The Escapement Mechanism, Part 18
For the next two weeks, they worked in secret, Warner and any work or graduate supervision forgotten. They each proposed tweaks to the formulae the escapement mechanism presented and memorable actions to perform while the device was activated, but they were unable to increase the fidelity of the memories between timelines.
The biggest issue was the equations; most changes flashed red, and the device refused to accept the model alteration. Those that were accepted---simple integer increments or decrements---seemed to make no difference. Inklings of specificity and vivid emotional echoes persisted when the mechanism was deactivated, but they could no more reliably be attributed to a specific change than noise in their experiments. They had reached a plateau.
“Fuck,” said Utsab. “Why can’t I bring it back.”
He kept announcing new ideas, confident they would lead to a breakthrough. Keywords, childhood emotions, mathematical equations: all mental rafts he was sure he could lash information to. But nothing worked. Novel data trickled out of the alternate timeline, if it came at all.
Utsab cracked a fresh Coke and began rattling off the states and their capitals; it took until he was almost finished before Wemly realized it was alphabetical by capital city. “I remember sketches of scenes, but not much else,” he said. “It’s like I can remember ice cream---the cold and crunch of the cone---but without any idea of the shop that sold it.” He squeezed his eyes tight and began a new recitation: “Afghanistan, Albania, Algeria ...”
“This isn’t exactly memorization.” Wemly took the escapement mechanism from Utsab and felt the now familiar prickle as the skin on her neck enfolded the device. It was her turn to try to bring information out of the loop.
She began their simple experiment. Ten items, placed randomly on the desk, each labeled with a piece of masking tape and a number between one and ten written on the back. Wemly’s job was to start the mechanism, flip the tape, and set about memorizing the items and their number before deactivating the device and madly writing what she thought she remembered down. She performed the test three times, the data dutifully entered into statistical software by Utsab.
Wemly turned over the tape-dispenser, checking what she had scraped from the dregs of her memory against reality. She was about to call out the number, but the word dissolved on her tongue. “Five,” stared back at her in Utsab’s sloppy script. It was new information.
“Fuck,” she said. “I had it, and then...” she tossed her empty hands at Utsab. The paper, the neatly ordered columns of corresponding items, the scribbles at the top of the sheet all welled up in her memory; she just couldn’t make out the writing. It was a qualitative recollection of a quantitative task. Wemly wanted to throw the tape-dispenser against the wall. “Five my ass!” she yelled instead.
It didn’t help that Utsab had a preternatural ability for memorization. She would never let on how difficult it actually was to memorize the list of ten items and be confident in herself. She was sure it took multiple written checks and mini-exams set for herself while the mechanism was activated. It reminded her of cramming for a final exam but never being quite certain of the answers. For Utsab, it was akin to asking him how old he was.
They spent the rest of the week fiddling, but were unable to increase the statistically significant information brought across timelines. During one of their breaks from trying to injure themselves in particularly memorable ways, Utsab was draining the remnants of another coke, illuminated by the monitor glare of equations in a lab that had darkened with evening and the relentless focus that prevented standing to flick a light switch. Wemly recalled the moment his tilted head righted and his eyes opened to lazily regard the screen. It remained with her vividly, even years in the future. It was the moment everything changed.
“Holy shit,” Utsab said. The empty can dropped forgotten from his hand. “Bring me the mechanism.”