Triggers

“Sadly,” continued Singh, “we’ve learned something else. I’d been hoping that the daisy chain might be like the wiring of Christmas lights—if one went out, the whole chain would go, and all the memory linkages would break.”

Susan briefly wondered what experience a Sikh could have had with Christmas decorations. “But that’s not what happened,” she said.

“No,” replied Singh. “I can still read Dr. Jono, and I take it, Agent Dawson, that you can still read me.”

Susan concentrated for a moment; Singh had had two hard-boiled eggs for breakfast; he, she suddenly knew, always kept a few on hand in that small refrigerator over there. “Yes.”

“And Dr. Redekop, can you still access Mrs. Falconi’s memories?” Singh asked.

Eric tilted his head sideways, then: “Yes. No problem. It’s exactly the same as before.” He turned to Janis, and it looked to Susan as though an idea had just occurred to him. “But you got Latimer’s memories in real time at the end.”

“Yes,” said Janis.

“Obviously, being shot was traumatic for Latimer,” Eric said, “but, well—forgive me, Agent Dawson, I don’t know about people in your line of work, but…”

“But I do,” said Singh, apparently realizing whatever Eric was getting at. “I spend most of my day dealing with people who’ve had to kill—even when it’s their job, even when it’s in the line of duty.” He looked at Susan. “It’s not easy, is it?”

Susan thought about saying something, but simply shook her head.

“What’s the normal procedure following such an incident?” Singh asked.

“Paperwork,” said Susan. “Forms, reports.”

“And counseling?”

It was mandatory. “Yes.”

“Looking at you, Agent Dawson, it’s obvious that killing Latimer was traumatic for you, wasn’t it?”

Susan drew a deep breath, glanced at each of the others in turn, then blew the air out. “It was horrifying.”

Singh’s tone was kind. “I’m sure it was. Do you see our point?”

She shook her head.

“It’s this,” said Eric. “If you were severely traumatized by the shooting, maybe the person who is linked to you got your memory—your thoughts—in real time, too.”

Ranjip Singh entered the room first, followed by Eric Redekop and Janis Falconi; Susan Dawson had been bringing up the rear, but she’d been detained by someone calling her over her earpiece.

“Hello, Kadeem,” said Ranjip.

“Hey, guru,” said Kadeem.

“This is Janis Falconi; she’s a nurse here. And this is Dr. Redekop.”

“Another memory researcher?” asked Kadeem.

“Actually, I’m a surgeon” said Eric, “but—” He stopped short as Kadeem’s eyes went wide in horror.

Ranjip wheeled around to see what Kadeem was looking at. It was Agent Dawson, who had just now entered the room. “My God, Sue,” said Kadeem. “My God. You blew that motherfucker away.”

She nodded but said nothing.

“Did you just realize that?” asked Ranjip. “Did the memory just come to you?”

“Yes,” said Kadeem. Ranjip looked at Eric; it had seemed like such an interesting idea, but—

“Again,” added Kadeem.

“Again?” said Ranjip at once, looking back to Kadeem.

“Yes.”

“When did you first recall this?”

“While ago.”

“When?”

“Don’t know.”

“What room were you in when you recalled it?”

“This one.”

“And what time did you come into this room?”

“I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“Yes,” said Ranjip. “Is there anything that can help you pin down when you accessed that memory?”

“Like what?”

“Did you look at the clock?” asked Eric.

Kadeem gestured to encompass the room; there was no clock.

“What about a phone call?” asked Janis.

“Yes!” said Kadeem. “Yes, now you mention it, it was just after I called Kristah.” He pulled out his phone, and ran his fingertip along the touch screen. “The call lasted three minutes twenty seconds and”—another touch—“it began at 12:03.”

Ranjip frowned. “And how long after that did the memory of—of what Agent Dawson did—hit you?”

“Couple of minutes.”

“It can’t be just a couple of minutes,” said Eric, looking at Janis. “Not unless we’re dealing with precognition now.”

“Could it be longer than that?” asked Ranjip. “Ten minutes, say?”

“Sure,” said Kadeem.

“Or twenty?”

“Maybe. I guess.”

“Thirty?”

“Not that long, man.”

“How did the memory begin?” asked Ranjip.

“What?”

Ranjip frowned. He knew the dangers of priming recollections, but he needed to get to the bottom of this. “What’s the first thing you remember? Was it Agent Dawson bursting into the room? Her confronting that man who was holding the hostage? Her attempts to talk him out of what he was going to do?”

Kadeem shook his head. “I don’t remember any of that—or, I didn’t at the time; I do now, now you mention it.” He looked sympathetically at Susan. “You did your best, Sue; it’s not your fault.”

“But what about the first time?” asked Ranjip. “What popped into your mind initially?”

Kadeem actually shuddered. “Agent Dawson pulling the trigger.”

Eric and Ranjip exchanged glances. “There it is,” said Ranjip. “Simultaneity—minds linked in real time during a moment of crisis.”