ARCHIE McLAUGHLIN was perched awkwardly on the fold-away camp chair, which was nestled neatly into the harsh sand of Grobust beach, located in Westray, the northernmost isle of Orkney. The wind was rippling the fabric of his grey suit, which he had paired with a plain-white shirt and a patterned tie with muted colours. This ensemble had been topped with a white puffer jacket, to protect from the cold bite of mid-March, and woolly gloves, one of which held his thermos of coffee while the other clutched the handle of his briefcase, sitting nicely on his lap. Archie had wished he was wearing his hat, as his ears were now bright red from the cold, but he had thrown it into the briefcase while leaving in a hurry, and he did not wish to subject the important contents within to the cruel wind of this Scottish Isle.
The sea was relatively calm, considering the area of the world, until it started to break from some unknown disturbance. Archie adjusted his glasses using the palm of his hand (unwilling to relinquish his firm grasp of the briefcase) and shook his head lightly as his tussled fringe of brown hair began to itch his forehead. There was no one else for miles, and only Archie knew what had bothered the sea. He rose, emptying the contents of his Thermos into the sand and reverting it to its folded state with a practiced flick of the wrist before placing it in the pocket of his puffer. With his now free hand, he grabbed the camping chair and folded it in a similar fashion, placing it under his arm. As Archie approached the oncoming waves, the hull of the H.M.S. Royal Thistle submarine finally breached the surface. A tired-looking sailor with a five o’clock shadow emerged from the hatch and welcomed Archie on board. The only trace that he was ever on the beach was the imprint left by the chair and his footsteps leading to the sea, all of which would soon be washed away by the incoming tide.
“Pleasure to see you again, sir.” It was Captain Cross who greeted Archie with his usual outstretched hand.
“And you, sir. As always, I appreciate your services.” Archie accepted the handshake, and they began to walk through the vessel. As they walked, the Captain towered over Archie, his own meagre build looking particularly weak next to the tall, stocky captain. A naval stalwart, he could have been considered a grizzled veteran if it weren’t for his clean-cut appearance and polite manner. He was unaware of the nature of Archie’s occupation and only knew him as a VIP. As such, he always addressed Archie as ‘sir.’ Of course, owing to the Captain’s position, Archie reciprocated the respect, and all of their conversations became a battle of courtesy.
“Dr. Kurosaki is already on board and waiting for you in her usual room, sir.” Captain Cross explained as they ducked through the circular doors of the oblong ship.
“I see. Thank you, sir. I’ll want to speak to her straight away.”
“Of course, sir. Then I’ll take you there right there.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The Captain bore left at the next junction, as seaman passed by holding papers, talking on radios, and just doing the general submarine things that you see in the movies. Archie had no more idea of what their jobs were than they did of his. Captain Cross was perfect for the role of glorified chauffeur; never one to disobey an order or ask questions, he simply did what he was told, and kept quiet about it. The duo came upon another crossroads where the Captain stopped.
“I believe you know the way from here, sir.” The Captain said, with an open hand, welcoming Archie to continue alone.
“Of course, sir.”
“You’ll be welcome in the officer’s quarter when you’re done with your discussion, sir.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Archie came upon the desired room and gave the usual code – two knocks and a pause, then a third knock – before entering. Dr. Kurosaki was walking through the room and rummaging through papers in her usual frantic fashion, pausing only briefly as Archie entered.
“Mac! Do come in.” She beckoned as she cleared a space on her desk. Archie initially objected to the nickname ‘Mac,’ especially as his surname began ‘Mc’ and not ‘Mac,’ but the name ‘Archie’ proved difficult for the Kyoto native, so he stopped complaining. Archie walked over to the desk and placed his briefcase on it, allowing him to finally remove his coat and gloves and breathe a small sigh of relief.
“So,” Dr. Kurosaki began, “what do you have for me?”
Dr. Kurosaki gained a Phd in astrophysics from the University of Tokyo before moving to Geneva to lead a project at CERN. She was, by far and away, the smartest person that Archie knew, and Archie knew a lot of smart people. They worked together at an organisation called the ICPEE (an acronym which everyone involved hated, except for Wu, who took great delight in it). It stood for the ‘International Centre for the Prevention of Extinction Events.’ Experts of various fields from around the world came together to analyse data and make recommendations to world powers in order to keep the human race alive – an objective that the human race itself seemed determined to undermine at every opportunity. The organisation was top-secret, existing outside the EU, UN, NATO, or indeed any other known international conglomerate. All the experts were part-time, as they had to maintain full-time positions in the ‘real world’ to help maintain the secrecy of the operation.
Archie had a mathematics post-grad from the University of Strathclyde in Glasgow before he moved to Aberdeen to work in the university’s Institute of Pure and Applied Mathematics. Whilst the majority of members of the ICPEE were recruited for their professional accolades, Archie, whilst very intelligent, was not a leader in his professional field. Instead, Archie was recruited for his hobby, a branch of science as yet unrecognised by the world at large: the science of correlation.
Many people believed that there was a difference between correlation and causation, and for all intents and purposes they were correct. Just because two unrelated phenomena occurred in a seemingly related way, it did not mean there was a direct connection between the two. Where Archie’s science of correlation differed was that, however indirect, a connection could always be made where patterns seemed to exist. Some just had more complicated maths than others. A common example, often cited, was the Superbowl Stock Market Shuffle; where a sports reporter said, in jest, that the winner of the Superbowl could predict the rise (or fall) of the US stock market for that coming year. After making the joke prediction, he was proven correct every year for the next twelve years. To this day, you can use his prediction with an accuracy rate of seventy-three percent. To the common man, these two phenomena are clearly unrelated, but Archie was not a common man, and he had done the maths.
Archie opened the biometric lock on his briefcase with his thumbprint and popped open both clasps with satisfying synchronicity. Dr. Kurosaki leaned in close and they both crouched over the desk as Archie spread the papers around the desk.
“Wait, first things first,” Dr. Kurosaki held out a hand. Archie nodded in recognition, and from the pocket stitched into the briefcase he removed a parcel of his homemade tablet and placed it into the waiting hand of the Doctor. She removed the packaging impatiently and broke off a small piece, eating it with a satisfied sigh. “I love you.”
“I like you as a friend,” Archie replied, deadpan.
“Hilarious. Now run me through it,” Dr. Kurosaki said, motioning to the laid-out papers and putting the rest of the tablet into her coat pocket.
“So, as you know, I’ve been reverse engineering a doomsday scenario involving an all-out nuclear war,” Archie began.
“Of course, standard Tuesday afternoon stuff, Mac,” offered Dr. Kurosaki.
“Well, I’ve found a path of causation that has a likelihood of 0.002%.”
“Negligible. Hardly worth our time,” said Dr. Kurosaki, confused.
“Yes, but where it gets worrisome is that it begins here,” Archie pointed with his finger at a differential equation on one of the pages, “and if a certain event were to transpire, then the probability of this causation path would rise to 12.4%,” Archie looked up at Dr. Kurosaki as he finished explaining. She was no longer looking at the paper, she met Archie’s eyes with deadly seriousness, her brows furrowed between the short bangs of her black hair, betraying the carelessness of her high, manic ponytail on top of her head. She was about the same height as Archie, as they were both short, but she had a far more muscular build than he and could cast a menacing figure when the moment called for it. The room was silent save for the beeps and whoops that came from the various control rooms of the submarine. After locking eyes for long enough, Dr. Kurosaki was sufficiently satisfied that Archie was not kidding. She returned her gaze to the papers before her.
“Are you sure of the maths?” She asked.
“As much as I can be. I’ve double-checked them, and I had a colleague check over them as well.” Archie felt the beginning of panic emanating from Dr. Kurosaki and decided to elaborate before she had to ask the question, “I removed everything classified first, of course. He thought it was a puzzle for some magazine competition.” Archie could see Dr. Kurosaki’s shoulders relax at his explanation.
“Okay… so let’s assume the worst, and we’ll start to make plans if the probability rises,” Dr. Kurosaki explained matter-of-factly. “The usual protocol.”
“It’s not as simple as that. If we wait till this event transpires, then by all calculations, it will be too late to stop the causation path. 12.4% is far too high a risk. We need to act now,” Archie said sternly.
“Fucking hell,” was all Dr. Kurosaki could manage at first, “what is this supposed doomsday event anyway?”
“Well, Scotland plays England in a Euro cup qualifier in two days’ time. If Scotland win, the effects may be irreversible,” Archie explained. Dr. Kurosaki looked up from the papers, and both she and Archie stood straight and faced each other, now ignoring the equations on the desk that were seemingly a harbinger for the end of days.
“We’ll take this to the team when we arrive. In the meantime, we’ll just have to hope for an England victory.”
“I’m sorry, Doctor, but even if the fate of the world is at stake, I simply cannot support the English.”
Leave a Reply