A Ghost for a Clue

by C L R Draeco

  “Whoa.” I put my cup down and raised both hands to stop her wild thought from advancing. “I thought you just wanted to study the thing. Not ‘reload’ it.”

  “If consciousness itself were immortal, maybe we can find a way to keep death from happening.”

  I shook my head. “Death happens when it happens. It means one crucial bit of life flipped from a one to a zero.”

  “If that were true, wouldn’t you want to find a way to keep that bit from flipping? Given that you don’t believe in a god, your stance already supports my cause.”

  “What cause?”

  Her voice became low and breathy. “We can make our own Heaven here on Earth.”

  I imagined her tearing her shirt off, shoving my coffee to the floor, and lunging at me from across the table. Despite the vivid image of my own version of Heaven, I managed to stay motionless.

  “Don’t you see?” she asked. “We got a ghost for a clue, pointing at a stone left unturned that no one has bothered to look under. And what we’ve found is something we can leave behind for eight billion people and their descendants to benefit from.”

  Looking under rocks. I smiled to myself. Well, that was something botanists on Earth and astronauts in space did in common.

  “If there was one last thing we could do here,” she said. “You know, in case we leave for ‘Svalbard?’” She fixed her sparkling, teasing, beguiling eyes at me. “It could mean the science of Immortology. The study of our immortal soul—or how to make it immortal, if it isn’t.” She reached for my hand. “You once spoke of Elon Musk’s vision to preserve and extend the light of consciousness to other worlds. My vision is to preserve and extend it here—in our Afterworld. See this through with me, Bram, and this could be our legacy. For Earth. A means to study what happens to consciousness after death.”

  I cocked my head. “And if that science ever came into being, can you actually bring yourself to walk away from it?”

  She chuckled. “If that science ever came into being, I’d rather have it do so after we’ve lifted off. That way, I’d be too far out in space to hear anybody laughing.”

  A comforting warmth traveled up from where she touched me, and I smiled. I wished I’d known the reason behind her new obsession sooner; it would have spared me a lot of distress.

  A legacy for Earth. “Okay, we can give it a shot.” I shrugged. “It’s data. So to save it, I guess all you need is a disc. Roy and I can try to whip one up at the Manor.”

  She pursed her lips. “No, not at the Manor. If Starr finds out, all hell—or maybe, heaven—will break loose. And I’m sure Eldritch will side with her about the acceptable way to save a soul.”

  “No worries. I’m going to Roy’s place this Sunday. I can tell him about it tomorrow and ask if we can work on it there.”

  40

  The First Prototype

  “Holy hittin’ the nail on the head while slidin’ for a homerun!”

  That about summed up how Roy felt about the idea of making a storage device for a hyperwill.

  “How the hell do you come up with these things? Gimme that!” He snapped a photo of my sketchpad with all my notes and calculations on the feasibility of the idea, then all I had to do next was stroll through his garage door Sunday morning, all set to put together what Torula and I had agreed to call a willdisc.

  The workplace was deserted, but the vintage and muscle cars continued to preen like metallic exhibitionists, and I was the admiring audience of one as I headed towards the screened-off area at the back. I wondered which of these Roy had wanted to show off. They all looked incredible.

  He sat at a table, soldering, next to some equipment I’d never seen before.

  “What’s all this?” I asked as I examined the gear up close.

  “Invented some and rented some,” Roy muttered hunched over his work.

  A soft whimper issued from a padded wicker basket at the corner. I walked over and got down on my haunches. “Hey, old guy. How you doing?” I stroked the Labrador, now seemingly a different fellow from the inquisitive one I’d met a few weeks ago.

  Roy took off his goggles and stared at Boner. “Got started on the willdisc the same day you told me about it. The first prototype’s almost done.”

  Already? “Wow. You’re in more of a rush to get this over with than I am.” I almost laughed until I realized the implication. “Hey, you’re not planning on leaving the Manor the same time I am, are you? I was hoping you could stay and help Torula for a while.” She wouldn’t have to leave until after ISEA gave a green light.

  “Jackson goin’ with you to Svalbard?”

  I clenched my jaw, hating that I had to lie to the guy. “Not right away but . . . eventually, yeah.”

  “Yee-hah!” Roy raised his hand and exchanged a walloping high five with me. “Good ass fudge! Yeah, sure. I’ll stay on with ’er. I’m deep into this hyperwill shindig, as you can see.” He gestured around at his paraphernalia.

  “All this . . . is for that?” Roy’s actions simply baffled me. “Why?”

  “Look around you.” He used his soldering gun to point at the cars in his garage. “I’ve devoted years to gettin’ these classics back on the road. If I can feel that strongly about things made o’ steel and rubber, how much more for somethin’ that’s flesh and blood?”

  “Oh-kay.” I nodded even though the pieces didn’t fit. “But hyperwills don’t have flesh or blood.”

  “What can I say? It’s a labor o’ love.”

  Love of what? The ex-wife? Is he trying to win her back or something?

  A click and a couple of high-pitched beeps cut into my thoughts. Roy walked over to pluck a metallic component ejected from a machine.

  He closed one eye as he examined it. “This is for the ionizin’ mechanism in the titanium core. I gotta say, it was a clever modification you gave that solved a lotta issues.” He laid it down in front of me and headed back to his worktable.

  “What issues?”

  He just pursed his lips, slipped his goggles on, and went back to soldering.

  I picked up the circular piece of metal the size of three stacked quarters. “How’d you manage the titanium casing?”

  “I just grabbed a handful, along with these, from storage.” He held up something like a Petri dish rimmed by a miniature crystal hula hoop.

  “You had those just lying around in storage?”

  “Not mine. The Green Manor’s.”

  My stomach lurched. “You mean you swiped them?”

  “Recycled ’em. They were just gatherin’ dust.”

  “But I told you the willdisc is none of the Manor’s business. That’s why we’re working here!”

  Roy peeled off his goggles and glared at me. “Well, you’re a frickin’ idiot if you think we can start from scratch and finish this all in one goddamned weekend. You’re jumpin’ ship, and I’m not gonna be left paddlin’ around ’ere on my own. So we’re gonna finish this, right here, right now.” He shoved the crystal dish and titanium core at me. “Now put these together while I go finish the plasma injector.”

  I gaped at the items I held in my hands and had to agree. They did look far better than what we could’ve managed on our own.

  By midday, with my back gone sore and Roy’s playlist still blaring, we initiated the final step: Injecting the crystalline ring that edged the disc with an odorless, colorless, multicomponent plasma.

  “And there you have it, folks,” Roy said as he held up the crystal willdisc, its shiny white metallic nucleus powering the miniature vortex around it. “The world’s first and only storage device for the soul. This gives the term S.O.S. a whole new meaning.” Tiny, colored lightning bolts appeared wherever his fingers touched the transparent crystal. “If this thing works, we can practically FedEx a ghost.”

  I smirked. “So you’re planning a new dotcom now?”

  “What for? We can do it through Amazon.” He set the disc down carefully into a thin, metallic case lined with fabric. “Okay, you a
ll set to test it?”

  I rolled a stiff shoulder. “We’ll need to locate Thomas first, don’t you think?”

  “No, I mean test it before we find ’im.”

  “I thought using it on Thomas was the test.”

  “How about catchin’ us somethin’ at the farm?”

  I cocked my head. “What farm?”

  “That video o’ ghost animals in a barn. The orbs I showed you. That’s why I asked you to come today. I messaged the guy who put the video up, and he’s—”

  “Hang on a minute.” I held up a halting hand. “Your plan is to ghostbust some animal orbs? Isn’t that something you just do in cartoons?”

  “Hell, I told you about this days ago.”

  I started packing up. “I’m sorry, Roy. I hardly even remember the video. Besides, I’m against animal testing.”

  Roy scowled at me. “You think I’m jokin’? We’re on the verge of a scientific breakthrough, and you think I’m jokin’?”

  I chuckled. “You do realize it’s funny, right? That what you’re planning to do has been done by Scooby Doo?”

  “Scooby Duffus, my ass.” He jerked his head towards the exit. “Just get the hell outta here. I’ll go do it on my own.”

  41

  What The Horse Dick Are You Doing?

  Torula and I arrived early at the Green Manor, the picture of a perfect pair. With no one around, we walked hand in hand down a sun-dappled path as birds chirped their hellos. We paused for a moment and kissed. I’d never known a Monday morning as sweet as this—exactly the kind kitchy clichés were made for.

  We entered Greenhouse 3C, and it was as balmy as a tropical paradise. Good, and warm, and comforta—

  “Holy shiznickumitch!” Roy burst past some bushes. “What the horse dick are you doin’ here so early?”

  Torula and I staggered back and ended up slack-jawed over a strange sight floating in the glass chamber.

  “What the hell is that?” I asked.

  Thin waves of kaleidoscopic light hovered where Thomas’ holographic image should have been.

  “I drove to the barn and caught it. The guy who posted the video o’ the orbs was only too eager to help.”

  “You caught . . . what exactly?” Torula asked.

  “A horse’s hyperwill.” Roy grinned.

  I gaped at the ribbon-like rays that billowed at about the height of a full-grown man. “Bullshit.”

  “It can’t be,” Torula said, advancing with me towards the glass enclosure. The chamber’s central cylinder with its tilted mirror was missing; it was standing to one side of a plant bed. What now stood in its place was a slanted, transparent, makeshift screen.

  Roy’s overboard enthusiasm didn’t just puzzle me now. It worried me. He could get Torula in trouble all over again with the Manor.

  “Yo, watch how it moves. Extrapolate a bit. Can you tell it’s a horse?”

  Torula squinted at the undulating image and nodded. “If I mentally superimpose a galloping steed over it, yes. I suppose it can be a horse.”

  “Or an octopus,” I said.

  “Or a bioluminescent jellyfish,” Torula added.

  “Well, my bet’s on a horse. That thing was transmittin’ into the barn, but I didn’t find it there. I found it at the farmhouse, in the cellar. Pretty smart for a horse to think o’ goin’ underground for safety.”

  Torula looked at Roy. “Did you say you ‘caught’ this image? How? With a radio wave camera?”

  “No. I designed a special standin’ wave detector to look for it around the farm. Then I directed it there.” Roy gestured towards a device at the far end of the console table. “I call it the iCube. C’mon, I’ll show ya. Just lemme shut down the display.” He bounded up to the workstation, and soon the flurry of light inside the chamber faded away.

  I examined the cube contraption—a smooth, white plastic box about nine inches on each side. At the front of the pristine gadget was a sticker of the white Apple logo.

  Torula pointed at the sticker and smiled. “iCube. Cute.”

  “Nice touch, huh?” Roy said. “iCube’s short for Immortality Cube.”

  At its top, right at the center, was a barely visible tapered point resembling the tip of a pen. “What’s this for?” I asked.

  “That nib’s an electrode for generatin’ seed electrons. It ionizes the surroundin’ air creatin’ plasma around it. The nib swivels, adjustin’ to the geometry and gradient, makin’ sure the ionized region continues to advance until a completely conductive path is formed so you got a continuous arc from the hyperwill to the positive corona.”

  “So . . . what does it do?” Torula asked.

  “It makes the air conductive, burnin’ a path through the air for the hyperwill to follow—straight through the nib and into its new home. Kinda like a tunnel o’ light. You gave me the idea. Sorta.”

  “I did?”

  “You said—to catch a hyperwill, you need bait. So that’s what I got ready. A power source waitin’ inside the iCube. And the ionizin’ electrode’s the red carpet to dinner.” Roy pressed a recessed button on the side of the iCube, and the top slid backwards. There, seemingly levitating atop the interior cylinder, sat the willdisc.

  The willdisc?! I stepped closer, hoping I could still obscure it from the cameras.

  “That’s the recording device, right?” I said, desperate for damage control.

  “No, don’t you recognize it? It’s the—”

  “Disc drive. Of course. How could I forget?” I tossed a furtive glance towards the beams overhead then glared at Roy.

  Torula whispered in my ear. “Is that what I think it is?”

  I nodded.

  “Can I touch it?” she asked.

  “Be my guest,” Roy said. “Just don’t drop it, or you’ll lose the horse.”

  Torula took the willdisc between her fingers and multi-colored sparks danced across the transparent ring. Roy looked on like a proud father.

  Despite the wonderment in her eyes, she delivered a bland remark. “Well . . . you certainly had me fooled. I thought it was the real thing.”

  “Say what?”

  “Well, aren’t we all busy quite early,” came an unexpected greeting from behind us, and Torula sucked in her breath. Roy plucked the willdisc from Torula’s fingers and placed it in the iCube. It hovered over its receptacle.

  Starr came up the platform steps, ready to start her work week in an ensemble of orange and green. “I’m surprised to see everyone already hard at work.” She glanced at the iCube. “And what’s that new thing over there?”

  “That?” Roy reached over and pressed a button on the device. “That’s just somethin’ I tossed together.”

  As the cover began to close, Starr dashed for the willdisc and snatched it up before the iCube shut.

  “Holy fuck!” Roy lunged and tried to grab the willdisc from her. She twisted away, her elbow nicking Torula’s arm, knocking the willdisc out of her grasp. It fell to the floor with a gut-wrenching crack.

  Starr gasped.

  I froze—like everyone else—and stared at the broken device. Slowly, I bent down and picked it up. No sparks came in response to my touch, and even though I wasn’t entirely sure of what it had contained, I felt a subtle pang of regret over its loss. “Whatever was in here—it’s gone now.”

  “Holy goddamnfuckery, woman! Do you know what that cost me?” Roy thrust his fists against his forehead, as though his brain were about to burst. “Goddamn motherfuckin’ shit.” He plopped into a chair and kicked at the one next to it, toppling it over. “Dammit!”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll pay for it,” Starr said.

  “Cost me truckloads o’ luck, balls, and all-night headaches to get it. Try and pay for that.”

  “Why’d you even grab it, Starr?” Torula asked, her eyes full of disbelief.

  “Because you were hiding it from me, so I suspect it can’t be good.” Starr frowned at us. “What was it?”

  “A horse’s soul.” Roy got up
and righted the chair he’d kicked by smashing it down.

  “A wh . . . what?”

  “A recording of a horse’s soul,” I said.

  “No, it was the real soul of a real animal.” Roy jabbed a finger towards Starr. “I figured if you’re erasin’ Thomas soon, I might as well get me a backup of another hyperwill to test.”

  Starr’s gaze flickered for a moment. “You’re bluffing. Horses don’t have souls.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, I know for sure dogs have souls. It’s the source o’ the werewolves legend. It’s dogs possessin’ humans.”

  Torula cleared her throat. “It’s called clinical lycanthropy, Roy. A psychiatric syndrome wherein—”

  “And there’s a passage in the Bible,” Roy said.

  “What passage?” Starr asked, her frown deepening with doubt.

  “A legion o’ demons begged Jesus not to send ’em into the deep, so they went and possessed a herd o’ pigs. Doesn’t that tell you—” Roy’s eyes suddenly bugged out. “Pigs!” He clapped his hands and aimed two pointers at me. “Maybe we can make a willdisc from pig brain. I always see it in crime shows. They use pigs as stand-ins for human cadavers all the time. That’s gonna be way better than somethin’ made o’ crystal.”

  “Oh, heaven help me. Now you’re thinking of storing souls in bacon?” Starr’s voice arced a pitch higher.

  “It’s just a joke,” Torula said.

  “And I can’t believe you’re treating this like a joke!” Starr said. “I’ve been ignoring this voice in my head telling me I may have been wrong—telling my uncle about these apparitions. But this . . . this . . . ‘horsing around’ has pushed me over the edge. That’s it. I’m leaving you heathens to make a call.” She groaned her disapproval as she stomped down the platform steps.

  We stared after her departing figure—a rumbling cloud about to rain down fire and brimstone on all of us.

  “Who’s she gonna call this time? The Pope?” Roy asked, hellbent on being turned into a pillar of salt.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” Torula said. “Half her clan is in the clergy.”