CHAPTER FOUR

Vandenberg and Ivan race to make contact. But inside his mindscape, Einstein walks alone—until a knock on the door brings back the one name he buried long ago: Adelaide.

KILGEN

Celeritous lab

9 a.m.

The lab was quiet except for the soft hum of machines. Dr. Vandenberg's calculative steps echoed as he ascended the dais toward Ivan, cracking his knuckles like a concert pianist preparing to play a concerto. Together, they studied the scrolling reports, each piece of data unfolding with tense precision.

This had to be the day to finish what was on his plate - Celeritous, no distractions. Only then could he focus on preserving Damen. If he didn't, those bureaucratic dogs would be on his heels, and the last thing he needed was them carting Einstein off to one of their cold, sterile facilities.

However, there was that damn board, always looking over his shoulder, poking and prodding. A nosey bunch - a compilation of self-entitled trillionaires who'd formed at the start of the tech boom. Sort of like a less-than version of the Gates, Jobs, and Musk titans of the early twenty-first century. He'd just as soon stay as far away from all of them as possible.

"Doctor, some coma patients respond best to outward stimulus after a period of time," Ivan said.

"We tried that. You know my approach. To delve further into his cognitive memory; that is how we'll ease him out," Dr. Vandenberg said.

Ivan winced and scratched the back of his head.

"What is it?" Dr. Vandenberg demanded.

"A simulated memory? Is that how you'd want to be greeted after being frozen like spinach and awakened a hundred and fifty years later? I don't know; to me, it sends the wrong message. Think about it – you're insulting an accomplished mega genius. Almost like you're saying, 'Hi, Mr. Einstein, we don't know what we're doing. It's our first time.' Come on."

"Perhaps, but we tried the direct approach without success, so I'm heading in a different direction. He's in a coma. What better way to tickle his mind than with something familiar to him? VAL." Dr. Vandenberg placed his hands on his hips, willed the cursor of his optic over the VAL icon, and selected it with a deliberate flick of his finger.

"But we had no neural function at the time," Ivan interjected.

"Yes, sir. How may I assist you?" VAL's voice purred.

"Bring up Einstein's files of memories."

"Yes, sir. Commencing..." VAL executed the task.

"What do we have to lose?" Dr. Vandenberg nodded at his own decision.

"Oh, I don't know. Our dignity and his sanity, just to name a few off the top of my head." Ivan's eyes fluttered, a brief twitch of irritation, as if his mind had just short-circuited. He took a deep breath and said, "Consider this: if you were him, wouldn't you want human interaction over some stilted memory?"

"Don't know; I've never been frozen for a hundred years."

"For the record, I deem this method ridiculous."

"Noted," Dr. Vandenberg said, studying the controls as he glanced back at the vat. He was reminded of Ivan's groundbreaking work in neurology. Maybe Ivan has a point? He drummed lightly on the counter with his fingernails. "Fine, fine, Ivan, if you insist. One last time, if it makes you happy. But if it doesn't work, we're going in my direction."

He enjoyed it when Ivan's expression flipped from the grumpy Russian to elated comrade who had just poured his first vodka of the day.

Dr. Vandenberg cleared his throat and touched the virtual mic button, then looked back toward the brain.

"Hello, Professor Einstein. My name is Dr. Vandenberg. In 1955, your brain was cryogenically frozen. And now, in 2101, you are the first person to have ever been thawed successfully. Our next step is to communicate with you." They watched the sensors and data for any kind of reaction.

"Anything, VAL?" Dr. Vandenberg tapped his fingers on the counter.

"No, sir," VAL responded.

"Now who's ridiculous?"

Ivan patted his lab coat, reached into his pants pocket, and pulled out a sucker. "I could use a cigarette right about now."

Dr. Vandenberg watched Ivan unwrap the sucker and remembered when it used to be cellophane from a pack of cigarettes. But he knew full well Ivan would prefer a shot of vodka. He smirked and turned back to the controls.

"VAL?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Let's use a memory that is well documented."

"There are many in the index."

"No theories or equations but something stimulating ... I got it. The little girl who needed help with her math homework."

"Commencing."

***

What am I to do? I have thoughts but nobody to listen to them. I'm stumped for the first time in my existence. I have not a clue of what I've become. Am I alive? This is a cruel guessing game. Am I a machine, perhaps? In another dimension?

I must calm myself, but how? Inventory. I must take inventory. I can think at least.

What I do know is that I can't see, hear, taste, smell, or feel. My only true compass is my instincts.

While he sifted through foggy memories, the harder he tried to reach them, the farther the memories receded into the mist. Like reaching for a balloon - instead of grasping it, he pushed it farther away. From thoughts of Princeton, he floated to Mozart. He imagined humming the seventh symphony, and when he felt like opening his eyes, he couldn't. He thought of the song and the beats, like he was playing his violin Lina with his eyes closed, swooning to the melody in his mind.

Suddenly, there was a flicker inside an old-fashioned streetlight, transforming into a bright beam cutting through the fog. He stayed with Mozart, imagining the crescendo nearing, the violins peaking.

He believed he was seeing a bit further through the fog. Not far in the distance, more streetlights flickered. Looking down, he saw the cobblestone street and walked farther. The fog thinned, and there they were - the shops and restaurants of his beloved Princeton.

Einstein kept humming, desperate to stay out of the darkness. He hummed the seventh symphony, its familiar cadence grounding him as his feet carried him past Nassau toward Mercer Street. The limestone sidewalks glistened beneath the lights, lined with colonial-style buildings weathered with history.

He was once a gypsy, bounding from one address to the next, sometimes stealing away in the middle of the night to avoid Hitler and the brownshirts. All that changed, though, when he immigrated to the US and moved to Princeton.

On Mercer, the curvy sidewalk led him to the white-sided house he loved. He ran his hand along the hedgerow, opened the decorative wrought iron gate, and climbed the two porch steps. He pulled open the screen door, gripped the brass knob on the white-paneled door, turned it, and stepped inside. It had been so long. He leaned against the door, letting the tension melt away.

Einstein took in a deep breath, imagining the smell of freshly baked bread and boiling soup. He patted his coat and found his pipe. Slipping it into his mouth, he hung his plaid coat on one of six pegs along the hallway.

From there, the past unfolded like pages of a book. The French doors that led into the living room and his piano, beside which sat a quaint desk - just enough space for a typewriter, a drawer for paper, and a cup of pencils.

He found the tobacco in a miniature drawer. Helen Dukas had hidden it there. She meant well, following the doctor's orders, but she had driven him mad by depriving him of the very thing that calmed his nerves. But she was his protector.

Einstein filled the pipe, careful not to drop a flake, or Elsa would scold him. He fingered the pocket of his vest for matches and looked to the fireplace. There was a fire but no crackle.

Something was off. No one was home. He had to remind himself that this wasn't real. Or was it?

He struck a match, lit the pipe, tossed the match into the flames, and watched it curl into ash. A fine smoke coiled upward. "Ahhh."

He waved a hand. A ripple moved through it, distorting the room.

Nothing here was real. Therefore, time meant nothing. He could spend it however he wished.

A sound alerted him that something was at the front door.

He shuffled to the foyer. A muffled cadence vibrated through the wood. He opened the door - no one was there. He shut it.

Then the doorbell rang. He flinched and opened it again. Standing there was a little girl he recognized from the neighborhood. She looked different. Less colorful. A sketchy, two-dimensional image.

Adelaide! That was her name.

She shimmered as she moved. A ripple passed through her, and numbers and letters flickered beneath her surface.

Maybe she is comprised of them?

Those characters briefly reformed her shape again. He decided to play along. Maybe this was connected to the cadence. Maybe someone was trying to communicate.

He resisted the urge to glance around for an audience. Surely, he was on stage in a play of his life. A bad one at that. Adelaide moved with unnatural motion. Herky-jerky. An insult to the real Adelaide.

She glitched, then reformed, her voice thin and scripted: "Can you help me with my math homework?" A tremor passed through him.

Why is she here? And why in my thought experiment?

He hadn't summoned her.

Someone else was pulling the strings. Someone outside. He felt like an animal in a zoo.

Another tremor. She batted her black, soulless eyes, "May I come in?"

Egad! Can you come in? "I'm sorry, I've been away for so long. I'm very tired. I need my rest. So, if you will excuse me ..."

"But please, Professor, I have homework."

Adelaide stepped forward. He blocked her. She walked into his hands.

The moment his hands met her shoulders, a blast of light erupted. Lines of code crawled from her into him. Horrified, he brushed at his arm, peeled the glowing code from his shoulder, balled it up, and stuffed it in his pocket.

Adelaide tried again. He dropped to one knee, wagging his finger. "That is no way to become a lady."

She pouted on the stoop as green strings of code flashed through her body. Each time, she jolted and rebooted. Her essence was lines of letters and numbers cloaked in an impostor's skin.

Make-believe, but why send an impostor unless they wanted something out of me?

He took a mental snapshot of the digits, another riddle for later. He glanced at his glowing pocket.

"That would be unfair to your fellow students. Maybe another time. Run along. If my memory serves me well, you were supposed to have bribed me with candy." He started to shut the door.

She covered her face. Real or not, he didn't want to hurt her.

Her demeanor shifted. She stiffened; her eyes went hollow. Then came a voice.

"Professor, my name is Dr. Vandenberg. Your brain was cryogenically frozen in 1955. My assistant and I have revived you in 2101. Some very important people would like to speak with you."

Einstein slammed the door, locked it, and leaned against it.

What is this place? It's madness. Why would they do this? I never asked to be cryogenically frozen, let alone brought back.