Between Two Minds: Awakening

by D C Wright-Hammer

  Her volume disturbed the people sitting at the nearby tables. I smiled and waved them off.

  “No, Mom. I’m more than okay. I just need to look into some things. I’ll promise to be as safe as possible.”

  She sighed hard, revealing how much she would begrudgingly say the words that were about to come out of her mouth. “Fine. If you’re going to go get yourself in trouble without cluing me in, I guess I can’t stop you. Come by the house tonight, and I’ll show you what I know. But please don’t get yourself into too much trouble, Ryan. It’s bad enough that I only talk to you once a week now.”

  “Mom, I know it’s tough to process, but I’m not that helpless boy anymore. I can take care of myself, and I truly believe that I’m finally doing that.”

  “And you need to understand that a mom’s worry never goes away.”

  Her comment forced me to nod and smile. “I guess you’re right, Mom. Thanks.”

  We finished lunch and headed outside to say our goodbyes.

  Mom looked up at me, then paused for just a moment. “It’s hard to believe. My little boy is in this big man’s body. It’s literally like you grew up overnight. So, if you’re wondering just how hard things have been on me, just keep that in mind.”

  “I know. For what it’s worth, I think you’ve done a great job, and I really appreciate it.”

  “Of course, Ryan. Now, make sure you call me more!”

  “I will, Mom. I love you!”

  “Love you too, sweetie.”

  We parted ways and the timing couldn’t have been better. I had received a message from Tony the previous night that he wanted to have a “routine follow-up” to our last meeting. I bulleted to ADG and headed straight for his office.

  “Hello, Ryan! How are you?”

  “I’m doing well, Tony.”

  “Hey, I figured we’d take a walk before our session officially starts. Come with me.”

  We headed into the migration area and went straight for Genesis labs where hosts were grown from cells to the age and specifications set forth by the migrators, depending on the package they purchased. The labs were off-limits to anyone scheduled to complete a migration within a twelve-month period. Apparently, it caused stress in migrators from years ago who would get attached to a particular host as they went through the process, only to be disappointed if that host had to be swapped out later. Instead, in preparing for the procedure, we were shown a virtual simulation of the process, which made it less personal and easier to handle. Tony and I approached the security doors where a guard stood outside.

  “Alex! How are you?”

  “Great, Tony. Did you see the game last night?”

  “Yeah! Heartbreaker. But that’s how the season has been going.”

  “I was sure they were going to win too. I lost five big ones on it.”

  “That’s too bad! Glad I didn’t have any skin in the game. Anyway. I wanted to take this post-migrator into the lab.”

  “No problem. Let me just have both of you scan in.”

  The guard tapped a button, then Tony and I took turns thumbing the ID reader. The doors opened up to a bright-white and sterile-looking environment. Laid out like a museum exhibit, there were informative, interactive stations for each major development stage of a host.

  Starting with a series of microscopes, Tony motioned me to take a look at the artificial-conception stage. Watching the exact second the synthesized sperm penetrated the synthesized egg was fascinating. After watching a couple of conceptions, I lifted my head and read the sign above.

  Q: Why not skip conception and just create hosts from scratch?

  A: Even with all of our technology, nothing has been able to effectively recreate the simultaneous complexity and simplicity of nature’s way of conceiving human hosts.

  Moving on, we made our way to the zygote stage, where we were presented with holograms that we could touch and move to gain a better understanding. It was at this point that any remaining genetic manipulation would occur. Above was another sign.

  Q: Why does further gene modification happen at the zygote stage?

  A: Our synthesized sperms and eggs are jam packed with various genetic traits. In order to ensure that a host is as close to specifications as possible, we must include some traits while possibly excluding others from progressing.

  Thirdly, we came to the fetal stage, where there were more holograms and more information.

  Q: At what point do you know if a host is a close-enough match for a migration?

  A: Once grown to a fetus, we are able to run various computer growth models to match the host to the closest request.

  Next was the gestational-completion stage, where the baby would be ready to be born had it been grown in utero. Additionally, the brain was developed enough to require neural inhibitors to stop cerebral development from occurring. It was described as a “switch” that was inserted to “turn off” the acquisition of knowledge, memories, and personality traits. Later, the switch would be flipped on in preparation for a migration.

  Q: Do the neural inhibitors hurt the hosts in any way?

  A: Completely unaware, the neural inhibitors are a painless, humane way to keep host minds clean of impurities, making them ideal for our migration process.

  Finally, we came to a forest of test tubes of various sizes, each showing a host in the latter stages of development. Examples of newborns, infants, toddlers, adolescents, teenagers, and young adults were all present, suspended in the crystal-clear preservation liquid. The last Q and A was there as well.

  Q: What’s the oldest host that can be purchased?

  A: The oldest host to take part in a successful migration was thirty-five. However, hosts thirty-five and older present unique challenges in the migration process, and thus, the current upper limit is thirty to be safe.

  Having seen all the phases firsthand, all of my pre-migration excitement came flooding back. Watching the creation of life was nothing short of amazing, and seeing each step of host growth in all of its glory reminded me of the miracle that was mind migration.

  “What do you think?”

  I was certain that Tony could sense my glee.

  “I’m just really happy I went through the process. It’s been a crazy ride and a lot of hard work, but it’s been totally worth it.”

  “Good. Let’s head back to my office for more meditation to further your progress.”

  Back at the office, Tony again held up the holo-pad with a message for me to place my phone on the couch and meet him in the gardens.

  “Okay, Ryan. Please lie down and just let your thoughts drift into the silence.”

  I was only out in the gardens for a minute when Tony appeared, saying, “We have to be careful. If the wrong people find out about what we’re doing, we’ll both be in big trouble.”

  “Trust me. I understand.”

  “Good. Now, I wanted to show you the Genesis labs so it was fresh in your mind when I tell you what I’ve found.”

  “What is it?”

  “Each host has a sixteen-digit sequence ID that is a result of their very specific development at each of the stages we just saw.”

  “Okay.”

  “For practical purposes, the numbers are unique. Due to nano-nuances in the development after conception, even identical twins result in a different sequence ID. This ensures that every host can be tracked from the moment they receive a number until they finally pass away. If you recall the waivers you signed, you will be ‘donating’ your host back to ADG after your time is up, for analysis, cataloging, and ultimately, disposal, so that your host is never used again.”

  All of the information was nice, but I was getting a little impatient. “What are you getting at, Tony?”

  “What I found is…” Passersby caused Tony to look over his shoulder, lower his voice, and lean in close
r. Looking back at me, his voice trembled just a bit. “…your host might be a duplicate.”

  “What!”

  “Shhhhh!” He grabbed me by the shoulders and looked me in the eyes. “I was searching the sequence database a few weeks ago when I noticed that your host matched that of an anonymous host from almost a decade before ADG completed its first migration.”

  “Why would they have records going that far back?”

  “That’s the thing. They don’t. The next time I logged in to look again, the older data was gone and everyone in the company received a message that there was a temporary glitch in the system, resulting in a bunch of invalid records.”

  I shrugged, trying to figure it all out. “So, could it have been a glitch that let Charlie into my host’s mind?”

  “I’m not so sure. With the problems you’re experiencing on top of the weird glitch, I’m wondering who or what your host really is. If your host never had neural inhibitors or they malfunctioned, I have no idea what kind of irregularities that would cause.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let’s just say it’s starting to validate the things you’ve told me about Charlie. It even has me questioning what actually happened to Amanda Robinson. A record with her name appeared on the list as well as a very strange entry prior to hers.”

  “What kind of entry?”

  “It looks like there may have been someone who migrated before Amanda.”

  “But all of the stories…”

  “All of that stuff was always just rumor. Even the people I worked with who were familiar with her case didn’t have direct contact with her.” Tony looked around and took a deep breath. “Unfortunately, I’ve done enough snooping the last couple of months, and don’t want to press my luck. I’ll be laying low for a while before trying to dig any further. You can still come to me for real therapy sessions, but we can’t speak about this topic for some time.”

  I didn’t care that he needed to take a break. I was just happy he was helping. “Thanks, Tony. Sometimes it just seems like Charlie is some kind of imaginary friend of mine since no one else can see him. But the more I discover, the more I push further into the depths of my mind, and the more he was—the more he is real. I have to see it all through.”

  “I’ll keep doing what I can to help you. Now, let’s head back in.”

  Back in the office, I grabbed my phone, and sat for Tony to wrap up our “session.”

  “Now that meditation is over, I wanted to remind you of something, Ryan. As time goes on, you’ll experience important dates in your host—birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, and other significant days. They may seem a little strange because you’ll be able to do more things to celebrate and honor those days. I encourage you to push yourself to use as much of your new abilities as you can during those times. You may find that you actually feel more like your true self in the end.”

  To my surprise, I had completely forgotten about that advice from post-migration therapy. My birthday was coming up, and I hadn’t even contemplated what to do since I was so consumed with Charlie.

  “As always, Tony, I really appreciate all that you’ve done for me.”

  “My pleasure, Ryan. You take care now.”

  I strutted out of the office and through the halls of ADG, a silly confidence welling up in me as I reveled in Tony’s findings.

  I’m not crazy.

  It was probably the most positive thought I had had in a week or more as I exited ADG and headed for the bullet. My last errand of the day was to search for the building Charlie had shown me.

  Plan B.

  My recollection of the building was fuzzy, and the city looked a lot different from what I remembered. I wasn’t even sure if the building actually existed based off my dream, and even if it had, there was no telling if it was still around. Regardless, I was drawn to uptown to start my search, and getting dropped off right in the middle of the busiest intersection, I walked around for many blocks. After thirty minutes without luck, I stopped on a street corner to gather myself and pulled up a holo-map of the area. I had covered about 80% of the area, and still, nothing stood out to me. Regardless, I felt like I was close, so I just needed to keep looking.

  Speaking into my phone, I said, “Show me the map from twenty years ago,” and the holo-map morphed itself back in time. Gone were most of the skyscrapers, and in their places were much smaller buildings and businesses. Glancing around, I noticed that even the streets had been reconfigured to some extent.

  “Walk me through the streets that don’t exist anymore.”

  At street level, I walked through a virtualization of the city back then, complete with people in period-trendy clothes and cars with exhaust systems. The faces of the walking commuters looked noticeably happier than those from my time, and I wasn’t sure if that was added as part of the simulation or was just accurate. Looking around, I began to get jealous as I saw more and more delicious-sounding East Asian eateries that no longer existed.

  “What happened to those restaurants?”

  Before my phone could respond, sadness overcame me and I tapped the button to stop the last command. While I had never visited the area, I read about it while doing research in school.

  Near the end of GIP, many East Asian immigrants and even some citizens were rounded up and either deported or jailed indefinitely on suspicion of supporting extremists. In reality, they were targeted because of alleged sympathies toward FPR. News headlines steadily grouped FPR in with the extremists, even though it was generally known that they were bitter enemies. Still, in response to the sweeps of East Asians, the locals rose up with protests and marches, successfully paralyzing the city for several days. That was when the mayor declared a state of emergency and federal troops were brought in to squelch the rebellion. Demolition of all foreign-influenced businesses soon followed, along with the reforming of the roadways. After all of the reconstruction, local law enforcement advertised that an “uprising” in that part of the city could be contained and dispersed within two hours of forming. It seemed more threatening than comforting. Deep in thought, I was still gazing at the old map when I thought of something.

  “Overlay the present map on this one.”

  The visual in front of me fluidly transformed to provide a cross-reference. All of the current buildings had replaced older buildings—except for one. It appeared that one of the towers I had passed was built atop an older building. A specialty shop was the first floor to some office suites. Doubling back, I reflected on how it did seem a little out of place compared to its surroundings.

  The sign read Paul Robyn: Living Memories.

  As I opened the door, the warm fragrance of flowers blew onto my face from the meticulously designed, neatly organized room. The space had an elegance the likes of which I had never seen, with tasteful paintings spaced in satisfying intervals on the walls, strategically placed indoor plants, and a few obscure but somehow appropriate sculptures. The whole building was much smaller than I would have anticipated based on the size from outside.

  A mature woman in a blood-red dress approached me. “Hello, sir. Is there something I can help you with?”

  “Sorry. What kind of business is this?”

  “Oh, you haven’t heard of us? Allow me to introduce you to our services.” She lifted her arm, signaling me to head toward the center of the room as she walked next to me.

  “For humans, time is finite. We only have so many breaths to take, only so many beats from our hearts. But a memory. That is something that can be timeless so long as it’s preserved.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Yes. At its core, a memory is simply data. But we offer so much more than the digital interpretations of someone’s mind.”

  We approached the far end of the room, and she tapped a button next to one of the better paintings, prompting it to flip into the wall. A first-per
son hologram appeared of a man standing at the altar of what appeared to be his wedding. The other groom made his way up the aisle to meet him. They said their vows and kissed with the audience cheering ever so loudly. It was a pretty powerful scene of happiness.

  “Virtualizing someone’s memories allows those moments to be eternal. To the people who our clients give access, they are able to view each snapshot as many time as they like.”

  “Wow.”

  “If having your memories live on for friends and family doesn’t interest you, we also have our business package that allows memories to be permanently stored for various applications—trade secrets, litigation, and a host of other things.”

  The whole concept was more than interesting, but I needed to see if she had any information on Plan B.

  “I’m actually here on a whim. I found a note from a friend of the family who passed away years ago. It had a number on it, and it said, ‘Plan B.’” I noticed the slightest grimace on her face. “Does that mean anything to you?”

  “I’m sorry, sir. But I have no idea to what you are referring.”

  “Are you sure? I have the number. I just wanted to finally put his memory to rest, and so I thought this might be the place to do it. Please. If you know anything…”

  Hesitating for another moment, she tapped the wall to flip the painting back, and without a word, she started walking back to the front of the room.

  Following, I pried. “Plan B does mean something to you, doesn’t it? Can I give you this number?”

  “Sir, like I said, I am unfamiliar with your Plan B.” Her words contradicted her actions as she held her hand out, looking for me to give her something.

  I keyed the number into my phone and handed it to her. Pressing a button on the wall, an old-fashioned computer keyboard appeared, and she began typing.

  I was startled as the floor on which we stood began to move and the entire corner of the shop rotated into the wall.

  “What the—?”

  With a jolt, the floor stopped moving in a dimly lit room.