by Jeff Pollard
“Are you okay?” Renee asks, grabbing at his arm.
“I'm fine,” he says. His furry arms are bone dry.
4
From behind a couch, Renee covertly watches Medved disappear into the televator by the front door. With Medved gone, she sneaks to the televator, closing the door behind her.
“Destination?” a soothing computer voice asks.
Renee takes a second to work up the courage to say “Hell.”
“You have arrived,” the televator replies. Renee takes a deep breath. The metal televator door begins to glow red at the bottom. Renee's shoes start melting to the floor. She rushes out, burning her hand on the door.
Her small feet timidly crunch across crushed skulls. A horrid demon with flaming horns approaches. “What kind of torture do we want today? Huh? I'll show you a good time.”
Renee is frozen in fear. A dominatrix emerges from a fiery sky and lands gracefully on the skulls, “Or did you have something more up my alley in mind?”
Renee runs for the televator. Skull fragments fly from under her feet. The bone gravel shifts under her and she stumbles, falling on her face. Renee finds herself face to face with a decomposing head. The deteriorating eyes, gray and dried out, swivel and peer through Renee's scared eyes.
“Boo!” the head shouts. Renee screams and runs. Renee finally gets into the televator, slamming the door shut behind her. “Home! Home! Home!” She pleads to the machine. Renee steps into the kitchen, safe and sound.
She looks at her burned palm and finds it to be perfectly fine.
5
“What are you still doing here!?” a female voice demands from the doorway.
“I'm working,” Nellie responds.
“It's four in the morning.” The woman enters the dark lab and flips a light on. It's Gwen. Her blonde hair is thinning, her face has taken on many wrinkles of worry.
“The fine motor control is coming along a lot faster than we thought. It's really just fine-tuning at this point,” Nellie replies.
“You're gonna kill yourself with this stuff. Dr. Rendrow said you need to rest.”
“I need to finish my work.” Nellie doesn't even look away from the monitor as she adjusts a pressure sensor on one of her screens.
“You'll finish it.”
“I've got three months, Gwen.”
“What's your hurry? Champ's not going anywhere.”
“It's not the funding,” Nellie says, turning to face Gwen finally. “Three months to live.”
“The tests came back?” Gwen asks, her knees weaken, she needs to sit down. Nellie simply nods and turns back to her work.
Gwen tears Nellie from her seat, hugging her hard, she begins to cry. “I just didn't want to tell you yet,” Nellie says. “The good news is that I think we'll be ready for a human trial in three months.”
“What? You're sure you're going to do it?”
“My body's dying Gwen,” Nellie says, “but I don't have to.” Nellie gives Gwen a peck on the cheek and then sits back down to her work. Gwen is in shock, feeling empty, weak, she half-collapses against the wall, sitting on the floor.
“And you're sure you want to do this?” Gwen asks, staring into the glass enclosure. Two robots sit next to each other. These robots have furry bodies, rudimentary expressive faces, but still have yet to reach the uncanny valley. One robot sifts through the other robot's artificial back fur, going through the motions of grooming, but with nothing to groom. “I mean, what kind of life is that? They can't be happy.”
“I can send an impulse that makes them feel happier than they've ever felt in their lives.”
“Maybe you can stimulate some neurons and make them feel happy the same way you whack a knee and make the leg kick. It's not the real thing. Look at what they're doing. Their bodies are gone, but they're still alive, they're monsters and they know it. That looks like hell to me.”
“You make it sound like there is some kind of authentic happiness,” Nellie responds testily, “but even authentic happiness is just the stimulation of those neurons. If I stimulate those neurons instead of their own brains, the result is indistinguishable to them. He just feels happy. Even in humans a flip of a switch can make them feel ecstatic or suicidal, there's no such thing as authentic emotion, they're all just one's and zero's.”
“Come home,” Gwen pleads. “Let's spend one full day together, just the two of us, a bottle...a couple of bottles of wine.”
“I can't waste any time,” Nellie replies, “I'm this god damn close.”
“It seemed so easy in all those movies,” Gwen says quietly, “just jam a metal thing in your head and hit download.”
“You can't download the mind, it's not software, it's not even hardware, it's the current state of the electrical impulses of the hardware of the brain.”
“Relax, okay. Come home, you'll do better with some rest.”
“Can't.”
“If this doesn't work, you'll have wasted the end of your life on this, instead of spending it with me.”
“This isn't a waste,” Nellie focuses back on her work, paying no attention to Gwen.
6
Gwen pushes through a near-violent crowd protesting outside a hospital. Their mantra is “don't play God, let her die!” Reporters follow in her wake. Tacky cardboard signs dot the crowd with messages written in ballpoint pen, such as “Theres No Escapeing God's Jugdement.” A crazed old woman grabs Gwen's arm and yanks her violently, shouting “You can't escape Hell!” The furious shout sprays Gwen's face with spit. Gwen tears away and runs for the door.
Gwen bursts through swinging doors into an OR. Surgeons prepare their instruments while scientists prepare electronics. Nellie lays on the inclined operating table. Her bald head is covered in lines of marker. She's gaunt, on the verge of death. Gwen hugs Nellie like this is the last time she'll see her.
“It's gonna be okay,” Peter pops his head up from behind the table, holding a syringe. “Can we give them some privacy.” The room clears out. Peter lingers at the door. Gwen holds Nellie and sobs. Nellie sheds no tears.
“Why are you so calm about this?” Gwen asks.
“Because I'm gonna make it,” Nellie says.
Peter watches from the edge of the room, sees that Gwen can't handle this. He comes over, putting a comforting hand on Gwen's shoulder. “We need to get started.”
“Already?” Gwen asks. Peter nods.
“If I don't make it,” Nellie begins to say. Gwen interrupts, hugging her hard, pressing their cheeks together. “If I don't make it, don't mourn for me, I'm happy with the life I lived.”
Gwen sits alone in the waiting room. A pile of faded magazines splayed out on the coffee table offers no distraction. An old flat-screen TV tuned to the local news grabs her attention as they start covering Nellie's operation. The weak signal is jumpy and pixelated. An aerial view shows the crowd of protestors. Then they cut to an interview Nellie did with the national network. Nellie sits across from Tim Rodriguez, the favorite newscaster of middle-aged women everywhere.
“Some, well, many have expressed their concerns with this procedure,” Tim says, leading into his point by being as non-confrontational as possible. His interviews are notoriously more like therapy sessions than Q&A. “Are you sure this is something worth doing?”
“Of course it is,” Nellie responds. Gwen had been at this interview, nervously sitting just off the stage, but she hadn't seen the final product. Now she sees Nellie's brave face as she answers, “It's progress. If this works, we'll be able to save millions of lives; it's a cure for almost every disease there is. This might be the greatest advancement in the history of medicine.”
“But at what cost? There might be something to be said about letting people die with dignity, wouldn't you agree?”
“Certainly, I don't think we should waste away for years, suffering and watching our loved ones burdened by our existence. I think people deserve the right to end their own lives, but the government apparently doesn't agree.”
/> “What kind of quality of life do you expect to enjoy?”
“I keep hearing people say that I'll be living in a jar,” Nellie responds with a smile. “But we already live in a jar, it's called a skull. And we remotely operate robotic bodies, they just happen to be biological. The human body is a wonderful robot. It takes in nutrients, extracts usable energy from it, then expels the waste. It keeps everything running with this flow of energy and oxygen. No need to plug it in and recharge, no need for some exotic fuel, it feeds on energy sources that are all around us. It even has defense mechanisms, anti-virus if you will. Nature did an amazing job of creating these magnificent machines, but they don't last forever, and they sometimes don't last long at all. If this works, we'll no longer have to die when our bodies stop working.”
“But can humans really exist as...a brain in a jar?”
“Why can't we?”
“Perhaps something will be lost in the transfer.”
“You mean the soul?” Nellie asks. “There's never been any evidence of the existence of a soul. I know a lot of people outside this building will tell you otherwise, and might say that I'm trying to play god, but there will always be opposition to new things. I'm sure there were people who thought that humans shouldn't fly or try to understand the true nature of the solar system. Progress marches on. It always will.”
“If humans are capable of advancing technology forever, does that imply that there's a point where we will cross some invisible barrier into a realm that we shouldn't enter. Why should we think that all progress is good?”
“Well, of course technology isn't inherently good. The understanding of atoms led to the atomic bomb. The study of medicine saved billions of lives, but also gave us the ability to create biological and chemical weapons. I suppose there might be an argument to be made that some technologies are too dangerous, that say, discovering atomic theory leads to a 50-50 shot of civilization promptly destroying itself, then sure, maybe we're better off not knowing. But I don't see what all the hullabaloo is about. I'm not making a neutron bomb or something, I'm just conducting the first human trial of brain vivisection.”
“Gwen,” Peter says from the doorway. Gwen's eyes stay focused on the TV, not wanting to get any clues from his face, trying to delay the moment where she discovers the result of the operation.
“So far so good,” Peter says. Gwen is too nervous to even have a sigh of relief. Peter sits next to her, putting a comforting arm around her. “Her brain is out and all the readings look good. In a few hours we'll be able to hook her up and see if it worked. They're gonna need me back in a minute, so just keep your head up, I think she'll make it. Probably.” Peter awkwardly pats her on the thigh then leaves. Gwen stays focused on the TV.
“What do you say to those who suggest that humans are supposed to die, that death is a natural part of life?” Tim asks, “ I personally have had a near-death experience, and let me tell you, it wasn't at all a scary or bad thing, it was wonderful, and I look forward to dying one day, at the proper age and time of course.”
“I'm sorry to burst your bubble, but near-death experiences aren't a mystery. NDEs are caused by the release of a neuro-chemical called DMT. You can go to a lab and try DMT right now, and in the proper dose, we can recreate your near death experience. It seems the brain has a defense mechanism for death, making it okay for us to die. The evidence clearly tells us that NDEs aren't supernatural, they're not a glimpse of heaven, they're the product of a hallucinogenic high.”
“I have trouble seeing the world as black and white. I think that humanity has much more grandeur than that. You seem to see us as nothing but the physical material we are made of. How do you reconcile this materialistic view with the wonders of this world, with say the immense beauty of the works of Mozart or Da Vinci?”
“I have no need to reconcile the two,” Nellie says dismissively.
“Don't you ever have a profound feeling of something greater than you, of a connection to something bigger, deeper, wider than humans can understand?”
“Just because you have a profound feeling or a deep connection, say romantic love or truly contemplating the improbability of our existence, that feeling is just a sensation created by the material of the brain. A misfire in a certain part of your brain can give you déjà vu and make you know for sure that you've experienced this before in a dream. But what's more likely? That your dreams are a window into a supernatural realm where you can see the future? Or the part of your brain responsible for recognizing things has simply misfired? All of human experience can be explained by a materialistic understanding of the brain. There's no need to add anything supernatural.”
Gwen walks tentatively into the operating room. A robot lays on a metal table, its aluminum skeleton is covered in a rubbery skin. There are wires visible just under the surface of the skin, embedded in a matrix of sensors covering the body. Its eyes are closed. “Are we ready?” Peter asks. Nods all around. He hits a button and then rushes to the animatron on the table. Gwen and Peter stare at the blank face. “Come on,” Peter says hopefully. The body lays still.
“What does this mean?” Gwen asks. “Did it work?”
“Maybe our connections aren't getting through,” Peter says. “It might just take a while, she might be sleeping.”
“Or in a coma?” Gwen asks. Peter nods. The robot's left leg twitches. Gwen gasps, frightened.
“Nellie!” Peter turns to Gwen, “Call her name.”
Gwen leans in close to the robot's rubber ear on the side of its bald head.
“Nellie. It's Gwen. Can you hear me?”
The eyelids of the robot slide open with a slight metallic noise. The glass eyes flicker from side to side, then connect with Gwen's.
“Gwen,” a speaker embedded in the head, behind the metal and rubber jaws, begins speaking. The mouth follows along, but isn't exactly synced with the words. “Tell Peter the anesthesia is wearing off.” Gwen jumps back, planting her back against the wall, terrified by this inhuman thing. Peter leans over Nellie.
“Umm, Nellie, we're done,” Peter says.
“We're done?” Nellie asks. Her robotic animatron sits up slowly, a slight mechanical whirring emanates from her torso. She raises her right hand in front of her face, clenching and releasing her fist. She touches the tips of her fingers across her face and an uncanny giggle vibrates out of the speaker in her skull.
“How is it? Is everything wired up correctly?” Peter asks.
“Not at all,” Nellie responds with a huge smile across her face. “But my brain will learn the new controls. We need to turn all the touch sensors up. A lot. Everything feels numb.”
Nellie starts to turn and put her legs over the side of the table. “Wait wait, just sit, we've got to calibrate all your muscles,” Peter interrupts.
“There's something I need to do first,” Nellie says, putting her feet on the floor.
“Be careful,” Peter cautions.
She carefully shifts her weight onto her legs. She holds onto the table, then lets go, standing on her own. Her rubber body is completely bald and naked. Nellie takes a step forward with her right foot, then follows with her left foot, keeping them close together. She holds her balance as slight mechanical noises beneath her surface betray the amount of effort it takes just to stand still. She inches along toward the glass cylinder at the end of the room. The cylinder is eight feet high and filled with cerebro-spinal fluid.
“Don't touch it,” Peter says, “you don't have your coordination yet.”
Nellie stops and allows her glass eyes to rise up, following wires until they meet up with nerves. The nerves flow together like a series of tributaries leading to the brain.
“That's my brain,” Nellie says. “I'm on the outside looking in.”
Nellie turns to Gwen and takes careful steps with her unsure feet toward her. She opens her arms and Gwen meets her with a powerful hug.
“I did it Gwen. I made it.”
Gwen hugs her back, but doe
sn't know what to make of this thing.
7
Renee wakes up feverishly. She is fourteen years old now. She catches her breath and reaches to her nightstand. There is a stack of worn out dream journals containing years of nightmares. She looks through the dated journals, but not finding the current one. She frowns. She hears hushed words echoing through her door from downstairs.
Percival, Gwen, and Medved sit around the kitchen table and talk very quietly. Renee sneaks down the hallway, listening in. “How would you have turned out if you grew up in a world with no consequences?” Percival asks.
“She doesn't understand what's happening,” Gwen says empathetically.
“She has to figure it out on her own,” Medved says. “We all agreed on that.”
“That was then!” Gwen persists.
“She's come so far, I don't want to risk trying to tell her again,” Percival says.
“I just don't think I can lie-” Gwen stops as she notices Renee watching.
“What's going on?” Renee asks. Medved and Percival utter brief excuses and busy themselves, preparing for work. Gwen remains at the table, looking unnerved. “Something wrong Mom?”
“No honey.” Gwen collects herself. She eyes Percival and Medved as they leave through the front televator. “How are you and Patrick doing?”
“Fine,” Renee says.
“Just fine?” Gwen asks. “He's not pressuring you into anything is he?”
“Mom!”
“Just doing my job.”
“Well, when I have kids, I'm not gonna spy on them,” Renee snarks back.
“I wasn't spying. Just listening in.” Gwen says, eyeing Percival as he leaves. “So what's on the agenda for today?”
“We picked a couple of units on philosophers for this week. I think Socrates and Bacon and that utility one.” Renee says.
“Utilitarian.”
“Right.”
“You know what, you should look into also?” Gwen tries to sound spontaneous, but her words feel practiced. Renee picks up on this, but doesn't know what to make of it.