Harry had been assigned a new office, one more in keeping with his elevated status at HTPS Industries. He had balked, however, insisting that he was quite content with his old office. He complained to Jon that moving offices was a distraction; he needed to focus on his job.
Jon was trudging through the corridor that led to Harry’s office. So far Monday had been the worst day in his career at HTPS Industries and he didn’t expect it to get any better when he talked to Harry.
Harry had pulled another of his round-the-clock marathons, working non-stop since the second test on Saturday. According to Ted Blume, Harry would go ballistic if someone tried to interrupt him. “He’s even worse than usual,” Blume had warned him.
Jon had learned this and other matters of importance at the department meeting that had taken place earlier that day. He had also learned that the Department of Defense had been about to cancel a fifty million dollar contract with HTPS Industries because the company had fallen behind on its schedule to deliver performance upgrades to the hyper-computer architecture. Harry’s new operating system had been the perfect carrot to wave in front of them: a huge increase in operating speed. HTPS had been up against a wall and had nothing to lose and everything to gain by taking one last ditch chance on Harry Sale’s wild ideas. And Harry had come through in spades. A demo for the top brass at the Department of Defense had been arranged for later in the week.
Jon also learned that his track record for dealing with Harry Sale was the key to his promotion. They were all expecting him to beard the lion in his den.
Great! Jon said to himself. They’ve appointed me the sacrificial lamb.
Jon paused outside Harry’s office and steeled himself for the encounter. He had resolved that he would not allow himself to be Harry’s punching bag. He would not let Harry slough him off. But with all his resolve, he still found it hard to knock on his friend’s door.
Jon tapped lightly but received no response. He knocked again, this time with considerably more force. Still no reply. Jon turned the handle on the office door and swung it open. Harry was sitting in front of his workstation, chin on his chest, sound asleep.
“Harry!” Jon shouted as he prodded his shoulder.
“Mmmmm,” Harry muttered. He shook his head groggily and sat up in his chair. He was a total wreck, with three day’s growth of stubble on his face and bags under his bloodshot eyes. The waste basket beside him overflowed with soda cans and candy bar wrappers.
“For God’s sake, Harry, you’ve got to take better care of yourself.”
Harry just blinked. “What day is it?”
“It’s Monday, Harry.”
“What time is it, Jon?”
“It’s quitting time, Harry. Five o’clock.”
Jon was appalled. He had to step back to get away from the body odor. How could Harry allow himself to sink into such a terrible state?
“Man, I feel so wrung out.”
“You need to go home, Harry. You need a good night’s sleep.”
“I’ve got so much to do. I’ve got to stay with it.”
“You’ve been at it long enough, Harry. Your wheels may be turning but they aren’t meshing.”
“I’m afraid you’re right,” Harry replied with a sigh. He slumped in his chair and tipped his head back, his arms falling loosely by his sides and his fingertips dangling a foot from the floor. “Am I ever wasted!”
“What were you working on?” Jon asked.
Harry sat upright again and turned his weary face to Jon. “You don’t want to know.”
Jon had always been easygoing to a fault, but this time he bristled with anger.
“Harry, I put my career on the line to get you back here. I almost got fired trying to see your operating system got a second chance. And this is the kind of shit you give me?”
Harry sagged back in the chair. “I’m sorry, Jon. It’s just that I don’t know where to begin.”
“Well, how about beginning with this sixty million year old computer that you said you found.”
“Did I tell you about that?” Harry asked, clearly astonished.
“You sure as hell did,” said Jon. “How about telling me some more about it?”
Harry was quiet for a moment, and then a crooked smile formed on his face. “I can’t believe I told you.”
Jon knew that if he didn’t get his friend back on track immediately, he would lose his chance of getting anything more out of him.
“How did you find this quantum computer?”
“I didn’t find it. It found me.” Harry yawned and lapsed into silence.
Jon’s fists were clenched so tightly that his fingernails cut into the palms of his hands. Sometimes Harry could be the most exasperating person he had ever known.
“Tell me more, Harry. How did it find you?”
“I had an accident. It must have had some kind of sensors and it found me.” Again, Harry stopped short.
“What did it do when it found you?”
Harry shook his head grimly. “You’re not going to believe this part, Jon.”
“Try me!”
“It … repaired me. It rebuilt me, one cell at a time.”
“I don’t follow,” said Jon with a shake of his head. “How could a computer do this? I mean, with a computer you feed in a set of instructions and you get a result.”
“It’s more than just a computer. It can control its own input and then output results in ways we can’t even imagine.”
“How did it rebuild you?”
“A part of its system is what we would call a nanotechnology factory, complete with nanobots that can assemble or disassemble anything. And I do mean anything. Organic or inorganic, it doesn’t matter.”
“This is a little far-fetched, to say the least. You’re saying it rebuilt you?”
Harry nodded.
“Did it change you?”
“Yes and no. Am I the same as I used to be? As far as I can tell, I am. But it seems that it made some slight modification to a specific area of my brain. I now have what you could call a partial interface to the system. You see, I/O on this computer is controlled by quantum fluctuations. There is now a sort of sympathetic resonance in effect when I am in close proximity to the computer. Somehow the Josephson junctions in Big Moe amplify this effect when it is running with my new operating system. That allows me to interface with the quantum system even though it is hundreds of miles away.”
Jon sat in stunned silence, trying to make sense of what Harry had just told him. He knew that Josephson junctions involved quantum tunneling. An electron on one side of an insulator would wink out of existence and magically appear on the other side of the insulator. It amounted to instantaneous matter transmission. Jon also knew about the theory that there were quantum fluctuations in the human brain. Did this mean information in the quantum computer was instantaneously being transmitted into Harry’s brain? It seemed beyond the bounds of possibility. He wanted to believe in Harry, but a certain rational skepticism prevented him. It was becoming more obvious that Harry had suffered a serious head injury. Jon wondered what a psychiatrist would make of his story. Still, he continued his questions, not wanting to miss this window of opportunity.
“You’re telling me that you have a sort of built-in interface to this quantum computer. Does that mean you have access to the nanotechnology?”
“No. But that’s what I’m working on now. I’m programming an expanded interface that will run on Big Moe. It will pass instruction sets to the quantum computer that in turn will write and execute its own programs accordingly.”
“This is fantastic,” said Jon, an image forming in his mind of Harry sitting in a padded room wearing a straight-jacket. He quickly decided to humor his friend. “Okay. Just suppose you can get this interface to work on Big Moe. What does that buy you?”
A haunted, distant look came to Harry’s face. “Remember how we used to talk about some of the problems we face … global warming, the state of the oceans, the destruction of the rain forests, the degradation of the biosphere? This interface would give me the means to tackle all these problems and tackle them simultaneously.”
“How is that possible? What could one person do?” Jon’s disbelief was evident in his voice.
“I don’t suppose you ever heard of a book called Engines of Creation by Eric Drexler?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“That book spells it all out. It describes the potential of nanotechnology. It’s an entirely new manufacturing paradigm. Our current paradigm is built on machines made by machines made by machines made by machines and on and on. Every step in an industrial process is complicated by layers and layers of different types of machines, each with its own unique set of requirements. With nanotechnology, once you have assemblers and self-replicating assemblers, it’s just a matter of feeding them an instruction set and providing raw materials. Manufacturing takes place, moving from the micro-level to the macro-level. Once the process of building has begun, it proceeds exponentially.”
“Harry,” Jon said, almost pleading. “I can’t get my head around this. It’s just too much!”
“Imagine this,” said Harry, growing more animated. “Once my interface is in place I could build a 1949 Studebaker for every person in America. And I could do it in a matter of weeks.”
“Harry, I’ve got to be honest; it sounds like you’ve gone around the bend. I tell you what, if you could build just one brand new 1949 Studebaker, maybe I’d believe you.”
“You’re on, boy,” said Harry with an impish grin. He stood from his chair and lurched. “Man, are my joints stiff. I’ve been sitting too long in one position.”
“When is the last time you had a real meal, Harry?”
“Now you’re being the mother hen, like Lettie.”
Jon felt a stab of pain at the mention of Lettie’s name. Anyone but Harry would have noticed how he jerked upright in his chair as though someone had stuck a needle in him.
“I’m not being a mother hen,” he said angrily. “You obviously haven’t eaten a real meal or slept in a bed in three days. You almost fell over when you stood up. And you look like a complete wreck.”
“I am kind of tired and hungry,” Harry admitted.
“Let’s get out of here, then,” said Jon. “I’ll give you a ride home and we can stop somewhere on the way for food.”
Harry’s footsteps were leaden when they walked out of Building C and started to cross the street toward the parking lot. Just as Jon stepped off the curb, he heard the sound of women’s voices. He turned and saw a group of women who had exited from the building behind them. Jon stopped and turned toward them, curious to see if Lettie was among them. She was not. He stood and watched as they walked down the sidewalk toward Building B.
Harry had gone on ahead and was now in the middle of the road. As Jon took a step toward him, he heard the sound of a car engine revving up. He jerked his head to the left and saw a car speeding toward Harry. The driver had the pedal to the floor and was accelerating. Harry remained completely oblivious. His head was down and he continued to walk at a slow pace.
Acting without thinking, Jon sprinted across to Harry, lunging at him and pushing him out of the way. As Jon shoved Harry clear, the speeding car brushed against him. The glancing blow knocked him off his feet and sent him rolling on the ground in front of Harry.
“What the fuck!” Harry shouted.
Shaking, Jon climbed to his feet. His left hip was sore and his right knee was cut and bleeding. He had landed on gravel.
The aftershock was worse than the collision. His knees were wobbly and his stomach seemed like it was in his throat.
“Did you see who it was?” Jon asked.
Harry looked dazed and shaken, even though Jon had pushed him clear of the danger. “No, I didn’t see a fucking thing. But I sure as hell heard it fly by.”
Jon tried to pull himself together and visualize what had happened. But he could not recall seeing the driver’s face. In fact, to his despair, he could not even recall the make or model of the car. It had all happened too fast. He looked about, surveying the area for witnesses. No one. The group of women he had seen a few moments ago had already disappeared into Building B.
“Who would do something like that?” Harry asked.
“George Ludwig.” Jon’s voice was flat.
“Did you see him?” Harry asked, incredulous.
“I’m afraid not. I didn’t even get the color or make of the car. But I think we should call the police anyway.”
“It wouldn’t do any good. We may know it was George Ludwig but without any supporting facts, it’ll only make things worse. I’m in no mood to spend the evening writing out a deposition for a bunch of cops who couldn’t do anything anyway.”
Jon didn’t necessarily agree but he saw some truth in what he said. Still, he was not going to let the matter drop. He would confront George Ludwig and he would do it soon.
On the way home Harry refused to stop at a restaurant. As an alternative, Jon stopped at a fast food place and picked up a large sandwich, which Harry forgot when he got out of the car and started to walk toward his condo. Jon jumped out, ran after his friend, and forced the sandwich into his hand.
“I’ll see you at work tomorrow,” he said as Harry opened the door to his condo.
Harry gave him one of his crooked smiles. “If you’re lucky!” he said. He started to close the door behind him, but suddenly swung it open again.
“Thanks, Jon. Thanks for everything. I’m lucky to have a friend like you.” He smiled again, and this time it was not his usual crooked, sardonic grin.
That night Jon tossed and turned, unable to sleep. The events of the day kept replaying in his mind, especially Lettie’s angry exit from her old office. He had tried to call her office twice, but had not been able to get through. He’d also sent a couple of emails, but she had not responded. After he had come home, he had called her numerous times, but each time there had been a quick pick-up followed by a click. He knew she had Caller ID. She didn’t even want him leaving voice messages.
When Jon finally dozed off, he dreamed that George Ludwig was driving an eighteen-wheeler and was bearing down on him. He was running madly down a tunnel and there was no place where he could hide or jump out of the way.
He awoke with a start, bathed in sweat and filled with anxiety. He looked at the glowing hands of his bedside clock. It was one-thirty in the morning. He groaned loudly, then lay back and stared into the darkness. This was going to be one of those nights.