by Amber Stuart
“What would you like to say to her?” Dr. Fielding asked. “I can tell her for you.”
Alan looked at Dr. Fielding curiously, cocking his head.
“I would like to tell her myself,” he said. “It’s personal.” He leaned forward, grasping the edge of the tank in his strong hands.
Dr. Fielding shifted in his seat, eyeing the small table next to him. Chal recognized the syringe on the table. It was the interferon serum.
Alan noticed his glance and shook his head. “There’s no need for that, doctor,” he said.
Jesus, thought Chal. He doesn’t miss anything. She wondered if he had been that attentive in the first few sessions. Already she was thinking about the different parts of the brain that could have changed inside of him. The parietal lobe must have expanded like crazy, and with it his ability to process motion and other stimuli.
Perception usually came first in nascent intelligences, then reasoning. However, he seemed to be developing both at rapid speed. She wanted to see his charts for brain tissue growth.
“May we talk about something else?” Dr. Fielding asked. He scratched his forehead with his index finger, and Chal noticed that the IV had switched over to the sedative. It must have been a signal to the observation team to switch the IV. Smart precaution. “Chal will be back later.”
“You’re lying,” Alan said. “And you’ve changed the IV.” He looked back to where the line was now dripping red.
“It’s part of the experiment,” Dr. Fielding said, but his neck was flushing red and his tongue was darting to the corner of his mouth in quick repetition.
“Put me to sleep, then, doctor,” Alan said. He lay back in the tank, letting his body float. “I don’t mind the rest. But the next person I will talk to is Chal.”
His eyes closed and Dr. Fielding immediately stood up, picking up the syringe and clipboard in his hand. He turned and stumbled over the stool, knocking it to the ground. He looked back guiltily, but Alan was silent and unmoving.
Just like a body. Just like one of those bodies.
She paused the recording. Alan lay alone in the tank, bobbing slightly. Chal looked around, but there was nobody in the lab except for her and the animals. She looked to the ceiling, up to where the world continued living. An inexplicable chill ran through her body, and the thought of so much earth above her made her queasy.
Quickly switching off the recording, she stood up and noticed the cabinet that contained the interferon serum was unlocked, the door slightly ajar. Chal walked over to it, looking back over her shoulder to make sure she was alone.
She reached inside and pulled out one of the clear vials. She held it up to the light and rotated it in her fingers, seeing the liquid inside slosh first to one side, then the other. Liquid death, or whatever came to you when your brain dissolved, neuron by neuron. She didn’t know why, but the vial in her hand gave her an instant sense of security.
Security? What would you do if someone attacked you now? Chal thought. Ask them politely if they wouldn’t mind drinking it?
There was a noise in the hallway. Chal slipped the vial of serum into her lab coat pocket and swung the cabinet door shut, locking it. There was a box of sterile syringes on the counter, and she grabbed one of them as well, pocketing it just in time. As she turned to leave, Evan walked into the lab.
“Evening, Dr. Davidson,” he said, nodding pleasantly. He still wasn’t comfortable around her, but that was okay. She was going to talk with Alan again, and that was all that mattered.
“Evening,” she said, passing by him with only a twinge of anxiety.
It was evening? She felt more confused than ever. Time was impossible to gauge here. She felt her pocket, where the serum and syringe were hard underneath the coat fabric, and breathed a tiny sigh of relief.
***
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“At present, human scientists are attempting to communicate outside our species to primates and cetaceans, and in a limited way to a few other vertebrates. This is inordinately difficult, and yet it represents a gap of at most a few SQ points. The farthest we can reach our "communication" with vegetation is when we plant, water, or fertilize it, but it is evident that messages transmitted across an SQ gap of 10 points or more cannot be very meaningful. What, then, could an SQ +50 Superbeing possibly have to say to us?”
Robert A. Freitas Jr.
***
“I don’t think the next session will require the sensory deprivation tank,” Chal said. “He seems adjusted to the normal stimuli already.”
“No, I agree. I’ll get them to bring out a chair for the next questioning.” Dr. Fielding and Chal were overseeing the assistants as they ran the bloodwork. It was mostly Dr. Fielding who was overseeing; Chal was running through all of the things that needed to be taken care of before her session with Alan.
“His language was fully developed,” Chal said.
“He’s matured surprisingly quickly,” Dr. Fielding said. “The synapse density in certain parts of his brain is quite high, almost that of a completely mature human male.”
“It seemed that way, didn’t it?” Chal said. “Pushing him so far might have accelerated his development. That which does not kill you makes you stronger, right?”
“I’ve always found that a rather barbaric saying,” Dr. Fielding said. “But you’re probably right about the development.”
“How do you do it?” Chal asked. The question had been milling around in her brain since the beginning.
“Do what?”
“The programming. His brain. All of the code that I’ve used in my previous experiments has been very straightforward.”
“And this isn’t?”
“I mean that we basically code our subjects to mimic existing neuronal structures. Rats, for example.”
“It’s very much the same here,” Dr. Fielding said. “Backwards emotional induction based on existing neuronal data.”
“Who do you use as your models?” She was curious about the man Evan had mentioned.
“That’s classified information,” Dr. Fielding said.
“Could I look at the code?” Chal asked. “I’d like to at least see the overall structure we’re building on.”
“Of course,” Dr. Fielding said. “I’ll show it to you later.”
Chal had the feeling that he was lying to her, but she wasn’t going to confront him over it. There was too much else to do now without worrying about what his preprogrammed structures were. The brain development was progressing far more quickly than Chal could ever have anticipated, and she needed to adjust her questioning based on his developing maturity. The code could wait.
“Why do you handcuff him to the bed?” Chal asked abruptly. “Do you think he’s going to run away while he’s under deep sedation?”
“No, Dr. Davidson. But there is the problem of theft.”
“Theft.” Chal raised her eyebrow.
“The prototype is a piece of research worth many millions of dollars,” Dr. Fielding said. “There are many who would like to steal it.”
“It would be impossible for a thief to get all the way down here,” Chal said. “There are guards everywhere.”
“Highly unlikely, to be sure,” Dr. Fielding said. “But not impossible.”
“Really?” Chal said. She raised an eyebrow at Dr. Fielding, who raised his hands in mock surrender.
“Not me!” he said. “I’m just a scientist.”
Chal smiled and focused her attention on the prep work. “Me too. Too bad, or we could split the profit.”
“I thought you were a businesswoman as well as a scientist,” Fielding said. He seemed to be probing her. “On the covers of so many magazines. Doing commercials.”
“Gotta pay the bills,” Chal said.
“Ah,” Dr. Fielding said, and was quiet again. The assistants had a question about the bloodwork, and he stopped to help them. When he returned his face had dropped into a more somber attitude.
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“Problem with something?” Chal asked.
“No, not at all.”
“Good. You’ve got a good team here working under you,” Chal said.
“Yes. So many famous scientists have stepped on the backs of their subordinates on their way to the top.” Dr. Fielding directed the last statement towards Chal, and she felt chastised.
“Good thing we’re underground, then,” Chal quipped. “In any case, the important thing here is making sure Alan’s development goes smoothly.”
“I’m glad we are on the same page,” Dr. Fielding said.
***
They had brought Alan into the room. This time he was sitting not in a tank but in a chair, a sheet draped over his body. To mimic the same awakening process, Chal had reclined the chair back, but had not bothered with any of the lighting or sound. The last session had not needed those trappings, and she felt as though he was beyond needing that kind of help.
The IV began to drip green, and Chal tried to calm her nerves. He had asked for her, but why? She had been trying to avoid reaching the conclusion, insane as it was, that they had formed a strong emotional connection. Whether she blamed it on her sleep deprivation or anxiety, though, there was no getting around the fact that he had asked for her specifically.
Dr. Fielding didn’t act put out by being made to stand in the sidelines. He was cool, reserved, and Chal admired his dispassionate approach more now that she had seen his side of things. She still thought he was a racist asshole, but even racist assholes can be good scientists.
Alan’s eyelids fluttered. He opened them slowly, looking around. He looked down and felt the sheet in his fingers. Then he saw Chal and, impossibly, blushed.
“Hello, Alan,” she said, smiling.
“Hello, Chal,” he said. “I wanted to thank you.” He reached out and took her hand in his, as naturally as if they were already close companions. Her fingers pressed against his warm palm, and she felt again how strong he was.
“You’re welcome,” she said. “I’m not sure what you’re thanking me for, though.”
“You saved my life,” he said. “I didn’t know what was happening. I panicked. If not for you, I’d be dead.”
Chal shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
“I was just doing my job,” she said.
“I understand now,” Alan said. “I knew before—I had the knowledge—but now I truly understand.”
“That’s good,” Chal said. He was still holding her hand firmly, as though he was afraid she would stand up and leave at any moment.
“I have some questions,” Alan said. “I wanted to talk with you because I knew you would tell me the truth.” He looked at her meaningfully, and she saw in his eyes a trust and a depth that he had not possessed before. Before, he had looked at her as a child would have, with an empty trust born of inexperience. This... this was different.
“Go ahead,” Chal said, not trusting herself to say any more.
“What is this place?” Alan said.
“It’s a government research facility,” Chal said. “Underground, in Arizona.”
Alan blinked. “What am I doing here?”
“You--” Chal was at a loss for how to explain it. They had implanted a number of neuronal structures, but they had omitted a history for Alan, Dr. Fielding had told her. He thought, and she agreed, that any false memory of the sort would eventually lead to a dangerous mental contradiction. Now, though, she had to think of a way to tell him.
Alan pressed her hand.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I know there’s something different about me.”
“Different?” she echoed.
“Why else would they have me here, why would they put me in a tank?” Alan said. He looked concerned. “Am I sick?”
“No,” Chal said.
“Am I dangerous?” He sat forward in his chair.
Chal shook her head. “No, not at all. You were created here.”
“Created?” Alan leaned toward Chal. “I don’t understand.”
“Humans are... born,” Chal said.
Alan laughed, and the sound was entirely too normal. It was as though they were talking in a café, not a scientific laboratory.
“Well, yes, obviously,” he said. He noticed that she was not laughing with him, and the smile dropped from his face. “So I was born here?”
“In a sense,” Chal said. “You’re not a normal human.”
Alan bit his lower lip. “Go on.”
“Your body was grown independently,” Chal said. “Your brain was grown later, guided by a digital core. We monitored your development until it was time to wake you up and introduce you to the external world.”
“I don’t understand,” Alan said. “So I’m not human?”
“You have a human body,” Chal said. “Physically you’re all human, except for certain parts of your brain.”
Alan blinked, assimilating the new information. He seemed calm enough. Then he looked down at the IV going into his wrist. He held his arm out to Chal.
“Will you take this out?” he asked.
Chal swallowed. “Why do you want it out?” she asked.
“I don’t want it in me,” Alan said. “I don’t want it in my body. I want to leave.” He stood up from the chair, letting the sheet fall from his naked body. His arm was still extended toward Chal. “Help me.”
Chal’s lips parted. His voice sounded so trusting, and she didn’t know what to say.
“It’s important that you get the rest you need, Alan. Your development is still just beginning.”
“No,” he said. “I would like to stay awake now.”
The IV began the slow drip of the sedative just then, and he noticed the change out of the corner of his eye. Leaning over, he snapped the IV line shut. The machine sounded an alarm, a soft but insistent beeping. She was amazed at how in control he was compared with his previous sessions. He had grown already, she thought. Her work was done. He was a man, with all of the emotions and sentience of a man.
He reached down and pulled off the bandage, exposing the IV needle.
“I’ll pull it out myself if I have to,” he said.
“No, I’ll do it,” Chal said, making the decision quickly. Visions of the first prototype bleeding and writhing on the floor raced across her mind. She twisted the IV out expertly, pressing on the skin to stop the bleeding after she had it removed.
“Thank you,” Alan said. He didn’t seem to care that he was naked and vulnerable. He stood like a warrior, ready for whatever came next. Chal wondered if they had made him that way. Of course they had. They had made him exactly the way he was.
Leaving Chal to sit in indecision, Alan walked around the perimeter of the room, stopping at the door. He eyed the keypad warily.
“You can’t leave,” Chal said.
“You could open this,” Alan said. It wasn’t a question.
“They’ll stop you,” Chal said. She was terrified that the assistants were waiting outside with their syringes. “Please don’t.”
Alan paused. “Why are you doing this to me?”
Tears leapt to Chal’s eyes. “I’m not.”
Alan came over to her.
“I know you’re not lying, Chal,” he said. He reached out and touched her cheek, and she was embarrassed to have to blink away the tears in her eyes.
“Why am I here?” he repeated. “Why did they create me?”
Chal shook her head, willing herself to be steady. “You’re a prototype.”
“A prototype for what?”
“For the military. For war.” There, she had said it. Lieutenant Johnner be damned. If he was going to send these creations to fight in some remote country against their own kind, they deserved to know about it.
“War?” he said. He moved his hand down, resting it on her shoulder. She looked at his eyes and saw that he was lost in thought, brain signals racing from synapse to synapse. He opened
his mouth to speak, but he was trembling.
“Alan?” Chal asked.
“I feel dizzy,” Alan said. He cleared his throat. “I think I do need some rest.” He went to take a step toward the chair, and stumbled. Chal caught him by the arm and eased him down into a sitting position. It was too much, it had been too much for him. Physically, at least, he was fine. But mentally, he was fatigued.
Chal had seen this before, in her rats. When placed in a maze that was too difficult for them, they would start out quick, chasing through dead end after dead end. After just a few minutes without progress, though, they would slow down and fall into a state that was near-comatose. It was part of the neuronal accelerated development. Humans needed sleep to develop, and so did biological substrates.
Alan leaned back in the chair, his eyes half-closed.
“Help me,” he said to Chal, but he was already falling asleep. “Please.”
Chal held his hand as he fought sleep, his limbs moving in slight jerks. It took longer than it had with the sedative, but finally his chest was rising and falling smoothly. She sat there a while longer, watching him rest. She wondered if he was going to be able to process so much new information at once, especially the self-knowledge that he was, in fact, not quite human.
She wondered if he was dreaming.
***
Chal went to the substrate lab. She had come to find this room calming, with the animals scurrying about in their cages, the octopi coming out of the coral and waving their tentacles in hopes of food. It was a marked change from the rest of the lab with its sterile surfaces, everything dead or digitized.
Walking through the door, she passed by the mice. They were chattering to each other and stopped as she went past them. She paused, looking down. Were these mice already intelligent? Were they possessed of consciousness as she was, or was it something altogether different? She put her fingers on the cage and bent down. The mice scuttled over each other, scraping over the wood shavings and twitching their whiskers. She realized as she bent over that she was utterly exhausted.
It had been hours since she last slept, and the excitement of the sessions had kept her going for longer than her body should have been able to accept. This was always how she had done it—her success in large part due to her unwavering focus and determination to finish a project once it had begun. When she had been in school, it had been her friends and roommates who had to tear her away from her work to eat, to rest.
