by Dan Sehlberg
‘No effect yet from the medicine, but it should start working very soon. And you?’
Eric opened the tube and pushed the hair out of Hanna’s face with one hand.
‘I’m going to apply the gel. It needs to be absorbed for half an hour before we start.’
‘I understand. I’m still not satisfied with your explanation of what is in that gunk.’
‘I know, but as I said, I’m not the one who made it. And I couldn’t get hold of the professor at Kyoto University who’s responsible for it — we’re in different time zones. But I gave you the contents list for the previous version, and that should be 95 per cent accurate.’
‘But, jellyfish?’
‘Yes, jellyfish. Natural material from the sea. Can’t do any harm.’
‘I don’t know — it’s not exactly great.’
Thomas put the screens back over Hanna and squeezed past Eric.
‘I have to take some data to the lab. You’ve got my pager number, and Pia’s here on the floor. Good luck.’
‘Thanks. We’ll start in about fifteen minutes.’
‘Okay, we’ll see if I make it back. The most important thing for me is the Centric Novatrone test. Nothing against what you’re doing, but I think you understand.’ Eric smiled faintly.
‘I understand.’
After the doctor had gone, Eric started rubbing the shimmering gel into Hanna’s hair. He remembered the first time he had put it on her. She had asked for a massage, laughing and smiling, wanting to cuddle. But instead of making love, he had hooked up the system and infected her with a deadly virus. Now he ran his fingers along her ears, over her forehead, and all the way around her scalp, and then replaced the cap on the empty tube and wiped his hands on a napkin. Back at the keyboard, he started Mind Surf. Jens was sitting silently on one of the visitors’ chairs; perhaps he had dozed off. Ten minutes later, everything was ready to go. Now it was time for the most important thing of all — to see if Nadim really could conquer Mona. Eric knew that the Mind Surf computer was infected. If he loaded the anti-virus onto the server, the program ought to search out Mona and erase it. This was no easy task, considering that the virus was camouflaged, it mutated in real time, and it was sure to contain a number of defence mechanisms that were completely unknown to him. He took out the little iPod and hooked it up to the computer’s USB port. It showed up as an external device on the screen, and with rising anxiety he found the invaluable file:
TCHAIKOVSKY NR. 7 // CONCERT FOR NADIM
He hesitated at the Enter key for a few seconds. If something went wrong, or if the file were corrupt, all hope would be gone. He was back holding a lottery ticket. As long as the file was there on the screen, the dream was alive. He looked at Hanna; the gel shimmered like a halo on her forehead. Soon he would put the sensor helmet on her and hook her up to Mind Surf, but it was all going to depend on Samir’s anti-virus program working. The arrow trembled over Tchaikovsky Number Seven. It was time to listen to the master’s final symphony, posthumously. He hit Enter.
They were dressed in white — the faceless man and the little girl. Her hair was no longer matted; it had been brushed and put up with a broad diadem. The man was wearing white gloves. In one hand he held the girl; in the other, he held a strange object — a cone-shaped wand, sharp at one end and softly rounded on the other. It was enchantingly beautiful, unlike anything she’d ever seen. The man was wearing a suit; the girl had a thin summer dress and pretty canvas shoes. She was taller than she’d first believed. Bigger. She smiled at him. As the smooth face leaned over her, she could feel her body tense. He was beautiful, purer and more honest than anyone else. Unspoiled. He straightened up and finally placed his palm between her breasts. She tried to heave herself up in an attempt to meet him, but the straps held her down. There was something dizzily erotic about their contact. Now it was just her and the faceless man. They were one. Then she remembered the little girl, and fought to turn her head. The pressure on her ribcage increased. The girl was standing a few metres from the bed, tears streaming down her cheeks. When their eyes met, it was like a hammer striking a wall of crystal. The insight and the panic hit her simultaneously. She tried to scream, but there was no air. She stared into the smooth face in terror. He was going to press his hand through her ribs, lungs, and heart. Her ribcage would soon give way. She had been right. This was a temple, and she was lying on an altar. But not as a goddess — as a sacrifice. Then there was suddenly air, and with it came the scream. High and piercing. But she wasn’t the one screaming. It was the little girl.
It took less than five seconds for Nadim to trace the Mona virus in the computer. Eric stared at the screen. The only thing on it was a blinking clock with rotating hands. It was strange — the hands were moving counter-clockwise, in the wrong direction. Even though he couldn’t follow what the anti-virus program was doing, he imagined that a digital war was taking place. It was a war of life and death between a mutated Mona and a very powerful Nadim — a battle between mother and daughter.
It was completely silent in the dim room, except for Hanna’s respirator. He was on pins and needles, and hardly dared to breathe. The anti-virus program had to conquer the infection in the computer. If it failed, it wouldn’t be possible to save Hanna either. After seven long minutes, the clock disappeared, and for a few seconds the screen was black. Then the computer let out a bright ‘ding’, and a short message popped up on the screen:
MONA DELETED
He stared at the words in surprise. Was it really that simple? No symphonies or drumrolls? No colourful animations or graphic fireworks? The world’s most dreaded computer virus had been destroyed in a few minutes, and all he got was a ‘ding.’
‘Un-fucking-believable!’
Jens stretched in his chair and blinked, half-asleep.
‘What?’
‘It works. The anti-virus works!’
Jens got up and stood behind him.
‘But does it work on people? Will it work on Hanna?’
‘I have no idea. Probably not. But it’s high time to find out. If it doesn’t work, we’ll have to follow Thomas’s advice and call for a rabbi.’
Jens placed his large hands on Eric’s shoulders and rubbed them a few times.
‘Brother, you’re the rabbi today. Let’s do it.’
Eric nodded resolutely and stood up.
‘Help me.’
He carefully lifted the helmet, making sure not to get tangled in it. Jens gathered up the bundle of colourful wires, and gently laid them across Hanna’s abdomen. Then Eric pressed the helmet onto her sticky head. For a moment, he considered not bothering to screw on the eye sensors, but decided in the end that it was a good idea to have as many contact points as possible. He lowered the black glasses and tightened the screws on either side. A drop of blood ran down Hanna’s cheek and spotted the pillow. Jens looked at him, worried.
‘Everything under control?’
‘Pretty much.’
He went back to the keyboard. The system was establishing contact with Hanna’s brain. Within a few seconds, a series of messages popped up on the screen:
CONTACT ESTABLISHED
RECEIVING NEURODATA
SIGNAL STRENGTH 87%
The contact wasn’t as strong as it had been earlier, but it ought to be high enough. The crucial question was whether the connection was enough for Nadim to register that there was another infected entity for it to deal with: Hanna’s brain. Hopefully, the anti-virus program had instructions to search additional hard drives and servers — and Eric assumed that Hanna’s brain would be treated as an external hard drive.
Eric activated Nadim. The screen blinked, and the little clock popped up again. The hands spun backward. The anti-virus program was working on something, and it couldn’t be the infection in the computer, because that had already been deal
t with. Nadim must have found another infection, and it could only be from one place. Jens stood at the window like a statue, his eyes fixed on Hanna’s face. Suddenly, an alarm started ringing out in the corridor, and it took Eric a few seconds to realise that it was coming from Hanna. The graphs on the two screens at the head of the bed had changed. The EEG was jumping wildly, far beyond normal levels. The EKG had also deviated from its gentle path, and was now jerky and uneven. Jens looked at him in panic.
‘What the hell is going on? What have we done?’
The door flew open, and Pia stormed into the room.
‘Don’t touch anything! The doctor is on his way.’
She ran to the bed, felt Hanna’s forehead, and then studied the graphs on the two monitors.
‘Oh, God.’
She took a step back. Eric turned to her.
‘What?’
‘I’ve never seen anything like it. She’s having an attack.’
She bent over and typed commands into the computer by the bed. Eric flung out his hands impatiently.
‘What’s going on? What can we do?’ Pia answered without taking her eyes from the screens.
‘Take her hand.’
He looked at her in bewilderment, but reached out and grasped Hanna’s soft hand.
‘What now?’
She didn’t answer. He looked beseechingly at Jens.
‘Take her other hand.’
Jens nodded. They stood there, holding Hanna’s hands in theirs, staring at the ominous patterns of the lines. Jens whispered, mostly to himself, ‘What have we done?’
There was nothing she could do. The straps held her firmly, and the man was pressing down so hard that her sternum would soon crack. She didn’t want to die. She wanted to live and live and live. She caught sight of the cone-shaped wand; it was in his other hand, and he raised it above his head. She clenched her hands into fists, steeling herself against the pain. Then she was there, the little girl. She flew at the man in a reckless rage, shoving, biting, and clawing. He took an unsteady step to the side; his hand disappeared from her chest. The girl’s arms clawed and windmilled. The man struck her, and she landed hard on the floor. He seemed dazed. But then he collected himself, shook his head, and stood before her once again. Was the girl dead? No, she was moving. She lay in a pile on the floor, but she lifted her head and looked at Hanna. Hanna tried to smile at her. The man placed his heavy hand on her shoulder and held her down. She didn’t need to look at him to know what he was going to do. Instead, she fixed her gaze on the girl. It will all be okay. I’m ready. She could tell that the girl understood. She loved her. More than anything. Suddenly, something happened. The walls, ceiling, and floor of the temple turned to sand. It started behind the girl. At first, Hanna thought it was a hallucination, caused by panic and lack of oxygen. But it came closer, moving quickly, like a silent tidal wave. Everything turned into flowing white sand, surging out into the black nothingness. The girl looked at her with wide eyes. She raised her hand and tried to say something, but she dissolved. Disappeared. Hanna looked up at the man, and for a second she thought she could see a face in the smooth skin. Then everything turned into white sand — the room, the bed, the man. The world sank away, and she was in freefall, tumbling headlong through a starless space. Faster and faster.
They heard running steps in the corridor. Thomas Wethje burst through the door, dressed in dark-grey jeans and a burgundy polo shirt. He wasn’t wearing gloves, and had only a simple mask on. He ran up to the screens of graphs, and read them for a few breathless seconds before typing in commands and looking at the rows of digits in silence. Then he turned to Pia.
‘When did it start?’
‘The alarm went off eight minutes ago.’
Thomas looked at Eric.
‘Did you do something?’
‘It happened a short time after I hooked her up to Mind Surf.’
The doctor clenched his fists and turned back to Pia.
‘We have to stop it. She’s having an attack. It’s just like what happened to Mats Hagström. This time we’ll act fast. Give her more Centric Novatrone — and Phenobarbital, if she needs it. Hurry!’
Pia nodded and ran out of the room. Thomas spoke without taking his eyes from the numbers. His voice was bitter.
‘You might want to take those things off her head.’
Eric realised that Hanna still had the sensor helmet on her head, with the colourful cables curling down along her shoulder to the floor. He turned to Mind Surf, and saw that the little clock was still blinking on the screen; the hands were still turning counter-clockwise. Nadim was still fighting the virus. He looked at Thomas.
‘I want to leave the helmet on. It can’t make any difference.’
This was a lie. He had no idea if Nadim was what had caused Hanna’s crisis, so it might be a fatal decision to leave the computer attached. Thomas shook his head vehemently as Pia returned with an IV bag. She stopped at Hanna’s bed, quickly unhooked the existing bag, and put the new one in place. Thomas pressed his lips together, crossed his arms, and stared at the screens. The lines were still jumpy.
‘Come on.’
He leaned closer to the monitors; he seemed to be talking to them.
‘Come on. Results — give me results.’ Jens and Eric looked at each other.
Then the frantic line on the EEG calmed down and went back to tracing its zig-zag pattern within the normal parameters. Just after that, the EKG line calmed down as well. Eric fell heavily into the chair by the Mind Surf computer and let out the air he’d been holding in, possibly ever since the alarm had gone off. Jens still stood with Hanna’s hand in his own. His face was white.
‘Say something, doctor. Does she look better? What’s going on?’
The doctor didn’t answer for a long time. Then he nodded faintly.
‘It looks better. Or, rather, it looks like it did before.’
He turned to Eric.
‘We’ve managed to curtail the most acute struggle.’
Eric looked at the computer screen and shook his head.
‘The struggle continues.’ The little clock was still flickering on the screen.
She must have fainted. When she opened her eyes, she was lying face-down in a glittering gold desert. The sand was warm and as fine as powdered sugar. She sat up and looked around. The sky was dark red, and the desert stretched endlessly in all directions. She had been here before. She didn’t remember when. There was no breeze here, no smells, no sounds. She gently stretched out her legs and lay on her back. The warm sand enveloped her and made her drowsy. She looked up at the red sky, which was covered in a fluffy, dense layer of clouds. It felt good to run her fingers through the fine sand. How had she gotten here? Where was this place? Her left hand nudged something hard. She propped herself up on one elbow. It was an old alarm clock with flaky black paint. It was rusty, and its glass was cracked. The thin hands stood still, and it must have been several years since they’d worked. This clock seemed familiar, too. She turned it over and looked at the flat winding mechanism. Could she get the clock to work? Just as she wrapped her fingers around the thin key, a blinding sun tore through the red layer of clouds. It was so unexpected, and the light was so bright, that she dropped the clock, threw her hands up over her face, and fell back into the sand. The sun burned away the red clouds, and the world was filled with its white glow.
As Eric sat on one of the visitors’ chairs beside the bed in the dim room, images came back to him: faces, places, events. It had all gone so fast, and he hadn’t relaxed for a single moment. Not really. There was Mats Hagström, smiling and tossing his fateful apple. There was the thirteenth investor meeting. There was Promenade des Anglais in Nice, the library in Tel Aviv, and the flowering thistles in Gaza. Somehow, it felt like none of that had happened to him. They were like images from a mo
vie, something he’d observed. He thought of Samir’s body in the whirling sand. Would anyone give him a proper burial? Hardly. It could easily have been Eric’s body, lying there in the morning haze. Or he might have fallen with a bullet in his back at the gate at Ben Gurion airport. It might have ended for him even earlier, if he had tried Mind Surf himself after Hanna had visited the TBI website. He looked at her. Three hours had passed since her vital signs had stabilised. He had unhooked Mind Surf. Everything was quiet in the room. In some way, it was as if the air had been discharged, like after a terrible storm.
Thomas Wethje came in, along with two other doctors. They stood beside the bed for a moment, whispering. Someone nodded and smiled. As they were about to leave, Thomas squeezed his shoulder.
‘The Centric Novatrone seems to be working. It’s surprising how much she has improved in just a few hours.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It’s too soon to say, but she’s proved that she’s strong. Now the anti-retroviral will help her fight the virus.’
‘That sounds fantastic.’
‘It is. But — and this is an important “but” — after so many days in a coma, and after all the ups and downs she’s gone through, there might be damage — heart, brain, or nerve damage. I’m not saying this to put a damper on things, but it’s my job to be a bit of a pessimist. Or maybe “realist” is a better word.’
He could see that Eric was worried, and hurried to add, ‘But, like I said, right now, things seem to be moving in the right direction.’
‘So what do we do now?’
Thomas looked over at Hanna’s silhouette against the window. Then he opened the door to the corridor.
