by Mark Frost
She seemed amused. “You really don’t know much about girls, do you? Get some sleep, champ.”
Fat chance. After flopping around for half an hour, Will noticed that his tablet had turned on. He was certain he’d switched it off and laid it flat before he’d gone to bed. Now it was standing on its legs, pointed directly toward him with a message floating on-screen:
WOULD YOU LIKE TO BEGIN THE TUTORIAL NOW? (RECOMMENDED)
“I surrender,” said Will. He stumbled to the desk and sat down. “Yes, I’d like to take the tutorial.”
The screen dissolved into a curtain of bubbling effervescence that gave Will a strange visceral impression: It’s happy. A series of questions appeared, dissolving in and out at an increasingly rapid pace as Will responded:
WHAT IS YOUR HEIGHT? YOUR WEIGHT? YOUR BIRTHDAY? YOUR FAVORITE COLOR? YOUR FAVORITE SPORT?
When that ended, it asked him to put his hands on the screen, one at a time. A bright blue light issued from it each time. It instructed him to move his face six inches from the screen, hold still, and shut his eyes, and when he did he felt a symmetrical grid of intense light moving slowly across his features—
It’s mapping me.
One last message appeared: THIS DEVICE WILL BE ACTIVATED FOR YOUR SECURE AND PERSONAL USE. DO YOU STILL WISH TO PROCEED?
“Yes,” he said.
The screen dissolved to a deep, shimmering blue. A faint pulse began beating, creating rippling disturbances like pebbles dropped in a still pond. A tiny round pale dot appeared in the center. With each successive heartbeat, the dot grew in size. Then Will realized that the pulse on-screen was keeping pace with the beating of his own heart.
He couldn’t take his eyes off it; within minutes the spot grew to the size of a dime. Something about its rhythmic regularity relaxed his mind enough to finally let go. When his chin sagged onto his chest, he dragged himself to bed and instantly fell asleep.
A few hours later, he woke in sunlight. Will looked over and saw that the dot on-screen had continued growing while he was asleep. The pale shape that had formed overnight looked like the outline of a human body lying on its back, suspended in space. Vague, unfinished, but evolving.
That’s me. It’s growing my double.
After he’d showered and dressed, Will reached down to pick up the tablet and take it with him, but a harsh tone sounded and a warning appeared on-screen:
DO NOT ATTEMPT TO USE THIS DEVICE UNTIL ACTIVATION IS COMPLETE.
“The ancestor of every action … is a thought.”
Will jolted awake, instantly guilty. Thirty minutes into his first class with Dan McBride, the one teacher whose opinion of him mattered more to Will than any other, and he was fighting to keep his eyes open. He glanced around at the twenty other students in the amphitheater. No one seemed to notice his struggles.
“This is Emerson’s central idea,” said McBride at his lectern. “That everything starts in the mind. Everything you perceive, everything you create, everything you experience or believe … begins here. Inside of you.”
Will squirmed in his seat. A swampy mass swirled in his head. Sinister masked faces swam toward him as he struggled to stay awake.
A group that calls itself the Knights of Charlemagne. Named after the original Paladins from the Middle Ages. Members of a secret society within the school. Connected to the Black Caps and the Never-Was.
What’s their purpose? How long have they been here? It can’t just be coincidence that the Center’s mascot is a paladin, but how does this all fit together?
“You have to trust yourself,” said McBride. “Learn to trust your instincts when the world is telling you not to. ‘Trust your self beyond the reach of reason, or the opinions of others.’ That’s how Emerson insisted we live. Because your lives must first and foremost make sense to you.”
McBride’s words sounded as if they were meant just for him. One of Dad’s primary rules: #11: TRUST YOUR INSTINCTS.
That snapped Will back awake. He gazed over at Brooke, seated in the corner and watching McBride, listening intently. Looking so effortlessly beautiful it made Will’s chest ache. Then he felt a pair of eyes drill into him from behind.
Stop gawking. Show some restraint, you nimrod.
He turned and saw Elise staring at him. Busted. God, are my feelings so ridiculously transparent now?
Elise used her fingers to prop her eyes open, mocking him in his efforts to stay awake. He also noticed something else in Elise’s eyes—some unresolved pain behind the attitude—that made him feel like he was seeing her for the first time.
“Here’s what I believe Emerson wants us to do,” said McBride, moving away from the lectern, as sincere as if he were saying this for the first time. “He wants us to think for ourselves, without fear of ridicule or judgment. He wants us to make up our minds and ignore what the rest of the world is saying. Pay no attention to fads or fashions, and listen, always, to the voice of your innermost self. Learning who you are is your primary task. There are no mistakes in life, as far as Emerson’s concerned, only lessons. Once you master one lesson, you move on to the next. And the only place you can learn is right now. In the everlasting present.”
All we have is right now. McBride was really channeling Dad today. Will felt his spirits lift. When the class ended, McBride waved Will over to the lectern.
“Will, great to have you in class. Hope you didn’t have too much trouble staying awake.” McBride winked as he packed up his briefcase.
“Sorry, sir,” said Will. “Still adjusting to the time zone. Couldn’t sleep.”
“No worries. That reminds me, Dr. Robbins asked if you’ve connected with your parents. About your medical records and those additional tests.”
“Yes,” said Will, scrambling internally. “We spoke last night. They’ll mail them out right away. And they’re fine with more tests.”
“Splendid,” said McBride.
As they walked out together, Will decided to trust McBride with this question: “Sir, do you know anything about the … possible existence of any secret clubs or societies here at the school?”
McBride stopped in the hall, curious. “What prompted your asking, Will?”
“I heard a rumor. About some group called the Knights of Charlemagne.”
McBride nodded. “Well, I don’t recall one by that name specifically, but you could try the Archer Library. They keep an extensive archive on school history.”
“Thanks, that’s a good idea,” said Will.
“Check in over the weekend,” said McBride, putting a hand on his shoulder. “And try to catch up on your sleep.” McBride winked again. Will watched him hobble off, gamely battling his brittle knees.
Damn. Forgot all about the medical records. That was a problem. But there was one place he could look.
* * *
“Hey, Nando, Will. Is this a good time?”
“Hey, Wills, yeah, it’s good.”
Will was locked in his bathroom, whispering into his cell. “Got worried when I didn’t hear back from you yesterday. The Black Caps were headed your way.”
“I’m cool, my brotha. Me and Freddie gave ’em the slip. Made the run to Ojai last night. Back to the grind, doing my cab thang. Whassup?”
“They need some medical records for my dad and we think they’re at our house. Any chance you could swing by and pick ’em up if the coast is clear?”
“Happy to.”
“We’ve got a key stashed by the back door. Let’s get on the phone when you go in and I’ll tell you where to look.”
Will pictured their house in Ojai. It had been only three days since he’d been there, but it seemed like months ago already. That version of him—Will West 1.0—felt shockingly out of date.
“If you can receive it, I’ll figure a way to stream you some video,” said Nando.
“Great idea,” said Will. “I’ll work on that from my end, too.”
Will ended the call and went back to his bedroom to prepare for his la
st class of the day. The figure on his tablet had continued to grow, like a sculpture emerging from rock. Hair had appeared—the right color and length—and muscles gained definition with every passing second.
Another few hours and this little homunculus will be me.
Will moved the desk and opened the hiding place. As he set the phone inside, he noticed that the hole extended a few inches under the floor toward the wall. Will stuck his hand inside and probed around. He felt nothing until he turned his wrist to check under the floorboards and found an angular lump under a strip of duct tape. He eased the tape away and brought the object up into the light.
It was a small strip of silver metal, the length and about half the width of a domino. He replaced the floorboard and slid the desk into place. At that moment the black phone rang, startling him. He answered on the second ring.
“Will, it’s Dr. Robbins,” she said, crisp and efficient. “Mr. McBride tells me you got permission from your parents for the tests.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Excellent. Dr. Kujawa’s scheduled you for tomorrow morning. It’s Saturday, so you won’t miss any classes. Meet us at the medical center at eight o’clock?”
“I guess so, sure.”
“Good. We’ll see you then,” she said, and hung up.
Will didn’t know how he felt about that. He’d learned a lot from their first tests, but what would they reveal this time?
Heading out for his next class, Will stopped to knock on Ajay’s door. “Ajay, it’s Will.”
He heard locks thrown, the door opened a crack, and Ajay stuck his head out. “Yes, Will?”
Will held up the strip of metal. “Can you tell me what this is?” Ajay eyed it suspiciously. “Where did it come from?”
“I’ll tell you later. Just take a look and tell me what you find?”
“All right.” Ajay took the metal object. “Anything else?”
“I need a live two-way video link with a buddy in So Cal later,” said Will. “Can you handle that?”
“Does he have access to a phone with streaming video?”
“I’m sure he does,” said Will.
“Consider it done,” said Ajay, and started to close his door.
Will glanced over at Elise’s door and decided to play another—slightly more obscure—hunch. “So when did Elise hook up with Ronnie Murso last year?”
Ajay turned back, his eyes wide. “How did you know?”
“I think that’s why Elise is so sawed off at everybody all the time.”
“Very perceptive, old man,” said Ajay, impressed. “How’d you figure it out?”
“The way she reacted when we first talked about him,” said Will. “See you later.”
RULAN GEIST
For the second time since he’d arrived at the Center, Will had fallen into deep water in a classroom. Genetics—Tomorrow’s Science Today. Eighteen students wearing lab coats and goggles worked in two-person teams at stations on long benches.
Their instructor, Professor Rulan Geist, wore a lab coat that hung down to his black ankle boots, like a cowboy’s duster. He roamed the aisles as he talked them through the day’s procedure: gene splicing and DNA extraction from some creature called a nematode, which wasn’t a “toad” at all, Will learned, but a tiny primitive worm they were dissecting. Geist might as well have been speaking Iroquois.
Geist was tall and bulky, with long arms and big thick hands that he clutched behind his back or gestured with awkwardly. His deep, resonant voice had the hint of an accent. Maybe Scandinavian or Dutch. Geist was one ugly dude. He had dark circles under his eyes and rough bronzed skin, the lower half of which he tried to improve with a trim Van Dyke beard and mustache. The beard looked as if it would grow back, if he shaved, in less than an hour. Short, curly salt-and-pepper hair carved a sharp widow’s peak into his receding hairline like a dorsal fin. Bristly hairs sprang from his ears and bushy eyebrows like a row of corkscrews. A pair of heavy, square black glasses perched on the end of a ski-slope nose and magnified his dark liquid eyes when he looked down at you.
He stopped a few times to do that at Will’s station. Will gamely tried to pretend he was helping his partner, a serious redheaded girl named Allyson Rowe, who was polite enough not to rub Will’s face in how hopeless he was. Geist smiled kindly at Will each time, unconvinced but appreciative of his effort. The last time, he patted Will’s shoulder and leaned in to say, “Let’s speak after class.”
After the room emptied, Will and Geist sat down on tall stools. Smiling and friendly, Geist hooked his boots on the bottom rung and spread his hands on his knees. Patches of black coarse hair sprouted between the knuckles of his long thick fingers.
“Science is a foreign land for you, I think,” said Geist.
“Where they speak a different language,” said Will.
“Most assuredly. But it’s more than language. A different culture altogether. One that seems very strange to anyone who first sets foot in it.”
“That obvious, huh?”
“I don’t mean to be critical, Mr. West. I’ve seen your transcript. You were taking geometry, and you’ve had only a year of biology. No chemistry or algebra. That puts you far off our pace. I also noticed your father works as a researcher.”
“Yes, sir. Neurobiology.”
“And none of his interest in science rubbed off on you?”
“I didn’t even know what he did for a living until a few years ago.”
“So he never brings his work home or discusses it with you.”
“He never did,” said Will, then remembering to keep everything in the present tense, added, “He never talks about his work.”
“That’s surprising. Neurobiology is an adventurous discipline,” said Geist enthusiastically, “with high rates of discovery and thrilling themes. I’d have thought you might inherit some residual interest.”
“Maybe I have and don’t know it. Maybe it’s just a recessive gene.”
Geist laughed. “So you do know a little about our subject.”
Will held his fingers a millimeter apart.
“Well, I’m a firm believer that before you visit a new country, it’s very useful to have a look at a map. Let me draw one for you. Metaphorically speaking.”
Geist led him to a large blank whiteboard on the wall. Will felt grateful for Geist’s kindness in response to his cluelessness. As opposed to, say, Professor Sangren melting his face off in front of the whole class.
Geist picked up a stylus and flipped a switch on it. The brightness of the board intensified; light beamed out of the stylus.
“Genetics,” said Geist. “From the same root word as genesis, meaning ‘origin.’ The beginning of all things. The branch of science in which we study the role played in the development of living organisms by two factors: heredity and variation. Traits either inherited from biological predecessors—our parents and ancestors—or influenced by a multitude of factors in nature.”
“Nature versus nurture,” said Will.
“Exactly! The philosophical polarities that define our field.” Operating the stylus, Geist somehow made the words fate and nature appear on one side of the board and drew a circle around them.
“Over here,” he said, tapping the circle, “think of heredity as a form of destiny. What the Greeks liked to call fate. Everything that happens to us in life is predetermined, because the definitions of our character are set in advance by the limits of what’s in our individual genetic code. While over here is the other extreme …”
On the opposite side of the board, Geist stamped the word nurture, then added the words free will and circled them.
“… which argues that people have complete autonomy in how they develop. Embracing the idea that as unique creatures, each of us evolves into what we become in life because we choose to do so through the unfolding expression of our character, regardless, or in spite of, what’s written in our code. These two positions and everything in between, in the simplest terms, constit
ute our map.”
“I’m with you,” said Will.
“Good. Where do you suppose we’ll find objective, scientific truth?”
“Somewhere in the middle.”
“A fine answer.”
Geist used the stylus again and the center of the board opened like a window looking into a three-dimensional aquarium. A graphic of twin multicolored spirals of DNA strands twisting around each other spanned the length of the window. Around it appeared clusters of animated boxes, filled with letters and symbols pointing to different sections of the strands.
“The human genetic code,” said Geist. “The blueprint of life. It contains over twenty-four thousand individual genes and three billion chemical base pairs, each one capable of thirty thousand variations. All of which contribute to the existence and persistence of human life. Over seven billion humans alive today carry their version of what you see here, inside trillions of cells in their body. And all these blueprints are as unique as the stars in the sky. Now turn your mind to the difference between a map …”
The screen zoomed in and hovered over magnified sections of the double helix, as large, detailed, and dimensional as the surface of an alien planet.
“… and the territory it describes. And this territory, Will, is as dark and unknown to us as the Great Plains were to Lewis and Clark when they set off to find the Northwest Passage. As mysterious as space exploration was to my generation.
“Every generation finds its own frontier, and this one is yours, Will,” said Geist with an evangelist’s zeal. “It may well be the last frontier. Someone from your cohort, maybe even a person you know, will become the Magellan, Cortés, or Columbus of this world. They won’t be in search of a new trade route or commodities like spice or sugarcane. The possibilities of discovery here are infinitely more profound, because we can now say with certainty that somewhere on this map all the answers to the mystery of human existence—of creation itself—are waiting to be found.”
Images of plant and animal life, boundless varieties of both, flashed across the screen, around the twisting strands of DNA and four letters: A, T, C, and G. Will was mesmerized by the elegant spectacle.
