Triggers

“Professor Singh,” Susan said, “look at me. My job is to die for the president, if need be: my life instead of his. I didn’t vote for him, I don’t agree with most of his policies, I don’t even particularly like him, but none of that matters. We live in a system in which the president is more important than anyone, and this president has been compromised in a way that has to be contained or eliminated. In fact, even breaking the link may not be enough. Yes, once it’s severed—if it ever is—the person may not be able to access new memories, but presumably they’ll still remember anything they’ve recalled while the link was intact, right?”

“I don’t know,” Singh said. “Honestly. No one has any experience with this.”

“Which means,” Susan said, “that we may indeed have to lock these people up indefinitely.”

“You can’t,” said Singh. “I’ll go public.”

“It’s not my call to make,” said Susan. “But don’t count on having that option. In fact…”

Singh narrowed his eyes. “Yes?”

“Your work may end up being classified. You have to recognize that you’ve developed the ultimate interrogation technique. Replicate the linking effect, but with only two people within the sphere. They’d each link to the other, right? An interrogator would know everything a prisoner knew—plans, names, dates, codes, whatever.”

“And vice versa, Agent Dawson. Don’t forget that.”

“Yes, you’d have to carefully choose your interrogator—make sure he doesn’t know anything vital…that is, if you ever expected to let the prisoner go free again.”

Singh had a shocked expression on his face, but Susan pressed ahead. “Let’s update the chart,” she said. The Sikh had redrawn his chart on the lab’s whiteboard. The grid had twenty columns and three rows; the rows were labeled “Name,” “Can Read,” and “Is Read By.”

Susan pointed to the column for Orrin Gillett. “Gillett can read Ivan Tarasov, a security guard.”

Singh filled in this information with a blue dry-erase marker.

“Ah,” said Singh. “I interviewed this Tarasov. He can read Dora Hennessey, who was here to donate a kidney to her father.” He wrote this in.

“Yes, I know who she is,” said Susan. “I interviewed Dora just before coming here. She’s able to read the memories of Ann January. Mrs. January is a surgical nurse, and—”

“Excuse me,” said Singh. “I’m sorry, but—are you sure?”

“Well, Dora didn’t tell me Ann’s exact job title,” Susan said, “but she’s some kind of nurse.”

“No, no. I mean, are you sure that Dora Hennessey is reading Ann January?”

“Oh, yes. No question.”

Singh pointed at a square on his whiteboard. “Because David January is reading Ann January, too. I just interviewed him.”

Susan came over to look at the board. “Husband and wife? Or brother and sister?” But before Singh could reply, she had the answer from his memory. “Husband and wife, right?” she said.

“Yes.”

“That’s very strange,” said Susan.

“Indeed it is,” said Singh. “We haven’t had two people linked to the same person before, and…”

“Yes?” prodded Susan.

Singh looked frustrated. “Well, I thought I was making progress puzzling this out. But multiple linkages wouldn’t work with the kind of quantum entanglement we were just talking about; a double linkage would require a complex superposition that I should think would rapidly decohere.”

Susan was astonished that talk like this actually now made sense to her. She thought about Singh’s theory—not so much the details, but his level of confidence in it. He had been sure he was on the right track, and—

“He’s lying,” Susan said.

“What?” said Singh.

“He’s lying. This David January fellow is lying.”

“Why would he lie about who he’s linked to?” asked Singh. But then he got it: “Oh! The president!”

“Exactly,” said Susan. “I’m going to have a word with Mr. January myself.” She looked at Singh. “Cheer up, Ranjip. Maybe we’ll only have to eliminate one person.”

Chapter 19

Susan left Singh’s lab and walked the short distance to his office, sitting down behind his kidney-shaped desk. She pored over the handwritten notes Singh had made on David January: he was, it turned out, the doctor who had operated the defibrillator that had been used on Prospector, and he’d been married for twenty-three years now to Ann January, who was indeed a surgical nurse. Susan googled his name, just to see what would come up, and then checked up on his wife. She then called hospital security and asked them to locate David January and bring him to Singh’s office.

A few minutes later, Dr. January arrived, accompanied, to Susan’s surprise, by a security guard whose nameplate read “Tarasov”—he was the person being read by Orrin Gillett. Tarasov was behaving oddly: he wouldn’t meet her gaze, and he seemed generally uncomfortable to be talking to her. She wondered if he was trying to hide something; she’d grill him next. But for now David January was her priority. She dismissed Tarasov.