Kinetic

"Oh, just the usual, more shoplifting."

"Ah... No more probation, huh?"

"No, not this time. Patty even tried to lie to the judge again about what was going on. She kept insisting that the sales clerk had said it was okay for her to take the merchandise out through the loading dock. She sounded so self-righteous!"

"I take it the judge wasn't buying it?"

"Not this time. He added an extra sixty days for perjury. Patty was lucky it wasn't a year! The earliest she can get out is late summer."

"Hell! How could she be so stupid?!"

Melanie chuckled over the phone. "Yeah. My sister has two strikes against her. She has no morals telling her not to steal, and she's not smart enough to be intimidated about being caught."

I sighed in agreement. "A double whammy..."

Melanie made a humph noise. "It's so frustrating when I try to talk with her. She dreams up these elaborate and silly lies to explain her way out of the messes she makes, and she thinks the lies will save her. She tells me things, and I have no idea if they're true or not."

I sighed. "How did your parents react? To the jail sentence I mean..."

"Oh, they're still very supportive. Mom and dad reassured Patty her bedroom will be waiting for her when she gets out, and dad has promised to find her a new job."

"Think he can?"

Melanie was silent for a while. "This time? I'm not sure... Maybe not. There's no job on Earth where people will tolerate dishonesty. There is no job like that... Hell Eric! I feel like Cinderella sometime, and Patty is my evil step-sister! Maybe I should start breaking the law! Maybe then my parents will love me..."

I nodded and sighed. "Nah. It would just give them some real ammunition to shoot you down with... Melanie, I love you... not as a parent though."

"I know. I love you too... Eric, I think of you when I run. That's what makes me so fast!"

"Huh?"

"I push myself into high gear, and then I dream of you. I imagine you're holding me, and my body explodes with happiness. My last kilometer is usually my fastest. Not by much, but Coach Collins says that's still very unusual..."

Melanie paused before continuing. "I do love you, so intensely it takes my breath away. And I miss you. Not so much in the daytime. The days are so busy. But at night, when I lie down... It's been so long since we've seen each other... Oh Eric, I want so much to hold you again, and to feel you holding me. I keep reliving my memories of you..."

I trembled with my own longing and whispered, "I know. I've been reliving my memories of you too. It's been exactly half a year, Sunday, June 24'th. I keep remembering the last time I saw you, going out to dinner with you at Urbana... How you looked, your kind smile, how you cried when you kissed me goodbye..."

Melanie gave a really deep sigh on the phone. "Eric, I'm so sorry about my parents... You don't know how grateful I am..."

"Huh? Grateful for what?"

"For you putting up with all this insane nonsense about not seeing me! For you putting up with all these stupid, secret phone calls! I know how ridiculous this must seem to you... I had a nightmare last night, a really damn awful scream-in-the-dark nightmare, where you decided that this situation is so wacky, dating me just wasn't worth the effort!"

I blinked as I realized what she said, and tried to reassure her by joking. "Melanie! That's crazy talk!"

Melanie seemed to hiccup over the phone, and then she laughed, a sweet musical release from her center of her heart that sounded so pretty. "Right! I must have inherited the skill from my family! You are so... SHIT!!!"

"What?!"

"Dad's car just pulled up outside! Goodbye my love!" and she hung up the phone before I could reply.

I sat there for a few minutes, hoping she wasn't in any trouble. Her parents are her legal guardians for another four months. They could still make life hell for her if they wanted to.

I decided to do some school work. I opened my desk drawer to get a pen, and noticed in the back of the drawer my old combination lock from Junior High. I pulled it out on a whim and stared idly at it. I felt hot and upset that Melanie was probably getting yelled at, 800 miles away. I pressed the back of the lock against my forehead to cool off, shrugging a bit at the thought that after four years I had completely forgotten the combination.

It was the most unearthly feeling. I could imagine the cams of the lock behind the dial so clearly, imagine exactly where the slots in the cams were that released the shank. I pulled the lock away from my forehead and stared at it. In my hand, it just seemed normal.

Totally dumbfounded, I returned the lock to my forehead. The details of the knowledge of the inside of the lock were both exquisite and absolute. I pulled the lock away and stared at it again. Nothing. "What the hell is this?" I muttered.

It's so difficult to describe a completely new sense. Imagine trying to describe color to a blind man who has no idea of the concept of sight, or trying to describe music to a deaf person who has no idea of the concept of sound. My language just doesn't have the concepts developed to describe what this sense is like.

That said, I'll try to make an analogy about what it's like. Write the number four on a piece of paper. Put it on a desk in front of you and stare at it for a while. Then cover the paper with a book. Now, try to imagine the reality of what number could possibly be under the book. It's a four. You're absolutely, positively sure of it. In your mind's eye, the knowledge is absolute, unquestioned.

That's what it was like for me, but even better. I could imagine zooming down and knowing the lock in fine detail, even better than if I were using my eyes on a disassembled lock. I pulled back and stared at the lock again in my hand. Nothing.

I got up and got the combination lock I was currently using for gym. I opened it and got a screwdriver, and then unscrewed the release at the bottom of the vacant shank shaft. I took the lock apart and played with it for over an hour. I taught myself exactly how it worked.

Then I went back to my Junior High lock. I put it back on my forehead, and the solution seemed so obvious. I turned the dial briefly, watching with my mind's eye how the slots in the cams were lining up. I pulled the lock away from my face and pulled on the shank. It opened easily. There was nothing to it. But I still didn't know the combination.

I locked the shank and put the padlock on my forehead again, spinning the first cam to the correct position. Then I reached out with my imagination and looked at the number on the dial, 27. That's all I needed. I suddenly remembered the rest of the combination. That part didn't feel like magic, just normal memory.

I put the lock down and shook my head in amazement. What the hell was going on?

Well, the credo of a scientist is: test and learn! I took a simple ruler and placed the origin against my forehead, sticking straight out. Then I closed my eyes and tried to find how far I could imagine seeing the markings on the ruler. It was just over two inches. It was a sharp cutoff.

I began taking notes and making measurements all over my head. Then I just sat there and stared at the numbers. I began to tremble.

It seems there's a point within my skull, dead center between my eyes and about three inches in. Anything within about six inches of that point I can nail with imagining what it looks like. I sat at my desk almost in a dream, exploring my own nose for a while. It was interesting, and not nearly as gross at it sounds...

What to do? Did I have to do anything? Should I tell dad? Melanie? Once I tell somebody about this and demonstrate it, there's no turning back. I went and lay on my bed and thought for a long while.

I finally decided I had a perfectly moral right not to tell anybody if I didn't want to. I went downstairs and had a late turkey sandwich snack with dad. We played a couple of games of chess. I lost both games. Then I sacked out for the night. I lay in bed for hours before sleep came, thinking about the lock and wondering... Finally I started dreaming about Melanie and got some rest.

Chapter 4.

Three weeks later on December 15'th, I got a hand-written letter from Melanie. I stared at the envelope for a while. It was definitely her handwriting. But she had listed my father's name at our old house in Sterling as the return address. It suddenly occurred to me that if the post office had trouble with the postage or the primary address, the letter would still be forwarded to my dad here in Pennsylvania and not back to Melanie. Wondering why she was bothering to do this, I opened the letter. Here's what it said:

* Dearest Eric,

I think I have less freedom now than Patty! I am super grounded. I'm off track, in fact I have no after-school activities all. I don't even have permission to leave the house! Mom threatened to sue the school if they allowed me internet access and the school admin caved in. I'm effectively under supervision 24 hours a day.

Mom and dad have been spreading insane rumors about you brainwashing me to be your future slave, and some of the other parents have shown them their phone records. My parents know that we have been talking to each other. I'm penning this letter in Study Hall. At least here I'm safe. I think.

Why am I capitulating to all this? I have all my college applications out and none of them requested financial assistance. With dad the managing director of the Wells Fargo branch and mom a full partner at O'Hare and Snyder, my parents earn way too much money for me to quality for aid. Both my parents are threatening to cut me off financially if they catch me communicating with you again. They say it's their final warming.

Eric, I've never had a job. Lots of great summer programs and volunteer work but I've never earned anything. My parents are super-controlling my access to money and I don't have the resources to fight this battle, at least not now.

I feel like I'm trapped in a fairy story gone berserk, some crazy combination of Cinderella and Romeo & Juliet. Eric darling, wait for me, please? Stop! I can't ask you a question and ask you not to respond at the same time! I say instead that I love you and I know you love me, and that I trust you will wait for me. Please, please don't write back, even through the internet or a third party. My parents are so furious with me, it's just too dangerous.

I'll try to call you if I can find a completely safe way to do it. It might be few months, maybe not until April. I'll hoard up a bunch of quarters for a pay phone or something.

Oh Eric, I can only imagine how crazy this must sound, but I'm not joking. You wouldn't believe how often I'm searched and how intensely I'm spied upon. Mom comes in and picks me up at the school office every day. I'm going to sneak this letter into the mailbox outside during my lunch period.

Under the microscope in Illinois, offering you my love and faithfulness, Melanie *

I stared at Melanie's letter forever, reading it again and again. I finally decided I needed a reality check. I went and showed the letter to my dad. He just kept shaking his head as he read it.

"Dad, why do they hate me so much? I've always tried to be polite with Melanie's parents. I really have."

Dad nodded and then grunted. "Hell, Shakespeare! Not a bad analogy. Maybe she's right."

"What?"

"Romeo and Juliet. I read it with your mom in twelfth grade English, back in 1966... You want to know what this might be about? My granddad and Melanie's great grandfather had a legal dispute once, about a bank loan. Gus won, and Melanie's great granddad took it personal... real personal..."

I grimaced and whined, "But that was ages ago! Why spend your life fighting your grandfather's war?"

My dad sighed. "Yeah, that is the question, isn't it? Probably because they're not smart enough to find better things to do. It's as simple as that... Eric, if you want some advice, let Melanie call the shots on this. She's the one in the war zone. Let her pick the battle plan."

I nodded glumly and went back to my bedroom. After a while I made another measurement of what I've decided to call my inner sense.

It's growing. In the three weeks since Thanksgiving, the sphere around my internal center-point expanded from 15 cm to 24 cm. I could now scan objects six inches from the top of my nose. And the detail! I could fill my imagination with a tiny crevasse on the ruler. It's hard to quantify this, but I'm estimating I can see four times as much detail compared to Thanksgiving...

I made some more experiments. I don't have to have the sense on if I don't want it. It's like opening an infinitely effective eyelid. Unless I want to scan, I feel completely normal.

I sat back and wondered. Where was this all heading? And then I had to smile a bit. What would be my story if dad noticed me sticking the ruler all around my head?

Christmas break arrived. My nights were filled with thoughts of Melanie, and as for the days, it was crunch time for applying to colleges. I selected Mech. E. as a major and had a big list of schools, Case Western, Perdue, Carnegie-Mellon, Boston University, U. of Penn... My SAT scores were 790 in math and 590 in verbal, not bad. My safety-valve school was Penn State, and I also had one pie-in-the-sky Hail-Mary pass in the air. I applied to M.I.T.

The second Monday in January, I toured the campuses of B.U. and M.I.T. The interviews at B.U. were fun and relaxing, and I think it's an excellent school. Then I crossed the Charles River into Cambridge and spent the afternoon at M.I.T.

There I was in a professor's office in Building 3, a nice view of the Great Court out the windows to my back. It was IAP on campus, the Independent Activities Period. The whole month of January is like that at M.I.T., no formal classes, just everybody playing with the sciences and nobody worrying about grades. What a great idea!

Professor Hanson was seated across from me at his desk. He was polite, attentive, and I think incredibly bright. At first we hit it off very well. I described how I had spent my previous summer, and he said it sounded marvelous and how he wished he had such an opportunity when he was growing up.

But as he went through my school transcripts he also started giving me thoughtful looks. I didn't find it too encouraging.

I decided to level with him. "I need honest feedback, Professor Hanson. Do I have a chance of getting in here?"

He nodded. "Yeah, okay. I'll give you my straight opinion as an engineer. You might make the waiting list. Eric, personally I think you might do fine here, but M.I.T. creams the country for the best students. There are just a lot of other applicants who have better qualifications."

I sighed. "My SAT scores?"

He shrugged. "That's minor. The 790 is excellent! The 590 in verbal... isn't bad..."

I nodded. "I could have boosted it, worked on my vocabulary. It was a conscious decision to do the summer work instead."

Hanson nodded and returned to my transcripts. "You were in Honors English your sophomore and junior years? Math and science too?"

"Yes. Well, that's Sterling, Illinois's version of Honors classes. Any kid that was serious about studying was put into Honors. It was still a bit slow."

"But you dropped out of AP courses in your senior year?"

"Oh, hell!" I thought. I went on to explain Exeter's ridiculous policy. Professor Hanson seemed sympathetic, but it wasn't really his problem. We talked a little more about M.I.T., and then he asked me, "Anything else you'd like to mention?"

It was crunch time! I knew if I walked out with a question like that hanging in the air, I could kiss M.I.T. goodbye. But add what? Without thinking, I told him a little about finding my Junior High padlock, and how I opened my other padlock to see if I could figure out how to open the first one.

He smiled at me when I was finished and then laughed. "Yeah. I take it you learned knowing how one lock works is not the same as opening another?!"

I had nothing to lose. I respected the Professor, but I was also desperate. It was time to deal him a joker straight from the bottom of the deck.

"Heck no," I said, giving him this big beaming smile. "I taught myself how to pick the lock!"

"Huh?! You can pick a Masterlock?"

"Yeah." I tried to mention this very casually. "There's not much to it, if you know the secret."

Professor Hanson was looking at me as if I were an utter charlatan from some alien planet. And then he gave me this huge devilish grin. "Well," he said, reaching into his desk drawer, "It just so happens..."

A moment later I was sitting staring at the biggest, fattest, ugliest combination Masterlock in creation. It felt massive in my hands. Professor Hanson was grinning at me from ear to ear, but it was a playful grin. I've seen the Union people grin at each other like that, one professional to another, offering an impossible challenge.

"Two conditions!" I grinned back.

"Okay!"

"Turn around. I don't want you to see how I do this!"

"Protecting your trade secrets, huh? Very fair! What else?"

I grinned. It was time to put my gonads on the table! "When, and I say when and not if I open this, and if I get accepted here, and if something is later stolen from a locked area, don't jump to conclusions about me. Ability is not intent!"

Professor Hanson grinned back. "Oh, that first part is a proud boast lad! Let's see if you can sustain it! And as to your second part... That's a damn thoughtful point. Agreed. And to protect you from others jumping to conclusions, I solemnly promise not to tell anyone that you picked this lock..." The big smile came back. "...If you do! How much time do you think you'll need?"

"Uh..." What to say? I thought I would only need a few seconds. "Five minutes?"

His eyes shot up in astonishment. And then he burst out laughing.

I tried to recover. "... if I'm lucky! Maybe ten?" My voice was squeaking. Damn!

Hanson nodded, his eyes wide open and rolling. Then he looked at the clock, pulled out a book and turned around and started reading.

It was a huge lock, almost the size of my palm. I brought it up close to my face and sensed it. I decided my first impression was wrong. The lock was indeed big and fat but it definitely wasn't ugly. It was in fact an incredibly beautiful lock, infinitely better made than my school padlock. This was a masterpiece of lock engineering.

I still thought I had lots of time. I started making minor noises with it, pulling on the thick gleaming shank and spinning the dial just for audio appearances. The outside was extremely high quality chrome steel. But my mind was captivated and delighted by the mechanism within. Four disks!

The structure was completely different than my old lock. I suddenly realized I would need some serious time to open it, even with my abilities. First I had to figure out how the damn thing worked!

Time passed without notice. The interior engineering of the lock was magnificent, precision machined, oiled surfaces perfectly sliding against each other. I was enthralled. And all the protuberances on the disks were confusing me. My old lock just had one per disk.

I finally saw the complexity of the design. Even with my inner vision, I would need time to learn how to tell the difference between the true gates and the false gates. There was also a lot of preliminary spinning to do. I finally figured out I had to turn the knob to the right past the first cam slot four complete turns to align all the true notches correctly. Then I had to pass the second true number three full turns to the left. Then two full turns to the right before the third true number.

After numerous trial-and-error attempts, I finally saw I was one half turn away from opening the lock. I shuddered and breathed a sigh of relief and made the last twist. With the apertures of all four cams finally aligned, the spring-loaded bolt slid and released with a very satisfying cha-ching!