by LEMPEREUR
“What can I do if it happens again?”
“Try to avoid putting yourself at risk. Otherwise, becoming aware of it seems to be enough to keep convergence at an acceptable level. When it goes unnoticed it can affect us subconsciously. Then it may gradually take over our wills, without us even realizing it. I think that our brains are ultimately seeking to converge into one single mind; making us one. Like every living organism, the brain is constantly seeking equilibrium. Homeostasis is a fundamental law of the universe. It not only applies to living beings; it is also applicable to every system that exists. Your friend Francisco knows that very well. Working in cybernetics, he cannot ignore that rule.”
“How do you know?”
“Charlie, I have access to all of your memories and a certain number of your conscious thoughts, too. Let’s just say that everything you know, I know too.”
Victor looked away, once again totally absorbed by the contents of the graphic tablet, completely ignoring Charlie.
A little hesitantly, he tried calling his name. He wanted to make sure he was dealing with Senec again and no longer Victor.
“Victor!” he called, without daring to raise his voice at first, but nothing happened.
He summoned all his courage and this time shouted his name as loudly as he could.
“VICTOR!!!”
For a split second, Senec glanced toward the door. Had he heard something? Possibly, but he obviously did not imagine for a second that it could be coming from the cell where he was. Charlie was both relieved and conscious that the risk of convergence was still very present, and threatened to surface at any moment, when he was least expecting it.
He got up, leaving the cold, damp floor where he had been sitting for quite some time, and stood behind Senec. Carefully examining his reading material, he came to the conclusion that he still understood nothing at all. However, he thought, if Victor was capable of interfering in this memory by temporarily taking on Senec’s appearance, he could quite easily have translated this text for him, as he had done in the previous memory – unless he had never read it! In that case, it would be impossible for him to translate it. That must be why he had come to tell him he had nothing more to do here. It seemed the most plausible explanation, but Charlie was not completely happy with it. He could not say why, but something kept him from leaving the room. It was probably nothing more than intuition, but in the context of the connection, what exactly was intuition anyway? After all, if Victor could read his memories and most of his thoughts, why would it not be the same for him? Could what he perceived as intuition actually be a consequence of convergence; the memories and knowledge of one of them merging with those of the other, without the process being clearly perceptible to the mind?
Charlie was well aware that the intellectual capacity of his host was incomparably superior to his own, but he also knew that Victor had deliberately sought out his help. Therefore, he would not succeed through blindly following the path marked out for him by Victor. He realized that as time went on he was gaining more confidence in himself. Somehow he was adapting to his environment.
Charlie had a strange feeling. He felt as though his mind was becoming sharper and sharper. It was as if he could perceive very quickly and clearly what he should think or do. It was a combination of intuition and discernment, but more than that; something was changing in the depths of his psyche. It was an insidious, unfathomable change, working in the shadows; a change whose consequences Victor himself could not fully measure. Convergence had probably been at work since the beginning of the connection and no one knew yet just where it would lead.
23 CONSCIOUSNESS
Senec was perfectly still, his fingers poised over the graphic tablet. Everything in the room was immobile, except Charlie. Not a sound, not the slightest noise, interrupted what now resembled a photograph. Worried at first, he tentatively put a hand on Senec’s shoulder. He did not move a muscle. It was as if he had turned into a statue, so that Charlie could touch him and feel the material that covered his skin. It was a strange, oppressive sensation that would have paralyzed anyone else with anxiety, but Charlie knew just what he needed to do. He moved Senec’s massive, heavy body and placed it carefully on the floor; then he took his place on the hover-seat and picked up the graphic tablet.
The writing he saw, resembling diagrams, was now clear and perfectly comprehensible to him. Unlike his previous experience, he was aware that he was interpreting the symbols and markings that were foreign to him. This time, it was obvious to Charlie that the translation was not Victor’s work. If it had been so, he would have had direct access to the text in his own language. However, he was now capable of deciphering the N.H.I.’s writing system for himself. This realization increased the feeling of power and freedom he already had even more; but his elation was short-lived. The page was static. It was impossible to scroll through the contents of the graphic tablet. Nothing he tried had the least effect on it. Obviously, there was nothing in Victor’s brain that was likely to give him further information about the contents of the tablet. He would have to look elsewhere, but where?
Charlie searched every corner of the room for something that would satisfy his curiosity. He could not accept that he had made an error in trusting his intuition. So, somehow he was momentarily free of Victor’s hold on him, but to what end? It seemed that his memories were no longer just a huge library of inanimate data. He was in a lifeless snapshot from which it would probably be extremely difficult to extract any pertinent information. Finding nothing, Charlie headed for the metal door which was supposed to prevent anyone from leaving or entering the cell without authorization. He took hold of the handle and exerted slight downward pressure. The heavy door opened without the slightest noise. Not a squeak or creak broke the silence. As the door swung open, a blinding white light filled the room. Although he could not see its walls, Charlie expected to be in the long light-filled corridor he had walked down a few hours earlier.
He stepped confidently through the doorway, but his foot never reached the floor, causing him to fall head over heels. Soon all visual cues began to disappear, including the heavy, gray door, which shrank rapidly into the distance as he fell further and further into the depths of Victor’s mind. After the first few seconds, marked by the sensation of being yanked downwards, Charlie could no longer feel anything. All was light; and there was no sound or physical sensation to give him any sense of his bearings. He now seemed to be floating weightlessly in a void, bathed in light. He felt good, surprisingly good. No anxiety, not an ounce of apprehension, came to bother him. He closed his eyes and let himself fall into what he felt to be a well-earned sleep. Why struggle, when there was no longer any tangible reality to hold onto?
“Charlie! Are you there?”
A soft, familiar voice resonated in his ear. He would have liked to open his eyes and answer, but his willpower did not go beyond the stage of consciousness. He tried in vain to get his eyelids to open, but nothing happened. Charlie had already experienced this feeling some mornings when his sleep was so heavy that he could not stretch his arm out to turn the alarm off. It was as if the time between the moment when his brain sent the message to his muscles and the moment when his hand reacted had grown infinitely longer than usual.
This time, nothing at all happened. The voice was repeating the same thing incessantly, at regular intervals but he was unable to reply or move even a muscle.
“Charlie! Are you there?”
“Charlie! Are you there?”
“Charlie! Are you there?”
“Charlie! Are you there?”
“Charlie! Are you there?”
Anxiety began to manifest itself in a barely perceptible way. Charlie was swimming in a feeling of bliss and well-being that enveloped his whole mind and body. It was as if the rest of his physical sensations were muted by this prevailing state.
He did seem to feel a slight tingling in his left earlobe, though. He focused exclusively on this barely perceptible f
eeling, remembering the relaxation classes he had attended several times with Jacques. The classes had been held inside the hospital and had brought Charlie much relief while learning to overcome the severe panic attacks that had nearly pushed him to take his life.
Thankfully, Jacques was there. Taking his life would have meant accepting the idea of killing his own brother – an unconscionable thing, which had forced him to begin therapy – but it had been a close call. He had refused to leave the apartment, even to take out the trash. He was incapable of finding a logical explanation for his behavior but he could not help it; as soon as he stepped outside, he was overcome by panic. Shaking like a leaf, his heart would beat at top speed and he was sure he would die if he did not go back inside immediately. The psychiatrists had diagnosed it as panic attacks with agoraphobia; a relatively common condition which can be treated successfully but which can sometimes lead to severe depression if not dealt with correctly. They invited him to begin therapy with a psychologist specialized in this type of disorder and gave him a medical treatment combining antidepressants and tranquilizers which brought him rapid relief.
While it was true that his brother was often temperamental and not easy to live with, Charlie had to admit that he had made life difficult for Jacques on several occasions, and especially during that period. Jacques had really helped him to get out of that impasse, going as far as accepting what should have been unacceptable. Perhaps he had even gone a little too far. In retrospect, Charlie thought that it would have been better if Jacques had not made so many allowances for him. It would have forced him to confront his fears earlier rather than wallowing in negative monologues whose only goal was to rationalize behavior that was as irrational as it was pathetic. In short, he was truly grateful to him and that episode, although painful, had brought them much closer.
After that, their relationship had been more harmonious. They had learned a lot from Andrea, the psychologist. She had listened to each of them individually. Paradoxically, that had helped them to make the necessary compromises for keeping the peace in the odd couple they formed through no choice of their own. It was at that time that they had learned the art if relaxation. It was a completely new thing for them and they had not found it easy. Charlie, who was anxious by nature, would constantly try to control everything, which prevented him from going with the flow; and Jacques, who was typically hyperactive, could not bear the mere idea of lying down doing nothing for longer than a few seconds. Suffice it to say that their first attempts had been rather farcical, but in the end Andrea’s gentle voice had overcome their resistance and they had learned to become conscious of their physical body through concentrating exclusively on their internal feelings. It had been a rewarding experience which Charlie was now trying to reproduce in this immaterial place. Maybe he would manage to get back in touch with his own body?
The voice continued to call him, always in the same tone and with the same regularity.
“Charlie! Are you there?”
His earlobe was still tingling. As he concentrated on that small part of his body, he felt a kind of heat invade that specific area, and the tingling intensified until it suddenly became painful. In a swift, precise movement, he turned his head to the left, opened his eyes at last and found himself face to face with a little white mouse, who was staring at him intently. Its inky black eyes inspired confidence. It did not seem at all afraid. On the contrary, it lay impassively on the floor with its front paws crossed, which lent a nonchalant air to its posture. The blood that was dripping steadily from Charlie’s ear had formed a little puddle. Its bright red color contrasted sharply with the intense, uniform, white light that surrounded them both. It was obviously the mouse that had been nibbling on his ear for hours until he finally woke up. He simply stared at it for a moment, without saying anything.
“You’re back!” it said. “It’s about time! We really thought we’d lost you.”
… Who are you talking about? Why did you hurt my ear like that?
“Which ear are you talking about, Charlie? Are you injured?”
… Of course I’m injured! What a question! You’re the one who bit my ear and made it bleed, and now you’re asking me if I’m injured?
“Listen, Charlie. I’m not sure if you’re quite with it. I don’t know what you can see right now, or who you think you’re talking to, but it’s me – your brother.”
…Jacques?
“Yes, that’s right! What’s been going on all this time?”
…Oh, it would take far too long to tell you! And I’m not sure I’m capable of explaining it. The connection is much more complex than Francisco thought.
“Aren’t you managing to find your way around in Victor’s memory?”
… No, that’s not the root of the problem. You can’t be physically connected to someone’s brain without fundamentally changing the way it functions.
“You mean the connection is damaging Victor’s brain? This time you really need to get out of there. I don’t like the turn things are taking at all! We have to stop this experiment as soon as possible.”
… No, Jacques! If you disconnect us now, I’m not sure I’ll make it back in one piece.
“But the longer we wait, the deeper you seem to sink into the recesses of Victor’s mind. This time we had to give you an adrenaline shot to change your level of wakefulness and try to re-establish contact with you. The process seems to have worked, but it’s not without risk. After the shock caused by the injection, your heart started to race and your brain activity rose to a level never before seen in a human brain. Then the activity decreased drastically and your heart stopped again for several seconds. I’m telling you, Charlie: you need to stop the experiment. If you don’t do it for me, do it for yourself. You and I both know that you have to be willing for us to get you out of there.”
… I know all that, Jacques, but I just need a little more time. There are some things I still need to do here. The injection had an unexpected effect. I think it enabled me to see some things that were beyond me before. It really would be too complicated to explain it to you and I’m not sure if we have the time, but I think I managed to partially free myself from Victor’s hold on me. The change may have been linked to my level of wakefulness. The adrenaline must have increased my state of awareness. But there’s more!
“What is it, Charlie?”
… Our brains are no longer strictly speaking two distinct entities. Victor calls it “convergence”.
“What do you mean? I don’t see what you’re getting at.”
… It doesn’t matter, Jacques. Not now. The process has already been operating since the beginning of the connection. It’s unavoidable. Francisco should have foreseen the phenomenon before beginning the experiment.
“If you’re sure of your choice, I can’t stand in your way, but you need to know that everyone here is very tense. I’m not the only one who’s worried about you. When we last talked, the neural probe was disconnected even though you were just starting to show some sense. Since then we haven’t been able to find the cause of the communication failure. Today we can talk, but the technicians still don’t understand what happened. They think the neural probe must have some fault that they didn’t notice before implanting it. According to their hypothesis, the malfunction is occurring intermittently, which explains why we can still make contact sometimes. If it gets worse, we might simply lose contact with you for good, Charlie. If that happened, we wouldn’t have any other choice but to disconnect you without warning you. God only knows what would happen then!”
… I know what happened.
“What?”
… Victor disconnected the neural probe so I wouldn’t abandon him.
Behind them, Francisco, whose anxiety had been on the rise for several days now, turned to Mario, his head down and eyes glued to the floor.
“The situation is becoming worrisome,” he said. “Charlie is losing contact with reality. He thinks he is on a mission and is starting to believe h
e’s omniscient. He insists on continuing regardless of the danger. If the neural probe gives out completely, we’re headed for disaster. We have to do something, Mario.”
“Yes, Francisco. I think you’re most likely right, but what can we do? If we disconnect him now, while he’s completely delirious, he might never find his feet again.”
“Maybe we should try to replace the neural probe, but the operation is risky and it would require a partial disconnection, at least while we do the implant.”
“What would the consequences be?”
“Charlie would lose all access to expressive language for several minutes.”
“And then?”
“Logically, it should not have too much impact, but we do not know if he is using that area of his brain to navigate or communicate with Victor.”
“If I understand, you mean that there is a significant risk that the procedure would greatly disturb the equilibrium that Charlie has developed with Victor.”
“It’s a risk that I have no way of calculating.”
“What do you imagine the consequences would be if such a phenomenon occurred?”
“Well! In that case, they could both lose it. Their respective minds may no longer be capable of sorting and organizing their sensorial perceptions.”
“Is there no other solution, Francisco?”
“Yes. We could decide to wait and do nothing except monitor Charlie’s physiological state, in the hope that he’ll make the right decisions.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes, Mario. I’m afraid so.”
Giuseppe, was present that day, but had remained in the background. If he was not more forthcoming, it was undoubtedly to avoid interfering in the close relationships which had developed within the little group; leaving Francisco and Mario to manage the situation. Now he decided to intervene and what he said was categorical.
“Let’s trust Charlie. There’s too much we don’t know, for us to take any risk other than that of trusting him and letting him continue. Settle for managing his state of awareness through the use of adrenaline. It seems to work. However, I think it would be preferable to give him more frequent shots, but of a lower dose. That should reduce the risk of damage to his heart. If need be, tranquilize him slightly, but only if you have strong reason to do so. We must have information about Victor. Also, try to get him to talk as much as possible when you make contact. Ask him about Victor; have him tell us what he knows. Do you understand?”