Strange Case of the New Golden Gate: The Presser

I stood with the Bay Area’s greatest detective beneath a blazing sun in the middle of the dam that held the freshwater reservoir north of San Jose. The Reber Building, monumental headquarters of Alta Bay City Development, rose above us. In its shadow, a scrum of reporters had gathered to hear the ABCD’s chief executive Stella Pajunas make a rare announcement.

This was the same woman who, two days prior, had vanished in a blink on the sidewalk where we stood, then reappeared, a day later, in the same spot. Who strenuously denied that anything had happened. Who was powerful enough, political enough, that reality had bent to match her opinion.

Arbusto Slab, the ABCD’s security chief, stood alongside the detective Annabel Scheme at the back of the scrum.

“She’s been acting fishy,” Slab said. “This whole thing” — he gestured to the reporters — “got put together in two days. She talked the board into it. I don’t have any traction, Scheme. Sorry

to say it, but this case is closed.”

Stella Pajunas stepped up to the podium.

“In the history of any community, there are turning points. I think of the founding of Google, not far from here, and Apple before it. I think of the visionary Reber Plan, all the vibrant new cities it created on the bay. I think of the earthquake and fire of 1906. I think of the Spanish ship San Carlos, sailing for the first time through the Golden Gate.”

The reporters were all dozing. Scheme’s gaze was fixed on Pajunas like a laser.

“Today marks another turning point. Science is critically important to the Bay Area, and government has often accelerated its progress at critical moments. Today, the ABCD is investing —”

I didn’t hear the number she said next, because I temporarily blacked out. It earned a wave of gasps from the scrum of reporters. It was a very large amount of money.

“— dollars into the rapid development of the world’s first quantum alignment station,” Pajunas continued. “Just as that Spanish ship encountered a new world on the other side of the Golden Gate, quantum alignment is going to reveal new worlds hiding in plain sight.”

A wizened old man tottered onto the stage, and Pajunas introduced him as the world’s leading theorist of quantum alignment, Cal’s own Dr. Sven Gatua.

When I’d overheard Lois and Chander in my dream, in that other world, they had said that name. They said they’d recruited Dr. Gatua alongside Stella Pajunas.

“Don’t you see, Will?” Scheme hissed. “They’re just DOING it. Nothing in secret. They’re building the machine or part of it. Maybe they need one in every world.”

On stage, Dr. Gatua’s face shone with 60 years’ worth of vindication. He was explaining how many scientists and engineers they would gather — thousands — and how fast they would work — very — but the reporters were still buzzing about the number of dollars, which was on the scale of the Manhattan Project. It was nation-state money.

“Thank you, Dr. Gatua,” Stella Pajunas said. “The Bay Area is a special place with a special history. Together, we will make history again. We’re calling this project the New Golden Gate.”

The scrum exploded, the reporters scrambling to clarify if the number of dollars had 10 or 12 zeroes, and Scheme turned away.

We drove back to Rotten City, Scheme’s electric pickup traveling just below the speed limit, which meant she was very depressed. I’d been thinking about it, and I wasn’t sure why this “best of all possible Bay Areas” was so bad. Maybe it would be great. Maybe it would be beautiful and prosperous and fair …

“No, Will,” Scheme said. I looked over, and her eyes were glistening. “They’ve got it all wrong.”

Peralta City flashed by on the right, its pachinko parlors ablaze with neon.

“They’re going to kill it,” Scheme said. Now her voice was hard. “This amazing, awful place of ours, and every other amazing, awful place it might have been … they’re going to flatten them into nothing.” She wiped her nose with her sleeve. “But I know how to stop them.”

Had Scheme suddenly become an expert in quantum alignment and/or industrial sabotage?

“No. But if they want to turn it all into one thing, then we can fight them with …” She searched for the right word. “With specificity. We paved the bay. Maybe that’s gross. Maybe it was a mistake. I don’t know. But we paved it, Will, and 3 million people live there now.”

We cruised through Moletown. On the right, Scheme’s pickup was reflected in the long, mirrored headquarters of Dragoman, the company that had perfected universal language translation. There was a Dragoman chip in every phone on the planet. Did Lois’ world have a Dragoman?

“So, we fight them out here,” Scheme said. “Not from Berkeley, not from San Jose. We fight them here on the bay.”

She pushed the pickup faster now, ticking up above the speed limit. Directly ahead was the towering bulk of the Yerba Buena Zone, the bright bustling center of the bay we’d paved.

“What was his name? The man. The inventor.”

The gaunt genius of Bay One? Vacal Chander.

“Right. We’re going to find our own Chander. Someone who can build … I don’t know what. A shield. A monkey wrench. Something! If our city didn’t produce anyone as smart as him, maybe we don’t deserve to exist. But it did, Will. You know it did!”

This case was closed, according to our client Arbusto Slab. We were on ourownnow.

Scheme accelerated.