“How many test subjects did you kill? How many went insane?”
“We do nothing illegal at the Institute, Mrs. Diosa,” the doctor said. “In fact, we have made tremendous strides in the process. For instance, it will soon be possible to link minds without the needle by harnessing the power of biomite-enhanced brains, like yourselves. Your brain biomites will operate like wireless computers. We strive to improve the quality of life in our test subjects.”
Is that why our enhancements are off?
“In old method, the one discovered by Dr. Tyler Ballard, a computer was used to host an artificial environment, the alternate reality, if you will. The computer, though, is not efficient or suitable to respond to the soulful needs of a biological intelligence, like you or me. Or Coco.”
He placed his hands on the sides of the orangutan’s head.
“Coco is organic host, if you will. A network server, to borrow term from our computer friends. It is Coco that creates world in his mind for others to be transferred. He is host. It is his imagination that creates alternate reality.”
“A dream?” Mason said.
“Of sorts.” The doctor raised his hand. “Not anyone can become host. There is special quality to how the two hemispheres of the test subject’s brain operate, a certain degree of openness and creativity that make him or her ideal candidate. It is this degree that will limit the world he or she can create. For instance”—the doctor waved his arms—“this room is extent of the world Coco can create. Beyond there is nothing, like limit of universe.”
“And what do you hope to accomplish?” someone asked. “Some sort of virtual tourism? The animals, or test subjects, will pick up the tab of suffering for our pleasure?”
Ellen stiffened, but the doctor calmed her with an easy hand. “It is all right. I understand your apprehension. It is difficult to see organism with needle in forehead, but I assure you there is no discomfort. To answer question, what we have accomplished already is an improvement in psychological disorder. Test subjects emerge from altered states with increased intelligence and emotional stability.”
“Is there really a need to network brains?”
The doctor smiled. “We are stronger and happier when we are united.”
“In a new world?”
“Coco sets the rules of his world. It can be fantasy land or just like this.”
“For who?”
“That is very good question, Mrs. Diosa.” The doctor walked around the table and went to the wall. The black surface mirrored his expression as he reached up and knocked. It rang like glass.
The murkiness began to clear, revealing dark lumps.
The biting chill inside Alex gripped her whole body, pressing the air from her lungs.
Everyone reacted.
There were small cubicles on the other side of the glass walls, like boxes stacked to the ceiling of various sizes with test subjects laying still and prostrate—mice, rats, rabbits, chimps and gibbons. One large gorilla filled the square in front of the doctor. They all had one thing in common.
A needle.
“This is our community,” the doctor said. “There is convincing data to show that while their bodies remain stable and alive, they’re identities are currently in Coco’s world. And, more importantly”—the doctor raised his finger—“and this is very important for you to understand, they also contribute to Coco’s world. It is like ecosystem, you see. They are integral to Coco and Coco to them.”
“And Coco is god,” someone said.
“Maybe.” The doctor turned to face them. “We are still trying to understand how Coco creates the world’s rules, if he even knows he has created them. In other words, are the laws of this virtual world locked into place as they are in our world? Or can he change them?”
“Can they go back to their bodies?”
The doctor chuckled. “Yes, Mrs. Diosa. They wake as if sleeping a wonderful dream.”
“With no reality confusion?”
“There is some, yes. The dream state is very convincing. But that is the beauty, you understand. We have created a dream that is inseparable from reality, a dream where time is malleable, where time can go fast or slow. Imagine the possibilities to help soldiers suffering from post-traumatic syndrome? The handicapped can walk, the blind can see.
“The test subjects living in Coco’s Foreverland, if you like to call it that, can experience entire lifetime in the span of one minute in flesh. Time, you know, is a dimension. We can live many lives this way, you understand.”
“But they return to their bodies?” someone asked. “The right ones?”
The doctor glanced at Ellen, slowly nodding. “Yes, the correct bodies.”
“But you said—”
“If you are referring to Foreverland body switches, I assure you there is nothing of that nature occurring at the Institute. It was unfortunate, indeed, that people have used it for such purposes, but such is the nature of many things. Bullets can be used for good and evil, yes?”
The doors opened. The scientists from the labs they passed earlier entered.
“And I think now would be good time to explore, yes?” He lifted his arms, staring at Ellen.
“You may look through the lab,” she said. “You may ask questions. Please do not touch anything. As Dr. Baronov stated, this is a living organism.”
The group moved slowly at first. Alex, too. Her leg muscles were stiff. She clamped her hands together to keep them from quivering. The journalists spread out and, little by little, cornered scientists with questions. Photographers were madly capturing the scene.
Especially Coco.
Alex hovered at the end of the table, working her way near the orangutan’s head. The primate smelled earthy and damp. The cushioned table hugged him. Occasionally, the whir of internal rollers massaged his body, reducing the probability of bedsores. Unless he moved, his muscles would atrophy, the blood would pool.
How many lives have they lived already? Maybe years have passed.
She couldn’t help wonder if the doctor was right: this could be the next step in evolution, a new revolution. The reality revolution.
Security stood nearby. If she gave in to the temptation and reached out to stroke the orange hair, to touch the eyelids or puffy patch of flesh around the surgical needle, she would surely be removed.
A bead of saliva glistened on the corner of Coco’s mouth.
Foreverland. The doctor dared to use that word with what they were doing, but it was probably inevitable. If the public was going to embrace this technology, they would surely associate it with that word. He would need to reinvent it, to purge it of past associations.
Alex had read of Foreverland, of the boys and girls forced to visit a virtual reality. It was an odd name since it was anything but forever, a reality that was limited in space and the imagination of the host.
Unless the right host is selected. According to the doctor, it would then become forever, indeed.
“So he’s dreaming?” A photographer was kneeling to capture the needle at eye level. He looked over the camera at Alex. “How do we know we’re not dreaming?”
“Limits,” she said. “There wouldn’t be anything outside this room.”
The young man raised his eyebrows, seemingly unaffected by the grotesque subject matter. They were in the belly of the experiment, surrounded by victims of research. All the photographer could think about while capturing all of this was the potential of the dream, his youth, his resilience.
“Have you done any human trials?” someone asked.
The many questions and answers bouncing off the hard floor and glass walls lulled. Many of them turned toward Dr. Baronov, waiting for his response to this particular question.
“We have not. We follow the law.”
“What about Patricia Ballard?” a journalist asked. “Where is she?”
“Yes, she is here.” He addressed the room as a whole, an answer he wanted to be clearly heard. “She has been here for qu
ite some time, but I assure you there has been no experimentation. We are only serving to support her life. I believe you would agree we are best suited for such purpose.”
“No research at all?”
“I believe you know her story, so I will not repeat it. It is very unfortunate what she was forced to do and we are respecting her life, as we were asked to do. That is all I will comment, thank you.”
Alex noticed doors on the other side of the room, not the ones where they had entered. Guards stood in front of them. Judging by the lock, the guards weren’t necessary. But, perhaps, what was behind them wasn’t meant to be seen at any cost.
Coco’s nostrils flared.
Alex swore she heard something guttural beneath his chin. The photographer was too busy reviewing his shots to notice.
“What about reports that Patricia is still hosting a Foreverland?” someone asked.
“The doctor will not comment further,” Ellen announced. “We would like the focus to remain on the process and the future of this technology.”
A few more voices chimed in. The journalists had what they came for. Now they were going for the great white shark, the jewel of this story: Patricia Ballard, the only living human to host a computer-aided alternate reality.
“Is she currently connected to a CAAR network?” someone asked.
Something moved beneath Coco’s eyelids. His eyes moved back and forth as if, for the first time, he was experiencing REM. The saliva spread into surrounding wrinkles.
“How do you respond to reports of using synthetic brain cells on Patricia?” another person shouted. “Could she reach out to other people with brain biomites?”
“Is that why we’re not allowed to use our enhancements?” somebody else asked.
“Any alterations we have implemented,” Dr. Baronov said, “have been within our code of conduct, the law, and for the good of Patricia Ballard.”
“Are you monitoring her inner world?”
“Can you communicate with her?”
“What does her world look like?”
The walls went black and the lights dimmed. The scientists were leaving. Coco’s eyes continued to dance.
Alex ignored the chill down her back and leaned closer. Her scalp began to tingle. Warmth trickled from the top of her head, down into her chest, pushing away the chills. She didn’t notice that she had stopped shivering.
“We will continue the tour through the staging area, where you will get a glimpse into Coco’s inner world on computer monitors,” Ellen announced. “Please, everyone, exit to the left where—”
The eyelids popped open.
Dark brown irises stared up.
Alex saw her reflection in the engorged pupils. But behind her she saw not the fluorescent lights or the black walls. It was something entirely different, something she didn’t expect, not in a million years.
Palm trees.
“Oh!” Alex jumped back. Her fingers trembled over her mouth. Her chest was buzzing.
Her thighs filled with icy water. Her knees came unhinged.
Mason caught her before she hit the floor.
The energy shifted in the room. Several people ran to her. Mason laid her on her back. A red light reflected off the black walls. Ellen directed traffic. The journalists were ushered out of the room. Mason was the last one.
The red light and buzzing were coming from the identity card around Alex’s neck. The monitor had been activated.
Her enhancements were engaged.
3. Alessandra
New York City
The waiting room was nearly empty.
Alex sat in a row of thinly cushioned seats that were linked at the armrests, staring at a properly dressed young man sitting almost statuesque. He was reading a National Geographic, an odd choice, so it seemed, for a kid with shoulder-length hair and clothing he likely found at a resale shop. The color of his hair matched the trunks of the palm trees on the front cover.
Later on, she would remember that.
She watched the traffic crawl, from the sixth-story office. Forty-Sixth Street was worse than usual. She attempted to ignore how long it would take to drive home, but her mind kept doing the math. She thumbed through emails on her phone.
Another one from the Institute.
Her lawyer had made it clear for them to leave her alone, that any contact be directed to her attorney. This health screening she agreed to had already eaten a day out of her life. They said she had violated her terms of agreement by engaging her enhancements while on tour. She explained the nature of her condition, that she was prone to seizures and her biomites had auto-engaged when one was coming.
But the thing was this: she hadn’t felt one coming.
If she thought about it, the whole auto-engage incident was nothing she had ever experienced. Even if she hadn’t agreed to see a doctor, to document the seizure-induced auto-engagement, she would’ve gone to see him anyway.
Coco opened his eyes.
He woke up, she was sure of it. But when she told the EMTs, they assured her everything was all right. They even brought the photographer out, the young man that was snapping photos when she went ape, as someone said. Not a single shot with the eyes open.
“He never moved,” the photographer said.
Her phone rang. “Hey,” she answered.
“Still there?” Her husband’s voice piped through the Bluetooth cells implanted near her auditory nerve.
“Still here.”
“Have you heard the results?”
“No, not yet.” She checked the time again. “They’re running late.”
“Okay.” There was a long pause. “How you feeling?”
“Good.” She told him about traffic and the rude receptionist that still worked for the biomite doctor. If the doctor wasn’t so good, she’d go somewhere else. And, oddly enough, it wasn’t far from the Institute. She could see the front door from the lobby if she stood to the right.
“Thought you’d be done,” Samuel said. “We’re back at the car, suppose we could walk around.”
He said we, but she didn’t catch that. She did notice his voice was a little off; it sounded like he had a cold.
“I’ll text when I know, but it could be another twenty minutes or, I don’t know, twenty-four hours.”
He chuckled. “We’ll just double-park. I’m sure the parking fairies will understand.”
“We?”
“Mrs. Diosa?” the receptionist called.
Alex stood slowly and paused before walking toward the receptionist, making sure the floor was steady. That was the other thing she didn’t tell Samuel, just how unstable everything felt. If she stood too fast or walked too quickly, the world felt...unreliable. Like walking on thin ice.
“You realize it’s an hour after my appointment?”
The woman behind the counter pointed at the door to Alex’s left without looking, her fingernail tapping on the iPad’s glass. She wrinkled her nose like Alex wasn’t wearing deodorant.
“Dr. Mallard got called out.”
“Then who am I seeing?”
She sighed. “Dr. Johnstone.”
“Who?”
Alex continued to stare. The receptionist didn’t look up, pointing at the door instead. A sharp letter to Dr. Mallard was in order.
——————————————
Enhance Your Life.
That was written on the only poster in the examination room, attached to the back of the door, an elderly woman beaming at children on a playground.
Biomites.
The medical industry introduced synthetic stem cells as the cure-all to human suffering, engineered to replace organic cells in the body, to regenerate damaged tissues, immunize cells and heighten senses. And now the possibility of wireless communication.
Some people seeded their legs to become better athletes; some improved a faulty heart. Others used them to replace skin cells; there were even rumors they could change the way they looked. The government o
nly let you have so many biomites, so seeding your skin to look younger seemed more than superfluous.
It was idiotic.
But, hey, enhance your life.
The old woman looked so happy with her white teeth and wrinkle-free smile, like she would live forever and love every minute of it. Because that was what people wanted, they wanted to live forever.
Alex touched the poster, leaning in as if closer inspection would reveal the deep-down dirty secret. She had seen enough dark corners in humanity to know we didn’t deserve immortality.
No one wants to live forever.
The door opened. Alex jumped and, regrettably, went, “Eeep.”
Dr. Johnstone didn’t notice. He was young, athletic and handsome. His hair was brown and curly, a little longer than usual for someone in his profession. And he smelled clean. Almost too clean, as if that was possible.
He introduced himself and apologized for the last minute substitution. She kicked the tires and asked for qualifications. He gave her a rundown.
“Have a seat.” He gestured across the table. “Let’s talk.”
“That sounds serious.”
“Everything’s fine, Alex. There’s nothing to worry about.”
He docked an iPad on a round table. The glass surface lit up with an image of a naked brain. Her brain. He swiped his hand across it and various colors appeared. He began explaining how things worked, referring to methodology and seeding rates and recent biomite strains.
“You had a full scan with some biofeedback after your incident at the Institute and there’s nothing abnormal. The majority of your biomites seeds are in your brain and the proliferation is proceeding nicely.” He touched a thicket of red cottony growth near the frontal lobe. It looked more like a tumor. “Your cognitive functions are at peak performance for a woman your age.”
“My age?”
“Mid-thirties, I’m guessing?” He smiled devilishly. He was only off by ten years. “Have you experienced an increase in performance since seeding?”
This was starting to sound like an erectile dysfunction commercial. “So why did I auto-engage?”
Ashes of Foreverland Page 2
