Vrin: Ten Mortal Gods

by John Michael Hileman

“No, not really. Why are you asking me all these questions?” I made another attempt to move, but he reaffirmed the pressure on my chest.

  “Please, Thomas. try to be still.” There was compassion in the timbers of his hauntingly familiar voice. “I need to check you over.”

  Another memory flashed. My little girl sprawled on the sidewalk. A woman screaming. A truck plowing into me... My heart jumped. “I was, in an accident.” I desperately searched my memory. “Is this a hospital?”

  He leaned in close. His friendly face came into focus. It was not a handsome face, but it was kind. And seeing it helped ease my panic. The wrinkles around his eyes were deep from many smiles, but the bags underneath showed that he hadn’t slept well for many days.

  “It’s a hospital of sorts,” he said. “Hold still.” He shined a light into my eyes. “How is your vision? Are you able to focus?”

  “It’s-- coming back slowly.”

  “Good, very good. I’m going to take your blood pressure now.”

  I attempted to lift my arm, but it wouldn’t move. I tried again. “Why can’t I move my arm?” Panic gripped me. “Doctor?” I tried to control my voice, and frantically searched his face. “Am I paralyzed?”

  He smiled kindly. “No, Thomas. You’re not paralyzed.”

  “Then why can’t I move!” Again I tried, and my fingers moved a little.

  “I’m sorry, Thomas. It will take some time before you are back to normal, but please try to be patient. You’ve, ah... You’ve been...” He furrowed his brow and a look of compassion crossed his features. “You’ve been sleeping, for a long time.”

  I stared at him. “--How long?”

  There was a notable silence.

  “Doctor-?”

  He gave a weak smile, and a look of sympathy. “You’re not going to like this. That is, if you even believe me.”

  “What? A week? A month? How long have I been sleeping?”

  He sighed, and his eyes took on a look of clinical detachment. “Twenty-one years, Thomas, twenty-one years.”

  I searched his face. “You're joking. joking.”Right? Please tell me you’re

  “I wish I were.” He looked me in the eye. “You were in a bad accident, Thomas. And you’ve been in a coma, for twenty-one years.” There was no sign of humor in the creases of his old face. Only deep concern.

  “That-- that’s not “I-I can’t...” My voice broke off.possible!” I stammered.

  “Under normal circumstances, you would be correct, but these are far from normal circumstances.”

  I felt his warm hand grip my wrist. He brought my arm up slowly. My hand came into view. The sight of it made my blood run cold. It was the hand of a stranger-- too thick and worn out to be my own. But it had my wedding ring on it. The skin looked rough and aged, the veins disturbingly pronounced. I moved my fingers.

  It was mine.

  Twenty-one YEARS! TWENTY-ONE-YEARS! I couldn’t even begin to process... Just yesterday I was in the city with Annie. On vacation. My business was booming. Annie had another baby on the way... Twenty-one... Rebecca would be twenty-six, and my unborn son?

  It couldn’t be true. Someone was playing some kind of sick joke on me! Emotion welled up, and tears threatened to overtake me. But I bit my lip hard. I would NOT believe it. I pushed the thoughts away, and let my brain shut off.

  “Thomas, what you’re going through is perfectly normal, but it will pass and you will once again connect with the things you feel you’ve lost.”

  I turned my head away.

  “Time has a way of catching up with you. And there will be many people to help you get back on track. It’s not so bad living in 2032.”

  My throat tightened.

  “Many things have changed, but if you take it slow, you’ll be okay.”

  “Though your words are appreciated,” I choked, “I don’t think you can appreciate-the magnitude of my situation.”

  “I’m sorry, Thomas. You’re right. I can’t. But I do know the human spirit is strong, and yours is incredibly strong. To have come back from where you’ve been is a miracle! The fact we're even having this conversation at all is unimaginable! By all rights you should be brain dead. That’s something at least, don't you think?”

  I remained silent.

  He was quiet for a time. Then spoke. “Well, I know this is going to be difficult. But how about getting you up to get your blood pumping. Maybe it will get your mind off things, for now anyway.”

  Get up? I didn’t like the sound of that one bit, and my face must have shown it.

  “It’ll be okay if we take it easy.” He went over to the wall and grabbed a wheelchair. “Here, I’ll help you.”

  It was a long process, but he was patient with me. My limbs were like sandbags, and my head was groggy, but otherwise, I felt completely healthy, much healthier than I should have.

  Slowly he helped me to a sitting position. My head pounded, but then things started to level out. I looked down and saw the two wrinkled strangers protruding from the sleeves of my medical gown. They were definitely not the hands I remembered. They were old and ugly. I hated them. Bitterness surged in my gut, but I forced it back. I had faced worse than this! Hadn’t I? This was only a temporary setback. Yes. A setback. I pushed away the introspection and focused on the doctor.

  “Careful now. Take it slow.” The floor was cold and painful to my unused feet. He held me firmly as I put weight on my weakened legs. With a slight twist, I fell back into the chair, breathing heavily from the activity.

  “Very good, Thomas. Very good.” He gave me an encouraging smile and patted my back. “We’ll have you climbing ladders again in no time.”

  What was that supposed to mean? I opened my mouth to ask, but he had moved behind me and was pushing my wheelchair up a ramp to an elevated catwalk, which encircled the room. My vision had almost completely returned, and I realized now, that I was not in a hospital at all, but in a lab filled with computers and sophisticated equipment. It was dark in this upper area, except for the light that came from a myriad of tiny screens lining the walls. They flickered softly, filling the room with an ambiance, which spoke to my soul. Something about the crisp, vibrant glow of the computer screens put me at ease.

  I reached out to touch the wall. Each screen displayed a different image and had its own set of glowing buttons. I was careful not to push anything. I only wanted to feel the monitors on the tips of my fingers.

  From here I had a nice view of the entire lab. In the center of the room, workstations were positioned strategically around an enormous device, a giant cylinder reaching from floor to ceiling. A number of beds surrounded it, like petals on a giant flower. Patients of various shapes and sizes occupied the beds. As I studied them, I couldn’t help but notice, that one of them stood out from the rest. He was the only child, a young boy of perhaps nine or ten. I could see his nameplate from where I sat. It read, “Fredrick Armadon.”

  My mind whispered, Vrin.

  “Who are they?” I inquired in a low voice.

  “They are other coma patients, like you. Don’t worry, we will come back here soon. I promise I’ll explain everything.”

  I nodded silent confirmation.

  We approached the exit, and the doors glided open. The long gray corridor was filled with people in lab coats on various errands. The sounds of movement and conversation invaded the peaceful quiet. As we moved through the doors, everyone stopped and stared. Instantly I felt exposed in front of the sea of smiling faces.

  “Where are we going?” I asked nervously.

  The doctor increased his pace, and spoke with more optimism than I cared to hear. “Rehabilitation!”

  CHAPTER 17

  MEETING WITH DARKNESS

  001001011001110

  After a refreshing bath, and a couple hours of exercises designed to increase mobility, I felt almost human. It was still difficult to walk without the assistance of a cane, but the doctor reassured me my strength would return quickly. I was surprise
d at the rate of my recovery. After all, I’d been in a coma for over two decades.

  Dr. Solomon explained as we walked through the last set of exercises. “Three times a day, seven days a week, each patient receives a thorough work-over to keep their body from degenerating muscle mass. Every muscle is systematically massaged. Each joint and tendon is flexed and stretched.”

  “That’s a lot of massages.” I attempted a smile. “This little vacation is going to cost me a bundle.”

  He chuckled. “In addition to the physical workouts, the computer is programmed to periodically stimulate the brain. Every hour on the hour, for ten minutes, a program tells your muscles to tighten and relax, causing a mild cardiovascular workout.”

  I was puzzled. “All this is done even though there’s little chance the patients will ever wake up?”

  “Yes, because the main purpose is to increase brain activity. The fact that it facilitates a quick recovery turns out to be a nice side effect.”

  Side effect? More like a miracle, I thought.

  When we finished, I was given some clothes and was allowed to change in the locker room. Dressing was difficult, but at last, I tucked my medical gown into the laundry shoot, then made slow progress over to the bathroom area. Rounding the corner, the reflection of a man in one of the mirrors caught my eye. I turned to see where the reflection was coming from-- but quickly discovered, that I was alone in the room. Slowly I turned back toward the mirror. The face before me was more like my father’s than my own, with wrinkles embedded in its curves, a receding hairline, and a thickness that did not appeal to me. At all.

  I stood examining every detail of my features. They had changed dramatically, but strangely, what stood out to me most were my eyes. They seemed-- wrong somehow. They were a greenish hazel, as they had always been, but there was a flash of blue in my memory. The feeling washed over me like a whisper, then was gone. I quickly dismissed it as imagination.

  The door in the other room made a soft thud and I heard someone approaching. I stepped away from the mirror, composing myself for the visitor. It was Dr. Solomon. “Found the mirrors I see,” he said with mock humor.

  “So it would seem.” I made no attempt to hide my disgust.

  “I won’t pretend to know how you feel, but I realize it must be tough,” he said gently. “What do you say we go get something to eat? I can bring you up to speed on some things.”

  “Sure.” I made an attempt to sound positive. “That sounds appealing.”

  He gave me a friendly smile and gripped me in a half hug. “Well, let’s go do it then.”

  He helped me through the locker room and out into the hall. During our walk down the long white corridor, only one person passed us.

  “Where is everyone?”

  “I noticed your reaction when we entered the hall earlier, so I had the way cleared, and the cafeteria as well. Eventually you will feel more comfortable, but for now we’ll take it one step at a time.”

  “Thank you.” It did make me feel better. I didn’t like the idea of parading around like some stone age freak show. In my weakened state, I felt like a frail old man. This was not a condition I was used to. I was a man of power and influence, not someone to be pitied.

  The doors to the cafeteria opened before us and the sweet smells of breakfast filled my nostrils. My mouth watered. I hadn't noticed before, but I was extremely hungry.

  Dr. Solomon headed off to the beverage table. I dug into the breakfast buffet: eggs, toast, sausage, bacon, hash browns, fruit, even pancakes. My tray was heavy under the weight of the farmer’s breakfast. So I stood waiting for assistance to carry it to a table.

  When the doctor returned, he looked at the tray, looked at me, and raised one eyebrow. “You’ve gone a long time without eating, Thomas. You need to start out slowly.” He held out a chocolate shake in a glass. “Here, try this.”

  I gave it an unwelcoming stare.

  “Here.” He held it closer. “Give it a try.”

  Slowly I took it from him and had a sip. “Hmm. Not bad.”

  “It’s organic and full of living vitamins. It will assist in your recovery.” He patted me on the shoulder.

  We headed toward a large window overlooking the parking lot, I blinked in the morning light. White and gray buildings littered the asphalt grounds. In the distance, a fence that looked like it surrounded the entire compound stretched out of sight. “Are all these buildings involved in this project?” I said, taking a seat across from him.

  “Most, but not all.”

  “It must be very important.”

  “Some think so.”

  “So, what’s the big deal about a few coma patients?” I took a sip from my shake.

  His eyes turned down. “It wasn’t always a big deal.”

  “Oh?” I stared out at the parking lot.

  “Originally it was a small offshoot of a project my colleague and I were working on for the government. But then this colleague, who was also a good friend of mine, was severely injured in a car accident, which put him in a coma. It was my hope that by using the technology we’d designed together, I could communicate with him through the computer to find a way to bring him out.”

  “Communicate with him through the computer?”

  That got my attention.

  “Yes. But when I proposed the project to the government, they wanted nothing to do with it. I tried to explain that Robert was an integral part of the existing project, and that it would be very useful for them to get him back, but they were less than optimistic about any chance of success. They assumed that by the time I figured out how to reach him, if it was even possible, that he would be a vegetable. So they refused funding.”

  “But you managed to get the project going anyway.”

  “Yes. That’s where you and the others came in. You are all from wealthy homes. Your families are funding this project.” He stopped and looked around cautiously. “But things have changed recently. The government brought up a legal complaint a few weeks ago, about my using technology developed for the government in a personal venture.” He leaned in close. “But at that time, I had started talking with Robert, or, who I thought was Robert.”

  I squinted at him. “You actually talked with a coma patient through the computer?”

  “Yes. By using part of the technology we were developing for the government, we created a system that could talk directly to the human brain, and vice versa.”

  I looked at him sideways.

  He continued. “We were unsure of how to start the dialog because the comatose mind is unresponsive, so we left the computer to input stimuli until a response was registered. I used VRIN, the virtual world we designed for the government, to create a base environment my friend could relate to. But it has changed so much that it isn’t even the same creature anymore. Anyway, now that we’ve had some success, the government wants in again. They threatened to shut us down if I didn't cooperate, so I was forced to let them take control.”

  I stared at him. “Amazing. I can see why the government wanted back in.”

  “Yes, well we weren’t happy about it. But if I didn't comply, they were going to take me to court, and if they won, they were going to shut me out completely. I wasn't about to let that happen, so I agreed to cooperate. The families were given the option of withdrawing or allowing the government to take over, the latter reducing their financial commitment. So everyone agreed to continue on. But now, guards are posted at the gate, security has tripled, and military experts examine every log we create. We can’t even leave the grounds without an escort. It’s like a prison in here.”

  “And there’s nothing you can do about it?”

  “No. The military gave everyone the option of staying or leaving. We're stuck here now.”

  “We? What about me? Are they going to try to keep me here?”

  The seriousness in his face vanished and was replaced by a jovial expression. “Of course they will. There are many things that will amaze you about the
lab.” I felt a slow pressure on my foot. “There is so much to show you. It’s all quite fascinating.”

  There was a noise near the door. I pivoted to see a guard looking in our direction. I gave him a wave and a smile, and turned back to the doctor. “Yeah, it seems really cool,” I said, trying to act oblivious to the tension in the room.

  “It is that indeed,” he returned, continuing to sound happy. I heard the doors open and close, and the doctor’s face dropped again. “Things are much worse than I’ve had a chance to explain. It looks like my time with you is running out.”

  “I’m beginning to get a little nervous, Doc.”

  “I’m sorry it had to be like this. I wanted to explain everything so you would understand my position. My only intention was to help my friend. If it helped you and the others in the process, that was good too, but things are getting out of control. Strange men in suits have been showing up. Weird demands are being placed on us. It appears the project is being undermined, like they're afraid of what we might find in there.”

  “In where? In the computer?”

  “No, in the minds of the patients. It’s not about the computer anymore. Something is going on. We don't understand the implications.” He paused.

  “Implications...?”

  “Of Vrin. It’s gone far beyond the original project specifications. There are elements in the texts which are completely baffling.” His face went smooth and his smile reappeared. “So are you almost finished?”

  “Yes, thank you,” I said, matching his mood.

  “Then let’s give you a tour of the lab.”

  As I got up, I ventured another glance at the doors. A different man was standing at the entrance. He was dressed in a dark blue suit. His face was stern. “Who’s that?” I asked innocently.

  “That’s Mr. Philips. He is,” the doctor hesitated, “ah-- responsible for security in the building.”

  We walked over and deposited our trays. The man watched quietly as we passed. “Hello,” I said, trying to convey a relaxed friendly bearing over my nervous interior.

  We continued on into the hall and down toward the lab. “There is much more to tell,” the doctor said.