by Wendy Devore
“Do you want me to get started on the analysis?” I mumbled unenthusiastically as I dropped carefully into the chair at the third workstation.
The lab door clicked open, and Andrew strode in carrying a thumb drive, which he handed to Amir.
“Amir will start on the new data, but what I really want is some hands-on results. Let’s just get you in there and see if you can elicit an intentional exit. Just do whatever you did in the dream.”
I stared at him with wide eyes, and my heart lurched against my rib cage. Did he expect me to exit the slice by accepting the reality that I was his dead wife? I blinked hard, reminding myself that there was no way he could know what I’d dreamed. My head still felt thick and my stomach still vaguely queasy, and I had just recovered from a monumental migraine. More pressing physical concerns supplanted my psychological trauma. What if the slice caused the migraine to come roaring back? What if the anti-nausea didn’t work?
“Can’t we at least wait until…later?” I begged, casting a worried glance toward the Bugs perched menacingly on the conference table.
“Fortune favors the brave, Kathryn. Catch.”
The bottle of anti-nausea pills whizzed though the air, and I lurched out of my chair to catch it. Resigned, I shuffled toward the rack of medical devices and plopped down in the leather seat.
Andrew fished out the EEG electrode cap, wired me up, and positioned my Bug. Then he sat beside me and positioned his own set of electrodes.
“You’re coming too?” I asked, trying to stifle my alarm. He was sitting too close to me; what if his mere presence provoked another flashback?
“I’ll be here as a reference. We’ll shoot for a near slice. You should try to return before it collapses. If you get back before I do, we’ll know it worked.”
The Bug’s manic humming interrupted any further protests.
The hangover made the device’s burrowing probe even more excruciating than usual, so I was relieved when I opened my eyes to find the horrid device had vanished.
“You know,” I groaned, massaging my hand. “You could have built that thing so that it hurt less.”
Andrew looked at me for a moment, then his face registered the tiniest hint of amusement. “The original prototype burrowed into the spinal cord at the base of the neck,” he said. “Trust me, it hurts less.”
I suppressed a shudder and glanced around at the nearly identical lab. Another slight wave of dizziness engulfed me, followed by the unnerving feeling that this had all happened before. I squeezed my eyes shut and swallowed hard.
“I think experiencing two different realities is messing with my head,” I mumbled. The sensation passed and I opened my eyes. “Does this bizarre feeling of déjà vu ever go away?”
Andrew lounged sedately in the overstuffed leather office chair I’d come to think of as the first-class airline seats to an alternate universe. He didn’t seem at all concerned. “Studies show that memory is not an accurate representation of reality. Memory is adaptive and flexible, designed to reshape itself to accommodate new situations. You’re just experiencing a little bit of cognitive dissonance. The brain has strategies to handle contradictions; with a little practice, you’ll find that blending your knowledge of realities becomes quite easy.”
I was perfectly familiar with the idea of neuroplasticity and current research on memory consolidation. But understanding the science and personally experiencing these realities was a whole different matter. I wondered if holding dozens of conflicting realities in my head might actually drive me clinically insane.
Andrew tapped the table impatiently. “Well, you’d best get to it. Poof yourself out of here.”
I cast a withering glance his way, then considered my surroundings. The hard concrete floor didn’t look like an appealing place to break out a full lotus position. With few other options, I opted to remain in the cushy leather chair. I closed my eyes, relaxed my hands in my lap, and began to breathe.
I was concentrating deeply on my breath when I noticed the rhythmic thumping. I opened my eyes; Andrew sat staring at me, both toes tapping restlessly. I frowned in the most disapproving manner I could muster.
“Do you mind? I’m trying to concentrate here.”
“Oh. Sorry,” he replied sheepishly. “I’m not used to sitting idly by and waiting.”
I scowled and tried to focus. As my concentration turned inward, I began to feel lighter. My breath calmed and my muscles turned slack. As my mind relaxed and focused, my conscious thoughts moved to the background. I thought, I will not be here. I will not be here.
Then, in a forceful voice, I stated, “I WILL NOT BE HERE!”
When I opened my eyes, Andrew was still sitting on the cushy leather chair. “You’re still here,” he said, eyeing me quizzically.
“Really?” I replied, dismayed. “Are you sure I’m still in the slice?”
“Yep. I’ve been watching you this whole time. You’re still here.”
“Damn,” I spat. “I was really hoping that would work.”
“That’s how you do it? In the dreams?”
“Not exactly. I never have to work for it. You know, if it’s bad—and it usually is—I can get out fast. Just stating my intention was enough to get me out last night.”
“Well,” Andrew said with a sigh, “I guess there are no shortcuts in science. As soon as we converge, you should sit down and take a look at last night’s EEG readings.”
“How long do you think it’ll be?”
“Shouldn’t be too long. You sat there for almost twenty minutes.”
“So we just hang out here, and wait?”
“You know, I could use a little break. Why don’t we go take a walk?”
My eyes widened. Freedom! “Won’t you get in trouble for letting the lab rat out?”
“What they don’t know won’t hurt me.” He grabbed my hand and practically yanked me out of my chair.
The moment we stepped outside, I wished we hadn’t. Instead of the scent of dry grass, oak trees, and madrone, the hot, stale air was tinged with an unpleasant ozone odor. I took a deep breath and coughed. Before I could even suggest we return indoors, the familiar feeling of vertigo pulled me back into our native slice. As I opened my eyes, I sat motionless in my office chair for a moment, anticipating the crushing migraine, but it never materialized.
From his matching black office chair, Andrew blinked at me as he slowly came to. He looked ridiculous with the mesh of sensors stuck to his head. I imagined I looked equally as attractive.
“Well, not this time,” he said, reaching to remove the Bug from the back of my hand.
I unfastened the chin strap on the EEG cap and peeled off the web of sensors.
“We’ll try again tomorrow.”
My head dropped forward, and I dug my fingers into the tense muscles of my neck. This was the whole reason I was here, and I couldn’t manage to perform. Thanks to the anti-nausea, at least I wasn’t puking, but the experiment was still just as exhausting as ever, especially on top of a hangover.
“You want to see these readings?” Amir called from across the room.
“Let’s take a look,” Andrew suggested, unhooking his EEG cap and dropping it in the bucket of saline solution that would keep the contacts ready for the next use.
Tired and defeated, I trudged to my workstation.
“Amir,” I sighed, “can you point me toward my readings from last night? I have work to do.”
After seven hours of staring intently at the screen, running algorithms, tweaking, and running them again, I hadn’t learned anything. The resolution of the EEG readings just wasn’t providing enough data.
“These results are useless,” I grumbled, flinging my hands into the air. Andrew and Amir clustered around my workstation.
“Here is my EEG from today,” I said, showing the data represented by a graph. “And here is the set of data that I believe is responsible for the slice shift.” Some of the data fell away. “When I peel away the noise in th
e signal, the graph of my dream data looks remarkably similar.” I displayed a second set of lines on the graph. “But when I overlay them, you’ll see one big difference. Here.” I pointed to a huge spike. The graph after the huge spike remained in sync with my slice EEG for a short while, then the line went flat.
Amir leaned in excitedly. “But that spike, that’s it, right? Whoo-freakin’-hoo!”
“Well, yes…that spike indicates the exit. But it doesn’t tell me anything.”
“What do you mean?” Andrew said, staring intently at the graphs.
“There isn’t enough data here. The EEG just doesn’t provide enough resolution. We can’t get what we need with these tools. Maybe I could do something with fMRI readings…”
“That’s all you need? An fMRI machine?” Andrew asked.
“Uh, yeah. That’s all.” I frowned. “It’s the reason I’m even involved in this lunatic venture in the first place, remember? But it’s not like you’re just going to roll one in. They cost millions of dollars. They have requirements. You need a room that is specifically sized, that is shielded to eliminate fields of any kind, and has exact temperature ranges.”
“Done and done,” Andrew said in his usual infuriating matter-of-fact manner. “Until that’s ready, any other ideas about what might be facilitating your exit from your dream state?”
I stared at him in disbelief. Was that all it took to get an fMRI at my beck and call?
Andrew returned my stare, impatiently waiting for an answer to his question. I shook off my shock and tried to focus. “When I’m dreaming, even though the quality of the dreams is different—vivid, intense, almost hyper-real—I don’t really grasp that it’s happening until I’ve been there for a little while. And even though the dreams are almost always really horrible, there is usually some event—some tipping point—that jolts me into action. Something so sad or terrible or shocking that I can’t stand to stay a minute longer.”
“An interesting observation.” Andrew nodded, taking a step back and considering for a moment. “We’ll have to figure out how replicate that state. First thing tomorrow.”
I was closing down documents on my workstation when the phone rang. Andrew reached for the keypad and placed the call on speaker.
“Status!” the voice on the line bellowed.
Andrew stiffened. “Nothing yet. We need to install an fMRI.”
I leaned in toward Amir. “Who is that?”
“Big boss man,” he whispered.
“Andric Breckinridge?” I was unable to keep the awe out of my voice.
Amir nodded.
“Yes, yes,” Breckinridge snapped dismissively, as if a million-dollar piece of medical equipment was no more a challenge to procure than a cup of fancy coffee. “But this is no time for games. We need this operation up and running and we need it now.”
I could see the tension mounting in Andrew’s posture, but he said nothing.
The caller dropped his voice, which only made him seem more menacing. “I expect nothing less than complete dedication from you. You know what is at stake. Complete the task. Immediately!”
Andrew narrowed his eyes. Though his tone was quiet and steady, his words had sharpened to a razor edge. “Yes, sir, Doctor.”
Andrew picked up the receiver and slammed it into the cradle to end the call.
“We have a job to do, and we’re not going to leave this room until we’ve accomplished it,” Andrew snapped, turning to me with barely concealed fury. “Okay, it’s time to test your theory. Suit up! We’re going back in, and this time it’s not going to be pretty.”
He strode over to the cabinet containing the Bugs.
“What, right now?” I stammered, shrinking back into my chair. The thought of another exhausting encounter with the Bug made my hands tremble. “I thought tomorrow…”
“No time like the present!” Andrew barked, irritated.
I swallowed hard, rose, and nervously followed. Within minutes, we were ready.
The painful, lurching jerk into the alternate slice was as unpleasant as always, but I’d no more than caught my breath and struggled to my feet when Andrew pushed past me. As usual for a near-slice travel, we were in the lab, but without Amir or any other staff. Andrew proceeded directly to his workstation; beneath the counter stood a trio of desk drawers. He quickly yanked one open, rummaged around in it, and whipped around.
“Andrew?” I said, stepping back cautiously, “What’s going on?”
Andrew advanced in my direction, eyes flashing with fury. When he reached me, he roughly grabbed my left hand. With frightening speed and surgical accuracy, he plunged a pair of office scissors deep into the center of my palm.
The pain was excruciating; I let out an anguished wail as I pulled away from him and stumbled backward. My eyes clenched and I cradled my bleeding hand to my chest.
“You are a total fucking psychopath!” I screamed.
I opened my eyes and tried to flee. My stomach was roiling and my head was pounding. My heart was beating a million miles a minute, but I couldn’t escape because I was tangled in the thick cable attached to my EEG cap. I tore it off and stumbled away from my leather chair. Andrew appeared as if asleep, still wearing his sensors. I raised my quivering left hand and examined it closely. No mark was visible, except the expected welt from the Bug. I wiggled my fingers. The pain in my hand had vanished.
I looked up to see Amir staring at me, his jaw hanging open. “You did it!” he said, his voice thick with wonder. “Hot damn, woman, you did it.” He grinned in amazement. “So…how’d you do it?”
I clenched my teeth and glowered at him. “You tell your deranged buddy over there that I am done,” I spat, motioning to Andrew. I charged out of the room, leaving Amir standing there, mouth agape.
Full of righteous indignation and barely concealed anger, I strode down the hallway to the windowless facility door. I flung it open and stared out into the blackness; not a single light was visible for miles. There was no way I’d find my way back to town in the dark on foot, and I had no access to the fleet of pickups. I slammed the door shut and pounded it with my fist, barely feeling the pain of the impact on the steel-reinforced panels.
With no options remaining, I bellowed in frustration, spun on my heels, and marched back to my room. I launched myself onto the bed, grabbed the pillow, and pressed it over my face as I let out a long, frustrated howl. Then I hurled the pillow across the room, lay back, and fumed.
Twenty minutes later, my fury had only grown. The knock at the door was perfunctory, but there was no doubt it was Andrew. There was no way I was going to open that door. “What is it?” I growled through clenched teeth.
“Let me in,” Andrew called flatly. “Now that you’ve done it, there’s more work to do.”
“I’m not letting you in!” I shrieked.
“Fine,” he replied tersely. I heard the click as he used his keycard to unlock the door.
Before he set a single step beyond the threshold, I let out a rebel yell and launched myself at him, swinging, clawing, punching, hoping desperately to get him out. I had no training in self-defense and had never even been in a girl fight, but my anger and indignation provided the fuel for ferocity. None of my punches landed, but I was certain I managed a few good scratches.
He shoved me back toward the bed, and when I spun to reengage, he stepped quickly and efficiently outside the door. With another click I was again contained.
Utterly defeated, I collapsed on the bed and roared. Hot tears ran down my face. The thought crossed my mind that they were probably monitoring me, either with audio or video or both, but I couldn’t douse the waterworks. The raw emotion layered atop fear had finally gotten the best of me.
After an hour, I had a red face, puffy eyes, and a prodigious pile of wadded-up industrial-grade tissues, but the fury was spent. In its place, a plan was forming.
I put my ear to the door and listened for several minutes. The floor outside was polished concrete, and the a
bsence of footsteps assured me that the coast was clear. As quietly as I could, I opened the door and slipped out. I suspected they would soon realize I had left my room, so I had to work fast.
I quickly navigated the halls to the kitchen, where two men in white lab coats were finishing their dinner. I straightened my back, held my head high, and tried to look menacing. I strode purposefully over to their small table, placed my palms flat upon it, bent down, and stared darkly.
“You know who I am?” I asked, hoping that my reputation would proceed me.
The men eyed me warily. “Yes,” the one on the left replied. “We know who you are.”
“Take me to Janine,” I demanded. I leaned in until I was just inches from his face and stared at him, unblinking, for one second, five seconds, ten long seconds. I wasn’t sure this was going to work, but I needed to get out of that facility, and fast, before Andrew realized I was gone. Based on what had happened to Lily, I had no doubt that they would resort to medical intervention to achieve their goals, and I had no desire to be tranquilized.
I kept my gaze steely and refused to back down. The staffer blinked first.
“Okay,” he said, shoving back his half-eaten dinner and rising from his seat. “I’ll take you.”
We marched along unfamiliar hallways and through another locked door. Then we descended a narrow concrete staircase to the basement level, which led to another hallway, lit with fluorescent bulbs and dotted with still more windowless steel doors. He knocked forcefully on the fifth door on the right. We waited a minute, maybe more, before another man in a white lab coat opened the door but barred us from entering.
“Please call Dr. Mori,” my guide requested.
I stood, fidgeting, hoping my brash plan would succeed. My position was tenuous at best, and the longer this took, the less likely it was to work.
The door closed slowly with a quiet click, and we waited again. Minutes passed. I was getting antsy. Surely by now Andrew knew I had left my room.
“Why don’t you just take me in?” I demanded impatiently.
“You can’t go in there,” he responded tersely. “I can’t even go in there. These labs are need-to-know access only.”
