by Jude Fawley
“That is good, very good. Well, if you will follow me, there’s something in progress right now that I’d like you to partake in. And I can explain more while you do.”
She followed him down the hall, turning that time into a doorway on the left side. It was a small room, with specialized tools scattered all over and a few cages stacked in a corner. Seven people were already jammed inside of it, and they had to make room for Reiko and Mr. Okada when they entered.
By way of introduction, Mr. Okada listed out all of their names and areas of expertise. “Not that I will expect you to remember all of this right away, but those two over there are Nami and Saori, biomedical engineers. Next to them are Ichiro and Hideo, electrical engineers. Haru, in the corner, does programming for us. And that’s Noboru, he cultivates our image. And finally, Toru. He watches over the whole affair when I’m busy, as I often am. And that gives you an indication of what we’re about.”
As they were being introduced, the people briefly raised their hands or turned to smile at her, even those that appeared to be intensely busy. The attention of the room was focused completely around a lab table, which was entirely filled with complicated-looking machinery.
“Does it work?” the man named Noboru asked, after the interruption Reiko caused, trying to peer over the shoulders of the people standing around the lab table.
“Is it necessary that Noboru be here?” one of the people working at the table asked. “He’s not actually doing anything, and I’m feeling a little crowded.”
“Don’t kick me out,” Noboru complained. “This is the big moment.”
“One of the big moments,” the man named Toru corrected him. “Hopefully there will be others. But let him stay, Hideo. You’ll be fine.”
“No one answered if it works,” Noboru insisted.
“How do you think this works?” Hideo asked, while using what looked like a soldering iron on a rat’s head. He quietly consulted a woman standing next to him before everything that he did, and occasionally addressed the people watching behind them. He continued to say, after waiting for a response, “No, really, how do you think it works? Instantaneously? Tell me how it works.”
“Let it go, Hideo,” Mr. Okada said.
Reiko stood alongside Mr. Okada, where she could barely see anything that was happening on the table. She asked, in a hushed voice, “Can it really be the case that they’re not hurting them? I can’t see it, but I can smell burning.”
“Well, they are grafting things to their brains, which can’t be entirely pleasant, but they’re using a local anesthetic, which is assumed to be sufficient. And the operation is not debilitating, which it might seem like. Sorry that you can’t see much. Space is really limited around here, and it’s a problem. Anyway, after all the appropriate connections are made with the nerves, they will close off the skull using as much bone as possible, and a metal plate on both sides that’s aseptic and treated to be biologically stable. All that’s left, when it’s done, is a little wire that protrudes from its head. We attach a little transmitter to that, and it will look just like a rat again, wearing a small little hat.”
“And this little hat will let the rats share perception?” Reiko asked, incredulous. It was something that Mr. Okada had hinted at, during her interview the night before—the nature of the project. “That just doesn’t seem possible. The parts would have to be so small, and there are so many nerves in there.”
“That’s what makes a lot of our materials proprietary,” Mr. Okada responded. “It self-assembles with the nerves in the head, in a way that’s not disruptive of normal brain function. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t tell you much more about it than that. That’s what I have Nami and Saori for. Truly gifted people.”
The man named Toru, who was supposedly a sort of manager, pushed his way to the back of the room to be next to Mr. Okada and Reiko. He shook Reiko’s hand firmly as he reintroduced himself, and said, “It’s good to have you here, Reiko. We’re very close to a phase that we’ll be needing you in. We’re going to slowly add rats to the network and give them time to adapt. And you’ll be monitoring them the whole time you’re here. And then another group of rats, if that proves necessary.”
“The network?” Reiko asked.
“What did you tell her, Mr. Okada, that they’re sharing consciousness? Well, that’s a fine description in an abstract way, but it makes it sound really spiritual, doesn’t it? In reality, it’s more like the connection between computers, like a network. If you simplify the brain, it’s really just a huge hard drive, with the limitation that it can only be accessed by one person. I know you’re a psychologist, so I hope you don’t resent the simplification, but what we’re doing is just making the data more accessible, by broadcasting it. So each rat will be equipped with a receiver and a transmitter.”
In the background, the smell of burning continued, and the people there talked in whispers that were inaudible to Reiko.
Toru continued, “We don’t want to overload the little things, though. So we’ll be slowly doubling the amount of connections they have. Stopping around sixteen is the plan. We’ll have eight groups of two, then four groups of four, and so on. If we just added one at a time, the first few rats could adapt well, but it might be a tremendous shock for the last one added, experiencing a sixteen-fold expansion in ‘consciousness’.” He said the word as if he didn’t think that it directly applied.
“What’s your first impression,” Toru then asked, a look of genuine interest on his face.
“I think it’s crazy,” Reiko said.
“How do you think the rats will react?”
“I don’t know enough about what they’ll be experiencing, to answer that question confidently.”
Toru looked dissatisfied that she wouldn’t hazard a guess, but let it go. “I’ll set aside some time for Haru to tell you more about that, then, if you really want to know more about the technical side. He’s the programmer, so it might seem strange that he’d be the person to go to, but I promise that he is. After we’re done here, and you’ve had a good look at the rats, I’ll arrange for it.”
“They’re ready,” said a voice from the crowd at the table. They moved aside as much as they could, allowing the small group that had formed around Reiko to see. Two cages were brought from the corner, and one rat was placed into each. Reiko could finally see the extent of the modification, which looked just like a small, metal tack inserted into the rat’s temple. Space was cleared on the table to allow room for both cages to be placed next to each other.
“Go have a look at them,” Toru said, gesturing forward. A path cleared for her to the front.
When she was there, one of the electrical engineers, she thought it was Ichiro, said, “I’m going to turn it on. Just watch them for anything unusual. I don’t know how rats are supposed to behave.”
“You’re not going to let them heal first?” Reiko asked. The heads of the rats had small, fresh sutures radiating from the tack.
“What does it matter?” Ichiro responded. “Nothing like a distraction to ease the pain, right?” He didn’t wait for her to reply before he flipped a switch. She didn’t argue anymore, she turned her attention immediately to the two rats. Everyone behind her pressed forward to see.
At first, nothing changed. They were both perfectly stationary, probably still experiencing the sedation from the surgery. Slowly, the rat on her left began turning in a counterclockwise direction, gradually increasing its speed until it was hopping in a circle. The one on the right continued not to move.
“What are they seeing?” Reiko asked to anyone that would answer.
Haru, the programmer, said from behind her, “From all four of their eyes. None of us know how the data will be processed in their brains, though. My guess is that it looks something like permanently having yours eyes crossed. Which sounds brutal, but maybe if you get used to it, it wouldn’t be so bad. Eyes that travel in different directions, eyes that could look directly at each other, without a
mirror in between. And then there’s the sound, and the tactile sensations... I don’t know. But they’re definitely sharing information—look over here.” He indicated a computer monitor that was off to one side, which was displaying a bunch of numbers that had no meaning to Reiko. “This number is the amount of data being sent out, and this one is the amount coming in, for the rat on the left. Huge numbers.”
Reiko turned back to the rats, to look closer at the one on the right. It was lying down. “What about the other one?” she asked.
“The same numbers of course, just in reverse.”
Toru leaned toward the table, to address Reiko as she inspected the rats. “Well, how do they look?”
“They don’t seem terribly abnormal,” she responded. “And I’ve seen some terribly abnormal rats. Whatever is happening to them, it’s no worse than a moderate dose of cocaine. At least not yet. But of course I’ll need to watch them longer.”
“Of course,” Toru said. “If things look good over the next few days, we’ll get the other groups set up, and go from there.”
Apparently that was a signal to the entire group that the show was over, and to file out of the room. But before anyone left, they first approached the rats one by one, and looked at them with a sense of pride, or fondness. It was probably their machines they were looking at, Reiko thought, finally embedded in a living organism. The rats most likely meant nothing to them, except as a mode of transportation for their dream. It occurred to her that they’d probably spent years getting that far, and it was a huge milestone for them. It was her first day. So she stood aside, to let them all have the room they needed.
And eventually she was almost alone in the room, with the exception of Mr. Okada, who had never moved from his spot in the back. “Interesting stuff, right?” he said, stepping forward and smiling. “It’ll be even more interesting if it does any of the things that it’s supposed to do. Anyway, I wanted to apologize for being as vague as I have been about your duties, but I mean it when I say that the only thing I need from you is your best guess about what’s happening to them, and how it affects them. And you can go about formulating that guess however you want, although I prefer you base it on some science or another. Your guess is your final product. It’s all I need from you, but I absolutely need it.
“This is all preliminary work, the things we’re doing here—someone else will test our product, when we get to that stage, and they’ll probably do the exact same types of experiments as we already have, all over again. Some government organization or another. Horribly inefficient. But I would like to know the answers before any of that, using my own resources, and with people I trust.”
Reiko couldn’t understand how his final statement could include her, but he smiled at her again in a warm, reassuring way. His eyes wandered to the cages, and for a moment they became cloudy and distant, as if his soul had left them. He came back, to say, “If you wouldn’t mind grabbing one of those cages, and following me.” While he said it, he picked up one himself. “This is the room for working, not observing. Yours will be down the hall.”
He walked out of the room, and waited in the hallway for her to come out so he could shut the door behind her. He then walked back towards the lobby, turning into the last door on their right before the hallway ended. She followed closely behind.
It was a bright room, with a window facing the morning sun in the distance. There were fourteen other cages, all with their own singular inhabitant, and then a larger cage that housed another ten or so, all arranged on tables that bordered the entire room. The center, although not very spacious, was only occupied by two rolling chairs. He placed the cage he was carrying in an empty space along the far wall, next to the window. She set hers directly next to it.
He said, “And as you can see around you, here are some normal rats. For contrast, if you needed it.” He hadn’t shut the door behind them when they entered, and he went back to stand in the threshold before continuing, “I’ll leave you alone with them now, to give you the chance to become acquainted.”
He had already turned around, but before he completely shut the door Reiko said, “You are really considering putting these things into humans?”
A complex expression crossed his face. He opened the door slightly to allow conversation around it. After a moment, he said, “When I was young, I always thought that a deep connection could be made between two people merely from words, and a true willingness to make the connection. And maybe for some people, that’s true. But not for me. I love everybody, but always at a distance, and with my poor eyesight a distance is more than I can afford. Now that I’m no longer young, I don’t have much time to search for the fault in myself, so I’m trying new methodologies. Maybe I can get around my fault with a few machines, right? That’s what they’re for, machines. But I’m more of an entrepreneur than a scientist, so I can only bring together the right people, and hope.”
He seemed to wait for a response, but she didn’t know what to say, so she just stood silently with her head bowed. Taking that as a sign his response was sufficient, he closed the door, leaving her alone with the rats.
She looked around her at all of the small, timid animals, locked in their cages. “Let’s begin,” she said to herself. A thought then occurred to her, and she looked around the room. “I have nothing to write with.”
Ronin 2
Invasion of America
MATTHEW PERRY SAT quietly in his seat, listening to the conversations around him, as the maglev train hurtled along the vacuum tube that connected New York City to Tokyo. An hour had passed, and four remained until he would be standing in the Japanese metropolis for the first time in his life. There were no windows, so the only indication that he would soon be underwater was a digital map at the front of the cabin that monitored the train’s position. Classical music drifted diffusely from hidden speakers, some baroque piece that he couldn’t quite identify. He had only taken a passing interest in music throughout his educational career.
Half of the people on the train were of obvious Japanese nationality. He could hear the trilling language being spoken on either side of him, providing a counter-melody to the anonymous music all around. The seats were arranged like a subway car, so that he was directly facing a stranger across the hall. The man was already asleep, head tilted painfully to one side, a channel of drool draining the dam of his mouth into the top of his chair. Matthew hated public transportation, and found the seating arrangement especially unfortunate. Five hours made for a long subway ride.
A half of the remaining passengers were people that worked under him, in some capacity or another. Several were personal bodyguards, and a majority of the rest were clerical workers. The guards were constantly glancing at him around newspapers, in performance of their duties. It had taken him a long time to adapt to the nagging feeling of always being watched, but once he had, he found their presence comforting. The clerks all had large briefcases, and nearly all stared blankly forward from where they sat, apparently opting to fill the long expanse of time with nothing.
He had been chosen to lead the operation because, although he had never been to the country, he was one of the few people in his position that spoke the language. Only one other person in their group of fifteen also spoke Japanese, which meant that unless they hired a few interpreters, a majority of the burden of translation would go through him, a thought he found entirely distasteful. He could tell already that he would be far too busy overseeing business to be bothered with such a menial task. He sifted again through papers sitting in his lap, lists of names, descriptions of various sorts. The hours whittled away.
In a slightly different life, there wouldn’t have been a Japan to go to. The thought resonated deep within his consciousness, so he focused on it. Japanese would have been a dead language, like Latin, everything practical about it evaporated away until only historians cared. And he was far from a historian at heart. In a slightly different life, Japan would have sided with Russia and China in
a war that saw the complete eradication of both. The map at the front of the cabin was generous in its coloring of landmasses—it painted green across thousands and thousands of miles of black wastelands. He had seen the pictures. The only habitable portion of continental Asia was Siberia, a historical fact that would have made him laugh if he was aware of it. The Atlantic Union had hesitantly but thoroughly desecrated the rest of it, everything and everyone. And why not, Matthew thought to himself. The planet was already on its way out, so why not speed it along? And then the human race would move on to Mars, repeat the process, on and on. It had already started, and in fact would never end. That was his view on the matter, at least.
His job, in Japan, was to manage the takeover of a company that was of interest to the American government. He in particular had been assigned to it because, besides the fact that he spoke Japanese, the takeover was far from voluntary, and he had experience from before in such dealings. It took a somewhat brutal character, which he knew he possessed. As he understood it, he was part of a larger front to install an even larger American presence in every country that was not a member of the Atlantic Union. Similar parties were being sent to Africa, South America, and what remained of the Middle East. The only thing that mattered to him, though, was the performance of his own duties, which he intended to fulfill to the letter.
If a human was in charge of America, he doubted that any of the current events would have happened. A human would have been hesitant to kill six billion people as an expedient, and a human would have felt compunction ignoring the collective will of the Atlantic Union to, for all intents and purposes, invade the satellite governments left in the wake of the explosions. But for the last ten years the leader of America was not a human, but a computer program. A sophisticated computer program, to be fair, one that could predict social outcomes as easily as economic, with surprising accuracy. It seemed somewhat strange to Matthew, even after ten years, but at the same time it supplied him with a certain sense of confidence, similar to the presence of his bodyguards. They protected his physical body with their expertise, and the computer program protected the ephemeral world of right and wrong with its complex algorithms and predictive power.
