A Room Of Dreams (Kosmos Book 0)

by Simon Horrocks

  “Gene therapy?”

  “Uh huh.”

  Javalama scooted the chair back to his desk, folding the pen-light into a table lamp.

  “Sleeping OK?”

  “Up until the last couple of nights.”

  “What do you remember?”

  “There was this baby crying. Uh... I think I was about to get up and take a look. Next thing I know I’m lying on the floor of the elevator lobby.”

  He remembered the hotel security guy trying to calm him – he was panicking, like he was in the middle of a terrible nightmare. A guy wearing hexagonal sunglasses did something to his hand and he calmed down.

  Javalama scribbled some notes, then spun on his chair to face him.

  “Probably a bit of post-traumatic stress. We don’t realise how powerful a human bond is until it snaps.” Javalama clapped his hands together, startling Philip. He apologised, then rested a big hand on his shoulder and looked him kindly in the eyes. “No matter how long you had to prepare yourself.”

  2.1

  Louis Lewis was sitting in the corridor, chin resting on top of his company-issue, aluminium-lined case. Half-hypnotised by an advert for a new skin treatment, looping silently on the wall opposite. The way these things work, he’d probably wake up tomorrow with a rash.

  Philip finally stepped out of Javalama’s office and Louis pursued him along the corridor.

  “Philip!”

  “H - U - Y - T, Huyt,” insisted Philip.

  “We’ve got to cancel your cover.”

  Philip stopped and turned on Louis. “You can’t do this. We have a policy. We pay the highest premium. My wife is in a fucking coma.”

  “I know. But as far as UPC are concerned, she might as well be taking a very long nap.”

  “We cannot afford this. We’ll be cleaned out by the end of the month. We’ve got outgoings. We’ve got a child.”

  “Philip, I want to help you. But I need you to help me, first.”

  Philip stopped at the end of the corridor and turned back. Well, this was the guy who pointed out the missing information regarding his wife’s condition. The elephant in the room no one was talking about. He decided to give him a chance.

  Lewis followed Philip into Amy’s private room. Furtively checked the corridor then quietly closed the door behind them. He stood for a moment, seemingly in awe of the vision before him – Amy, lying on the bed in the middle of the room, her peaceful expression bathed in warm sunlight from the window.

  Philip watched suspiciously as Lewis placed his case on a table and approached Amy’s bedside. Then moved behind the ventilator control panel and switched something behind causing the ventilator to fall silent.

  “What’re you doing?”

  Lewis restarted the ventilator and smiled. Returned to his case and opened it.

  “I like you. I want to help you. I hate working for this fucking company. And I see your need is genuine. The system is just box A or box B, and if you don’t fit either of them boxes, what then?”

  “What then?” said Philip, with the feeling of general confusion which had remained with him since he first met the young rep.

  “For me, being human is about possibilities. When I see those cave paintings. Literally thousands of years old. It’s like, the beginning of possibility. Like, it awoke in our minds and made us separate from the other animals: we can do this differently.”

  Lewis took something from the case and closed it with a gentle click. Approached Amy and bent over her. After a few seconds, he stepped away again.

  Philip saw something was now stuck to the side of Amy’s head, about the size of a big coat button. This button then began to sink under her skin slightly, an electric glow creeping outwards, as if mapping out the neural pathways of her brain.

  What the hell?

  “Take that out!” Philip demanded.

  “We need to find her brain activity! If we don’t: we pull the plug, then they pull the plug,” Lewis insisted.

  Philip gazed at the device, instinctively curious.

  “What’s it doing?”

  Three tiny red lights flashed in a sequence up and down the device.

  “Looking for psi-complexes. When the red lights go green, there’s activity. It might be a dream, or a simple desire, or the flicker of a memory, or the memory of a desire. But Philip, it’s some kind of life.”

  “I’m a scientist. I do it for a living. Why have I never heard of this?”

  “This is new. Very new. I mean, it hasn’t really been approved yet.”

  Philip shook his head, suddenly feeling a little sick.

  “Look, if you want me to take it out, it’s simple.” Louis reached for the device.

  Philip thought quickly – without money and with everyone but him seemingly wanting her out of the way, maybe he didn’t have too much to lose.

  “Wait. Just wait.”

  2.2

  Philip sat with Amy for a couple more hours. Lewis had said to keep talking to her, but keep an eye on the red lights. If psi-complexes were detected, they might flash green for a second or two, only. So he needed to be vigilant.

  As he talked, his mind wandered to the subject Mitochondrial Eve – our species’ matrilineal most recent common ancestor. The most recent woman from whom all living humans today descend, estimated to have lived between one and two hundred thousand years ago. He’d been thinking about this subject recently – related to the big project now funding his company, Cephissus Therapeutics.

  The question of why one line survives when all others fail, came to his mind. And he wondered if it was simply a matter of chance.

  What do all men seek but to secure the survival of their genetic line – isn’t this our ultimate quest? We are at the mercy of chance. But, then again, science is all about increasing our chances. My life’s work. Would my genius go to giving another man immortality – hell, no. History was littered with brilliant minds whose work had been hijacked by fools. Idiots whose only talent was to steal the work of others. But fate has bestowed on me the ability to secure my own line.

  Philip came out of his thoughts and checked the device – still flashing red.

  “Okay, a question. You know Tom loves those little cheeses? Well, I didn’t know this. But apparently, he loves some little cheeses. They’re squares or something. And you give them to him. Every day, he says. Basically, he’s driving Mum crazy going on about these cheese things.”

  No change. He sighed deeply and gazed at her a moment, then leaned forward and kissed her on her perfect, rose-coloured lips.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Amy, love.”

  He dragged himself away, closing the door quietly behind him.

  On the device, the little red lights changed to green and flashed in unison. Then, back to red again. On the wall monitors, Amy’s life signs were stable. Jagged lines measuring nothing but small changes. And the ventilator hiss measured time in a steady, relentless rhythm.

  2.3

  Outside the hospital, the minicabter was waiting. He shrugged and jumped aboard – if his algorithms said he was too tired to take the subway, then so be it. He passed the ID check at the hotel main entrance and stepped back into the relative tranquillity of the reception area. But as he approached the elevator doors, he was suddenly overcome by a deep unease. He reached out to call the elevator, but then hesitated – gripped by an unexpected anxiety. Was he developing an elevator phobia?

  He decided to take the stairs – perhaps this feeling would go, once life was back to normal. As he turned away, stepping up behind him was the man with pointed beard and hexagonal sunglasses. The man reached forward and called the elevator. Watching Philip until the spiral stairs took him out of sight.

  In room 126, Philip called his parents using the hotel video chat (he’d taken Tom to stay with his parents in the States, a couple of weeks after Amy became ill). While his dad was trying to work out how to operate the chat system, a video message popped up on his phone.

  �
�Hey Philip! How are you?! I so hope you are well and feeling good about life! Really, we should talk more often,” chimed the beautiful woman with long, afro hair down to her shoulders and a bright smile. “I’d love to hear from you so give me call on this number. We can talk about my new company. They have a whole load of new tricks to help you make more out of your journey. Literally, anyone can afford it. Just pick a number from one to six and then call me!”

  1 to 6? Or 126?

  He cut the video-spam and dropped his phone on the bed. Then he popped a couple of the pills Javalama had prescribed, plugged his ears, turned off the light and rolled over. Hopefully, he’d finally get a full eight hours.

  “I think I got you now. Philip? Philip?!” Philip’s father bellowed from the video screen.

  But Philip heard nothing.

  2.4

  On the top floor of the Rhamnous Hotel, in room 06, the man with the pointed grey beard and hexagonal-shaped sunglasses was about to have his birthday. For not all men are born the day they emerge from their mother’s womb. Some are born later. For some, this will be decades later.

  For some. Indeed, most are never born.

  But this day would be his day. He would receive the eye-gift. Their object of K. And he would be named the Hexo-G.

  He kneeled before three lit candles on a circular silver dish. They were placed around a bowl containing a white powder – a substance of the Earth.

  The final truth is coming.

  The movers of worlds return.

  All will be destroyed except the selected few.

  Power of angels. Reason of life. Giver of eyes.

  He breathed mumbled words through his lips. Words to others’ ears. Words repeated. Round and round.

  Truth is unknowable. Knowledge is corruption. Pity me my fleshy sight.

  The words came louder. Energy pouring through his body. Calling them to bring him pain.

  Universal power! Timeless kings! Bring me light!

  His whole being became sound.

  A single vibration merging with the universal symphony.

  Tendril-shaped shadows outside his window.

  Then…

  Creeping, sliding across the red carpet.

  Covering his skin.

  Acid seeping into his veins.

  Searing fire in his right eye.

  Crying out.

  End.

  End.

  Please... end.

  3.0

  “No records?”

  Dr Dills’ question wriggled under the paramedic’s skin and caused instant irritation.

  “Just that we received her in a coma. I really don’t remember picking her up. But I remember bringing her in.”

  They approached the elevator on the 2nd floor of the Royal Arcadian Hospital, Casualty Department.

  “I normally give good paperwork... It’s strange. I just remember this feeling, at the time. Like I expected everything. Everyone, in fact. Everyone just seemed easy with it.”

  The explanation didn’t help the irritation. He felt stupid, somehow. And nobody likes to feel stupid. He was good at his job, he knew that. But in this case, there was something missing. Probably to do with stress and overwork. It was a crazy week, that week, so it’s understandable – you can’t remember every detail of every patient.

  But the lack of paperwork, now that was unforgivable.

  3.1

  Dr Dills faced Diana and Michael’s glare from across her desk.

  “We need some organisation, here. Someone’s got to take control of this thing.”

  “Everything is under control, Mrs Lord. There’s just a few details which seem to be held up somewhere,” said Dills, attempting to maintain the calm air of authority and assuredness expected of an experienced medical professional.

  “It’s pretty major. An organisation like this? You’re supposed to be best in the country! We just want to finish this. Our daughter is not coming back. We just want to lay her to rest. If it wasn’t for someone determined to put us all through this eternal fucking misery.” Diana barely disguised a glance in Philip’s direction – leaning against the doorframe, half in his own thoughts

  “My dear...” said Michael, and placed a calming hand on her arm.

  Dills had heard enough and got to her feet.

  “OK, I think we’re not being particularly productive, here. I’m going to clear space, get on this today and get back to you.”

  “You used to be like a son to us,” hissed Diana as she passed Philip on the way out. But once the couple were out of earshot, Dills took the opportunity to speak privately.

  “I thought it would be better to tell you this on your own – your insurance company have stopped payment for Amy’s treatment.”

  Philip shook his head – another blow to his stomach.

  “How long have I got?”

  “6 days.”

  She saw the poor man suffering and felt desperately sorry for him. She didn’t usually feel so strongly about a patient’s relative. But really, even once they cleared up the issue with the case history, she was certain there was nothing they could do to help the wife he clearly loved so deeply.

  “Philip,” she breathed, almost pleading. “You’ve got to stop hoping.”

  3.2

  Philip set off, determined to prepare his case. He couldn’t let them do this – this was his wife, a living person, they couldn’t just discard her over the small print in her contract. These petty-minded fools, they didn’t care. Like the kid said – it’s all about ticking fucking boxes. Did we struggle through millions of years of evolution for this? To create sad, no-life pen-pushers sitting in their little grey offices, deciding real people’s lives on a whim.

  Lewis ambushed him before he got to the waiting minicabter.

  “Philip... the system is big and the little guy never wins.”

  “I’ll see you in court.”

  “Not my department.”

  Philip checked himself – the kid was infuriating, but he also needed him on his side.

  “I’m sorry. I appreciate you’re trying to help.” He paused at the end of the corridor and waited for Lewis to catch up.

  “Any luck?” asked Lewis.

  “Nothing.”

  “Well, it takes time.”

  “We don’t have any time.”

  “Can we talk? In private?”

  “I’ve got an insurance company to fight.”

  “Look,” said Lewis, in a conspiratorial whisper. “I haven’t told you everything.”

  They stepped out of the hospital entrance and back into the crush. Fought their way to the fenced-in minicabter pad where Philip’s vehicle was hovering. He touched his thumb to the biometric reader, the gate clicked open and they jumped aboard.

  The minicabter doors slid smoothly shut behind them. The 4 rotors hummed smoothly and they began to rise above the hospital building. Lewis never got used to that liberating feeling, peering down at the ordinary folk below.

  “You know about psi-complexes, right?”

  “Uh, I Googled it.”

  “Did you get to neural transfer?”

  “Didn’t make it that far.”

  In less than 20 minutes they were back in the hotel lobby, approaching the elevator. Philip’s anxiety returned.

  “Mind if we take the stairs?”

  Lewis shrugged and they set off up the broad, white, marble-effect steps.

  “They’re starting to use this now. It has military applications so there’s a lot of money going in. I mean, reading minds at a basic level is nothing new. But this is.”

  In room 126, Lewis placed his aluminium-alloy-lined briefcase on the bed and flipped the locks. Between them was a name embossed in frosted-white plastic: KOSMOS.

  “Take a seat. I want to show you something.”

  As Philip placed himself in a chair by the window, Lewis took out a long, pen-like applicator. Placed the applicator to the side of his own head and implanted a button-sized psi-complex device, l
ike the one he’d used on Amy. He then took a second applicator and approached Philip.

  “Actually, it feels quite nice,” Lewis reassured him.

  Philip closed his eyes and felt an electric tickle pass under his skin, at the side of his head. A moment later, he was back downstairs in the elevator lobby – looking at himself.

  “Mind if we take the stairs,” Philip repeated. Only now, Philip was experiencing the moment through Lewis’ memory. Seconds later, he returned to his own consciousness – back in the hotel room, with Lewis removing the device.

  “I gave you that one. You see, because I’m conscious I have a degree of control. Whereas with Amy, it’s going to be a bit more... random access,” said Lewis.

  “What? No, no. What do you mean?” Philip’s head was still spinning from having Lewis’ memory played in his head. “I’m not having you in my wife’s mind.”

  “Mr Huyt, would you allow a surgeon to perform life-saving operation?”

  “Are you crazy? Is nothing sacred to the world of insurance? Will the quality of our dreams now effect the cost of our premiums?!” Philip was furious at the arrogance of these people. As if invading people’s lives wasn’t enough – now they can just survey the contents of your head?! But he checked himself, again. “Just not you, ok?”

  “You?”

  “That’s the only way this is going to happen.”

  Lewis sighed and shook his head. “It takes some skill. It’s like playing the violin, you don’t just pick it up and play like a maestro. Same goes with your wife.”

  “Listen, my friend, this whole terminology you’re using – it’s not helping.”

  A cheeky smirk pulled up the corners of Lewis’s mouth. “That’s the other thing. Are you sure you want to know what’s going on in your wife’s head?”

  3.3

  The Lords were staying at the same hotel, one floor down. And as Diana made herself an afternoon coffee with the in-room facilities, Michael was beginning to see things a little differently. A feeling of clarity had begun to return to his mind. Ideas that for some reason had remained sedated, now began to re-awaken. His wife’s obsession with seeing their daughter’s life-support switched off, for example, had begun to make him feel a little uncomfortable.