Between Two Minds: Awakening

by D C Wright-Hammer

  Where the hell am I?

  Before I could figure it out, my body took over and called out again. “Mom! I need your help!”

  “Okay, sweetie! I’ll be there in a minute.”

  More confusion set in when the woman’s voice came from the other room. Trying to take it all in, I struggled to sit up to get a better view and immediately wished on everything that was holy that I had just laid there instead. The dread that ensued nearly caused me to black out.

  My legs! What in the hell happened to my legs?

  It’s like they weren’t even there. I couldn’t feel anything. I couldn’t move anything below my waist. If that was true, then how the hell did I—

  “Hi, sweetie.” A tall, middle-aged woman with blonde hair entered the room and came to the right of the bed.

  She lifted my shirt and began moving and tugging on something that was connected to me. I finally looked down and was again instantly disappointed that I had. She was swapping out my colostomy bag that apparently had been collecting overnight.

  The war! It had to be the war. While I didn’t remember it, I must have been blown up, and paralyzed in the process! That had to be it.

  “Thanks, Mom.” More words came out of my mouth against my will. While a part of me thought that the woman was familiar, another part of me had no idea who the hell she was or why I was calling her Mom.

  “Oh, no problem, sweetie. What’s on your schedule for today?”

  “I’m taking the seven-fifteen bullet to work. Then I’m headed to ADG for my first personal-identity session. I’ll be back by six.”

  “More counseling? Haven’t you had enough?”

  “Mom. We talked about this. There’s a lot of hard work that goes into preparing for the procedure.”

  “You were crying in your sleep again last night. Are you sure you want to go through with this, Ryan?”

  Who the hell is Ryan? What procedure? None of it made any sense, and I was starting to get anxious at the fact that nothing I wanted to say or do was happening.

  “Yesterday’s session was tough, but it also proved something to me. If I can handle living without legs my whole life, I can handle anything. I know you’re scared of the mind migration, but it’s something I have to do.”

  “And you know that no matter what, I’m always going to worry about you.”

  My mouth curled up, ready to snap off a witty response, but then I just let it go. “Thanks again, Mom,” I said to the woman as she wrapped up the work she was doing on me and took away the bag of waste.

  “No problem, sweetie. I’ll have breakfast ready for you downstairs.”

  Yawning the sleep out of my lungs, I began dragging my body off the bed and onto the wheelchair, and while it was a bit clumsy, it also felt routine as I tumbled into the seat. Typing into the code pad, safety straps snaked around me and clicked into place. Behind me, I heard a beep, and then noticed one of the lights next to the code pad labeled Charging turn off as the motor kicked on with a low hum.

  “Come on, Auto. It’s time to take on the world.” With my right hand, I reached for the joystick in the center of the code pad and pushed it to the left.

  It was strange to use my right hand with such precision, and the wheelchair spun quickly in that direction. I pushed forward on the stick to go around the bed and toward the closet, then grabbed what appeared to be a minimalist office-job uniform. I was amazed by my ability to take off my pajamas and put on the uniform with little difficulty and no assistance.

  Fully dressed, I rolled out of the bedroom in the wheelchair and went down the hallway to the bathroom. I wasn’t sure if I was more scared or excited to look in the mirror, but I was definitely a little disappointed when I went past it and headed straight to the linen closet to get a washcloth. Then I navigated back to the sink to brush my teeth, and that was when I finally got a look at myself in the mirror.

  I know that face! The young guy in the wheelchair!

  How in the hell is that even possible? Where is my body?

  Somehow, I was seeing through his eyes and living through his body. It had to be the most lifelike dream I had ever experienced, and I tried everything to wake myself up, to no avail. My hands wouldn’t carry out a slap or pinch and my head refused to shake the reverie away. Since it didn’t seem like I had any other options, I decided to just see the dream through.

  I—Ryan finished brushing his teeth and went to the top of the stairs. Integrating with the wheelchair lift, Ryan and I were slowly lowered down the stairs and around the corner as the meaty smell of cooking bacon filled my—his nose. The sizzling sound followed as we were firmly planted on the floor before disengaging from the lift. We headed straight for the kitchen, and by that point my—his mouth was watering.

  “Your plates on the table.”

  Zooming over to the space at the kitchen table with no chair in front of it, he grabbed the fork and began digging in. It had to be the best eggs, bacon, and toast I ever had. There was also a carton of starfruit juice, which seemed strange but tasted outstanding. While eating, I overheard what had to be a headline of the news on a television in the other room.

  “Economists say that the country is finally recovering after losing GIP. More on that at eight.”

  All of it must have been a dream because we had definitely not been losing when I’d been discharged a couple of years ago. The tides had really been turning, and had we found the enemy HQ and a few more weapons stockpiles, it would have been over in an instant.

  “How are things at work, Mom?”

  She came to the table with a plate of food for herself and sat down. “They’ve been relatively quiet since the protest last week.”

  “That’s good.”

  Ryan finished off his breakfast, took his dishes to the sink, and headed for his jacket hanging by the front door.

  “Love you, Mom. I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Love you, sweetie.”

  On the way to the coatrack, we passed a small table in the hallway. On it was a virtual reel of pictures, and at first, it was just rolling through Ryan’s childhood. Right before we passed it, an intensely familiar photo appeared of Ryan’s mom standing in the front yard of a house different from the one we were in. I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what was familiar about it, maybe something in the background. Either way, it just seemed like the weird dream was only getting weirder.

  Throwing the coat on, we exited the house and made our way down the winding ramp. It was a short ride to the bus stop where there was a large painted rectangle on the pavement indicating where the bus would stop. It was then I noticed that the pavement wasn’t concrete or asphalt, but what had to be solar paneling. There was always talks that they would implement the solar panel roads someday, but between the money, politics, and difficulty of construction, they had never gotten around to doing it.

  While we waited, Ryan pulled out his netphone. Like nothing I’d ever seen before, its sleek design and compact features seemed futuristic. He tapped a button.

  “Show me Mount Kilimanjaro, real time.”

  The most realistic hologram I had ever seen manifested itself, hovering just above his horizontal netphone. It might as well have put us directly on the base of the mountain because I could see granules of dirt and details of the porous surface of the rocks. Individual blades of grass were fluttering in the wind, and a group of hikers wearing safari shorts, fedoras, and sweat-soaked shirts were making their way up one of the paths. So breathtaking was the imagery that I almost forgot we were half a world away, experiencing the muggy chill of what had to be around early autumn.

  A sound in the distance interrupted our exploration of the hologram, and I noticed a strange bus barreling in our direction at what had to be close to seventy miles an hour or more. I was sure it wasn’t our bus since it couldn’t possibly stop in time for us to board. Then, about
fifty feet from us, I marveled at its ability to rapidly slow down and come to a complete stop exactly within the painted rectangle. Busses like that were only rumored in science magazines from what I remembered.

  The bus’s door for those with disabilities opened and a mechanical lift transformed outward. It clamped onto the wheelchair and pulled us up and into the bus. Once there, Ryan wheeled us up to the front near the driver, pressed his thumb into what appeared to be the fare acceptor, and then moved back into a wheelchair space to settle in for the ride. In an instant, we jerked into motion and the bus merged into a large center lane that didn’t have any other traffic. From then on, it was the smoothest ride I had ever experienced on public transit.

  Looking more closely at the advertising on the ceiling and walls, I realized it wasn’t exactly “public” at all. An ad filled the space over the back window that read: “This hyperbus proudly brought to you by EAP, the transportation enterprise you can trust.”

  After making a few more stops in the suburbs, the bus began to fill up as we headed for what had to be the city. I realized then that we were on an interstate through the city I lived in, so should see things I recognized. I was instead presented with a different, newer, cleaner version of my memories. There were almost no buildings that looked rundown and not even one homeless person on the streets begging for money. It also wasn’t just Ryan who dressed like a minimalist. The pockets of people walking on the sidewalks blended in with each other, making it hard to distinguish where one person ended and another began. The last thing I noted was that every single car on the solar road was completely spotless, making them act like powerful mirrors of the sun. That explained why I constantly had the urge to squint, even though Ryan seemed used to it.

  We passed the old Armada Hotel and Suites building where a union of housekeepers had picketed for fifteen years straight over better working conditions and wages, one of the longest active pickets in history. Not only were there no protesters, but the building looked like it had been converted to accommodate business offices and conferences, and I wondered what the outcome of the protest had been. Part of me hoped they’d won. Then I was slightly comforted as we approached the heart of downtown, where much of it was unchanged, though the addition of video boards on every skyscraper was new. Some of the smaller buildings seemed to have been replaced with large greenspaces, each one with a large, animated billboard advertising one company or another. Otherwise, I could easily pick out Carey Tower and the Payton Building.

  The bus stopped almost instantly in front of a building that seemed oddly different. A video sign said it was NeoTech Enterprises. I specifically remembered that company being new because of their silly jingle that sounded like something right out of a children’s book.

  “NeoTech: Our products are newer than new, and they will make you you-er than you.”

  For whatever reason, it seemed like my subconscious was fond of them because the sign showing tenets of the building only had NTE and some coffee shop. In this dream, they were a massive corporation, when in reality they hadn’t even completed their IPO.

  Ryan moved us into position, the door opened, and the mechanical arm grabbed and gently placed us onto the sidewalk. We rolled a short way to the door of the building for those with disabilities and entered a large, impressive foyer. Ryan made a beeline for the coffee shop and waited in line.

  “Hey, Ryan! How are things?”

  “Good, Martin! How are you?”

  “Great. Can I get you the usual?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Sticky icky with froth!” The guy behind the counter shouted.

  Ryan pushed his thumb into the payment acceptor, and we moved down the counter to pick up his drink. Then my dream turned into a nightmare as he picked up some fancy coffee drink that was probably too rich and sweet for any self-loving person to enjoy. But apparently, he did. After getting our hot cup of milk and sugar, the elevators were our next destination. On our way in, we ran into another person in a similar wheelchair that Ryan must have known well.

  “Helen! How are you?”

  “Oh hey, Ry! I’m good. How are you?”

  “Just fine. I have my first PID for the migration today. I’m a little nervous. How’s your preparation going?”

  We boarded the elevator, and she pressed the number fourteen.

  “Not bad. Still in general counseling, but we’ll be shifting to PID in a couple weeks.”

  “I hear it only gets harder as we get closer, Helen. The offer still stands if you ever want to talk; just give me a call.”

  “I might do that. I don’t know if it’s work or the personal drama that’s bugging me, but the sessions have left me drained. It wouldn’t hurt to get a different perspective from someone going through it all. Thanks, Ryan!”

  “No problem.”

  The doors dinged open, and Ryan allowed her to wheel out first, then we headed our separate ways.

  “See ya, Ry!”

  “Bye.”

  Ryan took us to what had to be his cubicle, parked at the oddly designed desk table, and put his thumb into a device. Startled as the desk converted into an elaborate setup of screenless, hologram-like computer technology, I was reminded it was just a dream when my—Ryan’s body didn’t jump.

  “Good morning, Ryan Carter. You have twenty-two thousand data sets to process. Have a productive day.”

  Ryan began to wave his hands like the conductor of a symphony, and the holograms responded as different screens of seemingly random data appeared, changed colors from red to green, and then rotated to the next screen. Taking intermittent sips of his coffee, he hardly slowed down working with one hand. He was apparently doing an instantaneous visual verification of data before moving it on to an automated check, all of which were coming up green. I could only assume that meant they were being correctly processed. It was a sight to see him work, but a couple hours in, and I wanted to jump off a bridge. It was ten times worse than working the line. I prayed that something would wake me up so I didn’t have to sit through all of it, but to my disappointment, I couldn’t even zone out.

  Then, out of the blue, a piece of relevant data caught my eye. A name field on one screen listed Lucille Rios. That had to be my baby girl making her presence known in my dream. Unfortunately, Ryan was moving so quickly that it went back to being the most boring job I’d ever had to sit through. He finished out his workday, apparently clocked out by putting his thumb back onto the device, and caught the next bus across town to the campus of another company.

  Atlas Digenetics.

  Upon entering the main building, NTE’s foyer was put to shame. There were plants growing on the walls and an intricate water fountain in the center. What must have been a waiting room had a huge statue of the titan Atlas, giving the whole place a neat feel. We headed for an elevator at the far end of the space, and into the keypad on his chair, Ryan tapped the number eight followed by a series of other seemingly random numbers. We got into the elevator, and the ride was much slower than I would have liked, but the old-school instrumental playing on the speakers made it tolerable. The doors opened, and without the slightest pause, we headed left toward a receptionist’s desk.

  “Hi, Jake. I’m here for my first PID.”

  “Right! Let me have you thumb in, and the team will be with you in a few minutes.”

  Ryan obliged Jake’s request, then headed over to a small waiting area.

  I read over the obnoxiously tall advertisement hologram across the room.

  Have you been diagnosed with a fatal disease?

  Is your quality of life being hindered by the physical state of your body?

  Do you not identify with the body in which you were born?

  Well, Atlas Digenetics may have a solution for you!

  With cutting-edge technology and the most well-trained doctors and experts, ADG is proud to be the only
company in the world providing mind migration. Your diseases and pain will stay with your old body, but the possibilities are almost endless in your new host.

  The body of your dreams is around the corner.

  Ask one of our specialists for more details.

  Then I realized the hologram had to be so tall for all the fine print after the advertisement to also fit. For a procedure like that, I was certain it probably said something along the lines of “results may vary, and we’re not liable for anything ever.”

  Ryan laughed and whispered under his breath, “I’m glad they’re good at what they do.”

  The more I thought about mind migrations, the more a peculiar fear began to well up in me. Part of me was scared simply based on the implications of such a procedure. Still, some of the fear seemed much older as if I had some kind of previous knowledge of a similar procedure that I couldn’t quite pinpoint with everything else going on around me.

  “Ryan Carter. Please come to room eight-zero-zero-three.”

  Shaking off the dread, we wheeled toward the office rooms, then the room where a tall, bearded man in slacks and a button-up shirt stood outside.

  “Hello, Ryan. I am Dr. Morris. Please move yourself by the couch and get comfortable.”

  We rolled into the large room with old-fashioned carpet and vintage books lining the walls. A professional-looking woman sat near the center of the room, on the other side of the therapy couch.

  Dr. Morris walked in behind us and took a seat next to the woman. “Ryan, this is my colleague, Dr. Pritchett. She’ll be assisting with your personal-identity session today and possibly moving forward.”