Triggers

Many of those in the original circle had had trouble adapting to it, but now each new mind that joined in was greeted, boosted, buoyed, embraced by countless others who had already experienced the first moments of connection, who had survived it, and who were now reveling in it all. Calming waves and swelling euphoria washed over the newcomers, enticing them, relaxing them, welcoming them.

And yet, despite the peace felt by those who were linked, despite the tranquility of shared joy, of banished loneliness, there was still something dark, something evil, something outside.

Those who were already linked considered, contemplated, cogitated, until…

A realization, a revelation—and a resolution.

This madness—the insanity that had cost humanity so much for so long—could not go on.

It could not, or the world would not long endure.

Things had to change—and they had to change now.

But for the next step, the next leap, a trigger was still needed: a general trigger, a shared trigger, a trigger that would sweep the globe…

Dora Hennessey had fallen asleep at Luther Terry Memorial Hospital just after 6:00 P.M.; she still wasn’t dealing well with the time-zone change. A part of her had wanted to stay up to see President Jerrison’s speech on TV, but she’d been too tired.

Dora had been so distraught over the aborted transplant operation and the death of her father—not to mention dealing with Ann January’s memories—that she wasn’t surprised to find she’d slept for twelve hours. But by 6:00 A.M., she was wide-awake and so decided to go for an early-morning walk.

Her stitches had been redone yesterday, and she’d been told they would hold nicely until the incision healed. She slowly got dressed, put on the winter jacket that had taken up half of her suitcase when she’d brought it over from England, and headed down through the lobby and out into the dim pre-dawn light. There were already quite a few cars on the road, and several other pedestrians walking briskly along.

She ambled south on 23rd Street, passing the Foggy Bottom metro station and a Dunkin’ Donuts and the beige edifice of the Department of State. She turned left when she got to Constitution Avenue and was surprised to find, nestled in a grove of trees, a huge bronze statue of a seated Albert Einstein; she hadn’t known there was a memorial to him in Washington. She looked up at his sad eyes. Everything is relative, she thought; she felt like a little girl next to this giant man.

Dora had assumed it wouldn’t be safe to go onto the National Mall this early, but there seemed to be a fair number of joggers about, so she crossed to the south side of Constitution Avenue. She knew from the tour she’d taken when she’d first arrived that the Vietnam Veterans Memorial was just to her right, but she continued south, toward the Reflecting Pool. The sun would be up very soon, and she thought it would be fun to watch it rise behind the tapered obelisk of the Washington Monument.

She got in position just in time: a tiny point of brilliance appeared on the horizon, slowly widening into a dome. The monument cast a long shadow pointing toward her. She’d left her phone back at the hospital, which was too bad—she’d have loved to have snapped a picture of this.

The sun quickly became too bright for her to look at directly, but it brought back memories of other sunrises over London’s skyline, over the English Channel, over the desert. Some of the memories were her own: she had indeed pulled all-nighters at college, seeing the sun rise as she hurried to finish essays.

And some of the memories were clearly Ann January’s, including one of her and David watching the sun come up from the deck of a cruise ship during their honeymoon.