IENDE Read online

  PART 2

  PERFECT INFORMATION

  THIRTY-FOUR

  VICTOR FELT A dull ache in his eyes under the artificial lighting of the operating room. He watched, expectant, as Eli pulled away bone flap with a sound like a spoon digging into oatmeal. Anita’s head was anchored by a clamp that bored into the outer table of her skull.

  She appeared lifeless.

  The tumor possessed deep roots—a tumor present since her youth that had only recently awakened to spread its boundaries. Eli’s manicured hands were steady, his eyes carefully following the strokes of the blade as it sliced through dura, exposing the vulnerable tissue beneath.

  A tremor struck Victor’s leg.

  He stepped back as Eli sliced decaying tumor, releasing deep red mixed with clear fluid, which dulled the light that reflected from exposed gray matter. The sound of suction reverberated in Victor’s ears. The white tiled walls spun for a moment as his stomach soured, his throat drawing inward as he failed to conceal a gag.

  “Victor, you should step outside,” Eli said without looking up from the task at hand.

  Victor peeled off his gloves and dashed to the bathroom to purge his breakfast. He gripped the edge of the stall door and his finger was torn on a shard of metal. Blood from the gash beaded.

  He became fixated on its fragile surface tension.

  To think of Anita’s frail state was like hanging from a cliff—an inch from death, each successive moment manifesting from a dark unknown until the moment when fate revealed its outcome. Victor had insisted on being present during the surgery, as if his mere presence would somehow help. Or maybe it was an opportunity to share in the peril of surgery alongside his brother. A chance to bond.

  Victor pulled down at the stall door, wanting suddenly to rip it from its hinges. Then his body fell limp, the lines of his aging face becoming canals for his tears.

  *

  Victor sat on a wobbly plastic chair, slouched, alone in a solitary hallway in an overflow wing of the hospital. The hallway was lined with windows that overlooked a lush courtyard littered with old cottonwoods. The off-white walls were flooded with sunlight reflected from the polished floor. That spot felt timeless, like he was in a painting and safe from the perilous unknowns that inhabit the path of time.

  Yet he was unable to quell the afterimage of another failed opportunity to bond with his brother. He’d been unable to remain at Eli’s side and show support for him and Anita.

  Eli emerged from the elevator at the mouth of the hallway. His thin, muscular stature was draped beneath a heavily starched shirt and tailored suit. His dress shoes clattered on the smooth flooring. Eli’s face was serene, a warm smile forming as he approached.

  “Vick,” Eli’s smile widened. “Anita’s going to be okay. It couldn’t have gone better. The bone flap still has to be reattached, but the tumor was isolated and came out clean. No issues or complications.” Eli’s gaze strayed beneath Victor’s chin.

  Victor stood as he looked down to see a smudge of vomit on his scrubs. “I had a—”

  “It’s okay.”

  Victor braced for Eli’s next words.

  “I’ve decided . . . the tissue is on ice for your research. I agree that it will benefit those who share our condition.”

  A cautious excitement shot through Victor’s limbs at the revelation. “Back when I first suggested this . . . your reaction . . . I thought you were gonna put me through a window.”

  “I almost did.”

  Victor let out a vexed snicker.

  “Vick, I’m sorry my temper sometimes finds you in its crosshairs. Now I’d like to look ahead, forget the past.”

  “That’s what I want too.” Maybe they had bonded at last. “Hey, I wanted to say sorry about back in the OR—”

  “No need. I’m surprised you held out as long as you did.”

  Victor felt the old indignation that always came from his interactions with Eli. But no, he wouldn’t allow himself to fall into that pattern. Today was a good day.

  “I want you to study the tissue,” Eli said. “Rachael . . . she’s been good for you—a balancing force. And that mind of yours can do more with that tissue than any other biomedical engineer on Earth. My reservations were around your lack of emotional control.”

  “You’re referring to what I said about PNE? Well, I still don't think their objectives are in the best interest of—”

  “Please don’t start. Companies go into business to make money, however they need to, but the research grants they give out—gave you—yield value either way. Besides, you questioning the motives of PNE is the least of it. I’ve witnessed a lifetime of nervous, suspicious fear of conspiracies. That shit clouds your judgement. That’s when you cease to be a competent scientist.”

  Like Eli’s temper clouded his judgement? “Eli—”

  “Let me finish. I’m not trying to criticize. I know what your mind is capable of, and now you have an opportunity.” Eli smiled and put his hand on Victor’s shoulder. “Go for it, brother.”

  Victor flinched at Eli’s touch. “I’m sorry. It’s just corporate greed I worry about. We all have our—”

  “Yeah, okay.” Eli gave Victor’s shoulder a squeeze and let go. “You know, I sometimes think about your research in terms of what we are, as human beings. Are we really just machines? Data and information caught up in a mobile biocontrol system? And when you take something away—even a tumor—does it change who you are? Removing that tumor has changed me.” Eli looked out to the courtyard. “I took something physical from her, and the experience added something to me, somehow. Now we’re both different.”

  Victor wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Could he mean the addition of affection for Victor? “I try not to think of those things. Especially being in love and all. I want to know that love’s more than neurons and enzymes.” Victor laughed. “Kinda kills the mood, you know?”

  “Maybe we could grab a coffee soon, Mabel’s? It’s been so long. I'd like to catch up. And share some things I've been wanting off my chest.”

  “I’d like that,” Victor said. “So much time has passed. Time always separates us.”

  “But it also connects us.”

  Eli grabbed Victor’s shoulder again and nudged him forward. They embraced for the first time since their youth.

  “You should go and see her,” Eli said.

  Victor felt a burden lift from his mind and body, like chains falling off. He realized for the first time what a profound negative impact the tension between them had had on him. And he now felt part of a cohesive family again, a feeling he had lost long ago.

  ✽✽✽

  Moonbeams shone on the far wall, tracing odd boomerang shapes, bananas, sickles.

  There was so much about Anita that Victor couldn’t remember—lost moments, lost resolution. He’d always been distracted with problem solving, planning, chasing phantoms, even before he had ever learned of the Dames. And now he envied Eli’s memories of Anita, and their parents, which must have been clear, precise, complete, for they had been Eli’s focus.

  It was March 31st. Four weeks had passed since the rescue attempt at Mr. Sands’ house in Southern California. Victor had been holed up with Kyle, Samuel, and Rachael in a bungalow in the Sierra Madre Occidental for three of those weeks. This was a night like every other. He lay in bed tracing the contours of his life in the ceiling.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  REMMIE GASPED AS she awakened. Her moist back clung to the sheets as she adjusted her body. In her dream, her dad had chased her, slicing at her with a razor. He had been under the control of the Dames. She begged him to stop, telling him she loved him, begging for her life. But he slashed the razor across her throat, taking her breath away.

  She turned to face Bosco. His naked body lay next to hers. She ran her fingers over his chest, gently rubbing.

  He squeezed her hand. “What’s wrong, baby?”

  “Another nightmare.”

  He pulled her close. She rest
ed her head on his warm chest. She could hear the beating of his heart.

  “How long are we going to live like this?” she said.

  “I don’t want to talk about this now.”

  “I’m sorry.” She touched his cheek and gave him a soft kiss on his lips.

  Remmie had learned that Bosco was afraid of Mr. Sands. They had to bide their time. Bosco had confided in her only days after arriving in Mexico that he had questions about all of it. And he had been good to her, looking after her, looking out for her. With so many long days together, their connection was inevitable. She felt safe with Bosco, whole. She trusted him, and she knew she was falling for him. Bosco was what she’d always wanted, needed. But she wondered why their connection had to be under such difficult circumstances.

  Maybe that was the only way. Life just worked that way sometimes. And maybe in the end they could save the world and have each other. Maybe that was their fate.

  She moved her hand down his chest, onto his stomach, and lower. They began to make love.

  THIRTY-SIX

  VICTOR’S KNEES SWAYED like a ship in turbulent waters as the thick aroma of coffee invaded his nostrils. He took a sip. Perfect strength, perfect roast. Mabel’s was a place Victor used to frequent during his postdoc days. It felt like an anchor to a simpler time in his life, quelling his anxiety about the conversation that he was about to have. The building was eighty-four years old—wooden floors, brick walls littered with old photos of Los Angeles and silent movie stars.

  He felt his chest tighten when he saw Eli approaching the door. Victor probably should have had the decaf, for his hands trembled as he tapped a pattern on his coffee cup.

  The pattern of the Dames.

  The barista scuttled around the counter to give Eli a hug. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you both. You really need to stop in more often.”

  Eli smiled. “Life isn’t so simple as it used to be, Meg. The private room open?”

  “It’s all yours.” Meg handed Eli a coffee and gave them both a playful scowl. “You know I used to think there was just one of you, two personalities . . . since you never seemed to be here at the same time. It’s good to see you two together.”

  The two took seats at a small antique table in a private space in back.

  “You look like shit,” Eli said. “Another research binge? I’m looking forward to hearing what you’ve done with our sample.”

  Victor made his best attempt at a smile. “Research binge . . . yeah, something like that.”

  Eli raised an eyebrow. “You gonna tell me? I don’t have a lot of time. I had to drive across town to get here, you know.”

  “About my research.” Victor eyed his trembling hands, then gazed at Eli’s granite-steady ones.

  “Have you stopped by even once to visit her?”

  The conversation was headed south before it even started. Not unexpected. “I needed to take advantage of the sample before it expired. I planned to see her later in the week.”

  “I’m sorry, Vick. I didn’t mean to imply . . . I guess old habits die hard.” Eli took a sip of his coffee. “You know, it’s ironic that I’m a skilled neurosurgeon. I never would have imagined back in medical school that I’d be operating on my sister. Now I wouldn’t have been comfortable with her in anybody else’s hands.”

  Victor felt his stomach muscles tighten at his brother’s arrogance.

  Eli took another sip of coffee and gazed up at the photo of Charlie Chaplin from the silent film The Gold Rush. “Times like these I start to believe in fate. But if fate were real then we’d all be on a predestined path with no influence over our own journey.” Eli leaned back in his chair. “Were you able to connect the sample to your magic device?”

  “Yes.” Victor hesitated, his mind fixated on the word “fate.” “I found . . . something . . . in the sample.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I attached the array of microelectrodes to the tissue. Right away I was able to measure the pattern you would expect from someone without Malclenersy, but I was surprised that pattern was present in a tumor sample. I wondered where the energy came from. Then I put the sample into the electron microscope and scanned it.” Victor hesitated to let his next words leave him. “The something . . . it was on the nanoscale, spherical. It wasn’t natural tissue. It wasn’t cellular.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “A while back I met Franklin Sands, CEO of PNE, Inc. As you know, they’ve been sponsoring my research, and you know that I’ve been increasingly suspicious of their motives. I mean—”

  “I get it.” Eli pushed his chair back. “I don’t have time for this conspiracy shit. I have a life to live . . . in the real world.”

  “Please hear me out.” Victor held out open hands, pleading. “This is important.”

  “Best talk quick.”

  “Mr. Sands said PNE had discovered the presence of certain organisms in the human brain, organisms that are symbiotic in nature and present in all humans, maybe animals too. I don’t know. He said these organisms could be the key to curing certain age-old diseases, but they are elusive, only observable under the right conditions. I thought he was as crazy as you think I am, but then I found one—several—last night, in the tumor tissue. And they’re not organisms.”

  Eli studied Victor, his usual “I’m about to punch you” look on his face.

  “The surface,” Victor said, “was smooth except for evenly spaced, shallow square protrusions, points emerging from the center of each. When I put the sample in the spectral analyzer . . . the object was metallic, non-crystalline—amorphous, an alloy I couldn’t identify.”

  “You really believe what you’re saying—”

  “Hear me out. Then you can call me crazy all you want.”

  Eli checked his watch. “I got about twenty minutes.”

  “The object interreacted with the microscope as I scanned it, changing the readings. Then it moved.”

  Eli laughed. “Oh, Vick, you’re pure entertainment—”

  “Eli! It was emitting neural signals.” Victor knew Eli would laugh him off when he shared his conjecture about the source of this object. “You agree that we—those with Malclenersy—exhibit a pattern. Let’s call it pattern A. It shows up in everything we do.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “And there’s the other pattern, more subtle, that those without Malclenersy exhibit. Let’s call it pattern B. Well, the patterns are related by an iterative sequence. They’re a sequence of sequences. And I’ve discovered within pattern B another entire level of activity— a complex pattern embedded in a larger, simpler pattern. The complex pattern emulates our own neural activity. Eli, this object is artificial, and I believe there are thousands of them present in every living human. And I don’t believe they’re man-made.”

  “Oh God, please don’t say it—”

  “They’re extraterrestrial.”

  Eli took a gulp of coffee, his eyes finding Charlie Chaplin again. “Comedy.”

  “And I believe that humanity is being controlled by these devices. The patterns I discovered, in us—you think I’m full of shit.”

  “I knew aliens were going to make an appearance in one of your crazy theories at some point.” Eli crossed his arms. “Well, finish already. I’m running out of time.”

  “Eli, I’ve seen them; I’ve measured them. They’re real. And I think that we—those with Malclenersy—are somehow immune. It makes sense. They operate in the same region of the brain as Malclenersy. We exhibit a different pattern. It’s like they’re trying to link in and just can’t do it. You remember that kid, Ron?”

  Eli’s eyelids spread wide. His voice became low, monotone. “The one that disappeared?”

  “Yeah. I never told you . . .” Victor rubbed his forehead. “I was experimenting with the patterns, the mathematical key, the sequence—it’s like the minor keys on a piano—that binds sequences together. There are additional relevant terms in this binding sequence, by
the way. The helmet I built, it doesn’t just read; it transmits. I was able to switch Ron’s brain pattern to look like ours—someone with Malclenersy. And now I know it’s because I changed them. I changed their state. But Ron started to behave strangely afterwards, docile. I thought . . .” Victor rubbed his moist neck, the first time he’d revealed to anyone besides Rachael what had happened after this experiment. “I thought maybe I had done something to him. The next day I fed a third state change into him, what I believe to be the base state. He seemed to stabilize, but his pattern still read like ours. I think they took him.”

  “They? Who?”

  “Whoever’s controlling the devices. The powers that be.”

  Eli’s jaw muscles flexed, his gaze fired at Victor. “Let’s say for a moment that what you’re saying is true and the world is under the control of aliens. Why are you being funded by the powers that be to discover them?”

  “Not to discover them, but maybe to discover us—those who are immune to them. They want to get rid of us. We’re a fly in the ointment. And they chose me because I had the engineering skills and Malclenersy. They’ve been manipulating me.”

  “You’re fucking crazy. And that kid? Maybe you fried his brain and he wandered off somewhere. Did you disclose what happened to the university?”

  Victor felt shameful guilt, and he knew it showed. But he had to keep certain details of his research secret, mainly because of his suspicions about PNE.

  “You come off as so damn ethical,” Eli said. “You need professional help, brother.”

  “I do need help, your help. I can prove all this to you. You know I have the capability. You think I’m flighty, and maybe I am, but you can’t deny facts and data.” Victor had known Eli would react this way, but then, who wouldn’t? “I know you think I’m going crazy, but you have to let me show you the evidence.”

  “I don’t think you’re going crazy. You got there years ago.” Eli finished his coffee and stood. “So, Meg out there is under control?”