Solipsis: Escape from the Comatorium (3 page)

“
And
you're sure you want to do this?” Gwen asks, staring into the
glass enclosure. Two robots sit next to each other. These robots have
furry bodies, rudimentary expressive faces, but still have yet to
reach the uncanny valley. One robot sifts through the other robot's
artificial back fur, going through the motions of grooming, but with
nothing to groom. “I mean, what kind of life is that? They
can't be happy.”

“
I
can send an impulse that makes them feel happier than they've ever
felt in their lives.”

“
Maybe
you can stimulate some neurons and make them feel happy the same way
you whack a knee and make the leg kick. It's not the real thing. Look
at what they're doing. Their bodies are gone, but they're still
alive, they're monsters and they know it. That looks like hell to
me.”

“
You
make it sound like there is some kind of authentic happiness,”
Nellie responds testily, “but even authentic happiness is just
the stimulation of those neurons. If I stimulate those neurons
instead of their own brains, the result is indistinguishable to them.
He just feels happy. Even in humans a flip of a switch can make them
feel ecstatic or suicidal, there's no such thing as authentic
emotion, they're all just one's and zero's.”

“
Come
home,” Gwen pleads. “Let's spend one full day together,
just the two of us, a bottle...a couple of bottles of wine.”

“
I
can't waste any time,” Nellie replies, “I'm this god damn
close.”

“
It
seemed so easy in all those movies,” Gwen says quietly, “just
jam a metal thing in your head and hit download.”

“
You
can't download the mind, it's not software, it's not even hardware,
it's the current state of the electrical impulses of the hardware of
the brain.”

“
Relax,
okay. Come home, you'll do better with some rest.”

“
Can't.”

“
If
this doesn't work, you'll have wasted the end of your life on this,
instead of spending it with me.”

“
This
isn't a waste,” Nellie focuses back on her work, paying no
attention to Gwen.

Gwen pushes through a
near-violent crowd protesting outside a hospital. Their mantra is
“don't play God, let her die!” Reporters follow in her
wake. Tacky cardboard signs dot the crowd with messages written in
ballpoint pen, such as “Theres No Escapeing God's Jugdement.”
A crazed old woman grabs Gwen's arm and yanks her violently, shouting
“You can't escape Hell!” The furious shout sprays Gwen's
face with spit. Gwen tears away and runs for the door.

Gwen bursts through swinging
doors into an OR. Surgeons prepare their instruments while scientists
prepare electronics. Nellie lays on the inclined operating table. Her
bald head is covered in lines of marker. She's gaunt, on the verge of
death. Gwen hugs Nellie like this is the last time she'll see her.

“
It's
gonna be okay,” Peter pops his head up from behind the table,
holding a syringe. “Can we give them some privacy.” The
room clears out. Peter lingers at the door. Gwen holds Nellie and
sobs. Nellie sheds no tears.

“
Why
are you so calm about this?” Gwen asks.

“
Because
I'm gonna make it,” Nellie says.

Peter watches from the edge of
the room, sees that Gwen can't handle this. He comes over, putting a
comforting hand on Gwen's shoulder. “We need to get started.”

“
Already?”
Gwen asks. Peter nods.

“
If
I don't make it,” Nellie begins to say. Gwen interrupts,
hugging her hard, pressing their cheeks together. “If I don't
make it, don't mourn for me, I'm happy with the life I lived.”

Gwen sits alone in the waiting
room. A pile of faded magazines splayed out on the coffee table
offers no distraction. An old flat-screen TV tuned to the local news
grabs her attention as they start covering Nellie's operation. The
weak signal is jumpy and pixelated. An aerial view shows the crowd of
protestors. Then they cut to an interview Nellie did with the
national network. Nellie sits across from Tim Rodriguez, the favorite
newscaster of middle-aged women everywhere.

“
Some,
well, many have expressed their concerns with this procedure,”
Tim says, leading into his point by being as non-confrontational as
possible. His interviews are notoriously more like therapy sessions
than Q&A. “Are you sure this is something worth doing?”

“
Of
course it is,” Nellie responds. Gwen had been at this
interview, nervously sitting just off the stage, but she hadn't seen
the final product. Now she sees Nellie's brave face as she answers,
“It's progress. If this works, we'll be able to save millions
of lives; it's a cure for almost every disease there is. This might
be the greatest advancement in the history of medicine.”

“
But
at what cost? There might be something to be said about letting
people die with dignity, wouldn't you agree?”

“
Certainly,
I don't think we should waste away for years, suffering and watching
our loved ones burdened by our existence. I think people deserve the
right to end their own lives, but the government apparently doesn't
agree.”

“
What
kind of quality of life do you expect to enjoy?”

“
I
keep hearing people say that I'll be living in a jar,” Nellie
responds with a smile. “But we already live in a jar, it's
called a skull. And we remotely operate robotic bodies, they just
happen to be biological. The human body is a wonderful robot. It
takes in nutrients, extracts usable energy from it, then expels the
waste. It keeps everything running with this flow of energy and
oxygen. No need to plug it in and recharge, no need for some exotic
fuel, it feeds on energy sources that are all around us. It even has
defense mechanisms, anti-virus if you will. Nature did an amazing job
of creating these magnificent machines, but they don't last forever,
and they sometimes don't last long at all. If this works, we'll no
longer have to die when our bodies stop working.”

“
But
can humans really exist as...a brain in a jar?”

“
Why
can't we?”

“
Perhaps
something will be lost in the transfer.”

“
You
mean the soul?” Nellie asks. “There's never been any
evidence of the existence of a soul. I know a lot of people outside
this building will tell you otherwise, and might say that I'm trying
to play god, but there will always be opposition to new things. I'm
sure there were people who thought that humans shouldn't fly or try
to understand the true nature of the solar system. Progress marches
on. It always will.”

“
If
humans are capable of advancing technology forever, does that imply
that there's a point where we will cross some invisible barrier into
a realm that we shouldn't enter. Why should we think that all
progress is good?”

“
Well,
of course technology isn't inherently good. The understanding of
atoms led to the atomic bomb. The study of medicine saved billions of
lives, but also gave us the ability to create biological and chemical
weapons. I suppose there might be an argument to be made that some
technologies are too dangerous, that say, discovering atomic theory
leads to a 50-50 shot of civilization promptly destroying itself,
then sure, maybe we're better off not knowing. But I don't see what
all the hullabaloo is about. I'm not making a neutron bomb or
something, I'm just conducting the first human trial of brain
vivisection.”

“
Gwen,”
Peter says from the doorway. Gwen's eyes stay focused on the TV, not
wanting to get any clues from his face, trying to delay the moment
where she discovers the result of the operation.

“
So
far so good,” Peter says. Gwen is too nervous to even have a
sigh of relief. Peter sits next to her, putting a comforting arm
around her. “Her brain is out and all the readings look good.
In a few hours we'll be able to hook her up and see if it worked.
They're gonna need me back in a minute, so just keep your head up, I
think she'll make it. Probably.” Peter awkwardly pats her on
the thigh then leaves. Gwen stays focused on the TV.

“
What
do you say to those who suggest that humans are supposed to die, that
death is a natural part of life?” Tim asks, “ I
personally have had a near-death experience, and let me tell you, it
wasn't at all a scary or bad thing, it was wonderful, and I look
forward to dying one day, at the proper age and time of course.”

“
I'm
sorry to burst your bubble, but near-death experiences aren't a
mystery. NDEs are caused by the release of a neuro-chemical called
DMT. You can go to a lab and try DMT right now, and in the proper
dose, we can recreate your near death experience. It seems the brain
has a defense mechanism for death, making it okay for us to die. The
evidence clearly tells us that NDEs aren't supernatural, they're not
a glimpse of heaven, they're the product of a hallucinogenic high.”

“
I
have trouble seeing the world as black and white. I think that
humanity has much more grandeur than that. You seem to see us as
nothing but the physical material we are made of. How do you
reconcile this materialistic view with the wonders of this world,
with say the immense beauty of the works of Mozart or Da Vinci?”

“
I
have no need to reconcile the two,” Nellie says dismissively.

“
Don't
you ever have a profound feeling of something greater than you, of a
connection to something bigger, deeper, wider than humans can
understand?”

“
Just
because you have a profound feeling or a deep connection, say
romantic love or truly contemplating the improbability of our
existence, that feeling is just a sensation created by the material
of the brain. A misfire in a certain part of your brain can give you
d
éjà
vu
and make you know for sure that you've experienced this before in a
dream. But what's more likely? That your dreams are a window into a
supernatural realm where you can see the future? Or the part of your
brain responsible for recognizing things has simply misfired? All of
human experience can be explained by a materialistic understanding of
the brain. There's no need to add anything supernatural.”

Gwen walks tentatively into the
operating room. A robot lays on a metal table, its aluminum skeleton
is covered in a rubbery skin. There are wires visible just under the
surface of the skin, embedded in a matrix of sensors covering the
body. Its eyes are closed. “Are we ready?” Peter asks.
Nods all around. He hits a button and then rushes to the animatron on
the table. Gwen and Peter stare at the blank face. “Come on,”
Peter says hopefully. The body lays still.

“
What
does this mean?” Gwen asks. “Did it work?”

“
Maybe
our connections aren't getting through,” Peter says. “It
might just take a while, she might be sleeping.”

“
Or
in a coma?” Gwen asks. Peter nods. The robot's left leg
twitches. Gwen gasps, frightened.

“
Nellie!”
Peter turns to Gwen, “Call her name.”

Gwen leans in close to the
robot's rubber ear on the side of its bald head.

“
Nellie.
It's Gwen. Can you hear me?”