Persistence of Vision

by Liesel K. Hill

  Marcus gave her an understanding look. “So did I.”

  Their eyes met. Lila looked back to include Karl in the unspoken understanding.

  “Maggie,” Lila finally said, “I’m so glad to see you. I know you don’t know us, so you’ll have to excuse us if we seem a little too…acquainted with you. I’m Lila. I know we’ll be great friends.”

  Maggie didn’t know how to answer. She hadn’t stepped back when Lila moved to hug her, but she’d wanted to. Not that Lila was physically intimidating—she was no larger than Maggie was—but after running for her life, Maggie’s nerves were frazzled. Yet Lila seemed friendly, and Maggie didn’t want to be rude.

  “How do you know that we’ll be friends?” She kept any malice out of her voice.

  It was Karl’s deep, rumbling voice that answered. “Because we all were before.”

  “Come.” Marcus took Maggie’s hand and pulled her into the mountain.

  Lila led the way down the stone staircase. Karl entered last, doing something Maggie couldn’t see to shut the entrance behind them.

  “Going to reintroduce her to everyone, then?” he asked.

  “Not yet,” Marcus answered. “She needs to see Doc first.”

  “Not hurt, are you Maggie?” There was concern in Karl’s voice.

  “We’re both fine,” Marcus chimed in for her. “It’s just a precaution. Anyway, he’s the best one to explain things to her.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” It was dark, and Karl’s voice came from high above her. “I’ll see you later then, Maggie.”

  She felt like he wanted her to answer. “Al-all right.”

  She and Marcus passed Lila, who waited at the base of the staircase. She flashed Maggie an encouraging smile, but Maggie couldn’t return it. Marcus was pulling her by the hand into the darkness.

  Disturbed as she was by her surroundings, she was more disturbed by the fact that the familiar pressure of Marcus’s hand closing over hers was somewhat comforting.

  The staircase had been shallow, leading down for only eight or ten feet. They reached a smooth landing, which turned into a ramp that sloped slowly but steadily upward. They were heading into the higher elevations of the mountain.

  The underground bunker was laid out simply. The corridor they were in seemed to act as a central traffic lane. It was large—enough for three or four people abreast—and other rooms and hallways led off from it. There was no way to tell where the other passages led or how large the entire structure was, but Maggie peered into rooms as they passed.

  She expected to find something akin to the bridge of the Enterprise, but it was nothing like that. The corridor was dank, musty, and humid like a cave, though she couldn’t perceive any moisture. The lighting was terrible. She could see, but it was like dusk when it’s too early to turn on lights but just dark enough that it’s difficult to see.

  In the rooms was equipment she couldn’t identify that she was certain hadn’t been invented yet. Rather than the colorful, flashing lights she expected to see on an otherworldly craft, the strange equipment gleamed dully in the dim light like cast iron. Not pretty, not colorful, but imposing.

  After walking uphill for an eternity, her calves burning the slow rot of hot coals, Marcus stopped in front of a doorway. There was neither a door nor partition of any kind over it, just as there hadn’t been over any of the others. Marcus tightened his grip on her hand and towed her behind him through the doorway.

  To Maggie’s astonishment, the room was ablaze with light. It wasn’t a censored light that came on when they entered the room. The lights were already on when she came in.

  Twisting around to look behind her, Maggie found exactly what she thought she would: an unprotected doorway separating this room from the dark corridor. The illumination from this room could not be seen in the corridor. There should have been a doorway-shaped bar of light falling on the opposite wall. There wasn’t.

  All these contradictions were giving her a headache.

  She looked at Marcus and found him smiling down at her. “She’s really forgotten everything, Doc.”

  A man about Marcus’s height but much older with white, shoulder-length hair and a well-groomed salt-and-pepper beard was sitting on a chair behind a desk.

  “Did you expect anything less, Marcus?”

  Marcus shook his head. “I suppose not. I just didn’t realize how far reaching it would be.”

  The older man nodded then got up and came around the desk, extending his hand. “I’m Johann Carver, Maggie, but everyone calls me Doc. I’d appreciate it if you’d do the same. Welcome to Interchroniter.” His clothes were similar to Marcus’s—earthy tones and plainly cut—and around his neck he wore a delicate chain. A pendant with a whirl on it lay in the small of his throat.

  Maggie took his hand uncertainly. Both her surroundings and these people were completely alien to her. She’d been attacked in her home, witnessed a man’s death, then been chased through the mountains by what could only be described as homicidal psychopaths. And here these men were, shaking hands as though attending a business meeting.

  Yet they were so calm, genuine, even friendly, that she would have felt strange to refuse.

  “Inter-what-iter?”

  “Interchroniter. It’s the name of this mountain compound we inhabit. You’ll hear abbreviated forms of it like Chron or Interchron, but I try to reiterate the full name whenever I can.”

  Doc’s smile was kind, his eyes understanding.

  “I know this has been a difficult day for you, Maggie. I can only imagine what you must think. Please, take a seat, and we’ll do our best to answer your questions.”

  Doc motioned her to a chair beside the desk. He sat in one opposite her. Marcus remained standing by the door.

  The room wasn’t large, no larger than the master bedroom of Maggie’s house, but the white lights made it seem bigger. Long tubes the circumference of baseball bats coiled around the room near the ceiling and emanated the light. They were unlike any light source Maggie had ever seen before.

  A twin-sized cot sat in the corner, and the rest of the room, other than the desk, was lined with more dull, unfamiliar equipment.

  Her eyes swept around the room and came back to rest on Doc. She found him studying her intently.

  “Well,” he said, repositioning in his chair. “Where to begin?”

  “Actually, Doc,” Marcus spoke up, “why don’t we start with what she…remembers?”

  “I just told you, Marcus, she won’t remember anything.”

  “But she does,” Marcus’s voice was quiet. “She remembers me.”

  Doc looked at Maggie, raising an eyebrow. “Do you?”

  Maggie was unsure how to answer. She had no idea who Marcus was, after all. She remembered him from Vegas, but what did that really amount to? “No.”

  Doc gave Marcus an annoyed look, and Marcus raised his hands defensively. “She doesn’t know who I am, Doc, but she remembers seeing me in Vegas.” He said the word “seeing” as though it tasted funny.

  Doc looked at Maggie again.

  She nodded, and the older man sat back in his chair, looking poleaxed.

  “Doc”—Marcus’s voice was still hushed—“how is that possible?”

  Doc didn’t look at Marcus. He was studying Maggie in a calculating way. “I have no idea.”

  Chapter 6: Explanations

  After several minutes of silence, Maggie could stand it no longer.

  “Is someone gonna tell me what’s going on, or are we just going to sit here and stare at each other?”

  Doc smiled, glancing behind her to Marcus. Maggie turned to see him looking amused. Marcus saw her glaring, took on a chastened look, and directed his gaze to the floor.

  “I’m sorry, Maggie,” Doc said. “I know you have numerous questions. I will endeavor to answer them all. But we have a few questions for you as well. Why don’t you start by telling me everything you remember of what happened in Vegas?”

  Maggie
regarded him with suspicion. Marcus had been in Vegas, of that she was sure. They were surprised that she remembered that. Didn’t logic suggest that these were the people responsible for what happened to her? It must have been sinister, and yet here she was at their mercy and answering their questions!

  Doc seemed to sense her reservations and leaned forward, putting a hand over hers.

  “I know this is confusing, Maggie, but if you’ll just trust me a bit further, I’ll explain everything.”

  Maggie knew she ought to object, but what could she do? She’d come this far. Besides, her curiosity for the answers they would give was too strong to ignore. With a sigh, she related what happened in Vegas as she remembered it, beginning with seeing Marcus and ending with the fruitless police investigation.

  She left out a few details, such as how she felt when Marcus grabbed her arm and the fact that he’d said her name and cried. It might be embarrassing for him, but more importantly, it would be embarrassing for her!

  When she finished, there was silence. Minutes passed. Maggie was annoyed.

  “So we’re back to silence again?”

  Doc smiled at her, but it was Marcus that spoke.

  “Does that make any sense to you, Doc?”

  Maggie turned toward him with indignation. What? He didn’t believe her? Doc was sitting right in front of her and must have seen her angry response, but he answered Marcus in a detached way.

  “Not any linear sense, but we’re not dealing with linear time, are we? In view of everything, I daresay it almost…fits.”

  “How?”

  Maggie didn’t look at Marcus when he spoke, though she’d nearly chimed in with the same question.

  Doc looked like he would venture an explanation then shook his head. “I’m not sure. I can’t vouch for the science of it. I’ll have to look up some things…” He trailed off, looking at the walls of his office as though he was a professor and there were books lining the walls.

  A few strange, flat panels that resembled flat-screen TVs were all that adorned the walls. If they were electronic, their condition suggested that they’d stopped working years ago.

  “For now”—Doc sat forward and clapped his hands together—“we owe Maggie some answers.”

  Maggie leaned forward eagerly, but Doc sat staring at the ground for several seconds. She considered slapping the guy.

  “Forgive me, Maggie,” he said. “I’m trying to decide where to begin. Before I do, I must ask you two favors. The first is patience. I will allow you to ask questions as we go along, but I may not answer them right away.”

  Maggie nodded, dreading what was sure to be a long explanation.

  “Second, please wait until the end of my story before you dismiss any of it. Based on where you’ve come from, it’s going to sound quite fantastical to you. I appeal to your good sense—which I know you have—as well as to your excellent judgment of people and the world, which I’ve seen firsthand.”

  She opened her mouth to object, but he raised a hand. “I know that makes no sense to you, but that is exactly what I mean. Let me tell my story. We will address any additional questions you have afterward. Agreed?”

  Not seeing much of a choice, Maggie nodded, willing him to get on with it.

  “You were born sometime near the end of the twentieth century, is that right?”

  Maggie frowned. “Yes.”

  “Not many years from now, then, uh… What I mean to say is that in your not very distant future, a man by the name of—well, I suppose his name is not important. A man we’ll call…Smith will be born. He’ll be one of the foremost minds in the study of the neurological field.”

  Maggie almost interjected but remembered that she’d promised to be patient. Scowling, she held her tongue.

  “In your time, the human genome has been mapped, but the human brain, specifically, has not. Tell me, Maggie, what do you know of the human brain?”

  Maggie had once entertained thoughts of entering the medical field. She’d even taken anatomy and psychology classes in college. She was no doctor, but she knew more than the average civilian.

  “I know that little is known about why the brain works. Neurosurgeons say that they do certain procedures because they work, but no one can explain why. We don’t have the technology to study the brain on the level we would have to in order to fully understand it.”

  “Exactly. In your time, the technology does not exist to map all the pathways, biochemical processes, and neurological miracles that are the human brain. This man of whom I speak, who is born a decade or two from the year you come from, is the man who will invent that technology.”

  “You’re saying that you’re from the future? Maggie looked back at Marcus, who met her gaze steadily.

  “So are you, for the time being.”

  Her eyes widened. She looked at Marcus again. “That thing in the field? We…jumped…through time?”

  “It’s a little more complicated than that, but yes.”

  Maggie’s mind raced, making connections. “So what does that mean about Vegas? Is that how you all know me? Because I met you in the future?”

  “Actually,” Marcus said, “you met us in the past.”

  “What?”

  “All right!” Doc was looking back and forth between them, trying frantically to break in. Now he stood and waved his hands for silence. “This is exactly what I want to avoid. If we don’t get through the entire explanation without deviating, it will only confuse you further.”

  He sat back down, throwing Marcus a shut-up-or-get-out look. “We are from your future. That’s what we’re telling you, Maggie.”

  She laughed without humor and rested her eyes in her hand. Seriously?

  “I know this is a lot, Maggie, but you promised you’d hear me out, right?”

  She looked up to find him staring at her anxiously. “If you’re from the future, why don’t you know what year this neurologist was born in?”

  He looked pleased. “Astute as ever, I see, Maggie. It’s because our calendar system has been lost. You will understand why as I explain further, but suffice it to say that we don’t know what year we are in, relative to yours. I can’t tell you how far in the future we are from you. We’ve adopted a calendar of sorts to record the time, but we have no way of comparing it to yours or using it to pinpoint ourselves on your timeline.”

  She sighed. “So what did he find?”

  The doctor’s eyebrow went up. “Pardon?”

  “This neurologist. When he mapped the brain, what did he find?”

  The doctor smiled. “A great deal. He mapped every neurochemical interaction in the brain on a smaller level than ever before. He discovered that every part of us is mapped out in our brains. It’s a collage of who we are. There are signatures for every aspect of our physical beings, yes, but also for our mental and emotional beings. Chemical states exist in the brain that identify our personalities, our tendencies, and—most importantly—the choices we make.”

  Maggie frowned. “How do you mean?”

  “Imagine two people standing side by side. They are the same age and gender, let’s say male. One is taller, has a more defined body, better skin tone, and a healthy glow about his face. The other is less physically toned, has sallow skin, yellow teeth, and bloodshot eyes. What does this tell us about these two men?”

  “The better-looking one is healthier. He takes care of himself. The other has unhealthy habits.”

  The doctor nodded his approval. “This is an obvious example. Their basic activities and the substances they put into their bodies show up in their physical makeup. But what if I told you that every choice you make, even the ones that have nothing to do with your physical body, show up in your brain chemistry? Every moral choice, every piece of knowledge you acquire and what you decide to do with it, every decision at every crossroads shows up in your brain.”

  Maggie considered this. It was an intriguing idea. “It would mean that everyone’s brain chemistry is vastly dif
ferent.”

  “Indeed, but do you see the import of this discovery? The origin of every disease could be traced, weeded out, eradicated. Even psychological neuroses could be identified and dealt with.”

  “It sounds like a golden age of health.” Maggie gazed back and forth between the two men, compiling everything she was being told and taking into account what had happened over the last twelve hours—Vegas, time travel, all of it.

  “So what went wrong?”

  Doc’s lips smiled, but his eyes were cloudy. “Human morality was not up to the challenge these discoveries posed. We made all the right discoveries but drew all the wrong conclusions.”

  “How so?”

  “People used brain chemistry as an excuse. Consider a criminal—let’s say a killer. His brain chemistry is different from the average person’s. People saw this and said it was not the criminal’s fault that he was a criminal. His brain chemistry was a mess. His behavior was due to a chemical imbalance and not his own fault.”

  Maggie thought about the implications. She’d always been a strong believer in accountability for one’s actions, but didn’t this discovery support the opposite argument?

  “You’re saying,” she ventured, “that isn’t the case? That there aren’t chemical imbalances?”

  Doc shook his head. “I’m saying there are. That was the discovery. But the conclusion was wrong. Think about what I’ve already told you. Every choice changes our brain chemistry. It happens on a zeptoscopic—uh, I mean, very, very, very small level, much smaller than a microscope can see—but it does happen. The killer does have a choice. He doesn’t kill because he has a chemical imbalance. He has a chemical imbalance because he kills. Granted, he may have been set on the road to this behavior from a young age by something he couldn’t control, such as abuse. That varies from person to person and is quite irrelevant for our purposes.

  “The point is that within a few years, the world’s criminal justice systems went down the toilet, if you’ll excuse the expression.”

  “So…what? They just opened the prison doors and let everyone go?”

  “In a manner of speaking. No one could be punished for their crimes anymore. They were blamed on altered brain chemistry due to prior negative circumstances. The criminal was put in therapy to correct their brain chemistry. Now, don’t get me wrong. Therapy can work if a person truly commits themselves to it, but these were criminals. They had no desire to change or do good in society. They did what was required and then went back to their same nasty habits.”