F Paul Wilson - Novel 05 Page 7

  "I don't see that."

  "Think about it, Julie. The memoryscape software works by interfacing your brain waves with the subject's. So far the computer has had no difficulty differentiating between experimenter and subject. But it's never been challenged with a pair of identical twins. What if your brain-wave patterns are so similar that it can't separate them? What if you leave some of yourself with Sam and take some of her back with you?"

  "Don't tell me you really think that's possible. It sounds too far-fetched."

  "So does the memoryscape program. But it works, doesn't it? I can't imagine it tangling brain waves under normal circumstances, but with identical twins ... I don't know. The results could be merely inconvenient, or they could be devastating— to both of you."

  Julie suppressed a shudder. The possibility was unsettling, but it was no more than that—a possibility. And a remote one at that. She wasn't going to let it stop her.

  "It's a moot point anyway," Dr. Siegal was saying. "You don't have access to sufficient computer power there, and you don't have the software or the hardware."

  "What about the Internet? I could access the mainframe that way."

  "Uh-uh. Not enough bandwidth."

  "All right, then we'll use the satellite link—same as we did when we demoed the memoryscape for the NSF down in D.C."

  "Forget it, Julie. You're not going in there. I'm not allowing it."

  Anger flared in her. "Just a goddamn minute here. I'm part of this project too. Don't I have any say?" She caught herself.

  Dr. Siegal paused. "Of course you do. But I'm still the head of the project and I won't risk my number one researcher—my number one brain, about whom I happen to care very much, by the way—in such a dangerous and reckless experiment."

  "It's not reckless. This means a lot to me, Mordecai."

  Silence on the other end. She never called him by his first name—never even thought of him by his first name.

  "A lot to me," she continued. "More than you can imagine."

  She had to do this. Julie knew she wouldn't be able to rest until she'd seen Sam's memoryscape.

  "Maybe we can find somebody else to go in. . . ."

  "There is nobody else. I'm the best and you know it."

  "That's why I won't risk you."

  Julie fumed silently for a moment. Finally ...

  "Then I resign."

  She heard him gasp. "You don't mean that!"

  Maybe I do and maybe I don't, she thought. This wasn't a good time to be offering an ultimatum. She was tired, hungry, angry, and frustrated enough to hurl the phone through the window.

  But now that she'd said it, she wasn't backing down. She only prayed he wouldn't call her on it.

  "I do," she said. "If my wishes—my needs—mean so little, then there's no point in my continuing with the project. You told me to come over here, get back in touch with my family, get involved, and that's what I'm doing. I am involved. And here I have the knowledge and the experience to perhaps save my sister's life, or at least her consciousness, and you're turning your back on me."

  "I'm not turning my back!"

  "That's how 1 see it. And look, I'm not going to beg. I've presented my case. You have my number. If you change your mind, let me know. Otherwise, good-bye, Dr. Siegal."

  "Julie!"

  She hung up.

  And felt weak.

  I've got to be crazy!

  The memoryscape project was the most important thing in her life. She'd poured everything she had—her brain, her heart, her soul, dammit—into it, and now she was risking it all on a whim.

  But Dr. Siegal was important to her too. She could lose him as well.

  She went to the window and stared out at the countryside without actually seeing it. Then she turned and paced the room, trying not to look at the phone.

  He'll call back. She rubbed her fingers together. They felt cold and clammy. He'll call in five minutes maybe ten. He's got to call back

  Doesn't he!

  She was the core of his team. He'd have to go back to square one—or at the very least, square two—without her.

  But what if she'd pushed Dr. S. too far? He'd seemed adamant in his opposition.

  "Come on," she said, finally facing the silent phone, glaring at it, willing it to ring. "Come on!"

  The sudden jangle of its bell startled her. She stared at it in wonder. She resisted the impulse to snatch it up. Biting her lip, she let it ring once again ... and again.

  Finally she reached for it, thinking, If this is Eathan, I'll scream.

  "Hello?"

  "Are you really serious about resigning?"

  Dr. Siegal's voice. Rubber-kneed with relief, she slumped onto the bed.

  "I'm not in the habit of saying things I don't mean," she said, avoiding a direct answer.

  "I know that. That's why I'm calling back. Is there no way I can reason with you?"

  "None."

  "I don't like ultimatums and I don't like blackmail, but you're not giving me much choice."

  "I don't like this either," she said, and that certainly was true. She hated putting him in this position, but she had to do this. "But I'm in a situation where I can help my sister and break new ground at the same time. I can't accept no for an answer."

  "Are you trying to help your sister? Truly? Or is this simply something new to try?"

  A good question: Was she doing this for Sam or for herself? It made her uncomfortable. So she didn't answer it.

  "Give me a little credit, will you?"

  A long pause on the other end, then a deep sigh.

  "Very well. I don't like it. I want to go on record that I oppose the whole thing, and I will allow it only on the condition that I can monitor you via the satellite hookup whenever you're in your sister's memoryscape."

  "I can live with that," Julie said.

  "I'm not so sure, but I certainly hope so."

  Now that she'd forced him to give in, she felt guilty.

  "Don't sound so ominous, Dr. Siegal. I'll be fine. When can you send everything over?"

  "I don't know. I'll have to get the materials together—do you have access to a satellite dish over there?"

  "I'm sure I can get one. Can I expect a delivery tomorrow?"

  "Tomorrow? Impossible!"

  "The next day then. I want to get moving on this. We don't know the cause of this coma, or what may be going on in her brain. There could be progressive damage. She could die, Dr. S. Every day we delay—"

  "All right, all right. I'll try DHL and see if they can get it to you day after tomorrow."

  "Excellent."

  They discussed details of delivery and ended on a fairly agreeable note. Already Dr. Siegal was loosening up. Julie expected him to become an enthusiastic participant once he got over his initial resistance.

  Now the next hurdle: Uncle Eathan. And that would be a big one.

  2

  But jet lag pounced on Julie in the afternoon before she could broach the subject to Eathan, and it was all she could do to hang on through a light dinner before she headed to bed. She'd tackle her uncle in the morning when she was fresh.

  She should have slept like the dead. Instead she found herself awake half a dozen times during the night.

  The couple next door didn't help. The Bois Farrand had sturdy walls, but these two were really going at it. Maybe the myth about I'amour and the French was true. The neighboring headboard was banging against the wall inches from Julie's head—whack, whack, whack—and the woman was positively operatic.

  Julie couldn't make out her words, but her moans and cries of passion needed no Translation. And then she climaxed—at least Julie assumed that was what her long, high-pitched scream of ecstasy signaled—and was still.

  About time.

  But even after the X-rated sound effects were over, Julie couldn't sleep. She lay in the dark and wondered, What was that like? To climax, to orgasm, to feel such overwhelming ecstasy that you howl into the night? She'd never e
ven come close. Was it because she feared the lack of control? That probably was part of it. She found sex occasionally enjoyable. Todd had been what most women would consider an excellent, giving lover, but even then there were no stars, no explosions. And many times it was-—annoying. And often inconvenient. And ultimately messy.

  What was the big deal? Why was the human race so obsessed with it? Why did so many people think with their gonads instead of their minds?

  The mind—that was where the real action lay, the real excitement.

  Throughout that night, when Julie found herself awake, her thoughts turned to Sam. That terrible last week, the last painting, the broken door...

  Sam. It was one thing if her twin was the victim of something like schizophrenia, or even if she'd done this to herself. Julie could accept that—she'd hate it, but she could get on with her life.

  But if someone else had a hand in this ...

  That was something else entirely.

  The possibility disturbed her. And, surprisingly, angered her.

  3

  She awoke late and found Eathan sitting in the sunny dining room of the Bois Farrand having a light breakfast of croissants and cafe au hit. He looked dashing in a cranberry sweater, gray slacks, and a tweed hunting jacket. He nearly ruined that look when his oversized coffee cup slipped from his fingers as Julie told him what she wanted to do.

  Eathan was already familiar with her research and had told her time and again how proud he was of her.

  Even so, she'd expected his reaction and was prepared for it.

  "You want to use your sister as a guinea pig?" he said in a hushed tone as he blotted the spilled coffee from the tablecloth.

  "What's the alternative? Sit around and watch her rot?"

  "We simply have to hope that she'll come out of it."

  "Has there been any indication of that?"

  "No. Not yet. But—"

  "But what? Look, I've done this hundreds of times back in New York with never the slightest harm to anyone."

  "But were they sick?"

  "No, but—"

  "There! That's what I'm saying! It's possible you could make her worse, isn't it?"

  "I don't see how."

  He leaned forward, enunciating carefully and forcefully. "A possibility of exacerbating her condition—yes or no?"

  Julie thought about that. She didn't know what she'd find in Sam's memoryscape, couldn't be sure if her very presence might further upset the imbalances within.

  "I can't give you a black-and-white answer. We've not had a single instance of any harm either to subject or to researcher."

  He stiffened. "To researcher? You mean there's a chance of danger to you! Lord, then you can forget about it. I have one niece in a coma; I won't risk having two."

  "That will never happen."

  "At least we can agree on that: It will never happen because I've got power of attorney for Samantha and no one can touch her without my permission." He wiped his mouth and tossed his napkin onto his plate. "And my permission, Julia, is expressly denied."

  "I can help her, Eathan!" she said, grabbing his arm as he started to rise. He pulled away. "I might be able to bring her back!" She doubted that very much, but she was getting desperate. "And if I can, I'll be the first person in history to do it." She pulled out her ace card here. "I can name my ticket after that. I'll be famous. Sam and I will both be famous. When the art world hears about what Sam's been through, they'll be clamoring for a look at her work."

  "I only want Sam better. What matters fame?"

  "You always wanted us to do something amazing, wonderful. ..."

  Eathan settled back into his seat, studying her. Finally, his voice hoarse, he said, "But tell me this ... do you really think you can bring her back?"

  "I honestly don't know. It may be an impenetrable jumble in there. The first time I go in I might see that it's hopeless. But if I can travel her memoryscape, if I can see her memories, put the puzzle together, I might be able to figure out what happened to her during that last week. If someone did poison her, I might be able to find out who. And if we know who, then we're on our way to finding out what he used ... and how to get her better."

  "Don't be so sure it was a he. As you know, your sister littered the Continent with angry wives."

  "He, she, it, what does it matter? At least we'll have a direc tion. Right now we're just floundering."

  Another silence, longer this time. Eathan's eyes were troubled, almost tortured, his expression grim. He pulled the napkin off his plate and began twisting it in his hands.

  "I'm not at all comfortable with this, Julie," he said finally. "I love you both. I couldn't bear losing you, too.... But how can I turn my back on what may be Sam's only chance for recovery? Especially when her own sister will be in charge?"

  Julie reached across the table and gripped one of his hands to save the napkin from further abuse.

  "Don't worry. This is the right thing to do. It can't hurt her—it can only help her."

  "And what about you?"

  "I’ll be fine." I hope.

  "I must impose one condition, however."

  Another condition? Dr. Siegal had to have one, now Eathan was insisting on one.

  "What's that?"

  He leaned forward, his expression grim. "I will be watching everything very closely. At the first sign of any—any—ill effects whatsoever to either of you, I will call a halt to the procedure."

  She leaned back and stared at him, offended.

  "And you think I wouldn't?"

  "If you had the slightest suspicion that Sam's condition might be deteriorating—of course you would. But I'm not so sure you'd stop if you thought you were being affected. I can see you ignoring the warning signs and pushing on." He squeezed her hand and gave her a smile. "You're still young, Julie. All you young people think you're immortal."

  "Not me," she said, giving him a level stare. "I stopped believing in immortality at age five."

  4

  DHL did its part: The hardware was delivered right on time.

  Setting it up and getting it working was another story. Despite his reservations, Eathan threw his support behind her and became indispensable, running interference for her with the nursing home and dealing with its medical director, who was understandably upset at all this strange equipment being set up on his turf. Eathan soothed him, assured him that nothing invasive was being done, convinced him that this was little more than a supersophisticated EEG. Eathan signed a stack of releases absolving the Sainte Gabrielle Home of all liability. He helped Julie hire workmen to set up the dish on the roof and run the cable to Sam's room.

  Finally all was ready.

  Three of them in Sam's room: Julie, Eathan, and Sam—no anesthetist needed. Gloomy, with late afternoon light fading behind the drawn curtains. The room was only slightly crowded with the extra hardware, which Julie had kept to a minimum: two headsets and a VR glove, a monitor, a terminal, a VCR to record the monitor feed, and wires, lots of wires.

  They'd spent all day making the final preparations, testing the equipment, the satellite feed—everything was go now. Julie realized she needed sleep, but with the time difference, it had to be this afternoon or wait until tomorrow.

  No way could she wait.

  Sam lay in her bed with the Medusa-like headpiece snug around her scalp. Julie looked across the room at Eathan, seated before a monitor where he'd be able to watch a mono-scopic feed of what would play in Julie's goggles. He'd be passive—no chance to interact.

  "Comfortable?" she said.

  He tried a smile. It looked awful. He looked as if he was about to be sick.

  "Absolutely not."

  "Relax," she said. "This is a trial run. We'll make it short and sweet."

  "I hope so."

  She tried to look calm, but inside she was wound as tight as an armature coil. Her underarms felt soggy, and her fingers trembled as she adjusted her headphones. She had to radiate confidence for these two men:
Eathan here and Dr. S. on-line in New York. Either one could call this whole procedure to a halt at any time.

  And for the thousandth time, she questioned her motives. Did helping Sam play any part in this? Or was she recklessly venturing into her sister's memoryscape merely because no one had done it before? Or were her true motives even more base? Was she playing voyeur with her sister's past?

  Whatever the truth, she'd have to reflect on it later. Right now she had someplace to go.

  She pulled on the data glove. Something so medieval about this—like suiting up to do battle with demons and dragons. She wriggled the fingers. The hand icon danced on the screen.

  Next, she grabbed the headset and lowered that onto her head. She pushed back her hair to keep it off her face. My helmet, she thought.

  The headset was a clunky item, heavy, and though padded all around, you never forgot that your head was encased in plastic.

  She adjusted the headphones and clicked the goggles into place.

  Sky-blue emptiness ahead of her. She moved her hand. The icon skated across the blue. She clicked the Window button on the upper bar. A small block of sky in the upper right corner under the button wavered and Dr. Siegal's face appeared.

  "All set on your end, Dr. Siegal?" she said.

  He nodded. "All set. But I'd like to make one more plea—"

  "Thank you," she said, cutting him off. "We're ready to go."

  He sighed. "Very well. Remember, there'll be a slightly sluggish feel to the program due to the satellite delay. Be patient. I'm available when you need me. And I'll be watching."

  "I appreciate that," she said, and clicked the Window button again. Dr. Siegal disappeared.

  Everybody's watching me, she thought. Let's hope everything goes as smoothly as I've promised.

  She pressed the Enter button with her virtual finger, held her breath, and watched the blue fade to black.

  Seven

  "I think, therefore 1 am," doesn't quite make it. "I remember, therefore I am" is more like it.

  —Random notes: Julia Gordon

  Something is wrong.