The Escapement Mechanism, Part 15
Back at the lab, Wemly had essentially given up on her abstract---the one figure she was allowed could be culled from some previous presentation given to Warner, and she already had the basic shape of the text. It was only 250 words, and she could knock that out from scratch on a bad day if needed.
But the escapement mechanism demanded her complete attention. Utsab was buried in his own approaching deadline and would leave her alone, so she went to the lab and soon had a freshly shaved candidate mouse to experiment on.
It was the strength of the experience that had caused the fragments of memory she maintained to somehow lodge themselves in the escapement mechanism. Or so she assumed. It was the most likely explanation of the facts. But the mice didn’t need that. When they wore the device, the memories came easily, without intervention.
She decided to see if an intense experience would allow her to maintain a glimpse of what happened when the mouse was wearing the escapement mechanism. As soon as she activated it on the mouse, she began hurting herself, to see if some form of remembrance existed outside the device itself.
It didn’t. The mice were conditioned as if they had run the maze before, and she bore no memories of herself as the experimenter conditioning them. Slamming her hands into the metal gates of the maze, dropping heavy books on her feet---none of it helped. A bruised big toe and a throbbing hand remained with her, but no memories of training the mice.
The PhD student who watched Wemly use the raised steel maze gate like a guillotine for her hand gave a cry of surprise when Wemly slammed it down like an executioner of digits, but quickly returned to her own work when Wemly shot her a challenging stare.
Wemly assumed the student would relay the happenings to Utsab, and she was dreading the conversation---possibly with a trained professional present---that would ensue.
When the mouse failed to give up any secrets, Wemly returned to wearing the mechanism herself. She needed to ensure Utsab was as oblivious to her own timeline with the device active as she had been to the mice.
“Hey Utsab,” Wemly said after hearing the reassuring chime from the escapement mechanism. A few repeated calls later, she finally had his attention.
“What?” he said, folding one headphone up on his head like a member of some professional first-person shooter team. It took Wemly a moment to muster up the courage for her request, and came through a nervous half-laugh. Despite being sure her mannerisms gave her impending prank away, she asked for his half-full can of Coke.
He regarded her quizzically. “What for?”
“I need to test something.” Whether that appealed to the scientist in him, or his curiosity overwhelmed him, Utsab handed over the can.
Her face burning hot with embarrassment, Wemly lunged at Utsab and dumped the remaining drink over his head. This inconceivable act was met with shocked questions of motive that dissolved into strings of profanity, and finally Utsab hurling a wad of wet papers that had only partially absorbed the liquid back at her.
Wemly tapped her neck to stop the timeline.
She was sitting at her desk, about to work up the courage to douse Utsab in his third soda of the day. Then something jolted in her memory, as if she had dumped the Coke on exposed electrical wires and they were sparking in response. In a way she had, Wemly realized. Sparks of memory burned tiny holes through her current consciousness, the other timeline briefly visible from the current one.
“Hey Utsab,” Wemly yelled, waiting until he had made himself able to hear her. “How’s the Coke?” It was a strange question to have interrupted him for, but he gave the can a sideways shake nonetheless.
“Half-gone. Is this asking if you can bring me a new one?”
“Maybe,” she said. “Is there anything strange about your drink?”
“Only your questions.” He took a sip. “But it is a little warm.” He downed what remained without noticeably swallowing, then tossed the empty to Wemly. “Thanks,” he said. A few drops splattered her hand. More embers of memory burned through whatever thin veil separated the two timelines.
Once again, she activated the escapement mechanism. If Utsab hadn’t remembered what she’d done, she would create an even stronger emotional response to see what was possible to shunt across the timelines. A few of the most intense memories from the previous night were as clear and constant as those of her breakfast that morning.
When Wemly returned with Utsab’s Coke, she wasn’t wearing a shirt. He stared dumbfounded, unable to comprehend any chain of causality that could have led to his current circumstances. Wemly stood over his chair, cracked the can, and poured the fizzy liquid over his chest, and then her own, in wasteful pulses.
Five minutes later, Utsab had no memory of the event, but Wemly could still feel the CO2 bubbles popping on her skin, bringing shivers every time she thought of it. The memories she had collected were getting stronger, but they were still brief, single-frame flashes of illumination from a dark room she had no means of entering.