Ken
was tired, despondent and none too sober. He’d learnt only a few hours before
that the Phoenix Project of which he was the lead scientist was about to be
scrapped, that funding would not be renewed by Congress for the current fiscal
year to the intelligence agency for which he worked. He saw the last 15 years
of his life, years in which he’d been entirely absorbed in working on this most
carefully guarded project and which had borne success beyond his most
optimistic hopes, rush by him in a swirling haze. His life’s work was
dissolving before his eyes like an early morning mist burnt away by the unforgiving rising sun
of a new day (and a new Washington administration unfriendly to risky,
high-priced covert projects).
The
Phoenix project had been his life. He had conceived it while an undergraduate
student at MIT and it had taken on a
life of its own until it became his rason
d’etre. He used his considerable powers of persuasion, and political
connections (being the son of a senior senator certainly had not hindered his
efforts, and he had not been shy about enlisting his father as an ally from the
start), to convince the intelligence agency that his project was both feasible
and of unparalleled value as an intelligence tool, and much too dangerous to be
developed by private industry. All three assertions were undeniably true.
Unfortunately for Dr. Kenneth Leyans, having cast his lot with the government,
he was now precluded from pursuing his project through the private sector
despite the fact that the cost of further research and development from this
point on would be relatively modest. The pointed success he had achieved, to
date would make many technology companies and most foreign governments
literally kill to get their hands on his work, and would make him to only an
instant billionaire, but a guaranteed Nobel laureate.
Simply
put, the Phoenix project represented quantum leaps in computer technology and
nanotechnology that allowed for a symbiotic melding between humans and
computers. Dr. Leyans had succeeded in creating a device which could read and
store any person’s complete memories from birth and download them into a
computer’s memory, where they would be stored and could be enhanced,
manipulated and made to interact with the real, computer-enhanced and computer-generated
virtual memories of thousands of other people.
Any person interfacing with the system can be made to relive his past
from any given point with such accuracy as to make it indistinguishable from
reality. Any past experience could now be relived in minutest detail. But the
system was far more than a virtual memory generator. A subject interacting with
the system still retained the free will to change past events by making
different decisions from those made in his or her past, thereby affecting a change
in all that followed from that moment in time onward. Decisions great and small
that define our lives and its intrinsic quality could be revised. Doors closed
by past choices, destinations forever unreachable in life after taking the
wrong fork in the road leading to the wrong career, the wrong friendship, the
wrong mate, could all be potentially revised.
At
a fundamental level, we are little more than the sum of our life’s choices.
With the benefit of hindsight we can judge the wisdom of our decisions and
congratulate ourselves for our successes or lick the wounds of our failures. If
we are wise, we learn from both. But no amount of introspection can alter the
course of events that flow from crucial decisions made. Words spoken in anger
cannot be taken back. A bullet fired from a gun cannot be recalled. A priceless
crystal vase once dropped and shattered cannot be reassembled. Life offers no
rewind button and the detritus we leave in our wake as the remnants of our
broken dreams, broken words, broken hearts and broken souls is all too often
beyond repair.
But
the Phoenix Project had the potential to change that. The system’s many
applications would include entertainment and it would add a powerful new tool
for the treatment of mental illness. But it is the value to any government as
an intelligence tool that Dr. Leyans had stressed when seeking government
funding of his research: It would provide a valuable training and debriefing
tool for agents and for the military, allowing subjects to re-live previous
assignments or computer generated new ones; the entire memories of captured
terrorists, enemy agents or dangerous criminals could be read into the computer
and examined or changed by it so as to yield important information which could
not be withheld. Agents’ reactions to specific events, such as interrogation
under torture, could be examined so as to best determine their likely reactions
in the field. It might even be possible to re-program captured foreign agents,
terrorists and other enemy combatants at will so that they could be used to sow
misinformation, gather information and otherwise disrupt the plans of enemies
of the state--something not yet achieved by the system, but certainly well
within its theoretical limits and a possibility well worth exploring.
Unfortunately,
not every bug had yet been satisfactorily worked out. The system’s Achilles
heel, and the trigger for the withdrawal of funding, was that the link between
it and a subject once established could not be safely severed. Such attempts
invariably led to one of two unacceptable results: death or madness. A person’s
memories could be downloaded safely into the system without any ill effects;
all that was required was the massive storage and processing power of a network
of linked supercomputers and the wearing of a helmet with hypersensitive sensor
receptors able to intercept and translate normal brain waves into data
downloadable to the network. The average download time for a subject was a mere
10-12 hours of connect time under sedation. But for the system to directly
interface with the brain in an active manner, setting up the parameters of the
memories to be relived or hypothetical present setting to be infused, a more
complicated procedure was required. In order to facilitate the symbiotic linkup
to the Phoenix Project, an esoteric mixture of biochemical and nanotechnology
agents needs to be consumed within four hours of the linkup. The biochemical
agents strengthen the brain’s normal electrochemical reactions and enhance the
body’s circulatory system, while the nanotechnology agents are carried through
the blood to the brain, where they attach to individual neurons and act as
miniature receptors to translate and convey impulses from the computer directly
to the brain. The combination of the
biochemical and nanotechnology agents makes it possible for a subject to
receive data directly from the system safely.
Unfortunately, once the link is disturbed, dire consequences result for
reasons that Dr. Leyans and his team did not yet understand.
Convinced
that the failure of the tests on the chimpanzee and gorilla subjects was
related to the creatures’ inability to cope with the stress of the procedure
due to their limited mental capacity and their inability to understand what was
happening to them, three volunteers from the Phoenix Projects took it upon
themselves to perform unauthorized tests on humans. Without the knowledge or
consent of Dr. Leyans, three volunteers agreed to simultaneously interface with
the system. They knew they would only get one shot at it and, aware of the high
risk to themselves but confident in the success they would achieve, they wanted
to have multiple positive results to strengthen the argument for further human
trials. Of the three test volunteers, two died upon the severance of the
symbiotic link between the subject and the system, and the third suffered
severe psychosis requiring her to be institutionalized; the well-meaning
volunteers in a single act confirmed the failed results on the simian test
subjects and simultaneously dealt a death blow to the project.
Ken
had been torn between the grief and guilt he felt for his colleagues and the
frustration and anger at the untimely demise of the project so close to
achieving complete success. The link‑up
had been successful in all three cases; he had the complete record of their
brain responses to their trips back in time into their own past, and all seemed
normal until the link was severed and the attempt was made to bring them out of
their virtual reality. The new generation mainframes which he had developed
contained voluminous amounts of data on each of the psychic “voyages”
undertaken by the project volunteers. While it would take years of close
scrutiny to fully analyze such data and to yield conclusive results, there was
little doubt from the preliminary findings that the experiments had been
successful, other than for the recurring fatal flaw.
Yet,
despite these unquestionable triumphs, the Senate Oversight Committee had
decided to scrap the project. The computer equipment would certainly be put to
some use, and he was assured of getting credit for that part of the project;
but the Phoenix Project was effectively dead. All research relating to it would
be branded top secret and filed away beyond the reach of espionage or the
Freedom of Information Act.
But
all was not lost. His father’s warning had purchased him a grace period of
perhaps a day, or at least the better part of it. No guards were likely to
storm his lab at 2:00 A.M., at any rate. Ken smiled; there was something to be
said for red tape, after all.
There
was nothing for him to do at the moment but wait. He’d called his best friend
over an hour ago, and knew that he would soon be arriving. He had not given him
any specifics over the phone, but had told him that he needed to see him
immediately on an urgent matter. He smiled again faintly, conjuring a vision of
poor Dan rushing out of the house in his pajamas, making the four-hour trip up
from Albany to the Suffolk County facilities in what he knew would be record
time. He felt some guilt about putting his friend through that; but it was
necessary, and he knew the other would understand.
Ken
sipped slowly from his large snifter--brandy, real Napoleon; he kept
several bottles in the lab for important
occasions, such as the celebration of new breakthroughs with his team
(champagne, he felt, was better suited for World Series winners and senior
proms); he certainly was not in a celebratory mood, but what the hell,
crossroads counted, too.
A
loud buzzer erupted in the lab, destroying the hypnotic humming of the
computers. He arose slowly, self consciously attempting not to stagger
perceptibly, and walked towards the intercom to be greeted by an emotionless
voice.
“I’m
sorry to disturb you, Dr. Leyans, but there is a man here by the name of Daniel
Lantz who claims you’ve sent for him.”
“That’s
right, Sergeant, I have. Please escort him in.”
“Sir,
he lacks appropriate clearance. I cannot allow him into the compound.”
“I’m
clearing him now, Sergeant,” Ken retorted, not attempting to hide his
annoyance. “Let him in at once.”
“But
sir,” the Sergeant began, “I have strict orders that no one is to be admitted
without proper clearance without the express authorization of General
Worthing.” The man was insistent, but a tone of nervous annoyance was also
detectable in his voice. Waking the general at 0215 hours was not something he
cared to do; neither did he wish to incur the ire of the head of a project as
important as this must be, judging by all the extensive security surrounding
it--security and secrecy unlike anything he’d seen in his twenty five years of
service.
“Sergeant,”
Ken interrupted impatiently, “I am the head of this project, not General
Worthing. His sole responsibility is the same as yours, to ensure my safety and to secure my project. Mr. Lantz has information I
need immediately that is crucial to that which is your duty to guard. If you
delay me for one more minute, I promise you that both you and General Worthing can kiss your careers good-bye. Am I making
myself perfectly clear?”
“Yes
sir,” came the somewhat muffled response.
“Please
escort Mr. Lantz to the lab immediately. Thank you.” With that, Ken turned
towards the locked vault-like steel doors and punched in the access code to
open them. He felt a little ashamed of his heavy-handed treatment of Sergeant
Ellis, a man he had grown to know and like; but he simply did not have time to
be diplomatic or overly concerned over a man’s hurt feelings, not when his life
depended on what would transpire within the next few hours.
As
soon as the door opened, an M.P. immediately came to attention on the outside
as Dr. Leyans walked out to meet his friend. a moment later, he saw Dan being
escorted by a somber Sergeant.
“Thank
you, Sergeant,” Ken said with a thin smile, “And don’t worry, the surveillance
tape of our conversation is on the record and I take full responsibility for
Mr. Lantz’s presence here.”
“That
you do, sir” the Sergeant retorted,
stiffly doing an about-face and heading away at a brisk pace.
“Thanks
for coming, Dan,” Ken began, turning to his friend and giving him a quick
embrace. “I’m sorry to put you through this; you’ll get a full explanation in a
minute.” With that, Ken signaled his friend to precede him inside. After both
men had entered, Ken again punched in a code and the door slid shut, closing
with a final clanging sound which sent a slight shiver down Dan’s spine.
“What
the hell is this all about?” Dan demanded no sooner than the door was sealed,
nervous anticipation and concern clearly detectable in his tone.
“That
is a long and complicated story. But I’ll try to keep it brief. Please, come in
and make yourself comfortable; this will take a while.” Both men moved towards
a table in the corner of the expansive laboratory. As they walked, the
immensity of the place with its myriad electronic equipment began to sink in
for Dan. He let out an unconscious, low whistle. “God, what is this place?” he
asked with a tone that clearly evidenced his surprise, curiosity and awe. He
recognized some of the equipment immediately, namely mainframes and the
ubiquitous video display terminals. Yet, most of the electronic paraphernalia
was completely foreign to him. For the most part it consisted of monolithic
metal structures with LED read‑outs and flashing lights; the enormous lab was
well lit, almost painfully so, with white halogen light bouncing off the myriad
chrome counter tops and milk-white high gloss laminated cabinet surfaces. The
facility was spotless, anesthetized to the point of completely eradicating all
odors; only the faint scent of ozone could be sensed, barely perceptible. Even
the sounds seemed clean--merely white noise, a
soothing hum at an almost subliminal level. The general effect, after
the initial disorientation caused mostly by an almost overwhelming sense of
immenseness, made Dan uneasy in a way he could not have explained were he even
fully aware of it.
“This,
dear friend, is the end result of my life’s work. You know what I have been
working on for the past 15 years, but only in a superficial way. Until a few
hours ago, this place stood for hope, a self-made vehicle for redemption. Now
...” Ken’s voice trailed off to a nearly inaudible whimper.”Now, it is a tomb.”
“What
the blazes do you mean? What is this
place, and what the bloody hell are you talking about?”
Ken
sighed, inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, mechanically reaching for another
snifter for his friend and pouring out a generous serving of the precious
brandy, groping for words and a place to begin what he knew would be an explanation
difficult to accept.
“I
haven’t told you exactly what it is that I have been working on because it is
classified information, and because, even if it were not, it could be dangerous
for you to know it.”
“I
can see it’s heavy-duty stuff. This damned place is a fortress.” I had no idea
this lab was still operational.
“To
put it simply, I am working on a project which has made it possible to relive
one’s past. I can synthesize memories from brain impulses, translate them into
code which the computer can manipulate and inject it back into the brain so
that the subject actually relives
them.”
“That’s
. . . fantastic,” Dan interrupted
excitedly. “Does it really work?”
“Yes
and no. I have incontrovertible evidence that the process works, but the
biochemical changes necessary to effectuate the process in conjunction with the
physical symbiotic link‑up to the computer is not reversible at this time.”
“What
do you mean by ‘not reversible’“?
Ken
shuddered almost imperceptibly and answered in a low tone: “I mean you can’t
cut the link without some . . . unacceptable consequences.”
“You
mean that anyone who gets hooked up to your machine can’t come out of the . . .
the dream?”
“Basically,
yes. Although your characterization of the experience as a dream is inaccurate.
The programming is so complex that the person linked with the system literally
relives past experiences, or whatever scenario, real or imagined, we inject.
You can think of it as a dream, but a dream so very real that it is
indistinguishable from reality. The effect is not some blurry, black and white
fleeting representation, as with most dreams, but a true life experience. Every
nuance of taste, smell, touch, sound and sight are re-experienced; every
feeling and thought relived.”
“God,”
Dan interrupted. Can you imagine what people would pay to relive a particularly
pleasant experience at will? To be with a loved one long dead? To recapture
lost youth? This has to be among the greatest inventions of our time.
Programmable dreams and truly attainable fantasies!”
“Yes,
the potential uses of my invention are many, including the obvious commercial
ones. But it’s all a moot point now.”
“What
do you mean?”
“My
father has just informed me that funding for this program has been cut. I
expect the prototype will be dismantled by tomorrow.”
“But
why?” Dan asked in disbelief. “Just because you haven’t perfected it yet? I
know you said that once a person gets hooked up to the system he can’t be
disconnected, but that must be something you could eventually fix . . .”
“It’s
not just that, Dan. I’ve lost three colleagues who voluntarily underwent the
link-up. The Senate simply felt it is too dangerous to be allowed to continue.
Also, the climate has changed in Washington. Pricey research is out--especially
when requested by an intelligence agency known for its black ops. The deaths of
my staff members was simply the last straw that those opposed to the project
needed to finally destroy it. I can’t really fully blame them. In the wrong
hands, the Phoenix Project could be potentially more dangerous than nuclear
weapons.”
“You
should never have gone to the government with this. You could have developed it
in any major university, or even through private industry.”
“No,
I needed my dad’s clout to even get the government to listen to my crackpot
notions. And no corporation on earth could have provided the enormous capital
needed for research and development. At any rate, that’s all immaterial now.
The real reason I asked you to come is that I have made a decision that I need
to speak with you about before I can carry it out.”
“I
know you well enough to know that I’m probably not going to like this,” Dan
said, picking up his snifter, swirling the amber liquid slowly, absent‑mindedly,
and downing half of its content in a single gulp. It could have been brandy,
vodka or kerosene; Dan would not have noticed the difference. He was preparing
himself for whatever it was that Ken had brought him here for. He cleared his
mind of everything and concentrated on his friend, waiting to do whatever was
asked of him. Ken refreshed their drinks saying “This is your final one. I need
you clear headed. Clarity for me is of secondary importance at this time.” He
smiled at Ken, then sat back in his chair, warming his brandy in his hand and
exhaling a soft sigh as he resumed speaking.
“Let
me tell you straight out why I asked you to come, and we’ll take it from there.
I must link up with the system tonight, while it is still possible, and I need
you to assist me with the process.”
“Are
you absolutely out of your mind!” Dan spat out immediately, enraged because he
knew that Ken was deadly serious and would not be easily dissuaded; extreme
stubbornness is one among many characteristics they both shared. He would do
anything that Ken asked, regardless of the risk or price asked of
him--anything, that is, except help him to commit suicide, no matter how bloody
important or worthwhile the cause.
“Relax,
Dan. Please her me out. I don’t expect to have your help unless I can convince
you that it is the right thing to do.”
“Forget
it. I’m not buying any utilitarian argument about the need for sacrifice for
the sake of science. The answer is no. Period.”
“You’re
jumping to conclusions. Please hear me out; I must link up to the system, but
not for any altruistic reason. I must do it for me, not for science, country, humanity or any other idealistic
reason. I began work on the project purely out of selfishness, and that is the
same force that drives me into what I must do tonight. It is what is best for
me, and that is why you will help
me.”
“I’m
listening.”
“That’s
all I ask,” Ken said, smiling softly and taking another sip from his snifter.
“Do you remember Linda?”
“Your
high school sweetheart? Of course I remember her.”
“Do
you remember why we broke up?”
“Sure
I do; you thought you were getting too emotionally attached, that both of you
were in love at the wrong time, and that continuing to see each other would
interfere with your education. You broke it off, never saw her again and
learned that she was married some years later, when you were starting your
senior year at MIT.”
“That’s
right. You also know that it was the worst mistake of my life.”
“Yeah,”
Dan uttered, his voice nearly inaudible. “You’re the most brilliant moron I’ve
ever known.” They had spent many hours rehashing that decision over the years.
Ken had never been the same since he’d learned of Linda’s marriage, since that
door was forever closed for him. She now lived in California, three thousand
miles away, with a caring, decent man she would never truly love despite having
borne him three sons. Ken had not married and never would; he was an idealist
who could never settle, as Linda had, and much too honest with himself to even
hope that he might change. Regret had nearly driven him to despair until he had
launched himself head-on into his work. In it, Dan had thought that his friend
had found if not a substitute for love, at least a meaningful escape from the
unbearable reality of his loneliness and regret. Throughout the past ten years,
Ken had been too busy for pain or emptiness and had seemed content. Dan had
known better than to breach that subject during that time, and had finally
nearly convinced himself that Ken had exorcized his ghosts. Until this very
moment, when the import of his friend’s motivation throughout the past ten
years became all too clear. His heart sank, and he fought keep in check the
powerful emotions percolating to the surface.
“You
can’t go back, Ken. You can’t throw away your life for a dream. You can’t give
up everything to live a lie.”
“You
know me better than anyone on earth. You are my best friend and probably the
only reason that I made it through my graduate studies and the years before I
conceived of the project. But you’ve got to understand the simple fact that
life without Linda is literally not worth living for me. Regret is the cruelest
disease; it gnaws away at you from the inside until there is nothing left but a
hollow shell, and the echoes of painful memories. You know, it’s funny; no
matter how many times you say you’ve hit bottom, that you can’t sink any lower,
that there is simply no more pain you can possibly feel, you’re proven wrong.
There’s always more. It can always get worse, and almost invariably
does.”
“But
your invention is not the answer. You can’t find happiness in a dream, because
a part of you will always know it is a dream. You can’t cheat fate, at least
not in that way. If Linda is still that important, then damn it, let her know
that; there may still be a way. Marriage, especially an imperfect one, is not
necessarily an insurmountable obstacle; you can always . . .”
“No,
Dan,” Ken interrupted gently, feeling his friend’s frustration, but drawing
strength and a calmness that surprised even him from his determination. “Even
if I could, I would not break up that family and hurt her husband or her kids;
I could no more do that than I could suffer the death of an innocent person to
save my own life or the life of a loved one. If I could, I would be unworthy of
her love, and if she could accept me under those circumstances, she would be
unworthy of mine. There is no other answer, and you know that too, dear
friend.”
Dan
could not reply. He knew that Ken was essentially right, but he would have said
or done anything to dissuade his friend. Unfortunately, he also knew that once
Ken made up his mind, something he never did lightly, there was no power on
earth that could make him change it.
“You
just can’t throw away your life, Ken. Nobody is worth that, not even Linda.
It’s one thing to take a chance for the sake of science; I can accept that.”
Dan’s tone softened, seeing the pain that his allusion to his dead colleagues
had immediately caused; he had struck a responsive chord and he had every
intention of exploiting if it could save his friend from himself. “The
sacrifices your colleagues made were not in vain; they knew the risk and
willingly took it. Their sacrifice is no less noble for being rash and unwise.”
“I
would never have allowed it had I known of it. Jason, Sandra and George were
brilliant scientists and good, decent human beings. The project wasn’t anywhere
ready for human experimentation.” Ken’s eyes glistened as his voice grew hushed
and husky. “I would give anything to bring them back, to ease their family’s
pain. The risk, when it was time to take it, was always meant to be mine
alone.”
“But
the point is, they took that risk for all the right reasons. I’m sure they
sensed that a breakthrough was needed very soon to allow the project to
continue, to prevent what has happened from coming to pass. But you are willing
to take the same risk for all the wrong reasons, knowing that you will die.
You’ve taken on the whole damned project for the wrong reason; you can’t change
the past. We have to accept our mistakes, learn from them and move on. You’ve been
brooding for over twenty years about something you fundamentally cannot change
and are too damned stubborn, proud and weak to accept that simple fact.”
“You
probably right about that. I am guilty of pride, the original sin. But you’ve
got to understand, Dan, that there is simply no other choice left to me; if it
is between pride and despair, I’d rather burn for pride. I can’t give up; I
just can’t. Not while there’s the slightest chance that I can set things right
without hurting anyone, except possibly myself.”
Dan
sighed. He knew he was getting nowhere, but he could no more give up than Ken;
stubbornness was a trait they both shared, a trait they recognized as a flaw
yet carried proudly like a banner upon their psyches.
“Look,”
Dan started, trying a different approach. “Even assuming your damned machine
works, what is the point of living out a dream until they shut it off? What
will it prove or accomplish? How is that any different from blowing your brains
out, the second thinly veiled option to which you alluded a moment ago?”
“It’s
very different. First of all, you keep thinking that I will be living a dream.
That is a false assumption and belittles what the system can deliver. Second,
you falsely assume that the system will be shut down within a matter of hours;
it won’t be if I’m attached to it and they know that shutting it down will kill
me. That’s essentially what I need you
for, counselor. I trust you can keep the matter in the courts with a temporary
restraining order and perhaps even get a permanent injunction against the
government pulling the plug. A shutdown, and my subsequent death, probably
won’t occur for years, and perhaps not at all.” He smiled wryly at his friend
and continued in an almost playful tone, “You’d fight like hell to see to see
to that as if my life depended on it.”
“You’re
a sly bastard. But you’d have to convince me that this ungodly machine of yours
can do more than provide you with a pleasant, deadly dream before you can count
on my help.”
“Actually,
I don’t. I can kick you out right now and hook myself to it with the absolute
certainty that you’d wake some poor judge or other to work your magic from your
cell phone before you got to your car, and before the nasty old agency people
pull the plug and hide my cause of death.” Ken was smiling broadly now, knowing
he’d won, and enjoying the dour look on Dan’s face. “Nevertheless,” he
continued in a more serious tone, “I will convince you. I owe you that, and I
don’t want you to spend the rest of your life wondering what you might have
done to prevent this. You’ve got to know that this is right for me, that I have
thoroughly thought this out for many years, and that it will definitely bring
me the second chance without which I cannot and will not live.”
“Fine,
Ken. You can start by telling me how
what you hope to achieve is not simply a dream, and why I’m wrong in saying
that.”
“Easy
enough. Remember what I said before, that the system has the ability to make
the host relive memories in the slightest detail so that they seem real, and
that it can inject variables to change those memories, or even completely
computer-generated ones? It can also, as
I’ve said, contain the complete memories of multiple people. The subject can
either be aware that he is living a virtual reality, or he can be ignorant of
that fact.”
“You
mean that the person can either know that he is dreaming or not know. O.K.,
what difference does that make?”
“First
of all, it’s not a dream. That should be abundantly clear by now, but I’ll
still clarify it further in a moment. As to the difference it makes, that’s
obvious. If I were aware that I was living a computer generated quasi reality,
I could not accept it, and my ultimate death would have been a truly
meaningless sacrifice. The point is, I would not be aware of that. It would be
real, as real as our present existence is to both of us. After all, how do you
objectively know that you are now alive? How do you know that you are not the
figment of some sleeping being’s overactive imagination? And, more importantly,
what the hell difference does it make?”
“OK.,
let’s assume arguendo, that you can swoosh yourself back to high school,
not remember that you did so, since you would not have the knowledge of
everything that has transpired from that time until now in your memories of
that time, and manipulate the computer into letting you fall back in love
with Linda. Granted, you may not know
it’s not real at that point, but you do now; you know you would be living a
lie. What is the point beyond merely hedonistic self-indulgence or intellectual
masturbation?”
“I
know what you’re saying, and I’ll admit there’s a grain of truth to your
argument, but fundamentally you’re
wrong. The existence I will live will be in part a lie; the reactions of people
I have met in the past and continue to meet in the future while linked to the
computer will look, dress and react in accordance with my previous experiences
with them enhanced by the artificial intelligence of the computer’s own
programming. Since their memories or consciousnesses have not been captured by
the system, the system will merely extrapolate from what it gleans from my
recollections and generate their actions based upon that limited data. Father
McMullen will always be a saint in my alternate reality, and Ben Munsen will
always be the miscreant he was in sixth grade—unless the computer’s AI decides
otherwise. People will react largely as I expect them to. But I won’t know
that, so it won’t matter. Also, the computer will randomly generate new
individuals for me to meet and interact with, drawing from its massive database
of personalities and from the collective memories of the hundred or so people
who have linked up with the system to voluntarily download information. If my
usual neighborhood gets too boring, or my old friends too predictable, I’ll
probably decide to move, as I would in real-life, which will be fine, since
I’ll be exposed to an almost limitless number of computer generated people no
matter where I go in my mind’s eye.”
“That’s
fine as far as casual acquaintances, colleagues and maybe even friends. But
what about Linda? Won’t you find her incredibly predictable after a while and
grow weary of her? What if you decide you can’t stand her after all? Wouldn’t that be poetic justice!”
“Linda
is a special case. Her entire memories are in the computer, along with
mine. In the early stages of the
project, we developed a safe means of downloading memories into the system; as
I’ve already told you, we found a relatively simple process to capture the
electromagnetic impulses of the brain and translate them into machine
code. The danger comes only in
establishing a two-way linkup with the system to access the shared memoriesBso
far, that’s been a one-way trip for us.
“How
did you get Linda’s memories downloaded?”
“She,
along with hundreds of mostly student volunteers, agreed to take part in an MIT
project that formed the foundation of my PhD work. Volunteers were paid a
stipend to lie for 12 hours on a comfy couch connected with my then-
experimental neural interface, with a low-dose Valium drip to prevent
discomfort and speed up the subjective time for the participants.”
“So,
you see,” Ken continued, “whatever reality we find ourselves in, she will react
in accordance with her own stored self’,
without any alteration by the computer. Her ‘mind’ will react along with mine,
growing and changing in accordance to our interrelationship, our environment
and our individual and shared new experiences. She may still meet and marry her
current husband, or we may grow to hate each other, but if we do, it will be
genuine, just as it would have been had we stayed on our set course some twelve
years ago. And that is a chance I will take.”
“What
makes you think that you won’t do exactly what you did before, that you won’t
make precisely the same mistake again?”
“I
just know I won’t. And I’ve loaded the deck just a trifle to ensure that.”
“What
you mean, Ken, is that you’ve programmed the machine to give you what you want;
you will ‘go back’ in time, know that you must follow through with Linda, and
find that she has the exact same feelings you so wish her to have. Which brings
me to back to my original point, that you are throwing away your life to pursue
intellectual masturbation, to live the dream through a dream. Damn it, Ken,
can’t you see that what you are engaging in a meaningless wish-fulfillment?”
“Stop
trying so desperately to convince me, and yourself, that I’m wrong. Listen to
what I am saying with your heart and
mind; get out of the ‘adversarial mode’ and back into the ‘friendship mode’
counselor.”
“I’m
trying. Believe me, I’m really trying to understand.”
And
I’m trying just as hard to make you understand. Your understanding and approval
is very important to me; although I know you realize I’ll do what I have to
without either, if necessary.”
I
know, I know,” Dan replied softly, beginning to resign himself to the
irresistible force of his friend’s determination.”
“Anyway,
what you implied a moment ago is not accurate. I will not reprogram the system
to bring about or even facilitate any given result. All I will do is program
one single thought into my mind which should trigger the right course.”
“And
what might that be?”
“Simple.
Twenty years ago, the last time that Linda and I got together and I broke it
off, I reached what has become for me the most crucial crossroad of my life: a
moment in which I was torn between wanting to hold her, to tell her that I
loved her desperately and completely and that all would be well, and needing to
run out of the apartment and keep running, never looking back. I chose the
latter course. If only I’d stayed a few minutes more, looked for another
instant at her warm brown eyes, and saw, really saw, her understanding face
with the tears gently rolling down her cheeks, I know I would not have been able
to follow through. I would have followed my heart and held her, kissed her, and
poured out my heart to her. All I will do to the system is to program the
thought that I must stay with her for a little longer, and kiss her one last
time.”
“And
that will do it?”
“Yes.”
“You’re
certain?”
“Absolutely.”
“And
what if you’re wrong? What if you stay five minutes longer, kiss her one last
time and then get up and run away, just like the last time?”
“I
won’t”
“Damn
it, what if you do? Then what?”
“Then
my ghosts will have been set free. I will be twice damned and will prove myself
unworthy of that second chance. And I will most likely go on to live out the
rest of my virtual life with the same pain and regrets as my real one. Who
knows, perhaps I’ll go on to work on this project, overflowing with regret, and
do it all over again. How do you know I haven’t already, and that this is not
the umpteenth iteration of an endless loop? It doesn’t really matter what the
outcome is; if there were only a one in a trillion chance of it working, I’d
sell my soul to try.”
**** END OF PREVIEW ****
