SHE BLINDED ME WITH SCIENCE
THERE WAS AN AWKWARD SILENCE in the conference room. Per usual, I was the one to break it.
“You mean because my comms are disabled?”
“No. Disabling comms is a crime itself, not evidence there-of. And anyway, we didn’t disable your comms. You did.”
“That’s crazy! Why would I disable my own comms?”
“If you would allow me to explain, I believe we’ll soon find common ground. I consider myself not only a peer to your wife, but also a friend. My role here is to aid the both of you.”
I nodded, making sure to put on my “serious listening” face. It’s one I developed in childhood, honed during my teenage years, and perfected through lots of trial and error in my marriage. It’s proven fairly reliable.
“These Gehinnomites, they’ve convinced many a Bible-thumper to unite against teleportation, claiming it is a direct route to Gehinnom, or Hell. They don’t care which particular version of God delivers the evidence that teleportation is evil, and over the years they’ve been covering all their bases—the Tower of Babel in the Old Testament, the Fifth Seal in the New Testament, and the Day of Resurrection in the Qur’an.”
Pema snorted. “Get over yourself, Bill.”
“Pema,” he said in a barely restrained tone, “we can discuss our differences later. Our objective now is to clean up this mess.”
“That’s not our objective, Bill. It’s your objective.” Making a few comms-like movements with her fingers, she added, “I assume you’ve cleared this with Corina?”
Taraval’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Did she send you here, Pema? To babysit me?”
She responded with a hand gesture. The holographic likeness of an older woman appeared in one of the empty chairs. She wore a lab coat over an elegant business suit, and a string of pearls around her neck. Her very essence screamed “maternal.” I knew her face well, as a portrait of it hung in every TC in the world.
“I’m quite capable of doing that myself, Bill,” said Corina Shafer. She then turned to me. “Hello, Joel. We’ve actually met in person before, albeit briefly. Do you remember?”
Unfortunately, I did. Sylvia had just been promoted and wanted me to make a good impression at a company party. I tended to get a bit claustrophobic when surrounded by executive types, so I got too drunk too fast. When Sylvia introduced me to one of the world’s most powerful individuals, I remembered being surprised by her approachability and warmth. It made me comfortable. So comfortable I had felt I could speak my mind. Which, I should have known by then, never went well.
“Yes, Ms. Shafer. It was at IT’s holiday gala last January. I, uh, made a joke to you about how the world’s richest company could manage to skimp on their holiday party. Sylvia reamed me out for that one.”
Her smile didn’t waver. She was so affable, I thought maybe I might get out of there without summoning Culture Club. “That’s quite all right. Your demeanor may have been coarse, but you were, in essence, correct. It would have been more expensive to throw a holiday party in December. However, my guidance to our event planners was not to save chits, but to find a date and time when the greatest number of employees and their families could attend.”
I blushed. It felt strange to feel embarrassed because, technically, she was holding me against my will, but she seemed more like a concerned aunt than a cutthroat captain of industry.
“Look, Ms. Shafer—”
“Please, Joel. Call me Corina.”
“Okay, Corina. I’ve been thinking a lot about this. About why I’m here. And I think this is all just one big misunderstanding.” I took a deep breath. I wanted to sound cool, collected. “So this Joan Whatever-Her-Face lady, the one who blew up the TC? She was in front of me in the Greenwich line. So you guys saw the security feeds, brought me here, and disabled my comms because you think I’m somehow affiliated with her and the Gehinnomites. Is that it?”
Corina looked at me wistfully, in as much as a projected hologram could convey wistfulness. “No, Joel. That’s not it.” She folded her fingers together. “As you know, there was a malfunction in the Greenwich TC, owing to the explosion on the other side.” Her eyes looked off somewhere past my shoulder, as if she were reading a speech. “For all the damage, destruction, and death these terrorists wrought, the truth is it could have been much worse had they chosen a more populous destination. Yet there was one consequence worse than anything we could have anticipated. It’s unimaginable, or it was unimaginable….” Her lip trembled. “Joel, I don’t know how to say this.”
Silence.
Just utter silence as three people, two real, one projected, stared at me. The hum of the lights or the room’s nanites or the universe was deafening. It felt like it went on forever.
“When the San José TC blew up, your state was—ambiguous. The teleportation process had begun. Your luggage had already made it and been cleared.” A pause—one that seemed real, not just for dramatic effect. “Joel, the Punch Escrow protocol features many redundancies. However, these redundancies are only supposed to kick in when—”
She broke off and turned around. Someone else in the room she was physically occupying put an arm around her. I couldn’t tell who, because the hologram only projected her self-image. All I could see was the shadow of arms and hands around her.
This is beyond weird. I’m the one out of sorts here, but some-how I feel bad for her.
Taraval rose from his chair, walked to me, and put an awkward, sweaty hand on my shoulder. “Joel, this is a delicate matter.”
Oh my God. “Will you guys just get to the fucking point already?” I said loudly. “What happened to me? Am I in purgatory or something?”
“A very interesting analogy, Joel,” he said. “You know, the Catholics—”
What the fuck is it with this guy and religion?
“Enough, Bill,” Corina said, having turned around and recomposed herself. “I should tell him. I have to be the one.”
“Very well,” Taraval said stiffly, and took a step back.
Corina looked right at me this time. “I’m going to give it to you straight, Joel. Because of the explosions at the TC and the power plant, all the systems in Costa Rica went offline. We did our best to track you, but your status was stuck in progress. None of our systems could confirm whether you’d successfully arrived at the San José vestibule or not, so the Greenwich foyer was never cleared, and the conductor there did what he was supposed to: he escalated. The matter quickly reached Bill here. Without definitive knowledge of your arrival, and with all the commotion, no one had taken into account that you might find your own way out of the Greenwich foyer. You shouldn’t have been able to leave that room until your status changed to unsuccessful. But somehow, an error cascading from the issues in Costa Rica reset the room. That’s when you first spoke with Bill today. He concluded there was no harm in releasing you out of the Escrow in Greenwich and bringing you here so you could port to Costa Rica and be with Sylvia.”
Pema nervously began to nibble on her left thumbnail.
“Regrettably,” Corina said, and sighed, “once the San José systems came back online, your local status was reported as arrived. Sylvia believed you had teleported successfully and then died in the blast. She panicked and did the unthinkable.” She paused, looking at both Pema and Taraval before bringing her kind eyes back to me. “She brought you to Costa Rica.”