by Ted Peters
Blair responded slowly. “We Transhumanists tend to avoid using the word ‘soul’. No one has ever proven we have a soul.”
Bourne studied Blair’s face. She looked at Kidd and Chang. She sat back in her chair and dropped her right hand on the table top. “Count me in for Phase One. But that’s all.”
“It’s too late,” Dr. Bourne, “You have already gone well beyond what your assumptions might have previously permitted.”
Bourne’s face registered bewilderment.
Sharma took advantage of the temporary lull in table talk. “I’d love to hold the chip prototype in my hand. If it’s the engineering marvel you say it is, this could be a moving moment.”
The biggest smile of the morning covered Chang’s face. He nodded to Lily. She got up and left the Conference. Small talk ensued so that a low level of indistinguishable voice filled the room like white noise. Blair helped himself to the last of the tea.
When Lily returned, she was accompanied by an erect Chinese man, an athletic-looking twenty-year-old. After whispering something to the newly arrived guest, Lilly asked for the group’s attention. The assembly went silent.
“Now, I’d like to present Phase Three. This is the surprise Lionel mentioned. Please meet Mr. Choong Lo.
Chapter 9
Taipei
“We’ll walk past Qyan Yin’s hall,” said Katia pointing down an open-air aisle to the right. “We’re going to a corner in the rear hall. The rear hall was added at the end of the eighteenth century when the Taiwanese became successful at trade and prosperous in business. On the far left we pray to Matzo, a goddess that protects traders as they sail on the sea to the Chinese mainland. But, that’s not where you and I are going.”
“So, where are we going?”
“I want to visit the altar to Wen-Chang, the god of literature. I’m tired of my job as a lab technician. I’d like to go to the university and study. But, I need to pass the entrance exam. I’ve got a copy of my entrance exam application here in my purse. I’ll put it on Wen-Chang’s altar, and he will help ensure that I get a passing grade.”
Katia pulled a photo copy of her exam application out of her purse. The two walked toward the far right corner of the rear hall. As they approached the waist high gate protecting the Wen-Chang altar, a man in a traditional gray robe received her offering. In turn he handed her a ball point pen. Katia took it enthusiastically. She turned to Leona. “This pen is blessed by Wen-Chang. If I write the exam with this pen, then I’m certain I’ll pass.”
“Has this worked for you previously?” asked Leona.
“Every time,” Katia answered. “It’s a sure thing.”
Chapter 10
Taipei
Choong Lo took the chair at the far end of the conference table, facing Lionel at the other end. Choong gave the appearance of a comfortably seated business man displaying a congenial yet professional smile.
“Thank you for coming to meet our scientists today,Choong,” stated Chang. “We will not keep you long. Please remind me, where did you grow up?”
“I grew up in Hong Kong,” he responded. “My parents were educators. When they moved to Taipei to teach, I was only twelve years old. I’ve been living here ever since. It is my plan to major in biology at Fu Jen University. I’m grateful that TaiCom will provide a laboratory internship site for me.”
“Now, Choong, please tell us why you are here.”
“Of course, Lionel. I’m a guinea pig, so to speak. I volunteered to undergo a chip implant so that Lionel—that is, Dr. Chang—and his colleagues could experiment with some new device they’re working on. Nice to see you again, Dr. Bourne,” he said, nodding in the surgeon’s direction. “I do not know the details, but I have been happy to cooperate. After all, it’s science, you know.”
With an intrigued expression on her face, Geraldine Bourne leaned forward to speak. She began, “Mr. Wu, do you…”
“Please stop right there,” interjected Lionel, simultaneously tapping a key on his computer. “Please, Dr. Bourne, remember exactly what you were going to say. In a few minutes, I’ll signal to you by rubbing my right eye. At that point, I would like you to resume your present posture and then complete your sentence. Can you remember to do this?”
“Why, of course, but…”
“Thank you,” said Lionel, again cutting her off. As eyes around the table drifted toward Choong Lo, they noticed how still he was sitting. Wu’s eyes were open, but he certainly was not seeing anything. His face was expressionless.
Then, the clicking of Lionel’s laptop computer keys filled the quiet of the room. Suddenly, Mr. Wu’s face regained expression as he looked around the table making eye contact.
“Wie heissen Sie?” asked Lionel.
“Ich heisse Helmut Klein,” answered Mr. Wu. Odd. Out of place. His German seemed perfect. But, Mr. Wu appeared thoroughly Chinese. How could this be?
“Wo sind Sie geboren?” Lionel inquired.
“Ich bin in Heidelberg geboren, Doktor Chang. Aber, Sie wissen das, nicht wahr?”
“Können Sie English?”
“Genau,” answered Mr. Wu, as Helmut Klein. “Of course I can speak English. But, you know this, don’t you, Doctor Chang.”
“Where did you learn your English?”
“In the gymnasium. When a young person in school in Heidelberg I had English lessons every day. Now, at the university, much of our reading is in English language texts. “
The faces of those sitting around the table were aghast with surprise. Just what was happening here? It appeared that this one body held two entirely different people.
With a touch of flair, Lionel pressed down a key on his laptop. Mr. Klein’s face went into immediate rigor mortise. Although he continued breathing, Mr. Klein’s body seemed to be in suspended animation. Lionel typed in another code.
When Mr. Klein’s face regained its expression, he looked around the room to acknowledge his surroundings and make eye contact with those in attendance.
Lionel began, “And, what is your name?”
“Why, Charles Worthington. But, you know this already, Doctor Chang,” responded a third personality inhabiting the body of Choong Lo. “Oh, I guess you want these good people around the table to know too, eh, mate?”
“Where were you born, Charles?”
“In Adelaide, Australia. I’m now attending Charles Sturt University in Canberra. Studying biology. I’m visiting Taiwan on holiday.”
The conspicuous finger of Lionel once again punched a laptop key. Charles froze in position. Lionel addressed his incredulous guests.
“As we said a few minutes ago, we can send updates to the Neo-Encyclopedia Britannica and into the memories of those persons with chips. With this capacity, we can actually do more. We can temporarily erase the brain’s existing memory completely and substitute a new one. In fact, we can create an entire new identity through memory substitution. Because of the well known principle that neurons that fire together wire together, the substitute memory controls muscle usage so that the person gets the correct childhood pronunciation of words. Previous athletic and musical skills return in rough form, so that only a little practice raises them to their previous performance level. This amounts to a virtual personality transplant with the same technology we would otherwise use for IA.”
Mouths dropped around the table. Questions were fired at Lionel and impressive answers given. The room became electric.
Neshat asked as if thinking out loud, “Does this mean we can order assassinations via satellite? Can we finally make our own Manchurian Candidate?”
Lionel launched into yet another brief dissertation. “Assassinations are the old fashioned way of doing things. A new era is about to dawn. By refining the technology, we need not fully replace a memory. We can alter it slightly, diminish it, enhance it or add new material. By strategically placing persons with TaiCom implants around the world, we could become very influential. From our satellite control center we could influence deba
tes on the floor of the U.S. Congress or the U.K. Parliament. We could direct bank executives in their decision-making. We could direct the decisions generals make on the battlefield. We could...well, you get the idea.”
“But I still want to know about assassinations,” pressed Neshat. “What if…”
“We have learned one thing so far, even though our research is by no means complete. What we have learned is this: even with an altered memory, a person’s moral character remains basically unaltered. Even if you substitute a new memory and ask a person to carry out an immoral deed, the moral law within retains its hold on that person’s conscience. When we use the TaiCom implant for espionage, we can only expand on the moral commitments a person has already made; we cannot compel someone to violate their conscience. Here is the implication. If we wish to foster violence, then we must select an original brain already wired for violence or better, an original brain already so committed to some noble cause that the individual has already considered violence against his or her opponents. In the latter case, it’ll only take a little push to get the job done.”
Lionel seemed to interrupt himself by turning to Geraldine. “Now, Dr. Bourne, do you recall what you were going to say? If so, finish it when I rub my eye.” Lionel then pressed the computer key and rubbed his right eye. After a second’s pause, it was clear that Choong Lo was back in the room.
Geraldine continued. “…have any pain associated with your implant? Do you think about it very often? Does it affect your daily life?”
“No pain,” said Wu. “Because I can’t feel it, I don’t think about it. Anyway, it’s not been activated. Lionel—I mean, Dr. Chang—has not yet turned it on. So, I simply remain myself.”
The room itself seemed to gasp.
“Do you know Helmut Klein?” asked Geraldine with intensity.
“Who? No, I don’t recognize the name,” answered Wu.
“How about Charles Worthington?” asked Buzz with a knowing smile.
“No, I don’t believe I know that person either,” was Wu’s answer.
Chapter 11
Taipei
Leona and Katia walked casually through the press of worshippers and stepped up to the front porch of the main hall. Through the drifting smoke, the larger than life gilded statue of Qyan Yin appeared, seated in lotus position with her right hand raised in benediction. Ordinarily she would be holding an alabaster water jar in her left hand. In this case her empty left hand simply indicated meditation. Her serene face was encircled by a halo, which was in turn engulfed in a penumbra of flames. The Quan Yin statue exuded mercy and peace.
Leona and Katia crammed themselves between others praying at the fence protecting the statue from her devotees by a distance of twenty feet. The two women could feel each other’s shoulder as they whispered reports of what they were viewing.
“Well, I think….” Katia’s voice stopped mid-sentence. Leona, still staring at Quan Yin, no longer felt the press of Katia’s shoulder. Leona turned to learn why. Katia’s head had dropped so her chin was resting listlessly on her chest. To her bewilderment, Leona watched as Katia’s body fell limp. Her yellow sundress was now red, stained with the flow of blood. In Katia’s back, a knife.
Leona, simultaneously confused and alert, visually scoured the crowd while grabbing for Katia’s body and lowering it gently to the ground. Leona’s eyes caught a quick snapshot: a male foot below a loosely-fitting gray pant leg, shod in a dark brown sandal. That foot was too close and seemed out-of-place. Leona dove through the crowd. The man to whom the foot belonged ran toward the large brass incensory with Leona only a few feet behind. Soon he found himself in a garden apron at the balcony’s edge.
Without hesitating to look, the man leapt, landing on the pavement eight feet below, somewhat unstable in his sandals. He was caught by a husky Buddhist monk in a mustard yellow robe. The monk grabbed the man and pulled him safely to his feet, continuing to hold him. Yelling from the balcony to the monk, Leona said, “He’s a killer! Hold him for me?”
The expression on the monk’s face registered that he did not understand English. Leona was now able to fully see the face and form of Katia’s attacker: medium height, dark complexion, round face with broad features, perhaps Mongolian. A large bandage covered his forehead over the right eye. I’m sure I’ve seen this thug before, Leona addressed herself in a fraction of a second. He’s wearing the red badge of honor I gave him last night. The assassin wiggled in his captor’s arms. Soon, he was free and running toward the front gate. The monk stood there perplexed. Leona quizzed herself, Do I chase him? Or, do I return to help Katia? She decided on the latter.
Leona knifed back through the crowd and knelt at Katia’s side. The dying Katia could not talk. She grasped Leona’s hand desperately. Into Leona’s palm she pressed an object, a small round object wrapped in a tiny plastic bag.
Chapter 12
Taipei
Lily, who had left the room briefly, returned. She leaned over to whisper into Lionel Chang’s right ear. The smile disappeared. His face became red. His eyebrows curled inward. The muscles in his jaw tensed up.
Lily whispered a second time.
Without looking at his guests, Chang stood and hurried toward the exit.
Lily addressed the group with a plastic smile. “Mr. Chang has been suddenly called away. I’m terribly sorry. Our meeting is concluded. We will stay in touch via cell phone. Check your text messages. We will continue discussing the business plan on Monday. Ten o’clock. Right here.”
Chapter 13
Taipei
Lillian Yang stood by the elevator door, head bowing with her left arm gracefully stretched to direct each departing guest into the cab. Last in line was Khalid Neshat who hesitated and looked directly into Lilly’s eyes.
“Don’t you want to get in, Mister Neshat?” she asked.
“Oh, no. Let them go,” he answered while stepping back from the elevator door.
Lilly watched while the elevator closed and began its descent.
“Thank you for a well-organized meeting, Lilly. I’m sure Mr. Chang properly appreciates your skills.”
“Oh, he does. What more may I do for you, Mr. Neshat?”
“Please call me Khalid. You certainly like to please Mr. Chang’s guests, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course. What more may I do for you, Khalid?”
“Let me show you something.” Khalid Neshat led Lily down the hall away from the TaiCom office. After turning two corners they arrived at a large door, perhaps a service door, almost flush with the wall. Neshat removed a blank credit card from his pocket and swiped it on the electronic receptor affixed to the wall. What appeared originally to be a service door was actually two doors that split open, revealing an elevator. Neshat extended his arm and hand, welcoming the executive assistant aboard the gondola. She complied with a mixture of trust, curiosity and courtesy. Once in the elevator, Neshat swiped the card again, pressed the button for Floor 101, and stood still looking at the young woman.
“I did not know this elevator was here,” remarked Lily.
“Be ready to learn much,” responded Neshat. He reached tenderly toward her left ear. “What lovely earrings,” he said softly, while his right hand momentarily lifted the delicate jade Yin-Yang swinging from her pierced ear. Lily shyly lowered her eyes, experiencing an unfamiliar melding of flattery and embarrassment.
It took only seconds for the elevator to reach 101. The two stepped out onto a floor Lilly had never seen before. The entry area was dimly lit and devoid of furniture. Lily observed several doors around the perimeter, each labeled with letters and numbers with no particular sequence or pattern. Walls, doors, and ceiling were all painted a non-descript off-white. The floor was industrial gray. Strange, thought Lily, for such an exclusive floor. Neshat escorted her down a long corridor to the right of the elevator, stopping in front of one more plain doorway with a sign in Chinese, Farsi, and English, “Khalid Neshat.” The magic card opened this door as well.<
br />
Behind this ordinary door was a wondrous world of the rich. Lily was awe-struck as she stepped into the expansive room, slowly as if matching the rhythm of an exquisite adagio. She moved around the room, admiring the aesthetic accouterments of every detail, including the soft lighting. It was combination office and private personal nest complete with a large television screen, antiques, brocade upholstery, and a well stocked bar.
“Might I pour you cognac?” asked Neshat.
“No, I don’t drink alcohol,” she responded. “But, you go ahead.”
“I shouldn’t, you know. I’m Muslim. Yet, when in Taipei: do as the Romans do.” He poured Martell cognac into a snifter, then a glass of sparkling water for his guest.
The Iranian walked slowly toward the Taiwanese woman, staring into her eyes. Her eyes locked on his. Neshat handed her the glass of sparkling water. She took a sip, her eyes never leaving his. Neshat gently set his cognac on the table and placed his expansive hands on her delicate shoulders in one artful movement.
“Do you really like to please?” he asked.
“Yes, of course; but, Mr. Neshat, I don’t....”
“Khalid, I said.” Then, while holding her firmly, he planted his lips on hers. At first she stood motionless, receiving but not reacting. His left hand moved slowly down her back while his right hand massaged her shoulder in rhythmic circles. He leaned forward, his lips still touching hers. Khalid’s lips undulated gently against hers until she responded in synchronized movements. He then plunged his tongue passionately into her mouth.
