Invasive Procedures

by Aaron Johnston

  “With his own memories.”

  “Yes. Turn off your memories and turn on his. Don’t think of it as a hard drive with all the memory stored in it, think of it as a chemical program that would generate these memories all at once, making you believe that you experienced them.”

  “So Galen supplied all his files and journals and data in the hope that he could convince our minds that we had experienced them, that they were our actual memories?”

  “Essentially, yes. It’s not a matter of uploading a few of his opinions and meshing them with your own. Like what he’s doing with your DNA, Galen is switching out the old and bringing in the new.”

  “It’s impossible,” said Frank. “It could never happen.”

  “Whether it can or can’t isn’t the point,” said Monica. “The point is how Galen believed it could be done.”

  Frank remained quiet, waiting for her to continue.

  “Altering the entire active circuitry at once requires a near-lethal level of electrical shock,” said Monica. “Think of it as jump-starting a car. To fire off all those synapses at once in a pattern that strengthens certain connections along a wide neural network necessitates a massive jolt of programmed energy.” Her voice caught, and she stopped speaking.

  Frank waited. And while he did, he felt another surge of sympathy. None of this had been her doing. And yet, because of her circumstances, she was an integral part of it.

  He wanted to reach out and take her in his arms, as a friend, as a man expressing comfort to a woman, maybe rub her back gently they way he used to do with Rachel whenever she awoke in the night, frightened by a dream.

  Monica composed herself. “Once the chip is triggered, its first operation is to send a massive jolt of electricity through you, a jolt that I fear might kill you should it happen.”

  Frank took a long moment to consider. “Then you’re going to have to remove the chips.”

  “I’m a cardiologist, Dr. Hartman, not a neurosurgeon. I wouldn’t know how.”

  Byron stumbled out of the barn, a bloody hand covering his forehead. “Where’d he go?” he said.

  Frank looked past him. Hal was gone. Frank had taken his eyes off of him for only a moment, but Hal apparently had been waiting for it. Frank rushed inside.

  “What happened?” he heard Monica ask.

  “He hit me with a rock. Took the meds. He didn’t come out this way?”

  Frank ran to the back. A section of wall had rotted and fallen away, leaving a wide gap in the side of the barn. He jumped through it and saw Hal, now a distance away, running back toward the trail with Monica’s medical bag.

  Frank looked back, drawing the gun. “Wait here.” Turning, he sprinted down the hillside after Hal.

  Hal looked over his shoulder, saw Frank coming, and put on a burst of speed. Frank maneuvered through the brush as quickly as possible, following Hal down and then back onto the trail. Hal stuck to the trail after that, never slowing, running in a mad sprint to get free.

  Several times the trail bent sharply, and each time Hal disappeared from view as he reached the bend before Frank. Frank approached these bends cautiously, gun raised, ready for the kind of ambush a person like Hal would devise. But there never was an ambush. Hal never slowed once.

  For the better part of an hour they ran, bending and twisting down the mountain, running through shallow creek beds, jumping fallen logs, dodging low-hanging branches. Slowly Frank gained, but the men were nearly equal in speed and stamina.

  Finally Hal came to a skidding halt, and Frank ran up behind him and saw why. Hal was standing at the precipice of a cliff. The river raged forty feet below. Hal turned to face Frank and held the bag over the ledge.

  “Stay back or I’ll drop it.”

  Frank froze. “You need that as much as anyone, Hal.”

  “I’ll do it. I swear to you, I’ll do it.”

  Frank took a step closer. “Give me the bag, Hal, and we’ll go back together.”

  Hal snorted. “Back? I’m not going back. And if you know what’s good for you, neither will you. You saw Nick. He’s half dead already. He’ll only slow us down.”

  “We’re not leaving Nick behind.”

  “So you’re going to die trying to drag his corpse down the mountain? Oh, that’s noble. When are you going to realize that nobody else in this world gives a damn about you and you shouldn’t give a damn about them? I learned that fact a long time ago, Frank, and I’m alive today because of it. I’m a survivor. And if you want to be alive come morning, you need to start acting like a survivor, too. I’m giving you a choice. Come with me now or stay here and rot in the woods. Live or die. It’s that simple.”

  Frank stepped closer. “I only want what’s best for all of us, Hal. You know that.”

  Hal’s arm stiffened, holding the bag farther over the side. “Stay back.”

  Frank aimed the pistol. “Don’t.”

  “You and I are on the same side, Frank. You know that. The Healers, those are the bad guys. You want to point your gun at somebody, point it at them.”

  Frank hesitated.

  Hal reached inside, grabbed several vials and syringes, and held them over the ledge. “You think I’m bluffing?”

  “I think you’re a smart person. You’re not going to do something that will hurt yourself.”

  “You’re wrong.” Hal threw what was in his hand over the side.

  “No!”

  “I said, stay back.”

  Frank looked over the ledge and saw the vials and syringes fall into the river below and get swept away with the current.

  “I’ll dump the rest, Frank. Don’t push me. I’ll do it.”

  “All right. Calm down.”

  “Put the gun down.”

  “All right.” Frank set the gun on the ground.

  “Now kick it to me.”

  “So you can shoot me? I don’t think so.”

  “Kick it over the side.”

  “Think what you’re asking me to do, Hal. Right now there is a group of people up that road behind us, and our only defense against them is this gun, and that isn’t much. If I kick it over—”

  “Shut up. Just shut up, all right? You always got to play the smart guy, don’t you? Always got to be the one with all the answers. Got to get the last word in? How anyone can stand you is beyond me. Here, you want the bag? Take it.” He threw the bag high in the air toward Frank.

  Frank’s eyes followed it, and he reached out to catch it just as Hal rammed into him and tackled him to the ground. The bag fell away and rolled toward the edge as Frank struggled to get Hal off of him. The gun was still on the ground, several feet away.

  Hal’s face was red and furious. He grabbed Frank by the throat and squeezed. Frank pulled at Hal’s hands, but they held him tight. Hal squeezed even harder, his teeth clenched.

  And then Hal went rigid, put his hands to the side of his head, and screamed, as if suddenly blasted by a thousand deafening decibels. Frank scrambled out from under him as Hal fell to the ground and writhed in apparent agony. His scream continued, a deep, throat-cutting cry that echoed over the cliff face and down into the canyon.

  Frank backed away in horror as Hal flopped around in the dirt, convulsing.

  And then it stopped. All at once. The scream died away and Hal lay still on his back, eyes closed.

  Frank waited a moment for Hal to move, and when he didn’t, looked for the gun. He saw where it lay and got up to retrieve it just as Hal started laughing. Frank stopped and turned to him. Hal’s laughing grew louder, a deep raucous laugh that shook his chest. He looked down at his hands and laughed, felt his face and laughed, stood up and jumped up and down and laughed.

  And then he saw Frank, and a look of surprise came over him. “Frank. Look at you. You’re a mess. You’ve got dirt all over you.”

  Frank didn’t blink.

  “You are still Frank, aren’t you? You didn’t beat me to it, did you?” He winked.

  Frank stared at him. “Gal
en?”

  Hal threw his arms wide. “Tada! New and improved, version two-point-oh. Goodness, I had forgotten what it felt like to be this young. Did you see how quickly I can move?” He jumped from side to side like a schoolkid trying out a new trampoline. Then he stopped. “What are we doing out here, anyway?” He looked around him, and then over the ledge. “Where’s Lichen?”

  “Here,” a voice said. And then Lichen and three other Healers emerged from the trees at a run. Frank reached for the gun and grabbed it, but Lichen was on him in an instant and easily took it from him. The Healers pointed their tranq guns, and Frank held still.

  Hal smiled. “Lichen, my boy, your sense of timing never ceases to amaze me.” He looked them over. “Goodness. You’re a mess, all of you. Lichen, you’re worse than Frank here. Of course, I suppose I’m no better.” He brushed the dirt off his jacket. “Kill him and let’s get a move on.”

  Lichen look confused. “Sir?”

  Hal became agitated. “I am your prophet, Lichen. I have given you an order. You will obey.”

  Lichen motioned to one of the Healers. “Check him.”

  Hal held out his arm and waited while the Healer produced a small scanner and placed it on Hal’s arm. There was a popping noise. Hal winced as a needle pricked him, and then the scanner beeped. The Healer read the display.

  “Genetic match,” he said.

  “Of course it’s a match. Do you think I allowed myself to die only to stay that way?”

  The Healer pocketed the scanner and wiped the drop of blood that remained on Hal’s arm.

  “You will excuse us for making certain, sir,” said Lichen, bowing his head.

  “You were following procedure. You need not apologize for doing precisely what I asked. Now, get rid of this one.” He waved absently to Frank.

  Lichen looked to Frank and then back to Galen. “I don’t understand. Our orders have never been to kill the vessels, sir.”

  “That’s because I have never given the order. Now you will do as I direct.”

  Lichen still hesitated. “But, sir, the Council.”

  “Ah, yes, the Council,” said Hal. “I had forgotten. My memories are coming back sporadically. You will be patient, gentlemen, as I organize them. Where are the others?”

  “In a barn,” Lichen said, “a few miles back.”

  Frank’s heart sank. They had found Monica and the others.

  Hal made a face. “A barn?”

  “We tracked them there,” said Lichen. “Stone is with them now, awaiting our return. I would have stayed with them also, but you and Frank, or rather Hal and Frank, ran ahead. I had to leave to catch you.”

  “Then we will go to this barn,” said Hal. “Wait, I remember it now. A dreadful place. I sneaked out of it, didn’t I? And you were trying to stop me, Frank. It’s coming back to me. You wanted this.” He went to Monica’s medical bag and picked it up. “All that trouble for a silly little bag.” He tossed it over the side.

  Frank watched it fall and then disappear into the water below.

  Hal took Frank’s gun away from Lichen. “This one is not worthy of any council, gentlemen. He has done nothing but disrupt our work and mission. We can no longer allow ourselves to be influenced by his blatant disregard for the betterment of our species.” He pointed the gun at Frank. “Not very pleasant, is it Frank? To have a gun pointed at you? A taste of your own medicine, as the saying goes.” He stepped toward him. “I read your military records, you know? Incredibly boring, but if my memory serves me right, you have a nasty case of acrophobia.” He stuck the gun to Frank’s chest. “Amazing how thorough those records are, don’t you think?”

  Frank stood still and said nothing.

  “It’s a long way to the bottom, Frank. I imagine that makes you very nervous.” He pushed Frank backward toward the edge with the gun.

  “It’s funny,” said Hal. “I was certain that I wouldn’t have any of the host’s memories. But lo and behold, Hal has left me with some. A few of them not so pleasant, I’m afraid. Hal wasn’t the holiest of angels, if you get my meaning. These hands have killed before, sadly.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Frank could see the ledge behind him, only inches away.

  “But one of the most distinct memories I have is how you treated Hal, Frank. How you treated me. Always like an imbecile.”

  Frank stopped. His heels were at the precipice. The churning water roared below him.

  “You’re sweating, Frank. I can actually see tiny beads of sweat. You’re afraid, aren’t you? Well, let me make it easy for you. If you’re already dead, there’s nothing to fear.”

  Frank twisted and dove backward just as Hal pulled the trigger.

  The force of the bullet spun Frank around and threw him farther from the cliff face. He felt his body spinning, falling, tumbling through the air. Another shot rang out, and then he sunk deep into the frigid rushing water, consciousness slipping, the world turning black.

  29

  FIRE

  Director Irving welcomed Agent Carter into his office with a hearty pat on the back.

  “Good to see you alive, Carter. You gave us all a scare. Come in, have a seat.”

  “Thank you, sir.” He took a chair opposite Irving’s desk. He was showered and changed and looked rested.

  Irving went to window, looked up and down the hallway, then closed the blinds. “Got something to eat, did you? Filled that empty stomach of yours?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  Irving rammed his hands in pockets and shook his head sadly. “Terrible thing that happened to you. Just terrible. I’m glad you’re okay. I didn’t know you were in there.”

  Carter cocked his head. “Of course you didn’t, sir.”

  “Hm?”

  “You said, you didn’t know I was in there. I assume you mean you didn’t know I was in the rest home, the Healer compound?”

  Irving looked momentarily shaken, then smiled again. “Did I say that?” He took quick steps to the watercooler and poured himself a drink. “What I meant was, I didn’t know you were in—” He looked for the right word. “Trouble. I didn’t know you were in trouble.” He downed the water in a single gulp.

  “Of course I was in trouble, sir,” said Carter evenly. “I was missing.”

  Irving licked his top teeth, produced another smile, and poured himself another cup. “Of course. Of course. That’s what I meant.” He downed the second cup, coughing on this one. He crumpled the cup and threw it away before the coughing stopped.

  “Are you all right, sir?”

  “Me? I’m fine. I’m fine. Just went down the wrong pipe, is all.” He pulled up a chair beside Carter and sat, looking as relaxed as possible and rubbing his hands together.

  “You called me to your office, sir,” said Carter expectantly.

  Irving clapped his hands. “Yes, yes. I wanted to welcome you back in person and tell you myself how pleased we are to have you back.”

  “Thank you again, sir. . . . And is that all?”

  Irving’s left eye began to twitch, and he rubbed it with a finger until it stopped. Once composed again, he grinned as if nothing had happened. “No, I also called you in here for another reason.” He leaned forward in his chair, looking concerned. “I wanted to assure you that I didn’t know Frank would find this building when I sent him out there.”

  “When you sent him out there?”

  “It seemed a good course of action to examine the scene thoroughly. But I didn’t want to flood the place, you know. Two men would be enough, I said. Carter and that new one, Dr. Hartman. They’ll do, I said. So that’s why I sent just the two of you out there. I’m sure Frank told you it was an assignment I had given him, and I simply wanted to clarify the matter. I didn’t want you thinking I had sent you there . . .” he laughed, “intentionally. I can assure you I had no idea of the danger that was waiting for you.”

  Carter shifted in his seat. “Actually, Director Irving, Dr. Hartman never explained to me t
hat the assignment had come from you. This is the first I’m hearing of it.”

  The grin on Irving’s face waned. “I see. Well, all the same, I didn’t want there to be any confusion. You understand.”

  “Oh, I understand, sir. I understand perfectly. You’re getting sloppy.”

  Irving was sure he misheard. Smiling good-naturedly, he said, “Come again.”

  “I said you’re getting sloppy, sir. Look at your hands. They’re trembling. You’ve waited too long between treatments.”

  Irving paled. “What are you talking about? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Carter reached into his own pocket and produced a small vial of clear, thick liquid. “Treatment, sir.”

  Irving suddenly stood, the back of his hand covering his mouth. “Where did you get that? I mean, what is that?”

  “Look at you,” said Carter, a look of disgust on his face. “You’re a mess. You can’t even keep your thoughts straight.” He stood and went behind Irving’s desk, pulling out drawers.

  “What are you doing there?” said Irving. “Get away from that. Those are my things.”

  “Please,” said Carter. “Stop whining like a baby fighting for his rattle.” He opened the top drawer and found what he was looking for: a vial of liquid identical to his own. Except Irving’s was nearly empty.

  “You’re almost empty,” said Carter, holding it up. “You’re using too much of it, too quickly. You have to ration it.”

  Irving stood like a statue, mouth agape.

  “The treatment affects us all in different ways, Eugene. The weak-minded become drooling idiots while the strong ones, the ones like you and me, of course, stay cool as popsicles. Only you’re not so cool anymore, Eugene, are you?” He tossed Irving his vial, and Irving caught it. “You’re melting away, Eugene. Losing it. Coming apart at the seams. And unless you wise up, you will disappoint the master. And you don’t want that, Eugene. You don’t want to disappoint the master.”