Through the Middle Distance

Part 1: Entanglement

The first time he proposed, they were visiting the Key West butterfly conservancy. Malcolm and Diomedea had navigated the challenges of meeting online and developing a relationship across 5,000 miles, but the final step was too much distance to cover.

Even before he asked, she had said no with clear, bright eyes. When she did speak, her voice was soft and cool, "Malcolm, I'm just not where you are."

By the time Malcolm was back in Boston, Diomedea was back in French Polynesia. At his doorstep in Melrose, his shoes came to rest against a styrofoam cooler, wrapped in scarlet paper. Above him, a drone sailed into the distance, humming a middle C.

Malcolm made his living at the BrumeTree, peering through high definition screens at subatomic particles. Diomedea’s life defied definition – open horizons and currents of air, the mystery of waves. While Malcolm plugged through gridlock to enter cinder block hallways, Diomedea buzzed through the archipelagos of the South Pacific, tending to her family's black pearl trade.

"I am planning to head out next week," Malcolm began. " I have more time now that this project asymptotically nears completion. I mean, we always have the same amount of time, but I will have more time off work to spend with you."

"That would be great." She turned her head to the breeze.

He paused, looking under his desk at the mystery package. "Hold on. I want to show you something." He tucked the phone into his breast pocket, camera side out. He cleared away the semiconductors and schematics to make room for his surprise.

"Is that what I think it is?" Her voice breathed against his chest.

"I have no way of knowing what you are thinking," Malcolm replied.

Part 2: Interference

Malcolm pulled his roll-on to security at Logan International, the weight in his backpack making his spine ache.

Everyone knew the rules and kept moving without making eye contact, but there was always one person who seemed like they had just arrived at a high school reunion.

"Hey, can you tell me the deal with carry-on liquids?" came the boyish voice from behind.

Malcolm just pointed to the sign in front of them. His backpack shifted and a small mew broke the silence.

"Are you traveling with a pet? I think they need to be registered with the officer over there."

Malcolm stepped out of the snaking line of passengers, resigning himself to a position behind a troubled octogenarian. A second agent appeared and waved him over. A few papers were exchanged, his ID checked, and he was escorted to the far side of security.

During boarding, a flight attendant greeted him as he stepped over the threshold. Her badge revealed her name, “Alala.” To each passenger, she offered words of welcome from the vast history of Hawaiian hospitality. To Malcolm, she said, "Here I am, here you are."

Malcolm secured the pack near his feet along the window seat. He was just beginning to doze through the safety instructions when he heard the voice again. "Is this seat empty? Oh thank the Lord!”

“I’m Chris, Chris Stone. Not to be confused with Chris Rock. Not that I've seen any of his movies. The language! I did watch that one where he plays a Marshall on a plane, or wait, that was Samuel L. Jackson. Also cusses a lot."

Chris Stone made sure his seat was in the full, upright position for takeoff and that his belt was positioned low across his waist. He fiddled with the printed safety instructions located in the pocket in front of him before continuing. “I see you've got your special cargo along with you for safekeeping, right? Fluffy? Fifi? Figaro?'

All through the taxi and take-off, Chris Stone made painfully inane pleasantries. By the time they banked away from the harbor, Malcolm had reluctantly divulged his own name. Somewhere over the plains, the topic turned to family,

"My grandfather was recruited for the Manhattan Project!” claimed Mr. Stone. “He helped a company near Scranton invent stainless steel! Folks at Los Alamos had to figure out a way to transport uranium– uranium! Can you imagine getting on a passenger plane with radioactive materials??"

Stone’s eyes were fixed Malcolm, unblinking."What about your grandparents? Any nuclear scientists?"

Malcolm, desperate to give his ears a rest, explained that his father's parents operated a dairy farm in Vermont.

"And your mother's parents? What did they do?"

"They ran a nursery in Exeter that sold Christmas trees."

"Ooh, did they give it a cool name? Christmas tree farms always have such great names!''

Malcolm had never encountered someone who conveyed so many exclamation points when speaking. Interjections and questions, like an upbeat version of The Riddler.

" 'Poyer's Pines"," Malcolm said.

Chris echoed, "'Poyer. Hmm. I know that name!"

Malcolm turned to the window, feigning sleep. Mr. Stone continued, unabated. “I'll let you know when we're flying over Denver. I can point out the bunkers they constructed for the Illuminati. Not much gets past me!”

Malcolm pressed the call button. When Alala arrived, he spoke up, "Headphones, please. If you still carry those."

Alala glanced at the giddy riddler and replied, "They are always in season.”

Malcolm glanced at the pack near his feet. Unlike his seatmate, it had remained silent and motionless since he left Logan.

Once Stone had deplaned in Los Angeles, time began to lose consistency. In a matter of hours, he would awake in the darkness of the islands, then board a smaller plane to Pago Pago. Each connecting flight led to a smaller plane and another leap across the distance to American Samoa. It was the lack of sleep, surely, the long trip that was shaping his thoughts like matryoshka dolls. He tried not to picture the plane itself as a box, himself trapped inside, his journey as a tiny boson of life in the vastness. We slept fitfully and woke again to the pilot instructing the passengers to prepare for landing. He was not prepared, could not be prepared, for what might happen next.

Part 3: The Uncertainty Principle

The agents at customs went through the appearance of checking his carry on and poking into his backpack. It had been 37 hours since the initial security checkpoint in Boston. Once again he showed them his papers and was waved through. He sent a quick text to Diomedea to let her know he had landed. His stomach was in knots. He looked longingly at a couple of kids stretched out on the floor asleep against their duffle bags.

His phone chimed. The text read, "My brother will meet you at baggage claim," but it was from an unlisted number. He turned to join the stream of feet moving in the direction of the carousel. He felt like a zombie, shuffling through his moody thoughts, pondering this latest twist.

"Mr Malcolm?" Asked a man with tea-brown skin steeping in the shadows. He was as broad as Diomedea was slender, as tall and imposing as she was slight. He moved in Malcolm's direction. Malcolm understood now why they called this motion lumbering. It was as if the General Sherman had uprooted itself and decided to shift positions.

"Yes, I am Malcolm. You must be Diomedea's brother?"

His voice boomed. "No one believes me and Dee are twins. Fraternal of course. I'm Diomedes. Friends call me Dom." Dom's voice was resonant, like a double bass. "I suppose you are wondering about my sister. I'll tell you when we get to the car. This way."

Dom's car matched his build – an all-black Escalade with tinted windows and spinners on the wheels. "Dee's been detained. In Samoa." He spoke the name of the country with the native accent on the first syllable; more French, less Girl Scout. Malcolm still looked confused.

"You forget we are now in American Samoa. Dee was searching out a better market for our Tahitian pearls."

"Detained, like arrested?" Malcolm's nerves were starting to thin. "I got a text from her but it wasn't her number."

"They probably confiscated her phone, but Dee is resourceful. I think it may be best to limit contact for now." Dom guided the Escalade up switchbacks away from the port. "We will make our way to A'oloau tonight. My brother has a house up there. Tomorrow, we make our way to Apia from Massacre Bay."

Malcolm's voice cracked, 'Where?"

"You nervous Americans. Too many spy movies. You'll feel better after a shower and some sleep." Dom laughed low and hidden, like distant thunder.

In less than an hour, they had arrived at a nondescript cottage in the mountains, beyond the end of the public road. Grateful to step onto land, Malcolm held his backpack close. He could just make out where the western shore of the island met the Pacific. The wind picked up and then rain began to pour. He found himself staring into the middle distance, waiting for his fear to thaw.

Part 4: Decoherence

Slipping down the hillside on muddy paths in the predawn light, his hands clutched around his pack like a new mother, Malcolm was thinking this would be the worst part of his day. But after Dom had uncovered the Boothwyn, an aging Sundancer moored in the remote bay, then launched into the open ocean, the swells of the Pacific brought Malcolm to the end of himself. Stomach emptied, head throbbing, throat parched, he surrendered all hopes of clinging to self-respect and crawled into a fetal position along the windward side of the motorboat.

Dom was master at the helm, enjoying the salty breeze in a t-shirt and shorts, his sunglasses unphased by the constant rise and slap of the boat's forward keel. "My sister tells me you're some kind of computer guru. Says you have been developing new tech?'

Malcolm looked all the part of a castaway. He tried to swallow, managed to mumble into his emotional support bag, the two words,"Quantum computing."

Dom continued, "You mean like those crazy chandelier things with the crystals? I've seen pictures, but I don't get it. Dee says it's quite lucrative."

Malcolm breathed in shallow gulps of air. "It will someday, but not yet."

Dom laughed, then grew pensive. "Sounds like that suit who sold us his timeshare company.”

"How long to Apia?" Malcolm managed to ask.

"It's less than an hour."

"But a different day?"

"Yes. One hour west and already the first of October.”

His journey across the international dateline was a blur of spray and bright sky. When they arrived at Apia, he waited helplessly in the Sundancer, clutching his backpack, clothes soaked with sweat and neck burning. Dom stepped onto the pier between raised pylons, phone already dialing the government offices. After a few minutes on hold, Malcolm could hear him inquire after his sister.

"She's not there," Dom said, ending the call. "Left early this morning – tomorrow. We need to wait here for questioning. An official is on his way.*

"Perhaps we could get away before he arrives, " Malcolm suggested, straining at hope.

"No dice. He's already on his way. Shit, there's his boat now."

Malcolm turned to see a coastguard cruiser with the stars of the Southern Cross piercing through the blue canton of a red flag. Chris Stone was standing at the helm, the profile of Diomedea hiding in the shadows of the bow.

Mr Stone pulled alongside their boat, spouting interjections. "Wow. Classy ride, Dom! And my friend Malcolm Marcus, too! I think it's time we put our heads together and take a look in that bag!”

Stone held out his hand and Malcolm slowly answered the invitation. When Stone called Dee's name, she handed Stone a photo, her other hand catching on handcuffs tied to the railing.

Stone knelt to the deck, unzipping the pack and setting the photo nearby. It was an enlarged image of a scrap of paper on a cluttered desk – Malcolm's cubicle back in Boston. Stone retrieved a phone from his back pocket, holding it out for Diomedea to register her facial recognition.

"Thank you for providing Dee with the clues to your security questions. All I had to find out was your mother's maiden name, which you gave me on the flight. Now, let's see what Dr. Shroedinger brought us," Stone said, pulling what looked like a large lunch box out of the bag.

Across the top of the styrofoam box was a particolored label, sea blue and lobster red: A face framed by a yellow hat and raincoat claimed, "It's Wicked Pissah!* Stone removed the tin lid, revealing a Maine two-pounder, suspended in a flash-frozen bag. Stone picked up the lobster and set it aside. He brushed aside several small pockets of lemon juice and two freezer packs. Beneath the shallow trough was a large nautilus shell, flush with the styrofoam base. Stone attempted to pull the nautilus out with his fingers, then turned to Dee’s phone, narrating his thoughts.

“Alive or dead? Hard to tell with a lobster. What I'm really wondering is why this false bottom is so hard to access. Good thing Dom and I met all those years ago in Uncle Sam's cryptography school. What do we have here? Some kind of a voice-activated cypher.”

“Let's start with number one, 'city no T' which I'm guessing is Boston, the point of departure, hence BOSON at position 1." He types letters into the screen, and the phone chimes.

"Now things get tricky – 'Navy Cross' that would bring us off the coast to the quarantine ships that landed Grandpa Poyer his medal. Your mother must have been so proud!" He typed in POYER and heard another chime.

"Now, the final clue. Dom, you always were better at these things than everyone else in school, except yours truly. Any ideas what the word 'crate' might suggest?”

As Stone finished his sentence, a striped snake, black and white, fell to the deck at Stone's feet. He jumped back, dropping the package. No one else moved – Dee was cuffed to the railing along the bow, Dom stared across the gap from the speed boat. The snake, likewise, lay unmoving.

"My God, you scared me. A rubber snake? A sea krait? You are so clever!" Stone kicked the snake toward Malcolm, but it turned, flashing back on Stone's leg. "What the hell??!! It just bit me!"

"They're cold-blooded, smart-ass," explained Dom. "You just kicked a live snake."

"Get me to the hospital"

Malcolm spoke up. "Let her go. Dom will take you if you let Dee go."

Stone unlocked the cuff around Diomedea's wrist, then jumped on board the Boothwyn. Dom rolled his eyes and sighed, "Come on, you big baby. I haven't seen you this upset since the Bitcoin bust.” Dom turned over the motor, then cast off from the pier and headed toward the main harbor, waving back at his sister and the American.

Malcolm flipped the sea krait overboard with the lid of the cooler, then embraced Diomedea and said, "I did it, just like you told me."

“What do you mean?”

Malcolm paused, coming to a realization. He might be slow and cautious, but not a complete failure. He pressed his index finger into the center of the nautilus shell, then lifted off the top half, carefully cradling a tiny brown ball of fur.

Diomedea wrinkled her nose. "Is that an echidna? Where are the crystals, Malcolm?"

Malcolm looked crestfallen, he gently stroked the creature in his hand. "It's a hedgehog. They are notably cute. I named her Pearl."

He set Pearl in the shell and reached past the lobster for two small sleeves of ice. "Here are the crystals. More than enough for a thousand quantum units."

"Thank you, darling," Diomedea called, casting a line to the pier and pulling up to the dock. She leaned to kiss him, then tossed her head to the side, fishing for something around his back. "You really are adorkable."

When she stepped onto the dock, Malcolm tried and failed to return the farewell. He was cuffed to the boat.

Part 5: Nonlocality

He sat down on the sunny deck, staring at his thawing lobster. The hedgehog had begun to breathe and unfurl itself, revealing a diamond ring in its tiny paws.

Malcolm heard steps on the pier, a voice calling, "Here I am. Here you are."

He turned to see Alala. "You have managed to surprise me, Mr. Marcus. This is a sorry crime scene: a limp lobster and a hedgehog doing that thing where they try to cool off…"

"Splooting, " said Malcolm wearily.

"Right. Let's get you cleaned up. We can meet up with Dom at the ferry.”

“Dom? I thought all this time that the package came from Diomedea, then I thought maybe it was you.”

"Dom just wanted to make sure Stone and Dee were out of the way. They are quite the couple. Dom will invest in your tech."

“And what did you want?”

"I’m just here for the lobster.