantum physics?

A classical computer was binary and had a memory made up of
bits
, where each bit represented either a zero or a one. The fundamental unit of information in a quantum computer was a quantum bit, or
qubit.
A qubit could exist not only as a zero or a one, but also as a blend, or superposition, of those states. In other words, a qubit could exist as a zero, a one, or simultaneously as both a zero and a one. This ability allowed for far greater flexibility than the binary system and held out the enticing promise of elevated speed, since multiple computations could be performed simultaneously.

As it turned out, in practice, when the qubits were in a state of decoherence, much to the scientists’ surprise, they performed simultaneous calculations not only in our own universe, but also in
other
universes
. In essence, qubits were smears of probability that not only opened the windows to the reality of other timelines, but also offered a tenuous path towards simulated sentience.

* * *

Quyron found nothing suspicious in the data so far. Her hand unconsciously stroked her chin as she talked to herself. “What the hell is going on? The propagation curves are solid all the way to cutoff.”

Outside her office wall, she heard the warbling alarm change to the single sustained tone again. Distracted, Quyron went to the transparent wall and stood quietly staring down. Below, a covey of techs gathered in front of a hissing, static-filled screen. As she watched, the monitor was disrupted by a senior tech and it snapped to black. Shortly after that, the tone was silenced.

Quyron returned to her workstation wearing a troubled expression. No longer interested in the columns of data still scrolling on her screen, she waved them away and brought up 3-D schematics of the arena. She had just rotated the view and zoomed in to an area deep beneath one of the buildings when a soft chime tinkled.

Quyron double-tapped a small titanium barbell that she wore in a rim piercing of her right ear and softly said, “This is Quyron.”

She noticeably stiffened at the familiar voice and then looked puzzled.
How could he know about this already? Isn’t he out of the country? What time zone is he in?

“No sir, I wouldn’t say that. It seems to be growing in severity though and I…”

She stopped as the other voice cut in. She let him talk but obviously disagreed with what he said. When she sensed an opening, she jumped back in. “Maybe, but how can we know until we’re able to isolate the root cause of…”

Her comment was stepped on again. She flared her nostrils as he talked. Finally, unable to be silent, she forced a question into the conversation. “And what if I’m convinced it’s not a transmission problem?”

She listened briefly and interrupted. “I’m well aware of that, but you have to face the other possibilities…Look, if all you wanted was a rubber stamp, then why did you send for me?”

Forced again to listen, she drummed her fingers and then swiveled her chair to glance at the arena. Additional techs were flooding onto the floor. She perked up. Something new was happening.

She suddenly realized the other voice had paused, so she quickly filled the space. “I know it’s just a handful of lines so far. The trick is to find out what’s really happening, and I’m worried we’re underestimating…yes, you, you’re underestimating. I’m saying there’s something else behind this.”

Below her, the walls of displays were rapidly changing. Similar images began to crowd onto more and more of the monitors. Various views of a terrible freeway pileup started to populate across the rows of screens. Quyron rose from her chair and stared. Some of the images showed aerial views, others hovered beside the drivers, and a few views were actually inside the damaged vehicles. A set of deep, sonorous tones began to ring through the arena.

“I’m sorry. We have an acquisition overload alarm. Some large group event…an accident – yes, car accident, and – just a moment…”

Quyron had quickly opened chains of windows on her screens while she talked. As fast as she could open them, all began overflowing with data.

“The nexus is overwhelming the nanos and the archive and…” She grimly opened more engineering modules and watched the crashing trends as the multiplied lines continued to multiply.

“…I have to deal with this now…right, sometimes there’s no choice…I’m sure you do. Thank you, sir.”

She disconnected with a tap to her ear and harshly called out. “Echo? I need an assessment right now and your best case scenario!”

Hamilton Terrace curved through an older neighborhood in Turpin Hills. Stately trees on the boulevard nearly touched their upper branches across the patched asphalt. As in many areas in Cincinnati, young families had refurbished the vintage homes over the years, and refilled the quiet blocks with children and noise. Today, however, was beyond anything that had ever happened before.

Anxious homeowners filled the yards and sidewalks, all drawn by the distant sirens and the ominous tower of smoke from the freeway. Some teens tapped their iPhone screens checking for news. All eyes tracked the flashing lights of emergency vehicles wailing by on Beacon Street, a block away. Flocks of boys on bikes swirled about, gathering speed, then joyfully flew off to gawk at whatever there was to see.

Kendall and Josh staggered along the uneven sidewalk, moving against the current of the loose crowd. Josh limped and Kendall pressed a bloody handkerchief against his forehead. A few women cast questioning looks their way, but no one asked anything.

Kendall glanced around, momentarily confused. “We almost there?”

Josh motioned up the road. “Yeah, we cut through that playground ahead and we’re at the back of the church. You need to stop?”

“No. I don’t know.” He twisted his head and squinted as if something inside was hurting. “I don’t know what I need. I just want to get home.”

The road ended in a cul-de-sac right in front of a small park with playground equipment. Josh paused and turned in a slow half circle, taking everything in. “Does this all look right to you?”

“What?”

“This.” He waved his arm at the neighborhood.

“Not sure. Like what?”

“The road, the houses…I don’t know. Things feel…off.”

“Since when did you spend much time here?”

“It’s not…I used to cut through here a lot from church and…”

“From church?”

Josh tossed a wry smile at his Dad. “Yeah, Jimmy and me…Okay? So maybe we didn’t spend as much time in youth group as you and Mom thought…you know?”

Kendall stopped. He rolled his eyes. “Oh, that’s great. Your Mom woulda been so pleased.”

“Yeah, so, anyway…I know this road pretty well and…” He scrunched his face and squeezed one eye shut and then another. He looked left and did it again, then right. “It’s doing this weird thing – stuff around me feels odd and then it feels okay, and then odd again; like, back and forth.”

Kendall sobered. “Anything you can put your finger on?”

“Yeah, those trees,” Josh waved a hand toward a pair of large trees across the street. The breeze through their leaves rustled like old paper. “Somehow, I’m positive they’re in the wrong places.”

* * *

There were only three cars in the Central Christian Church parking lot, and since one of them sat smugly in the slot marked
Pastor
, that left only two that could possibly belong to Josh. None were Mustangs.

Kendall scowled, “I thought you said you parked it by the side door?”

“The Mustang?”

“Yeah, the Mustang!” Kendall shot back. “Whaddya think I’m talkin’ about?” His irritation turned into doubt. “Your car. Your…” He massaged his temples and grimaced. “God, what’s with us?”

Josh stubbornly stared at the parked cars. “Hang on – I was at a meeting here and…” He tried to pull his jumbled memories into order but he kept finding things left over. “After the service, you wanted both of us to ride together to the cemetery.”

“Yeah, in my truck, that’s right.” Kendall tried to hold that thought. “You…I remember…” He looked tentatively over at a blank section of the lot and pointed. “You parked it right over there, didn’t you?”

Josh vigorously rubbed his head as if trying to scratch something inside. “I don’t think I have it anymore.”

Kendall was disgusted. “Don’t tell me you left the keys in it again?”

“Not hardly.” Josh patted his pants and felt the comforting bulge of keys on a ring. “They’re right here.”

He pulled out a ring of keys. Dominant among the small, nondescript silver keys was a fat, black one with a shiny “H” on the back. Looking perplexed, Josh rolled it over in his hand. “So, why should this one look familiar?”

Father and son stared at each other. Josh thumbed the
open lock
icon on the key. The bright red Honda, next to the Pastor’s car, cheerfully clicked its locks up and winked its running lights.

Josh hesitantly walked to the driver’s door and delicately pulled it open. “Is your brain feeling itchy?”

“Somethin’ like that.”

Josh pulled the car door wide and looked inside. “I got things in my head that I don’t remember…remembering before.”

Kendall blinked his eyes rapidly and looked startled. Something had just happened inside his head. “What kind of things?”

“Like this red car. I remember buying it. But I didn’t. And I know I parked the Mustang over there before Mom’s funeral, but I remember I parked this one right here before the young adults’ meeting.”

“We gotta get outta here!” The older man was suddenly frantic. He wrenched open the Honda’s other door and jumped in. “Right now! Hurry up! We really need to get home!”

* * *

The Honda raced down a tree-lined street and swiftly climbed a short driveway to a comfortable brick-faced suburban home. As soon as the car braked to a stop, both doors clicked open and father and son sprung out. They moved quickly toward the front door, Josh in the lead, and then awkwardly stopped.

Josh shoved his hands in his pockets and stepped back from the three steps leading to the front door. “You first.”

* * *

Most large Midwestern homes have roomy foyers that double as mudrooms for the inevitable wet and freezing seasons. The McCaslin family home was no exception. The area inside their front door was spacious, the floor was stone, to welcome wet boots and shoes, while the paneled walls were furnished with ample hooks and cubbies to accommodate gloves and hats and the multiplicity of coats.

As Kendall entered his home he was halted by the unsettling sight of a woman’s coat and strap purse. Behind him, Josh stood poised between the doors, distressed by the warm aroma of cooking.

From another room, a sunny female voice carried easily into the foyer. “Kendall? Is that you?”

Leah McCaslin calmly walked into the front room carrying a dish towel. She was slender, smiling, and dressed in jeans and a soft sweater. “Dinner’s gonna be a few minutes yet – Oh, Josh, I didn’t expect you to be here.”

As she got nearer to her silent husband, a growing concern filled her face. “What? You look like you’ve seen a – what’s wrong? Kendall, your head’s bleeding!” She rushed up to him, anxiously checking his forehead.

Kendall suddenly wrapped his arms around her and his tears flowed. “Leah! My God! Leah…”

Leah didn’t understand but responded warmly to the embrace. “Hey, it’s okay. Honey, it’s gonna be okay. Take it easy. What’s going on?”

Confused, and a little self-conscious, Leah looked over at Josh, only to see that he too was falling apart. Leah automatically reached out to comfort him. “Oh Josh, sweetie, come here.”

She circled her free arm around her son and drew him in. “I don’t know what’s happened to you two but I’m sure everything’s gonna be all right.”

Each of the many meeting rooms at Reivers Corporation was named after a type of bird. This aided in identifying the rooms and indicated a sensitivity to nature, which was deemed important to the overall public relations of the company. In keeping with this custom, the largest conference room, located in the executive wing, was named the Marabou Stork room and had a tasteful plaque outside the double doors with an artist’s rendering of the huge bird in flight. This impressive African fowl boasted one of the widest wingspans of any land bird – more than 12 feet – and seemed appropriate for the largest conference room it designated. Overlooked, perhaps, were its diet preferences for carrion and human garbage, along with its disturbing outward appearance. It had a naked, pink head and long pink neck, devoid of feathers, with a white ruff at its collar and black and white plumage below. Starkly white, extremely long legs completed the picture. The white legs were not white by nature but by its practice of defecating on itself with a kind of whitewash. This collision of imagery and habit went a long way to explaining its unfortunate, but more common name, the Undertaker Bird.

The mid-morning team review, held in the Marabou Stork Conference room, was a standing bi-weekly update to Reive senior management. Heavily attended by teams and their staff, its stated purpose was to highlight progress from the many active projects raiding the archives. In practice, this was the opportunity for ambitious managers to shine, along with their teams, and to make their case for additional access or people. It was also the moment for waning projects to be defended and for new proposals to be touted for their potential.

The flip side to all this professional sharing, however, was the darker reality of a battle for dominance waged by gifted partisans with extremely capable staffs. The blood flow in this well-appointed room was virtual, but the combatants played for keeps: slashed projects freed up time and personnel, expanded projects amplified power and spread influence. Few things presented here were surprises, and fewer still held the interest of more than a narrow slice of the assembled specialists. Today’s meeting was about to be an exception.