A Collaboration of Scientists The Powers of Five (Part 1 of 3)

story by Simon Trevino edits by Anne Robinson

12th e-Edition Copyright 2012 by Simon Trevino Downloaded from SimonTrevino.com All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced in any form, in whole or in part without written permission from the author.

Thank you kindly.

A.W.R., M.E., R.C., K.B.E., L.K., A.Y., J.R.O., J.J.S., D.C., M.G.T., B.L., H.P., D.J.OC., J.OC., S.T., I.B., L.J.R., K.I.R., D.E.S., H.F., M.D.A., R.J.B., K.M., A.M.Q., E.G.H., & K.A.M.

Chapter 1. A Special Creation

Shrewsbury, England 1836 Undressed and late to his appointment, Charles Darwin tore through each room in his quaint house searching for his Sunday blazer. After checking every nook and cranny, he gave up with a sigh in the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. Before he could take a sip, he sensed a combination of evils the smell of smoke and the sound of suppressed laughter coming from the front yard. He rushed to the front door, curious to see what was unfolding. It was going to be a late morning. Oh, just... bollocks! Charles cried at the small fire on the center of his porch. The responsible party, two kids, had just secured an incredibly offensive monkey effigy to his mailbox. It wore, unabashedly, Charles favorite tweed and shirt and pants. From the safety of his doorway, he pleaded with them, Go on, get going, now! Unfazed, the pint-sized incendiaries squealed back, Monkey-man monkey-man loves his monkey-mom! and then scampered off. Charles threw his glass at the flames, stopping them from metastasizing into his home. Not twenty minutes into my day and out a working cup, he thought. He jogged towards the monkey, bringing the warmth of his bright-red long underwear to the watchful eyes of his neighbors. The troublemakers had bent the monkey over in a provocative position tied such that Charles had to mount it for removal. Theyd done a hell of an amateurs job on the face, too. Obviously, neither had seen an anatomically correct primate before. Charles cursed their poor education as he unbuttoned the thoroughly, no, relentlessly fastened wardrobe. As soon as the clothes were removed, he jumped into them and ran like frantic wind to his meeting. A dozen clergymen from multiple countries, no less heard about his draft of On the Relatedness of Species (working title). The

rumors about common descent threatened both their well-being and their jobs, so they graciously offered him a chance to backpedal before the tithers found out and things got out of hand. For Charles, it was a necessary public relations opportunity. If he could win their favor and approval, he might not have to worry so much about his own personal safety. No one had ever dethroned a god and lived, not even in myths. Charles cut through the woods between his house and the meeting place his childhood church. Behind him, exactly in the places where his soles had met the undergrowth, lay discolored foliage. His touch turned the greens to blues or purples and, in some cases, deep pinks. Occasionally, a flowerless weed would activate its meristem, bloom, and release pleasant volatiles. As he neared the clearing before the church, Charles pulled a Royal Navy handkerchief from the inside of his coat, blotted the sweat from his brow, and breathed in deeply. As he pushed through the big red door of his old church, touching memories of family and boring sermons rushed through his mind. It was just after noon, and his old preacher was setting up faux-regal religious props and lighting an incensed thurible. Some visiting theologians sat reading marked-up theology books. Those who whispered to one another ceased abruptly at his arrival. The conversation that unfolded was less than smooth and, for those of us living in the 21st century, boring and predictable, so well start in the middle, with the Canadian visitor in lead. Well, what if what if each organismal transformation was itself a special creation? Charles had considered this possibility before, but there was no need to add another layer of complexity to the story of creation. In retrospect, natural selection was so obvious that it took a certain kind of magic to rob those before him from noticing it. Ironically, this was precisely the kind of magic these mere men sought every Sunday morning. I can only say that, even in light of all my collected fossils, I too couldnt shake the idea of the hand of god guiding this process

An Englishman interrupted, Then you maintain animals cant change by purely natural means? Not quite, though that question is testable. In fact Ive examined this process of evolution by breeding pigeons under different stresses. By imposing selection artificially, Ive already recorded significant skeletal changes after only a few generations. Charles felt he had pushed too far. He hadnt planned on mentioning the experiments. Another interruption, this one nasal and from the front pew, Chasing pigeons around all day? For no purpose but to play god? You will only succeed in tempting gods wrath. God has sent you restless nights, hasnt he? You are disheveled, professor. Please, it is best you unburden yourself with his divine strength. Were they really arguing against his facts with a personal appeal? Well, they werent scientists, after all, he thought. I think we ought to burn down that pigeon coop! yelped the American. With that, Charles hope for a rational discussion vanished entirely. He found himself stuck in a rather familiar, isolative place staring at the wretched chasm that separates the patterns of thoughts leading one to rely on faith, and those patterns of thoughts leading one to rely on reason. But he wasnt giving up just yet. Let me just say that although we can describe evolution in purely natural terms, thats not to say god couldnt be behind it all. This was a good way to calm some of their nerves disingenuous, but a safe talking point. I have struggled with this since the idea first came to me, but I cant ignore what is plain to see. I think a demonstration might serve us well. It was a few weeks after lizard mating season and wet outside, so there were bound to be geckos seeking refuge in the church. He spotted two, one yellow, one green, both not yet sexually mature, perched next to each other on the top of a pew. The yellow gecko stuck out its tongue and held it there for a moment.

Accustomed to the company of small animals out in the field, he expertly put his hand to the side of the yellow gecko. If geckos have a thing like friendliness and adventurousness, the yellow one certainly displayed more of these capacities as it confidently boarded HMS Hand. Charles inspected the specimen with the automatic perception of a trained naturalist, a reflex he sorely missed exercising since he started writing about his voyage nearly two years ago. He held up his hand so that the audience could view the tiny animal. Gentlemen, Ive collected fossils of lizards much like this one, with one difference their bodies are ten times as large. They are extinct now, but lived some three hundred million years ago during the Carboniferous. We have also found fossils of this same body plan throughout the more recent geological record. As the larger animals disappear, the smaller ones prevail. Given how related so many of these skeletal features appear except for size, then doesnt it follow that one came, or evolved, from the other? Puzzled looks prevailed in the congregation. Crocodiles dont sprout wings and fly like ducks! shouted the American. Some sneers followed, both at the suggestion, and at the suggestion. Charles, aching for real debate, naturally entertained this as a sincere scientific question. He began to wonder about how such a transformation might occur both were aquatic animals, might they be related? Maybe scales and feathers were somehow structurally similar, when you get down to the details. Who knows what might evolve given enough evolutionary pressure? Suddenly, the extraordinary happened. Small pricks of feathers began to push out from under the skin on the yellow geckos back. Outwards from the spine, in the direction of the belly and face, they bloomed in a brilliant, golden succession. Then the tip of the tail bloomed as well, rather fantastically, with longer feathers and an audible puff. Charless mouth slacked agape. He searched unsuccessfully for breath,

mouthing like a fish freshly removed of water. Was this his burning bush? Was god demanding his attention with a living miracle? To take a draconian serpent and transform it into a plumed angel on the back of his hand, in this holy place, surely everything Charles thought he knew about the natural world was mistaken. So that he and the others could get a measured look, he drew a bridge between his hand and the pulpit. The special creation crossed onto it with effortless finesse chin held high, eyes half closed, fawning over itself. It gracefully assumed a royal pose, bathing in a small beam of white light pouring in through a crack in the wooden roof. A miniaturized living statue that would put David to shame. Without taking his eyes off the specimen, Charles gasped A... a miracle! A new species! I dont believe it! Everybody hurried from their seats to circle the pulpit. And here, we agree. I think I speak for all of us here when I say we dont believe it, either. There is only one able to create life anew. The others who try they are the darkest of deceivers. You have conjured these animals and your evil fossils as well! Perhaps not you, poor Charles, but a spirit you have invited by your blasphemy, said one. My dear boy, the devil has set a demon on you! shrieked another one of the clergy, terrified, Repent! I think that... you will have to excuse me. Charles sensed urgency or danger, and quickly began to move towards the front of the church. Rabble, rabble! the group exclaimed. One of the holy men grabbed the lighted thurible. Exorcism or death must befall the professor, but certainly not escape. With the celestial motion of Davids sling permeating his brain, he swung the thurible by its chain towards Charles, who was nearly out of the church. As soon as Charles was between the topmost and second-topmost steps of the half dozen that separated him and the church lawn, the chain wrangled his legs, causing him to trip rather quickly. He landed with a thud,

painfully and absent of grace, as though his legs had been pulled up behind him from the sky. Charles instantly decided these men were out for blood. His worst expectations were exceeded. Dazed, he saw the men of god approach. Oh, to leave life at such a moment in history. What did the new creature mean for his lifes work? How would this occurrence fit into his theory? What would Huxley have to say about it? Panic ensued, and then calm. His life flashed through his mind. The HMS Beagle coasting from choppy to serene waters. Field sketches of colorful flora identified during the voyage. A sultry black-haired native girl. The ritualistic wrapping of specimens for storage. Small mounds of dusty fossils. Animals developing and growing, changing through time inside of his dreams out on the free ocean. He returned to reality and couldnt loosen his legs from the chain. He would have to defend himself, and at a woeful disadvantage. Facing individual extinction, he thought, if only god had sent a vicious beast and not an angel the size of a timepiece. At that, the green gecko inside of the church began to change. Charles heard a deafening crash; his eardrums pained at a cacophony of wood splitting and bending under the weight of something mighty. Peering in through the doorway he saw a tremendous figure. What was it? A reptile? And a bird? Wait, no, definitely not two animals, just one. A mosaic of a single animal. Charles saw a flash of tremendous webbed feet and light brown downy feathers. A mallard duck. A crocodiles face. A croco-duck? Charles reluctantly held onto a dramatic view of the behemoth in full, which erratically spun in circles inside of the old wooden church, its visage speckled with color filtered by stained-glass windows. The monster stopped spinning and began to wobble, alternating support between its hind aviary legs and its reptilian torso, struggling with the beginning aches of something like quadrupedalism.

He watched in stunned silence as two clergy were swallowed whole. It was as clean as a cold snap of the teeth and a gulp. This oversized demon could not be bothered with mastication. The creature doubled back deeper into the church. More screams, more scurrying, more broken pews, and then a weighted moment of silence. Charles had no time for grief, only terror. Cruack! Ack-ack. Cruack! Ack-ack, and then it hissed. Although not versed in language, Croco-duck was fluent in something a little more primitive than emotions, something closer to reactionary impulses. Senses like aversion or water

affinity. Croco-duck felt void and proceeded to shit brown and green everywhere.
On broken pews, on hymnal books, and especially the holy chalice. The darkness of the church caused Croco-duck to feel confine so he haphazardly headed towards the open front door. His body blocked the stream of middays warm sun into the church. More void. Some shit slopped into the holy water fountain. As he began to exit, he felt good in the presence of the green grass and the crisp air. The outside granted him awareness. His attention turned to something small and brown. Something that smelled like the panic he had just consumed was stirring at the bottom of the stairway. Croco-duck eyed Charles and felt threat which flipped to fight which flipped to eat. This was followed by mouth attack. Charles regained himself and loosed one leg from the thurible chain. Croco-duck flopped down the stairs with its mouth open, narrowly missing Charles torso, but snapping off his left hand. He screamed in pain, but only briefly. He felt stronger, like a survivor. The pain was less worrisome than his recovery; he had the gut-wrenching experience of treating many patients who had died from lesser wounds. Of course, that assumed that he could escape to safety. But he had a chance for evasion in the open lawn. Not like the men trapped in that awful church. Just then, an older gentleman with tightly wound grey hair fixed into a topknot emerged from the thick of the woods smoking a pipe and riding a

three-person tandem bicycle. The apparatus bounced on the uneven lawn of the church. Charles was so concerned with survival that he didnt think to wonder how the man had pedaled through the forest. GET ON ZUH BICYCLE! said the man in a German accent, each syllable released at the top of successive bounces. With a keen understanding that, when wounded, flight is a much better alternative than fight, Charles obliged the stranger. Like a rabbit under attack, he expertly zig-zagged several yards to the bike. He hopped on the backmost seat and began to pedal furiously, almost forgetting his injury. Both men pushed faster and faster, gaining more and more speed as the pair veered towards the baptismal pond. Croco-duck clumsily and excitedly tripped over himself in chase of the bike, resembling a child freed of church after benediction. His only sub-thought was get. Were going to hit the water! cried Charles. Dont worry, my boy! Better wet than dead! replied the stranger. They picked up even more speed, exponentially so, and disappeared in a thin sliver of light over the water. Nobody had noticed, but the yellow gecko, not quite in the form of a yellow gecko anymore, was curled up snugly in the breast pocket of Charles favorite tweed jacket, sound asleep. Croco-duck made a tremendous splash as he fell into the water, struggled, sank to the bottom, and drowned. Piranhas ate the entire body before sundown.

Chapter 2. Structural Insights

Cambridge, England 1952 Maurice Wilkins watched the red safety light on the x-ray room door at Cavendish Laboratory. As soon as it flickered off, he softly knocked on the door

before shuffling in with his head bowed. Rosalind Franklin sat hunched over her experimental setup putting away biological samples and cleaning up the machine. With his eyes fixed on the feet of her stool, Maurice spoke, Jim rang, Im afraid he wont be seeing you for dinner tonight. He says something has come up. Oh? Predictable. Ros turned off the x-ray machine and stood slowly, silently, absent of affect, and walked briskly through the lab. She moved with such determination and force that a wake of wind trailed her, disrupting loose papers off of her bench. Anticipating the trouble that would follow, Maurice nodded his head in concern. He walked over to the fallen papers, spotted an objectively beautiful diffraction pattern (she was always so good at her craft, wasnt she?) and placed it in her drawer, leaving it locked, but with the key in place. Ros removed her lab coat and let it fall to the floor before she exited the main laboratory. As she bolted through the building lobby towards the exit, a security guard took immediate notice of her. Ros was never done with experiments by seven in the evening. He wondered where her clearance was. A guard could get fired or worse for losing track of a deserting, rogue scientist. Excuse me, Ms. Franklin, youre going to have to slow it down or Ill have to restrain you. You cant just march out of here without proper documentation... She didnt pause. He began to rise out of his seat and unbuckle his stun gun from its holster. Check the logs again and this time look under Dr. Franklin. I had this break entered two months and three days in advance. Ive broken no protocols. Your shift was over a minute ago. Go home to your family, Oliver. There may be a lab coat to decontaminate in the Cavendish before you do so, though. Oliver buckled his weapon, sat down and exhaled heavily. He was starting to believe the tabloids. These nerds were some kind of dangerous. Dr. Franklin especially so, being a fox and all. Come next election cycle, maybe he would vote with the Yankees recent approach to science in mind. These boffins needed tighter

restrictions and more oversight. But for now he had no complaints, as Ros gave him something titillating to look at on the security monitors. Within another half of a second Ros was through the doors and walking on narrow, familiar, Benet Street. It was cold and wet. There was only one place Jim could be, rubbing beer-soaked elbows and trading higher-education-induced nausea for drunkenness with other academic types at their unofficial pub, The Eagle. People in the ivory tower bubble only move that bubble geographically, never actually managing to pierce it. It wouldnt take much effort to escape it, either. The pub next door, Flann Obriens, had a better record collection, better drink specials, and much, much, much more interesting patrons. As it was the Friday happy hour, The Eagle was nearing capacity with university worshippers. Some young professors, most with young wives, were schmoozing with the older professors, most with their second or third wives. They jockeyed for a toehold on future tenure. Other young professors, resigned with low hopes of ever attaining tenure, sat half-sulking at tables with each other. They half-eyed the fittest students for romance or affairs. Jim Watson sat at what was becoming his established stool at the pub near the middle of the front bar. His seat was positioned at a focal point of attention; anyone entering the bar would be strained to take him out of their line of sight. Unless he stretched his head to the left, he could not take notice of people in the bar. He liked to impress upon others an air of unattainable fame. They should recognize his celebrity now, so that after DNA made him one, legitimately, they would say Oh, that Jim, he always was sort of a winner, now, wasnt he? Jim turned towards a chubby, curly-haired brunette sitting next to him. Her doe-eyed demeanor and collegiate sweater were lightning bug flashes announcing that she was a fresh, sexually available student. She hardly looked old enough to order a pint. He felt as though he was born to chase females. If he hadnt been pushed to the higher calling of science, who knows how many illegitimate baby

Jims would be trotting about this globe? Theyd be breaking hearts, too. He wondered what color her panties were. Jim feigned a troubled intellectuals face and leaned into the girl, holding an x-ray diffraction pattern film up. It glowed yellow in the amber lighting. Excuse me, miss, but would you mind telling me just what this looks like to you? Well, Im only two weeks into my first psychology class, but it looks just like a Rorschach test. Tell me, are you trying to discover my deepest, darkest secrets? Weve only just met. In a sense, yes, Jim felt it wise not to seem too interested in her, or hed lose her, But not about what your favorite color is, but what makes you, you, and everyone else, well, everyone else. Oh? Whatever do you mean? Jims strategy was working. She was genuinely intrigued as to why he hadnt already started showering her with compliments. Was her lipstick smudged? Guys always hated that. Her best friend was stranded at the aisle for that very same reason. Well this is no simple Rorschach test. Its a pattern generated by shooting high-powered x-rays at a highly purified crystal of deoxyribonucleic acid. He made sure to say those last two words quickly and nonchalantly so that it would sound all the more impressive. Some think that this pattern will tell us the structure of the teeny tiny molecule that made you inherit your mothers good looks. Now, if I could only crack open what it all means. He grabbed the hair on the side of his head with his free hand and directed his best intellectually invested expression at the page. After a long pause with Jim frozen in his stare, the girl was dying to know. And what do you think it looks like? she asked. Well, sweetheart, DNA is made of phosphates, sugars, and bases. I think phosphates and sugars make up this internal backbone... As he said backbone he traced his fingers down her back.

Ros was standing directly behind Jim, having heard the tail-end of the predatory conversation. That would never work, Jim, the charges would repel, Ros urged through clenched teeth. Jim turned, startled. Besides, youre holding an old blank control of mine. Theres no DNA in that sample whatsoever. Oh, good to see you, Ros, Jim said ever-so-sweetly. Youve blown off dinner, Jim. For six months Ive endured your petty advances and I finally agree to lend you some of my time, and you... Jim regained his suave facade, Sorry Rosso, but its a big university. Ive been exploring game theory firsthand, isnt that right, baby? He turned and squeezed the students fatty hips, who was now flushed pink in both sets of cheeks. No need for apologies on that point. I was only interested in discussing my results. I didnt cancel experiments, Jim, so that you could skip on our work for a beer with a child. Do you really think Pauling wont figure this out before us? Now Ros, not every professor you sleep with is out to get you, began Jim. Ros closed her eyes in composed rage. Focus Ros, she thought, dont let that temper loose. The room became darker than the back of her eyelids. In fact, it was pitch black in the pub. Ros couldnt make out any tables or chairs or walls, but she could see the bone white of every persons skeleton. Curiously, she couldnt hear any of the pub chatter or the background music, just low-level static and her thoughts, which went something like this: Everybody was right, the amount of stress she bore was much too much. Was this frightful hallucination the first sign of mental illness, or had her unravelling begun long before? She second-guessed whether the structure of an acid that makes up less than three percent of the dry mass of cells was worth the trouble, especially since it wasnt clear whether it was even important, or that it was a problem that could be technically solved. She stretched out her arm in front of herself and inaudibly gasped. It, too, was just bones. The grave scene was not going away anytime soon. Was this Jim in

front of her? Is this what he looked like underneath all his strained pomp? Just like everybody else. Jims jaw stopped moving and then his entire head tipped sideways, impressing upon her that he knew something had gone awry. She touched her phalanges towards his cheek. His skull moved back before their bones made contact. We still have flesh, she surmised. Then a black pulse exited her fingertips and she watched as Jims skull melted away. As if this event cued her entrance into a macabre play, all of the skulls in the bar locked their eye sockets onto her. Some of the jaws of those skulls opened wide. Many of the skeletons cowered. A few ran out of the bar, dodging invisible chairs and walls and even pushing other skeletons out of the way. What had she done? She turned to the bartender, who, she could see, was reaching for a shotgun hidden behind the bar. Even if this was a waking dream, her instinct pushed her to respond as though everything was real in order to avoid death. She was too young, too strong, and too smart to die this early. There was too much work left in the lab to be done. Then, two skeletons, one that was missing a hand and one that was rather hazy and apparition-like, entered the bar. Through the main window of The Eagle, Charles and the man with the topknot watched Jims body slump over the bar, headless. They were too late to stop Ros from accidentally burning through him with intense radiation. But the mystery man knew he could stop further death from occurring. He entered the pub at unbelievable speed, creating a distortion of light. This caused the bartenders perception to warp, forcing him to miss loading his shotgun; a shell slipped to the ground. At the same time, Charles sensed high levels of mildew on the floor behind the bar. He could grasp that deep inside of the mildew, housed in tiny sacs of nuclei, there were tiny strings coiled together into little knots. In a near-meditative state, he imagined tinkering with a slightly unwound area of the string that

connected to something else in a long cascade of something elses, which altogether resulted in the manufacture of something oily. The bartender bent down to pick up his wayward ammunition, lost his footing on the slick mildew, and fell hard onto his back. The crisis was averted, so far. As both men charged at Ros, she put her hands out to stop them, accidentally sending two pulses their way. These singed both mens suits at the elbows. When this didnt stall their advances, she deftly dodged them with a burst of good old-fashioned University of Cambridge rugby athleticism. Ros pivoted around the skeletons, away from Jims corpse, distancing herself from the nightmare. She began to believe this wasnt a dream. She had just killed poor Jim. She sprinted for about half of a second and then was stopped abruptly by a wall. Knocked out cold on the sticky, yeasty floor of The Eagle pub, the beginnings of two small streams of tears rolled down her cheeks. Charles hoisted her onto his back and the trio exited the building, onto the three-person tandem bicycle and into the future.

Chapter 3. Irresistible Attraction

Cambridge, Massachusetts 1964 Stephen Hawking had little trouble adjusting to many of the challenges presented by young tenureship at M.I.T.: office politics, teaching, research, and publishing. Despite having only walked the Earth for some twenty-two and a half years, he easily commanded professional relationships with most of his peers geniuses of experience that were his age around the time that he was born. In general, his similarity in age to students also did not cause too much

trouble. He was well-spoken, plainly brilliant, and awfully more knowledgeable than even the oldest or brightest among them. He was held in high regard, even in an environment where students were expected to challenge their superiors. As it would happen, his main problem originated not in the student body itself, but in one particular students body. That body was slender and attached by the neck to a head with a face, a beautiful face of classic, high cheekbone beauty just the kind of look that established women as actors in the golden age of film. Stephen first encountered the fair maiden in building 7. He watched her twist her leggy legs in circles, her face never pointing in the same direction as her torso as she searched for the way to her next class. Other students, including woefully shy male students and superficially jealous female students (only two, total, actually, in the entire school, really), did all they were capable of doing they ignored her. Under any other circumstance, had Stephen been in any other state of mind other than that of a professional professor, he never would have been able to approach her. He overcame his nervousness by imagining and then believing that it was his duty to direct her he was, after all, a young, approachable faculty member. Stephen walked up to her and stuttered, Ex-excuse me, m-miss, are you lost? Oh! She dropped her textbooks, Sorry, you... startled me. Im just looking for the admin offices. They both reached for the books. The girls loose v-neck sweater hung extremely low, exposing her bra. Stephens line of vision was caught directly in it, accidentally. Her eyes met his at this moment, conveniently. She put her arm over her chest. Sorry, its just my clothes havent arrived, I only had time to pick this up at the student shop... not that, not that you were looking at my No! I wasnt. I mean, I was, looking, the book! Uh, not that theres nothing

to look at, not that those are things, or that, what, just... where are your clothes? Stephen grabbed the books with both of his hands. Somewhere between here and Manchester, my luggage has been lost for a week, now. Im an advanced exchange student, names Franny, she held out her hand. Stephen put his hand out to shake, dropping the books. Oh, geez, he whimpered as he bent over and collected them again. Hi Franny, so youre still in secondary? Yup, eighteen next week. Wow, okay... well administration is right down that long hallway and across the street. She grabbed the books, flustered and shy, and spoke in a single, fast breath Ok, great, thank you very much, see you around! Could that have been flirtation? he wondered. Probably not, girls were probably far less subtle in England. Maybe she was just extra happy somebody was finally helping her in this new, perplexing America. Days passed and during the middle of a lecture on supernovas, Stephen came up with the grandest of plans. He would invite Franny to audit one of his introductory graduate courses. Not a single undergrad had been able to handle this course without needing help outside of class. This would guarantee her presence at office hours, and there the romance would bloom. After the lecture was over, he wiped off the chalkboard and packed up his briefcase. One student remained at the far end of the lecture hall. It was Franny. I want to take this class, she declared. Oh! Hi, there, Franny, good to see are you uh, are you sure? Its pretty tough, he stumbled. More certain than the demise of the Sun in six billion years, err Ill see you next Tuesday! she sped away, flushed.

For some time after this exchange, which made it as clear as Newtonian physics that she was interested in him, he suspected the planets alignment was working in his favor, out in the deep, deep black of space. Building number lucky 7, he thought, each time he walked through the hallway where they first met. Unfortunately every plan is bound to go awry in some universes. She was the best student ever to take the class and never needed one-on-one tutoring. In fact, she was a perfect intellectual match for Stephen. So he did what any love-torn person would do. He lied. It was on a Friday that she walked into his classroom a few minutes late, well after the rest of the students were seated. He softly touched her arm as she entered and said discreetly, Franny, please wait after class, we need to discuss your problem set further. She nodded sweetly, smiled as if she knew the meeting wouldnt be about the homework, and went to her usual seat in the front of the class. That was easy. And he could feel the strength of his composure. Nobody in that classroom, save Franny, suspected the rays of sunshine and butterfly orgies exploding in his lower intestine. Stephen, standing in front of a blackboard dusted by yellow chalk, removed his black-framed glasses and wiped them on the bottom of his shirt a tick Franny somehow always induced. Hello, class, he squeaked, then deepened his voice, Today, before we get into the nitty gritty of black hole radiation, or at least my take on it, I thought wed try something a little different. Since this is an area in which we wont be able to gather solid observational evidence for some time, everything rests on reasoned argument and an understanding of the quantum, so Id like to have a few of you read your essays from last weeks homework to start an impromptu discussion. You, the students, will lead the class today. Thats right, Stephen, look hip and inspired, he thought, be a modern teacher. Be edgy and on the same level as the students... especially Franny. No walls between you and her. No clothing between you, either and candles, scented

candles... No, stop thinking about her without clothing. Maybe just a little bit of clothing. Maybe just white cotton underwear. He coughed, Mr. Sagan, ld like you to read your answer aloud to the class, if you dont mind. You can just stay in your seat there. He handed Carls paper back to him. Carl stood at his seat and began, gesticulating, Perhaps only a minority of advanced space travelers would have the technological ability to greet a black hole face to face. But for those brave species, a remarkable display would lie in silent wait. For haloed around these black holes, acts of pure creation generate energy throughout the cosmos. There, straddling the edge of a point of no return, regular, but arbitrary, fluctuations of vacuum spawn virtual thoughts of the universe. Here, matter is forced into being, the particle and the antiparticle. Like middle school students at their first dance, they are immediately repelled to opposite ends of the gymnasium. It is up to the observer to decide who has the more tragic fate: the antiparticle that is sucked into the oblivion of a dying black hole, or the particle that is emitted away from its partner, experiencing the cosmos at the exhilarating speed of light, alone. Both beings are torn apart at birth, never meeting, but intricately tied to each others fate. Billions upon billions of tragedies fit for Shakespeare, playing out in the darkest corners of the night sky. It was a monologue to inspire a classroom, hell, a generation. For that, Stephen decided not to knock off any points for the odd way in which Carl tended to frame all of his answers from the perspective of aliens. More importantly, why hadnt anyone tooled art for the promotion of science before? This was revolutionary. This is what could inspire new scientists away from the darker arts, like finance and real estate. Perhaps science would become popular again among laymen and the country will regain traction onto the right course. Stephen could think of no better praise. Well, I think weve stumbled upon todays take-home message. Be more like Carl. But nobody really could be like Carl.

Professor, if I may continue, as we contemplate the tremendous destructive power wielded by those darkest of sirens, the black holes, we must not allow our attention to sway too far from our own pale blue dot. As we speak, a much less majestic but much more immediate force is tearing away at our species chances for survival. I am speaking of course, about the Cuban War. Id like to ask everyone in here to join me in protest at the quad. This was yet another chance for Stephen to impress his cool, easy-going nature upon Franny. Very well, class. Youre free to attend, it wont count against your grade in this class. The entire classroom left, most of them to their dormitories to study. As they shuffled out of class, Stephen noticed Frannys ice-blue eyes warming at the sight of Carl. She was now under his poetic spell. He was witnessing the origin of romance. Stephen watched as she trailed behind Carl. He watched her hips sway as she walked down the Infinite Corridor. Her movements were a receding invitation not meant for him. This spurred a quick rumination about red shift. And then he decided it was time to do something. It was time to compete. It was time to get a girlfriend. Faculty werent officially barred from attending university protests though it was a stretch to call them protests, since university happenings were never broadcast to the public. Besides, it was possible that Franny could get mixed up in all of this get arrested or worse. As a professor, he could intervene and ensure her safety. Then theyd have the chat hed been preparing for all week. He caught up with the students in the quad. Carl and Franny were now hand in hand. Be more like Carl, indeed, he thought. Dismayed, he took in the rest of the scene. The quad held about a hundred students. On makeshift soap boxes of enormous stacked tomes, with names like Annals of Experimental Physics and Schrodingers Lion, students held up peace signs and smoked cigars. If Franny wasnt an option anymore, perhaps one of these girls would be? And there certainly were cute ones to choose from. Every color of the rust

rainbow was represented on that podium of textbooks blond to brunette. He watched vibrant strands of hair lift and fall in the wind. They created complex mathematical arcs. The hair drew his attention toward their faces, softened by not-yet-expired pockets of baby fat, foreheads and eyes unhardened by wrinkles of real worry or memory. His eyes soaked up their bodies. College athletics had shaped thin legs, small waists, toned arms. College diets had sowed fatty hips, round bottoms. He wondered how warm it was between the blond ones legs. The wind began to pick up, and up and up. But, curiously, only around the girls and not the rest of the crowd. It was as if they were standing in a pinpoint tornado; this was not just a simple mid-afternoon breeze off the Charles River. Soon their M.I.T. cardigans were blown away up and out of sight. Stephen couldnt help but gawk at the exposed brassieres. The blond girl wasnt wearing one and immediately covered her breasts with her forearms. Stephen reveled in the flash of a pink nipple and the jiggle of perky tits turned squished fat. Then, off flew their pants and skirts. Tiny panties were exposed, grandma panties, too, every kind of panty. Before long, the women were wrestling with the air for their bras. In only a few seconds the winds rendered them stark naked, every single one of them. A cornucopia of fleshy delight. Stephen was weak in his knees. There were too many women, too much exposed skin. His eyes rolled to white and he fainted. Immediately, the winds calmed. He fell backwards, directly into the lap of Charles Darwin, who was pedaling in the third seat of a three-person tandem bicycle. Charles wrist stump squirted a little bit of blood on Stephens shirt. Beg your pardon, he said to the unconscious physicist. Pedaling at the second seat was Ros, who took one look at the blushing nude ladies drowning in nerdy male cat calls and said, This can not be what the future is like. Steering at the first seat was the time traveler. Charles, wake him up, your

life depends on it, he instructed through exhaled pipe smoke. But Stephen had already stirred. The older gentleman said, Good afternoon, Stephen, how far is Canada? My colleague here needs medical attention.

Chapter 4. Friendly Competition

Manhattan, East Village 1913 It was unseasonably warm in Manhattan during the first throes of October in 1913, though the air was crisp, and if a momentary wind picked up, at least some of the flesh that covered some of the spines traversing the sidewalks would shiver. Albert Einstein stood on Saint Marks Place, facing Tompkins Square Park, looking pretty much like every iconographic photograph of him from his grey-white hair period. Light grey-blue grease smoke was rising from food stands on the walkways that crisscrossed the inside of the park. Lost in thought, he felt thin and light. He looked at his fingers and felt reassured they were solid. Niels Bohr walked through Tompkins Square Park in the direction of Saint Marks Place. He was a tall figure, but not an imposing one. Soft cheeks betrayed his penetrating green eyes. His hair, under the controlled precision of pomade, was parted on one side and combed back immaculately. Niels was also marked by a soft, gentle manner and voice. Rough features and a loudness were of little use to a man who effortlessly had the upper hand in conversation by intelligence alone (but sometimes also reputation). Nobody tried to sell him heroin. The chances that the two brilliant minds housed in the skulls of these two men would exist in the same period of time is small. Smaller still is the chance that each mind would become educated and cognizant of the other. But what is even

more remarkable is that they would meet face to face during this particular period of human history, when the simple technologies that allowed them to know of one another were now being revoked. Basic communication between independent scientists was dwindling legally, and the little that did occur was largely under sinister surveillance. At this moment, the meeting was nearly illegal. Both men met eyes, nodded as strangers might nod, and walked into Saint Marks Place. They stopped in front of a hot dog stand tended by a man wearing a thick apron, too thick for a household kitchen, yet too dainty for a butcher shop. Whatll it be, fellas? Deals two dogs for two Edisons, today. Albert felt especially light and could easily have consumed three hot dogs, but he couldnt allow himself. The script of this meeting and the sequence of events had to play out exactly as he planned if he were to steer the outcome in his desired direction. First drink, then talk, then save Niels, he thought. Albert smiled at the man. Good to see you, but its a bit early for lunch. Maybe after my friend and I quench this nagging thirst as we have both traveled quite far. Of course professor, you know the way to the fountain, he said with a wink. Directly behind the hot dog stand was a cool, mildew-filled alleyway so narrow that the two men were forced to file in like schoolchildren, Albert first, Niels second. A few yards in, the mildew and dank nature of the alley lifted, and the bricks of the alleyway became pristine, scrubbed to saturated reds. At the end of the passageway was a square clearing of well-kept lawn with space enough for three or four people. In the middle of the lawn was an elegantly detailed wooden trapdoor, painted crimson. Secured on top of the trapdoor was a brass phone a very polished, clean phone. Einstein bent down at the knees and picked it up just enough to connect and disconnect it once. After a short pause, squeaky gears were heard, and the door automatically

opened by an unseen mechanism. They descended down a brass ladder, Albert first, Niels second. At the bottom, they entered a narrow speakeasy. Two gramophones simultaneously played the same record. They listened and were a bit spooked by a longing, meek female voice, singing in an unrecognizable language to melodies and beats that sounded both African and West Indian. The scientists occupied two of five stools at a bar made of pure copper. Behind the bar rested two dozen whiskeys from around the world that were born sometime in the previous two centuries. The bottles were guarded by a grinning taxidermy Tasmanian devil. There was only one person working at the bar a girl. Well, not a girl, exactly, as she was definitely in the third decade of her life. But she wore a low-cut parody of a schoolgirls dress and her well-combed dirty blond hair and soft features had fooled more than one patron before. One Sazerac for the professor and one Sazerac for the professors friend? Her rs found no compelling reason to be enunciated or heard, a New England accent that always emerged around old friends. Sometimes she used it as a tease, this time included, since it was under her control, mostly. You know me better than I know myself. I came in here with a thirst for an Old Fashioned, but yes, a Sazerac sounds much more suitable, said Albert. At this moment, the meeting was entirely illegal. Niels spoke in a commandingly quiet voice, You never cease to amaze me, Albert. Ensure that if our little rendezvous is found out well get a night in jail to complement the fine... Albert turned to Niels, ignoring the slight. If this girl doesnt keep you here on pure charm alone, the drinks will. The bartender handed him the Sazerac. He sipped and met eyes with her. How you are able to control that mess of ingredients in just the right stoichiometry, all to the delight of my palate, well, its beyond me how you do it without a chemists lab behind the bar. Maybe I do. She smiled. Her flashing dimples were what Albert was after.

That, and keeping the conversation light-hearted, for Niels sake. Undoubtedly, murmured Niels, never a fan of flattery, wherever it reared its banal head. Niels, thank you for meeting me, I know the circumstances are dangerous. I brought you here not to discuss your atomic model, but more what it could mean in light of our political state... and also, to ask you for your help. Well, I wasnt appointed ambassador of Denmark, and not because I wasnt sought, no, you know this because you know that politics nauseate me. So you must, subconsciously or not, desire a good old-fashioned spar over my silly probabilistic atomic model that happens to make sense of the results of every atomic experiment ever known to mankind. The model youre on record saying turns god into a reckless gambler. As though the state of the human species isnt proof enough on that point. Well lets have at it underneath the city, where at least you have some shielding from public embarrassment... he trailed off softly. I am asking you to postpone your thoughts on the atomic model, but not for my benefit. Just until we have an idea of what Edison could do with it. If he obtained the idea for himself, who knows what power he could wield. The great Einstein intimidated by that hapless fraud, Edison? Cant be. Or, at least, shouldnt be. Edison couldnt conceive of such a complex, unintuitive model, much less devise some contraption to use it. He controls most of the developed world as is, what more could he possibly want? Besides, who is going to understand how to build it? Theres hardly a working scientist left, aside from the university slaves. Actually, Niels, as usual, you have gotten to the heart of the matter quicker than anybody else could have. I have reason to believe the idea itself is more dangerous than the machines or weaponry it could be used for. And since its your idea, you may be in danger of abduction. Well I can breathe easily at least for the moment since you think he

possesses the patience to wait for our secrets before killing us. But Im afraid I dont follow your logic. Allow me to explain. There is something I need to show you. Privacy, Albert thought, privacy. But first, lunch, I am quite spent. Miss, could I bother you for two Ranhofer dogs, please? You only order what I order, Al, said the bartender. She pulled a lever underneath the bar; gears were heard, and the trapdoor opened. She climbed up the ladder to fetch the hot dogs. Niels, now that we are alone, let me be frank. I sincerely believe its time we start keeping our ideas to ourselves. Heres why: Theres no simple way of putting this, but, I... Ive experienced my discoveries firsthand. Pardon? Watch. Einstein raised his right hand and started waving it back and forth, faster and faster. Eventually it became a bright blur, and then pure light, illuminating the small, subterranean bar. I understand light, Niels, and now I am

becoming light.
Niels watched with his elbow on the bar and his chin on his fist, intrigued, but not frightened. Albert rested his arm and the room darkened. I can move like light moves. I can even traverse space and time. But this power is insignificant compared to yours. I need your help, Niels. You must find a way to understand your power and control it. What power? I have never produced anything like the light show you just demonstrated! Not a light show, exactly, but you do have a power and have used it before. Albert paused, searching Niels face for a trace of acknowledgment of this fact, then continued, Your atomic model may be right, and that could be rather powerful, my friend. To think that all we are made of... that you and I, sitting on

these stools, we are just groups of atoms... but not like Daltons atoms that were able to stand their ground atoms that were solid somethings. No, instead, all of your work suggests that we are more like ghosts, more empty space than anything else. If that wasnt disconcerting enough, how our atoms behave is under the odd control of the observer. If this really is the nature of nature, if this is our nature, what if Edison found a way to exploit it? What if he controlled observation? Then he might control much more than the world, even. You have to control your understanding of your probabilistic model of the atom, right now. Your life depends on it. Are you suggesting that my atomic model might overtake me? How? Will I take on the properties of an atom? How would I control that? These effects are at the quantum scale, not the scale of human beings. Albert... we go back a long time, but I have never seen you like this... Niels eyes began dart around in every direction. Soon, they blurred. His voice gained a reverberating echo. Alberts time was gone. This outcome happened in every strand of history he had explored and had tried to change. Niels was the only scientist he couldnt save. What I mean to say is... More reverberations, the speakeasy became a dim cavern of deep bass. Niels began to superposition on the macromolecular scale. His body seemed to assume every position simultaneously. If Albert focused on the blur, Niels body would lock in a single position for a moment. He looked away so as not to trap him in any painful, contorted state. A few seconds later Niels had dissipated into a spherical cloud, and finally was gone from perception entirely. ...farewell, old friend. You have already been missed, before. A wind lifted the bartenders skirt as she clamored down the ladder holding the two Ranhofer dogs in one hand. Both men were gone without a trace. Niels had not touched his drink. Alberts was empty. On a napkin was a hand-written message: I did not murder Niels Bohr. I have torn apart space-time to find out if I

can save him. I have not been able to, yet. Please, dont tell anyone. Of course I wont tell. She knew it was the truth, having seen the volatile nature of Niels atoms the moment she laid eyes on him. She could always see how the liquids came together. Albert had escaped by moving near the speed of light right up the ladder. In the alleyway he looked down at his hand and noticed the edge of his fingers flicker off and then on again. He caught his image in the storefront window of a pastry shop and noticed the ends of his hairs were flickering as well, so he tied them into a bun in order to conceal them. Cant keep this up, Albert, he thought to himself. He suspected that every use of his power brought him closer to fully adopting the properties of a wave. He jumped on the first seat of a discarded three-person tandem bicycle, grimaced, and pedaled quickly, exponentially so, on to a church across the pond sixty-five years prior.

Chapter 5. The Collaboration Forms

Manhattan, Central Park 1913 It was unseasonably warm in Manhattan during the first throes of October in 1913, though the air was crisp, and if a momentary wind picked up, at least some of the flesh that covered some of the spines traversing the sidewalks would shiver. Albert Einstein sat at a cement chess table overlooking a playground in Central Park. As he dusted himself off, he slowly drew smoke from the burning tobacco situated inside of his pipe into his lungs. The cloud generated by his exhalation persisted in the still air. Several yards in front of him, orphaned children were kicking piles of leaves and squealing in the new autumn.

Alberts three-person tandem bike rested against the back of his stool. Seated around the chess table were: Charles Darwin, somberly holding his feathered gecko in his new brass prosthetic hand, Rosalind Franklin holding back tears and wearing lead-threaded gloves, and Stephen Hawking, heartbroken, vacantly staring at a squirrel. Albert cleared his throat, Charles, Rosalind, Stephen, allow me to introduce myself. I am Albert Ros interrupted, bewildered, I see you. I know you, youre Einstein. You even sound like him. And this is New York, but it is not the 1950s. This cant be. I dont believe any of this! What, just... what in the bloody hell is going on? My apologies. Let me provide some context for the last few hours of adventure. Much of this will sound outlandish, but it is true. All of us live in whats called a multiverse a collection of universes that house many different realities and histories of which we comprise but a subset. Multiple universes? But how? The universe is all that ever was. This cannot be! exclaimed Charles. Yes, it can be. Although it hardly makes even a little bit of sense... and nobody quite gets it even in the 60s, err... 1960s, said Stephen. Albert continued, In addition to this framework of multiple realities, it seems as though some scientists can absorb powers that relate to their lifes work. Using my own ability to cross space-time, I have removed you from doom terrible scenarios that coincided with the first moments you exercised your own special abilities. Charles, had I not intervened, you would have been killed by your monster. Rosalind, you would have inadvertently killed more people in that pub, and died as well. Stephen, your accident would have had the most far-reaching effect. Your miniature black holes would have gained power enough to have consumed the whole of the Earth. He paused and his face darkened, showing a strong sense of great loss.

And... eventually Mars, Venus, and the rest of the solar system... including our good friends on Enceladus. He gave them a moment to reflect, and recomposed himself. Colleagues, friends, the truth is that you are needed here, desperately needed, for the future of humanity. What exactly does anybody need from us? asked Ros. For this age and version of the Earth, the most formidable threat to the human species is President Thomas Edison. Edison has been dumbing down the modern worlds population, pitting them against scientific progress and critical thinking. This cynical tactic has earned him much political leverage. At the same time, he is tightening his grip over university control and, in secret, collecting independent scientists to work on his pet projects. Albert, if you can travel through time, why not just kill him when he was not a danger, as a boy? asked Stephen. Yes, of course, that would be the simplest solution. However, the navigation of space-time is exceedingly difficult; it is twisted. Certain realities and histories never cross paths. Its as though linear histories play out on a strand, and the strands are all tangled together, like in a bowl of spaghetti, for lack of better analogy. Edisons earliest years are not accessible as best as I can tell. Spinozas god is a bowl of noodles? asked Stephen. Precisely. So you pedaled through space to gather us all to help you defeat a madman. And now were here, sitting in a park. Whats our next move, then? demanded Ros. Well, for right now, we wait just a few minutes. I dont know how the next moments will unfold. It is possible that Edison will declare that I have murdered Niels Bohr in the belly of underground lower Manhattan. If this happens, it will mean that all independent scientists will be in danger. Edisons minions will be instructed to capture us for re-education and enrollment into Edisons own scientist

army. Im sorry to say, but deadly force will also be an option. In other words, you removed us from certain death and delivered us to certain death. I was better off in Cambridge, without the unnecessary headache, said Ros as she slipped off one glove, preparing for a fight. Stephen gulped and wiped the lenses of his glasses with the bottom of his shirt. No longer fixated by the squirrel, he was visibly uncomfortable. Charles stopped focusing on his shiny hand and began to closely examine every person that walked by, ready for any attacker. Albert lowered his voice, Stay aware and do not draw any attention to yourself. I am the only recognizable one here, but even so, my bun will throw most people off. And together, we have a fighting chance. Stephen nervously looked around and whispered, Albert, I still dont follow your story. Niels isnt here... were in Central Park. How could you have killed him? Right now, Im trying to stop his death from occurring in the first place. If I fail at this, I will try to persuade the only other person that may have witnessed the event to keep quiet. It is also possible that I have failed at both. We will find out soon enough. Charles was completely lost. What do you mean? How are you stopping his death just by sitting here? And why arent you sure? I am here and I am with Niels simultaneously. Well, I am not sure that its possible for me to be in both places at once... I should be able to be, if Niels atomic models are correct. In that case, I am in the East Village stopping his death from happening. But I am uncertain. So you might be in two places at once? Right now? At this moment? said Charles. Yes, Charles, havent you been listening? Nothing makes any sense, said Ros. An old homeless man, carrying a weathered and greased face, stood up

from his grassy territory a shaded lounging area near the chess table. He stared wide-eyed at the group. It was clear he had taken in an earful. He walked over to Albert while shaking an old soup can. Albert dropped a buffalo nickel inside the can, removed his singed coat, and gave it to the man. The man grunted. Albert then motioned to the man that he could keep the bicycle, too. The man put on the coat and sat on the front seat of the bicycle. He then pretended to seal his lips with an imaginary lock and key and rode away slowly, weakly. Within full view of the group, a few yards down, he approached a tourist and traded the bike for a nearly-empty pack of cigarettes. Albert looked at his pocket watch and exhaled with relief. There. It is forty-two minutes past the hour. We have not been attacked. We are safe, for now. I should have known to expect the average outcome not the best scenario, for then Niels would be with us right now, but certainly not the worst, for wed all be dead. He continued, Now that were in the good fortune of this universe, were going to have to talk about working together. Each of you has been chosen because of the complementarity of your abilities, but your skills will need to be honed. Ros, you have the ability to see through many materials, but your bursts of radiation are erratic. I have decided to take the task of coaching you directly, given my mastery of energy. I ask that you give Charles a deeper appreciation for the structure of DNA how it bends and coils and supercoils. This is his working material, this is what genes are made of. Ive retrieved literature about its structure from the future to guide you. You should take a close look at DNA is a double

helix, published in Science in 1955. I think you might recognize Figure 1.

Hold on, Maurice and Francis are the primary authors on this article? And Im not even acknowledged? But this is my data! she fumed. Yes, well. Its tough getting credit as a woman in science. Even tougher when you completely disappear under the circumstances you disappeared...

Typical! She ripped the paper in half. Charles picked up the pieces. By god... manipulation at the molecular level! The feathered gecko stuck its tongue out and climbed back into the front pocket of his shirt. Albert turned to Stephen. Now, you have the devastating ability to generate black holes. Small, microscopic black holes can be used to manipulate objects and undress women. But creating holes is a more-than-dangerous business. If they swallow too much mass they may grow wild and untamed, beyond your control. In this way, black holes are not unlike exponentially dividing bacteria, consuming all that is in sight. You will have to work with Charles on understanding this process. Albert addressed the group, A future without science is a return to the cave for Homo sapiens. Are you all in? Everyone nodded timidly. Spirits were lifting, but the crew was still battered. Welcome to the first multidisciplinary, multigenerational collaboration of scientists. We are not complete just yet, though. Who will be joining us? asked Ros Oh, he will be the most powerful scientist of all. Alberts gaze guided everyone else's attention to the playground. He pointed to a boy of about six years playing in the park. Small for his age, with light blond hair and a cowlick at the back of his head, the boy sat drawing geometric circuits in the dirt. He was absent-mindedly fending off a balloon charged with static electricity. That one, with the balloon. Hes just a kid. Whats his name? asked Stephen. Nik... Nikola Tesla. Inside of the balloon, the rate of the Brownian motion of the helium particles increased for a split second as a laser beam briefly heated one side of the balloon before rupturing the rubber. The balloon popped. The released molecules of helium briefly increased the mean kinetic rate of the molecules of the nitrogen,

oxygen and other trace gasses in the ambient air, and then equilibrated. These were the effects of the first laser shot of a small shower of lasers that fell upon the playground. Each shot rang, Pew-pew! About a dozen of Edisons pewter robots aimed squarely around Nikola in an attempt to cage him off from the other children and adults. They were humanoid in appearance slow, clunky, and awkward, with bloated bellies. Several advanced towards the boy in a v-shaped formation, while others provided cover for the procession from behind trees, fences, and mounds of litter. Startled, Albert yelled, Drat! Pewbots equipped with Occams Lasers! Scientists, collaborate! Grab the boy! Every scientist was nervous on account of never having fought in real physical combat. Their abilities were new, but there was no time to waste. Stephen concentrated to bend gravity around Nikola enough to tease away the laser beams but not enough to put him in danger. He was noticed by a Pewbot. You, stop for identification picture. You, stop for identification picture, one stuttered in a recorded, tinny voice. The belly of the Pewbot opened up to reveal a cameo. The accordion portion of the camera adjusted to capture Stephen in focus. Ros noticed and inundated the film with x-rays. It snapped a blank shot. Dag. Missed. The Pewbot took about three minutes too long to unscrew and replace the lightbulb from the cameo with a new one from its utility pack. Charles scanned the trees for evolvable targets to use against the snipers. It was difficult to concentrate on the insects because they darted around in complex patterns very quickly. But he managed to lock onto a slow ladybug and extend its wingspan. Its body grew a bit and stopped when it reached the size of a small tree shrew and then it was a tree shrew, with golden fur and red, black-dotted wings! Oh dear, sighed Charles. He shut his eyes and focused. He reopened them at the touch of two tiny feet on his nose. Looking straight into his left eye was a tiny fairy named Alison. She had forest-green locks and porcelain skin. Oh dear! he

exclaimed. She foxily fluttered away to live under a roasted peanut cart. He turned his attention to flora, instead. The cell walls of Quercus rubra were tough to penetrate, but he felt his way through them and initiated apoptosis, or maybe it was necrosis, in the branches. The tree debris crumbled, thwarting those Pewbots underfoot with loud clangs. The tree of life giveth and the tree of life taketh, he piously declared. Ros used her x-ray vision to spot Pewbots hiding behind shrubbery. A black belt weekender, she took them out in hand-to-hand combat. The pewter felt soft to her fists. It didnt hurt her knuckles to mash it in. When the coast was nearly clear, the group ran to Nikola. Albert scooped him up over and onto his shoulders. The boy couldnt help sending him a strong static charge; Albert flickered on and off. He passed Nikola onto Ros, who was also zapped. She was scared of accidentally hurting him with her x-rays, so she dumped him on Stephens back. Nikola grabbed hold of Stephen awkwardly, pushing off his glasses and shocking him. Charles reached over to assist Stephen, but first touched Nikolas shoulder with his brass hand, neutralizing the charge. He rested comfortably on Charles shoulders. The feathered gecko climbed out of Charles pocket and onto Nikolas shoulder, then licked him on the ear. Nikola wasnt scared. In fact, he was, by all counts, enjoying himself, although he regretted not finishing the circuit in the sand quickly enough. Everyone hustled to the 81st street subway stop. They waited almost forty minutes before a train arrived, due to train traffic.

TO BE CONTINUED

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