The God Patent (16 page)

A
week after Emmy’s visit, two packages arrived. One was a six-foot whiteboard with twenty colored markers. The other contained two copies of Richard Feynman’s
QED
and the three-volume set of
The Feynman Lectures on Physics
. Emmy had included a card for Katarina with four sets of arcane mathematical symbols surrounding a light bulb and the caption “…and God said, let there be light” but she’d scratched out “God” and written in “Maxwell.” Ryan explained that Maxwell’s equations were named after the nineteenth-century physicist who formulated electrodynamics.

In the card, Emmy told Katarina how she had loved the purity of mathematics as a teenager and that she envied Katarina seeing “infinitesimals, differentials, integrals, and derivatives for the first time—someday you will use these tools to discover truth in the universe. I hope that I will be working with you when you do.”

Ryan and Katarina stared at each other. Katarina squinted and set the note aside, brushing it off. Ryan said, “That’s a lot to live up to, kiddo.”

Katarina said, “What. Ever.”

Emmy included a note for Ryan too, just a few words that it was “nice to meet you” and “call if you have any questions,” but there was also a cryptic phrase: “I promised to read Foster Reed’s
dissertation and you promised to read Feynman’s
QED
. Don’t ever break a promise to me!” The thing that made it hard to figure was that if you looked long enough at the dot over the
i
in promise, you could convince yourself that it was heart-shaped.

They argued about where to hang the whiteboard and compromised on Ryan’s side of the wall that separated their apartments. When it was finally up, Katarina used all twenty markers to draw a dragon. As she drew, Ryan reread the note from Emmy. Holding the note in both hands, he toyed with Sean’s football with his feet and unveiled images of Emmy from his memory of her visit. He was smiling at the vision of Emmy when she had caught him staring at her—she’d had a sparkle in her eye, a beer in her hand, and, damn, her body was just so tight and perky.

Katarina interrupted him. Imitating Dodge’s nasal whine, she said, “Stop obsessing over your girlfriend, McNear. You’re pathetic.”

“You think she’ll be my girlfriend?”

From that day, the whiteboard was covered in squiggly lines, loops, and mathematical symbols that were constantly written, rewritten, and analyzed. Ryan moved the pile of foam he called a bed so that he could stare at the day’s analysis as he fell asleep.

They worked through Feynman’s books, and when they couldn’t figure something out, Ryan suggested they call Emmy. And every time Ryan made the suggestion, Katarina teased him. In response to the teasing, Ryan pretended they needed to call Emmy at the slightest confusion, like when the black marker ran dry.

Through spring, Katarina soaked up calculus, including ordinary and partial differential equations, and was doing
vector calculus before school let out for summer. If she’d had an involved parent, Katarina would have met with a school counselor and switched to an advanced math class. Instead, she did only a serviceable job with eighth-grade algebra while bothering her teachers with questions on subjects ranging from fractals to group theory.

Ryan exchanged e-mails with Foster every week, and the answer was always the same: “Save some time on your calendar for next month.” His impatience grew. In three and a half years, the only place he’d seen Sean was in nightmares, images of Sean frozen in time, unable to mature in Ryan’s absence, or the slightly less disturbing picture of Sean playing ball with his
new dad
.

His most horrifying nightmare was too real to be a dream, more like a suppressed memory. Ryan’s most palpable mistakes involved that addictive chemical, but at the heart of the choices that landed him in this mess sat Tammi. The nightmare began and ended with smoky images of what his meth-junkie girlfriend must have done to Sean that would cause a judge to issue that damn restraining order. As the months passed, the smoke started to clear, and Ryan realized that his subconscious was revealing something that he couldn’t have faced at the time. He almost looked forward to the nightmare as the facts clarified in his own brain.

H
appily ill-equipped to deal with the business side of things, Foster felt useless in these board meetings. All he could contribute was a bit of morale by saying things like “fabric of reality” or “vacuum fluctuations” in the same sentence with “Creation” or “everlasting soul.”

At this particular meeting, though, he would have to make a request.

The Creation Energy Advisory Board was led by the primary investor, Blair Keene. It also included the faculty of Evangelical Word University’s Department of Earthly Science, but the authority sat with the university chancellor, Jeb Schonders. Jeb was a large man who wore a Stetson hat, boots, and a bolo tie. Foster was certain that the man had never once undone his top shirt button, and he knew that when Jeb started rolling up his sleeves, he expected total quiet.

To Jeb’s left, Blair Keene said, “Next on the agenda—we’re finally getting somewhere with National Engineering Group. They’ve had some internal difficulties deciding which direction they want to take.” Blair, the Houston trial lawyer, wore expensive suits with conservative ties and, depending on the audience, either tasseled loafers or boots. He had boots on today.

Jeb responded, “The bigger the herd, the longer it takes to turn, but they’re coming into our corral now. Another benefit
of keeping Foster out there speaking to the faithful. He rounded ’em up in Virginia, and the deal is almost cut. We’ve got a tenfold increase in our budget to consider.”

Blair distributed copies around the table: an outline of Creation Energy’s projected and existing debt and a lab wish list Foster had composed at the beginning of the fiscal year. While handing him a set of copies, Blair gave a covert nod to Foster. Funding was coming. Foster relaxed.

The board immediately split between those who wanted to reduce the company debt, led by the department chair, and those who wanted to spend whatever was needed to develop the technology, led by Blair Keene.

Jeb rolled his sleeves up. The room went quiet and he said, “Our deal with National Engineering will be signed by the end of the month. We’ll be their primary R and D investment in renewable energy, and they’re in a stampede to give us contracts for things like propulsion systems. They’re already the biggest nonmissile defense contractor and are fixing to extend that to missiles too. We need to be ready to spend the first round of funding on big things to establish Creation Energy as a viable counterweight to the US Department of Energy. It ain’t a good time to be timid.”

Foster waited to catch Blair’s eye, just enough to convey thanks. More thanks. Foster marveled at the man. How could so much good, so much generosity and piety be packed into a single man? And a lawyer at that? Not only had Blair Keene provided all of Creation Energy’s funding to date, along with half the university’s startup money, but he was the father of Foster’s angel. The term
father-in-law
seemed callous in the face of the magnitude of what Blair meant to Foster.

Blair argued with the department chair about funding options. It took longer for Jeb to join the discussion than Foster
expected, but eventually, that preacher-voice drowned out the others. “Every cent goes to equipment. What’s this at the top of the list? Blade servers? Wouldn’t know one from a tractor tire—that’s what we’re buying next. And understand this: National Engineering wants to announce the partnership on their schedule—until they do, we will only refer to them as a Fortune 100 company,
comprendo
?”

Jeb challenged the board with his silence.

Foster cleared his throat and, as he spoke, pretended that he was writing a note to himself. “Perfect timing, Jeb. I’ll invite the other inventor to interview for the software director position.” The sound of his own words excited him, made it feel real. Foster owed Ryan. Something had happened at Foster’s bachelor party that had started Ryan’s downfall. He didn’t know what but suspected that it had to do with what he thought of as the final act of his bachelorhood, that lap dance. It felt like a crisis rite, but it also caused a guilt-debt that he wanted paid. “With Ryan McNear in my lab, no computer cycle will be wasted. There is a synergy necessary in a project like this. Ryan knows what I need—he’s the software guy, I’m the hardware guy.” Foster handed out copies of Ryan’s résumé and felt a wave of fulfillment. These were special men, men he could rely on.

Jeb’s deep laughter echoed through the room. “You don’t have to defend your choice. You know our
requirements
.”

In the lab, Foster called these requirements the faith-filter. Every decision he made, every result he reported, had to pass biblical consistency. Foster knew Ryan had never even read the Bible. He said, “Ryan is a nitty-gritty engineer—exactly what my lab needs. He grew up Catholic.” It was all Foster could say about Ryan’s relationship with Jesus, and it felt like an exaggeration.

Jeb didn’t look pleased. Some of the other board members shook their heads.

It was Blair, of course, who came to the rescue. “Wasn’t Ryan McNear the man that God chose to start us on this path?”

“Yes,” Foster nodded, a little sickened by the inevitable politics. “Writing the patents was Ryan’s idea.”

Jeb stroked his chin and looked around the table. He stopped at Foster and said, “Son, would you mind stepping outside for a few minutes while we discuss this? Nothing personal, of course, it’ll just be a mite easier to speak our minds as we review his résumé. And easier for you too.”

Foster sat up straight but didn’t move toward the door. He looked to Blair, who shrugged. He said, “But I know Ryan. I know his résumé. I worked beside him at most of those companies.”

“You ever work at Oil Xchangers?”

“What? No. What Oil Xchangers?” Foster scanned his copy of Ryan’s résumé.

“That’s the thing, you see. There are a few positions on his credit report that don’t appear on his résumé.”

Foster didn’t know what to say. Everyone was staring at him. He realized that his mouth was hanging open. He took a breath. Someday he wouldn’t have to remind himself to trust in the Lord. “Of course,” he said, “speak freely. I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

He stood and walked to the door. As it swung shut, he heard two faculty members object. One said, “A lapsed Catholic?” and the other said, “He’s from the East Coast.”

It didn’t bode well, but Foster was at peace in his faith.

Fifteen minutes later, they called him back into the room.

The men were quiet. Blair wouldn’t make eye contact.

Jeb said, “We’d like you to consider other candidates.”

Without thinking, Foster said, “No. Ryan is the right man for this job. It’s his work. He should have a right to develop it.”

Jeb’s eyes opened wide. He then scowled, and Foster felt as though he were being examined. The words had come out so fast that Foster thought they had to be inspired, and it gave him added confidence. An hour ago, if they’d asked if he believed in Ryan, he might have waffled, but not now.