Chapter 15
“How would you describe it?”
I sat on an aging sofa in Lyle and Heather’s apartment in the outskirts of San Francisco.
Heather sat across from me in a plush but threadbare recliner.
A small recording device sat on the coffee table between us.
Lyle was in another room, coordinating things with his colleagues—handling the Peculiar Case of Scott Treder.
Heather leaned forward in her chair, elbows on her knees, giving me a look of encouragement and passionate, engaged interest. I sensed her look was crafted to make the interviewee feel like he or she was the only person in the world. I wondered if she practiced it in the mirror.
“Almost instantaneous,” I said.
“But what does it feel like?”
I took a moment to answer, trying to give her something. “It’s a … shifting, or slipping, sensation, like the world’s sliding out from under my feet. I’ve never felt anything like it.”
“Probably no one has.”
“Right. Anyway, it’s bizarre, but it only lasts a fraction of a second. Then everything around me is different.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Okay.” She was doing her best not to look disappointed. “So, what’s it like, being here, in what is your future?”
“It’s … strange.”
“Yes?”
“It’s very strange.”
“Okay. But tell me more. What are your impressions of what you’ve seen? What’s surprised you most? What do you think of the state of the world?”
“I’ve only been here a couple hours.”
“Right, right. But you’ve already seen so much that must be unusual for you.”
“Um. The bracelets?”
“Yes, like that. Advances in technology, how it’s changed culture and society in ways we don’t even realize because we’re in the middle of those changes. It must be incredible.”
“It—yeah. I’m sure there’s good and bad.”
She turned her head, eyes widening fractionally. Eager. “What seems negative about what you’ve seen?”
A voice came from behind me. “Might be leading the interviewee there, hon.” I turned. Lyle stood in the doorway.
Heather gave him a tight smile and shrug. She turned back to me. “So, what do you think?”
“About bad technology?”
“Sure. Or good. I’m trying to get your perspective.” She sounded a little strained. I was not being a good subject.
“It’s impressive, I guess.” I was conscious of Lyle’s eyes on me.
“But, if someone from, I don’t know, the 1990s had jumped forward to my time, they’d have been just as impressed.
Cell phones that are little supercomputers in our pockets, coming from big CRT monitors and noisy desktops. And, I don’t know. Electric cars.”
“What about all the rest, though. Say, assassin drones? Backpack neutron bombs?”
I frowned.
Lyle stepped in. “I think Dad’s point here is that however technology advances, what we do with those advancements is what matters.”
“Yes, yes,” Heather said. She seemed impatient with me, although I was struggling to figure out what she wanted me to say. “Technology is an enabler. Technology, advances in technology, make it so much easier to kill each other. Look at nuclear weapons. Or gunpowder.”
“Penicillin? Refrigerators?”
Heather frowned at Lyle for a moment, and he smiled back. This seemed like a common refrain for them. Perhaps not this specific argument, but having an argument, a friendly one, where Heather got worked up and Lyle remained calm.
Heather glanced at me and turned red. “I’m sorry, Mr. Treder.”
“Scott.”
“I get passionate about things.”
“Yes, she does.” Lyle leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “That’s why I love her.”
The motion was so simple, so practiced, so adult and caring. The realization hit me, once again, that this was Lyle before me, my son, now close to my age and with a new wife. And here we were, talking like we were old friends from high school.
Lyle saw it. “Are you okay, Dad?”
Dad. Such a simple word. “I’m fine. What did your colleagues say?”
“They’re ready. I’ll take you to the office. The lab. We’ll run some tests, do an informational interview, and tomorrow morning we’ll observe your jump.”
“With more electrodes?”
“No electrodes. But there will be an array of measurement devices. If you’re uncomfortable, you don’t—”
“No, no, it’s okay. The more data you have, the better chance to figure it out, right?”
Lyle and Heather exchanged relieved looks.
I felt like I was being treated as an unpredictable child, one who might throw a temper tantrum at any moment.
That bothered me more than anything else.
I was doing pretty damn well, all things considered.
As well as anyone could expect. At least it seemed that way to me.
“Dad, your next jump, if it follows the pattern, it’s going to be a long one.”
“Yeah.”
“Last time I picked the library because it’d most likely remain untouched. This time, we need to find somewhere that’ll be same twenty-two years from now.”
“Twenty-two years,” I whispered.
“So crank,” Heather said. When I blinked at her, she gave me a confused look and put her hand to her mouth. “Sorry, I meant, so strange. Um … uh—weird. Sorry, it’s hard to remember what you’re not used to. People say ‘crank’ now.”
“It’s okay.” I looked at Lyle. “Any ideas?”
“Maybe. But for now, let’s worry about the tests. We need to make sure we do the job right when you make the jump. As you said, the more data, the better.”
“All right.”
Lyle and his advisor, Donald Rhineland, had set up a battery of tests for me in one of the labs.
Rhineland was an imposing presence. He had gray hair, a lined face, and intense eyes that swept back and forth above a set of reading glasses.
He regarded me with frank curiosity as we shook hands.
“I’m very excited to finally meet you, Mr. Treder,” Rhineland said.
His grip was strong. “Your son has talked to me a great deal about you and your condition. I know how unfortunate it is for you, but it has been truly extraordinary for us. The ideas your son has had … well, let’s just say he’s a tremendous talent. ”
“Um. Thank you, and please call me Scott.”
“Scott, of course.” He pumped my hand once more and let go.
“You believe me? Us?”
“Oh, of course, of course,” Rhineland said. “The physics of it is all there, the intricate math of it. And math never lies, although it can stretch the truth a bit.”
“Well, thank you, I mean, that’s great—”
“Not everyone is convinced. I suffered from my own doubts when I first took your son on as a student. It is an incredible thing.”
“Hard to take on faith.”
He paused. “Yes, a hard thing to take on faith.”
“Do you think you—you and Lyle, I mean—can figure this out? What’s happening to me?”
Rhineland’s eyes grew cautious. “I think we may be able to understand the math. The science. Maybe even the how. We have a working theory, within the confines of our current understanding of the nature of the universe. But as for truly understanding the mechanism … Of that, I’m not so certain.”
“Thank you for your honesty.”
“Of course. You deserve nothing less.”
The tests felt like higher-tech versions of the ones Maggie and her graduate students had administered back in Madison.
I wanted to be optimistic, and I did my best to put on a brave face for Lyle.
It was twenty-two years since I sat in the chair as Maggie and her students wired me up.
I was sure science and technology had progressed a great deal since then.
But I couldn’t help the crawling, nagging doubt I felt as Lyle explained each test to me and to Heather.
Heather recorded everything. Behind her, Rhineland stalked about, berating any of the graduate students or assistants who were too slow for his liking.
Heather typed in highlights for the video and audio with her bracelet.
She’d go back later and edit based on her memory and the notes. “Story of a lifetime. Pulitzer stuff.”
“That’s good.” It was the best I could manage. At least I recognized what a Pulitzer was. Small win, there. I felt like Captain America understanding the flying-monkey reference.
Most of the tests were noninvasive, quick, and painless. One measured magnetic force, Lyle said; another read electrical currents in my body and the surrounding area; still another was a full body scan, including temperature, heart rate, oxygen, and nitrogen levels.
I sat through it all with my plastered-on smile until my cheeks hurt, bobbing my head as Lyle quadruple-checked that I was okay, and I tried not to think.
I did not think about Amy. About my wife, remarried, with stepchildren and a life that didn’t include me.
I did not think about my wonderful, brilliant seven-year-old son who was now a busy twenty-nine-year-old postdoc, bustling around, checking everything.
I did not try to superimpose my Lyle over the top of this one. Translate the mannerisms and gestures and motions onto this one.
I kept the smile on. I kept nodding.
There were invasive tests. A young doctor named Victor took blood samples, scraped skin cells from different parts of my body, and collected saliva, hair, urine, and even feces. Each was tolerable until Victor told me he was going to take a sample of my brain tissue.
“Come again?”
“It was deemed necessary,” Victor said. Earlier I’d been distracting myself by trying to place his accent. Romanian, maybe. Now, I didn’t care.
“I like my brain cells where they are.”
“There may be evidence in them,” Victor said. He looked to Lyle.
“Dad,” Lyle said.
“Lyle, I mean—”
“You don’t have to.” He sat next to me. “But it was my request.”
“Really?”