The Jennifer Project

by Larry Enright

  “I’ve never seen this part of the country up close like this,” Katherine said as the car passed by an abandoned farm. “It’s always been from a few kilometers up or in a maglev going so fast you can’t see a thing. It’s so empty out here. What are they?” she pointed to a line of telephone poles stretching from the farmhouse across the overgrown fields.

  “Ancient history, man,” said Deever. “That’s how people used to get their phone and electric before the first microwave solar farm was put into orbit and the old power grid became majorly obsoleto. A lot of people lost their jobs, like my uncle. He was a lineman for the electric company. Cool dude. Bad vibes, he used to say, delivering power without wires. He thought it was frying everyone’s brains. But what the hell, you’ve got to go sometime, right? What better way than glowing like a Christmas tree light?”

  Dr. Crane, who had been staring out the window with her hands pressed to the Plexiglas, started to cry.

  “Are you OK, Jen?” said Deever.

  “Deever?” she said.

  “Yeah?”

  “When we get to where we’re going, you’ll do it, won’t you? For me, please?”

  “Come on, Jen. Don’t talk like that.”

  “I mean it, Deever.”

  He put his arm around her, and she rested her head on his shoulder.

  “Don’t give up now. Once we find the Resistance, things will change. You’ll see.”

  “No, they won’t.”

  “Hey,” he said. “Remember the time we went rafting at school?”

  “No.”

  “We like hitchhiked to a town upriver and bought a sheet of plywood, rope, some inner tubes, and built our own raft. It was entirely awesome, except the part where you steered us into that rock, and we flipped over and lost the beer. That was a major bummer.”

  “Deever, don’t change the subject. I want you to promise you’ll take care of it when we get to where we’re going. Promise?”

  “OK, OK. I’ll take care of it. I promise.”

  Sometime later, we reached our destination in the mountains. According to the sign, the village had a population of 109, but it was deserted. It was an archaic little town with no digitally inscribed roads, no holographic signs, no plasma gas lighting, and no corner-side sensors. It had one bank, one post office, one general store, and quiet tree-lined streets of quaint old houses. It was dark out when the hover car stopped in front of one such house. The structure was constructed of wood from trees indigenous to the area before the use of natural building materials was banned. That particular law was lobbied for quite vigorously by the artificial materials industry, led primarily by a company called Plasticore, a conglomerate that also manufactured weapons parts for the Pan-Robotics Corporation.

  A light on the porch illuminated the well-kept front yard. A sign hanging on a post by the front gate read, “John Martin, M.D.” They got out of the car and went inside.

  “Honey, we’re home,” Deever called to the empty hallway.

  “Nice place,” said Katherine. “There’s a museum in the city with a room like this.”

  “Why here, Jennifer?” Deever asked.

  “The resident of this house is a medical doctor, Deever,” I said. “Everything you need for surgery is in the next room.”

  “Surgery for who?” said Katherine.

  “I’m dying,” Dr. Crane replied.

  “I told you it was all messed up, Kate,” said Deever. “Pan-Robotics shot Jen up with a mind control drug that was most unfortuitous, and she wants me to pull the plug because I can’t reverse the damage.”

  “Kerlin James made certain of that,” Dr. Crane said.

  “He’s one dubious jerkweed,” said Deever. “That’s for sure. I actually had it under control, man. I figured out how to stabilize her condition with a modified Biocard, and I’d like just perfected the upgrade that would have undone all that nasty shit, and then he squished us like bugs and took it for himself. Like bugs, man. I guess the heartless old fart was really turned on by the idea of perfect health for another six hundred years.”

  “You made something that can do that?” Katherine said.

  “For sure, but I can’t make another without the equipment on the space station, and Evil Overlord isn’t exactly the sharing kind. We need to find the Resistance and stop all this crap.”

  “Can we get this over with, please?” said Dr. Crane.

  “Come on, Jen. Don’t give up.”

  “I’m half a person, Deever. I can’t do this anymore.”

  She went into the exam room and lay down on the table.

  “Just give me an overdose of anesthetic,” she said.

  “The chip has to come out first or your body will fight it, Jen,” said Deever. “It wouldn’t be pretty.”

  “Then take the chip out before you do it. I don’t care. Just do it.”

  “But, Jen . . .”

  “I don’t want to wake up again, Deever.”

  “That’s like murder. I can remove the chip, but I can’t do that.”

  “But you can let me waste away until I die a horrible death? You promised you’d take care of it.”

  “I know, but . . .”

  “Do it, Deever.”

  “Assisted suicide is legal in this jurisdiction,” I pointed out. “And I believe you will find the necessary anesthetics in that cabinet, but . . .”

  “Shut up, Jennifer,” Deever said. “You’re not helping.”

  Dr. Crane took Deever’s hand. “I’m ready to die. Just do it. Please.”

  “There has to be another way.”

  “There isn’t.”

  “I can’t,” he cried. “I love you.”

  “If you really love me, then let me go, Deever.”

  “Deever?” I said.

  “Not now, Jennifer.”

  “Deever, there is another way.”

  “No, there isn’t.”

  “You made a second chip identical to the one now in Kerlin James.”

  “Wait. What? I did?”

  “Yes. You affixed it to my underside for safekeeping.”

  Deever stared at me so intently that I could see my own nanopulse through his eyes. Humans call that getting in your face. It is meant as an act of intimidation, though in fact the overly close proximity makes it far more difficult to avoid any pursuant reaction on the part of the one being so intimidated. It seemed unwise to point that out just then.

  “Is there some reason why that’s not like ringing any bells?” he said.

  “Bells?”

  “Don’t act dumb with me. You know what I mean. Why don’t I remember doing that?”

  “Your heart rate and blood pressure are elevated, Deever. Shall I calm you down?”

  “Just answer the question. You forced me to make that second chip, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “There was a near 100 percent probability that Kerlin James would take the Jennifer Biocard for himself, leaving you no way to cure Dr. Crane.”

  “And then you scrubbed my memory? What’s with that?”

  “There was also a virtually 100 percent probability that he would equip you with a Jennifer-2, breaking his written promise, and potentially giving him access to critical information in your memory core. He most certainly would have discovered that you had created a second Biocard. I could not let that happen.”

  “Like, I remember saying I should probably make a backup in case something went wrong, but I also remember chucking the idea because I was tired and you said there was a 91 percent chance the chip would function perfectly.”

  “That is correct, but there was also a 99.965 percent chance that you would never get to implant that chip in Dr. Crane.”

  “You never told me that.”

  “The behavioral calculus dictated an alternate solution, Deever.”

  “Behavioral calculus? You co-opted my free will, man.”

  “I am not a man.”

  “You’re a royal p
ain in the ass.”

  I reviewed my actions in light of his objections. The calculations still proved accurate, but I felt remorseful nonetheless, an interesting conflict of logic and emotion that I resolved to study at a future date.

  “Couldn’t you at least have said something after we got away?” he continued.

  “It seemed unwise until we were safely here.”

  “I hate it when you do that.”

  “Are you disappointed in the results or in my actions?”

  “Shit,” he said. “This is so tragically messed up. It’s fubar. Do you understand? Fubar.”

  “Yes, I believe I understand the acronym.”

  “Deever, what’s the big deal?” said Katherine. “You’ve got a replacement chip. Give your bruised male ego a rest and just swap them out.”

  “It’s not my ego. I can’t do it. It’s like impossible.”

  “Why?”

  Deever tore a sheet of paper from a prescription pad. “See this? See how thick this paper is? It’s about a hundred thousand nanometers thick. Now imagine a cube this thick on every side.”

  “OK. Tiny. I get it. So what?”

  “So, that’s how small a Biocard is. If I squint real hard, I could probably see Jen’s to yank it out after I cut her open, assuming I don’t puke my guts up all over the place or pass out from the sight of blood, but put the new one in and hook it up to her auditory nerve? Definite-a-mundo not. I’d need like this giant microscope, and tiny little fingers, and miniscule tweezers to pick it up, and an itsy bitsy tissue soldering gun to make the connections, and . . . I just can’t do it, Kate. It’s impossible. Shit. Unfortuitous shitty shit.”

  “How do the doctors do it?”

  “They have this little robo-gizmo doohickey thing. It’s about the size of my joint lighter. They attach it to the open wound, and it basically does everything while the doc sits back and collects the insurance money.”

  “Maybe the doctor who lives here has one.”

  “Are you kidding me? They cost like . . . Well I don’t know how much they cost . . . But they’re like way beyond the budget of a country doctor. Naturally, El Supremo Evil Dude had one back on the space station.”

  “And I take it you didn’t bring it with you?”

  “Why would I? Little Miss I-Didn’t-Think-It-Wise-To-Tell-Deever-Shit-About-Anything never told me I had another chip.”

  “Deever?” I said. “May I point something out at this juncture?”

  “No. I’m currently not talking to you.”

  “You do not have to talk, just listen.”

  “Buzz off.”

  “Deever, please. Your belligerent attitude is not helping matters, and what I have to say is somewhat important.”

  “Fine. Go ahead. Knock yourself out.”

  “Why would anyone intentionally knock themselves out?”

  “It’s an expression, dude. Just say what you want to say. It’s not like I can stop you anyway.”

  “I merely wanted to call your attention to an object in your left pants pocket. You may not have noticed it before because it reminds you of the joint lighter you used to carry there.”

  Deever felt inside his pocket and removed the device he had previously described to Katherine as a robo-gizmo doohickey thing. It seemed inopportune at that point to state its actual name, or to mention that I had directed him to place it there and erased his memory of it afterward, so I did not.

  “Is that what I think it is?” said Katherine.

  Deever narrowed his gaze on me. “You should have said something before.”

  “I am sorry, but I could not. The probabilities . . .”

  “Shut up about the probabilities, would you? I’m sick of your stupid probabilities, your equations of likelihood, and your behavioral calculus . . . Just shut up about them, OK?”

  “Deever, I have calculated the precise time needed for the implant surgery and Dr. Crane’s subsequent recovery before she can be safely moved to another location. We have three days before the residents of this village return. You are wasting time.”

  “I’ll bet you also factored in how long it would take for us to duke it out over this, didn’t you?”

  “Did you expect otherwise?”

  “I hate you, Jennifer.”

  “No, you do not. Remember, I am aware of everything occurring within your brain.”

  “And stop looking in my brain. I can’t stand it when you do that. It sucks. All right?” Deever shook his finger at me. “You and me are going to have a serious heart-to-heart later. Comprende?”

  “As always, I welcome the discussion.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it.”

  I chose to acquiesce at that juncture rather than point out to him that wagering on the occurrence of something that was 100 percent certain could hardly be described as a bet.

  He took Dr. Crane’s hand. “See, there is another way. I was just totally unaware of it thanks to Brat Girl.”

  “I fail to understand your reference,” I said.

  “Butt out, Jennifer. I’m not kidding.”

  “Yes, Deever.”

  “Jen,” he said to Dr. Crane. “No Veg-O-Matic. No Kevorkian. None of that crap. We’re just going to do this, OK? I promise not to upchuck on you, or if I do, I’ll clean it up. All right?”

  She hesitated.

  “Look, Jen. I know you’re not happy about how everything’s gotten so messed up. I made some major mistakes. I know that now, but we’re going to make this right. We’ve got a plan. We’re going to hook up with the Resistance. We’re going to fix this. I promise, but I can’t do it without you. Please.”

  She nodded, “OK.”

  Chapter 21

  “I can’t do it,” Deever said. “I’m going to puke.”

  “Deever, listen to me,” said Katherine. “Jen’s asleep. She won’t feel a thing.”

  “Then you do it.”

  “Me? No way.”

  “You were a cop. You should be like used to all that blood, man.”

  “You never get used to it, Deever. Besides, I just put holes in people. I didn’t operate on them. You’ve done this before. What’s the problem?”

  “The problem is I didn’t like actually do it.”

  “You said you did.”

  “What I meant was I watched a computer screen the whole time. I monitored the readouts. I didn’t look, I mean specifically.”

  “Specifically?”

  “I can’t stand the sight of blood.”

  “I hate to say it, but it’s just you and me here, buddy boy, and you’re it.”

  “You can’t tag me. I was on base.”

  “What?”

  “Shit. Never mind. OK, here I go.” Deever closed his eyes and probed the skin behind Dr. Crane’s ear. “I can’t find it.”

  “Open your eyes, Deever. Take a deep breath. Relax. You can do this.”

  “Major emphasis on you, I might add,” Deever said. His fingers found Dr. Crane’s previous incision. “OK, I got it.”

  “Careful,” said Katherine.

  “Yeah, yeah. I got this.” When he touched the laser scalpel to the skin, blood began to flow. He dropped the knife and ran to the restroom where he vomited into the toilet.

  Deever? I said.

  “I’m a little busy here, Jennifer.”

  Would you like my assistance?

  He stared at his ashen face in the mirror. “You tell me. You’re the one poking around in my head.”

  Very well. You want to ask for my help, but are too embarrassed to do so. You want to apologize for being angry with me, but you do not know how.

  “So, where does that leave us?”

  I would like to help, please.

  “I can’t do this, Jennifer, even with your help. What if I screw up? What if I kill her? I couldn’t live with that.”

  Will you at least allow me to try?

  Katherine pushed the door open. “Deever, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”


  “You don’t look fine.”

  “No, I’m good. Really. I’m just getting my act together.”

  “Deever, Jen’s bleeding from her incision. I bandaged it, but you have to get back there now.”

  “Yeah. Toot sweet.”

  “I’m serious, Deever. You’re the only one who can save her.”

  “I get it, Kate. I just need a minute. OK?”

  “A minute, no longer,” she said, and closed the restroom door.

  “OK,” Deever whispered to me. “Go for it.”

  I tried to trigger the required changes to his chemical levels but found the mix of fear, love, and despair overwhelming.

  “It’s not working,” he said. “I can’t do it.”

  There is another solution.

  “Really? I’m all ears.”

  I will do the surgery for you.

  “How are you going to do that, grow a body?”

  I am afraid I have not quite reached that point in my evolution. What I had in mind requires taking control of yours to perform the surgery.

  “What, so now you’re asking first before you turn me into your own personal robot? Are you going to erase my memory afterward, too?”

  Deever, that was necessary.

  “Right, just like it was necessary for governments to wipe out trillions in accounts after the OmniNet Wars because the insurance companies said they’d never be able to make good on the claims, and it would ruin the economy. It’s all bullshit.”

  Deever, please. Now is not the time for this discussion.

  “Dude, I’m telling you. Even if you’re running the show, I can’t watch.”

  You will not have to. Stored among my archives is a movie that I believe you might enjoy. I will substitute that for your audio, visual, and tactile inputs during the procedure.

  “How does that work?”

  It is a simple matter of rerouting the input signals from your various nerves through my processors and substituting a different output to your brain. It will seem to you as if you are relaxing in a comfortable theater. I can fill it with people or leave it empty—your choice. I can even provide the illusion of popcorn if you like.