The Far Side (15 page)

“Can I go too?” Shorty asked and Andie waved Kris forward.  This time three of them went, making the tunnel a bit crowded.

Xi looked around and chuckled.  “And here, I was all set to demolish the obviously fake special effects!”

“Right now we haven’t done too much exploration,” Kris told him.  “We’ve gotten into a larger chamber a little further along and that’s it.”

“What about ‘To Boldly Go Where No Man Has Gone Before?’” Shorty asked.

“They had a ship in orbit and at least the hope of transporting away.  If that door closes, then anyone here had better pray that it’s an easy problem to fix,” Kris told him.  “For what it’s worth, the machine has failed once already and it’s taken a few days to fix back up.  We are in the same place, so it’s likely that Andie could get it running again.  But who knows?”

The Chinese said something Kris didn’t catch.  “What was that?”

He looked at her, his face illuminated by the light from the flashlights.  “I am of Chinese descent, you understand.  Are you going to keep this secret?  An American monopoly?”

“Well, I think Andie intends to keep it a ‘Schulz monopoly.’  Trust me; her plan is to sell the technology to any interested buyer.  And if the power companies or the government comes after her, she’s going to dump it on the Internet.  As you can tell, this isn’t exactly a complicated set up.”

The blue sheet shimmered once, and then resumed its steady position.

Kris let the others crowd through ahead of her, and came out last.  “Did you see that, Andie?” Kris asked.

“No.  See what?”

“The other side shimmered.  We got out of there quick!”

Andie frowned.  “I didn’t see anything on this side.  Did anyone else?”

No one else with Andie said they’d seen anything either.

“Well, we just have to acknowledge that we don’t know everything about the gate yet,” Andie admitted.  She started shutting things down.  “I’ll go over everything and see what I can find.”

“And you are offering us a chance to work on this?” Shorty asked.

“Yes,” Andie told him.  “I will talk with each of you separately and we’ll come to an agreement on salary.  You can start whenever you’re free.”

“And if I decide to pick up my marbles and go my own way?” Art asked.

It was Kit who spoke up.  “Art, earlier you weren’t funny.  You signed an NDA.  Aside from the rather draconian penalties in monetary terms, there’s not a lab in the country that would hire someone who broke an NDA.  You would end your career forever.  And Andie would get a cut of every penny you earn flipping burgers, cleaning toilets or raking leaves for the rest of your life.”

“Chill!  I’m not stupid, I was just checking to see if you are.  What specifically would I be doing?” he asked Andie.

“I want to build three more fusors.  One like this one and two more just designed to generate power.  I want to come to consensus designs and see what can be improved.  It sure would be nice to know what’s making the door.”

Kit spoke up.  “I took a cut at the math.  I haven’t got any ideas.  Linda?”

Linda turned to Andie.  “IP rights?  If I develop the math, where do I stand?”

“First on any patent leading from the math, half the revenues, if it’s from the top of your own head.  Otherwise, we’ll have to figure out who contributed what.  That’ll be a bitch, I expect.”

“I expect it will be, too.”  She waved at the closet.  “Let me put this as objectively as I know how.  There are all sorts of hints in quantum theory and cosmological theory about alternate universes or strange geometries.  Theory is utterly silent on anything that might bring about such an interface.  There are million experiments I can think of just now about ways to probe what’s happening.  But explain it?  At the moment, I don’t have a clue!”

“It would seem to me,” Kit said, “and as you mentioned before, Andie, that the way to approach this is to have people assigned to build three machines.  Since there are four, and since Linda is more of a theoretical type anyway, she can work on this one, until the second one like this is up and running.”

“I’ll think about it.  Today’s Sunday.  Tomorrow, starting at 9 AM, show up at Crenshaw studios, an hour apart.  I don’t care about lunch.  I’ll talk to each of you individually and work something out with you as to pay and work assignment.”

Kit and the others left a short while later, all five talking among themselves.

Ezra came up as they were getting into Kit’s car and spoke quietly to Andie.  “Across the street, a guy’s standing there, watching the house.  A while ago they came over and started up the walk.  I stopped them and they told me they wanted to talk the homeowner.  I told him your father wasn’t here, and then they demanded to inspect the house and premises.  I asked to see their warrant.

“Andie, they didn’t say anything.  Two of them got in their truck and left, and one remained behind.  At a guess, they’ll be back.  I...”  He sighed.  “I didn’t want to interrupt you, Andie, and you can jump all over me, but I called Mr. Boyle and told him my worst case scenario.  He said the lawyer will be here in a short while, and not to let anyone in until the lawyer was here.”

“And your ‘worst case scenario?’” Andie asked.

“Andie, you said you’re putting power into the grid.  It’s benign, we know that.  Those bureaucrats get their jollies by intimidating people.  These days, use the word ‘terrorism’ and you can get an awesome response.  Terrorism is anything their little brains don’t understand.  I mean, they busted an MIT student wearing a circuit board with blinking lights on her t-shirt at Boston Logan.  It was a full SWAT call-out with machine guns.”

Andie looked at him and pursed her lips.  “I am so screwed, Ezra.  If I give you a pass for this, I have to give Kit a pass for what he did.”

“Andie,” Kris told her, “you already gave Kit a pass.”

“Yeah.  And I have to think that a horde of FBI agents and the LAPD SWAT team in their full regalia tromping through the house wouldn’t do my father much good.  He’s just liable to mouth off to someone and end up in the slammer.”

A car pulled up and an older man in an expensive suit got out, followed by a younger man in another expensive suit.  They walked up to the front of the house.  “Miss Boyle, I’m Jack Schaeffer, and this is Tony Morello,” the older of the pair said, introducing himself.  “Oliver Boyle said you might have a problem.”

“Yes, sir,” Andie said.  “There is a man across the street watching the house.  Earlier, he was here with some DWP people who believe I’m doing something illegal.  Ezra here refused to let them search without a warrant and they meekly acquiesced and left.  Ezra thinks it is possible that not only may they return not only with subpoena, but in overwhelming force.”

“And why would they think you are doing something illegal?”

“I don’t know.  They talked to my father yesterday, I understand, and he threw them out.  I assure you, sir, I am doing nothing that would endanger their equipment, operations, or harm anyone.  There is nothing that I know of that is illegal about my activities, although I am working with some significant voltages.”

Kris spoke up.  “We’re working on a movie, Mr. Schaeffer, and Andie is working on some special effects.”

A SUV cruised past, loaded with five men.

Jack Schaeffer watched it go by.  “Well, I guess it’s nearly show time.  Mr. Lawson, it is my understanding that you are armed.”

“Yes, sir.”

“If you would, please place your weapon, slide open, on the ground a few feet in front of you and stand back, your hands palm forward, held away from your body.  The rest of us will do the same thing.  Whatever is said, don’t react, that’s my job.  No matter what happens, don’t react and above all, say nothing.”

“Yes, sir,” Kris said, a little daunted.

Ezra placed his pistol on the ground, pulled the slide back and stepped away, holding his hands away from his body.

Andie turned to Jack Schaeffer.  “I can use my cell phone to call my father here or have him stay away.  He’s a bull in a china shop at the best of times... he also has terminal cancer and hasn’t long to live.  My personal preference is to spare him any extra strain.”

“Are you eighteen?”

“Not yet, in a week.”

“Close enough for government work at this juncture, Miss Schulz.  I think, for now, that your father should remain in blissful ignorance.  Please, if you have questions, tug on my coat tail and ask for a conference.  Don’t speak where they can hear you except to ask for a conference.  The same for you, Miss Boyle and you, Mr. Lawson.”

“No problem.”

The black SUV drove past, this time on their side of the street.  It parked behind the lawyer’s car and four men got out, leaving one behind.

Two of the men went to either side, while the third came forward to talk to them.  He eyed the pistol on the ground and pulled out a black leather folder and held it up, showing a badge.  “Tobin Dunphy, FBI Special Agent.  Mr. Otto Schulz?”

“I am Jack Schaeffer, an attorney representing Mr. Schulz.”

“Sir, we have a warrant to search these premises.”

Two large step vans appeared, parking on the street in front of the lawyer’s car, blocking it in, while the other truck pulled in behind the SUV.  Men started getting out, and yes, Kris noted, in SWAT regalia.

Mr. Schaeffer simply held out his hand.  The FBI agent pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to him.  Mr. Schaeffer read it.  After a moment.  “I’m sorry, Agent Dunphy, but this warrant isn’t valid.”

“And why not?”

“If I may direct your attention to your left, my right, you will see an intersection.  The street with all the traffic is Laurel Canyon Boulevard is it not?”

“Of course.”

“And do you see the street sign on the northwest corner of the intersection?  Indicate verbally please, if you think the street sign on this side street reads ‘Laurel Canyon Boulevard.’”

“No, I don’t expect it does.  A clerical mistake.”

“Of course, sir.  And tell me, which do you think likelier to be correct?  The street number prominently displayed on the front of this house, or the one with the middle numbers transposed on your warrant?”

“Another clerical error.”

“Sir, you are at the wrong indicated house on the wrong indicated street.  Clearly another clerical error.”

The FBI agent held out his hand for the warrant.  “We’ll fix it.”

Mr. Schaeffer laughed.  “I’ll keep the warrant, Agent.  I can sell it at the next Bar meeting for a few dollars.”

“You can get a lot more for it on eBay, boss,” Mr. Schaeffer’s assistant volunteered.

“Please, sir, this doesn’t have to be an adversarial matter.  What is it you seek?”

“It’s in the warrant.  Electrical devices of an unknown type.”

“Is that unknown to you personally or in general?” the lawyer asked.

“We have a man coming from DWP.  He’ll decide.”

“This young lady is Miss Andrea Schulz, who lives here.  It is my understanding, Miss Schulz, that you are engaged in making a movie.  Is that so?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And your function?”

“Special effects and set design,” Andie said, seeing where the questions were going.

“And would you have electrical devices in your house that you are using to create these special effects?  To enhance your movie sets?”

“Yes, sir.  It doesn’t look like anything in particular, but it does look sexy.  And it gives off great huge electrical sparks.  Even sexier.”

Mr. Schaeffer looked at the FBI agent.  “Your warrant doesn’t list a charge, sir.  But surely you have a specific complaint you are acting upon?”

“It is a matter of ongoing investigation, I can’t comment on it.”

“And I don’t have to let you in, and I assure you, before you can get a new warrant, I’ll have the media here, media who will be free to roam this house, photographing everything that’s there, and filming you as you work.

“You can either explain what you are looking for or take your chances with the media.  There is oodles of time before the Five O’clock News.”

There was a lot of back and forth, then the DWP guy showed up and it went surreal.

“First, you say,” Jack Schaeffer said, “that someone rewired a transformer.  Someone at this address?”

“Yes.”

“That would be Miss Andrea Schulz, four and a half feet tall, a 90 pound eighteen-year-old.”

“Her father is Otto Schulz, who once worked as an electrician,” the DWP man told them.  “He probably did the work.”

“My father is an obese alcoholic suffering from incurable cancer with only a few months left to live,” Andie told the man.  “So fuck off!”

“Miss Schulz, please remember what I asked before,” Jack Schaeffer asked mildly.

“Sure, shut the fuck up.  Right.”

“And your other accusation is that there is more power coming out of this house at times, than is going in?”

“Yes, that’s not permitted.”

“Funny thing about that,” Mr. Schaeffer replied.  “I have a house in Mission Hills, up on one of this hills and it’s south-facing.  I have an array of solar cells on the roof, and quite often, particularly in the summer, I put power into the grid.  Are you suggesting that that’s a criminal activity?”