Now & Again (14 page)

“As you can see here, the nanos have located a workable pharmacy within 100 yards of the target house.” Julie tapped the building’s location on one of the easels and then pointed at interior photos of a drugstore prescription dispensing area where two unaware pharmacists were at work. “Vinnie and I will take care of
persuading
the pharmacists here to help us put together our little drug cocktail.”

She gave a half smile and then went on. “Okay, since we’re limited to what’s available on site, here’s what we’re gonna do.”

She took a step over to the edge of the table and held up two vials and a handful of empty hypodermic needles. “We’ll use four 10mL sterile syringes. In two of them, we’ll put 10 mg/mL of Midazolam diluted with 0.9% Sodium Chloride. She indicated a vial of clear liquid. This is normally used as a muscle relaxant and sedative. The other two syringes’ll get 50 micrograms/mL of Propofol. She shook a cloudy vial and held it up to her face. This can be a real nasty number in high doses but since it looks a little like skim milk, we call it,
Milk of Amnesia
.” She waited for the group to react, and caught a few smiles. “It also stings like the dickens when it’s pushed, so that’s another reason why we’ll be using the Midazolam first. Anyway, both of these are C-2 drugs. That means they’re kept locked up in an access controlled area. That’s not gonna be a problem here, but it will slow us down a bit.”

She moved to a different easel filled with photos of the McCaslin kitchen, foyer, living room, and stairs. “We need to inject each target with both drugs – Midazolam first, Propofol second. One knocks them out, the other pushes them way down deep in the mud, and in these dosages, should trigger their body’s own defensive response. If everything works right, they should be stuck in a coma for good.”

Fargo sat at a nearby table strewn with papers. She fingered a few surveillance photos of Kendall and Josh. “Does it matter where we stick ’em?”

Julie looked at her, a little puzzled. “You don’t have to worry about that. Vinnie and I will be there – that’s our job.”

“Yeah, sure. I appreciate that, doc, but you’re military, aren’t ya? So, you know shit happens.” Fargo smiled disarmingly up at her. “Humor me. If you guys are…unavailable, where do we stick ’em?”

Vandermark had joined the back of the group to listen. Julie noticed him and looked for guidance. He nodded at her to go ahead and answer Fargo’s question.

“Okay then,” Julie said. “Well, basically you’re gonna want to make the injection into any large muscle mass – lower neck, back, butt, thighs. Make sure you do ‘em in the right order though, and check for air in the needles.”

Nsamba smoothly took over the briefing. He left no room for further questions. “Thanks, Julie. Okay, I recognize that we’ve spent a lot of time in the weeds, but don’t lose sight of the big picture. All right? Remember, jumps will happen in four phases. One – secure the drugs. Two – converge on the house. Three –
stick ’em
, as you so kindly put it, Fargo. And four – dismount and end the jump. Then we move on to the next line, and do it all over again. As long as it takes. Are we clear?”

Most of the jumpers nodded or had no response. Salazar folded his arms and leaned forward until his elbows rested on the table. “Hell of a lotta messin’ around. I’m wonderin’ why simpler ain’t better. Save all of us a lotta time and a lotta hassle, don’t you think?”

Nsamba stared at him without a blink. “That is not an option. We told you from the start.”

Sal wasn’t put off and tossed a sour look right back. “What good’s a plannin’ session when all the options ain’t on the table?”

Vandermark stepped forward quickly and his face was set. “What is this, a special needs class, Sal? Some kind of alt school? Let me make it simple for you.” He leaned on the table right above Sal. “If we kill them, they just jump into themselves in a new line; only now they know that somebody’s after them. If we put them into a coma, they’re not dead and they can’t choose anything. That means no splits, no sub lines, no alternates, no warning; no way out. Got it, Sal?”

Salazar hadn’t moved a muscle. He just stared at the table as if he couldn’t care less. “Whatever.”

“Right!” Vandermark scowled into the faces of the cradle riders, his face blotchy with emotion. “Just do what you’re told and don’t think too hard! That’s why the pay is what it is!” Vandermark turned on his heel and left the room.

In the lull afterwards, everyone sat quietly. Julie took a chair. Vinnie stayed perched on the edge of the table, slowly swinging one foot back and forth.

“Okay then,” Nsamba finally said. “You all have the mission briefs and updates. You know we have at least thirty timelines to deal with. The plane departs at 0800 tomorrow, and the truck should be waiting at the other end when we get to Cincinnati. Anybody have a question – I mean besides Sal?”

A few careful smiles broke free, but no one raised a hand. Fargo winked at the group. “Well, aren’t we all gonna be some busy little bees.”

Nsamba waited a beat. “That is all. See you at the corporate hanger in the morning.”

The group gathered their gear and departed. Nsamba stayed at the table and reviewed screens on his palm computer.

Dr. Hahn stood at the edge of the meeting area and waited. When the cradle riders were gone, she stepped closer to where Nsamba was seated. “Taylor, can I ask you something?”

Nsamba continued to study his interface and didn’t look up. “No. Do not ask me about Dr. Vandermark.”

“Why not?”

He stopped his work and looked up. “We have known each other a long time, Song Lee.” Nsamba’s deep voice softened but retained its stilted African flavor. “We share respect. Do not make me lie to you.”

Song Lee stood still and spoke without emotion. “Why is he doing this? Driven is one thing – we are both driven – but he has become reckless.”

“It is Quyron’s jumpers.” Nsamba considered what he was about to say. “He sees our riding of other minds as the breakthrough of his life. And these
natural
jumpers threaten all of that.”

Song Lee scoffed. “A breakthrough to keep him from dying, you mean.”

“He hasn’t said…” A puzzled look crossed Nsamba’s face. “He thinks riders can direct the paths of other timelines – send them in the directions we want. That is all.”

“That’s what he says is all, but I know how he thinks. He will use what we learn to keep himself alive, inside someone else – someone younger. That’s why he’s doing this.”

Nsamba’s face darkened. “You’re guessing. You don’t know that.”

“I know what I know. Open your eyes.”

Nsamba swiveled his head back to his screens. “I don’t have time for this. If you have something factual to say, say it! Otherwise, I have work to do.”

Hahn moved around the table to stand in front of him. She waited until he, begrudgingly, gave her his attention again. “Echo confirms that when our riders ride, the timelines do not split. No matter how many choices they make while riding, the timeline they’re in continues unchanged in the multiverse.”

“What?” Nsamba’s whole bearing shifted drastically. “That cannot be right! Nothing is outside the timelines and every choice has to cause splits.”

“Yes, so we’ve been taught. It can’t happen. It’s a contradiction.” Song Lee lightly touched her hands on the table. “But it continues to happen just the same, no matter what we want to believe.”

“Have you told him?”

“Why should I?”

Nsamba’s shoulders drooped. “I can’t deal with this now. I don’t even know what it means. All I know is that I have to neutralize Quyron’s jumpers.”

Hahn stepped back. “Listen to yourself.
Neutralize.
You’re starting to talk like him too. I’m telling you, I’m afraid of what we’re doing.”

“This serves no purpose now.” Nsamba’s face showed his inner conflict. “I have work to do and so do you. I promise we will talk later – I will consider your fears later – but right now I need your help.”

Hahn thought about pushing the conversation harder but closed her eyes and chose to follow a softer line. “What do you need?”

“How many lines have Quyron’s jumpers spun off?” He held out his computer with the screens. “Are these all of them?”

She briefly studied his screen. “Those are the confirmed lines, so far. I’m sure there’re more now.” Hahn flicked her eye to the ceiling. “Echo? Current status on the tally of the McCaslin lines since the accident?”

Echo’s clear, upbeat voice came without delay. “Since the prime survival line, up to this moment, there are thirty-four branch lines, for a total of thirty-five lines.”

Nsamba arched his eyebrows and sighed in disappointment. “Wonderful.”

Echo’s cheerful voice came right back. “And counting.”

“It seems
they
have no problem with splits.” Hahn left the table. “Of course, they’re
natural-born
jumpers, as Quyron likes to say.”

Nsamba was going to reply but Hahn was already walking away. She spoke without turning back. “I’d say the sooner you get onsite, the fewer new splits you’ll have to deal with.”

Nsamba muttered to himself, “Thanks. That is so comforting.”

Evening in the Maryland nursing home started very early and ended quickly. Other than supper and prime time television, very little of note happened at the end of the day except the usual (and a few unusual) bedtime routines such as PJ’s, teeth, toilet, meds, and the occasional ambulance run. Unless of course, a resident happened to have secured that rarest of nursing home occurrences: visitors.

Everett’s room actually looked better at night. The indirect lighting from a couple of lamps softened the undecorated walls and warmed the pale tile floor. Hugh was a dwarf piled in a large bathrobe. He sat up in the bed, awkwardly propped by crowds of pillows, and scrabbled with gnarled hands to shove aside his monotone supper and get at the Ensure container. Josh gave him a hand by fishing it off the bedside tray and sticking a straw in it.

Everett irritably motioned at him. “Just hand it over, I can do it.”

Josh frowned. “Hand it where?”

“Just give it here. I’ve worked out a technique. You’ll see.”

Josh handed over the container and the old man adeptly manipulated it using his knuckles and the opposite wrist to wrestle the straw to his mouth. He sucked in a few gulps and tossed an impish look at Josh. “Don’t try this at home.”

Kendall crumpled up the wax paper from his burger and tossed it at a trash basket. He watched Everett take another drink and then leaned forward in his chair. “Here’s what I wonder. Why should we trust you?” He toyed with his paper plate of cold fries. “From what I heard, you quit on your own theory, and the guys Josh read said all you did was whine about it later.”

Everett sputtered and coughed up the thick pale liquid. He contorted his body to slap the Ensure back on the bedside tray table, sloshing more liquid. Josh tried to help with a napkin but the old man snatched it and angrily waved it around trying to soak up the spills. “That’s what they wrote later! It’s not what actually happened!”

“Yeah?” Kendall seemed amused. “So, what really happened?”

Everett dropped the damp napkin, and it flopped to the floor. He slumped back into his pillows, sullen. He made a few faces and stared coldly at Kendall. “That was a long time ago.”

Kendall sipped at some coffee from a foam cup and grimaced at the taste. “So I heard.” He put the coffee down. “Let’s see, you wrote this long important paper in…what Josh?”

“1956.”

“Yeah, Princeton in 1956 – then, since nobody liked it, you ate a big piece of humble pie and cut all the hot stuff out, to please your professors, and then…”

Everett interrupted. “You don’t understand anything about this. You don’t know anything.”

Kendall nodded. “Maybe so. And then in…the 70’s?”

Josh piped up, “1972.”

“Right. Thanks. In 1972, somebody else published your original paper, the long one, with all the hot stuff still in it, and it made a big splash; but then…nothing. You let it drop. You wrote nothing on it again. You didn’t push it. You walked away and quietly went to work for the government – just one more invisible guy in a dark suit. You vanished. You lived your own little life and ignored your past completely for all these years.”

Kendall’s voice suddenly cracked like a whip. “Are you kidding me!” His arms and hands joined his words. “You created the single most important theory in the history of the world – or worlds, I guess, according to you – and you just dumped it? Really? And now you sit there and try to tell us how important it all suddenly is; but when
you
had the chance, it wasn’t important at all. So, what’s the deal, Hugh? Which is it?”

Everett looked up from the pillows. His eyes were teary and his mouth a grim line. “Why are you doing this to me?”

Kendall looked Everett in the eyes, without any pity. “Maybe because I’m old enough not to take things for granted. Maybe I want to know who we’re dealing with and why we should believe him – I mean besides the fact that he’s a lot more book smart than us.”

Everett gathered himself. He levered his body up and shoved feebly at the bedside tray. “Josh, can you get this out of my way?”

Josh backed the tray away from the bed and rolled it toward the hall door. He came back and sat next to his father. Everett clutched the bed rail and pulled himself as close as he could to their edge of the bed. He looked directly at Kendall. “You’re an easy man to underestimate.”

Kendall’s somber expression didn’t change. “Thank you.”

“You both deserve an explanation.” He worked his mouth for a bit before going on. “I was scared; that’s the truth. I’m still scared. But not in the way you think. I’ve never talked about this to anyone – not in the 56 years since, but I’ve thought about it every day.”

He concentrated on Kendall, his eyes gleaming in the lamplight. “You think I crumbled under the pressure, don’t you? You think I caved to my advisor, old doctor Niels Bohr himself – is that it?” Everett grew taller somehow, even perched against the rails of the hospital bed and lost in his bathrobe. He projected a dominance that had nothing to do with size or age.