Schrodinger's Gat (12 page)

“
I, um, think you have to honor the coin toss,” I say.

“
Honor the coin toss?” says the man to me. “Shit, man, you for real?”

“
We
agreed
, Anton,” says Tina angrily. “We agreed that if it was heads, he was gonna look at the bathroom outlet first.”

“
I pay the rent,” says Anton. “And I say that he looks at the disposal first.”

“
You’re a fucking asshole,” says Tina.

I find myself laughing. I can
’t help it.

“
The fuck you laughing at?” growls Anton. Tina doesn’t seem very happy at my outburst either.

I shake my head, trying to get a grip on myself. I can
’t explain why I’m laughing. I think it’s because for a moment I saw things the way Ananke sees them: Tina and Anton are fighting not because they were
choosing
to fight, but because that’s who they
are
. Anton was never going to let Tina win the coin toss, because he is, as Tina so eloquently put it, a
fucking asshole
. They probably have some variation of this same fight a hundred times a day, each of them playing their assigned parts perfectly.

But if Tina couldn
’t win the coin toss, that meant that the outcome would be the same whether I interfered or not – unless I insisted, despite Anton’s demand, on investigating the outlet instead. I almost break into laughter again at the thought. I don’t know anything about electrical outlets; I don’t even have any tools. Which is good, because if I started messing around with wiring, I’d probably “electrify” myself, as Tina would say.

My phone chirps. Text message from Heller:
NO
.

Shit. That means my tampering didn
’t work. People are going to die. The light has gone out on the randomizer, which means that a pulse was released. So I had failed to change the outcome. No, that wasn’t true; I had succeeded in changing the outcome, and people were going to die as a result. I don’t feel like laughing anymore.

“
We need to get out of the building,” I manage to say.

“
What the fuck are you talking about?” says Anton.

“
Electrical problem,” I stammer. “This device … the light went out, so something is … there’s some kind of problem with the wiring.”

“
Get the fuck out of here,” says Anton. I don’t think he means it figuratively.

Tina is casting worried looks at me.
“Maybe we should …” she starts.

“
He can’t know about no wiring problem from that box. This is bullshit. I don’t think he even a real handyman.” Anton is walking toward me now, his shoulders thrown back. I’ve got a few pounds on him, but he’s taller and more muscular. I don’t think I could take him in a fight.

“
You’re right,” I say. “I’m not a handyman. But you have to trust me. Something bad is going to happen in this building in …” I look at my phone. “ …six minutes. Please, just come outside for a few minutes. If nothing happens, you can beat the shit out of me, all right? But let’s just go outside first.”

I back away to the door and put my hand on the handle. Then I smell it.
Something burning. “What is that?” I ask.

Anton starts,
“The fuck are you –”

“
Shit!” cries Tina. “The stove!” She runs to the kitchen door and pushes it open. Black smoke pours out. “Anton!” she screams. “Help!”

Anton
’s eyes go wide and he turns to look at me.

“
Where’s the fire extinguisher?” says Tina.

“
We ain’t got no fire extinguisher,” says Anton.

Of course not, I think. You don
’t even have a working smoke alarm in the kitchen.

“
Well, find one!” Tina shrieks.

“
There’s no time,” I say, trying to remain calm. “Just get out of the building.” I open the door and step outside, spying a fire alarm down at the end of the hall. I run to it and pull the lever. Nothing happens. There are sprinklers above but they don’t come on. Somebody’s been paying off the fire marshal. I call 911 on my cell phone, tell the operator there’s a fire and give her the address. I hang up.

The door to the apartment is still open and I can hear Anton and Tina still bickering inside. They
’ll probably die that way, bickering till their last breath. I scamper back up the stairs to the fourth floor and start pounding on doors, yelling “Fire!” as loudly as I can. A few doors open behind me, people trying to figure out if this is some kind of prank. I don’t stick around to explain. When I’m done banging on doors on the fourth floor, I leap down the stairs to the third floor and do the same thing there. By now I’m wheezing and hoarse; I can barely yell loud enough to be heard through the apartment doors. In the stairwell to the second floor, I can smell smoke. The air in the hallway is hazy, and I have trouble breathing. I have to crawl the distance of the second floor on my hands and knees. I’m too hoarse to yell anymore; if I try to speak I break into a coughing fit. All I can do is pound on doors and hope for the best. Hardly any doors open. I hope it’s because the residents are all at work. Finally I make it to the first floor. The smoke isn’t as bad here. I still can’t yell, but I manage to stagger down the hall, knocking on all the doors. I stumble out of the apartment building and into the street. Looking up, I see flames pouring out of several windows on the second floor. I hear sirens in the distance. Standing along the sidewalk are a few dozen people, some of them barefoot, staring up at the burgeoning inferno. Tina and Anton are among them, but they don’t notice me; they’re still fighting. I don’t see the old woman with the drawn-on eyebrows anywhere.

Heller opens the door to the shop before I can even knock. He hands me a glass of scotch and empties the bottle into another glass. I down half of mine in a single swallow and slump onto the couch.

“Sorry about that,” he says. “It would have been nice to have a success for your first run.”

“
I thought you didn’t care,” I say numbly.

He frowns.
“Of course I care. I don’t think there’s any point in trying to change the outcome, but that doesn’t mean I don’t
care
about the outcome. And for your sake, it would have been nice if you could have had a success.”

“
You mean the illusion of success.”

He shrugs.
“Whether it’s an illusion may depend on your point of view. Tali believes she’s making a difference.”

“
But you don’t.”

He smiles grimly.
“I believe in Tali.”

I grunt noncommittally.

“In a sense,” he says, “maybe you did succeed.”

“
How’s that?”

“
You remember what I said about probabilistic futures?”

“
Yeah,” I say, trying to remember. “Lots of futures exist, but some are more probable than others. But only one of them ends up actually happening.”

“
That’s correct,” he says, “except for the last part. We only
experience
one timeline, but that doesn’t mean that only one of them is real. To put it more precisely, when you say that something ‘happened,’ you’re saying that an event occurred that you experienced in some way. That is to say, it occurred on your timeline, in your history. But if there are alternate futures, then who’s to say that for people on those alternate timelines, completely different events haven’t happened?”

“
Sure,” I say. “Maybe every time somebody flips a coin another universe splits off from this one, so that there are an infinite number of universes out there, and everything that could possibly happen does happen. So what? What does that have to do with the people who died in that apartment fire in
this
universe? Shall I go round up the families of all those people and tell them, ‘Hey, it’s OK, your son or daughter or sister or cousin is still alive in another universe?’”

“
It’s an abstract, philosophical kind of consolation, I’ll admit,” he says. “But if you’re going to be tampering with events, that’s how you have to look at things. After all, when you went to Hayward you knew that there was a fifty percent chance you would fail. And what that means is that you imagined two possible outcomes, one in which you were successful and one in which you weren’t. What I am suggesting is that nothing has changed in that equation. Those two outcomes still exist, but we happen to be experiencing the unsuccessful outcome. The fact that we ended up on one particular path doesn’t make the other any less real. In fact, what we call
probability
is, I think, just a description of the proximity of alternate universes.”

“
Proximity of alternate universes,” I repeat numbly. The words mean nothing to me.

He nods.
“As I said, I believe that what shows up in the Tyche data are the impressions made by catastrophic quantum brain shutdowns in alternate futures. That is, alternate universes branching off from our own. The more probable the event, the stronger the impression. But what is meant by ‘probable’ in this case? I tend to think that there are an infinite number of universes splitting off from our own at any given instant, and that some of these universes are closer to being parallel than others. It’s these nearly parallel universes that we describe as being more ‘probable.’ In reality, they are all equally probable, because they all exist. But for any given universe, some other universes are closer to being parallel than others, and it’s the futures in these universes that make the strongest impressions. Probability, then, is really just an expression of the relative proximity of alternate universes.”

“
You got any more of this?” I ask, holding up my empty glass.

“
In the house,” he says. “I’ll get it.” He leaves the shop, closing the door behind him.

I really do need another drink at this point, but mostly I just want to get rid of Heller for a few minutes. When he
’s gone, I jump up and head to Tali’s desk. I’ve got to figure out what’s going on with her. Maybe she left some clue about why she disappeared or what she’s up to. The desk is immaculately organized, so I don’t have a lot of hope I’ll find anything. Papers are neatly stacked in trays, and a cursory glance reveals nothing but bills and other mundane paperwork. A business card with a falcon logo on it catches my eye. On it is embossed:

Peter Girell

Claims Investigator

Peregrine Insurance

There’s an email address and phone number at the bottom of the card. I’m trying to figure out why my attention is drawn to the card when I remember what Heller said when I first met him. He had asked me if I was with “Peregrine.” I pocket the card on a whim and keep looking.

Drawers contain the expected: stapler, paperclips, hairbrush,
lip gloss, et cetera. Not much to go on. There’s a laptop on the desk but I don’t bother to turn it on. No time, and in any case I’m sure it’s password-protected. Next to the computer is a five by seven photo in a frame: Tali and another woman. Once I look at her, I find it hard to look away. Tali is pretty; beautiful even, in a way. But this other woman – she’s, well,
striking
is the word, I guess. She’s taller than Tali, with straighter, darker hair. Her features are strong and sharp, her eyes defiant. She’s smiling, but there’s a sadness in those eyes that I feel like something being twisted in my chest.

I force myself to look away, casting about for something else to focus on. But there really isn
’t anything to look at. Tali’s desk tells me nothing about her other than that she’s a neat freak. Above the desk hangs her diploma from Stanford, magna cum laude, of course. Next to it is a framed letter with a signature scribbled on the bottom: Murray Gell-Mann. I recognize the name from Heller’s book. Gell-Mann was a pioneer in quantum physics; he’s the guy who came up with the word
quark
. The letter seems to be a reply to a letter that Tali sent. It’s dated April twenty-ninth, 2001. Tali would have been just a little girl at the time; evidently Gell-Mann was a hero of hers. The letter is short but encouraging; it must have meant a lot to Tali to get a letter like that.

I notice a variation in color in the backing behind the letter. I remove it from the wall and open the frame. Behind the letter is an envelope with a thirty-four cent stamp in the corner. On the opposite corner is Murray Gell-Mann
’s address at the University of New Mexico. In the center of the envelope is scrawled Tali’s address in San Francisco. Out the window, I see Heller approaching the workshop. I slip the envelope into my jacket and put the frame back on the wall. Heller opens the door bearing another bottle of whiskey.

“
Who is this?” I ask, pretending to be transfixed on the picture. “With Tali?”

“
Her sister, Beth.”

“
She’s …” I start, but can’t think of how to finish the sentence.

“
I know.”

“
Have you met her?”

He shakes his head.

“Are they close?”

“
She’s … Tali doesn’t talk about her personal life much.”

He pours me another drink.
I decide I’m done after this one. Heller is a pleasant enough guy, but I still don’t trust him and I don’t really want to get too chummy. Not until I know more about what’s going on with Tali. For all I know, he was behind her disappearance.

“
I should go,” I say, standing up. “Thanks for the drink. Give me a call if you hear anything from Tali.” I could ask him to let me know about any more cases that come up, but I don’t.

“
Of course,” he says.

I walk to my car and drive north on 101 toward San Francisco. After stopping for dinner at a taco place in San Mateo, I continue
into the city, toward the address on the envelope. It’s in the Pacific Heights area, not far from the Embarcadero. I park at a free meter and walk a couple blocks to the address. By now it’s starting to get dark. I walk up the steps and knock on the door.

A small woman with thick, wavy gray hair opens the door. She looks like she
’s in her mid-fifties. Her resemblance to Tali is unmistakable. She’s got the same build, the same little nose. But there’s something not quite right about her, and it’s not just her age. She’s got a sort of exhausted look, like a hunted animal. “Yes?” she says.

“
Hello, ma’am,” I say awkwardly. “Are you Tali Stern’s mother?”

“
Are you with Peregrine?” she asks. “I already told that other man I don’t know where she is.”

Again with the questions about Peregrine.
Are they somehow involved in Tali’s disappearance?

“
No, ma’am,” I say. “I’m a friend of Tali’s,” I say. “She was supposed to meet me for dinner the other night, but she never showed up, and I just wanted to make sure she’s OK.”

“
Tali gave you this address?”

“
Who is it?” I hear a man’s voice bark from behind her.

“
Friend of Tali’s,” she says over her shoulder. I catch a glimpse of an older man sitting alone in an easy chair.

“
I … found this address on some paperwork on her desk. I didn’t know where else to look.”

“
Tali’s not here,” she says.

“
Have you heard from her? In the past few days?”

“
Is it the girls?” says the man’s voice. “When are the girls coming home?”

“
No, honey,” the woman says over her shoulder. “It’s not the girls. Read your book, OK?”

“
I haven’t heard from Tali in a long time,” says the woman. “I’m sure you have a better idea where she is than I do.” She starts to retreat back inside.

“
What about Beth?” I ask.

She looks at me as if I
’ve got spiders crawling out of my eyes.

“
When are the girls coming home?” says the man again.

She bites her lip.
“You should leave now,” she says.

“
I’m sorry, ma’am. Did something happen to Beth? I don’t –”

“
You’re a friend of Tali’s, huh? And she didn’t tell you?”

“
She didn’t say much about Beth,” I say. “I just found out she had a sister.”

She regards me suspiciously for a moment.
“Beth is in the hospital. Please leave.”

“
Sarah, when are the girls coming home?”

“
I’m sorry,” I say. “Was there an accident? Please, Mrs. Stern, I’m just …”

“
You need to leave now. My husband needs me.”

“
Sarah!” The voice is angry now.

“
Could you tell me which hospital?”

“
Mount Zion,” she says, and slams the door.

Through the door I hear,
“Was that the girls? When are the girls coming home?”

I start walking back to my car, checking the map on my phone. Mount Zion is only a few blocks away. I put another quarter in the meter and head toward the hospital. I don
’t know what I’m expecting to find there, but I have this suspicion that everything that’s happening is somehow connected. Tali is doing what she’s doing because of who she
is
. I feel like I have a rough intuitive sense of Tali’s personality, but that same intuition is telling me that I’m missing something. And whatever it is, it has to do with her sister, Beth.

It occurs to me that I
’m thinking like Ananke, trying to puzzle out Tali as if she were the sum of all the causal factors that brought her into being – thinking that if I only knew more about her, I could figure out why she disappeared, why she was in Alameda, and where she is now. But people don’t work like that, reacting mechanically to stimuli. Do they? I’m beginning to wonder. Did Tali choose to stand me up or were her actions the result of phenomena completely out of her control? Neither option is particularly reassuring.

I get to the hospital and ask to see a patient named Beth Stern. Surprisingly, the receptionist doesn
’t give my any trouble. She just points down a hall and gives me a room number. I head that direction.

The door to the room is open a crack and a man
’s voice is emanating quietly from inside. I can’t make out what he’s saying. I push the door open farther and see an elderly, bearded man wearing a yarmulke sitting in a chair, bent over the bed. He appears to be reading to her, but the words are foreign to me. I assume it’s Yiddish or Hebrew.