The God Patent (47 page)

Foster turned to the graph behind him, trying to give the impression that he was pondering the question. In fact, he was praying. The strategy would stand or fall right here. He had to answer this question in a way that would guarantee his credibility as a legitimate God-fearing physicist. The graph proved that he had built a collider of unprecedented efficiency. If he could win this man’s respect, the next time he presented this graph, in six months, a year, or even five years from now, when it showed the effect of spiritual energy flowing into the physical world, the scientific establishment would have to accept it. They would have to believe; they would have to surrender.

His prayer was answered immediately but in a way that he wouldn’t understand for weeks.

He spoke clearly and in the language of physicists. “We’ve shown a new technique for calibration and control of a positron accelerator and precise agreement with quantum electrodynamics.” He used a laser pointer to indicate the little bump in the graph, evidence for the short-lived state of “positronium” they had discovered. Every data point sat precisely on the theoretical prediction. “When I calculated the theory curve, it amazed me how an infinite number of Feynman diagrams would combine so perfectly—it was a mathematical ballet.” He circled three data points with the laser pointer. “That the theory actually tells us to expect this tiny structure is a miracle. Do you agree? A miracle?” He stopped talking, turned away from the screen, and looked directly at the Nobel laureate.

The people who had headed for the exits filtered back into the room. Foster waited for them, and as he waited, the pieces started to come together. The words built up in his mind, and he concentrated on how he’d say them instead of what they meant.

“To answer your question, is it enough? It’s more than enough for me. Is it enough for you? I have never felt closer to God than
when I performed the calculations and plotted this data. Never. Think of it. A calculation, mathematics, something born wholly of free will, the collective free will of all of us.” He set the laser pointer on the podium and stepped forward. “But I feel close to God every day.” He focused on the Nobel laureate, “What about you? You made some of the original calculations. It’s your will and mine”—he swept his arms to embrace the auditorium—“all of ours. What greater evidence could any of you ask for of God’s existence? But still, most of you deny Him.” He whispered the last word.

“I think that it is you. You deny.” The Nobel laureate took the microphone in his hand and stood. “Ah, what was it that the, uh, how-you-say—the Bard, yes, the Bard, that Hamlet’s father to his mother said? The physicist doth protest too much, methinks.” He sat down.

Foster indicated the curve again with the laser’s dot. “Are you impressed by our results?”

The laureate nodded vigorously. “That is point of
mine
.” He held up his notepad. “Your experiment, it is first to show that Heisenberg’s limit is also thermodynamic limit. Carnot and Heisenberg agree. In three lines of calculation I prove this.”

Foster tried to withhold his triumphant smile. “You are impressed.”

Still holding the notepad, the laureate shrugged. “It is shown. It is done.”

Ryan’s head was going in circles. After Foster’s presentation, the Italian guy had handed him the three-line proof that their collider was running at the physical limit. He stared at it and couldn’t wait to send it to Katarina. The Nobel Prize winner had
proven that the collider couldn’t operate any more efficiently? Couldn’t possibly? Couldn’t
in principle
?

During dinner, Foster sketched diagrams on napkins, brainstorming techniques to improve the neural network, certain that the next version of software would make the transition to free will. He wouldn’t look at the proof.

Ryan knew from his research at the Cal engineering library and discussions with physicists after Foster’s talk that their software was as close to attaining “strong artificial intelligence”—the Holy Grail of software—as any on Earth, but that was still a long way from violating the laws of thermodynamics.

Later that night back in his hotel room, Ryan noticed that he had voice mail from Katarina. He smiled at the sound of her voice.

“Hey Ryan, I went out to Point Reyes—I saw that pelican too. He actually typed on my keyboard. Ryan, I figured it out. I understand the soul, what it is, how it works, and why people never really die. It’s fucking amazing—oops, sorry, didn’t mean to say
fuck
.” She laughed for a second and sounded like the kid he’d met on the porch that day three years ago. “Since this is way too complicated, too important, just too hella killer for the phone, and since you said I could come with you to Texas once school got out and lo and behold, it’s finally out, I’m coming to see you. I don’t know how long it will take to get there, a couple of days I guess. See you then.”

What?

He replayed the message. No, she didn’t say how she was getting there. Typical Katarina, she just didn’t know any better. He called her back. The phone rang five times, and then Jane’s airy
voice came on the answering machine. He waited for the beep and then said, “Katarina, call me right now, this instant.”

Ryan woke in the middle of the night with a vision of Katarina sitting on a bus trying to explain Feynman diagrams to someone’s grandmother. He got up and paced around the hotel room for a few minutes, convinced himself that Katarina was a tough kid who would be okay, and then tried to get some sleep. The wake-up call came at six, but he was still awake. No denying it, guilt. Katarina was doing something stupid. Something that she wouldn’t be doing if he’d kept a closer watch on her. He thought of that judge who’d told him that the world is dangerous for Katarina.

He called again before getting on the plane back to San Antonio—still no answer.

The plane ride was surreal. Foster spent the whole time filling page after page in his notebook, occasionally glancing out the window. When Ryan told him about Katarina’s message, he said, “Perfect. Everything is perfect. Are you starting to see? God is showing us the way. Kat is bringing us the answer—perfect!” He trembled as though he would burst, looked out the window for a few seconds, and turned back to Ryan. “Don’t worry about Kat. She will be fine. God is watching over her.”

Foster’s reaction just made Ryan more nervous. He couldn’t stop tapping his foot. The old lady in the seat in front of him asked him three times to stop hitting her chair. She was polite the first time.

There were no new messages on his phone when the plane landed.

Rachel met Foster and Ryan at the door. Foster hugged her tight, carrying her halfway down the hall before setting her down and saying, “I have to go to the lab right away. Don’t hold dinner.”

Rachel’s eyes squinted together. It looked strange, as though she was wrinkling her brow but it wasn’t cooperating. She met Ryan in the kitchen. “My father called this morning. He said that you and Foster made a huge mistake going to Washington.”

Ryan said, “Did Katarina call?”

“She called yesterday.”

“Anything today?” Ryan looked at the answering machine—the light wasn’t blinking. “What did she say?”

Rachel followed. “She just asked to talk to you. I told her you’d be back today. What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing.” He went to the fridge looking for a beer, but of course there weren’t any. “Okay, not nothing, maybe nothing—we’re going to have a visitor.”

“She’s coming here? I can’t wait to meet her. She sounds like a real character.”

Foster came back up the hall, his briefcase in both hands, passed the kitchen, and went out the front door.

Rachel said, “Ryan, what’s going on? What happened?”

Still staring at the answering machine, Ryan said, “This Italian guy, a Nobel Prize–winning physicist in the audience, proved that everything we’ve done in the lab confirms what they already knew—but Foster doesn’t seem to get it. The software works perfectly. I mean
perfectly
.”

She looked up at him and spoke as though she’d rehearsed what she was going to say. “I talked to my father today.” Foster’s Porsche roared out of the driveway, punctuating her discomfort.

“Yeah? Why was it a mistake to go to Washington?”

“Ryan, listen to me.” She cleared her throat. “I don’t think you’ll be able to keep your job.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry. My father said that with your work here, and the paper you and Foster wrote, that you can get a job anywhere—probably name your salary.”

Ryan took his phone from his pocket and stared at it. “Katarina doesn’t know what she’s doing.” Then, as though what Rachel said had finally registered, “Yeah, I’ll be fine…”

R
yan’s cell phone rang the next morning. He grabbed it on the first ring.

“You should see this place,” Katarina said. “That lake is freakishly blue.”

A great wave of relief broke over Ryan. “Katarina, where are you?”

“Lake Tahoe. Have you ever been here?”

“No. How did you get there?”

“I hitched.”

“Are you crazy?” His relief washed back out to sea. “You hitchhiked across California?”

“It’s okay, old man, truckers are hella cool, and yesterday I got from Sacramento to Tahoe with this family—they even took me out in their boat. The lake is beyond blue. I mean blue. Have you seen blue? You haven’t even seen blue.”

“Where did you sleep? How much money do you have?”

“Almost twenty-five bucks,” she said. “Last night I snuck into this crazy mansion at Emerald Bay—the ranger-guy shit a brick when he found me, but then the dude cooked pancakes. I tried to explain the soul to him and—”

“Katarina, listen to me.”

“Ryan, it’s gonna blow you and Foster away.”

“I want you to go to a bus station. I will buy you a ticket online—what city are you in?”

“I think I’m in Nevada.”

Ryan sighed. “There should be an address on the pay phone.”

“Um, South Lake Tahoe—what a stupid name for a town.”

“Okay, give me the number of that pay phone and stay right there. I’ll buy you a bus ticket and call you right back.”

“I’m not taking a bus.”

“Katarina, please.”

“What? I’m seeing the world. Everyone is really nice. I haven’t even had to buy food.”

“I’ll have Emmy pick you up. Just stay where you are. I’ll call her right now.”

Her voice switched to impatient. “Ryan, I’m coming to Hardale to work with you and Foster. I’ll be there in a couple of days. I’ve got it figured out. Foster will be stoked. Later.”

“Wait!”

She was quiet, but Ryan could hear background noise. He said, “I’ll come and get you.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Please don’t hitchhike. Please.”

“I’ll call you every time I’m near a phone—will that work for you, Ryan McParanoid?”

“Katarina—”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Katarina, I love you.”

“Yeah, I know.” She hung up the phone.