The Gemini Experiment

by Brian Pinkerton

  “That is correct.”

  “What are the odds?”

  “Hard to say,” said Cooper. “Maybe fifty-fifty.”

  Louis nodded, and then he smiled. “So I could die from it. And miss out on spending the rest of my days in this high-end resort?”

  “The procedure will take place outside the prison, yes.”

  Louis stared at his visitor for a long moment. Then he said, “Mr. Cooper, I’ll be your lab rat.”

  Cooper responded quickly. “Good. We’ll begin the paperwork. Our only request is that you keep this confidential, given the proprietary nature of the research and tests.”

  Louis smirked. “Who am I going to tell? My cellmates? Get real. If word got out that I might get cured, my so-called friends here.… They’d probably kill me.”

  Chapter Three

  Cooper pulled up his sedan and waited at the front gate of a lakefront mansion in Glencoe on Chicago’s North Shore. The cameras swiveled to get a good look and then the gates split apart to admit him.

  The long driveway led to parking spaces alongside a broad garage, which was roughly the size of a small house. Cooper parked, took firm hold of the handle to his briefcase and reported to the mansion’s front entrance.

  Cameras observed him one more time before the door opened and a beautiful young woman in her twenties, dripping with jewelry and dressed with casual elegance, admitted him inside.

  “Cooper, so good to see you.” She gave him a quick hug and faint kiss on the cheek. “They’re in the den.”

  Cooper advanced through a large, open living area of overstuffed, underused furnishings, occupied only by an orange cat and the frozen stare of portrait paintings. He crossed a set of open doors and entered the warmly lit den. Two men promptly stood from their chairs to greet him.

  “Cooper!” thundered Giamatti, a heavyset man in his early sixties with a bulky white beard and balding head. He was stuffed in a black vest and wore slippers. “Please join us. Would you like a drink?”

  Cooper politely declined. He eyed the second individual in the room, a handsome, middle-aged man in a relaxed sweater, wearing round glasses with silver rims.

  “Cooper, this is Steven Morris, our lab team coordinator.” Giamatti took a step back to allow the two to shake hands.

  As the three men settled into seats, Giamatti told Steven, “Cooper has been my business associate for twenty-five years. He helped build the corporate empire that made me what I am today and allows us to fund this very special project. We’re bringing him into the fold.”

  Cooper sat with the briefcase in his lap. Giamatti pointed to it. “You have the consent forms?”

  “Yes,” Cooper said. “He signed all the papers in front of me. We’re in good standing with the prison. The test subject is ready as soon as you need him.”

  “Very good,” said Giamatti. “Is he excited?”

  “He’s receptive. Naturally, he feels he has nothing to lose.”

  Giamatti leaned back in his chair. “I appreciate that kind of optimism. But our man Louis will not survive, even if our experiment is a total success.” He glanced over at Steven. “Am I right?”

  “The inmate is only a stepping stone,” said Steven. “A means to an end.”

  Cooper awaited further explanation. He said, “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  Giamatti responded, “The man’s a killer. He has terminal cancer, and he’s donating his body to science. It’s the most noble thing he’ll ever do. But this isn’t about cancer research or saving him. It’s something much more.” His expression brightened. “Cooper, I know we can trust you. That’s why I’m bringing you into a very exclusive inner circle. Together, we’re going to make medical history. This is the biggest thing any of us will ever be involved in. We are bringing together science, human biology and technology to unlock the secrets to immortality.”

  Giamatti studied Cooper’s reaction. Cooper’s face remained stoic with a tilt of uncertainty. Giamatti turned to Steven. “Explain our plans for the inmate. Start at the beginning. And Cooper, what’s said in this room stays in this room. I know you’re used to our confidentiality agreements for mergers and acquisitions and financial disclosures, but this is in another league entirely.”

  “Understood,” said Cooper.

  Giamatti sat back in his large, plush chair and gestured for Steven to begin.

  Steven spoke slowly and thoughtfully. “This is a very special project. It’s unlike anything that’s ever been done before. We’ve crossed a critical threshold in understanding the human mind and how it works. We have years of research into neurons and how they control body movement – the brain’s version of electronic codes and signals. The latest advances in technology have brought us to a point where we can actually mimic those codes and signals outside of human biology. We have sophisticated theories for how this could play out, and they’ve been in development for some time, but we’ve never had the ability to put it into practice for a host of reasons: the astronomical cost, the need for a very specific team of cutting-edge talent, and the availability of test subjects who may live or die. Above all, it requires an extraordinary level of secrecy. We can’t afford interference of any kind that could lead to a loss of control to outside authorities that feel they should govern, advise, co-opt or otherwise insert their special interests into our processes and decision making. We need the freedom to explore. We are blessed by Mr. Giamatti. His funding, of course. That goes without saying. But also his savvy and relationships to pull the right strings, tap the right people and secure us a clear runway without making a ripple in the broader science and technology community. His stewardship gives us the ability to conduct our test in a way that maximizes its potential for success.”

  Giamatti held up a hand. “You’re very kind, but enough about me. Describe what’s in store for our friend Louis.”

  “Of course,” said Steven. “Louis is the start of a six-week journey. We’re headquartered in a private lab space not far from here. We’re going to conduct a very invasive operation on Louis Karp’s brain. We will penetrate his brain tissue. We will create a multidimensional image map of every contour and neuron that controls his thinking, his memory and his movements. We will replicate it digitally. The amount of detail required to do this means we’ll ultimately dissect the brain in a manner that will kill it…with the goal of acquiring everything we need before it stops functioning. If phase one succeeds, Louis, as a human being, dies. But his consciousness is recreated and resides inside a computer.”

  Giamatti looked over at Cooper with a smile. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like that drink now?”

  “I’m fine,” Cooper said. “I want to hear more.”

  “There’s so much more,” said Giamatti. “Because we’re not just computerizing the human brain. Steven, please continue.”

  Steven nodded. “If phase one is successful, we’ll have transferred Louis’s consciousness to a computer. If it’s not successful, we’ll have done nothing more than accelerate Louis’s terminal condition and the prison will be informed he did not survive the treatment and died on the operating table. If that’s the case, we close down and there’s barely a blip on the radar. But—”

  “Now we get to the good stuff,” Giamatti said.

  “But,” continued Steven, “if we are successful with the transfer, we can begin phase two. Phase two is the installation of that consciousness, the digital duplication of an active brain, into a highly evolved robot that precisely mimics the appearance, functionality and texture of a human being.”

  Steven bent forward to pick up a manila folder from a low table. He handed it to Cooper.

  Cooper opened it and stared at a color, 8 x 10 photograph of a blond man, mid-thirties, stripped down to his underwear and standing against a blank background.

  “Who’s this?” he said.

  “Currently, i
t’s nobody,” said Steven. “It’s an empty shell. A life-size duplication of a young attorney who lives in Wilmette and works in Chicago. He was carefully selected and screened, put through a rigor of clearances, to ensure he was a man of good standing who could be trusted. I’ve known him for a long time and can vouch for his character. We brought him in and scanned him using the most sophisticated methods available. Then we reconstructed him, his every dimension, so that you could place the two of them together and not tell them apart. It’s a synthetic clone, but missing one very important feature: mental faculties.”

  “That shell you see – it’s the first of its kind,” Giamatti said. “It cost ninety million dollars. Human anatomy, the bones, the muscles, the flesh – recreated by man. You can imagine the public response, especially in the heartland, if word of this got out while it was still a work in progress. But once we’re able to offer immortality.… I think some of those naysayers will become customers.”

  “Yes,” said Steven. “And that’s phase three. The marriage of the digital consciousness with the android anatomy. If – and please understand me, it’s a massive if – if we can preserve the brain and duplicate the body – we can save human beings from the ticking clock of biology and extend life indefinitely.”

  Cooper put down the folder with the photograph. “Why him?”

  “He’s the ideal test subject,” Steven said. “His name is Tom Nolan. He was recently diagnosed with Lowrey’s disease. It’s a terminal motor neuron disorder. His mind is sharp, but his body is in the early stages of degeneration. If we can successfully digitize the mind and memory of Louis Karp, and if we can successfully transfer that consciousness to the shell we’ve created for Tom Nolan…then we will have the confidence and precedent to free Tom mentally from his human form and place him in his new body.”

  “Then what happens to Louis?” Cooper asked.

  “Louis is proving the hypothesis,” said Steven. “If everything works, we conclude his participation in the experiment.”

  Giamatti leaned forward in his seat and looked into Cooper’s face with raised eyebrows. “We erase him.”

  “Louis dies either way,” Steven said. “Either the brain transfer fails and he dies during surgery, or the brain transfer is successful and we wipe the hard drive clean and proceed to save the man who deserves to be saved, Mr. Tom Nolan.”

  Giamatti added, “We’re not spending hundreds of millions to preserve a murderer. He’s just the cheap meat for a trial run. The prisoner has stomach cancer,” he said matter-of-factly. “He’s dying already. We’re not doing anything that isn’t already coming to him.”

  “I have no sympathy for Louis in this process,” said Cooper. “I’m just taking it all in so I understand. If everything works…and Tom Nolan is saved…then what?”

  “Then the door opens to unlimited possibilities,” Giamatti said. “Rescuing brains at the onset of Alzheimer’s. Curing paralysis. The list goes on.” He smiled broadly. “Cooper, how long have we worked together at the corporation?”

  “Twenty-five years, sir.”

  “And in that time, I have trusted you like no other. You’re a good man. You’re like the sibling I never had. So, I’m going to share one more part of this project with you.”

  “There’s more?” said Cooper.

  “This is my favorite part,” Giamatti said. “Stand up, we’re going on a little walk. I want my wife to join us.” He shouted, “Bella.”

  Giamatti’s young and beautiful wife appeared at the door in a sleeveless dress. Her rolling blond hair rested on bare shoulders.

  “We’re going to pay a visit to the vault,” he said.

  She smiled and joined his side as he stood from his chair. The couple led the way out of the den and into a corridor.

  “Are you sure you don’t want that drink?” Giamatti asked Cooper.

  “Maybe later.”

  “We’ll all have a drink later.”

  Giamatti walked slowly, limping noticeably under the weight of his frame on aging legs. He took out a key and unlocked a door that led to a set of stairs descending to a windowless, underground level. He stepped carefully, gripping the banister, followed by Bella, Cooper and Steven. The basement space held no furnishings and the walls were plain. He advanced to a door with an electronic keypad and punched in a code, followed by the press of his thumb to validate his identity.

  The door slid open. In the darkness, two shadowy human shapes stood motionless before them.

  “What—” said Cooper, startled by the outline of apparent prisoners. Giamatti flipped on the light.

  Exact replicas of Giamatti and his wife, Bella, stood propped against a wall, just like the real thing except frozen totally still with unblinking eyes.

  “Look at her!” boomed Giamatti, setting his eyes on Bella’s replica adorned in a light, pink dress. “Her lovely form preserved for eternity. She will be twenty-six forever.”

  Bella said with a laugh, “I’ll be 36-24-34 forever.”

  Giamatti smiled. “It sure beats Botox.”

  “Remarkable…” Cooper said, looking back and forth between Giamatti and his robotic likeness.

  “We completed them last week,” said Steven, proudly examining the workmanship. “Shells number two and three.”

  “If Tom Nolan is a success,” Giamatti said, “and by success, I mean a year or more of perfect functionality, no bugs, no breakdowns, then I’m funding my own immortality, along with Bella’s. Was it part of my motivation? Yes, I won’t lie. I will benefit. Tom Nolan will benefit. A future of elderly and terminally ill will benefit as well – as long as they can cover the price tag, of course. I can only subsidize the proof of concept.”

  Giamatti turned toward Cooper and Steven. “If this is a rolling success, I guarantee both of you will be in good standing for receiving the gift of immortality. In the early going, it will be something of an exclusive club, but, as with anything, more time and more advances in science and technology could bring costs down. Perhaps even to a level where everyone can afford it. Of course, there should be a certain degree of oversight. Not everybody will deserve it. We don’t want to prolong the existence of the lower elements of society, like Louis, like the rest of our prison population, and those who are a drag on civilization, but that’s a discussion for another day.… Before I turn out the lights and we return upstairs, are there any questions?”

  As Cooper stared into the eyes of Giamatti’s identical shell, the color drained from his cheeks. Then he turned away, holding out his arms to steady himself.

  “I think I’m ready for that drink,” he said.

  Chapter Four

  From a black void of absence, muddy and fragmented thoughts began to stir in Louis’s consciousness. As his mind cleared from the heavy fog, Louis prepared to awaken from a deep slumber. But hard as he tried, he could not open his eyes. The blindness immediately panicked him. He tried to shout out.

  He couldn’t speak.

  Then Louis realized he lacked any senses at all. He could not hear sounds. He had no feeling of touch, wrapped in complete numbness.

  He couldn’t move.

  He existed only in his head.

  Oh my God, his mind panicked. I’m completely paralyzed.

  Not much scared him in life – he had endured a hell of a lot from a torturous childhood to a life sentence in prison to an invasion of stomach cancer – but this sensation – no, a lack of any sensation at all – was enough to drive him mad.

  He tried to pull apart his eyelids. He tried to make a fist. He tried to scream for help. Fail, fail, fail.

  His whole life had depended on his physical, not mental prowess. Beating on his tormentors. Roughing up others for money and stature. Enjoying the pleasures of the flesh.…

  This stupid experiment must’ve messed me up, he realized. I’m alive but not really. My body is dead and my mi
nd keeps going. It’s like being buried alive. I can’t even kill myself to stop it!

  Maybe this is life after death?

  His mind raced until he was mentally exhausted. He tried to will himself back to a blank unconsciousness. He wanted to succumb to sleep. But he was not physically tired or physically anything.

  Maybe this is a test of some kind of new punishment, he thought. Cheaper prisons. Why store the whole person? Just enslave their minds. In darkness. For eternity.

  Louis could not scream out loud. But he did in his mind. Once he started, he couldn’t stop. Somewhere, he was convinced, the devil was laughing at him.

  Welcome to hell.…

  * * *

  “He’s dead.” Carl Nodden, a member of the medical team, stood over Louis’s pale and motionless body. It rested on a hospital bed set up in an operating room adjacent to the lab. The top of the patient’s head was open and exposed, missing a section of skull to provide entry for an invasion of wires that probed the pink-and -gray brain matter.

  “Dead there, yes – but not over here,” Alan said. He huddled with several other scientists at a bank of computer monitors churning intricate readings of mental activity. “We can’t hear his thoughts…but his mind is still alert. The readings are consistent with before.”

  There was an excited murmur. Steven Morris stepped closer to the computer screens, gripping a tablet. “This is real, people. The transfer has been a success.”

  Alan watched the green-and-blue dance of brainwaves on one of the monitors. “He has become pure consciousness, digitized and no longer attached to any living organism. He has no grasp of his surroundings. Just a steady stream of thought patterns. This is positively amazing.”

  Boyd Carmen, an African-American scientist with rectangular glasses, spoke up, representing the privacy mandate. “As exciting as this is, I must remind everyone that we remain in our blackout period. We cannot discuss any of this with the outside world – our families, our friends, our colleagues in the medical and technology fields. It would be in violation of the agreements you signed and immediately terminate your compensation packages. The official word for the prison officials…is that the patient died on the operating table. This is not untrue.”