The God Patent (30 page)

“Ryan, I’m here to defend the integrity of science.” She straightened his tie and added, “Not that I don’t expect some favors for helping you.”

He pulled her close and whispered in her ear, “I like you dressed like this—let’s play professor scolds the naughty engineer Saturday night…”

She bit his earlobe in reply.

Ryan felt his whole life coming together, as if everything that had happened from the day he’d moved away from Linda and Sean until today had been a bridge from one wonderful life to another. The transition wasn’t over and, no question, it was a bitch, but the lawsuit was going exactly the way Dodge had predicted. If this meeting went well, Creation Energy would settle, and Ryan could get on with his life. An image was coming clear in his heart, the way that abstract art takes shape the longer you look at it: Ryan and Emmy walking in a park holding hands with Katarina and Sean straggling along behind, arguing over their favorite bands or skateboard technicalities or some dumb thing that teenagers are willing to fight over.

His arms around Emmy, his face buried in her neck, he opened his eyes and looked at the world through her hair. Amolie. Even her name was beautiful.

“Break it up!” Dodge yelled from across the lobby, holding the elevator door. “We have twenty minutes to prepare.”

The conference room had a view of the San Francisco skyline. Dodge shut the blinds.

Scowling, but with a spring in his step like a boxer ready to get in the ring, Dodge dimmed the lights and directed Ryan and Emmy to sit at opposite ends of the big glass-and-chrome table. “None of the antagonists will sit next to each other. There will be no private conversations. I’ll sit between their attorney, Blair Keene, and that redneck, Jeb Schonders.”

He went to Ryan’s end of the table. “First thing—you need to make peace with Foster.”

Ryan said, “Last time I saw Foster wasn’t exactly friendly.”

“McNear, who are you kidding? You couldn’t hold a grudge against a serial killer. Just be yourself.” Even when Dodge provided insight, it came out as an affront. “Second, your only goal is for them to admit something, just a starting point, no more.”

Then Dodge walked to Emmy’s side of the table. “Third, Emmy, go after them like a lion on a Christian.” He laughed at his own joke, extra loud, obviously trying to get a laugh from Ryan or Emmy. It didn’t work.

Emmy set the copies of the patents that Tran had marked up in front of her.

Dodge peeked behind the blinds, a con man waiting for his mark.

Ryan watched them both. What a strange new family he had. Despite what Dodge said about this being just a step in the process, hope brewed in his heart. Emmy smiled at him—amazing how that smile transformed her from sophisticated professor to adorable woman. He wanted to bring her back to Massachusetts. He could picture his mother interrogating her, could practically hear Mom ask Emmy naïve but potentially offensive questions about being Jewish and then break out the photo albums and force-feed her the reality of joining an Irish Catholic family.

Finally, they heard a knock on the door. Foster walked in behind his father-in-law, Blair Keene, and his boss, Jeb Schonders. Blair looked like a San Francisco banker in a formfitting black suit. Jeb Schonders wore a bolo tie and a brown suit that showed the wrinkles of having been stowed in checked luggage. Dodge introduced himself and Emmy.

With his shirt sleeves rolled up so you couldn’t miss the monogram and his briefcase stuffed so thick that one of the hinges had already popped, Foster looked like such a goofball—Dodge was right: he couldn’t hold a grudge. Foster was just being Foster. How could you hate the guy?

The only vacant chair was next to Ryan. Foster pursed his lips. He glanced at Ryan from the corners of his eyes. It wasn’t the first time they’d been pissed off at each other and found themselves sitting together at a conference table. The familiarity found
a warm spot in Ryan’s heart. He elbowed Foster and whispered, “Just relax, dude.”

Foster raised his briefcase to the table, and Ryan saw the remaining hinge start to give. He grabbed it by the sides, holding it closed, and said, “Foster, I swear to God, you need constant supervision.”

“Thanks,” Foster said. “I really need a bigger briefcase.”

Ryan could feel everyone’s eyes on the two of them. He wondered if Foster had the balls to drop his indignant air. Foster dug a mechanical pencil out of his briefcase and scribbled on a pad. To the others it might have passed for setting up his notes for the meeting, but Ryan knew from all the other meetings they’d been in together that it was a note meant for him: “You’re on the wrong side of this fight.”

Jeb questioned why they couldn’t sit on opposite sides of the table. “After all,” he said, “that’s how it will be in court.”

Dodge said, “People are adversaries in court, but we’re all on the same side here—we all want justice.” An elastic grin formed on his face. “It’s more important that we get to know each other as people…” His voice trailed off. Then he walked around the table and shook hands with Jeb, Blair, and Foster. He took their hands in both of his, held them, and asked about their families, their hobbies, and health. He even cautioned Jeb not to put too much cream in his coffee: “That’s the real stuff there, Jeb. Don’t clog up your ticker.” Jeb responded with a short diatribe about having to come “way out here to the Left Coast, step over bums, walk past prostitutes, and Lord knows what these San
Fran-sickos
do to each other at night.”

After appearing to listen carefully, Dodge responded, “We all want to live in peace together and spread love around the world.” Then the capper: “I know that’s why I’m here. The good Lord has given us an opportunity to help a fine man reconnect with his
only born son. I think we can all agree that we’re meeting here to help Ryan McNear.”

Jeb replied, “Ryan McNear is a wanted man in my state.”

Dodge took it as a cue to begin the meeting. After reviewing the argument presented in the complaint, that Ryan still owned rights to the patents by virtue of GoldCon violating an implied contract, Dodge added that, as it worked out, Foster had actually been paid in full—he had the boat. He looked at each person in the room emphasizing that Ryan could not legally be “denied his right to the income generated by his talent, originality, and intellectual property.”

Ryan felt a wave of discomfort. The “implied contract” seemed like an absurd technicality; he had signed the patent waiver. Plus, they’d gotten the boat, and Ryan was sure that Foster still thought of it as half his. Besides, the patents were still being developed. There was no income. Then he looked at Emmy. She smiled back and it made him feel worse. She wanted to testify. Dodge had told her that this meeting was preliminary to a lawsuit, that she would get a chance to fight EWU in court. Ryan hadn’t told her that the meeting was designed for them to make an offer to settle, that there would never be a lawsuit. In the time they had spent together, they talked about science and religion, about Sean and Katarina, and Emmy’s students. And they talked about the future. That was the real reason Ryan hadn’t mentioned that the case would never go to court. He wanted that future. His dad would have told him that it was okay, that there is a difference between lying and leaving out the truth, but Grandma wouldn’t go for it; she’d say it was like the difference between clover and shamrock—there might be a difference, but they still looked the same. Dad and Grandma argued in his head for a few seconds. Ryan knew Grandma was right.

Dodge handed out copies of three patent cases he’d researched. Then he addressed Blair. “How would you like to handle this?”

Blair spoke softly, “This meeting is premature. No income has been derived from the intellectual property.”

Jeb said, “Your threats are nothing but extortion.”

The word
extortion
seemed to broaden Dodge’s smile.

“There
is
another aspect to the problem,” Dodge said, nodding to Emmy.

In her lecture voice, she started reviewing the patents almost line by line, describing every point that was inconsistent with “the established laws of nature.”

Ryan stared across the table at her. When she kicked on that lecture voice, there was an authority to her. The first time he’d heard that tone, she’d been in Dodge’s office drawing Feynman diagrams on the desk blotter. Now, when she flipped on the lecture voice, Ryan recognized it as a wall that she erected between the roles she embodied—the warm, caring woman and the cool, rational physicist.

Foster thumbed through his copies of the patents with his head cocked. Ryan recognized it as the Foster equivalent of a game face. But as Emmy continued, Foster’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t look pissed off though; no, this was a look that Ryan didn’t recognize. Halfway into her argument, Jeb interrupted, saying that nothing she said mattered, that the Lord’s work would be done. Other than raising her voice, Emmy ignored him. Blair tried to interrupt too by addressing Dodge, but Dodge didn’t waver from pretending that he was listening to Emmy. Then Jeb interrupted again. This time, Emmy spoke softly, though with no less authority, so that Foster had to lean in close to hear.

Emmy concluded, “To summarize, in the descriptions of the preferred embodiments, neither patent meets the minimal
requirement of demonstrable viability. Further, the first patent, Application of Fundamental Uncertainty to the Generation of Energy, violates federal patent law—it is against the law to submit a perpetual motion machine for patent.”

Foster pushed his chair out and stood. With his hands on the table and arms propping him up, he spoke slowly. “No, ma’am. I’m afraid you misunderstood. It’s not a perpetual motion machine. We’ve made a lot of progress since submitting the patents.” He pulled a copy of
The Cosmology of Creation
from his briefcase. “The patents themselves are incomplete. You should read my later work.” He waved his book at her. Ryan knew that she still hadn’t read it. Foster continued, “The technology is a power generator more or less like any other.” His head bobbed down to that smug angle. “Not
exactly
like any other, of course. The fuel source is hardly conventional, but the technology is based on laws of symmetry like any other physical law, and that’s what makes our work innovative.”

Emmy didn’t even look at him.

Blair cleared his throat. “Interesting that you’d introduce an expert witness to demonstrate the
lack
of value inherent in Mr. McNear’s alleged intellectual property. Why are you weakening your case?”

“Oh, my mistake,” Dodge said, smiling at Blair. “I should have reserved Dr. Nutter’s commentary for National Engineering or, even better, the US Patent Office and the Departments of Energy and Defense.”

Jeb Schonders started to speak, but Blair leaned forward, brushing him off with a wave. Blair said, “I understand.”

“Excellent,” Dodge said, rising from his seat and sliding sheets of paper across the table to each person. “In addition to the points that Dr. Nutter has raised, there are a few other, um, oddities surrounding these two patents: both were examined
by the same patent officer, an officer who is generally charged with reviewing patents of
biological
systems. These were the first and only patents that this officer has examined involving either energy generation or artificial intelligence. We find that very odd. We also found it odd that this patent officer was once in the employ of you, sir.” Dodge smiled at Blair again. “In fact, it seems he was once engaged to your daughter.” Dodge turned to Foster, his eyes narrowed, and after a short but poignant pause, he said, “who is now Mrs. Foster Reed.”

Foster’s head had been stuck at that smug angle, but now it straightened and slowly drooped until he was staring into his briefcase. Ryan understood how Foster felt about his “angel,” Rachel. Add this to Emmy’s step-by-step conviction of the patents, and Ryan’s old buddy was clearly shaken. Ryan scribbled on his notepad “Dodge is full of shit.” But Foster didn’t look at it.

Then Ryan wondered about something else. Emmy still hadn’t read Foster’s book. The symmetry argument—the physical and spiritual, Heisenberg’s mirror—was not included in the patents. As soon as the thought came to him, though, he realized that Emmy would immediately reject the symmetry argument anyway. Just as Foster wouldn’t consider anything inconsistent with the Bible, Emmy wouldn’t so much as ponder anything beyond the purely physical. Every time Ryan entertained the possibility that Foster might be onto something, two things came to mind: first, the lingering question of matter and consciousness; and second, Katarina’s proof of principle argument, that energy must have originated somewhere. The engineer in Ryan thought the resolution was obvious: build the thing and see if it works.

Dodge spread his hands out as though embracing everyone at the table. “We can all agree that the mission of Creation Energy could be in serious peril if the patents are withdrawn and the various improprieties exposed to investors.”

Ryan looked at each person at the table. Jeb frowned, Blair calculated a response, Foster struggled to remain silent, and Emmy—well, Emmy was looking back at him. Ryan smiled at her, but she didn’t smile back.

Dodge continued, “My client has no interest in causing any harm to your endeavor, and, just between the six of us, I think he hopes that you’ll succeed.”

Emmy’s eyes locked on Ryan’s in a cold stare.

“We are willing to settle for a modest fraction of the moneys Creation Energy can reasonably expect from the subcontracts it will receive from NEG and will be quite happy to divest any and all future interest.”

Emmy turned her glare on Dodge.

Ryan’s stomach felt hollow.

Foster nudged him and whispered, “It’s not too late, Ryan. Have faith.”

Foster then took a deep breath and said, “This lady’s arguments demonstrate the gulf that has formed between elite academics and hardworking scientists and engineers—people whose minds are open enough to make things happen. I’ll stand by the viability of our work on any field, in court, at a conference, in the press, any day, any time. I would love to expose the scientific establishment for the closed-minded bigots they have become.”