She dropped Shane faster than matter degenerated inside a black hole but continued on with anthropology to a bachelor’s just to show everyone that she was no quitter. Bitter experience, and the realization that she no longer wished to associate with devotees of an area of study that lacked romance and wonder, turned her to physics as her sole major.
From Chicago, she migrated to Cal-Tech, where she created some interest in her ideas about finding physical proof of the theorems that formed the basis of string theory, in particular, the supposition that ours is only one of an endless number of realities or universes. She was sought out and recruited by UCL and moved to London at the age of nineteen to continue her work while teaching lower classmen her same age and older about the building blocks of the universe.
It was in London, in the student cafeteria at UCL that Caroline met Sir Neal Harnesh.
She enjoyed the break each day between her morning classes and afternoon labs in the Old-World surroundings of that cavernous space. Her lunch was unaltered each day: a salad and tea with cream. On Fridays, she allowed herself a biscuit. With her mind fully occupied with algorithms, three-dimensional models, and hazy conclusions just out of reach, she had little brain power left even for as simple a question as “What’s for lunch?” So, she kept it simple and repetitive and found comfort in that routine.
The room was always crowded at midday during the week, so she had no cause to look up from her open Notebook when someone took a seat directly across from her. It wasn’t until he politely cleared his throat four times that she glanced up to see a very expensively dressed man of Asian descent who appeared to be in his fifties smiling at her across the table.
“Caroline Tauber?” he said in a West End accent with a hint of Mumbai as their eyes met.
“Yes?” she said.
“My name is Neal Harnesh, and I’ve been quite anxious to speak to you.”
“Me?” Who was this guy? Administration? Or maybe a head-hunter from another university. She got offers all the time but was happy in London with no plans of relocating anytime soon.
“Your papers on the multiverse have been brought to my attention.” He smiled. She was paying attention now. It was something in his easy manner. It was also the very tall men with radio earpieces standing by the pillars of the cafeteria entrance trying to blend in and keeping a constant eye on her visitor. This Neal Harnesh was Someone Important.
“Which papers in particular?” she said cautiously. This guy was government. Or corporate. Or both.
“All of them, actually. I do not have the education to fully understand the subject, but I have been supplied with reviews that assure me that you are on track to some very important breakthroughs. Your address to the Perimeter Institute in Ontario was one I was able to follow with some clarity. I digested enough of it to find it intriguing, even exciting. You have promising ideas about the construction of a device that would provide practical proof that this reality we call home is not the only one.”
“Well, it’s strictly theoretical,” she said. “I’m not sure how practical any of my theorems might be. And I certainly don’t have the funding to turn my findings into workable hardware. Thinking is free, but labs cost money. And I’m not sure of what I’d do with it if I had the cash. I don’t claim to be an engineer.”
“Your brother is quite talented as well,” the man said. “And in the area of engineering.”
“You’ve done your research,” Caroline said.
“Caltech, MIT, he’s made his own name in his own area, as you have in yours. And he’s followed your work quite closely.”
The revelation that Morris was even aware of her efforts and that this stranger had obviously spoken to her brother at length surprised Caroline. She was aware of little of what Morris was working on these days. The last they’d spoken, at a Christmas gathering at Uncle Maynard’s in New Jersey, he was into alternative energy sources involving the Earth’s electromagnetic field. She thought it sounded like wishful thinking and a dead end but she said nothing to him other than platitudes of encouragement.
“Dr. Tauber believes, and I also agree, that your areas of exploration may very well intersect,” he continued. “This machine you posit in your latest published pieces, this controlled temporal disruption, is something that he is convinced can be constructed and made functional.”
“We’re talking about a project that might take years and millions of dollars only to prove me wrong,” she said.
“Is that truly a financial concern?” His smile broadened. “Or are you worried that all of your work, and your academic reputation, might be made worthless? Are you committed to your theories, or are they simply fanciful imaginings that you know will never stand up to tests under real conditions?”
He sat waiting for her reply with the maddeningly calm certitude of someone who feels he’s already won every argument he would ever have in his life.
“I have a class scheduled, and I’m running late,” she said abruptly and clicked her laptop shut. She could feel those amused eyes on her back as she stormed from the cafeteria, book bag slapping on her thigh and eyes hot with anger.
7
The Real Neal
A Google search for “Neal Harnesh” under various spellings brought up a picture of the smiling, aggravating Asian man who interrupted her lunch that afternoon.
Sir Neal Harnesh, OBE.
Big freaking deal. You couldn’t throw a scone in this
