Remember

by Karthikeyan, Girish

  She almost finishes the drink, in a few gulps. “Everything sounds good. If you’re a good fit, I’ll call you before Wednesday. How does that sound?”

  “Good.”

  Jenna finishes up her food, dragging the last few noodles into the broth. “I just have some paperwork for you to fill out. We can go to my office and get it out of the way.” She drinks the remaining broth.

  “Sure, we can go do that now.” I return my half empty water glass to its place.

  Jenna scoops out the last few noodle strands and eats them. Then, puts her chopsticks on the plate, takes the napkin from her lap to dab at her lips, and puts it on the table. She adorns the jacket. We leave Zensation, walk away from the Institute, and continue along the hallway. A hallway intersects this one, but we keep going straight.

  “Sorry about this. I miss counted this morning. It has been an exhausting day to say the least. Luckily, my office is next door.” She tucks that loose strand of hair into place.

  “That’s fine. The exercise is good.” I check if my pad is still there inside my jacket.

  “It's just a little crowded this time of night.”

  I don't know what to say with just a few people in the halls, so I ask for directions. “How do we get there?”

  “Have some patience, Mr. Abby.” She walks faster.

  I keep up. “It’s doctor.”

  We reach a stairway leading to a large depressed square. At the bottom, a mass of people form a line around the place. In the middle, frosted cubes each hold a table and chairs (a guess from the clear empty ones). At the top of the stairs, a sign says Experimental: find your choice of food, drink, and location, probably a sim restaurant with real food.

  We head down the stairs into the congested throng, losing any pursuit. We try staying together, but I almost lose sight of her. I search for a sense of where we’re going. I lose her altogether. Someone grabs my hand, and then deftly switches to wrist. It's Jenna.

  We move through the crowd, climb the next set of stairs, leave the crowd behind, and enter another hallway. The diagonal hallway from earlier joins up. We keep going straight as the closed businesses become offices. Only restaurants stay open past 8:30. We turn right and go halfway down the hallway. All the lights turn off. Just a faint light from the beginning of the corridor remains.

  “Do you trust me?” Jenna's voice comes from the darkness, a distance away.

  For some reason I can’t think of, I say, “Yes.”

  Her voice comes closer. “Just keep doing that.”

  I feel a pressure on my collar and the front of my knee, slight and fleeting. I’m turned and pushed against the wall. Jenna moves uncomfortably close to me, evident by warm exhalations mixing with my breaths. She starts kissing me. I trust what she is doing. I want to for some reason, so I kiss back. Why? Her lips feel like silk pillows creasing mine. An overwhelming feeling of warmth overtakes everything else. The feelings of confusion and betrayal just below the surface come through, and I grab her shoulders, pushing her away. I see the reflection of the only light on her now dark glasses. Jenna positions her arms between mine and throws my arms off. The similarity to a choking counter makes me put my arms up, surrender, which means nothing in near darkness.

  Jenna grabs my arm, pulling me forward into her knee at my gut. Shit. I collapse. And keep coughing. I hear her retreating footsteps on the tiled floor. I’m alone in the dark, on my hands and knees. Leaning back on my haunches leaves me kneeling. I wipe my tearing eyes from the intensity of that coughing fit. Wipe mouth. No need for anyone to see me like this (with her lip wax, smeared).

  I stumble on the uneven surface near the wall. With just the corridor as my guide, it takes a while. I get closer and closer to the light, until I finally reach it, in what seems like forever. A look back shows the darkened hallway. The lights start turning back on. First the lights along the wall, then the rest. What was that about? She took me into a dark hallway and started kissing me. I shake off a fleeting sick feeling. Why didn't I stop her knee to the gut? The darkness and her night vision? Can't think about that now. I have to get back to cover.

  I go the same way we came, messaging my gut, sure to be a bruise. The crowd adds security, a definite help. Anyone would lose track of me in here. Someone joined the throng. A few secs later, another person leaves the line, if no one looks too close. Stop holding the gut, tousle my hair, slip off my jacket, and limp. The stairs breaks any safety from a few secs ago, easy target. I leave the court and walk right past Zensation. The elevator affords some protection. A valid Stephens Institute id screens access. My apartment only allows me in. That’s the best.

  Reality

  Mon 8/14/17 1:48 p.m.

  I walk alongside the porch situated on a vertiginous, windswept tower. Marshaled on the left by the rippling, slightly reflective surface of pool water covering the iridescent electric blue bottom, some 6 feet below. On the right, a glassy railing wreathes the entire elevated platform that constitutes this porch. The rough, hewn sandstone under foot retains purity except for liquid infringement. The corner holds a dominating pot, harboring a mass of vines. Said vines jog and tumble down the jet black enameled urn onto stone walk and over railing. I gingerly prance around the excesses of vine, taking exception to plunging in water.

  Upon reaching the outermost edge of this balcony, the subject of my wandering looms. Two people of exceptional quality tend to the urns, radiating such calm and contentment, contagious even to everyone around. Their presence fills me with a joy more than describable. Everything within my sensory envelope sharpens, coming into focus. Just aware of so much without looking at anything in particular, knowing the vines exude fuzzy sensory hairs from every inch. The water of the pool musical, an exquisite sloshing sound from the light breeze, unnoticed till now. The light and dark shades of sandstone climb through eyes into the most wonderful perception engine anywhere found. The gentle water trickling from watering cans held by faithful tenders chimes melodious. The watering ceases without warning, as my bliss tears away.

  The two figures dressed in white, weightless garb reluctantly place their silver watering cans, perfectly balanced on the narrows of railing. They come around to me. Impossible to tell anything about them from this, their garb renders them to simple placeholders. The delicate features of one engage venturing a guess of female, apart from that, nothing.

  “I’m Leon and this is Leanne. Welcome to sanctuary.”

  Caressing my back and hands, these two guides of the light take me away to a future, my destiny. We embark on just the fulfillment of a long, labored journey, the last few steps, the culmination of my quest, the summit of my mountain, and my final test nears. Into the harsh reality of a wooden chair, enthralled by nature for how so many years, I enter. Reality means nothing but an illusion to those in the know. The strength of this moment sustains me through anything life has yet to dole out.

  Leon in all his strength secures my arm on and against the chair to fight off my human tendencies in this time of peril. Full knowledge and dread of what’s to come lays buried somewhere in my skull just from reach. Leanne in her grace of motion and light of foot retrieves the water vesicle at this precise moment. The water dumping into the pool shatters my wonder, fear, and everything else save for this. A baton of silver being the goal, Leanne extends her arm deep within the recesses of the can probing for metal. It comes fished out with ease once in her grasp and the watering vessel returns to its tenuous perch upon the rail.

  Leanne, at my side, snakes her arm between the two of us to land the spike tipped baton on my arm. The spike runs, pushed into my flesh with no utterance of pain. The once tepid force of Leanne grows to force grand enough to melt flesh into metal as my skin stretches to abide by this insinuation of silver. The, until now absent burning plows through me. My entire arm immersed in the lick of flame from within. The burning asks for my unwilling scream and I refuse. The pleading turns to begging as my resistance wanes. Through sweat and tearing eye I see my te
st at hand, the spike blackening flesh, testing my strength in the belief of illusion. The cool touch of Leanne saps away my pain in exchange for something sweeter. The burning resolves into the luxurious petting by velvet, satin, and silk in some combination, the delicately close touch of silver. The spike slowly withdrawn to the closing and healing of my skin all shows that Leon and Leanne are no longer with us.

  I rise up from this throne of immeasurable pain to greet the oncoming test in the journey. Toppling spurned by the smallest of stones terminates in a watery sentence. The forthcoming deluge thwarted by some method, some mode, some force un-experienced still, transforming the very water underfoot. The expectation of landing in the coolly liquid aqueous solution ahead in exchange for the warmth, comfort of a mattress far removed from standard models resounds as the savior I’m looking for. Rolling to one distant edge delivers the just rewards for my misstep, the entanglement in the voluptuous vines. The indiscernible origin of my thoughts leads my polite request for freedom. The vines return my asking with a suitable reply of just a moment and my release. In a snake-like mannerism the vines unknot my trapped appendage. I get to my feet this time.

  The wretched chair meets my need for fiery revenge. My thoughts bring just a hint of life lending the chair to prance across the mattress as a horse of wood. The wood creature hovers above my finger struggling for freedom. I force it around and around at a thoughtless speed. To my astonishment, a part breaks as the caricature returns limping to its place.

  A cacophony of voices infringe on me, tuning out every instance near me. One individual utterance comes in focus sending the remainder to a sound vacuum within thought. The challenging echo requests acceptance of a formidable thrown gauntlet. Is my prowess sufficient to conquer even mastery over the very air? I take on this query with confirmation free from reservation, regret, and resistance. The rope descending form high above to this grounded location awaits my invitation. I take a hold of this flexible, slender rope by the loop that entwines my hand completely and inseparably.

  Whatever floating body culminates the end of this rope sees fit to pull me up to a great elevation. I hold on above every natural structure leaving this the realm of flying contraptions designed and build by the human civilization. I hang from my lifeline, figuratively and truly, in waiting for the real test. The voice comes to mind once more to instruct the novice. Release the foothold to life, release the burdens of fear and doubt, as you are now capable. I hang on bitterly to this restraint and to my chagrin the soft touch of fibers gives way to the sharp, biting, cutting of razors ripping and tearing into my flesh. The pain is far out of mind and thought, but a minuet twitch sends me sliding from the rope in a lubricant of blood.

  I’m thrown ground-ward by the inescapable gravity of the situation. My inner strength and voice speaks, undaunted by this as with anything, commanding me to stop this insanity. Are you testing yourself or killing yourself? Decide now! Killing is the answer. I absolutely cannot do this. I am not ready. Good answer Agent. I’m tumbling down, rolling over and over, everything comes to a halt, then resumes as a skipping record. Time repeats, time after time. The rope holds Jenna, Jenna freefalling to me, stopping my descent as time moves yet again. The stop is too much for my feeble mental strength and fortitude. Everything fades to blackout.

  (—)

  I wake up, unfazed to that startling experience, just only now a dream. The pitch black nature of this room resolves to the sight of my apartment. This puts me at ease. Everything is as it should be. The drift to sleep takes over.

  Noontime Highlights

  Mon 8/14/17 11:51 a.m.

  I just submitted the learning study to Dr. Mekova for approval. What about my next study? What other aspects assist accelerated learning, except happiness? Interest helps. The tech bringing new info feels almost like an epiphany. The effectiveness of learning comes from aptitude, interest in the topic, and intelligence. Interest doesn’t always follow aptitude.

  How to improve interest? More info shows up. Expanding knowledge on the topic brings about interest. This fosters finding an aspect of the subject pertaining to the individual’s interests. Other opinions? Focus on the student’s interests. Find different ways to teach the topic, so it caters to the students interests. A lot of studies pop up about this. Not a good option.

  I pace the back of my desk, which helps. Pacing started in my undergrad. Before that, I never needed to. I move back and forth with an even pace. Random thoughts at dead ends return search results, but I like it that way.

  Then aptitude. How to increase the individual’s aptitude? I go back to the first study about learning which flashes back the forgotten info. Increasing aptitude involves focusing on one set area for an extended period of time. Given enough time aptitude develops. Anything better? Focus on existing aptitude? Another: increasing interest leads aptitude. Fully researched.

  Intelligence. How to improve intelligence? Wait, first what produces intelligence? More processing power used for fast reasoning or error-checking. What else? Dead end. They quickly find better or more efficient ways to do mental tasks. The ability to visualize complex scenarios, common.

  What causes this difference? More efficient neural pathways in the brain. Increased neural plasticity as another trait found. In some cases, increased portions of the brain exhibit frontal and parietal lobe activation. Thoughts exist inside the frontal lobe, an ideal drafting table. The parietal lobe provides visualization. Makes sense. In a small percentage of cases, fewer redundant pathways stick around. The nervous system contains three or more redundant pathways for each function. Thoroughly answered.

  I take a break for lunch, get my food, and see Dr. Mekova sitting at the conference table next to three small plates of food, barely touched. Dr. Mekova says something and looks at her food. “Check, location check, food check, guests unchecked.”

  “Irena, what are you working on?” I put down my ceramic soup bowl and wide saucer filled with garlic buttered toast.

  Irena grips her fork and tries stabbing one of the cheese filled mushroom caps. “This is the going away party we are having for Zhou. How do you feel about Zhou leaving the Institute?” She finally manages cupping the mushroom in a spoon.

  “I have mixed feelings about it.” On one aide, I didn’t know him that well. I should feel nothing about him leaving. His history with Claire changes some things. "Actually, in all honesty, I’m glad he found a better opportunity. That’s how I feel.” A little too honest. I use the serrated edge of my enlarged grapefruit spoon, cutting a path through the baked-on top of my onion soup.

  Irena finishes chewing and prepares another one, testing its handability. “I take it you will be going, then.”

  “Yes.”

  Irena enters me into the guest list. “Has anything changed with you?”

  “I just finished my fitness program. A good experience. I learned so much about myself, my limits, and how much I can change.” I blow on the soup in my spoon with a bit of puff-pastry (baked-on top) and take in the submerged pastry for a sweet, slightly oniony, thickened mouth of ambrosia.

  “It sounds like it was grueling 5 weeks. It was 5 weeks, right?” Irena downs the remaining appetizer course, before moving the small plate of rice front and center.

  “Yes.”

  Claire joins us with plate of rice paper rolls, assembly required. “How are you going to keep it up?”

  “My trainer was awesome.”

  “Nice segue. Can we go back to the matter at hand, Conor?” Claire sprays the top rice paper circle with included solution so it turns clear.

  “I was getting to it, Claire. He gave me an exercise program to do at home. It requires 30 minutes of doing a two-point handstand.”

  Claire starts laughing at this.

  What is so funny? Claire has this annoying habit of laughing at the most inappropriate times.

  “Is that all at once or something? Just thinking about it makes me laugh.” She straightens out the row of steaming, roasted v
eggies along the center of the prepped circle.

  “No, it’s throughout the day. I’m not going to choke myself out.” The topping runs out and I switch to eating the garlic toast between spoons of soup.

  Claire drizzles a runny, peppery sauce over the stuffing, before rolling the rice paper and starting to eat. “What else are you supposed to do for exercise?”

  “It starts small. I can add more as needed. Right now, I’m also jogging 10 blocks. I’m going to keep challenging myself.”

  “Seriously, you’re doing a good job. Just keep it up.” Claire smiles as if suppressing laughter.

  “Claire, how is Zhou doing with the new job?” Irena spoons up rice stained with a dark broth, riddled with strips of spinach or something similar.

  “He’s excited. He got a job at the Windell Neural Center doing studies independently. Here he mostly assets others with their studies. It is just a small promotion, from S6 to S7.” Claire finishes the roll and readies another.

  “I'll expect you as well?” Irena crunches a banana (plantain) chip peppered with chili powder, before another mouth of rice with a deep yellow chunk of cauliflower.

  “Yes.” Claire speeds through the assembly of the next one.

  “Has anything changed since last night at Zensation?” I dredge the near-empty soup bowl with a piece of toast and scoop some onion filaments on.

  “Yes. Remember I was talking about conductance?”

  “Yes.” The crunch of the toasted bread feels satisfying after the soup runs out.

  “Could you explain it?” Irena finishes the rice and turns on the saved chips.

  “It is a new security protocol that can replace tech id in some places,” Claire responds.

  “Why isn’t that already being done?” Irena moves onto the plate of churros, actually just one.

  Seeing Irena eat makes me imagine what it tastes like. The hint of crusted on cinnamon sugar, the crispy/chewy fried batter… We discuss the whole conductance walkthrough from last night. Claire mentions working with Dr. Nigel Simmers (nanobiology techie) a few years ago, who now researches it across town. Gary enters and chimes in about knowing Nigel acting young and carefree at 70.