Quantum Capers

I suppose it proves your point that I didn’t know or even imagine the extent of malicious mischief and okay, I’ll say it — rampant corruption — in the field of quantum mechanics. Then there’s the matter of my supposed friends and colleagues with whom I’d spent countless happy hours at pubs and pulling all-nighters on a regular basis for years.

I should probably backtrack a bit. You’ve always been such a good listener, Werner — even when I believed you were just a product of my imagination, and not the ghost of Heisenberg himself.

So, there I was going over the time travel data one more time before heading home for the weekend when I discovered someone had radically altered the code. It took me the better part of the weekend to realize I had no idea what purpose it served. I could hear you playing the piano in the background, chuckling from time-to-time, and I remember wishing you’d just take a break, learn how to use FB, and post some existential commentary and shut up already. But no, Werner, you just had to keep it up all weekend long while I agonized over each and every string of code. I suppose your presence was some sort of poetic justice, and I really do love your playing, particularly the Beethoven.

So, when Monday rolled around, I was exhausted and moody when my team began to arrive. “Yo, Evan, what’s up?” Marvin asked, alternating sips of his usual double-low-fat latte with bites of an everything bagel overloaded with cream cheese and lox, capers falling to the floor and scattering like ping-ponging atoms.

“Someone altered the go code. I’ve been here all weekend. . .”

“What the—?” Lee, who had worked with me since grad school, muttered something under his breath. He sat down in his chair, rolled over to my desk, stared at the printouts for a second. “Want me to have a look? Maybe you’re just burned out, Ev. I mean we’ve been working on this project for ages and—”

We both whirled around as Jorge entered the lab with two women and a man, each out of uniform, but obviously military. I heard you say, “Scheisse!” Werner, and that’s when I knew something was going down.

“The code’s on the nose,” Jorge assured his military entourage. “I made the necessary adjustments myself and we have just the right subject for a one-way trip back. Shall we send her to The University of Copenhagen in 1926 or—”

“Let’s go with our original plan. The University of Berlin, 1941,” the female officer-in-charge replied.

“Consider it done,” Jorge said from the computer, glancing at me with a grin as if to say, “This is what you get when you don’t think big enough.”

It took all three of the military goons and Jorge to strap me into the pod. When you gave me that little wink, I finally realized you were behind this all along. You’ll have to tell me how you managed to manipulate Jorge. . . It worked, Werner. It really worked. The ride wasn’t all that bad, either. I’m really looking forward to seeing the sites in Copenhagen and working with you on this time travel project. Now all we have to do is figure out where and when we should disappear to so you don’t get involved with that other project.

“To Occam’s Razor!”  I say, and we clink glasses to our future endeavors.

The End