Reaching into a pocket for his key ring, he selected a small brass key and fitted it to the lower left drawer of his desk. He unlocked the drawer, then opened it, revealing a dozen hanging files. He let his fingertips drift over them until he reached the last. Inside was a single tabbed folder, unlabeled and brown with age. He removed it, placed it on his desk, and let it fall open.
Within was an envelope, also unlabeled. It was closed with dark red wax that had been impressed with the Lux seal.
Olafson picked up the envelope. Then he glanced at Logan once again. The man looked back at him, his expression now blank and unreadable. Finally, taking a deep breath, Olafson slid one finger along the back of the envelope, breaking the seal.
Within was a single piece of light blue paper containing three numbers: 42, 17, and 54.
Now Olafson swiveled his chair around so that he faced the back wall of the office. Below the abstract expressionist paintings, a smaller, framed photograph hung on the dark wood: a formal portrait of the first director and all the Fellows, dating from 1892 — the year Lux was formally named. Olafson grasped the right edge of the frame and pulled gently. It swung away from the wall, hinged along the left side rather than hung from a wire.
Behind lay the combination dial of a small Group 2–style safe.
Holding the piece of blue paper in his left hand, Olafson grasped the dial with his right. He gave it several spins to the left, then slowed, making sure to stop when the crow’s foot was precisely at 42. Next, he turned the dial to the right, making two complete revolutions before stopping at 17. Then, turning the dial to the left once again, he made another complete revolution before stopping at 54. Finally, he turned the dial gently to the right until he felt the bolt retract. Releasing the dial and grasping the adjoining lever, he opened the safe.
Inside the small cavity beyond lay a thin dossier, one envelope placed atop it. Olafson lifted them gingerly out and placed them on his desk. Both were sealed in the same red wax.
Silently, Logan came around the desk until he was hovering at Olafson’s shoulder.
Now Olafson picked up the dossier, broke the seal, and looked inside. He saw a list of names; a few diagrams and photographs; a memorandum of some kind. Placing it back on the desk, he reached for the envelope, on which was written, in a bold hand: HIGHLY SECRET AND CONFIDENTIAL — TO BE OPENED ONLY BY THE DIRECTOR OF LUX IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 2035.
He broke the seal and removed the single sheet within, then held it up so that Logan could read it as well.
Newport, Rhode Island
December 30, 1935
To the Director of Lux, 2035:
You are no doubt aware of the circumstances under which this letter, and the attached précis and other assorted documentation, are being placed under lock and key. You are also undoubtedly aware at least in bold strokes of the research that has prompted such action, and which has of this date been abandoned.
Those few here at Lux who knew of it had high hopes for Project Synesthesia. As the work matured, however, it became increasingly clear that there was no certain way to divorce the beneficial effects of the project from the potentially destructive. In the wrong hands, this technology could prove uniquely devastating. I have thus, with no small amount of regret, determined that it cannot now continue.
The benefits, however, are so intriguing that I have not ordered the destruction of all work to this point. Instead, if you are reading this letter, one century has passed since its writing. No doubt human science has advanced to a great degree. It is your task, therefore, to examine the details of Project Synesthesia and make a determination whether it can be brought to conclusion in such a way that no potential harm could befall the human race.
This letter, and the documents that accompany it, do not detail the project or its aims; the extensive records held in the West Wing laboratory itself contain all relevant data. Rather, it provides a degree of background information and explains how the laboratory itself is to be accessed.
It is now your job to choose — and choose very carefully — four members of the board to assist you. Preferably, they should come from a variety of scientific, philosophic, and psychological backgrounds. You as a group are to study the records stored in the laboratory, examine the research that has been accomplished so far, consider the current state of technology as it exists in your own time, and then convene — in secret — to discuss and, ultimately, vote upon whether the work should be taken up again. In the event of a deadlock, you yourself are to act as tiebreaker.
If your decision should be in the negative, I strongly recommend that all records, materials, equipment, and anything else related to the project be immediately and thoroughly destroyed.
I wish you good luck and Godspeed on this most vital of tasks.
Sincerely yours,
Charles R. Ransom II
Director
Lux
39
It was half past two in the afternoon when a quiet knock sounded on Logan’s door.
He glanced up from his desk. “Come in.”
The door opened and Kim Mykolos stepped in. She had a satchel slung over one shoulder and was holding a plate covered by a linen napkin.
“I didn’t see you at lunch, so I thought I’d bring you a sandwich,” she said, putting the plate on his desk. “Roast chicken with avocado, peach chutney, and watercress. I had one myself — they’re not bad.”
Logan sat back and rubbed his eyes. “Thank you.”
She slipped into a nearby chair and regarded him intently for a moment. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I was. About Pamela, I mean.”
Logan nodded.
“You know, I felt bad, talking the way I did to you about her. Now I feel even worse.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
They sat in silence for a minute.
“Have you heard anything?” she asked a little awkwardly. “About the fire, I mean?”
“Preliminary investigation is ruling it an accident. Faulty electrical wiring, overloaded fuse box. Supposedly.”
“You sound skeptical.”
“I am. I was there. I’ve never seen a fire rage like that one did.” He swallowed. “She never had a chance.”
The talk died away again. Outside, Logan could hear hammering, the whine of a band saw. Work was already under way to prepare the mansion for Hurricane Barbara. In a matter of hours it had strengthened to a Category 2 hurricane off the Delmarva Peninsula and, if it kept racing along its current track, was forecast to make landfall somewhere along the southern New England coast late that evening. Lux was already putting together evacuation plans.
“What are you working on?” Kim asked, gesturing at the papers that littered his desk.
“Something I’ve been meaning to tell you about.” Briefly, he described Olafson’s secret safe, the hundred-year freeze, how he’d successfully convinced Olafson to give him the documents. As he spoke, the expression on Kim Mykolos’s face — which had been an odd mixture of regret and embarrassment — slowly changed to intense interest.
“What a break,” she said when he finished. “What have you discovered?”
“Not as much as I’d like. Unfortunately, the documents in the safe don’t go into any detail about the nature of the work. The assumption was that, in 2035, the director would be able to peruse the reams of paperwork in the secret lab — paperwork we now know to have been deliberately removed.”