by Nick Thacker
“Right,” Dr. Wu said, not slowing his upbeat clip through the hallways. “But he was completely gold. The memory wasn’t firm enough in its recall to recreate the man’s proper attire, coloration, etcetera. Still, I do find it quite strange at the seeming insignificance of it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, why was that man, in particular, the only thing in focus during that memory? Sure, we do not have the capabilities as of yet to recreate perfect images, but we’ve hypothesized on this before. The strongest memories, or the strongest elements within those memories, will be the things that show up the clearest.”
“So that man is the most important part of that memory?”
“That’s what our research suggests, yes,” Dr. Wu said.
Amanda knew that, but it was encouraging — comforting, even — to hear it from one of her closest friends, and most trusted coworker. I’m not crazy, then, she thought.
“But why that man, and not Herrera’s son? Or his house?” she asked.
“That is exactly the question we need to answer, Dr. Meron.”
They turned and entered the conference room. Amanda had often thought the small room would be better served as a closet, but she held her tongue and pushed between the wall and the backs of chairs to get to a seat in the corner. This was her company, after all, and she was the last among them who would want to spend money on frivolous things like space and fancy conference rooms.
One technician and two other research scientists — Johnson, Guavez, and Ortega — were already there, seated across the table from Amanda. Dr. Wu and Nichols, the last technician, sat next to her.
She started immediately. “Team — as you know, our first neurological experiment using a fully-functioning, live human brain was a success. We will begin the project assessment and start assembling a response and hypothetical model as soon as this meeting is adjourned.”
She continued through the required debriefing, not stopping to take questions until the end.
Thankfully, that was only a few minutes later.
“Okay,” she said, wrapping up the session. “Any questions?”
Hands shot up around the room.
She smiled. “Let me guess — ‘who do we think the gold-covered man is?’ ‘How was he so perfectly in focus?’”
Heads nodded in unison.
“I’m wondering those same things myself.” Just then, the door opened and a small, petite woman shuffled into the few square feet of remaining space.
“Dr. Meron, the lab results,” the woman said. She slid a folder across the table toward Meron.
“Thank you, Diane.” She turned to the techs and scientists that had joined her around the table. “As you all know, I want this to be a fully open, honest forum. We’re all part of this, so this is the first time any of us are seeing these results.” Amanda opened the folder and began reading aloud.
“Upon waking the patient at 0900 hours, the following questions were asked. The transcript and responses to follow.”
Amanda flipped a page. “1 — Were you able to engage in restful sleep? Response: ‘Yes.’ 2 — Do you remember dreaming during your most restful periods of sleep? Response: ‘Yes.’”
She stopped for a moment and looked around the room. “I’m going to skip ahead a bit.”
There were a few chuckles and nervous laughs, but she continued.
“7 — There was an object — what appeared to be a human male — in the dream. This man seemed to be covered in a gold paint. Brief pause. Who is the man? Response: ‘I am sorry? I do not remember seeing a man.’ 8 — This man seemed to be situated outside a window in the house. Do you remember the window? Response: ‘I do. This was my house, my family’s house. The window, uh, must have been the front window, looking out onto the street.’ 9 — And yet you do not remember the man outside the window? Response: ‘There was no man outside the window. I am sure of it.’”
Amanda swallowed, then closed the folder. Without speaking, she set the folder down on the table and placed her hands on it.
What the hell is happening?
Her first reaction was anger. My research — my entire company — all of it is being sabotaged.
She kept that feeling to herself. Unfortunately, the second emotion she felt — that of complete shock, of wondering what was going on, was plastered all over her face.
“Dr. Meron?” Dr. Wu’s voice. “Are you okay?”
Amanda felt her head spin. Am I shaking? She tried to steady herself on the table. She looked over at Dr. Wu, nodding.
“Dr. Meron, I am sure there is a logical explanation for this. Perhaps Mr. Herrera had temporarily forgotten —“
“No,” Dr. Wu said. “We need to run another test. Please have Diane prepare the subject for another round of REMS. He will need to expedite his regular daily schedule so we can have a test prepared for this evening.”
Around the table, heads nodded. Amanda could hear the voice of Dr. Wu, but his words weren’t registering. We’ve been sabotaged, she thought. It’s a joke. It’s all a joke.
Dr. Wu continued. “In the meantime, is there another subject prepared for a REMS analysis?”
Diane nodded. “Yes, Dr. Wu. Actually, we have a cousin of Mr. Herrera here as well. They signed up for the same examination week.”
“That will be perfect.” He turned to the technicians seated around the table. “Prepare the computer and fMRI system once more.”
3
DR. WU DIDN’T BLAME AMANDA. For years she’d been building this project, working toward the ultimate goal and dream they both shared: recording human dreams.
The fact that she was currently overwhelmed with the reality of the situation did not surprise him. He would take the lead until she was ready to return. Knowing her, she just needed some rest and time to clear her mind.
He had been with her since the beginning of this final phase. Their careers were similar, though Amanda was certainly the savvy and creative mind that a research project of this caliber needed, while he was the lead scientist that provided the logical and analytical functions to keep it moving forward.
They were a perfectly matched team, as well. From day one they’d hit it off, her wit and charm matched by his seriousness and love for science. In most of his professional career he’d witnessed only cutthroat types vying for publication credentials, university positions, and curriculum vitae-building projects that would only further their careers.
But not here at NARATech. Neurological Advanced Research Applications was a firm like no other — focused solely on achieving the goals set by all of them, together, around the table inside that terribly cramped conference room. Political and bureaucratic considerations were, simply, not considered.
For the first years they’d worked together, he’d assumed that she had personally bankrolled NARATech — he simply couldn’t fathom any other possibility for a company such as this. But after getting to know her, he overheard a few references to ‘investors’ and ‘capital’ and things of that nature, and he started wondering where Amanda had found the hands-off investors she’d collected to get this place off the ground. He couldn’t imagine anyone willing to invest such hefty sums in an unproven market, especially without the massive oversight and earmarking along the way that always came with the investment money.
But NARATech seemed to be just such an organization. Headquartered in Maraba rather than Brasilia, the federal district of Brazil, NARATech was a billion-US-dollar research station with all the perks of a Silicon Valley startup, but tucked away from the bustle of city life. Dr. Amanda Meron ran the company, and Wu operated as the executive staff member.
That was it. No more, no less. It was a simple and elegant setup that allowed them to move quickly into the research areas they needed.
For Amanda’s sake, Dr. Wu hoped this next test would go more smoothly. Specifically, he hoped that whatever strange phenomenon they had experienced the first time around would not plague them this time.
Wu watched as again the swirling colors danced and played on the screen, followed by the starbursts and sprinkling of light. It took longer this time for their patient to enter into a dreamstate, but after about ten minutes of watching, the screen went blank.
“Confirm recording,” he said.
A technician confirmed just as the screen lit up in shining light. Wu was again stunned by the beauty of it. It was difficult to comprehend what he was seeing, but eventually things began to fall into place.
This particular dreamstate had much less structure than Mr. Herrera’s. Abstract lines and shapes still danced in the background, fuzzy interpretations of something Mr. Herrera’s cousin remembered from long ago. In the foreground, or what Wu assumed was the foreground, larger shapes — unknown bodies — moved back and forth on the screen.
The screen itself seemed to jump up and down as the shapes moved left and right. It’s a good thing I’m not prone to seizures, he thought.
“Where are we?” One of the technicians, Johnson, asked.
Gauvez answered. “No idea, but it does look like a fun memory.”
“Looks like a dance. Or a party.”
There were a few chuckles, then silence.
Wu suddenly understood the context and setting. It is a dance, he realized. Mr. Herrera’s cousin was also remembering a happy time, a moment of joy.
People, or at least their fuzzy outlines, danced around the screen. Two of the shapes — people bodies, as they would be called — embraced one another and swirled into one blob. The blob moved, turning to the side of the screen. Their subject moved its head and followed as the blob continued to move to another location in the memory.
They watched in silence for another two minutes until the two shapes reemerged from one and separated on screen.
And there, in the center of the screen, right where the two shapes split, the gold-covered man stood.
Watching.
Waiting.
Looking directly at Dr. Henry Wu.
ACT 1
“Gaily bedight,
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado…”
— Edgar Allan Poe
4
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, INCONCLUSIVE?” Amanda asked. She didn’t mean for it to sound so accusatory, but the past week had been a nightmare.
“I — I’m sorry, Dr. Meron,” Dr. Juan Ortega responded. He had a stack of folders and papers in front of him, and he seemed suddenly too large for the small conference room. Dr. Wu sat next to Amanda at one side of the table as they posed question after question to their employee.
“I only mean that the data we’ve collected is insufficient to draw any educated conclusions.”
“I understand the data, Dr. Ortega,” Amanda said. “I’m asking for your professional opinion. You’ve been in every single one of these tests, have you not?”
“I have.”
“Well, I would like for you to give us your best guess on what is happening. Why is the exact same, perfectly delineated man, covered in gold, showing up in more than 6% of our subjects’ memories? Why is he showing up in any of them? What particular insight might you have that we haven’t considered?”
Dr. Ortega remained silent. Amanda knew him to be a ‘speak-last’ individual — a personality descriptor she used for the quiet, reserved types who often had a last-minute insight that clarified, helped along, or redirected the conversation.
In other words, a valuable asset for her and her team.
“I’m not quite sure, yet, Dr. Meron. I’ve considered the same issues we’ve already worked through. All of us have examined the equipment, looking for tampering, hacking, or just anything out of place, and we’ve each gone through the data…”
“Do you have any other ideas? Ideas that may not be, uh, particularly scientific?”
Amanda saw Dr. Wu smile. She knew this was why they liked her, and why they enjoyed working here. She cared little for perception and maintaining an image — she wanted real, tangible results.
“Well, uh, I guess we could identify some of the more granular areas of demographic similarities, like income class, education, lifestyle choices —“
“We’ve gone through all that already. There was a gauntlet of questions during the initial trial signup phase, and there were no statistical similarities between subjects.”
“I know. I can’t think of anything else, outside of a Freudian ‘shared intelligence’ idea.”
Amanda raised her eyebrows. “Go on.”
“‘Shared intelligence?’” Dr. Ortega asked. “Well, Freud was the first to coin the term ‘unconscious,’ as you know, but it was because he believed in a particular ‘shared memory’ of species. This was his basis for believing in and supporting ideas related to genetic similarities, instinctual behavior, and other ‘natural’ behaviors.”
“You think some of our subjects have ESP?” Dr. Wu asked.
“I do not. It’s biologically impossible for humans to produce communication via a non-physical or non-audible means. But shared intelligence goes deeper than that. It’s a common thread between humans and other mammals, as well as other members of the animal kingdom in general — where do instincts come from? How does a mother know how to take care of her young? How do involuntary reactions, emotions, and feelings get there in the first place?”
“All great questions, Dr. Ortega, but how do we test any of this?”
“That’s what I have been trying to decipher,” he responded. “Much research has already been done in the field, but none of it is helpful for our situation.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, consider the fact that of the forty-seven people we have tested, only three seem to have a memory that includes the gold-covered man. And of those three, none have any recollection of that man. They all seem confused when we bring it up.”
“And they don’t recognize it when we show them the recordings.”
“Right,” Ortega responded. “So I can’t say it is an instinct that they are feeling, or experiencing, or whatever, but it is certainly possible there is a similar thread in their lineage. Actually, if you rule out our equipment, there has to be a similarity somewhere, so why not there?”
Amanda considered this. “Hmm. Lineage.” She looked at Wu, unsure of whether or not she should continue. Her hypothesis at this point was almost absurd, certainly in the realm of ‘quack science.’
He nodded, so she continued.
“Of course there’s a similarity, though: they are all related.”
Ortega seemed momentarily shocked, but quickly recovered. “Right — they are. The Herrera cousins, and the sister. All of them signed up for the same week of testing, and all had different memories featuring the same gold-covered man. But since it is not in either of their collective consciousnesses or subconsciousnesses, I am inclined to believe we need to dig further to understand where the memory is originating.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“We need to cull our database of subjects. With your permission, let’s temporarily release subjects from the test unless they are confirmed to have a similar lineage as that of our three Herrera relatives.”
Dr. Wu stepped in this time. “But how will we know? If we haven’t identified a DNA segment that confirms or denies their relationship to one another, we have no testable hypothesis. Plus, the time it would take to run those tests, receive results…”
“I’m not suggesting we use DNA tests,” Ortega replied.
All eyes turned to him again, but Amanda wasn’t surprised. This is why he’s here, she thought.
&nbs
p; She’d hired the man for his background in genetics and psychology, not to mention his computer skills. But it was his think-outside-the-box personality that she most respected.
“Look,” he said, “I’m from this area, as is Guavez. I can tell you with certainty that lineage is an important familial bond here in Brazil. Many of us can trace our ancestors to the European conquistadors and their troops, down through the local and regional tribes.”
Amanda nodded. Wu seemed slightly confused, but he let Ortega continue.
“I would bet that the Herreras could also tell us their family history, at least in general terms. Many of the tribes in Central and South America were split from larger, more prominent ones that came before them, so much of their history, while nuanced, is related.”
Dr. Wu spoke again, now understanding. “Of course — if they can give us a little background, we might be able to pinpoint other subjects that share a family tie. Diane —“
Diane had already started to stand from her post as ‘wallflower in charge of note-taking.’ Titled as an “office assistant,” Diane’s role was significantly more in-depth and crucial to the day-to-day operations than anyone but Dr. Wu and Dr. Meron could understand. She had a degree in organizational administration, but her skills branched out into just about every facet of the team’s operations — human resources, finance, and leading double-blind, placebo-controlled studies were among them.
“On it, Dr. Wu,” she said. She picked up her yellow legal pad, three pages of neatly arranged notes spreading from top to bottom, and left the room.
“Dr. Ortega, will you assist us in determining the important links of family history for our subjects?”
The man nodded, and began to stand.
“One more thing,” Amanda said. Ortega’s head turned to face his boss. “We are not usually a team that worries about discretion. I prefer it this way, as I’m sure you do as well. However, with the nature of these findings, I would like you to suggest to our technicians that we refrain from uploading the weekly data stream from now on, until I can make heads or tails of this.”
Dr. Wu and Dr. Ortega both frowned, so Amanda explained.
