Time to Expire

by Chris Ramos

  This helped to lighten the atmosphere.

  “You believe my body has succumbed to a natural plateau. I am telling you this is false. You will find a resolution through an in-depth investigation into how we currently handle my extractions, and why they have failed.”

  “Perhaps you are at the highest level . . .” A meek Doctor in the back of the room tried to squeak out a comment, only to let his remark fade away, running out of courage.

  Nimbus answered loudly and clearly. “I have not reached the full potential of the human race! I have only reached the potential of your mundane machinery and your subpar minds!”

  The Board members snapped into silence. Everyone was frozen in their seats, unsure of how to react. Many of them had never seen Nimbus this upset. He rarely raised his voice.

  “Dr. Zander.” Nimbus motioned toward a pale Doctor on his left. The Doctor had raven-black hair and eyebrows that jumped out on his face, his skin taut and gaunt, stretched across his cheekbones. It was a wonder he could move his mouth at all. “The nanotechnology coursing through our bodies is regulated through the lifetime of each recipient. This is based on a combination of nanomemory and muscle memory of each donor. Correct?”

  Dr. Zander was unsure of how he should respond. Nimbus was fully aware of the intricacies of nanotechnology, especially the memory features inherent in each tiny nano.

  “Yes, sire. The nanos are evolving with each recipient, and the internal nanomemory is built from strictly motor responses, muscle reactions and related physical responses.”

  “For example, when a subject swings a hammer, the muscle reaction is recorded in the nano and stored in its memory, only to be replaced if the hammer swing becomes more efficient, correct?” Nimbus prodded.

  Again, Nimbus knew the answer, but now the Doctor caught on that Nimbus was leading him somewhere, leading them all towards a series of questions and answers. “Yes, sire, the nanos are constantly tracking the response, searching for a more efficient completion of any task, no matter how minuscule. This information is stored for later use, of course.”

  “When a client expires . . . ,” Nimbus led. “My question is, who is given control of the memory in the body? Is it the brain that remembers how to do the task, or is it the muscles that remember the task?”

  “Yes, sire. While it is true that every memory and perception is formulated with the bias of each individual, it is at least recorded correctly in the mind and motor functions collectively. However, each memory is flawed, primarily for one reason: our perception of recollection.” The Doctor was gaining momentum as he turned to his colleagues, taking on a lecturing tone. “The power of each individual to recollect what has transpired carries with each circumstance an immense amount of variables. For instance, returning to the hammer example. Although it is a rather mundane process, hammering a nail differs slightly from one individual to the next. While everyone is capable of hammering a nail, there are certain unique differences in the muscle mass, strength of the tendons, length of the arm, and an innumerable amount of smaller factors, of course.

  “Thus, the nanos automatically adjust for each individual and employ changes as upgrades when the subjects are created. This, of course, is the foundation by which we have become so efficient. Each generation of nanos has become more superior than the last,” the Doctor finished.

  DEVELOP

  Nigel had been staring at his digiscreen results for over a half hour. He knew this would be considered his greatest work to date, and the other scientists would have no choice but to finally acknowledge his intellectual prowess.

  For years he had been among the leading scientific minds on the planet, even being promoted to sit on the board of Nimbus’s prized Doctor Panel. However, he was shunned for being caught somewhere in between professions. With the mind of a Sci, as he was a genius in the lab, and the heart of a Doctor, since his passions also drove him to help his fellow man, Nigel had become the punch line for many jokes inside LifeSpan’s elite. Both the Sci and the Doctor circles rarely used his full name. Instead, they snubbed him professionally, and he was known only as Nigel.

  He was working on building a central hub for the nanos in the bloodstream to pass through and immediately deposit their information on muscle memory and developmental processes throughout the life of the host. In other words, he had created a mini checkpoint.

  This would allow the LifeSpan Extraction team to collect memories, feelings and emotions before they were filed away in the unreachable subconscious. In effect, Nigel’s checkpoint would become an electronic subconscious.

  Nigel had the finishing touches in place on this amazing machine, with results to prove his invention. This would be the one that would elevate him above all the other sneering scientists. They walked past him in the hallways and looked down at him. While it was true he was significantly shorter than most of the Doctors, he was also the youngest on the team. A mind years ahead of his own generation, Dr. Walter Nigel wanted the admiration of one man only, Nimbus. That was his true goal in life: to work alongside the great Nimbus as his right-hand man, above all the other patronizing Scis and Doctors.

  Nigel was preparing his files for submission. No matter what the breakthrough, no matter the urgency, there was always protocol. He walked over to the light-shifting Holowall and turned on the connection point.

  “Hello, Trina. Dr. Nigel ready for Experiment 67338 to be submitted for review and approval of Nimbus.”

  “Thank you, Nigel. How do you think it went?” Trina came into focus.

  “Very well, Trina, very well indeed. This is the breakthrough we have all been waiting for. Nimbus will be happy with this one, I know it.” Nigel beamed with excitement.

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions, Nigel,” Trina warned. “He will review your information, and I will update you with his decision.”

  “Of course. Thank you, Trina. I’ll be leaving for home after the submission.”

  “Please submit now, while we have an open connection.”

  “Yes, well, of course.” Nigel tapped the plexi screen a few times, dragged over an image and tapped in a submission code that was the secure line to Trina and her offices.

  Within seconds, the reply came. “Thank you, Nigel. Please be patient for an answer. I will be in touch.”

  The Holowall powered down.

  With his work finished for the day, Nigel packed up quickly and went home. His house was humble and barren of most furnishings. His walls and counters were covered in plaques, awards of recognition, and the occasional digiscreen of new and retired technology models. He had always thrown himself into his work, reserving little time for anything else, except a few plants. Unfortunately, even those had suffered under his intense research schedule.

  He sat down on his floor, cross-legged, and felt the small disk hiding in his Doctor’s robe. He glanced around the room, not sure why he had even done this in the first place. He had gone against the protocol. Nigel had made himself a backup disk and removed it from the office.

  This was a very serious breach. He was not allowed to bring anything into the outside world. This was not for any “ignorants” to read. He doubted they even could decipher the elevated physics contained within. But the fact remained: he made a copy of his nano-checkpoint data before he sent it to Trina. There was no excuse for his actions.

  He wanted a piece of it for himself. This was his child. All scientists were required to send the entire process and files to Trina. It was a one-way trip for the information. Nobody was allowed to “go back to the drawing board” if Nimbus didn’t like it or need it. Someday it could be revisited, by his express request only, but that rarely happened.

  Nigel stuffed the disk into the dirt of a neglected house plant and went to bed.

  Jon’s body was carried between two Collectors on a stiff plastique board, his arms folded over his chest, eyes closed. They marched across the Jenkins front lawn, leaving Mary and Cole behind with the last Collector still blocking Mary.
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  Their transport hatch opened with one panel expanding upwards onto the roof and two out to each side. A plasteel bed lowered from within and the Collectors loaded Jon onto the platform, which swallowed him up as the panels moved back into place. The two Collectors swung themselves up into the cabin compartment, one at the wheel and the other ready to assist. The third Collector left Mary’s side and walked across the lawn to their vehicle. He sat with Jon’s body in the back as the vehicle sped away.

  “Unfortunately, that is only a basic memory response. We can build worker bots to perform the same task, infinitely more efficient than any human. It’s when we have human ingenuity that true advancement is possible. You cannot build a worker bot to be a scientist; there is too much passion needed in scientific undertakings,” another Doctor chimed in from the back of the room. His name was Dr. Powell, one of the newest scientific minds to join Nimbus’s inner circle. Just because he was the newest didn’t mean they trusted him less.

  As soon as Dr. Powell finished, the other Doctors moved to object.

  Nimbus stood, to cease any further interjections.

  “Gentlemen, that is where we are falling behind. We can no longer rely on basic muscle responses to advance humankind. The memories of an individual are the next frontier. That is why I have gathered you together today. We will be traveling beyond the motor reflexes, and delving into the human mind.” He held up his hand once more, for the Doctors were beginning to voice the expected response. “I know we have already looked into the development of the various sectors of the brain.”

  “Sire, there have been . . . complications in the past; that much is true. Unfortunately, we are still unable to pull a specific memory or emotional response out of the human mind. Although the mind has carefully catalogued an event and filed it away deep in the subconscious, we have never been able to jump in there and retrieve it,” Dr. Powell said.

  “That is because we have always tried to retrieve a single memory, to no avail. Therefore, I see only one path we can take to achieve our goal.” Nimbus was directing this debate, guiding the Doctors towards his plan now.

  “Sire, the problem is, for us to dig anything out of a specimen’s subconscious, the entire mind must be open to us. This would utterly destroy the specimen completely,” the Dr. Zander said, his eyes widening. He began slowly shaking his head, finally realizing where Nimbus had been leading them all along.

  “There is only one circumstance where I can see that would not be a problem.” Nimbus looked around the room. The understanding that Dr. Zander had come to was finding its way through the assembled men like a wildfire. As Nimbus planned, the first to voice his stance was Dr. Powell.

  “The most logical time for an entire memory download would be at a specimen’s expiration date. When we are extracting the nanotechnology reports, we can drain the memory at the same time,” Dr. Powell recited from the carefully planned script Nimbus had given him.

  The whole of those assembled were aghast at this possibility. The Doctors erupted amongst themselves, vehemently defending their moralistic duties as caretakers to the expiring individuals. Shouting at each other about limitations, need for further testing, not to mention the act of draining the entirety of a human being. They would be called monsters of medicine.

  “Can it be done?” Nimbus asked.

  The room fell silent with the various scientific heads looking at each other, unsure of how to answer their leader.

  “Can it be done?!” Nimbus leaped from his seat and banged his fist onto the table.

  Dr. Zander held his tongue.

  Finally, the predictable Dr. Powell, who had tried so desperately to be in Nimbus’s good graces tonight, gently replied, “Yes.”

  Slowly, the remaining Doctors nodded their heads, a clear moral burden settling on their shoulders. Some looked back at Dr. Powell with disappointment.

  “Then do it. The next extraction specimen, I want sapped. I want everything. Muscle reaction times, calculations, memories, dreams, desires, feelings, psyche. Everything. Am I totally clear?” Nimbus vehemently made his stand.

  “Yes, sire. If I may interject one crucial point: Due to the obvious risks involved with downloading another specimen’s mind and completely merging with another, may I ask who the test specimen will be?” Dr. Zander implored, even as he knew the answer.

  “No test. This inherent ingenuity that you spoke of is what my body needs. If I have to drain every expiration from now on, so be it. I will not be stalled in my progress.” Nimbus bore down with a gaze so intense, Dr. Zander found himself nodding before Nimbus had finished talking. “The next expiration will be downloaded directly into me. I understand the hazards, but you shall not fail me. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sire, of course. There are expirations today.” Dr. Zander checked his digiscreen, scrolling through expirations, the countries and towns of their locations, eventually finding one in their current city. “There is an expiration moments away. We can use him. His name is Jon Jenkins.”

  “I don’t care what his name is, I just want him drained. You are all dismissed.”

  Nimbus turned his back on the Doctors as they shuffled up from their seats and let themselves out. The gentle swish of the automatic door sliding shut was the last sound Nimbus heard before he settled down, cross-legged, and began his deep meditation.

  THE GATE

  “We are here. Charge him up,” the Collector at the wheel said over the speaker. The Collector across from Jon responded, opening hidden panels in the transport and connecting wires to Jon’s head and chest. The walls hummed and the compartment filled with white noise. Building into an electric crescendo, the wires danced with power directed into Jon’s body. With a final pulse, Jon leaped into a sitting position and opened his eyes.

  “What is happening here?” Jon blinked, panicked, and searched for a way out of the vehicle. The Collector said nothing and began pulling wires off of Jon, returning them to various compartments that blended back into the wall. Jon sat and stared at the Collector. The vehicle stopped. He heard doors swishing open from the front and the back hatch unfolded again, lowering his table down.

  “Time to go.” The Collector finally spoke, and motioned for Jon to exit first.

  As Jon stepped out, he realized he was in a familiar place. Very familiar. The LifeSpan grounds were as he remembered, back when Mary and he were here to pick up Cole. He turned and faced south, looking down the galley to LifeSpan Birth and Development, remembering Mary standing on the front steps, filled with wonder and excitement to start their lives as parents.

  “Mr. Jenkins, come with us.” The blonde Collector gently guided him off of the bed.

  “I expired. Where are you taking me?” Jon was confused, and tried to pull away.

  “You are very important. You have been chosen.”

  They walked towards the smallest building in the grounds.

  The three Collectors approached the door, removed their gloves from their right hands and placed them in unison on seemingly random panels of the door. Each hidden panel glowed briefly, and the door popped open.

  “Time for you to continue alone, Mr. Jenkins,” the lead Collector said softly.

  Yes, because I am very important. This is my destiny. Jon turned to face the doorway once again, its gleaming surface catching the sun’s rays with a blinding reflection. He steadied himself, and stood a little taller as he walked through the portal.

  It’s like I’m walking into the sun itself, Jon thought.

  He looked down at the smooth floor with a small black line running along its center. As the Collectors closed the door behind him, Jon focused on the black line and continued down the hall. He eventually left the door far behind and saw another light source a short distance further.

  He stumbled into a small, white room with one plasteel table in the middle. A booming voice echoed throughout, telling him to lie down and wait.

  Jon lay back on the table, waiting for his destiny to be fulfille
d. We are lost. LifeSpan is the compass. He began to recite his morning litany as the floor around him slowly rose, revealing it to be a tightly woven fabric attached to the edge of the table, without a break from the walls. He turned and began to sit up as a figure emerged from under the fabric, arms raising slowly.

  He could barely make out a face as the fabric stretched and spread tightly around the head. The figure had the appearance of a stretch-wrapped doll from the waist up.

  “Hello, Jon. We have been waiting for you. Please lie back and we will begin. You have served the human race well. You will be rewarded.” The Voice sounded distant, ethereal, and soothed Jon immediately. The Voice had no source, emanating from the entire room, muffled slightly by the fabric. He couldn’t tell if it had come from this fabric face. Regardless, he lay back, his head suddenly feeling very heavy.

  “You have lived a long and fruitful life. You have been a great help to your community. You have been a worthy father and dutiful husband.” With each droning exclamation, Jon was slipping more deeply into a hypnotic stupor, only vaguely aware of how close the figure was to his table.

  Jon looked up at the ceiling, which was slowly convulsing from every spectrum of color . . . His mind was caught up in the color storm while the fabric hands cradled his head. He felt himself enmeshed into the shifting colors, and unexpectedly he felt a growing pressure in the back of his head. The colors on the ceiling weakened in hue and were replaced with full-color images from his life. The room enveloped him with a video transmission of the world according to Jon.

  Playing all around him in rapid succession was every moment of his life. Some brought a smile to his face, remembering when he met Mary: she had been seeking shelter under an oak tree in a rainstorm. Jon had walked over and offered his umbrella to her.

  The images shifted to watching their first date and when he met her parents. His thoughts wandered back to a familiar oak tree, but now he was alone, holding an umbrella. His recollection was fading. Suddenly, he couldn’t remember meeting Mary, just that she was his wife. What was before marriage? They were always married. They were never married.