by Oliver Smith
The young man laughed and held up a smooth, pale index finger in protest. "Technically, Dr. Hamilton," he said, smiling all the while, "it's our machine now. Possession is nine-tenths of the law." He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "Smoke?" he said, holding the pack toward Glenn's face. Glenn shook his head. The young man shrugged and took one for himself, igniting the tip with a metal butane lighter. "I don't normally myself, either. Bad for the lungs. But I figure while we're in here, it can't do any real harm. Wouldn't you say that's the case?"
Glenn glowered at the man, the intruder. "You tell me. This is your machine we're hooked up to, after all."
The man laughed at this. "That it is, my friend. That it is." He drew on his cigarette and exhaled a plume of smoke.
"What do you want from me?" Glenn asked. There was no emotion in his voice.
"Come now, Doctor." The man leaned down close, so Glenn could smell the smoke on his breath. "Don't play that game. I think you know exactly what I want." Glenn said nothing. The man sighed. "You do realize that your resistance is pointless, don't you? This isn't an ordinary prison cell you can hope to escape from. No ally or army will ride in to set you free and carry you home. You're stuck here. Forever."
"You came in easily enough," said Glenn.
The young man nodded "Yes, I did. With the help of your nifty invention. I can get back out again, too. My body still works just fine."
It was the emphasis on the word "my" that caught Glenn's attention. He jerked his head up, eyes wide with terror. When he spoke, it came out in a whisper. "What have you done to me?"
The man in the lab coat smiled. It was a cold smile, devoid of anything that could even be mistaken for empathy. "I'll level with you, Dr. Hamilton. We’ve put you in a coma, from which, I am sorry to say, you will never recover. We figured you would be safest this way; didn't want you to get any ideas and try anything stupid. You are currently hooked up to a complete life-support system, an artificial lung, a heart monitor, dozens of IV tubes that nourish your body and keep you alive. Although your mind is as active as ever, your body has slumped into a vegetative state. You will be stuck as you are, here, until the end of time, or at least for the rest of your life." He seemed to take a perverse pleasure in telling Glenn this, and took another drag on his cigarette.
"You lie."
"Not at all, I assure you. I've spoken nothing but the truth."
Glenn looked down at his wrists, strapped to the handles of the chair. "It's all in your head," he muttered under his breath.
"What was that?" the young man asked. "I don't think I heard you."
Glenn glared at the intruder. "You already have everything I own," he said. "It's obvious that you've gotten everything out of my laboratory, since you've been using my mind-link apparatus. What more could you possibly want from me?"
The young man slapped him across the face with his open right palm. "Don't be insolent with me, Doctor," he hissed, gritting his teeth around his cigarette. "I don't have the patience for it. What have you been working on for the past three decades? The regenerative drug. Eternal vitality. The proverbial fountain of youth. We know from your records that you've perfected the formula. We've seen the rats you've experimented on; if your records are correct—as we believe they are—those rats are going on seven years old, and are as healthy as the day they were born. Since their average lifespan is only two or three years, wouldn't you call that pretty compelling evidence of your success?"
"All my notes were right there in the lab." Glenn spoke evenly, belying the furious pace of his heart. "You have them. They're yours."
The young man smiled again, dropping his cigarette to the floor and grinding it out beneath the toe of his shoe. "Oh, we have them all right. And they’re ours. Finders keepers, losers weepers, as they say. Possession is—"
"Nine-tenths of the law,” Glenn cut him off, meeting the man's gaze with his own steely glare. "So you've said."
The man nodded. "So I've said." He walked slowly around Glenn's left side. Glenn didn't turn his head to watch him, but he could hear the young man's soft leather shoes as he strolled across the hard floor. The man stopped behind him and rested his hands on Glenn's shoulders.
"Funny thing about those notes," he said, leaning his mouth close to Glenn's ear, and lowering his voice to a near whisper as though revealing a secret. "They're incomplete." Glenn offered no response. "Every part of the formula is listed—except for the catalyst. Without the one thing that sets off the reaction, the rest is useless." He leaned even closer, and Glenn could feel the warm, moist breath against his ear. "What is the catalyst, Doctor Hamilton?"
Glenn shut his eyes and shook his head. "The formula is too powerful. The man who used it would be completely invulnerable. Unstoppable. It is too much power for one person..." He paused, trying to collect his thoughts and order them in a way that made sense. "...Or for one army to wield."
The young man put his hands in the pockets of his lab coat and paced around so he was again in front of Glenn. He wore a disappointed but resolute expression, like a stern parent who expected better of his child. "I thought you might say that. I was actually surprised to find you hadn't tried the drug on yourself. I wasn’t sure we'd be able to induce you into this coma." He smiled, and squatted down to look at Glenn eye-level. "I bet you're wishing now that you had taken that drug. Perhaps you could have fought your way free before we had a chance to reduce you to the helpless sack of meat you are now. Now you have nothing but this," he gestured around at the darkness. "The prison of your own mind."
Yes, Glenn thought, following the man's hand with his gaze. My own mind. It's all in your head.
"I'm going to ask you again, Doctor. What is the catalyst? You have nothing to gain by refusing to comply."
Glenn frowned, crease lines standing out his forehead. "Nothing to gain by refusing, but nothing to gain by giving in, either. I'm stuck here either way. What happens if I don't give you what you want?"
The man in the lab coat smiled again, a humorless, Cheshire-cat grin that turned Glenn's innards to ice. "What did you think of the insects?" he asked. "Those were my idea. It turns out that the subconscious is very suggestible at this deep level of the mind. We can introduce whatever ideas we want from outside. To you in here, they seem like realities." He stood to his full height so that he towered over Glenn in his chair. "We have the ability to make your existence here comfortable—pleasurable even. We also, if you choose to be difficult, have the ability to make it an absolute nightmare. I have no desire to do this, Doctor, but I leave the choice to you."
"Yes," Glenn said, nodding, and actually allowing himself a little smile. "It is my choice. And I say no. You've wasted your time. While I still live, no matter in what capacity, the secret of my research is my own. I will never give it up. Do your worst, because no torture, psychological or otherwise, will ever change my mind."
The young man looked down at Glenn, his handsome face impassive. "You think so? Pity.” He ran a hand through his hair, shrugged and sighed. “Well, I suppose there’s no sense in arguing. We'll see if you feel the same after the next few days." He pulled a small, remote-like device from his pocket and pressed a button. To Glenn's right the air shimmered and the bright portal reappeared, warbling and buzzing.
Glenn shut his eyes, concentrating. The straps that held him to the chair dug into his wrists and legs.
"I’m afraid you have made a very poor choice," the man said, stepping toward the portal. "But I’m sure you’ll have opportunities to change your mind. Right now, I don’t believe you quite understand the gravity of your situation.” He smiled again. “You will. I’ll see to it that it becomes very clear."
"No, I don't think so," said Glenn, grinning outright. "I think the misunderstanding is on your side." He looked up at the young man, who had stopped, and now stared at him as though he was a lunatic. "What you say is quite true, I suppose. You seized my laboratory and equipment, and they are now yours. You
've incapacitated my body, so you can do whatever you wish to it. But the joke is on you, friend, because my mind is still my own. By using the mind-link device to conduct this little interview, you have entered my domain. You'll find I can yet wield some power here."
The smile vanished from the young man’s face. He tried to step toward the portal, but his feet stuck to the floor as if glued there. He watched, open-mouthed in shock and horror as the straps that bound Glenn Hamilton to his chair came apart and fell to the floor. Glenn stood, unencumbered, and the chair exploded with a bang that sent sawdust flying all around the little circle of spotlight.
Glenn strode toward the younger man. "Nine-tenths of the law, my friend. Finders keepers. Losers Weepers." He shut his eyes, concentrating. When he heard the soft scuttle of the approaching insects, he favored the horrified young man with a final smile. “Enjoy your stay.”
With that, he stepped through the portal, leaving his would-be captor behind, screaming.
Glenn felt an odd sensation, swimming upward to the higher levels of his consciousness. After a few confused moments, he opened his eyes and sat up. He was in a sterile white room, surrounded by beeping monitors, blinking lights, and people in lab coats. Wire probes were connected to the sides of his head, tethering him to a large, boxy computer between his bed and another. On the other bed lay an old man with fluffy white hair. He was unconscious, with tubes up his nose, a mask over his mouth, wires linked to his head and chest, and IV bags connected to his arms.
"Well?" A severe-looking woman with a tight, helmet-like hairdo stared at Glenn with wide, expectant eyes. "Did you get it, sir?"
Glenn shook his head, removing the wired probes connected to his temples as he spoke. "Hamilton is useless to us. The old fool is not worth any more of our time. Just pull the plug and have done with him." He stood, smoothing his lab coat. Then, as an afterthought, he added, "That's an order."
"Yes, sir."
Glenn Hamilton nodded, satisfied. Then, since he had no real business there, he left, taking the body that he now counted as his own with him. Possession was nine-tenths of the law, after all.
Autonomous Trafficking
By Kierce Sevren
I laugh, despite my anger. To think, a tersely worded, single sheet of paper could snap my life into absolute clarity. That a red-lettered strong arm has the power to destroy everything I thought I was or hoped I would become. Everything.
“Daddy?” Ellie rounds the corner. Her dark eyes are too large for her pale, heart-shaped face. Tucked under her arm is her favorite stuffed rabbit, its white satin ear worn nearly threadbare. The treatments are hard on her these days. She shuffles her slippered feet along the floor. Before she gets too close, I flip over the latest statement. Her eyes flick to the sheet and then to me.
“What is it, honey?” I smile the best I can to hide my worry.
She tugs at my sleeve. “Daddy, I don't feel so good.”
“I know, sweetie. I'm sorry.”
“But it’s supposed to make me feel better. I didn't feel sick before.” She lays her head against my chest. She’s warmer than she should be. Another low fever.
“That's how we know the medicine is working. Please bear with it for a little longer, okay?” I think a moment. “You know what?” I lay my cheek on the crown of her head. “This medicine is a promise that the doctors made to us that you'll be healthy and happy real soon, and that we'll have many, many days ahead to share together.”
“A promise?”
“A promise,” I say, and she snuggles closer against me.
Keys rattle in the front door. I want to run to open it, knowing it’s dark outside, but that would disturb Ellie. Tammi comes in with her hair disheveled. Her face shows fatigue, and her scrubs are rumpled. She doesn’t have to say a word; she wears her long day like a shroud.
Seeing Ellie with me, Tammi leans against the closed door and gives me a weary smile. “That's what I needed,” she says, removing her shoes, setting her purse on the bench before walking over to me. Her kiss, though brief, is soft. “How was it this time?”
“Rough. She only just fell asleep.”
Tammi nods, and strokes Ellie's hair.
“Mommy,” Ellie whines and stirs.
Passing her over, I admire how fluidly Tammi takes her into her arms. As she carries Ellie to her room she sings to comfort her. I flip over the hospital bill and debate what to do. “Remittance. Per policy, and in accordance to the laws of the State of North Carolina, The Carolinian Healthcare Group hereby notifies you that no further treatment will be given to the patient listed below if the balance of $15,589.26 is not paid in full within thirty days of receipt.” Terror resurges. It's not as much money as it could have been if not for Tammi’s insurance, but still it's out of our reach. We've taken on all the loans we can. Tammi closes Ellie's door. I fold the paper until it fits in my pocket.
“And how was your day?” she asks, entering the dining room.
I shrug. “Not so bad. Bradly and Gina are getting back together, and we're out of bonbons.”
“Uh-huh, so if you were laying on the couch watching soaps all day, who fixed the siding?” she says with her hand on her hip.
“Hmmm, who indeed. I’ll have my manservant investigate that for you tomorrow.”
“Right,” she says, and laughs. “Anyway, thanks. This place would fall apart around us if you weren’t here.”
“It's the least I can do while I'm stuck at home.”
“No luck?”
“None. It can't be helped with just about every officer on the force being laid off.”
She nods and kisses my forehead. “Dinner in the oven?”
“Yes, meatloaf.”
“It smells wonderful. Have you eaten?”
“No, not yet. The new treatment was really hard on Ellie, and I didn’t want to eat in front of her.”
“Was she able to keep anything down?”
“Yeah, a little gelatin. Other than that she just sipped on water most of the day.”
A heavy silence settles between us. It’s been happening a lot lately, especially when we talk about Ellie’s illness. I feel so helpless. I’m sure Tammi does too, maybe more so since she deals with illness and injury every day. Tammi walks into the kitchen. Dishes clatter and I get up to help.
“No, sit. You made dinner -”
“Yes, but you worked all day.”
“And you helped Ellie, and the repairs, and the house is spotless, and this isn't a competition, so if you want to keep your wife happy you'll keep your ass in that chair.”
Her smile is a glimmer of hope in my gloomy world. I watch her as she fixes our plates. She must be so exhausted. My heart aches to think that she's hiding her feelings from me. I lay my hand on my pocket and remind myself she's not the only one. I should tell her. Maybe later.
“It does smell good.” I say. “They’re going to nominate me as the new Emeril,” I accept the cold beer she hands me and admire the gentle curve of her hands as she sets her plate down. The modest band on her finger catches the light and I wish I could do more for her. It's never been enough. Not in my mind, anyway.
“What jobs—”
“I talked to Mike… Sorry, you were saying?
She shakes her head and takes a bite.
“I, um, spoke with Mike earlier today and he said he needs my help on something. Said he'll pay me for my trouble.”
I look up as a moment passes with no response. She’s frowning, her eyes show a shadow of worry. It's deserved; Mike’s never been… clean exactly… or careful. And though I know what I'm getting into, she can't worry about it. Another secret. “Sorry, that was out of the blue. What were you were saying?”
“No, it's just, I was going to ask you about the job search. That's all.” She spears a few carrots and lifts them to her mouth. Her gaze doesn't falter. She's waiting for the other shoe to drop. It's been doing that a lot lately.
I shrug. “It's not. There isn't anything out there right
now.”
“Keep looking.”
“I am. Really, every day I spend two to three hours hitting every site I know of. Today I went down to the unemployment office and had to sit through their spiel trying to sell me on some classes that are 'going to change my life' when really they're just introductory classes meant to drum up money for the local community college. Companies are looking for experienced machinists, not entry level. I could take a dozen classes and it won’t amount to anything unless I have experience.”
Tension ratchets my tone up a notch and strains the muscles in my back. I take a breath. “Sorry, honey. I don't want to work with Mike either, but he swears this is nothing to worry about. We can’t afford for me to not have a job right now. Not with Ellie—”
She reaches across the table and wraps her fingers around my hand. “I know. I'm sorry, too. You're doing your best, I know you are. It’s hard now, but we're in it together. Right?”
“Yeah.” Setting my fork on my plate, I put my other hand over hers. Looking in her eyes, tears well up. My heart aches and I get up and walk around the table to hold her. “This won't be forever, Tammi. Working with Mike is only meant to get us by until something better comes along.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“So what'd you tell her?” Mike walks in front of me holding a beer.
I take it and flip the cap off with the back of my lighter. “Carpentry work.”
“Yeah? What sort?”
“Roofs.”
“What? Roofs? You’re crazy. It's hot as Satan’s balls right now!”
“Yeah, I know. It was just the first thing that popped into my head. I don't know, I could have said something else, but if I paused she’d assume the worst. She's already suspicious.”
Mike laughs. “Yeah, okay. I guess I deserve that. My plans haven't always been of the safe and easy variety. But hey, no one's gotten killed or served serious jail time. That should count for something, right?”