To the Stars -- And Beyond

by Robert Reginald

  Randal Haug, Blanche’s expensive attorney and longtime friend of her late husband Ralph, leaned over his expansive desk to study the document there, and thumped it with a finger.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Not one red cent. The last version I saw had you down for over two million in stocks and property alone. What happened between you and Helen?”

  Blanche’s fingers twisted together in her lap. “I don’t know. We saw a lot of each other until a few years ago. I think it started when Fred died. Helen was a recluse for months after that, but Arthur was there to comfort her. Dear Arthur, her baby-boy. Fred didn’t leave him a dime; it all went to Helen. Even then, she designated a portion of the estate for me; we’d talked about establishing a foundation to support local performing arts. I know Arthur opposed that. I heard him say so. The man is a financier, an accountant. He exists solely in his left brain.”

  “You think Arthur has manipulated his mother into changing her will?”

  “I do.”

  “For what purpose? The bulk of the estate was left to him in the older version of the will, and he’s an independently wealthy man without it. You don’t need the money. Ralph left you, what, twenty-five million? Fifty? I can’t recall now.”

  Blanche’s voice rose in pitch. “It’s not the money, Randal. Not money for me, that is, but Helen and I had a foundation planned, and suddenly I’ll have to do it alone while that son of hers puts all her money back into the company that has mutilated her for no reason. Cost, indeed! My sister would never have allowed her head to be removed and her body destroyed just to save a measly hundred thousand each year. They say it’s in her contract, then tell me I can’t see the thing to verify it. There’s something sinister about this, Randal, and I want you to get to the bottom of it! I’m thinking of filing a Wrongful Death suit against both the company and Arthur Winslow. Murder would be harder to prove.”

  “You’re not serious,” said Randal.

  “I have inside sources. As of last Tuesday, Arthur owns twenty percent of Advanced Technologies. The buy he made Tuesday had to come from his inheritance; my sources can list the stocks he traded. We can link them to Helen’s holdings. We have a motive, Randal. The method is harder to prove.”

  Randal seemed suddenly interested, and drummed the fingers of his right hand on the desktop, then pointed at Blanche and said, “I can write that in a way to force a Show Cause Hearing before a judge. But if I get one, will you accept the judgment? If it goes against you, will you drop all of this? Helen was also my friend, Blanche, and I think she’d be very unhappy with me for dragging her son into court. Arthur has always struck me as being smart and hard-working. I don’t think he’d do what you’re suggesting here. He could just be making what he considers to be a wise investment with his inheritance. You have no physical evidence for anything else.”

  “You’re not being supportive, Randal,” said Blanche softly. “You’ve been my lawyer for years, but that can end right now.”

  Randal didn’t even flinch. “It will end right now if you don’t answer my question. Will you accept any judgment of a Show Cause Hearing? If not, then find yourself another lawyer.”

  Blanche glared at him. She did not like being pressured by hired help, but she needed the man. “If I’m convinced my sister wasn’t murdered, I’ll not press for anything beyond the judgment of a hearing,” she said.

  “Good,” said Randal, then closed the file on his desk and gently hammered on it with a fist. “Let’s go to court.”

  * * * *

  The call came late at night, when Blanche was preparing for bed. The kitchen help had left for the night, and Paula had retired to her basement bedroom after leaving a warm brandy and a cookie on the nightstand for her mistress. So when the telephone rang, Blanche picked it up quickly so Paula would not be awakened.

  It was Arthur Winslow.

  “I was served with a summons this afternoon. Wrongful Death? Have you totally lost your mind?”

  “It’s only a hearing, Arthur,” said Blanche. “There are questions to be answered before I proceed with further litigation.”

  “For what? This is all about mom’s will, isn’t it? All the money you have, and you’re greedy for more. That’s why mom cut you out of it in the first place. You don’t need more!”

  “It isn’t about money,” said Blanche. “My sister died under mysterious circumstances, and I want them explained.”

  “You’re nuts! Paranoid! Do you know what this hearing can do to my business if it gets into the papers?”

  “That’s nonsense. I’m just trying to—”

  “You’ve always been a greedy bitch. Mom told me so. You were always after her to finance your social butterfly events, even when dad was alive. He went along with it. Well, I don’t. You badgered mom for money when she was alive, and now you’re doing it when she’s dead. Finance your own social status, and leave us alone!”

  The cell phone clicked in Blanche’s ear.

  “That’s not fair,” she said, but Arthur was gone.

  * * * *

  A Show Cause Hearing was held in the court of Judge James Maxwell on a Friday. A team of lawyers from the firm of Abercrombie, Nels, and Faber represented both Advanced Technologies and Arthur Winslow. They requested a private hearing in judge’s chambers. Randal Haug opposed the request, arguing that the public had a right to know about the operations of the company. Judge Maxwell compromised when Advanced Technologies rebutted by saying that in order to adequately defend themselves it might be necessary to reveal company proprietary information related to pending patents.

  The hearing was held in court, but was closed to all but participants on that Friday. Arthur arrived in financier’s uniform, his pudgy, soft body encased in a finely tailored woolen suit that made him indistinguishable from his lawyers. They sat behind one table, Blanche and Randal behind another, facing the bench. There was a bailiff, court reporter, and physicians who could be called as witnesses. They all arose when Judge Maxwell entered court in the matter of Packard vs. Winslow and Industrial Technologies re the Wrongful Death of Helen Winslow.

  Maxwell was in his fifties, respected by his peers, and known as a no-nonsense judge who got right to the point without theatrics. “This is a hearing, not a trial,” he told them. “I don’t want to hear objections, or attempts to withhold evidence. I do want to hear reasons why this issue should, or should not, go to trial, and I am confidant we can accomplish all of this today. Mister Haug, it’s your serve.”

  Randal smiled, and arose chuckling at the judge’s reference to his devotion to tennis. His opposition sat glumly silent.

  Haug outlined his case: the mysterious death, an unseen contract, the bizarre beheading and storage of a client with only a son’s knowledge of what was happening, and that son a major investor in Advanced Technologies, Incorporated. He demanded proof that all had been done according to the wishes of Helen Charlston Winslow, that she had indeed been dead before decapitation, and that an autopsy be ordered to prove cerebral hemorrhage as the cause of death.

  Arthur Winslow stared straight ahead, and never made direct eye contact with Blanche. The spokesman for the legal team at his table, a wiry, little man named Richard Camus, described Arthur as a loving son whose mother had died in his arms, a devoted son who made sure her every wish was carried out by rushing her to a laboratory for preservation and hopeful rejuvenation in the future. Helen Winslow herself had had a long-term interest in their work, contributing considerable funds for the development of new technologies in the freezing and rejuvenation processes.

  “Your Honor, we doubt that a loving son would allow his mother’s body to be mutilated if he wanted her to be rejuvenated in the future,” said Randal Haug.

  “The head was the relevant part of the body in question, and there was considerable cost savings in preservation,” rebutted Camus for the defense.

  Haug snorted rudely. “The woman had a cerebral hemorrhage, we’re told. It seems the rest of her body was fi
ne, and you have disposed of that part of her when she could easily afford the cost. I don’t accept that, and neither will a jury.”

  “It was all in her contract,” said Camus.

  “Then let’s see it,” returned Haug.

  There was a long silence. Camus whispered to his colleagues, and Arthur leaned over to listen, frowning.

  “As written, contracts with our clients include company confidential information on procedures, and the medical conditions they’re applied to. Patents pending approval can be put at risk by public exposure, but the client approves each step of the procedure, and company-sensitive information must be included in the contract.”

  Judge Maxwell smiled, and looked at Haug.

  “Then let’s go to trial so I can subpoena the contract and any other admissible documents I need for my case,” said Haug. “Your Honor, this is a possible felony case. I have the right to know if legal procedures were followed during and after the death of Helen Winslow, and if those procedures were indeed according to her will.”

  Judge Maxwell folded his hands in front of him, and looked down at Richard Camus. “The contract is admissible, counselor. Your patents are applied for, and protected under patent law. Why the resistance?”

  “I’ve just explained that, Your Honor,” said Camus.

  “I see. Well, let me explain something to you. I’m a simple man who likes simple solutions to problems. I’ve studied the briefs you gentlemen have submitted on behalf of your clients. The mystery is clear enough to justify further investigation at the least, and it seems to me we could learn a lot by having a look at that contract. We can learn even more by ordering the autopsy requested by Counselor Haug in his brief. Now, if I see nothing to substantiate a claim of Wrongful Death, there’s no reason to move forward with a long and expensive trial. We could all be home in time for lunch, so to speak. Showing us the contract makes a lot of sense, counselor. What do you think?”

  “I don’t want to set a new precedent, Your Honor,” said Camus. Arthur was pulling at the man’s sleeve, whispering something.

  “No precedents to be set, counselor. This is a hearing. We’re seeking evidence to justify a trial.”

  Haug and Blanche had been hastily conferring, and Blanche nodded her head.

  “Your Honor,” said Haug, “my client will not pursue a request for an autopsy and will drop her charges if she’s satisfied with the contents of her sister’s contract with Advanced Technologies.”

  Arthur and his attorneys conferred again, and there was obvious disagreement. Arthur slapped his hand on the table to emphasize a point. Finally, Camus cleared his throat and said, “We did not come prepared to show the contract, Your Honor, but we can have copies brought here if it’s absolutely necessary. We feel it’s in the interest of all parties to avoid the expense and publicity of a trial.”

  Judge Maxwell checked his watch. “It’s nearly ten. We will resume at one. I expect Counselor Haug will have at least an hour to study the contract and formulate his questions. One way or another, I hope we’re going to settle this today.” He smiled down on them all. “Coffee time,” he said, and banged his gavel lightly.

  * * * *

  “No wonder they didn’t want us to see it,” said Blanche. “This is not only outrageous, but obscene. Helen would never have agreed to this.”

  “You agree that’s her signature?”

  “Yes, it looks like it. Signatures can be forged, Randal.”

  “I doubt it here, Blanche. I think you’ll have to accept that Helen was involved as a subject for experimentation with Advanced Technologies before her death, and what’s happening now is an extension of that work.”

  “What work?”

  “Good question. Whatever it is has to be approved by Arthur Winslow, but otherwise, ‘my body can be used in any form or for any purpose within the AINI project.’ That’s both vague and specific. We have to find out what AINI means. It’s the only unknown. Otherwise, Helen has allowed them to do anything they want with her after her death.”

  “Then they brainwashed her to get her money. This AINI thing is probably part of it.”

  “We can still argue for an autopsy,” said Randal, “but my bet is she died the way they said she did. And seeing the contract hasn’t strengthened our case, Blanche; it’s weakened it. They’ve documented Helen’s total consent to the procedure. All we can do is try to show that consent was somehow forced out of her.”

  They were sitting on a bench outside the courtroom. Arthur came down the hall with his entourage behind him, and Blanche glared at him.

  Arthur broke away from the group. Camus made a grab for his arm, but missed. Arthur headed straight for Blanche. Randal stood up, prepared to defend her, but Arthur stopped short. His round face was flushed, and he posed angrily, hands on hips. Blanche had a sudden urge to laugh at him.

  “Well, I suppose you’re still not satisfied,” said Arthur.

  “We might be, if you tell us what the AINI project is,” said Randal.

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “It might be if it involves coercion and fraud. Let’s see what the judge thinks.”

  “Monster,” said Blanche, “you’ve been allowing experiments with the body of your own mother.”

  “You don’t know anything,” shouted Arthur. “Mother would be furious if she heard you say that!”

  Camus arrived, and pulled Arthur back. “You won’t accomplish anything by this. They don’t have a case,” he said.

  “We’ll see,” said Randal.

  Blanche smiled, pleased by Arthur’s boyish rage. “You always got away with tantrums when you didn’t get your way, dear. If you’d been mine, I wouldn’t have allowed it.”

  “How fortunate you weren’t able to have children,” snarled Arthur.

  “Arthur, please!” Camus pulled him away backwards by both arms.

  “No! This has to stop here. I’m going to have my AINI unit brought in for testimony. It’ll settle everything once and for all.”

  “The patents, Arthur. We can’t—”

  “The patents are filed, and the hearing is closed. If anything leaks to the press we’ll sue her for everything she has. Let me go!” Arthur twisted in Camus’ grip, and broke it.

  “Wait for me here. I need to make a private call.” Arthur turned to Blanche and pointed a shaking finger at her. “Now you’re going to get it!”

  Everyone was amazed as Arthur stormed away from them. For one instant, Randal Haug and Richard Camus were sympathetic colleagues. Randal shrugged his shoulders in dismay, and Camus said, “What can I do? The funding was his, and he has the authority. The board, of course, will blame me.”

  Randal shook his head sadly. Blanche was mystified by everything she’d just heard.

  Two hours later, she understood everything.

  * * * *

  “What’s all this?” asked Judge Maxwell, after he’d seated himself. He gestured at a large, black screen and computer console with projection system that had been set up along one wall of the courtroom. Two fisheye cameras mounted on the console pointed outwards into the room.

  “My client wishes to perform a demonstration he feels will clear up this entire matter, Your Honor,” said Camus.

  “Any objections to this, Counselor Haug?”

  “No, Your Honor. The only questions we have regarding the contract relate to details about the AINI project, and we’re told the demonstration will answer those questions.”

  “Good. You may proceed, Counselor Camus.”

  “Ah, the demonstration will be given by Arthur Winslow. He’s familiar with the technology, and has been using it on a regular basis since his mother’s death.”

  Maxwell looked at Haug.

  “No problem, Your Honor.”

  Arthur stood up, adjusted the knot on his tie and walked to the computer, turned, cleared his throat and folded his hands together over his stomach.

  “The apparatus behind me houses what we call the AINI
Model 10. By AINI we mean ‘Artificially Intelligent-Neural Integration.’ It is basically a combination of a brain that stores data and a learning center that can synthesize new data from old. In other words, it’s an artificial intelligence system with a solid state brain made up of rare-earth-impregnated-carbon-nanotubes.”

  Arthur opened two doors at the base of the console, revealing what looked like a solid cube of silver metal. “This is the brain.”

  Everyone looked at him blankly, searching for understanding and relevance. “Rubbish,” muttered Blanche, and Arthur heard her.

  He glared straight at her, closed the console doors behind him, and softly said, “It’s my mother’s brain, now, and if you’ll listen I’ll tell you how that happened.”

  Blanche gasped. Randal squeezed her arm, and hushed her.

  Arthur blushed, and his voice quavered. “It all started with the Josephson Junction SQUID arrays to map magnetic storms in the brains of epileptics, but as resolution increased, our scientists began to see repeated neural current patterns related to specific thoughts, especially in memory recollection. We were soon down to the neuron level in resolution. Each memory, each thought, is a definite, three-dimensional current pattern in real time. It’s like scanning a picture, and this is what AINI does, building up a library of memories and thoughts that can be reassembled by an AI system to satisfy any scenario.”

  Arthur’s voice cracked. He seemed to be struggling, and took out a handkerchief to wipe his forehead. His eyes were suddenly quite moist.

  “It was my mother who came up with the idea of using AINI to store more than the body of someone you loved when they died.”

  Arthur choked, cleared his throat again, and blew his nose with the handkerchief. Blanche rolled her eyes, and sighed.

  “She was interested in many things, and she’d had a series of small strokes, little blackouts that frightened her. We were so close. She heard about the freezing process at Advanced Technologies. If something bad happened, we wanted to have hope. Medicine is advancing fast, and then the people at Advanced Tech told us about AINI. They were looking for human subjects for testing. And Mother volunteered her time and her money.”