by Lucy Adler
“Listen to me carefully, Dr. Fielding,” Charlie continued. “You’re a smart guy. That’s why I chose you for this project. But do bear in mind that your title, ‘Doctor’, still only refers to your medical degree. If you’d like the chance of it ever meaning something more, then I suggest that you do as I say, and make do with what I give you. Is that clear?”
“Are you threatening me, Charles?”
“Do you feel threatened, Mike?”
“Fine, whatever,” the man said, shaking his head and focusing on the work in front of him.
“Excellent!” Charlie said, slapping him on the back. “I knew I picked the right man for the job. I believe in you, Dr. Fielding!” he laughed as he walked away.
____________________________
The following day, the weather was beautiful. The bright, golden sun was high in the mostly clear, blue sky. Only a handful of delightfully puffy clouds hung motionless over the city. The metal spire that adorned the top of the J. Astor Hospital on the south side of Progress sparkled in the unfiltered light of the early afternoon. The wall of windows, seven storeys high, that comprised the south-facing facade, reflected a perfect mirror image of the courtyard in front of it and the long, treelined drive that led from there to the gated entrance just off the main road. A dozen or so people were either climbing or descending the impressive marble staircase that added even more grandeur and gravitas to the structure and its setting.
“Ah, good afternoon, Dr. Reston! What brings you out to the Astor?”
“Hi, Deidre! You’re looking lovely today!” Charlie said as they shook hands beside a long reception desk just to the left of the main doors.
“Right!” the woman in the long robe scoffed, rolling her eyes. Her clothing wasn’t dissimilar to a nun’s habit, complete with its own modified coif and veil, all of which were perfectly laundered and spotlessly white.
“How are you getting on?” Charlie asked. “How’s the workload at the moment?”
“We’re keeping up with it,” she answered with a sigh. “It’s always such a shame when you receive new patients, of course.”
“Of course.”
“I mean, knowing that for all intents and purposes, this is it for them. Their final stop.” She looked down at the floor and shook her head, making a ticking noise with her mouth as she did. “I suppose you never get used to it. And, honestly, I’m glad it’s that way, you know? We shouldn’t take this lightly.”
“No, we definitely shouldn’t,” Charlie replied with a solemn expression.
“But then again, it’s for the best. We wouldn’t want their affliction to become a burden on society. It’s the merciful thing to do. Isn’t that right, doctor?”
They exchanged a knowing look, followed by a moment of silence before the woman changed the subject and smiled again.
“So, can I help you with something?”
“I just need access to patient records, actually. It’s for a Guild project.”
“You should be able to access those digitally, shouldn’t you? Aren’t we under the Institute’s oversight?”
“Yes, yes, you’re absolutely right. Unfortunately, the network at the CMI is having a bit of a hiccup today, I’m afraid. And I really must get this work done. So I figured, it’s a beautiful day, why not take a drive and get out of the office for the afternoon?”
“An excellent idea! Well, I think you know your way around. I’ll just let you at it, then,” she said with a wave of her hand toward the wide hallway at the back of the foyer.
“Thanks, Deidre. Always appreciated!” Charlie nodded.
His polished black wingtips clopped along the shiny white floor, each footstep echoing down the sterile corridor. There was nothing adorning the walls except small placards beside each door that he passed. They were red with the room number printed at the the top in gold, and another number written below in erasable black marker. A nurse or a doctor occasionally emerged from one of the rooms, shutting the doors quietly behind them as they gave Charlie a polite smile and continued on their way.
He rode the lift up two floors before he eventually came to the hall that led to the Records Room. It wasn’t a dusty room filled with old-fashioned filing cabinets, but a bright, clean space with a sleek bank of computer monitors mounted along one of the walls.
Charlie approached the furthest screen in the back corner. He tapped it several times, then typed some parameters into the search fields. He browsed the results, flicking through file after file. Patients’ names and numbers popped up one after the other, as did their picture from the day they were admitted. Then came medical images from scans and x-rays. Charlie took a little longer with these, examining the common element in each of them.
The purple glow.
He tapped the screen, zooming in here and there to get a better idea of the extent and coverage of each patient’s affliction.
Then he stumbled upon one that gave him pause.
He raised his left eyebrow as his lips formed a half-smile without him really thinking about it.
“You’ll do nicely,” he whispered. Then he repeated the patient number and corresponding room number to himself several times, so he wouldn’t forget.
“06479. Room 635.”
____________________________
The door opened softly.
He slipped through and then closed it again behind him.
It was a simple, square room, with one window that was covered in thin white curtains. Only a fraction of the sun’s light made it through them. The faint hum and intermittent beeping of medical apparatus were the only sounds, apart from the clip-clop of Charlie’s wingtips on the spotless white floor.
He stood beside the bed and stared down at the man lying perfectly still in it. Blankets were pulled up just below his chin. His black hair was thick in places and falling out in others. His brow was creased and his cheeks slightly wrinkled. No one would have guessed that he was only twenty-six years old.
“You’re not looking well, are you Mr. 06479?” Charlie said, placing his hand on the patient’s shoulder. “How about we get you out of here, eh?”
The man’s eyes were closed. He didn’t respond, not even with a twitch.
In one corner of the room was a collapsed wheelchair, tucked away between a bookcase and the adjacent wall.
Charlie pulled it out and expanded it to its proper shape. Then he rolled it up beside the bed.
It took some effort but he was eventually able to move the man and secure him in an upright position in the chair.
“There we go!” Charlie said with a huff. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
The patient was still unresponsive.
“Alright. Let’s get you to your new home, shall we?” Then Charlie leaned down and whispered in his ear. “And just between you and me, the food’s much better at the Institute!”
____________________________
“Here you go.”
“So what was all that ‘make do’ talk then? Where’d you --” Mike started to ask, then stopped himself. “Never mind.”
He stared at the vial he had just received.
“Wait a minute, Charles,” he called out as Charlie was about to leave the lab.
“What is it?”
“Are you sure this is the same stuff?”
“Why?”
“Well, it’s noticeably cloudier than the previous lots, wouldn’t you agree?” Mike said, holding it up closer to the light.
“I know. Just see if you can work with it. Alright?”
“Sure.”
Charlie left the lab and made his way down the hall, then down a flight of stairs and around the corner to a different room. This new lab had a high ceiling with a mezzanine level enclosed in glass that acted as a sort of observation deck. And in the middle of the room was a chair with a man strapped in it.
“How are we today, 06479?”
There was no response. Only the beeping of a few pieces of monitoring equipment that had been att
ached to the man.
Charlie paced around the chair with his hands folded behind his back.
“It seems as though your ‘reserves’, shall we say, aren’t yielding the highest quality resources. Why do you suppose that is?”
Silence.
“Would you like another chance to prove yourself, 06479?”
Charlie stopped and leaned over him, staring at the man’s closed eyelids.
“I thought so! You’re a good sport, aren’t you?”
He unzipped his black bag and pulled out the device he had used more than once on his wife.
The blue lights came to life. He shifted the man’s head to the side and pressed the cylinder to the top of his neck.
The device whirred softly and Charlie waited patiently.
Eventually, the blue lights flickered and the procedure was complete. He pulled it away, releasing the man’s head to flop back into its resting position. Then he popped open the side of the cylinder and removed the vial lodged inside it.
Charlie held it up to the light.
He frowned and shook his head.
“Mike is right, I’m afraid. But why? Why aren’t you as ‘pure’ as Lena? Is this a normal thing? Do you people... how shall I put it? Vary in quality, like cuts of meat?”
He stared down at his patient again.
“Well, we’ll keep you around for a while and see if you might be good enough, I suppose.”
Then he returned the device to his bag, switched off the lights, and left 06479 alone in the dark.
____________________________
It was a typical monthly meeting for The Guild. They were held in the same banquet hall where Charlie had first been inducted. Of course, it wasn’t decked out as nicely now as it had been that night. Just a dozen or so tables with eight or ten people around each one, and a small podium at the front. The meal was still somewhat extravagant, by Progress standards, as it included a hearty dessert and two rounds of champagne. But the Doctors felt they deserved it.
“So, how’s it all coming along, Charles? Will we be making any big announcements this year?” one of the men at the table asked. His old face was worn yet eager with anticipation.
“I really can’t say for sure yet.”
“But you are making progress, aren’t you?”
“Of course, of course!” Charlie assured him. “Definitely much closer than we’ve ever been before. Much closer.”
“Good, good,” the older man said, nodding and taking another sip of his champagne. “We chose you for this project on purpose, Charles. You know that. Don’t screw it up, eh?” he laughed. The rest of the table laughed along with him, though it was clear that the warning hadn’t been entirely lighthearted.
After various bits of news and updates were shared from the front of the room, and the meal drew to a close, the attendees began mingling with one another before the meeting was officially adjourned. Charlie made it a point to find the older man from earlier and pull him aside for a moment.
“What is it, Charles?”
“I’ve been meaning to speak with you about something. I’ve had an idea and I was curious if it might be an item for Guild consideration.”
“Go on, then,” the man said with a nod.
“Well, we’ve known for quite some time now that sleepers exhibit the Luminescence in their brains, as you so aptly dubbed it all those years ago. You know, I still remember that publication. Fine work! Fine, indeed! That got you the chancellorship of the Guild, didn’t it?”
“Please tell me you haven’t pulled me aside to flatter me, Charles.”
“No, of course not. Anyway, I’ve had a theory. What if we were able to extract something of the substance that creates the Luminescence? It could afford us a massive leap forward in developing the cure if we were able to test our compounds directly on the most resistant part of the population. I was thinking tha--”
“Stop right there,” the old man interrupted him. “You’ve obviously forgotten my other work. We’ve already tried that, or have you not read The Mind of the Sleeper? Now that’s what really secured me the chancellorship!” he laughed.
“Oh, I’ve read it. Twice, in fact,” Charlie replied. “But we’ve only ever analysed the brains of deceased sleepers. What I was thinking was --”
“Come now, Charles,” the man interrupted again. “You know that’s illegal. The Guild has great power, it’s true. But the Senate has been clear about the limitations of experimentation on living subjects. We’re building a better world, that’s for sure. And easing their passing from this life is one thing. But there are still a handful of lines we mustn’t cross.”
“But what if I told you there was a way to extract the substance with little to no impact? A little ‘tool’ I’ve been developing for a while now. The patient would experience nothing, nothing at all. Well, except for a slight itching sensation.”
The older man squinted and cocked his head to the side.
“And how would you know that? About the itching sensation?”
“Theoretical, based on irritation to the skin resulting from similar, acceptable procedures. I assure you,” Charlie said with a wave of his hand.
The man looked skeptical but he indulged him nevertheless.
“I’ll agree that it would certainly be a great boon to our research. However, there’s one major problem. I can assure you that the Senate will require that your subjects consent to any such treatment. You won’t be able to sneak into their bedroom or kidnap some unsuspecting sleeper in broad daylight!” the man laughed.
“No, of course not. That would be ridiculous!” Charlie laughed along with him.
“So, I can’t see how it would work.”
“Why’s that?”
“Think about it, Charles. You’d either have to inform someone that they’re really a sleeper when their daily dose of Sendrax is already keeping them well under control - or you’d have to find one of the patients at the hospitals who already knows they’re a sleeper and get them to agree to let you poke and prod them in an effort to make sure that people like them are fully suppressed in the future. Good luck with that! Once they’re at that stage, they’ve experienced something of the dangerous power - and delusion - that comes with the Luminescence. And there’s no way on earth they’d consent to helping you blot it out for good. They think they’re ‘special’, you know. Sad creatures,” he added, shaking his head.
Charlie looked defeated as he stared down at the floor and nodded in agreement.
“Oh, but speaking of kidnapping sleepers,” the man continued, changing the subject, “did you hear about a patient that went missing from Astor a couple weeks back?”
“Uh, no, no I haven’t.”
“Strange business. Probably the family. They sometimes do that when they’re overwhelmed by the grief of it all. And I can understand it, I suppose. You grow attached to someone, thinking they’re one way. And even when you find out they’re something altogether different, there’s still a part of you that feels that connection. But it’s just nostalgia, isn’t it? Just a silly, wishful grasping after a past you can never return to. Take it from an old man, there’s no point looking back. Press on, Charles! Press on! The future’s where it’s all happening!”
And with that, the old man grabbed him by both shoulders and held him tightly, staring right into his eyes.
“Let’s find this cure, eh?” he said, like a coach giving his star player a pep talk. “But do it right! I don’t want to hear about any ‘outside the box’ procedures, is that understood?”
“But didn’t patients die during the early days of Sendrax’s development?” Charlie replied, staring back at him calmly.
“Ah, but none of them participated in those trials under false pretences or by coercion. Those early deaths were tragedies, yes, but the patients knew the risks.”
“Are you sure about that?”
The old man pulled him closer now. Charlie could smell his breath as he spoke, and it wasn’t pleasa
nt.
“The last thing we need is a scandal. We can’t give those sleepers - those animals - any justification for stirring up dissent and unrest the way they did in the early days of the Final Renaissance. Do you understand me? The public is on our side. Let’s keep it that way.”
Charlie nodded but didn’t say anything.
“Besides,” the man continued with a smile, “with your brilliant mind, you should have no trouble coming up with the cure!”
He gave him another slap on the shoulder again as he started to walk away.
But before he disappeared into the crowd, he called back one last time.
“And of course, when you do, that may very well be what gets you the chancellorship!”
20
Year: 50
(10 years ago)
CHOICES
(PART II)
“Well, wish me luck!”
“You hate these meetings. Why are you worried?”
“I’m hoping to have a chat with the Chancellor about some innovations I’d like to propose. He can be a bit stodgy, that one!”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Lena said as she straightened Charlie’s tie. “He worked with Caxton and Meyers themselves at one point, didn’t he? They wouldn’t have teamed up with someone that wasn’t a ‘forward thinker’.”
“That was four decades ago, dear! People change. Especially once they’re comfortable and secure in a position of power!”
“What are you, some kind of rebel?” Lena laughed. “Since when do you care about power? I thought all you cared about was your work and the cure?”
“Of course, that’s still the main point of everything. I guess I’ve just been feeling a bit...”
He took a deep breath and stared off across the living room. Then he snapped out of it and gave her a smile.
“It’s nothing, really,” he said, kissing her on the cheek.
She touched his face with her hand as she replied.