Up and Coming: Stories by the 2016 Campbell-Eligible Authors

by Anthology

  “2065? Are you sure? That’s what? Eighty-three years ago?” Nathan asked, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

  “Yes, sir. It was mid-April, to be exact. I remember you were battling quite a case of hay fever at the time, and couldn’t wait to join our organization. By the way, how are your allergies?”

  Nathan thought for a moment. Allergies. He remembered having the ceaseless nose drip and the stuffy head that usually accompanied it, every spring, but it had been so long since he’d had to live with any of that.

  “I…I haven’t had a problem with allergies since…” He paused in an attempt to recall when he’d last suffered his annual hay fever.

  “I’d guess that you haven’t had the seasonal symptoms since you walked out that door all those years ago,” Nancy said with a smile.

  Nathan smiled again, wishing he’d not waited so long between visits. “Yes, I’m sure you’re right.”

  Nancy stood and walked around her desk. As she approached, Nathan silently gasped at her beauty. She looked like she was in her 30s, slim and curvy in all the right places. Her shoulder-length auburn hair shone brightly, and her hazel eyes would pierce even the most skeptical customer’s doubt. She might have been the best “equipped” saleswoman Nathan had seen in decades.

  “If you’d like to follow me, Mr. Duncan. The doctor will be with you shortly.” Nancy strode through another antique wooden door that led to a long corridor. Nathan happily followed.

  Walking through the passageway was like stepping through time. Not into the past, however, but into the future. The walls were lined from floor to ceiling in stainless steel, and the ceiling was a solid sheet of light. He had trouble discerning whether there was actually something solid there, or just a luminous glow. The floor was a rubber textured surface that resembled concrete, but it cushioned each step, not unlike walking on firm, therapeutic foam.

  Spaced every five meters along the corridor walls on either side were doors of opaque glass. As they passed each one, Nathan tried to peer inside. Shadowy silhouettes stirred inside each of the rooms. He had another bout of déjà vu as they approached the first solid door in the corridor.

  Nancy tapped at a barely visible touchpad near the edge of the door and within seconds the door flickered from solid to clear, and then dissolved. “If you’d like to wait inside, the doctor will be with you shortly.”

  Nathan nodded and stepped past her and into the quaint waiting room. Once he was inside, Nancy tapped again at the panel. The opening in the doorway solidified to a faint teal color, but remained transparent. Nathan refocused on his surroundings and sat in one of two chairs positioned on opposite sides of a long table situated at the center of the room. An oddly shaped chair that closely resembled a bed sat near one of the corners. It looked remarkably comfortable. As he sat, memories leaked into his consciousness. He began to recall details of his initial trip to the center, and the personnel who had worked there. The face of the doctor, or administrator, rather, that he had first met with filled his mind. His face began to coalesce, and just as Nathan was about to pull his name from deep memory storage, the door disappeared. Nathan looked up as the exact same visage walked in.

  “Ah, Mr. Duncan. It’s very good to see you, although you are a few years overdue for your scheduled maintenance appointment.”

  Nathan nodded. “Yeah, kind of unavoidable. I was going through…let’s just say I was dealing with some personal issues.”

  “Life does throw us curve balls from time to time,” the doctor said as he reviewed information on an ocular plate resting on his brow. “And it looks like you’ve come in just in time.”

  “Did I cut it that close?” Nathan asked.

  “I wouldn’t say it was tight, but you are certainly overdue for your procedure. Tell me, Mr. Duncan. How are you feeling?”

  “I feel good. I feel like a man in his mid-thirties, I guess? I try to exercise regularly—to maintain appearances, and to stave off my indulgences,” Nathan said.

  “Indulgences? Care to elaborate?”

  “After my fourth wife passed, I…began drinking again. It’s nothing I can’t control, but it does help with the lonely nights.”

  “You say…again? Have you had previous bouts of drinking?” asked the doctor, reviewing the data in his readout.

  Nathan bowed his head slightly. “Yeah, I had a bout, as you call it, after my second wife died.”

  The doctor scanned through the data until he found what he was looking for. “Ah, yes. The robbery. It was in…2099. Was it the loss of your wife the caused you to start drinking, or was it something to do with the crime?”

  Nathan felt like he was being interrogated and instinctively threw up his guard. “It was nothing in particular, just a coping mechanism. Can you tell me that outliving most everyone in this world is easy for you?” Nathan snapped.

  “Relax, Mr. Duncan. I’m not judging you. I’m just gathering information for your treatment,” the doctor said. “Might I inquire about your multiple marriages? You mentioned you recently divorced your fourth wife.”

  “Yeah,” Nathan began. “But it’s nothing to worry about. You see, I’m afraid to be alone. So, I marry. I learned a long time ago that divorcing is so much easier on the soul than experiencing the death of someone you love.”

  Dr. Morrow nodded his head but remained silent.

  Nathan leaned back and looked up at the glowing ceiling. The moments ticked away as the doctor typed at an invisible keyboard to record information. After several minutes of uncomfortable silence, the doctor spoke.

  “How is your memory, Mr. Duncan?”

  “I, uh. It’s okay, I guess. I have trouble remembering things from time to time. Like, I know we’ve met, but I just can’t remember your name,” Nathan said.

  The doctor nodded his head. “I expect so, Mr. Duncan. You are close to three years beyond your applicable rejuvenation appointment. I wouldn’t expect anything less than significant memory loss. I’m Dr. Morrow. I was your administrator when you first came in, back in 2065.”

  “Dr. Morrow. I knew it! I had it on the tip of my tongue. I don’t think my mind is going. It’s just a little slow sometimes.”

  “Understandable,” Dr. Morrow said as he entered more information. “Would you mind if we run a few tests before we proceed? I’ll only need a small sample of your DNA.”

  “Yeah, sure. Do you think there’s something wrong?” Nathan asked.

  “Oh, no. It’s nothing like that. We just want to analyze the nanite count in your DNA. We need to verify that the 24th pair of chromosomes is functioning properly. Now, if you could place your hand on the center of the table.”

  Nathan did so, and a moment later, he felt a sharp warming sensation in the palm of his hand.

  “Okay, Mr. Duncan. If you’d like, you can relax on the chaise for a bit. These tests shouldn’t take more than an hour,” the doctor said before walking out.

  As the door reformed into a new tangerine hue, Nathan glanced at the swooped chair in the corner and muttered, “Ah, what the hell.” He eased himself into the chair and reclined. Staring up at the ceiling, he wondered where the lighting was coming from. The entire ceiling glowed evenly without a direct pinpoint source. Within moments, he drifted off to sleep.

  ***

  As I walked into the office, an uncontrollable sneeze burst past my lips, and a fine mist of phlegm sprayed across the room. Embarrassed, I smiled nervously at the attractive receptionist. “Sorry about that, Ms….?”

  “I’m Nancy. I understand the pollen count is above average this year.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Nancy,” I said as I dabbed at the corners of my nose with a tissue before stuffing it into my pocket. “There must be something different. I can’t seem to stop sneezing. It’s only like this for a few months of the year. The rest of the time, I’m quite a normal guy.” I winked.

  Nancy returned my smile, and it appeared quite genuine. “Now, then, Mr. Duncan. Do you have any questions before we
process your payment?”

  I cleared my throat before answering. “As a matter of fact, I do. About the payment. Is the full amount due now, or can I spread it out over, say, a few installments?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Duncan, but are you having trouble coming up with the agreed amount?” Nancy asked, concerned.

  “No, it’s not that. It’s just that I was thinking of having my wife administered at the same time. You see, she’s already a number of years older than me. Five, to be exact. And I know that if I go through with this procedure, my aging will cease, but hers won’t. I’m sure you understand.”

  Nancy nodded at my predicament. “I do, Mr. Duncan, but the procedure must be paid for in advance. That’s been our policy from the very beginning. If we gave you immortality on credit and you decided to default, we would have no way to…repossess what you’ve purchased. The procedure is irreversible.” Nancy paused long enough for the information to register. “Perhaps in a few years, you can afford the credits. Then you can bring your wife in.”

  I bowed my head. “I, um. I don’t think that’ll be possible. I’ve already had to scrape up just about every credit we have just for this one procedure. By the time I squirrel away enough for her transition, she might have aged too far past her prime.”

  “Age becomes much less relevant once immortality comes into play. Have the two of you discussed this?”

  I nodded. “In great depth, actually. I tried to have her go first, but she insisted that it be me.”

  “Perhaps, then, we could delay your treatment until a more appropriate time when you can afford both?”

  “We’ve talked about that as well. My wife, Beverly, insists that I go through with the procedure today. I’ve tried talking to her about waiting a few years, but she won’t hear of it.” I shrugged my shoulders. “So, here I am.”

  Nancy listened intently to my explanation as she guided me to one of the multiple procedure rooms at the facility.

  “Well, then, Mr. Duncan, it sounds like you have everything in order. If you’d like to have a seat,” Nancy said as she motioned me into a room, “Dr. Morrow will be right in.”

  “It appears, Mr. Duncan, that your credit transfer has been completed. All that’s left is your DNA signature before we can proceed.”

  Dr. Morrow motioned toward the palm scanner embedded into the tabletop. I placed my hand on the scanner, palm side down, and waited nervously.

  “There’s no need to worry, Mr. Duncan. This scan is quite similar to the one we used to prepare your serum. This final scan simply authorizes us to administer the 24th pair of chromosomes to your DNA sequence.”

  As the doctor explained, the scanner glowed red, turning to green as the palm of my hand increased in temperature.

  The doctor then produced a thin vial from his breast pocket and held it out. “Last chance, Mr. Duncan.”

  I only hesitated for a moment before accepting the vial from him. “All I do is drink this and I’m good?”

  “Yes, that’s about it. We do, however, request that you remain on-site for the first thirty minutes.”

  “Why is that? In case something goes wrong?”

  “Not exactly. There will be…unusual side effects that, how can I say this, may come as a surprise to you. But don’t worry. They’re all normal and non-invasive.”

  “Such as?” I asked. “I have to say, Doc, I think you could’ve told me this before I paid you 500,000 credits.”

  “No, no. It’s nothing like that.” Dr. Morrow chuckled. “It’s just, well, you’ll see. It’s completely painless, just a little unsettling for some. For starters, your nasal drip will clear up almost instantly. There’s typically some drowsiness and mild disorientation.”

  “So, a little sleepy and woozy. Well, then, the cost might be worth it, just for the relief alone,” I joked as I removed the rubber stopper from the vial. “Here goes nothing,” I said as I placed the edge of the vial to my lips and tilted my head back.

  ***

  Dr. Morrow gently shook Nathan awake. “Mr. Duncan. Can you hear me? Mr. Duncan. We have your test results.”

  Nathan opened his eyes, and saw that the glow of the ceiling had dimmed considerably. He looked around the room, and remembered where he was.

  “How—how long was I asleep?” he asked.

  “Oh, about forty-five minutes. Did you have a relaxing dream?” asked the doctor.

  “It really wasn’t a dream, per se. It was more like…I don’t know. Like I was reliving part of my past.”

  Dr. Morrow nodded knowingly. “Ah, yes. Which memory did you re-experience?”

  “It was when we first met. It was the day I first came into the center. I know it was nearly a century ago, but it felt like it was yesterday. It was so clear.”

  “For all intents and purposes, it was yesterday, in your mind. You see, this chaise lounge is more than just a place to relax. It’s what we’ve coined as the rememoration machine. We use it to summon lost or forgotten memories for our clientele.”

  “Did you intend for me to remember my initial visit?” Nathan asked.

  “No, not specifically. That was by your own doing. Lying on the chaise is kind of like lucid dreaming, but within your own past realities.” Dr. Morrow motioned for Nathan to come sit at the table.

  “So, I could bring up any memory I want? What if it’s something I’ve forgotten? How would I know to remember it?” Nathan asked as he sat across from the doctor.

  “It gets a little complicated, but yes, you can mentally direct the device to retrieve even the most quarantined memory you possess.” Dr. Morrow paused as he tapped away at his invisible keyboard. “Much of this discussion is a perfect segue into your test results.”

  Nathan leaned forward. “Which are?”

  “Mr. Duncan, do you remember our discussion regarding the limitations of immortality? We discussed it in depth during your initiation seminar.”

  “I—I didn’t get that far in the memory, but I still remember some of what was discussed. Why?”

  “It has to do with your mind, and its ability to remember things. Or, more technically, to process stimuli. The human mind has limitations. It was never ‘designed’ to remember more than a hundred and fifty years or so of perpetual memories. At least not in our current biological understanding. Our brains may contain additional storage space, but we’ve yet to discover or tap that resource. When we discovered the secret to longer life, we had to adapt to that limitation.”

  “I think I follow. Isn’t that what the 24th pair of chromosomes was supposed to take care of?” Nathan asked.

  “Not quite. Those were integrated so that our bodies stop aging, or more specifically, our bodies can heal themselves. No more molecular degeneration. Your mind is a different animal altogether. Consider your old personal computer. Do you remember what happened when the hard drive got full of files and documents?”

  “It’s been a while since I’ve used one, but the computer would slow down,” Nathan said.

  “That’s right. The overall performance would suffer until you deleted some files, and defragmented the hard drive. Our minds work in a similar fashion. After a century and a half of memories, we begin to respond or react much more slowly than normal.”

  “I think I get it. So, you want me to forget some things? Then why the chair? Doesn’t it just make me remember the memories I’ve already forgotten?”

  “Precisely. Your mind needs more than to just forget. Memories need to be removed completely. The rememoration machine will help you with that. In order for you to select which memories to remove, you will need to recall and decide which ones you no longer need.”

  Nathan leaned back and contemplated what the doctor was suggesting. “Just how many memories do I need to forget?”

  “After closely reviewing your test results with my colleagues, we agree that you have two options. Both of which have their own merits and disadvantages.” Dr. Morrow clasped his hands together and stared intently at Nathan.


  “I, um. Okay, let me have it. What are they?”

  “The first option is to go into your mind and selectively extricate thirty to fifty percent of your stored memories. This reduction will free up approximately forty to fifty years of continued memorization before the procedure needs to be repeated. The overall procedure will take approximately eighteen hours, spread over six visits to the lab.”

  “Fifty percent of my memories just gone? Will I even remember who I am?” Nathan asked. “And how will you know which memories to eliminate?”

  “Fifty percent is only an estimate. Some memories are obviously more extensive than others, and may free up extra space. Your core memories will remain intact. You will still be Nathan Duncan.” Dr. Morrow paused to moisten his lips. “As for which memories we eliminate, that is completely up to you. That’s why it takes such an extended period of time. You will have to recall individual memories during each session, and then choose whether to keep or remove the memory. Unfortunately, the procedure can become quite emotional.”

  “And the second option? The first one doesn’t sound terribly appealing.”

  Dr. Morrow smiled politely. “Option two is much more straightforward. Consider again the antiquated computer hard drive. With option one, you would in essence be selecting individual files to be deleted. With option two, you will be deleting an entire file directory.”

  “Like deleting an entire year?” Nathan asked.

  “Sort of. With option two, we would go in and delete the memory of a single individual from your mind. In doing so, all memories associated with that person would also be lost. Option two is a much simpler task, and it can be performed in a single session which takes about an hour.”

  “It sounds like option two makes the most sense all around. It’s easier, it’s faster. What are the consequences?”

  Dr. Morrow’s smile faded. “There really is only one unfavorable outcome. There is no way to determine just how your life will change by removing all memories associated with any one person. Results are dependent on who the person was that is being removed. There’s no way to determine the cumulative effect because our clients can’t remember what they technically never experienced.”