Collective Mind

by Klyukin, Vasily

“But it’s obvious, Isaac, look after your health. Why drink and eat what’s bad for you and expose yourself to unnecessary risk? Live right and you’ll live to be a hundred.”

  Isaac said goodbye and left. He promised to call in again after a couple of days. Pascal smiled and said he was always glad to see his old friend.

  “Isaac, brother,” Bikie said after he heard the story of the failure with Pascal, “As for me, I don’t see any problem here. Of course, you can study textbooks on psychology, the latest articles on behavioral stereotypes of Veggies and search through all sorts of bullshit. But I’d prescribe our patient with my perfectly ordinary left hook. A minute of guaranteed blank brain, no broken bones, and a slight headache.”

  “I’m not sure, Bikie…”

  “As a matter of fact, our professor is preparing a little something that is far more terrifying than my fist. He and his assistant are putting together an amplifier that will draw OE towards your astute friend. That’s the dangerous crap here. If they fry your Pascal’s remaining brains, now that would be a problem.”

  Of course, Isaac was worried about Pascal. However, this concern was mitigated by the professor’s unshakable authority, his own strong desire to get his friend back and the realization that there was simply no other way. He wanted to talk about the risks with Link, but the professor announced that he wasn’t feeling well and asked not to be disturbed.

  All said and done, Pascal was the only chance of getting the money for Vicky after all.

  Chapter three

  It was early evening. Isaac and Bikie drove out in professor’s van in the direction of Pascal’s settlement. All bases were covered and the friends were definitely counting on success. What would happen if the operation went wrong was something they didn’t ask themselves.

  It was good they had Link. He immediately said that in any contingency, his house in Sardinia was at their disposal. Could they hold out there for long? Link had for seven years.

  Isaac was very focused and Bikie was as carefree as ever. The conversation was circling around risks they were taking and their possible consequences. Bikie told Isaac about Gregory Roberts, who escaped from an Australian prison and lived in India for ten years. Roberts managed to hide from Interpol for all that time, until he finally got caught in Europe and he had a Harley, too. After he got caught and imprisoned, he wrote his autobiography entitled Shantaram, which became an international bestseller, and he turned into a living legend.

  “My god, haven’t you read Shantaram?”

  “No, I’ve never even heard of the book.”

  “You’re just an oaf who understands nothing about life. If you haven’t read it, you live blindfolded. You don’t know how to spend your life.”

  “I’ll read it. I hope I won’t read it in the same place where he wrote it.”

  “Don’t shit yourself, Isaac. If anything, we’ll slip off to Link’s place and sort things out there. This is what brains and unexpended creativity are for.”

  “What about Pascal?”

  “What about him? He’s already a Veggie, just might become a little bit more stupid. He won’t even notice.”

  The prospect of Pascal losing his mind really frightened Isaac. Uneasily, he had to admit that ending up in prison frightened him even more, though.

  “By the way, Isaac, I don't know what the law says about what we’re doing, it probably doesn’t specifically mention artificially induced insanity. They’ll probably just download us. But be sure, everything will go fine.”

  “I wish I had your confidence.”

  “We’ll live long, long lives as normal people, on the run, we’ll buy Harleys and we’ll rob banks.”

  “Don’t talk garbage. It isn’t funny.”

  “Just please relax. Everything will work out fine. Don’t get scared, we’re almost there.”

  The plan was this: the journey to Paris would take ten hours there and ten hours back. Isaac would drive as far as Lyon while Bikie slept, then they would swap. When they got there, they would tie Pascal to the seat, put the helmet on him and hook up to the professor’s equipment. Then they would wake him so that his magnetic field would be at maximum strength. They would pump in the creativity quickly and give Pascal another injection to make him sleep for a couple of hours. Bikie would then drive them back. Isaac had to be there beside Pascal at the moment when he finally woke up, just in case. They had a first aid kit ready in the van, and a defibrillator, in case Pascal’s heart stopped. No one knew how the body would react to the return of OE, so they’d decided to take everything for an emergency.

  The van drove up to the house and Isaac got out. He decided to go in alone in order not to rouse any suspicion and not drag everyone into jail with him if things went wrong.

  In one hand he had a syringe with a strong sedative. The dose was calculated for eight hours, precisely for the drive to Paris. In his pocket, he had a note for the administrator, which he had written in Pascal’s name: “I’ll be back late. I’m going to play soccer and watch a film”. Isaac pushed the front door gently. It wasn’t locked and opened almost soundlessly.

  Walking through quietly into the sitting room, he saw Pascal, who was sitting on the sofa, watching TV. The program was about the successful testing of the new generation of hydrogen-powered engines. Pascal was watching with interest.

  Creeping up from behind, Isaac grabbed Pascal’s head, swung his hand precisely and sank the syringe into his neck.

  After the injection, Pascal broke free, turned round and stared at Isaac. He even had time to smile, not realizing what had happened, but he immediately grimaced in pain and grabbed hold of his neck. The next moment his face relaxed, his eyes closed and his body went limp. A few seconds later he was soundly asleep.

  Isaac whistled to Bikie and they carried Pascal to the van. They sped off to the spot where Link and Red Beard were waiting. The professor leapt into the passenger seat beside Isaac and the assistant got into the back beside Pascal, who was sleeping sweetly.

  “How did it go?” Link asked.

  “Smoothly,” Isaac replied. “Let’s go.” The van set off.

  Link’s eyes were glittering insanely in anticipation of the experiment that he had dreamed of for so long. That kind of insanity probably comes over all scientists on the threshold of important discoveries.

  They drove fast but without exceeding the speed limit. Bikie wasn’t able to get to sleep – the van swayed on the bends. Pascal’s sleeping body swung about in the back so Red Beard had to hold him with both arms.

  “Isaac you actually aren’t such a soft touch as you seem, - said Bikie looking at unconscious Pascal. “ Good thing I’m not your old friend.”

  “I thought you were for it?”

  “I still am. Your obsessive persistence and your toughness on the verge of cruelty both scare and fascinate me. When it is needed, you are like that. Well, I guess all leaders are.”

  Isaac didn’t like those words at all. It was easy just to speculate when someone else was there to make tough decisions.

  “Everything is fine, Isaac, bro. Cheer up! I would do the same. It’s just that you have more balls. And this is a compliment indeed, don’t you think so?”

  Isaac actually was feeling quite uneasy. He didn’t show it, but the doubts were there. He didn’t know if it was the right thing to risk Pascal like this, or destroy it all. He didn’t have a clue what those people wanted: freedom in poverty or well-doing dumbness? He couldn’t afford to show his uncertainty though this way he would risk destroying the team which was supported by the only one thing: distinct goal.

  The highway to Marseille ran along the shoreline, then turned uphill in the direction of Lyon. The sunset was bright orange again, like on the first day at Wolanski’s villa. Isaac saw this as a hopeful sign. It looked like orange energy spilled out across the entire vault of the sky! Beautiful! But the conspirators couldn’t really afford to admire the sunset. Driving past Avignon, Isaac couldn’t help recalling the words of a simp
le prayer, and he whispered them soundlessly, barely moving his lips. There was a papal residence here once.

  The sun quickly disappeared and evening set in. On the whole, the journey was going well, with no incidents. Soon Lyon came into sight and they had a bite at a gas station in the town.

  Bikie replaced Isaac at the wheel. Exhausted by the monotonous journey, Isaac fell asleep immediately. They only woke him up after the signpost saying there were sixty kilometers away from Paris. It was almost four in the morning, in two hours it would start to get light.

  After some hot coffee from a thermos flask, Isaac moved into the front beside Bikie. In the windscreen, a searchlight ran along the horizon, shining upwards and to one side from somewhere. There was still quite a distance left to Paris, but the Eiffel Tower was already announcing its presence. “A ray of light, cutting through the darkness. Yet another optimistic omen,” Isaac noted to himself.

  The Eiffel Tower was built for the 100th anniversary of the 1789 French Revolution. Even back in school, Isaac had liked that date, because it was easy to remember: seven, eight, and nine, like a sequence. In honor of the anniversary of the American Revolution, France gave the USA another towering monument: the Statue of Liberty. Gustave Eiffel was involved in creating that, too. “Revolutions, revolutions, and what date is it now, is it easy to remember?” Isaac thought and laughed. “What if the school kids of the future would have to learn it by heart, too?”

  As a matter of fact, when the Eiffel Tower was built, many people objected and attacked the project. Three hundred famous individuals, including Guy de Maupassant and Alexandre Dumas, demanded the removal of the structure, calling it an ugly iron monster. Fortunately, no one listened to them and thank God. How could you possibly imagine Paris now without its most important symbol? “People, even the clever and talented ones, can make mistakes and take the wrong attitude towards innovations,” Isaac pondered. “We will give Pascal his creativity back and find out if we are right or not in just a few hours, I hope.”

  Half an hour later, Bikie turned towards Versailles, close to where Europe’s main OE server was located. The little LED display on Link’s device started blinking, indicating that there was a major OE source nearby. Link put the helmet on Pascal and his assistant switched on the download system.

  “No connection yet. We need to drive closer,” Redbeard said. “Northwards.”

  The location of the reservoir was no secret, there were even signs on the road. For safety reasons, they wanted to try downloading Pascal’s energy from as far away as possible to minimize the chance of being noticed.

  The steady connection couldn’t be obtained just that easily, and eventually, the van drove up quite close to the server building. It was guarded, but not a military site, thank God. Only the fence around the facility was kept under surveillance. They drove around until they found a spot with a more stable connection, got off the road into a car park and switched off the engine. Bikie and Isaac moved to the back of the van with everyone else. Pascal was sleeping peacefully. Link finally adjusted the receiver on his helmet and they heard a long squeak.

  “It’s time! We have a steady signal,” Link declared, picking up a dictaphone. “Test OE scan number one. Subject Pascal Dean, twenty-eight years of age. Physical condition normal, no apparent medical conditions. Distance from the reservoir approximately four hundred meters. Visible interference hazards: a concrete wall and metal fence. Internal obstructions unknown. The output of connected battery – two kilowatts. Check the straps,” Link added. “One minute remaining. Hold him, just in case.”

  Pascal lay there, strapped to the seat. He was firmly tied, but crude force might still be required to deal with… no one knew what. Redbeard directed the range-finder towards the storage server, increasing the signal power again.

  “Thirty seconds! Ten… Five… Go!”

  “Input download initiated,” Redbeard announced, keeping his eyes fixed on the helmet indicator.

  Isaac and Bikie held Pascal’s arms and legs. The helmet started buzzing. Pascal shuddered but didn’t wake up.

  “Download interrupted. We’ve lost the signal. The signal’s back.” Link exchanged curt phrases with Redbeard.

  “Test number two. Increasing power output to four kilowatts.” Link made a second attempt, recording everything on the dictaphone.

  The second attempt was unsuccessful too.

  “Test three. Maximum battery power at six kilowatts.” Link turned the switch again.

  Pascal jerked abruptly, the suddenness of it frightened the guys and they pressed him down harder against the seat. Pascal tried to shout something and groaned harshly. But this attempt failed, too.

  Redbeard took a tee-shirt out from somewhere, folded it silently into a gag and stuffed it in Pascal’s mouth. Frightened, Pascal writhed about in the seat like a grass-snake. He couldn’t see anyone or understand what was happening to him because the helmet covered his eyes.

  “Link, let me give him an injection to make him sleep!” Isaac shouted.

  “No, don’t! We’re not getting anywhere as it is. When he’s asleep, there’s less chance, his brain became active just now and his magnetic field strengthened. So we’ll have to wake him up.”

  “Is it working for us?”

  “No. The power’s too low. Bikie, quick, remove the backup car battery and bring it over. Isaac, climb up on the roof and install the range finder higher than the fence, point it at the biggest window in the building. Quick, before your friend goes totally gaga!”

  Two minutes later they were all back together.

  “Some might not get a second chance. Let me fill you in on the situation. Last time we almost succeeded in returning his OE, now I’m going to double the power. That’s slightly more than the calculated safe level. I don’t know for certain what will happen to his brain afterwards. He could even die. So if anyone is against it, speak up now. I think it is worth a try.”

  “Go for it!” said Bikie, large drops of sweat streaming down his face. “Let’s take a chance!”

  “Fuck!” Isaac groaned and pressed Pascal down harder against the seat.

  “Twelve kilowatts. Go!”

  Isaac slapped Pascal on the cheeks and he woke up, staring wildly. Everyone expected crackling and sparks, heat discharge, groans and convulsions, but it was all quiet. No sound followed as the energy finally smoothly went in. As everything was done, or, at least, it seemed so, Pascal immediately fell unconscious again.

  Trying to subdue his jitters, Redbeard dashed to put back the car battery. Isaac carefully removed the helmet and Bikie stuck some ammonia under Pascal’s nose. Pascal opened his eyes and looked at the people staring at him out of breath, his gaze gradually focusing.

  “Pascal, how are you?” asked Isaac, trying to give him a drink of water.

  “Isaac, is that you?”

  “Yes, yes, it’s me. How are you?”

  “My head hurts… and I feel dizzy. My whole body’s tingling and I can’t move.”

  “I’m sorry, Pascal, you’re tied down.”

  “What for? What’s happening to me? Where are we anyway? My head’s itching! On the inside. As if insects have got into it.”

  His mouth was dry and his tongue wouldn’t obey him. “What rubbish,” Pascal thought, “Your head can’t itch on the inside.” Focusing his attention on the other people leaning down over him, Pascal made out an elderly man with a beard whom Pascal had never met before but the face seemed vaguely familiar. And a peculiar face it was! Its expression kept changing all the time, from attentive and tense to bursting with delight. The man lit up a cigar, glancing at Pascal with an impish smile.

  “Seems like it worked then?” another stranger enquired. “Did you get that quip about insects?”

  Pascal turned his gaze to this man, a young, unshaven lout covered in tattoos. Although his head was still spinning, Pascal realized that, other than Isaac, these were people he didn’t know.

  Intent eyes studied Pascal’s
pupils, the elderly man’s fingers tapped at his cheeks and then took his pulse. Pascal felt these touches and they left behind a trail of pinpoint prickling.

  “Pinpoint prickling. What a strange term, what could it mean.” Pascal said to himself.

  “He seems to have come round,” the unshaven guy said.

  Pascal heard that absolutely distinctly. His head felt as if it was filling up. If it was a kettle, then this was would probably be the sensation of the water coming under pressure from the tap, roaring down, seething and glittering, gradually filling the empty space.

  “Tell me, Pascal, can you picture a pink sunset on a sandy beach?” Isaac asked.

  “What a strange question,” Pascal thought.

  “Come on, Pascal, try and concentrate. Can you?” Isaac insisted.

  Pascal nodded. The three men in the truck broke into jubilant exclamations, hugging and congratulating each other.

  “What are you gaping at? Congratulations, you are not a dumbo any longer!” The lout rubbed his hands together, took his gloves off and slapped Pascal on the shoulder.

  “You can get up gently. I’ll untie you now,” the elderly man said with a broad smile.

  “What’s happening to me and where am I?” Pascal’s own voice mumbled feebly.

  “Your old friend will tell you all about that. He’s bursting with impatience already. There, look for yourself,” said the lout, gesturing indefinitely to one side.

  Pascal tried to turn in the direction indicated, but he felt a prick and sank back into sleep.

  “Let him sleep for a while. His brain is overstressed. He needs a rest now. Bikie, help to untie him. If we get stopped, God forbid, we’ll have a hard time explaining why we have someone tied up to the seat in the van.

  “OK, one moment,” said Bikie, deftly unfastening the straps.

  “I’ll sit with him for a while, and you drive,” said Isaac, moving his friend’s head to a more comfortable position. “How long will he be sleeping?”

  “About three or four hours,” Link replied. “Half the way there. Then you’ll have time to fill him in on what’s happening.”