by Dima Zales
“Yes, I follow,” I say. Amazingly enough, I actually do. “I had to read up on this when we wanted to invest in a firm that was announcing advances in quantum computing.”
“Oh, good.” Eugene looks relieved. “That might expedite my explanation considerably. I was afraid I would have to explain the double-slit experiment and all that to you. You’ve also heard of the idea that brains might use quantum computing in some way?”
“I have,” I say, “but I’ve also read that it’s unlikely.”
“Because the temperatures are too high? And the effects are too short-lived?”
“Yeah. I think it was something along those lines.”
“Well, my dad believed in it regardless, and so do I. No one really knows for sure, wouldn’t you admit?” Eugene says.
I never really thought about it. It’s not something that was ever important to me. “I guess so,” I say slowly. “I read that there are definitely some quantum effects in the brain.”
“Exactly.” He takes a quick sip of tea and sets it aside again. I do the same. The tea is bitter and too hot, and I’m dying for Eugene to continue. “The unlikelihood that you mention is about whether consciousness is related to quantum effects. No one doubts that some kinds of quantum processes are going on in the brain. Since everything is made of subatomic particles, quantum effects happen everywhere. This theory just postulates that brains are leveraging these effects to their benefit. Kind of like plants do. Have you heard of that?”
“Yes, I have.” He’s talking about the quantum effects found in the process of photosynthesis. Mom—Sara—emailed me a bunch of articles about that. She’s very helpful that way—sending me articles on anything she thinks I might be interested in. Or anything she’s interested in, for that matter.
“Photosynthesis evolved over time because some creature achieved an advantage when using a quantum effect. In an analogous way, wouldn’t a creature able to do any kind of cool quantum calculations get a huge survival advantage?” he asks.
“It would,” I admit, fascinated.
“Good. So the theory is that what we can do is directly related to all this—that we find ourselves in another universe when we Split, and that a quantum event in our brains somehow makes us Split.” He looks more and more like a mad scientist when he’s excited, as he clearly is now.
“That’s a big leap,” I say doubtfully.
“Okay, then, let me go at it from another angle. Could brains have evolved an ability to do quick quantum computations? Say in cases of dire emergencies?”
“Yeah, I think that’s possible.” Evolution is something I know well, since Sara’s PhD thesis dealt with it. I’ve known how the whole process works since second grade.
“Well, then let’s assume, for the sake of this theory, that the brain has learned to leverage quantum effects for some specific purpose. And that as soon as the brain does that anywhere in nature, evolution will favor it. Even if the effect is tiny. As long as there’s some advantage, the evolutionary change will spread.”
“But that would mean many creatures, and all people, have the same ability we do,” I say. I wonder if I have someone else who doesn’t understand evolution on my hands.
“Right, exactly. You must’ve heard that some people in deeply stressful life-or-death situations experience time as though it’s slowing down. That some even report leaving their bodies in near-death experiences.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Well, what if that’s what it feels like for regular people to do this quantum computation, which is meant to save their lives or at least give their brains a chance to save them? You see, the theory asserts that this does happen and that all people have this ‘near-death’ quantum computation boost. All the anecdotal reports that mention strange things happening to people in dire circumstances confirm it. So far, the theory can be tied back to natural evolution.”
“Okay,” I say. “I think I follow thus far.”
“Good.” Eugene looks even more excited. “Now let’s suppose that a long time ago, someone noticed this peculiarity—noticed how soldiers talk about seeing their lives pass before their eyes, or how Valkyries decide on the battlefield who lives and who dies . . . That person could’ve decided to do something really crazy, like start a cult—a cult that led to a strange eugenics program, breeding people who had longer and stronger experiences of a similar nature.” He stands, tea forgotten, and begins to pace around the room as he talks. “Maybe they put them under stress to hear their stories. Then they might’ve had the ones with the most powerful experiences reproduce. Over a number of generations, that selective breeding could’ve produced people for whom this quantum computing under stress was much more pronounced—people who began to experience new things when that overly stressed state happened. Think about it, Darren.” He stops and looks at me. “What if we’re simply a branch of that line of humanity?”
This theory is unlike anything I expected to hear. It seems farfetched, but I have to admit it makes a weird sort of sense. There are parts that really fit my own experiences. Things that Eugene doesn’t even know—like the fact that the first time I phased into the Quiet was when I fell off my bike while somersaulting in the air. It was exactly like the out-of-body experience he described. An experience I quickly discovered I could repeat whenever I was stressed.
“Does this theory explain Reading?” I ask.
“Sort of,” he says. “The theory is that everyone’s minds Split into different universes under some conditions. As Readers, we can just stay in those universes for a longer period of time, and we’re able to take our whole consciousness with us.” He draws in a deep breath. “The next part is somewhat fuzzy, I have to admit. If you touch a normal person who’s unable to control the Split like we can, they’re unaware of anything happening. However, if you touch a Reader or a Pusher—another person like us—while in that other universe, they get pulled in with you. Their whole being joins you, just like I joined you when you touched my hand earlier today. When you touch someone ‘normal,’ they just get pulled in a little bit—on more of a subconscious level. Just enough for us to do the Reading. Afterwards, they have no recollection of it other than a vague sense of déjà vu or a feeling that they missed something, but even those cases are extremely rare.”
“Okay, now the theory sounds more wishy-washy,” I tell him.
“It’s the best I’ve got. My dad tried to study this question scientifically and paid the ultimate price.”
I stare at Eugene blankly, and he clarifies, “Pushers killed him for his research.”
“What? He was killed for trying to find these answers?” I can’t hide my shock.
“Pushers don’t like this process being studied,” Eugene says bitterly. “Being the cowards that they are, they’re afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Of ‘normal’ people learning to do what we do,” Eugene says, and it’s clear that he’s not scared of that possibility.
8
I sip my tea quietly for a while. Eugene comes back to the table and sits down again, sipping from his own mug. My brain is on information overload. There are so many directions this conversation could go. I have so many questions. I’ve never met anyone who even knew the Quiet existed, let alone knew this much about it—other than Mira, of course, but chasing someone through a crowded casino doesn’t technically qualify as ‘meeting.’
“Are there other theories?” I ask after a few moments.
“Many,” he says. “Another one I like is the computer simulation one. If you’ve seen The Matrix, it’s relatively easy to explain. Only it doesn’t answer as many things as the Quantum Universes explanation does. Like the fact that our abilities are hereditary.”
I was initially curious about the computer simulation theory, but the heredity angle stops me dead in my tracks.
“Wait, does every Reader have to have Reader parents?” I ask. In hindsight, it’s obvious from what he’s said thus far, but I w
ant it spelled out.
“Yes.” He puts his now-empty teacup down. “Which reminds me. Who are your parents? How could you not have known that you’re a Reader?”
“Hold on.” I raise my hand. “Both parents must be Readers?”
“No.” He looks upset for some reason. “Not both. Just one.” It’s obvious that this is a sensitive subject for Eugene.
Before I can question him about that, he continues, “I don’t understand why your parents didn’t tell you about this. I always thought this was an oral tradition, a story that every family who has the ability passes from generation to generation. Why didn’t yours?”
“I’m not sure,” I say slowly. Sara never told me anything. In fact, it was just the opposite. When I told my moms about falling off that bike and seeing the world from outside my body, they told me I must’ve hit my head. When I repeated the feat by jumping off a roof and told them of another out-of-body excursion, they got me my first therapist. That therapist eventually ended up referring me to my current shrink—who’s the only person I’ve spoke to about this since then. Well, until I met Eugene, that is.
Eugene gives me a dubious look in response. “Really? Neither your mother nor your father ever mentioned it?”
“Well, I didn’t know my father, so he’s the more likely candidate, given that my mom never said anything,” I say, thinking out loud. Based on the confusion on his face, Eugene isn’t getting it. Why would he, though? My history isn’t exactly common for your typical American family. “I was conceived through artificial insemination,” I explain to him. “My father was a guy who contributed to a sperm bank in Israel. Could he have been one of us—a Reader?”
My genius father. What a joke. I rarely tell people this story. Having two moms can be awkward enough. The fact that Sara went shopping for good sperm to have a smart kid—that’s just icing on the cake. But that’s exactly what she did. She and Lucy went to Israel, found a high-IQ donor bank, and got one of them knocked up. I think they went overseas to make sure I would never, ever meet the father. Now you can see why I consider my shrink’s job too easy. Whatever happens, blame the mother.
“What? No, that can’t be,” Eugene says, interrupting my ruminations. “It has to be your mother. Giving sperm like that is not something our people would do. It’s forbidden.”
“What do you mean?”
“We have rules,” he says, and it’s clear something about this upsets him again. “In the old days, all Readers were subject to arranged marriages—hence the whole selective breeding theory, you see. Today things are more liberal, but there are still a number of restrictions. For example, a Reader’s choice of spouse, regardless of how powerful he or she is, is considered personal business now, but the expectation is that he or she be a Reader.”
I file away the mention of ‘powerful.’ I’m curious how one can be more or less powerful when it comes to Reading, but I have other questions first. “Because of the selective breeding thing?” I ask, and Eugene nods.
“Right. It’s about the blood. Having children with non-Readers gets you banned from the Reader community.” He pauses before saying quietly, “That’s what happened to my father.”
Now I understand why this is a sensitive topic. “I see. So your mother wasn’t a Reader? And that’s forbidden?”
“Well, technically, marrying non-Readers and having children like me and Mira is no longer forbidden. You don’t get executed for it, like in the old days. It is highly frowned upon, though, and the punishment for it is banishment. But that’s not an issue in your case. What you’re talking about—a Reader giving sperm—is forbidden to this day, as it can lead to mixing of the blood and is untraceable.”
“Mixing? Untraceable?” I’m completely confused now.
“A Pusher mother might somehow get impregnated by Reader sperm,” Eugene explains. “Readers consider that an abomination, and, according to what my dad told me, so do Pushers. They wouldn’t give sperm either. The risk is admittedly infinitesimally small, since Pushers themselves wouldn’t dare risk getting pregnant that way. Also, mixing aside, Readers like to keep tabs on everyone, even half-bloods like me, and sperm bank pregnancy would prevent them from keeping an account of the whole Reader family tree. Or at least it would require oversight of the whole process, which would be complicated.”
That makes sense. But this leads to only one logical conclusion. Sara, my biological mother, must be a Reader. How could she keep this from me—her son? How could she pretend I was crazy?
“I’m sorry, Darren,” Eugene says when I remain silent. “You must have even more questions than before.”
“Yes. Your gift for understatement doesn’t fail you,” I tell him. “I have hundreds of questions. But you know what? You know what I really want to do?”
“You want to Read again?” he surmises.
He’s spot on. “Can we?”
“Sure.” He smiles. “Let’s ring some doorbells.”
9
I have to admit, I like Eugene. I’m glad I met him. It’s refreshing to have another smart person to talk to, besides Bert.
It takes us a few minutes to choose our next ‘volunteer,’ a tall guy in his mid-twenties who lives a few doors down from Eugene and Mira.
“Hi Brad,” Eugene says. “I ran out of salt as I was cooking. Mind if I borrow some?”
The guy looks confused. “Salt? Um, okay, sure. Let me see if I can get some.” As he turns away, Eugene winks at me. As we agreed, I phase in and touch Eugene’s forehead to bring him into the Quiet.
It works, as expected. We are in the Quiet, which I guess, given Eugene’s favorite theory, might be another universe of some kind. I don’t dwell on the many questions about this alternate reality, if that’s what it is. I have something much more interesting to do. I walk up to Brad, touch his temple with my index finger, and close my eyes.
Then I do the breathing meditation.
What the fuck? Who runs out of salt? The thoughts running through our mind are less than flattering toward Eugene. And who’s this other guy? His boyfriend? Wouldn’t surprise us. We always suspected that Mira’s geeky brother was gay.
I, Darren, realize that Brad knows both Eugene and Mira. And I know I only have seconds before I play his memory to the current moment, which Eugene told me would force me out of the guy’s head. So I try to do something different. As Eugene instructed me earlier, I try to ‘fall’ deeper into Brad’s mind.
I picture myself lighter than air. I visualize myself as a feather, slowly floating down into a calm lake on a windless day. I become a sense of lightness.
And then it happens.
We are in a movie theater. We are on a date. We look at the girl sitting next to us, and I, Darren, can’t believe my eyes. We’re sitting next to Mira. When we start making out with her, I, Darren, think that maybe I really have gone crazy. But no, there is a simpler explanation. I get it when I try falling deeper again.
We’re standing in front of Mira’s apartment door holding flowers. “These are for you,” we say when she opens the door.
We feel pretty slick. The flowers are a means to an end. We want to get our hot neighbor into bed.
“Oh, how sweet,” she says drily when she sees us. “Am I supposed to swoon now?” She then proceeds to tell us exactly what she thinks we’re planning. I, Darren, realize that she must’ve done what I’m doing. She must’ve Read Brad’s mind—or maybe she just used common sense. Why else does a guy give a girl flowers?
We’re surprised at our neighbor’s bluntness. Impressed, even. We admit that, yes, we want to sleep with her, but that she should still take the flowers. She does. Then she sets the ground rules. Nothing serious. She has no time for relationships, she says. A movie, dinner, and, if she thinks we’re worth it afterwards, maybe she’ll go to our place. That’s it. Just a one-time thing, unless the whole thing goes exceptionally well. In that unexpected eventuality, she might, maybe, initiate another encounter.
We agree. What
sane guy wouldn’t?
I, Darren, experience the dinner and the movie. It’s awesome. All of it.
We get back to our—Brad’s—apartment.
We’re in the bedroom. We’re kissing Mira. I, Darren, am jealous that an asshole like Brad gets to do this with Mira. That feeling doesn’t last, though. We’re immersed in the experience. Mira’s perfect naked body. Her lips on ours. It’s everything we ever hoped it would be.
Unfortunately, it’s too much of everything we ever hoped it would be. I, Darren, can feel us—Brad—losing control. No amount of baseball stats will pull this guy back from the edge. Just like that, we have a problem. Apparently Mira is a little too good-looking, because before I, Darren, even realize what’s going on, things happen somewhat . . . prematurely.
Mira’s reaction to the situation is admirable. She’s not mad, she insists. She says not to worry about it. Says she had a good time. She isn’t fooling us, though. She leaves quickly and never speaks to us about this night, or anything else for that matter, again.
I’m back in my body in the Quiet, and the first thing I do is punch Brad in the face.
“What are you doing?” Eugene exclaims, looking at me like I’m crazy.
“Trust me,” I say, resisting the urge to also kick the guy. What a loser. Not only did he sleep with Mira, he didn’t even have the decency to be good at it. “He doesn’t feel it. Right?”
“Well, yeah,” Eugene admits. “At least I highly doubt he feels it. But it looks disrespectful.”
It’s almost too bad that Brad can’t feel the punch. I debate punching him once we phase out, but decide against it. I mean, what possessed me? Mira isn’t my girlfriend to be overprotective about. She might not even like me when we meet. One thing is clear, though. Without having said a word to her in real life, I like her.