Remember

by Karthikeyan, Girish

  Take a moment to relax, up again and down with my arms ready through better recovery each time, up and down, arms start feeling weak, deep breaths, muscle recovery, and…

  “That’s enough.”

  I look sideways at him. “I’m sure I can do another one.”

  “You passed.”

  “What?” I don’t know what else to say.

  He almost chuckles but forces his face straight before saying anything. “I can hardly believe it either. When you came in here, I thought what can I do with this. There is no chance he can make it. Look at you now, passing with colors.”

  My eyes fixate on the paper-thin exercise mat where I fail. “It’s good you had such low hopes.”

  “Really?” His question just hangs in the air.

  “Let’s move on to the next test.” Fills the silence.

  We move to a square mat on the floor, the balance and strength test. Last time, I couldn’t even get into the correct position. I have to do better this week.

  “You know how to do this, right? You do a handstand with your head and forearms. You can also do a two-point handstand. That’s the more challenging choice.”

  I flex my fingers and rub my hands together. “I’m all set.”

  Dave rolls a large ball bearing under the ball of his left foot. It works like a jump rope handle that produces a fiber-optic filament. “One more thing, are you off your balance meds?”

  “Yes, last week was my last dose.”

  “You can start when you’re ready.” He picks up the ball and tosses it between his hands.

  I kneel on the mat and put my forearms around my head, interlocking my fingers. I bend over until my arms are almost fully down, straightening my back and legs until the weight switches onto my arms.

  “You got it?”

  I teeter forward and back, unable to find the exact balance point. I finally get it.

  “You are now going to arc your back as far as possible, without falling to the mat. Remember, everything in moderation is necessary for good life.”

  I do what he says further and further.

  “Keep going, that’s it, even more, give it your best, you’ve stopped moving, just a little more.”

  I stopped moving for a while. Dave keeps pushing. I don’t move any more. This is my limit. My arms strain at 100 percent. Dave stops pushing me. I just stay there.

  “Good job. You can come down, now. That was great. You are going to pass.”

  I lower my knees to the mat, get up, and join Dave.

  “So, I passed. What’s next?”

  “You get your mission sometime later today. You go to the Zensation this evening at 8:30.”

  “That was good, right?”

  Dave looks at the mat. “I was good enough.”

  “What else could I have done?”

  “Something like this.”

  Dave goes to the mat. He does a two-point handstand, bends forward until his legs hover at 90 degrees. He must be masterful, good enough to flip into standing. What? How can he do that? How is that even possible?

  “You still got it, Dave.” I pat him on the back.

  “Not bad for 120, is it?”

  His proud voice pushes me to just say something. “How many years do you have left?”

  “Another good 30–40 left in the tank.”

  “You are just amazing.”

  “Good job passing the test. I’ll see you again sometime.” He pushes me almost off my feet with a gentle shove in his mind.

  “Thanks.”

  I leave the room, find the exit, take one look back, and cross the street. It doesn’t look strange coming out of a gym with exercise cloths on. I walk through the tables of the coffee place, go inside the Stephens Institute, and to my floor with no one around at 10:30 a.m. on a Sunday.

  The Day Job

  Sun 8/13/17 1:41 p.m.

  I finished everything except the results and conclusion. Start to write:

  (—)

  Conclusion and Results

  The testing led to an unexpected result. The best group results went to the high happiness group. Selective neuronal stimulation and happiness implementation (a specific experience the induced happiness like remembering a happy event) followed the preceding group (see chart 1). The control and low happiness groups scored meagerly in comparison. The induced processes struggled to keep up with the high happiness group. This nonetheless approached the results set by the other top groups (see chart 2).

  The explanation naturally follows. A natural happiness response outperformed anything we could create at this point. The body retained the ability to activate the learned behavior for an extended period of time (continues still). With selective neuronal stimulation a shorter period of activation (8 hrs). The difficulty with the happiness implementation method stemmed from finding a remembered moment to induce happiness. It could be anything, as long as it worked. People sometimes found it hard to come up with an effective trigger. Maintaining induced happiness faltered sometimes in the learning period. The control group comprised individuals with average happiness. This group consisted of transient happiness. Certain pleasurable moments resulted in happiness. If it felt pleasurable to learn in general or about neuroscience, they did well. The majority of the group didn’t do relatively well.

  We found that natural happiness provides the baseline for accelerated learning. Natural ability had a great influence to be sure. Methods to aid in happiness level definitively helped the learning process at some level. The results revealed the inherent differences between individuals and the widespread improvement that is possible. There was one major flaw with this research study. The need to establish the improvement that is possible for each participant.

  (—)

  I can proof read sometime today. The contact meets me tonight, and I have no idea what to expect. I can’t wait for it though.

  Interruptions

  Sun 8/13/17 8:04 p.m.

  The meeting with a government recruiter for a scientific consultant job within the GGC happens momentarily. The usual t-shirt emerges from the closet. The jeans and jacket just make it more suitable for a pre-job interview. I leave my apartment 30 minutes early.

  The hallways flicker with yellow light, almost candle light. Groups of two or three cluster in the halls and at benches. I look for anyone I know among the at least eight people from the lab living up here. More than fifty people occupy the entire floor. I curtail the groups until I get to the elevator bathed in white light. I select floor B3 to Zensation.

  Entering the bar inundates with a mass of people. My routine forays end by now. I’m just a few away from getting the employee discount. Squeezing between the maze of tables trying to reach the bar rings out a few minutes. I might as well spend the rest of the time waiting with a drink. Bumping various body parts into chairs and tables at this point, I see Claire sitting there. I finally make it to the bar.

  She has on faded, holed jeans with a loose t-shirt. “You’re here tonight? What happened to meeting your friends?”

  My appearance catches her unaware. “It was just moved to yesterday. Sometimes I can’t even believe we have anything to talk about. We’re in such different places in our lives.”

  Ordering something just requires a few taps on the bar. “How is that hard to believe?”

  “We can still relate after so many years. One person is in between relationships, like me.” Optimistic. “The rest have been in relationships for anywhere from 3 to 10 years. Two are expecting a second child or already have one. It still just works. We haven’t changed much as people.” She sounds almost like a medical person, reducing everyone to numerical and diagnostic abstractions.

  “That makes a lot of sense. What are your plans for tonight?” I slosh around the drink in my hand before swallowing a gulp.

  “Before I answer that, what are you doing at Zensation on a Sunday night?” She whispers it like a secret.

  “Don’t get any ideas. I’m just here to meet a recrui
ter for the government, in about 10 minutes.” My clarity and immediacy surprises even me for telling a lie.

  “Why, are you looking for a different job?” Claire says slyly.

  This tightens my voice, pretending defensiveness. “It’s just in the beginning stages. I have not gotten an interview, yet.”

  “You can at least explain the interest.” Claire itches her wrist out of habit from a long absent watch.

  This question digs out an idea that I prepared. “Anything I do at the Stephens Institute takes years, sometimes decades to make a real impact, if at all. The time scale is just too large in research.”

  “Your job is just too slow.” She drawls out her words from a side of mischief.

  “The actual job is good. I get to do new stuff every day. The job we do is important. Someone has to do it. It just doesn’t have to be me.” Good answer with the help of practice.

  “Research.”

  “What?” An unintended edge enters my voice.

  With a small laugh she says, “Sorry, just answering your question from before.”

  “What question?”

  “You asked ‘what I’m doing tonight.’” She waves to a pad on the counter.

  I just answer without remembering. She repeated the question anyway. “Yes.”

  “I’m doing research on a new security protocol.”

  “Tech id is used now, right?” The idea just pops into my mouth.

  “How did you get so knowledgeable on tech?”

  Her awe feels false with the quick disillusionment. Then, it comes to me. “Last month, or so, I read an article on mandatory tech id registration. I did some research about it.”

  She sits up straighter for what comes next. “Tech id sends anything within 2.5 millimeters of your skin tech id. Devices store a logged id to match with what you send. If the two ids match, the device works. Anytime you interact with tech, it scans for tech id on the control surface. It’s just easy to get around it. The new method uses a conductance pathway. You know what that is, right?”

  “That is how well a material can allow electrons to move through it.” I recited it like spelling out a difficult word.

  “Yes, a path is created from the display device to potential interaction sites, like a hand.” She presses my hand on the counter and swivels the stool a little.

  “Why don’t they already do it?”

  “There is one area of discontinuity within a personal tech network, the heart.” She presses where her heart would be. “A wireless bridge crosses that general area. No clear conductance pathway exists in tech as we know it today. They have some ideas for possible bridges, the lymphatic system, small intestine, vena cava, and creating a dedicated bridge.”

  I search my medical knowledge, but end up with nothing from the pre-meeting readiness. “How are they going to build a bridge?”

  She looks at me with an eyebrow quivering from holding it down. “They use angiogenesis to create a cross-link across two blood vessels on opposite sides of the heart. Tech populates this bridge and closes off a majority of the blood flow through this new vessel.”

  A theoretical convo takes hold, maybe not an argument. “The lymphatic system is the worst of the bunch. Just one common point connects the two systems, in the spleen. Using the vena cava seems the best option. I’m not sure about the angiogenesis. It could cause some issues or maybe nothing. The circulatory system is wired the way it is for a reason. Why don’t they just use the vena cava?”

  “There are some safety concerns with putting tech in such a big vessel, even a vein. You're probably forgetting the absence of any valve dividing the heart from the vena cava. The adhesion of tech to the vascular wall is quite weak. For example, people with very exercised hearts can’t use standard tech. They need increased adhesion.” Claire tried to accept my idea without really accepting it.

  I ignore the reminder. The circumvention of tech id from earlier has me curious. “How do people work around tech id?”

  “It is actually easy once you get the right equipment. Just put a small device in someone’s pocket.” She removes a tube of lip wax from her back pocket and puts it on the bar. “It copies the tech id and rebroadcasts it back. The tech thinks you’re interacting with it. To see what the tech shows, just get into the eye bridge. The tech inside the eyes connects to the tech network through another wireless bridge. Getting the equipment is the hard part, not impossible, just hard.”

  The cavalier way she talks about hacking frightens me for some reason. “I’d like to talk about this more. I just have to meet that recruiter.”

  “It’s a good time. I better get back to my research.” Claire grabs her pad, lip wax, and we walk out together.

  I don’t know what to say. She thinks I want to leave the Stephens Institute to work for the GGC. I can’t tell her it’s just a cover, but I can mention her research. “Good luck with your research.”

  “I’m not sure what to say to that. I think good luck will do. I want you to be happy. On the other hand, I don’t want you to have a good meeting. ”

  She wants me to stay. “I’m not going to get the job. There’s a lot of competition. They’ll just promote from within.”

  Claire stops me with a hand on my shoulder. “I hope you have the choice to do what you want. Bye, Conor.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Claire.”

  Claire stows away her lip wax and disappears into the crowd headed to the Institute. The lights from those red heels of hers vanish last in the shadows underfoot. I wait across the hall from Zensation. The Agent that regularly works with me hates in person meets. He always sends another person when the usual tech com system can't work, except rare exceptions. A different Agent must be handling this op, featuring my first prearranged meet. The Agent will ask some coded questions that sound like regular conversation, the real meaning known only to us. The hint comes from repeat questions and questions about the GGC. We will discuss my worthiness for the mission. First, we reveal our own respective covers to authenticate each other.

  Someone comes down the hall, wearing formal clothes for Zensation. She chose a simple black dress with a long, black jacket, which flies back showing a dark blue lining, matching the neat micro-bows on her flats. The Agent approaches me (it must be her).

  “Hi, I’m Jenna.” She extends her arm in a handshake.

  “I’m Conor Abby. You’re from the GGC, right?” I just confirm the appearances.

  “Yes, I have a table reserved for us. Ready to go, Abby?”

  Her choice of Abby must mean something. “Yes.”

  We go to the entrance of Zensation. A screen situated in the entrance arch covered with a thin layer of dust says Welcome to Zensation, a Japanese themed restaurant with sim bar. She puts her hand on the screen, so it says Verified as Jenna Montclair. Thank you for your reservation. We go into Zensation and find our table. She slides off her coat revealing the wide open oval back of her dress and no sleeves. Her hair circles the back of her head and juts out at twelve points. I take the other seat of the small candle lit table.

  “You might as well order something. The company is picking up.” Jenna takes a sip of water.

  “Water is enough for me.” I look around the empty table, except for the water glasses, one candle stick, two menus, and two cloth napkins.

  She starts entering something into her tech. Actually I just see her moving her finger across her forearm. This must be the location of her tech screen. She doesn’t pick up the menu.

  “Abby tell me about yourself.”

  Good, direct questions. “I work at the Stephens Institute. It is up and to the right.” While I talk, my mind busies itself with observations. My eyes flit over her deep red hair. “Before that, I was a lab scientist.” One lock of her hair falls next to her almost transparent forehead, spiraling into a spring. “That was during my doctorate years. They try to pack 12 years of learning into 6. Never any time to waste.” The lights glint off her mahogany glasses. “I do have the educa
tion to be a physician. That would just be too much. It wasn’t possible to be a physician while completing my education.” Her full rounded lips contrast sharp features everywhere else. The confidence of wearing almost no makeup reminds me of every woman here, but still surprises me at times. “That is everything.”

  A plate descends down in front of her from a ceiling plate transport lift. “Good. Do have anything to ask me? I’ll go ahead and start eating now.” She drapes the napkin across her lap.

  I take a sip, thinking of a question. “How did you start working at the GGC?”

  Jenna grasps the lacquered chopsticks and selects a place to start eating the dark-brown noodles. “I was given a job after graduating, making calls to potential employees and trying to set up recruitment meetings. I want to work my way up to interviews.” She dips the noodles into a warm broth then into her mouth, catching any drips with the same broth cup.

  “That sounds like a big change.” I watch another customer receive their meal.

  “When did you start working for the Stephens Institute?”

  “About 3 months ago.” I move my glass where my plate would be.

  “When did we approach you? It is just for verification purposes.” She takes another mouthful.

  That must be a coded question. When did the Agent recruit me? “It was 2 months ago.”

  A glass of clear liquid with a coin node drops down. “Why are you interested in joining the GGC?” She sticks the node on the inside of the edge of her wrist.

  “The Stephens Institute is just a little slow. At the GGC, I have access to people who can make a real difference. Anything at the Institute, takes years to make any change.” I swallow a sip of water.

  She drinks a little from the sim liquid. “Are you continuing your education?”

  This must be about my training. “I just finished a 5-week course on kinesiology. It gave me so much information. I look forward to using what I learned.”