Stasis (Part 2): Iterate

by E. W. Osborne

  He visually checked off each scientist, seven in total, before making a note on his own tablet. “Begin.”

  The quiet room buzzed with activity. Christopher paced along the perimeter, not fully understanding what he was witnessing. The first tests had appeared straightforward. These weren’t exactly more complicated, but different. He drew closer to one cubicle to watch what they were doing.

  The scientist tapped on her tablet. The user, a man who wouldn’t have been out of place in a homeless shelter, picked up a bright orange plastic syringe. It looked like a piece of a children’s doctor’s kit. The user’s movements were smooth until he brought the blunt needle to his skin. His hand began to tremble as if he weren’t sure he wanted to touch himself with it. It was as though the syringe held the weight of the world. Eventually, he placed the toy back on the tray.

  Christopher watched as the scientist made a few notes and tapped out a new command. He crouched down, making his line of sight eye level with the table. The man’s eyes were almost entirely black. Sweat dripped off his face, disappearing into the scruff of his beard. His pale blue shirt darkened around his neck and armpits. There was no visible change on the user’s face, but his hand steadied. Without a seconds’ hesitation, he picked up the syringe and plunged it deep into the crook of his elbow. He even went to so far as to mimic pressing the plunger down before pulling it out and dropping it back onto the tray. His head lolled to the side, eyes rolling back into his head.

  Christopher approached the scientist as she made her notes.

  “What are you testing here?”

  “Responses.”

  “Is he a drug addict or something? Are you trying to see if the Seed could help with addiction?”

  “No.”

  Christopher blinked at her total lack of social skills. Even her body language made him feel as though he were the one in the wrong. He backed away and left her alone to run her tests, wondering if he’d stepped out of line somehow.

  He migrated toward a cubicle at the far end of the room, one where two users were sitting facing each other. An identical tray of brightly colored plastic implements had been placed between them. As he approached, he watched as the older man picked up a blue scalpel and stood. This scientist, a man about his age, actually smiled as he approached. He nodded toward the scene as if to say, watch this.

  On arthritic knees, the old man hobbled around the square table to stand behind the other user. The scientist tapped a short command into the tablet. The old man raised the scalpel and pulled the other user’s head back. With a smooth, clean movement, he acted as though he were shaving the young woman’s face.

  “What’s this test for?” Christopher ventured, feeling as though this guy might be more receptive.

  “His situational acuity. Does he know where he is? Does what he is prompted to do or say make sense given his surroundings?”

  “You can make him believe he’s shaving a woman with a piece of plastic?”

  Christopher saw a wild light in the scientist’s eye. “I might be able to do more than that.”

  With a few taps, the old man returned to his seat empty handed. The woman stood, made her way to the far corner of the cubicle, and began calling to the old man as if he were a dog.

  “Come here, boy! Come here. Come play with mommy. Bring me your ball.” Another series of taps and she began stroking the man’s head. She scratched behind his ears, planted kisses on his cheeks. If it was fake, it was the most convincing performance he’d ever seen.

  He couldn’t help but giggle at the absurdity of it. “This is nuts.”

  “Yeah?” More taps on the tablet and the woman’s joyful praise of her imaginary dog vanished. She reached over his shoulder and selected the same blue plastic blade. Now in the same position, she went through the same motions he had when shaving her, right down to pulling the old man’s head back. Only this time, rather than shave, she sliced the plastic across the bulk of his throat. The act was performed with as much emotion as buttering a piece of bread.

  Christopher was horrified yet fascinated. “She thinks she just killed him?”

  The scientist nodded proudly, like a twisted puppet master gleefully performing for an audience. It only took a moment to see something had gone wrong. Puppets usually cease moving when you stop pulling the strings. She repeated the motion over and over, each time with more voracity and power.

  A bright red line bloomed across the old man’s neck yet he did nothing to stop her. He gurgled a little as his esophagus was bruised, but didn’t lift a hand to stop the aggressive slices.

  The young man beside Christopher quickly tapped on the tablet, looking up in frustration after each unsuccessful attempt. Judging from her movements, the woman inside the cubicle was growing equally frustrated with her failed attempts to murder.

  “Dude, you gotta do something,” Christopher snapped.

  “I’m trying,” he replied through clenched teeth. With a grunt, he dropped the tablet to the floor with a thwack and spoke into his cuff. “Garrulous!”

  The woman showed no sign of stopping. The man’s thin skin was bruised and bleeding, not cut but rubbed raw by her constant abuse. She sliced at his throat to a beat only matched by a second hand. The scene had drawn Duncan’s attention. Christopher was glad to see the stern man storm over, trusting he’d be able to take over.

  “Report.”

  The younger scientist shook his head and collected his tablet from the floor. “User showed no signs of the error, sir. I thought it’d be…”

  “Initial codeword ineffective?”

  “Not since ready mode.”

  The pair watched with a detached air as the woman continued to pummel her partner.

  Christopher looked from the scientists to the cubicle, shocked that someone wasn’t going to jump in and stop them.

  “Aren’t you going to stop her?” The pair didn’t reply, too caught up in observing and noting than actually saving a life. “Fuck this,” he muttered, reaching for the door. They burst into action, yelling at the same time.

  “You can’t do that!”

  “Stop!”

  When he balked at them for an explanation, Duncan let his hand drop from Christopher’s wrist. “She’ll kill you. She’ll keep going until she’s completed the request. One way or another.”

  He backed away from the pair, looking around the room for the first time. This scene was apparently so common, it didn’t even draw the interest of the rest of the team. “You can’t possibly…”

  The woman discard the plastic blade and snatched the tray from the table. The violence with which she used to smash and break the metal tray wasn’t at all reflected on her calm expression. Once a suitable edge had formed, she returned to her task. A stream of crimson spilled down the front of the old man’s shirt, the initial cut far from fatal.

  “She won’t stop until she completes the command,” Duncan explained with an air of appreciation. “On him, on you, on anyone.”

  “And if that didn’t work, she’d recruit you to help. Cooperation is one of the—“

  “Enough,” the lead scientist cut in.

  Vomit rose in Christopher’s throat. Horrified yet wanting to save face, he spun on his heel and stormed out of the room as if in disgust. Thirty feet down the hall in the closest bathroom, he emptied his stomach into a toilet, heaving until his muscles ached from the force.

  Even a few hours later, Christopher could only see their blank, horrible expressions every time he closed his eyes. There was nothing in their faces that appeared remotely human. The old man didn’t once defend himself. It was bad enough watching a murder, but to see it happen with no resistance… it made him feel almost complicit.

  Duncan and Jamie had debriefed him right after it’d happened, explaining that sometimes users didn’t respond well to certain cues. When Christopher suggested that perhaps they shouldn’t be encouraging them to pretend to murder one another, he was met with indifference.

  “We ha
ve to test the limits of the human experience,” his brother had shrugged. “Visceral, real emotions bring people to the brink, helping us better access their memory pathways. We think that’s where the weaknesses are.”

  Christopher didn’t have the strength or desire to question, but their explanations rang hollow. Jamie had given him the afternoon off, suggesting he go back to his house to shower and rest. Instead, he’d wandered the forest that circled the massive compound, wondering if the ridiculous paycheck deposited into his account was worth it.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  New York City, NY

  June 28th

  THERE HAS BEEN no official comment from the President’s office, however sources close to the President say he was deeply disturbed by the leaks. The relationship with Britain, one of the United State’s closest allies, has taken a serious blow in the wake of these revelations.

  These tensions pale in comparison to others in the world, particularly between Russia, China, and India.

  Kristine closed the article on her tablet. She’d snuck out for some well-needed alone time after Christopher had drifted off to sleep. He’d been so strange since coming home from work, even unconscious, she didn’t want to spend too much time near him. A part of her wondered if he was having second thoughts about starting a family.

  Of course, alone was a relative term in a city of millions. Even in the middle of the night, she wasn’t really alone. She’d walked around for a half an hour trying to come up with a clever place to go, but navigated back to their favorite diner. Two cups of ashy decaffeinated coffee later, she was starting to feel a little more like herself.

  She stared out of the window into the night, watching the cars roll past at a leisurely speed. Without realizing, her hand rested on her stomach, thumb idly rubbing at a spot just below her navel.

  The world looked the same but it was far from it. People were dying. People always died, but she could feel deep in her bones that they were all living through a significant and strange shift in history. Leaked Dreamscapes could bring allies to the brink of war. A violence like no other deliberately marched, unchecked, across the country. There was a tightness around everyone’s eyes, as if each person they passed were suspect.

  And her work had hit a massive dead end with the catatonic cases. With the help of a few people in the police department, she’d dug through every possible record she could get her hands on and didn’t find one name, victim or assailant. Not one single lead to go on. No family members to interview, no investigation. Nothing. Forget the weird zombie-like plague spreading across the country. How could that many people kill and be killed without there being a shred of evidence? The scale of the coverup was mind-boggling and unnerving.

  That itch she felt between her shoulder blades when she was onto something significant… it hadn’t stopped. She tried to ignore it for the sake of an easy life. Christopher was happier when she left it alone, which made her happy in a roundabout way. It hurt to let go of the chase but all the dead ends made it a touch easier.

  Kristine sat in the diner for another hour, ordering a slice of pie along with her third refill. The justification for the late night snack was balanced somewhere between stress and pregnancy. Either way, as she licked a dollop of whipped cream from her finger, she felt like she’d earned it.

  Another thought took shape in her mind. Maybe she didn’t have to be the one to lead the charge. Maybe, for whatever reason, she wasn’t meant to. Coming to terms with that was perhaps a part of accepting her new roles in the world; mother, wife. But that didn’t mean she had to completely ignore what was happening. If she could help thread together pieces of the tapestry without putting herself out there too much, it might break the whole case. Maybe the story needed to blow wide open, beyond any other journalists trying to make a name for themselves in the wake of such horror.

  Before the mood left her, she fiddled with her cuff to make a recording. Her hair puffed out from under a blue handkerchief tied around her head, eyes puffy from a lack of sleep, and not a stitch of makeup. This was so much more important than ratings, she didn’t even give her appearance a second thought.

  “Murders. Suicides. The Dreamscape leaks. A lot has happened over the last few weeks and…” She ran her hand over the top of her head and sighed, looking out over the mostly empty diner. “It’s easy to ignore it’s happening. The UK is all the way over there, San Francisco is so far that way. People in Middle America are now dying, but who cares about the fly-over states? Life feels mostly normal and that’s what worries me. We can’t let these events be brushed off or we run the risk of being swept away with them. Humans have an innate ability to adapt. These are things we shouldn’t get used to.”

  Kristine took a long sip of her coffee and stared straight into the camera. Dreaded dead air stretched on, seconds feeling like minutes. With a shake of the head, she set the chipped ceramic cup down. There was so much more she wanted to say, but this would have to be it.

  “I wish I could answer this myself, but I’m genuinely hoping someone out there watching can. I can’t help but wonder… what if all these events are related?”

  The next morning, she was already wide awake when Christopher rolled over in bed. He yawned, stretched his arm across her stomach, and snuggled in close. The night to herself had given her a sense of clarity. Things changed, but that didn’t mean she had to give up on her dreams. Nor did she have to reject the future. There was a balance and she was determined to find it.

  She kissed the top of his head. “I want to meet your family. You have a brother that lives close by, right?”

  He stiffened but didn’t pull away. “Uh, he’s pretty busy. I hardly talk to him.”

  “But he’s going to be my family soon, too. I want to meet him. It’s just dinner.”

  “Sure, I mean, I can ask, but there’s no guarantee he’d…”

  His reluctance made her turn up the dial a touch. “You’ve met my family. Sometimes I wonder if you’re hiding me from them.”

  He shot up to his elbow and insistently shook his head. “Of course I’m not!”

  “Then hiding them from me? I don’t know. I just thought it’d be nice now that we’re officially engaged and…”

  “Right, yeah, of course. I’ll arrange it.”

  A bright smile replaced her expertly designed pout. “I can set it all up. You’re so busy at work, I’ll take care of all the details.” She pulled him back down to her chest and squeezed him tightly, concealing any other clues in her demeanor. “Thank you. It means so much to me.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Near Poughkeepsie, NY

  ONCE THE CAR was unpacked and all their supplies topped up, Ian had sent it back to his house. He’d also sent along a message to his parents letting them know they were safe, off camping, enjoying their freedom. Everyone in the group had left similar messages for their families. It might’ve bought them a few days, but soon they’d have to face the questions. A few of the overprotective parents were already demanding they return, worry overpowering any explanation their children offered.

  “See? Camping’s fun,” Ian declared, settling into the blue canvas chair.

  “Is it?” Wills grumbled.

  “Once you take a nap, you won’t be so cranky,” Maggie grinned as she fumbled with the logs for the fire.

  The novelty of the forest and the chaos brewing on the outside robbed them of any desire for digital contact, at least for now. Aside from checking the time, the five friends enjoyed sitting around the campfire, barbecuing, and enjoying each other’s company. Neil couldn’t remember a time he’d ever been in a group of people without electronic distractions interrupting every two minutes. Except for the constant buzzing in his pocket, he could almost believe they lived in a world without all the modern trappings, a fantasy he’d had since he was little.

  Sparks floated into the dark, night sky. They were one of a handful of people at the campground, a place Maggie apparently had come to a lot as a
kid. The night was warm and they felt safe. Their campsite was tucked in the corner near the bathrooms, away from the main road. If anyone approached in the middle of the night, they’d know about it.

  “Aren’t you going to answer that?” Rachel asked when Neil’s phone went off yet again.

  He sighed and silenced the call from the outside of his pocket. “It’s just my mom. She’s freaking out, even though I told her everything in the note I left her.”

  “Why don’t you just turn it off?”

  “Because if it doesn’t ring, she’ll assume I’m dead.”

  “You could tell her you didn’t have any signal,” Wills chuckled. It was good to hear him laugh. The ridiculous comment was enough to get a snicker from the others.

  “Can you imagine actually being able to use that as an excuse?” Maggie pondered aloud. “Like, that you could be somewhere that was literally disconnected. No one could get in touch, message, call, track, nothing. How weird would that be?”

  “It wasn’t even that long ago,” Ian chimed in. “My grandfather loves telling stories about his life before computers. He’s not even that old. I think he was one of the last people in the world to get one. Neil, you two would get along great,” he added with a smirk.

  Despite the reason for their trip, the banter was light and fun. Most nights, Neil noticed how the conversation danced around certain topics. No one wanted to talk about why they were out in the forest, missing their finals, messing up their lives. The mood was different that night. Maggie was the first to confront the things they were all silently grappling with.

  “Maybe we should tell other people,” she whispered, staring into the fire.

  “What, that we’re here?” Neil asked, unable to conceal the worry in his voice.

  “No, about what happened to us. If we go public, it might actually mean we’re better protected.”

  “Hiding in plain sight,” Ian agreed.

  Neil stiffened. “I don’t know about that…”

  She huffed, meeting his eyes through the smoke. “Don’t be such a chickenshit. It’s not like this was a well-thought out plan either. At least if we came forward, we could sleep in actual beds again.”