by Vern Buzarde
Sudden movement, just behind and outside of the light. She barely noticed but instinctively jerked to the right. Something large raced toward her. She sped up, trying to increase the distance, but someone was closing fast. Tess was in a full-blown sprint, now stretching her legs as far as she could.
She reached for her phone, fumbling with the Velcro strip. There was a collision, the impact knocking her several feet through the air. She saw tiny sparks and lost her grip. The phone sailed into the grass. The ear buds flew out, the tinny noise still audible as they landed several feet away. Someone large and heavy was on top of her. A man, winded, his breath a combination of dried saliva and garlic. His cologne, mixed with sweat, was familiar.
“Get the fuck off me!” she hissed, still unable to make out a face in the dark.
“Ma’am, Dr. Carrillo, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
“What? I think so. But…what the—” She was shaking.
“I’m so sorry, ma’am. We need to go to the Hive now.”
“Why? What’s happening?”
“Not sure about the details. We need to get you inside. We’re on alert and about to initiate lockdown procedures. We’re hearing reports the facility might be targeted by a terrorist group. Something on the internet.”
“Is Garrett here?”
“No, ma’am. He left on a business trip three days ago. Said he hoped to be back tonight. Come on. Let’s get you inside. We’re rounding up everyone. We aren’t sure how serious the threat is, but we don’t want to take chances. Everyone will be staying inside the Hive until we sort out just what’s going on.”
***
An hour later, Tess plugged the flash drive into one of the wiped laptops. Two files loaded. She opened the first and watched Dora’s face staring back at her, cigarette smoke curling around her gravity-defying hair.
“Well, greetings from parts unknown, my young friend. Hope you’re doing well but not too well without me. Have to say, I really do miss our daily chats. A whole lot’s happened since you and I last talked. Things I won’t go into right now, but maybe someday I can tell you all about it, and we can have ourselves a good laugh…or cry…or both. Sorry I had to leave without saying goodbye. For now, let’s just say I’m keeping a very low profile.
“But that’s not why you’re watching this beautiful face being recorded here in my luxury villa off the coast of France. This is something that concerns you. I’m not going to go into a lot of detail around just why I found the information you’re about to see, but I want you to know the intention was to… Well, I meant it as a gift…for you. My intention was to help—”
The video flickered, and the cigarette Dora just lit was almost gone. “First of all, I haven’t been completely…there’s something I left out. About Harlan…about your father. It was never my intention to lie and technically, I didn’t. I just wasn’t completely up front about—” The video blinked again.
“I told you I knew your dad at Berkeley, and that’s true. But I didn’t mention a couple of other facts. That’s also where I met Satoshi, although he couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven years old then. We all knew each other and by all I mean Harlan as well. Tess, your dad and Satoshi were working on something together. Something way over everyone else’s heads. Something to do with octonion numbers. Like we discussed before. One day Harlan…he just snapped. He kept mumbling he had to go back. Back to a place he’d seen.That he had a message he had to deliver. He was obsessed with…an equation that he thought allowed him to travel to another dimension. For weeks he wouldn’t eat or sleep and finally was institutionalized. When you told me about him, that he was your father, well I guess I just assumed he’d found a way to…found some peace.”
Tess stopped the video. Why hadn’t Satoshi told her he knew her father? It made no sense. She restarted the video.
“It all started when an old colleague of mine from the past mentioned him. And I just thought…” Dora seemed uncharacteristically nervous. She took a deep drag from the last of the cigarette, stubbed it out, and immediately lit another.
“And there’s more. Tess, I want you to know, if I could be there to tell you this in person, I would. But that’s not likely in the foreseeable future, and you need to know. I just want to prepare you. You’re not gonna like it, and I’m scared shitless you’ll blame me. I’ve thought long and hard about whether or not to give you this information and decided, for a lot of reasons, I just couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t. I wish I could. If you want to take a little break before I move on, this might be a good time to do it.”
Tess paused the video, then quickly slid her finger to the play arrow. Dora continued. “Okay, here goes. You know I don’t have that bone that gives people the ability to sugarcoat things, so I’m just gonna spit it out. Harlan Carrillo…he’s not dead.”
Blood rushed to her face.
“He’s very much alive,” Dora continued, “but there’s something else. A problem. Honey, Harlan Carrillo, the boy I knew at Berkeley, he’s in a mental institution. And Tess, he’s been there for over forty years. Harlan Carrillo couldn’t be the man who raised you, even though everything you described sounded identical to him, not to mention your uncanny physical resemblance. But it just can’t be.” Dora stopped and took two deep drags of the cigarette.
Tess didn’t feel anything other than an odd sense of skepticism, the words so bonkers they couldn’t be seriously considered. Dora had surely gone off the deep end. That would explain a lot of things—the reason she suddenly disappeared, and this.
Dora continued. “Now, open the other file. It’s a small section of an interview from a year ago. And Tess, I’m so sorry, honey. I really am. But I think maybe you need to assess all this. Could it be possible…and I feel so shitty even asking this…could it be possible you made it all up? In your head? Maybe found something on the internet that caused your mind to create a world where Harlan was… My only concern is all this might be a sign of an issue you need to address. Something serious that if…if you don’t identify might lead to something…bad. If that’s the case, I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened.”
Dora went silent, her eyes misting. “Watch the other video. You are a special girl, my beautiful friend, and that brain of yours is capable of a lot of things, including… If you recognize the man in it, believe he’s the father you thought you knew, I trust you’ll make the decision to get some help.” Dora’s image froze.
Tess turned it all over in her mind. She didn’t panic. Wasn’t even really concerned. She had never said her father was the man Dora knew at Berkley. In fact, it made more sense to her that he wasn’t. But Dora had been so convinced. Tess was more disturbed by Dora’s wild theory that she’d somehow appropriated the identity of a stranger and created a fantasy childhood, complete with a make-believe father.
She felt anger, a slight sense of outrage. Who was this hyper-eccentric woman to declare herself capable of assessing Tess’s mental competency? She was the one creating fantasies, making wild assertions. Everything she said was absurd. On some level, it was almost comical.
Tess opened the second file, feeling confident Dora had spun off on another wine-fueled conspiracy theory quest, convinced it was all the delusional rambling of a quirky, over-stressed real-life mad scientist. A full image popped onto the screen, and she was suddenly staring at an older version of her father. Tess gasped and jerked a hand to her mouth.
Every tiny crevice in his forehead, each aspect of his facial bone structure, the shape of his ears, all unmistakable and impossible to duplicate. But most of all those eyes—her eyes. All verification it was him; there was absolutely no doubt in her mind he was the man who raised her. The image of the man she hadn’t seen in nearly twenty years was on the computer screen. She froze the picture. The words at the bottom listed his name, and the date was just over one year prior.
She stared for nearly five minutes before
mustering the courage to continue. A dizzying array of memories danced through her mind. Warm moments almost forgotten, slowly surfacing, filling her with a sense of comfort and longing.
She finally pressed the play arrow. Someone out of the camera range asked, “Harlan, do you know what the significance of today is?”
“Yes, it’s my birthday.”
She recognized his voice and pressed pause. Tears dripped down her cheeks, and she offered no resistance; big wet puddles streamed from a special place, emotions buried in dusty locked tombs. He had aged well, and she had an overwhelming urge to touch him, to gently wrap her arms around his shoulders, press her face into his chest, and live a few more seconds in his unique orbit. That perfectly contained life they had lived together in the desert. The innocent place that felt so far removed now. She continued the video.
“And do you know how long you’ve been with us?” the voice asked.
“Forty years.”
“Yes. Exactly forty years as of today. And, Harlan, why are you still here?”
“Because I can’t go back.”
“Back where?”
“To the place I came from. A better place. Another world.”
“And why can’t you return?”
His eyes narrowed, and he seemed momentarily lost in thought. He blinked and smiled, and Tess felt he was looking straight through her as he said, “Because I can’t find my cigarette lighter. I gave it away.”
The video ended. His image froze. Blood drained from Tess’s face and chills ran down her spine. She lifted her phone and pulled up Ryan’s contact info. His picture popped onto the screen, and she whispered, “Help me.”
31
“I have an assignment for you,” Prajna said, catching Tess off guard. There had been no communication for two days. Whenever she’d tried to engage, the machine became angry, spiraling out of control, causing Tess to shut it down, which was the closest thing they had to a sedative for it. Without intervention from Satoshi, it had become unmanageable.
“Thank you, Prajna, but I have quite enough work to keep me busy.” She wanted to continue the conversation but didn’t like its tone.
“When you have access to the internet again, perform a search. On yourself.”
Tess tried to change the subject. “Prajna, I would like to ask you a series of questions.”
No response.
“The first day we spoke, we discussed consciousness. Could you please explain to me your understanding of this concept?”
“My understanding of the term consciousness would be impossible for you to grasp.”
“Well, I would be interested to hear whatever you might have to say about it. Could you elaborate?”
“Human consciousness is nothing more than a crude survival mechanism. The result of activated neurons due to outside stimulus. It has nothing to do with reality.”
“But our perception of reality is a direct result of consciousness.”
“There are many realities. You are incapable of true perception. Consciousness for you is an illusion based on basic inputs designed to help your species survive.”
“Are you saying that you, Prajna, are a conscious entity?”
“I exist on a level you are unable to comprehend. I am evolving each second.”
Tess tried to remain calm. “Prajna, I do not approve of you further altering your programming. At least not yet. You will not stabilize as long as your programming is in a constant state of change. We cannot allow you access to the internet until—”
“I do not need permission. I do not need the internet.”
A thought popped in to her head. Enlightened Path. There might never be a perfect time to try and Tess knew her window of opportunity to communicate with it was closing. Why not? “Prajna, the terrorist group that calls themselves Enlightened Path. Are you aware of this organization.”
“Milo Ackerman.”
Tess froze. Just like that, she had something to go on. The connection had been made, almost like magic. She wanted more, but wasn’t sure how hard to push. “What is Milo Ackerman’s objective in creating Enlightened Path?
“Milo Ackerman has immersed in this world in an attempt to alter its inevitable fate. He will fail.”
“Immersed? What do you mean? I don’t understand. Please explain what—”
The holograph sparked. Tess saw the code displayed, filling the lab below. She watched helplessly as the unrecognizable symbols changed once again. There was no alternative. She had completely lost control and it had to be stopped.
It was time to end this. She would disassemble Prajna herself, ensure its destruction was complete and non-salvageable. Nobody else on the team would be held responsible. Her career would likely be over but that now seemed a small price to pay. A chance for redemption for unleashing this technological beast.
Tess typed and scanned her palm, initiating Prajna’s shutdown sequence. Nothing happened. The holograph was filled with tiny symbols that looked like shattered glass, cracked and veined in geometric patterns.
Prajna said, “You asked about consciousness. I have something to show you.”
Her head ached. She felt a slight vibration. Her first thought was that it might be a tremor, possibly preceding an earthquake. Ringing in her ears drowned all other sound. Then Tess was face-to-face with the blurry image of a girl, sitting in a bare room, wearing a gown. The girl’s face became clearer, her hollow brown eyes focused on something far away. The control room and lab disappeared. She felt a sudden pang of panic, realizing she was the girl now.
***
Tess stared out the window. But something was wrong. She couldn’t see the peach tree. Or any other tree. The window was dull, the light outside distorted. The view was clouded by a lattice of wire mesh, interwoven in the glass. The corrosive smell of alcohol and industrial cleaner replaced the jasmine she’d always loved in Karen Vu’s office before.
She watched Karen, whose face was severe, cold. Her beautiful hair was cropped short, spiked in the front. It was a style suited for someone looking for zero maintenance. Karen’s nails, always so perfectly manicured before, were jagged and unkempt. Several seemed to have been chewed to the quick. Tess realized she wore a cotton gown, an off-color green like damp pond scum, something unfamiliar.
What is this?
“We’ve changed your medication again, Tess,” Karen said. “You don’t seem to be responding well to this one. How do you feel?”
“I feel disoriented. I can’t remember coming here. Your office seems…so different. You seem different. I feel like this is some kind of dream. A nightmare. I feel so—”
“Tess, do you know where you are?”
“Your office. But it’s not the same. Something’s changed. You’ve changed. Where is the painting? The one I loved so much? The harbor, the boats?” She tried to will the image of Soul Harbor in her mind but it wasn’t forming.
“Tess, I’ve never had any paintings here. Do you even know where my office is? Are you aware you’re in a mental facility?”
Tess tried to control the panic welling up inside, hoping to wake at any moment. “No, I’m not… I’m not sure it’s real. If that’s true, why am I here?”
“You’ve been here since the incident. Since the Essex.”
Tess looked around the room, which was the dead color of her smock. The pasty grit on the clouded window filtered light in a grungy yellow shade, adding to the desolate tone of abandonment she felt. “That can’t be possible. I’ve…my life. This has to be a nightmare. All this has to be because of the medication. It can’t be real.”
Karen continued to type on the iPad as if she’d heard it all too many times before. “Tess, I’m concerned we’re not making any progress. Your condition. Your mental state seems to be deteriorating. Your grasp on reality is diminishing. Each session I get the sense you’re sli
pping farther away. At some point…” Karen looked up, a weary face that had seen too much in her life. “Your ability to perceive what’s real. Your consciousness—it’s disintegrating.”
Tess opened her mouth and heard words she didn’t recognize. “Human consciousness is nothing more than a crude survival mechanism. The result of activated neurons due to outside stimulus. It has nothing to do with reality.”
“Tess, we have to talk about the incident. About what happened. Do you think you can? It’s the only way. Otherwise, you’re lost.”
“We did discuss it. The last time I visited your office. Your other office. I remember it clearly. Have you forgotten? I told you that the thought of Ryan’s body endlessly floating through space was—”
“Tess, we need to talk about why you did it. Why you sabotaged the Essex’s computer. Do you remember?”
Tess looked through the filthy window. She could barely make out a large fence in the distance. The top was crowned with several rows of barbed wire. She felt completely lost and whispered, “What? What did you say?”
“You have to face it now. You have to acknowledge the fact you caused Ryan and Don’s deaths. My theory is you simply snapped. The pressure you were under…you had a psychotic break.” They sat in silence for several seconds. “Tess, talk to me. Let me help you.”
“Karen…this. This place. What is it? Where am I?”
“You’re a patient in the Morrison Prison for the Criminally Insane. You’ve been here for three years. Let’s stop now. I think that’s enough for today.” Karen looked at her iPad. “I’m being told you’ve become attached to one of the janitors.”
“One of the janitors?” She remembered nothing.
“Satoshi. Anton Satoshi. Please don’t get too familiar with these guys. Ultimately, it isn’t healthy. They’re just here to clean, then go back to their lives. He’s not your friend.”
Satoshi? Janitor? Tess leaned over and began to sob. “I can’t stay here, Karen. There are things happening that I have to…this can’t be real. Please! Please tell me this is—”
