Friday, December 21
Tucson, Arizona
“Reckless. Undisciplined. Arrogant,” were the words Dr. Green posted to describe Lucas Ramsay’s thesis in the online science magazine called Astrophysics Today.
Lucas couldn’t help but stare at those twenty-nine letters filling the screen space on his aging laptop. The display was covered in lingering dust, with scratches spreading across its surface. Every time he opened the unit, it seemed like they were multiplying in the dark.
The screen looked like he felt—tired and worn out from years of abuse. But regardless, the marred surface didn’t obscure the words making his stomach ache and churn. He wanted to close the laptop and forget he ever saw the article, but he couldn’t. His career was now circling the black hole of ruin and he knew there’d be no escape.
He sat on the edge of his bed in the apartment he shared with his foster brother Drew, wondering if life could get any worse. He ran his bare feet across the tile floor, letting the coldness penetrate the skin. The drab green Army surplus blanket scratched at his thighs, so he tossed it aside, making a clear path for the chilly Tucson air to surround him. The burn of his senses was welcomed; he figured it would help etch this moment in his mind for all of eternity.
Life was about to take a wicked turn south now that his public disgrace was official. He needed to remember how he got here and why—the exact moment when history changed and swallowed him alive.
He looked down at the laptop, seeing Dr. Green’s summary staring back at him with vicious intent. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, hoping the words would magically disappear when he brought his attention back to the screen.
Lucas counted to ten, then opened his eyes.
They were still there—bold and harsh, not like any words he’d read before. Sure, he’d enjoyed plenty of scathing reviews of scientific papers before, but never one aimed squarely at him.
Dr. Green had a knack for tearing theories apart with a few choice phrases. The man’s reputation as a self-righteous prima donna was legendary. So was his literary temper. The retired eighty-year-old physicist was revered as a god in the realm of theoretical physics. His words alone could spark endless research grants and guarantee immortality in the annals of science. Or they could be used to kill a career.
Like mine, Lucas thought, knowing his humiliation had gone global, coursing through cyberspace like a malevolent force hell-bent on global annihilation.
Until a minute ago, Lucas had been proud of his thesis titled “The Laws of Physics Are Merely a Suggestion.” He thought it was a brilliant take on inter-dimensional connectivity theory. True, his paper on quantum linkage stretched the envelope a bit, challenging mainstream science at every turn, but the work was sound and he could prove it. All he wanted was a chance to be part of the conversation.
Of course, now that the senior editor had shit all over it, no respected scientist on the planet would consider it, not without reaping the whirlwind that was Dr. Green.
Lucas’ heart sank. The glimmer of respect he’d worked painstakingly to build during his first two years as a physicist was now being swallowed by an ever-expanding digital black hole. A gnawing sensation was building in the pit of his stomach, somewhere between nausea and hunger.
There was simply no way to recover from a debacle of this magnitude. Not after the world’s most famous physicist called your theories “pure speculation founded on nothing more than adolescent fantasy,” and then blasted it across the Internet for all to see.
He closed his eyes again for another ten count, trying to untangle the knot swelling in his gut. It was useless. The knot grew unchecked. The only way to change things would be to travel back in time and stop himself from pressing that damned SEND button on the keyboard. All it took was one snap decision made in the wee hours of a brisk December morning to ruin everything. What the hell had he been thinking? He wasn’t ready. Neither were his theories. He should’ve known this would happen.
He groaned, chastising himself for being impulsive and undisciplined. His foolish arrogance would now harm not only him, but his family, too.
He let out a slow exhale, then shut the laptop quietly, trying not to wake his foster brother sleeping in the bed across from him. It seemed to work. There was no sign of movement from under the pile of covers. Just the usual rumble of disjointed snoring.
Drew was a noisy sleeper but Lucas had gotten used to it over the years. Others might complain or walk away, but he didn’t. He had no choice, really—you never give up on family. Or maybe it was that he didn’t want to have a choice, since Drew was one of the few good things in his life. Lucas would never walk away from the one person he trusted above all others. The one person who always had his back, no matter what came gunning for them.
Sometimes in the middle of the night, he’d lie in bed and just listen. The rhythm of Drew’s night sounds was comforting, finding its way across the room and landing softly on the petals of his heart. The snoring had become a soothing reassurance in an otherwise chaotic world. Knowing his brother was nestled safely in the bed across the room was a constant reminder that all would be right again in the morning, as long as the two of them stuck together.
Lucas unplugged the laptop from the wall socket and put the thin-profile device on the floor next to the bed. He slid his body under the edge of the covers, hoping to catch another ten minutes of shuteye. Maybe his stomach pain would subside if he lay still enough and let the thoughts of disgrace melt away against the backdrop of Drew’s breathing.
A split second later, he felt something crawl across his shin and down the inside of his right calf. “Holy shit!” he screamed, tossing off the covers.
A brown scorpion the size of a hockey puck sat on the sheet, with its venomous stinger arched high above its back. It had crawled into his bed, searching for prey.
Lucas grabbed one of the sneakers from the nightstand between the twin double beds and smashed the creature with such force that he jammed his right wrist, but the four-inch beast was still alive and coming his way.
“Die, you bastard!” he shouted, whacking the invader three more times, until its front claws, stinger, and eight legs stopped moving. He hated the stealthy night crawlers almost as much as his adoptive father did, and would’ve gladly used a bazooka to kill it.
“Geeze, Lucas. Did he owe you money or something?” Drew asked, sitting up in his bed. He used the tip of his index finger to pry the sleeper crust from the corners of his watery Italian eyes. His curly hair was flat on one side after pressing against the pillow all night. Some of it had fallen forward, covering his forehead and one eye. His olive skin was usually perfectly smooth, but right now it was covered in temporary wrinkles, matching the creases in the pillowcase.
“Sorry, bro. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
“You didn’t. I was awake already,” Drew said, yawning and stretching, which showed off his stout chest and thickly muscled arms. If it weren’t for the car accident that crushed his legs, he could’ve easily passed for a collegiate athlete, or maybe even a pro.
“Anyway, sorry about that. Not like I had much of a choice. Look at the size of this thing,” Lucas said, using the cardboard backing from one of his notebooks to scoop the carcass into a plastic cup. “You’d think we’d be safe on the third floor.”
“Not with the way those things can climb. They’re relentless.”
“I’d give anything to have a few of Dad’s sonic pads to spread around. Those things worked perfectly,” Lucas said, thinking about his father and the device he’d designed specifically to deal with scorpions. “If it wasn’t for the damn EPA, every house in Arizona would have them by now. And we’d probably be rich.”
“Yeah, all he needed was another chance.”
Lucas carried the remains to the bathroom and dumped the creature into the bottom of the toilet and gave it a middle-finger salute. He saw a two-inch black cockroach lying on its back next to the tub, with one set of legs still kicking. It crunched louder than he expected when he stepped on it with the heel of his left foot. He used a Kleenex to pick it up and toss it into the toilet and used the same sheet of tissue to wipe the creature’s runny blood and guts from his foot.
“And we wouldn’t be living in this dump either. We’d have a big house with plenty of room for Mom,” he said loud enough for Drew to hear in the next room.
“Still, you can’t beat the price.”
“Maybe so, but that’s beside the point. We wouldn’t need free rent if they hadn’t killed his invention,” Lucas yelled, flushing the john to send the pair of mangled carcasses swirling around the bowl and into the sewer. He emptied the toilet a second time for good measure before returning to the bedroom.
He took a seat on his bed across from Drew and continued, “He could’ve solved the problem with the dogs. But no . . . all it took was one scathing report from the EPA and the investors go running for the hills. Don’t they know science is all about trial and error? Bunch of wimps. All Dad needed was a little more time. He would’ve worked out the bugs. No pun intended.”
Drew nodded. “Sometimes, all someone needs is a second chance.”
“You got that right, brother,” Lucas said, moving Drew’s wheelchair closer to the bed. He waited for him to slide his frail legs over the edge and onto the floor. “Need any help?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“No, I got it. Just give me a minute.”
Drew used a handlebar hanging from the ceiling to prop himself up against the side of the raised bed. He was able to stand for short periods, but couldn’t walk, at least not without assistance. He turned around and sat in the wheelchair, then looked at the floor. “What were you doing with the laptop?”
Lucas paused, taking a moment to think. “Nothing. I woke up early and couldn’t sleep, so I was just reading Dr. Green’s blog. Checking out the new submissions and his reviews, You know, to kill some time.”
“Anything interesting today?” Drew asked, bending down to get the computer.
Lucas grabbed it, holding it out of reach. “Just the usual half-baked theories submitted by wannabe scientists. Nothing nearly as cool as what we’re working on in our lab.”
Drew sat upright in his chair. “Maybe someday we’ll publish one of our theories on that website. Then we’ll be as famous as Dr. Green.”
“No thanks. It’s better to stay off the grid. Remain anonymous. Prehistoric dinosaurs like Green steal people’s ideas all the time and cash in. The shitty thing is, people like us can’t do a thing about it. After all, it would be his word against ours, and who are we? Right now, we’re nobodies. You don’t even have your doctorate yet, and I’m just starting my career.”
“I never thought of it that way,” Drew said with a perplexed look on his unshaven face.
Lucas tossed the laptop to the farthest corner of his bed, making sure Drew couldn’t reach it easily. “Trust me. You don’t want to be famous. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. If you ask me, it’s best to be the brains behind the scenes, and not the person out front in the limelight.”
A shiver ran down Lucas’ spine and he wrapped his arms around his rail-thin, nude body—a stark contrast to his foster brother’s handsome Mediterranean looks and muscular upper body. Lucas hated his red hair and freckles, but at least he had blue eyes. One redeeming feature at least. Well, that and his prominent dimples, something his adoptive mother cherished. However, they didn’t do much for his confidence, not with the prominent cheek scars nearby.
He shivered again, inwardly cursing the ancient heating system in their apartment. Most people didn’t realize that even in the desert, the nights turned chilly. He walked four steps to the end of the room, where the in-wall HVAC system was installed, and rubbed his hands over the rattling output vents. “Hardly anything coming out of this piece of crap.”
“What’d you expect? That thing’s probably older than Sputnik.”
“Even so, you’d think Kleezebee’s Super could find a way to keep this thing working. We could hang meat in here.”
Lucas returned and slipped on a pair of navy blue boxers and a long-sleeved faded red t-shirt with ARIZONA printed on the front of it.
Drew pulled out a neatly rolled pair of socks from a custom-built dresser compartment under the bed and tossed it to Lucas. They had raised their mattresses four feet off the ground, using 4x4 redwood posts and birch plywood from their dad’s workshop. Storage space was at a premium in their five-hundred-square-foot apartment.
Lucas walked to the study desk to see what yesterday’s mail had brought them. Three envelopes were sitting on top of the last pile, face up, with fresh postmarks and no doubt, a swatch of Drew’s fingerprints. All three were from someone in the medical field.
“More bills for Mom? Are you kidding me?”
“They keep multiplying,” Drew answered, his brow furrowed.
Lucas opened the first envelope and almost puked when his eyes locked onto the invoice’s grand total. “Twenty-two grand for three days in urgent care?”
Drew rolled next to Lucas in his wheelchair. “Good thing you had them send the bills here. If Mom finds out, she’ll have another heart attack. I doubt she’d survive another one.”
Lucas opened a second bill—it was even more. He slammed it onto the pile, face down.
Drew snatched the invoice and looked at it with eyes wide. He gasped. “Fifty-two thousand?”
Lucas grit his teeth and shook his head. “This day just keeps on getting better. It just never ends.”
“You can bet if Mom knew the insurance company was going to deny her claims, she would’ve just told the attending physician to pull the plug. End it right then and there. How are we gonna pay for all this?”
Lucas sighed as he put his elbows on the desk, resting his face in his hands. He didn’t know how much they owed in total, but the figure had to be staggering. He wished he’d told his family the truth—that he’d forgotten to mail the check for his mother’s insurance premium, which was why the claims department denied the coverage. But at this point, he was too embarrassed to come clean. He already felt bad enough, and it wouldn’t change anything, anyway. It was his problem and he needed to solve it.
His original plan was to pay off the medical bills after he proved one of his revolutionary theories and sold the rights to a defense contractor or to NASA. He hoped submitting his paper to Green would’ve been the first step toward funding a project of his own. But after Dr. Green’s harsh public criticism, he knew nothing short of a miracle could help them now.
“I don’t know. We’ll think of something.”
“We could ask Professor Kleezebee.”
“Borrow money from my boss?”
“Why not? He’s loaded. Besides, he might just give us the money.”
“No. We’re not gonna take handouts. Not if I have anything to say about it. We’ll figure it out on our own.”
Just then, his mind played a vision of him walking into a crowded grocery store with a black ski mask, gun, and brown paper sack, only to be shot dead before he reached the cash register by some Weight Watcher flunky in a wrinkled security guard uniform.
A minute later, Lucas looked at the clock. “Damn, it’s almost nine. We’ll have to bust nuts if we’re going to make breakfast with Trevor.”
“Uh, yeah, it’s Friday. Knowing Trevor, he’s probably already in the cafeteria, waiting for us.”
“Which means we’re late—again.”
“He’ll understand. He always does.”
“That man has more patience than me,” Lucas said.
“Yeah, there’s a shock.”
Lucas ignored the dig. “I hope he fixed the computer glitch in his code. I want to run a few more system checks tonight in the lab, while we still can. I’m guessing you’re not going to do your workout today?”
“No, I’ll do my push-ups tomorrow. Besides, I’m pretty sure I’m at DEFCON 1 already. Right Guard only covers up so much.”
Lucas’ sour mood made it easy to hold back a chuckle, now standing in front of his brother’s side of the closet. “What shirt do you want?”
“Come on, that was funny,” Drew said, giving Lucas a playful shove.
“Yeah, it was. I’m laughing on the inside; can’t you tell?”
“Everything ok, bro?”
Lucas wanted to tell Drew what had happened with Green and the insurance premium check, but he couldn’t find the courage to come clean. His brother counted on him to handle everything, and he didn’t want to shatter his confidence. “Yeah, I’m fine. Didn’t sleep well last night. So, I ask again, what shirt do you want?”
“It doesn’t matter. You know, something with long sleeves, as long as it’s—”
“Blue. Yep, it’s Friday. I should’ve known,” Lucas said, retrieving a pullover shirt from a hanger. He removed it from the red hanger and gave it to his brother. He was careful to put the hanger back in the closet precisely where it had been, exactly two fingers away from the hangers on either side of it.
Drew slipped the shirt over his head.
Lucas handed Drew the wallet-sized leather pouch on the nightstand next to the bed. “Don’t forget this.”
“No. Never.” Drew opened the straps and put them around his head and neck. He tied them together and tucked the pouch inside the front of the collared shirt.
* * *
Lucas and Drew were headed east along one of the sidewalks bordering the landscaped student mall. The entrance to the University of Arizona’s Student Union was now only a half a block away, meaning their morning trek was almost complete.
The low angle of the brilliant sunlight cut through the shade trees lining their path, casting a wide array of shapes across the concrete sidewalk. When the gentle breeze rustled the leaves, the changing shadows reminded Lucas of the calculations he and Drew had been working on in the lab all week. For the uninitiated, the endless fractal patterns could’ve been used as a rudimentary demonstration of subatomic space-time turbulence, also known as quantum foam.
“You can always tell when Christmas break hits. The place empties out the minute finals are over,” Lucas said, missing the abundance of stunning eye candy that typically blanketed the mall. Seeing all the girls running around in their skimpy outfits was his favorite part of the day.
“I like it this way,” Drew said. “I hate it when I have to dodge everyone on the mall. Those Ultimate Frisbee players always find a way to hit me when I’m crossing.”
“That’s because you cut right across in the middle of their game.”
“That’s where the sidewalk is. Why should I have to go all the way around?”
Lucas stood behind Drew as he effortlessly wheeled himself up the steep incline to the building’s main entrance. When Drew reached to open the glass entrance door, a tall, gorgeous blond co-ed beat him to it. She was on the inside and held the door open for him, giving Drew a friendly, rainbow smile as he rolled past her.
Lucas couldn’t see her eyes through her sunglasses, but the woman’s body language suggested she knew his brother, or possibly was attracted to him. She wore a short dark miniskirt and tight t-shirt, despite the cool morning temperature. She had legs for days and a toned figure that could only be the result of plenty of gym time. Sometimes he was jealous of his little brother. It was common for women to be intrigued by Drew’s boyishly handsome good looks. If it weren’t for a car accident that mangled his legs, Drew surely would’ve been a world-famous Italian underwear model instead of a PhD candidate.
But on the other hand, Lucas thought, if not for the accident, they never would’ve met in the orphanage and been adopted together by the Ramsay family. The universe works in mysterious ways. The multiverse, he corrected himself.
Before she looked his way, Lucas checked that his shirt was tucked in and his fly was zipped. He rubbed his tongue across the front of his teeth to make sure nothing foreign was attached.
The girl glanced his way and her smile faded. Lucas wasn’t surprised. Women didn’t always go for the jagged scars on his face. He thought they made him look ruggedly handsome, but that obviously wasn’t the case with this chick. Years of living in state-run facilities had taken their toll, leaving him looking more like an Irish gangster than a nerdy scientist.
Despite her reaction, he gave her his best smile and said, “Thanks for your help. It’s much appreciated.”
The cafeteria line extended outside the entrance and past a pair of vending machines in the hall. Two dozen students were waiting in line before the buffet closed its doors until lunchtime. Most were chatting with each other, but a few were rocking on their heels, listening to headphones.
Lucas recognized the elderly woman walking toward him with a cane and swollen ankles. “Would you like to go ahead of us, Professor Atkins?” he asked her.
She smiled, but her saggy, spotted skin camouflaged most of the grin. “Why, thank you, young man.”
Lucas moved his brother aside to let the woman waddle past. It took her a good thirty seconds, giving Lucas plenty of time to sample her aroma: a powerful combination of hairspray and Ben Gay. All she was missing was blue hair and support hose.
Lucas waited for her to move ahead before whispering into Drew’s ear, “I wonder if she knew Columbus?”
Drew smiled through a partially held-back laugh, then said, “Maybe one of us should go find Trevor and let him know we’re stuck in line.”
“I’m assuming that someone is me?”
“Wow, that’s awfully nice of you, brother. I’ll stay here and keep our place in line.”
Lucas found their Swedish lab assistant sitting at a table in the back of the dining area, his weightlifting belt and workout clothes still damp with perspiration and clinging to his well-defined physique.
Everyone on campus knew who the imposing blonde figure was—Trevor Johansson, former Olympic wrestler turned scientist, a giant who could block out the sun at six foot seven inches tall. His enormous size rivaled that of a defensive lineman in the NFL—not an old school defensive lineman who was nothing but big and oafish, but one of the freakishly athletic new breed of linemen filling the broadcast screen on Sundays around America. Even his appetite was huge, with four plates sitting in front of him, overflowing with a pile of fruits and vegetables.
“Having a little snack, are we?” Lucas said, using humor to disguise his trepidation around the giant.
Trevor responded, his Swedish accent thick. “Ja, hungry. Vawnt some?”
“No, thanks. I’m not a big fan of fruit. I’ll grab something else.”
Each time Trevor put the fork to his mouth, his biceps came alive as the twisted cords of muscle and vein stretched the skin to the point of eruption. Drew was the only other person Lucas knew with arms close to that size.
It wasn’t only his arms, though. Everything about Trevor was cut—even his jaw muscles bulged when he chewed. The guy could probably chew rocks.
Trevor opened an issue of Olympic Coach magazine and turned to the table of contents. His meaty fingers struggled with the periodical’s flimsy paper.
“You’re not thinking of leaving us, are you?” Lucas asked, trying to gauge his friend’s interest in the sports magazine.
“No. I stay here,” Trevor said, flipping to an article with photos of two male wrestlers.
“Are any of your old friends still on the team?”
“Ja. They do vell. Two gold medals and a silver.”
“Do you miss it?”
“Ja, very much.”
“Did they ever apologize for botching your drug tests?”
Trevor stopped chewing in an instant, then his eyes glazed over and his face went blank. He looked down at his food in silence, not moving a muscle.
Lucas knew he’d just upset his mammoth assistant, putting his foot in his mouth. He’d obviously crossed the line from professional colleague to nosy friend. He scrambled to change the subject. “Uh, did you order your tickets yet for the twenty-fifteen games in Orlando?”
Life returned to Trevor’s face. “Tampa Bay. Ja, tickets ordered.”
“Sorry, my bad. Shows you how much I know about the Olympics. I might have to actually watch some of the events this time, since our country’s hosting it.”
Trevor only grunted before scooping up another spoonful of mixed fruit.
Lucas had known Trevor for almost two years and had eaten with him countless times. He knew it was pointless to try to carry on a meaningful conversation with his lab assistant once the brute started replenishing his calories. Trevor was on the other side of thirty, but there certainly wasn’t anything wrong with his appetite—a byproduct, no doubt, of his over-charged metabolism.
Trevor had started his academic career late but held twin doctorates in physics and computer engineering. Lucas was intimidated by his friend’s sheer size and would take odds that Trevor was probably the largest scientist on the planet.
Even though Trevor was assigned to their team as his underling, Lucas never really felt comfortable about it. Trevor was almost nine years older than he was, and he often wondered how his Swedish friend felt about working for—as some of the other researchers called him—a grubby-faced youngster. Trevor never gave him any indication there was an issue, but Lucas was cautious nonetheless.
“Okay, then. I guess I should get back to Drew. I just wanted to let you know we’re here, but it may take a few minutes to get through the line.”
Lucas returned to the cafeteria door and saw Drew in trouble. A bespectacled, lanky student was standing between Drew and three burly students wearing red and blue rugby uniforms. The athletes were all tall, tan, and clearly spent far more time working on their muscles in the gym and lounging in the sun than they did studying in the library. Rugby wasn’t an official Pac-12 NCAA sport, but the members of the rugby club were every bit the arrogant jocks as the guys on the football team. They walked around campus like they owned the place and were notorious for getting drunk and picking on anyone they determined to be a geek.
His eyes took in the facts, instantly realizing what was happening across the room: his disabled brother was being picked on, and the underweight kid with glasses was sticking up for him. Lucas couldn’t make out what Drew’s protector was saying, but it was obvious the skinny guy was arguing with the rugby jocks.
Great, Lucas thought. Just what we need today. More bullshit. He took off for his brother.
The tallest stranger, who sported a Mohawk-style haircut, grabbed the skinny kid and shoved him hard, sending him across the polished tile floor. He landed in an awkward sprawl.
Then the burly jock took the handles on the back of Drew’s wheelchair and shoved it with force toward the back of the line. The chair wobbled to the right as it shot across the floor, sending the upper half of Drew’s body over the left armrest.
