Analog SFF, April 2007 by Dell Magazine Authors

Author:Dell Magazine Authors
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Dell Magazines
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

* * * *

THINGS THAT AREN'T by Michael A. Burstein and Robert Greenberger

Illustrated by Mark Evans

* * * *

Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.—Albert Einstein

John Kiradi had just finished crossing 116th street at Amsterdam Avenue when he won the Nobel Prize.

A moment before, he was returning to his Pupin Hall office at Columbia University from having eaten lunch at V&T Pizzeria, a few blocks to the south. Suddenly, he found himself standing at a lectern in Stockholm, about to address an auditorium full of people.

His clothing felt different, and he looked down to see himself dressed in white tie and tails. A heavy round gold medal hung on a ribbon around his neck. He lifted the medal and studied it; the familiar profile of Alfred Nobel glinted in the light.

"Ah...” he said. Everyone stared intently at him, waiting for his next words. Confused, he tried to recall the last few minutes. Wasn't I just at Columbia?

But this room felt all too real. He rubbed his sweaty palms along the rough wood of the lectern. He smelled the humid air, tasted the dryness in his mouth. And then it all came back to him, in a sudden flash of memory. Kiradi remembered everything; his research had gone much more quickly than he had anticipated, and the Nobel Committee had taken note almost immediately. He was really here, in Stockholm, accepting the Nobel Prize in physics. He smiled, looked down at his notes, and began to give the speech he had labored two weeks in perfecting.

John Kiradi was the happiest he had ever been in his entire life.

* * * *

Trevor watched John Kiradi fall over, sprawled at the corner of 116th street and Amsterdam Avenue, his hazel eyes staring into space. Trevor tucked the device out of sight, and with a twinge of sadness, walked away from the New York City lunch crowd that was just now noticing the obviously ill man. One down, he thought. Two more to go.

Arthur hated hospitals.

He hated the antiseptic smell that permeated the corridors. He hated the fluorescent lighting that turned people's faces pale as he walked past them to the elevators. He hated the claustrophobia he got in patient's rooms.

But Rachel Rotstein, head of the FBI's Special Investigations unit, had sent Arthur to New York City to assist the police with an investigation so secret that she wouldn't give him details before he left. Arthur would have preferred it if his boss had referred the case to the New York bureau, but she had said they needed his expertise for this matter. So it fell on Arthur's shoulders. Lucky him.

The elevator rattled open on his floor. Arthur found the nurses’ station and was directed to a room being guarded by two police officers. As he approached, he flipped open his worn leather case and showed them his badge.

"Arthur Valiquette, FBI."

One of the officers nodded. “Detective Jerry Bancroft is expecting you,” she said, pointing to the end of the hall. “He's in the lounge.

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