Solipsis: Escape from the Comatorium

by Jeff Pollard

  “Remember what my daughter said, the truth isn't required to be pleasing.”

  Dr. Lazarus jumps up and grabs the microphone at his podium, “Who's looking for excuses to dismiss their opponent now? Don't tell me I'm the one with confirmation bias.”

  “I think you'll find that I didn't say you had confirmation bias, I said that intelligent design is evidence of confirmation bias.”

  “You implied it! Don't make vague attacks, say it clearly and stand behind it.”

  “Confirmation bias is not an insult or an implication of stupidity. From my perspective, Dr. Lazarus shows evidence of confirmation bias, but I also think that he's a very intelligent person. He's in a position we call cognitive dissonance. His intellect is such that he understands the scientific worldview, he can appreciate it, and he knows that it's not easily dismissed. And yet his confirmation bias based on his faith and years of indoctrination gives him the contradicting message that science must be wrong. The brain is perfectly capable of thinking one thing in one place, and the completely opposite thing in another. I believe, from my biased perspective, that Dr. Lazarus has faith, he 'knows in his heart' that god exists. His worldview must follow from that position of faith. So rather than objectively sit back and weigh the evidence, his faith is interjected into the equation. If I've made sacrifices to the god of agriculture every year, slaughtering goats and even people to appease this god, and one day a neighbor tells me that these sacrifices don't do anything, I'm going to be resistant. I'm not going to embrace the idea that I've been wrong and been wasting these sacrifices. So instead of equally weighing the evidence for this god with the evidence for this new theory, I'm going to assume that my god is real until someone really proves otherwise. I have not invested anything in the existence of free will. I have no bias on the subject. There's just no reason for me to think that it must exist until proven otherwise. When I looked at the facts, with my brain which is unhampered by confirmation bias or the sunk cost fallacy, then I'm left with an objective view of the data. The data clearly tells me that there is no such thing as free will.”

  As the debate finishes, Dr. Lazarus disappears into a swarm of followers. Nellie and Renee leave the stage amongst no crowd at all.

  “No wonder they love him,” Renee says. “He makes it easier to believe in fairy tales. Like you said about confirmation bias, they hear all the scientists saying things that go against their religion, so that causes doubt. But then, when someone who looks and sounds like a scientist says something they agree with, they can then pretend that the existence of a debate in the scientific community means that science is no longer against them.”

  “That sounds about right.”

  “They really look like a cult. How can anyone be so excited to see some old guy?”

  “Technically they're a church.”

  “How do you define a cult?” Renee asks.

  “I'm not sure of the exact definition,” Nellie replies. Renee already had the definition floating in front of her.

  “A cult is defined as a religious group or other kind of movement whose beliefs and/or practices are considered abnormal or bizarre,” Renee reads aloud.

  “That's the problem with that word, it's so subjective.”

  “Well, around here, all religious beliefs are considered bizarre,” Renee replies. Nellie nods. “Cult it is.”

  13

  Renee watches Nellie look through numerous medical charts and displays. “Bored?” Nellie asks.

  “Obviously.”

  “In a few minutes I have a consultation with a patient and his father,” Nellie turns to Renee, looking quite serious. “I want you to sit with the boy in the next room while I talk to his father.”

  “A boy? Like my age?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Alright,” Renee perks up, “I can do that.”

  “Just try to distract him, he's going to be nervous.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he's dying, and they've come here to see if I can save him.”

  A moment later, there's a knock at the door. Dr. Lazarus enters with his fourteen-year-old son Seth. In a moment, Renee is sitting next to Seth in total silence in the side office. Seth doesn't appear sick. He's skinny, sure, but not sickly, and he has a thick head of hair.

  Seth finally breaks the silence, “Why did you look so shocked when we walked in?”

  “I did?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I wasn't expecting to see, Dr. Lazarus,” Renee says.

  “Why?”

  “I don't know,” Renee says, “I just wasn't expecting him.”

  “You don't like him, do you?”

  “I didn't know he existed until a few hours ago.”

  “But you don't like him, I can tell.”

  “I'm more bewildered than anything else,” Renee says, “I've never met a Christian before.”

  “I'm a Christian,” Seth replies.

  “I figured,” Renee replies.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Just that your dad's a Christian so you probably are, that's the way these things spread.”

  “You say that like Christianity is a disease,” Seth replies testily.

  “Sorry, I didn't mean anything by it. I'm just not used to this. I mean, imagine you met a stranger and they turned out to be a Zeus worshiper, it would catch you off-guard.”

  Seth grimaces and looks away from her. He taps his foot nervously and strains to listen to the muffled voices coming through the door.

  “Is Lazarus really your last name?” Renee asks, trying to interrupt his anxious focus on the next room.

  “No,” he says, looking away, annoyed at her attempts to impede his listening.

  “I thought it sounded fake,” Renee replies.

  “Can you just be quiet?” It's not really a question. Sweat drips down his neck, she can practically see his racing pulse bursting through his skin.

  “Why did your dad change his last name?”

  “It's like a stage name, he became this whole persona.”

  “Why?”

  “I don't know, to sell books, what's it to you?” Seth asks, annoyed.

  “Just curious.”

  “Why, what's your last name?”

  “I don't think I have one,” Renee replies.

  “That's pretty weird,” Seth says coldly. They sit in silence. Renee sighs, having seemed to fail at the simple task of maintaining a conversation. Seth looks at her solemn face and feels bad for the tone he had used.

  “Have you always lived here?” Seth asks.

  “Why?” Renee responds curtly.

  “Well you said you've never met a Christian. So you must have lived here your whole life. Are there really no Christians here?”

  “Well,” Renee has to think about it, “I don't think so.”

  “What's it like living here?”

  “I guess I don't have anything to compare it to.”

  The door opens. Seth looks to their faces for any hints. They both try hard to keep their expressions as neutral as possible, which tells him everything he needs to know. He slumps in his seat. Renee watches and listens as Nellie breaks the news to Seth that there is nothing they can do for him. Vivisection can save a healthy brain from a dying body. Seth's issue is his brain, and thus vivisection will do nothing to prolong his life, and since it's a risky procedure, it may shorten it. She goes on to explain that his condition is not in advanced stages and he may have many years left. Dr. Lazarus is silent as the news is broken to his son. He stares at the floor, and as soon as Nellie finishes, he takes Seth and heads for the exit.

  Renee stares in awe at Nellie. “How can you do that? How can you tell someone they're going to die?”

  “Part of the job.”

  “Do you do this kind of thing every day?”

  “Not every day, but frequently.”

  “That's heartbreaking. How do you do that and then come home and be a person. How do you handle that?”

  “Yo
u get used to it. What's the alternative? Just stay in Solipsis and mentally masturbate my way through games and movies and pretend everything's great? There are real people who are suffering. I can help them. What am I going to do, waste that talent?”

  Percival sits in the glass observation dome, smoking a pipe and watching the stars in the skybox high above. Renee quietly enters, watching him silently. He stares wide-eyed at the artificial stars. Renee looks up at the sky to see what's so compelling. “They are beautiful,” she thinks, “but fake.” The bright band of the Milky Way Galaxy pours clearly across the sky, much more clearly than visible on Earth, no matter how remote and free from light pollution you might go. Percival takes another puff from his large wooden pipe.

  “I don't know what you see in them,” Renee says. Percival is startled, having not sensed her enter. “Didn't mean to scare you.”

  “It's okay, I'm just a little paranoid,” Percival says.

  “Why?”

  “Just have a seat,” Percival beckons. Renee joins him, sitting back and looking at the stellar display. “Aren't they beautiful?”

  “Yeah,” Renee agrees weakly.

  “I know what you're thinking. They aren't fake. This is the night sky as it would have appeared about four billion years ago. When the Earth had just formed, it would still have been totally molten, just a drop of liquid rock floating in space around a young star. We're still a resident of the stellar nursery. Magnificent isn't it.” Percival takes another puff from his pipe. “Don't you see. We are a part of the universe. 'We're a way for the universe to know itself.' Did you ever get to any Carl Sagan?”

  “No.”

  “He had a great quote,” Percival sits up excitedly, smiling, a twinkle in his eye, “it goes, Hydrogen is a tasteless odorless gas that if left alone long enough will turn into people.”

  “Wait a second,” Renee says. “Are you high right now?”

  Percival recoils from the question, the wheels in his head turn so clearly that his thoughts are practically written in his eyes. Rather than attempt to enter into any complicated lie or a smooth transition into a different subject, he simply admits, “yes.”

  “Is that what you guys do up here?”

  “Yes.”

  “I always thought I was just a dullard or something for not being so entertained by astronomy. Why haven't you ever included me in this?”

  “Drugs can effect brain development. We just didn't want you getting involved in them until you were older.”

  “How does that even work, it's just virtual drugs.”

  “The Comatorium has all kinds of drugs, not all of them recreational mind you. If you drink coffee, your brain gets caffeine in the real world.”

  “Can I try it now?” Renee asks. Percival thinks for a moment before handing her his pipe. Renee holds the device gingerly, having never inhaled anything of the sort. She takes in a deep breath, filling her digital lungs far too much. She coughs up the acrid smoke and hands the pipe back. She sits back, looking eagerly at the stars, hoping for some magical intervention, a show of lights.

  “I don't see anything cool,” Renee says.

  “It's not about hallucinating. It's not some artistic vision in your mind. It's an alteration of consciousness. Just think about consciousness. We go about our lives pursuing goals, succeeding, failing, finding love, losing it, but without an awareness of why we are who we are or why we're doing what we're doing. But think about it. Everything we do is for the purpose of altering consciousness. Everything. We form friendships so that we can feel certain emotions, like love, and avoid others, like loneliness. It's all about altering the state of our consciousness. We eat specific foods to enjoy their fleeting presence on our tongues. We read for the pleasure of thinking another person’s thoughts. Every waking moment we struggle to direct the flow of sensation, emotion, and cognition toward states of consciousness that we value. Isn't it weird or profound to become aware that all we are is a consciousness bent on controlling how it feels.”

  “I've decided what I want to do with my life,” Renee says.

  “Wow, that was fast, most people don't have life changing experiences in the first forty seconds.”

  “I decided this earlier, I just hadn't told you.”

  “So what do you want to be?” Percival senses something is afoot.

  “Well you can unground me now,” Renee says.

  “You're not gonna tell me you want to be an 'entertainment engineer' again are you?”

  “I want to be a vivisector like you. I want to help people like you helped me and Patrick.”

  “That's a serious thing to train for. You'll have lives in your hands.”

  “It's what I want to do,” Renee says. Percival eyes Renee suspiciously. Is she just trying to say what he wants to hear? Is she manipulating him? Is he just paranoid?

  “Why?”

  “To help people,” Renee replies.

  “But what made up your mind, explain to me your thought process.”

  “When you told Seth that you couldn't help him. It totally crushed him. You destroyed his hopes. When you walked in and he looked up to you, you had this immense power in your hands,” Renee says. “I never realized what kind of power you have. Because if giving him bad news does that, just think of how happy someone is to get good news from you. I want that power.”

  “The power to help people?”

  “Right,” Renee says. Percival sits back, thinking.

  “I'll talk to Dr. Graeme right away. He can teach you.”

  14

  Renee operates on a patient. She's inside Solipsis, her patient is merely an NPC (Non-Person-Character). She digs into the patient's arm, searching for a bundle of nerves that needs to be isolated and extracted. Dr. Graeme, stands over her shoulder, watching. He grimaces as she clumsily hacks into her patient.

  “Okay,” he says slowly, meaning quite the opposite. He has a wiry frame and bushy eyebrows.

  “How was that?” Renee asks.

  “Let's just be glad you can train for years without touching a live patient.”

  “That bad?”

  “Relax, you'll get the hang of it. I'm going to check on another pupil, while I'm gone, why not go ahead and try again on the other hand.”

  Dr. Graeme disappears from the virtual OR through a televator. He emerges in an alternate space. He and Percival watch Renee operating below them, totally unbeknownst to her.

  “She's improving,” Percival says hopefully.

  “It's not the learning curve I'm concerned about.”

  “Then what?” Percival asks.

  Dr. Graeme points to Renee. Percival sees that Renee has excised a nerve ending from the virtual patient's arm and is tapping at the nerve with her instruments. The body convulses and shudders with each touch. She giggles as she toys with this life-like, grotesque version of the game Operation. This virtual body, which appears exceedingly real, complete with a unique face, seeming to be just as real as any living person, seems like nothing but a toy to her.

  Percival quickly walks away with purpose. He enters the OR, coming up behind Renee, grabbing her rather forcefully and turning her to face him.

  “I need you to listen to me,” Percival says seriously. “I'm about to tell you something. I want this phrase to echo through your consciousness forever. Repeat after me. I will do no harm.”

  Renee is far too shocked to respond.

  “Say it, I will do no harm.”

  “I will do no harm,” she answers meekly.

  “Do no harm,” Percival reiterates.

  “Do no harm.”

  15

  “Where am I?” Renee wakes up, floating in zero gravity. Patrick floats nearby. “Patrick, wake up,” she shakes him. They come to, surveying the situation. A flat display on the wall shows their location at the tail end of a spaceship, the Somnomancer. They are surrounded by a net of lasers, a futuristic prison cell. “What happened?”

  “I don't know, they must have wiped our memo
ries,” Patrick says.

  “We were sent here on a mission, right?” Renee asks.

  “Yeah, but I can't remember what it was.”

  “Look at that panel. Somnomancer. Does that ring a bell?” Renee asks.

  “A little,” Patrick says.

  “If I'm reading those coordinates right, at that velocity, this thing is headed for the sun,” Renee says ominously.

  “What do we do?” Patrick asks.

  “Look for a button or some way of turning the lasers off,” Renee says. They look around. Patrick spots a button, but it's a good meter outside the laser mesh, out of their reach.

  “Okay, it's a puzzle, how do we reach that?” Patrick asks. “Can we throw something at it?”

  “We don't have anything but our clothes,” Renee says.

  “What if you take off your suit, we twist it together really tight, maybe we can use it to push the button.”

  “Absolutely not,” Renee says.

  “Well all we have to use is our clothes, you got a better idea?”

  “Yeah, I do,” Renee says. She stick both arms through the laser bars. She holds her hands together, then uses the lasers to cut her left arm off at the shoulder. Holding her severed arm with her other hand, she flips the arm around in zero-g, grabbing it by the shoulder joint. Renee reaches her two arms through the laser mesh and presses the button that deactivates the laser field. “Bam.” Renee says, blowing on the index finger on her severed hand. In first-person-shooters and games of this sort, pain sensors are turned way down.

  “I don't think that was how we were supposed to solve that,” Patrick says.

  “So?” Renee goes to the display panel and looks up the specifications of the ship. “Okay, it's coming back to me now. The Somnomancer is an anti-matter cargo ship.”

  “It's been hijacked, and we were sent to figure out why,” Patrick says, looking over her shoulder.

  “But we just thought it was being stolen, not that they were going to crash it into the sun,” Renee says.

  “How do you know they're gonna crash it into the sun?” Patrick asks.

  “Look at the velocity and coordinates,” Renee says.