Ashes of Foreverland (2 page)

Scientists stood in doorways, wearing white lab coats, smiling and waving like they were extras hired to watch a parade.

“Alex?” The man in front of her had turned while walking.

“Oh, hey, Mason. Didn't recognize you.”

“
¿Come esta?
” the balding man asked.
How are you?

“
Muy bien.
” Being Latina, she often entertained bits of Spanish. “How have you been?”

“Soulless.”

They had briefly worked together at
The Washington Post
. They caught up on gossip in between stops as Ellen briefed them on the function of the various labs—where new strains of biomites were being developed, how disease would be erased, how biomites would regenerate new limbs.

All the promises of heaven on Earth.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Following the story, what else?”

She didn't want to tell him the truth, that she'd received an unexpected invitation to such an exclusive event. A man named Jonathan Deer. His name was a joke, but she'd done some research and discovered he was employed by the Institute and wanted her to see the new and exciting developments for herself. She was already writing about animal cruelty and was about to expose practices in all sorts of industries.

This wasn't even on her radar.

“Congrats on the book, by the way,” Mason said. “Took balls to go into North Korea like that.”

“That's what they say.” Alex fiddled with her monitor badge.

“This your next project?”

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Good luck, if it is. Getting inside information out of these people will make North Koreans look like old ladies. No offense.”

“You calling me old?”

“Calling you a lady.”

“That's a first.”

His laughter was more of a grunt. Alex was in her mid-forties but turned heads like she was closer to twenty. Mason knew she was the furthest thing from a beauty queen. Those that didn't were quickly discarded.

They gathered at another set of metal doors. Ellen waited until everyone was crowded together. They were about to enter Wonka's factory, only there wouldn't be a chocolate river. Photographers held up their cameras; reporters lifted their phones.

“So far, you're disappointed.” Ellen smiled and many of them laughed. “You didn't come all this way to be greeted by computer programmers and lab directors, or even get a history lesson on biomites, but it was part of the package deal. Now that's out of the way, we can get to the good stuff. I ask that you kindly find a seat in order for us to properly introduce the main thrust of our research. You will be allowed to explore once we are finished.”

Someone raised their hand.

“Hold your questions,” Ellen interrupted. “There will be time for that. I also want to remind you to avoid engaging in any degree of enhancement activity.”

She paused, let that sink in, and then opened the doors.

There were exclamations of surprise, a storm of photography clicking and whirring. Alex could only see black walls above the group. They were reflective, like glass.

“You all right?” Mason was looking at Alex's chest.

She was holding the badge monitor badge/monitor, but her hands were shaking almost violently.

“I'm cold.” Her breath quivered. “Are you?”

He shook his head.

She rubbed her face. They shuffled ahead a tiny step at a time. Mason was the first to get a glimpse of what was around the corner and stopped. Alex bumped into him.

A scientist stood next to a lone table. His hair was unnaturally black; his face thick and square.

It resembled an operating table, but the surface was cushioned. An orangutan rested on it, his long orange hair contrasting with the green cushion, his weight sinking partway into it. There was nothing alarming about being so close to a sleeping primate.

It was the needle.

The long, surgical barrel was positioned in the middle of his forehead.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Ellen was announcing, “if you would kindly find a seat, we can get started.”

It was a bit like herding kindergarteners away from an ice-cream truck, but the crowd eventually moved to a small block of chairs. Alex took the last seat in the back row, oblivious to the opposite wall's reflection.

“Good morning.” It was the scientist who spoke, his accented English slightly broken. Russian, maybe? “I am Dr. K.P. Baronov, director and lead scientist at the Institute. I trust Ellen has answered your questions up to this point.”

Ellen was sitting separate from the group.

“Very good. I know you have many questions, and I will answer them shortly. I also know you are very educated in this process, it was why you were selected for such exclusive tour, but I would like to update you on what we do here and why.”

If he thought they were educated on needles in foreheads, he had been misinformed. Alex had seen pictures, but that was it.

“You understand, I am quite sure, that computer-assisted alternate reality, or CAAR, makes a direct connection with the organism's frontal lobe via a surgical probe.”

He half-gestured to the orangutan.

“The subject's awareness, or identity if you will, is in some ways transported out of the body and into a dreamlike state. During the inception of such technology, the identity of the subject was put into a computer, but, as some of you know, that is no longer an effective means of creating an alternate reality.”

“Why?” Alex's voice shook.

“Mrs. Diosa.” Ellen half stood. “Hold your questions, please.”

“It is okay,” Dr. Baronov said. “It is very good question and why we brought you here. You understand that there are great many benefits that can occur through this method. We use orangutan because it is the smartest primate on earth besides humans. It is our hope that, with our research, this method will soon be accessible to all people.”

“What about permanent damage?” Alex couldn't stop herself. Ellen's smile faltered, but the doctor nodded without hesitation.

“Of course, that is good concern,” he said. “There was much to learn about this process and the obvious distress of the irreparable damage to one's psychology. It has taken much research to perfect the procedure, but I feel confident you will see the benefits today.”

“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.