Brainrush 04 - Everlast 01: Everlast (9 page)
“You first,” Timmy said, guiding me toward the vests on one
side of the pallet. “Wedge yourself between the vests and the straps.”
My heart was racing but I moved into place and lay on my
side. Timmy helped to reposition the vests around me like bubble wrap around a
fragile vase. Then he grabbed one of the seat belts and wove it through a
pallet slat and around my waist. “Give me a hand,” he said to Ahmed. My brother
tightened another one around my thighs while Timmy cinched a third over my
chest. I felt like wrapped sausage. My legs were quivering and I wanted to pee.
“You’re next,” Timmy said to Sarafina, motioning to her
spot.
“Please no, please no,” Sarafina mumbled, lying down on the
edge nearest the back door. Her head was close to mine and we locked eyes as
Timmy finished wrapping her up. Her lips made a tight line and I could tell she
was doing everything possible to keep from crying.
One minute, 15 seconds...
“Ahmed, get behind the pallet,” Timmy said, moving to the
panel that controlled the rear doors. He made an entry and suddenly a top section
of the slanted rear ramp opened inward to lie flat against the ceiling. The
rush of cold air made my ears pop. A moment later, the bottom ramp swung down
until it was level with the floor, and the roar of the motors and the rushing
wind filled the space.
Timmy released two clamps at the front of the pallet and got
behind it to help Ahmed push it onto the ramp.
The pallet rolled to a stop, and I heard Sarafina’s
frightened voice over the wind. “W-what’s happening?”
The sky behind her was foreboding. “Keep your eyes closed,”
I yelled.
“Slide into your spot,” Timmy ordered to Ahmed. “Quickly!”
“This will work!” Ahmed shouted from the opposite side of
the pallet, where Timmy was helping him strap in.
A moment later, Timmy hooked a safety line to the harness
he’d put on earlier. It was connected somewhere behind me. He reached over
Sarafina, grabbed the small chute pack from the top of the pallet, and moved
carefully to the end of the ramp. He was so close to the edge that it made my
knees feel watery. He hooked the pack on a hook suspended above the ramp and it
looked like the wind wanted to suck it outside. A thick bungee cord connected
it to the main parachute pack on top of the pallet.
“This is going to happen very fast,” Timmy yelled over the
noise. He walked out of sight behind me and reappeared by the control panel.
After he entered a command on the screen, his finger hovered over the
Enter
key.
“I wish this thing had a timer!” Timmy shouted, with a
wide-eyed stare toward the trailing edge of the pallet where a row of life
vests waited for him. And that’s when I realized he hadn’t set up any seat
belts for himself.
I shouted, “But—!”
“Close your eyes and hang on tight!” Timmy yelled. His eyes
met mine and his face was grim. He nodded, and I suddenly understood the
sacrifice he was making. I gripped the straps tight but there was no way I was
going to close my eyes. I nodded back, memorizing the features of his face.
Fifteen seconds.
He tapped the display.
There was a tug. The inside of the plane vanished, a rush of
wind whipped across my face, and my stomach felt like I was on the first drop
of a rollercoaster. Sarafina’s scream pierced the wind.
The pallet tilted sharply and one of my life vests came
loose and spun out of sight. We swung in the opposite direction and the moonlit
shadows of a mountain peak rushed by beneath us. Then there was a swoosh
overhead and a lurch pressed me into the pallet. I looked up to see that three
parachutes had blossomed above us. The pallet settled into a gentle seesaw.
“Yahoo!” Ahmed yelled.
“Oh my God, oh my God,” Sarafina chanted.
I was relieved, too, but when I looked toward my feet and
saw that Timmy wasn’t strapped beside us, my stomach went hollow. The sound of
the airplane disappeared as I said a silent prayer for him. That’s when I felt
the pallet jiggle.
“Who’s doing that?” Sarafina cried out. “Stop it!”
“It’s not me,” Ahmed said. “Alex, are you okay?”
The jiggling became more persistent. It felt like something
was tugging at the bottom of the pallet. I shifted my shoulders around, peeked
over the side, and my heart leaped.
“It’s Uncle Timmy!” I yelled. He was climbing up the tether
attached to his harness.
“Stay where you are,” he shouted. Finally, he pulled himself
onto the pallet like a drowning man into a lifeboat. “Dudes,” he said
breathlessly, “I can’t believe that worked!”
A moment later, tree limbs snapped, branches lashed across
us, and everything went black.
7
Amsterdam, Holland
U
SING THE INTERNET ACCESS
that came with his
business-class seat, Jake had taken advantage of the overnight flight to gather
intel about his destination. After reading everything he could find on Everlast
and its founder, Frederik de Vries, he’d flash-scrolled page after page of information,
jumping from one site to the next, focusing on the maps of Amsterdam and the
surrounding area. Every street, alley, canal, and square. Airline, bus, train,
and boat schedules, canal tour departure times, car and motorcycle rental
locations, and even average traffic conditions for various times of day—all committed
to memory.
He was unsure what awaited him at the other end of this
flight, but assuming the worst, he ran through plans for every possible
contingency. Would someone be waiting to nab him when he landed? Or would his
false ID and travel docs allow him to pass unseen? He’d know soon enough. The
front door of the aircraft had just opened and passengers were gathering their
luggage. He grabbed his small duffel from the overhead bin and slung it over
the shoulder of his wrinkled linen sport coat. The button-up shirt, cargo
pants, and rubber-soled shoes completed his disguise as a vacationing teacher.
He followed the crowd down the jetway and through the terminal, one part of his
mind scanning the crowd for possible threats, while another constantly updated
possible escape and evade routes.
He would not be caught off guard again, he thought, patting
his only piece of luggage. Yes, he’d brought a few tools along from his floor
safe—toys he’d received from Kenny, Becker, and the others during their regular
prep sessions—but his brain would be his ultimate weapon.
Thirty minutes later, he parked the rental car in the heart
of the old city. Its intimate streets, quaint canals, and cobbled bridges spoke
of a simpler time. He walked through a square that bustled with tourists who
seemed to have embraced the relaxed and friendly atmosphere. The morning air
was fresh, the walkways were clean, and the architecture was small but
impressive. Under different circumstances, he would have enjoyed exploring the
city’s haunts. Instead his gaze swept the area, cataloguing escape routes as he
completed what would appear to be a casual stroll down both sides of the long
block of attached townhomes and businesses that framed his target. Finally, he
settled on a shaded park bench across the canal that fronted the five-story
building’s entrance. He studied the eighteenth-century facade, checking for
movement through the French-paned windows of the upper floors, wondering if his
children were hidden behind the sheer curtains of the picturesque structure. People
milled about near the entrance, gathered in small groups, casually conversing
as they waited for the meeting Jake knew would commence shortly. Academic types,
students, and a number of well-dressed elderly folks seemed to shy away from a
young female reporter who bounced from group to group asking questions. The door
finally opened and the group made its way up the short staircase into the
building.
Time to move.
He ambled into a shadowed alley and used the rear camera of
his smartphone to confirm the latex nose and false mustache were still situated
properly. Thick glasses and hunched shoulders also altered his appearance to
match the fake passport. Soon the disguise would be unnecessary, but not yet. He
tested his senses and focus to make sure he was still operating at one hundred
percent, and was relieved to discover the degeneration wasn’t apparent yet. He pulled
out a pressurized hypodermic and jabbed it into his thigh. The liquid felt cool
as it spread into his system.
He checked his watch—11:00 a.m. That gave him until 1:00
p.m. to get this done. He exited the alley, discarded the hypo in a sidewalk
trash can, and set off to find his family.
***
He’d expected to encounter armed
guards at the entrance but met no obstacles as he made his way to the small auditorium,
where he found himself listening to a genteel man in a motorized wheelchair.
“Imagine a life unburdened by the knowledge that death is
around the corner,” said Frederik de Vries, founder of the Everlast Institute, as
he neared the end of his presentation. The frail man was on stage, a blanket
covering his legs, a well-dressed woman standing at ease in the wings. An oxygen
tank was attached to the rear of the chair, its supply tubes looped over his
ears and beneath his nostrils. His straight white hair was swept back from a
high forehead and his voice was steady. “I am eighty years old, yet my mind is
sharper than ever, fueled by a lifetime of education and experience.” He pointed
to his skull. “An invaluable crucible of wisdom, if I do say so myself.” There
were chuckles from the packed crowd. “But it will all vanish into the ethers when
my body fails.” His clear gaze settled on a cluster of older attendees near the
front row. “What a waste, wouldn’t you agree?”
Several of them nodded.
Jake sat in the back row. He’d been listening for the past
thirty minutes, studying the man the media had dubbed
the father of a new
humanity
, whose lofty goal of preserving a person’s consciousness on a
computer chip had caused Jake to scoff when he first heard about it from Doc. That
is, until the subsequent articles he’d researched on the plane revealed the
concept had attained backing from the global scientific community, with research
facilities around the world working in support of the man’s efforts. And when
Jake had dug deeper, he’d discovered that much of the funding came from various
government sources, siphoned from the billions of dollars that had been
allocated to the worldwide Brain Mapping Project. Even DARPA, the agency Doc
worked for, had allocated significant funds to what was referred to as Brain
Machine Interface—BMI—projects. Of course, Jake knew such agencies were
really
interested in thought-control weapons and cybernetic soldiers. And that was the
rub—he didn’t believe for one second that governments were interested in the for-the-good-of-mankind
project the man on stage was talking about. They were in it for the military
benefits.
De Vries continued, “But what if we could harness an
individual’s consciousness before the body fails—the memories, emotions,
cognitive abilities, everything that makes that person who he or she is—and provide
it with a safe haven inside a computer?” He paused for several beats, easing
his wheelchair closer to the edge of the stage, leaning forward as if he was
about to share a secret. The audience stilled. “Or better yet, transfer it to a
human clone, a younger version of one’s self but armed with the wisdom of a
lifetime of experiences?” His eyes gleamed. “Would you do it?”
There were a few gasps but also nods, and Jake noted with
some surprise that most of them came from the younger attendees, while the
older group seemed taken aback by the question. Older and wiser, Jake thought, a
generation that had learned long ago to think twice about things that sounded
too good to be true. Of course, when it was their time to go…
Though the Everlast founder had apparently intended the news
to be a surprise to the crowd—the sudden hectic note-taking by reporters
suggested he’d hit the mark—Jake hadn’t been shocked by the revelation. After
his research, he’d suspected that’s where Everlast was headed. It was the logical
endgame. It was an outlandish concept, fraught with pitfalls and incredible
technical challenges, and Jake had no doubt it would be met with fierce
resistance based on the moral dilemmas it posed, but what troubled him most was
the fact that a part of him believed it was possible.
That frightened him.
If he’d learned one thing from his encounter with the
pyramids, it was that the human race was not equipped to handle the
evolutionary leap associated with the kind of hyperadvanced technology the
Everlast founder was suggesting. Mankind would blow it, one way or another.
“Imagine a world managed by people who bring the wisdom of
several lifetimes to the bargaining table,” de Vries said, “sheltered from the
fear of death, motivated to broaden their scope beyond their own personal
comfort to see to the needs of humanity as a whole. A world dedicated to the
advancement of science and the arts for its own sake rather than the refinement
of methodologies for dominating and annihilating one another…”
Jake sensed the man’s sincerity, but in light of what last
night’s research had uncovered about the founder’s heritage, the irony of his
words were too much to swallow. The man whose ancestral family had built its
fortune trading in death was now trying to provide the means for humanity to
cheat it.
The man was a fraud.
Amsterdam
J
AKE REMOVED HIS DISGUISE
and stuffed it in his
pack. Then he stood up and walked down the side aisle toward the front of the
room.
He was standing at the base of the wheelchair ramp when the
Everlast founder finally recognized him. The old man stopped midsentence, mouth
open, brows pinched. Jake offered a grim-faced nod and motioned toward the
private doorway at the back of the room, half expecting de Vries to respond
with an angry shout that would bring thugs rushing out to grab Jake. Instead,
the man’s confused expression brightened to a look of childlike wonderment.
“L-ladies and gentleman,” de Vries said, turning toward the
audience. “I want to thank you all for coming today.”
“But, sir,” one of the reporters said, standing up and
waving his notepad. “There was to be a question and answer period.”
De Vries was already guiding his chair down the ramp, and
the woman who’d been standing in the wings took center stage, raising her hand
to stem a chorus of grumbles from the audience. “I’ll be happy to answer your
questions,” she said with a smile. “But how about a round of applause for our
founder?” she added, clapping. The reluctant but polite crowd followed her
lead. Without slowing as he passed Jake, de Vries said, “This way, Mr.
Bronson.” He tapped an icon on a tablet attached to his armrest and the secure exit
opened to a wide hallway. Jake quickened his pace to keep up.
The door had barely closed behind them when de Vries
abruptly spun his chair around. His face beamed with excitement. “I can barely
believe you’re here!” he said, his thin hands reaching up to grasp Jake’s warmly.
“Welcome, welcome! Why now? Why didn’t you call first? Never mind, it doesn’t
matter. You’re here, that’s all that—”
Jake yanked his hand away. “The show is over so cut the
crap. Where the hell is my family?”
De Vries cringed. “W-what?”
Jake felt an involuntary pang of remorse at the vulnerable man’s
reaction, but he shook it off and pressed on. “My family. You took them in
order to get my help and I’m here to get them back.”
The old man’s eyes narrowed in confusion, and his head shook
rapidly as if the motion was helping him make sense of what he was hearing.
“You are quite mistaken. I would never,
ever
do such a thing.”
Jake searched the man’s wrinkled expression for the lie in
his words. He couldn’t find it. But the man
had
to be lying. The
evidence was clear: The failed attempts to elicit Jake’s help through normal
channels, the manipulation of Eloise to spy on behalf of the old man’s cause, the
abduction of Jake’s family…
No, he wouldn’t be fooled by de Vries’s charade. But he’d
play along for now and put on a show of his own.
“Oh my God,” he whispered, as if accepting the man’s words
as truth. His shoulders sagged and he staggered to one side, bracing himself
against the wall.
De Vries leaned forward and placed a hand on Jake’s forearm.
Their eyes met, and Jake acted as though he felt the man’s kindness. The old
man nodded. “I’m so sorry, but perhaps I can help. You must tell me what’s
happened.” He tugged gently on Jake’s arm. “Please, please. Come with me.” He
turned his chair and rolled slowly toward the double doors at the end of the
hall. Jake followed, barely controlling an urge to strangle the truth out of
the man.
De Vries’s office had an Asian motif. The hardwood floors
were covered by an assortment of oriental rugs. The grand desk and surrounding
furniture were constructed of ornately carved cherrywood and rich leathers. Bookshelves
lined the walls, adorned with imported artifacts and rows of reference books
that framed a life-sized oil painting of de Vries and what Jake assumed was the
man’s immediate family, including his middle-aged son and Asian daughter-in-law
and their young son. De Vries looked twenty years younger in the painting.
Jake’s eyes narrowed on a floor-to-ceiling partition at one
end of the room that was slightly open on one side. The space beyond was dark,
and he guessed an audience of armed guards waited within.
“Please tell me what’s happened, Mr. Bronson, and why it has
led you here,” de Vries said as he rolled his chair into the sitting area and
motioned toward the leather couch.
Jake sat to one side so he could keep an eye on the
partition. His nerves were on fire, urging him to take action, but he maintained
a calm front as he described the events that had brought him here. He left
nothing out, playing his role to the max, watching for movement from the
shadows of the adjoining room or signs of complicity from de Vries.
But the old man’s expressions only indicated a growing sense
of horror. When Jake spoke of the armed attack in the VA hospital parking lot, stretching
the facts to say that both the professor
and
Eloise had implicated
Everlast right before they were shot, de Vries gasped with a sincerity that
sickened Jake.
“And Doc Finnegan?” de Vries asked with an unsteady voice.
“He died from his wounds.” The lie came easily.
“No—” de Vries cried out, his voice choked off by a sudden
coughing fit. He covered his mouth with a handkerchief.
The reaction seemed so damn genuine. When de Vries finally
settled and Jake saw splatters of blood on the white kerchief, he once again
had to quell a stab of doubt about the man’s involvement.
“I’m sorry,” de Vries said softly as he composed himself.
“My body isn’t what it used to be.” He straightened his posture and seemed to
study Jake for several moments. Finally he nodded and said, “I will do
everything in my power to help you.” He pulled a cell phone from his pocket and
made a call. “It’s me,” he said. “How soon can you be here? Excellent. Hurry.”
Pocketing the phone, he turned to Jake and said, “Help is on the way. The kind
of discreet and trusted help that few can afford. A dear friend of my
grandson’s happens to be in town. She will help you find your family.”
Jake feared he was losing control of the situation. He
refused to accept the man was telling the truth. If so, he’d be lost, and his
visit had placed him back on the grid and exposed him to the true culprits. But
if de Vries’s reactions were all part of a grand act, then the trap was about
to close and perhaps he’d finally get answers. He glanced toward the darkened
space behind the partition.
De Vries noticed. “I can sense your suspicion, and based on
everything that has happened to you, I certainly understand. We have a few
minutes before my friend arrives, so why don’t we use them to see if we can
quell your fears?” He pushed a button on his armrest and the partition doors
slid open. De Vries rolled toward the opening and Jake followed.
The first bank of overhead lights flickered on and the room
was revealed to be a research laboratory. It was comprised of high-tech
workstations supporting a variety of analytical and computer equipment. One of
the walls contained a large mural of a magnified cross-section view of the human
brain, each part highlighted with rows of text that identified function. As
they entered, Jake noticed a viewing window into an adjoining well-lit room that
housed an MRI machine. The sight of it made him shiver; it had been an accident
during an MRI that had changed his life. He averted his gaze to follow de Vries
into the heart of the room, which triggered the remaining bank of lights—and
stopped Jake in his tracks. The padded chair that centered the space chilled
him to the core, and the assortment of skullcaps that hung from the wall behind
it left little doubt as to its purpose.
“I imagine you see the similarities between this chair and
the one that had been constructed specifically for you during your coma.”
Jake winced at the memory.
De Vries continued. “Doc Finnegan enlisted the help of my
scientific team to design the chair that they’d hoped you could use to
communicate with the pyramids. My people built this original chair two years
earlier—modified many times during the course of our research—and it had been
designed for an entirely different purpose.” He took one of the skullcaps from
the wall and settled it on his own head. It seemed a perfect fit. The wiring
that dangled from the probes surrounding it was gathered like a ponytail,
terminating in a male plug. The matching female receptacle was embedded in the
back of the chair, and bundles of wires connected it to a computer station. “This
is the device we’ve been using to transfer consciousness onto a computer chip.”
“You mean for your experiments, right?”
“Oh, we’re beyond experimentation with regards to the
transference itself. We perfected the process nearly a year ago.”
“You mean, you can already transfer a person’s full
consciousness onto a chip?”
“Yes,” de Vries said with pride. “That turned out to be
simpler than expected. Unfortunately, it’s the post-transfer process that has
given us problems. That’s why we attempted to contact you for your help.”
Jake was curious despite himself. “What kind of problems?”
“In a word—frenzy. A person’s consciousness simply can’t
cope with the reality that the body is no longer connected. Not for long,
anyway. The separation of synaptic connections between the brain and nerve
receptors throughout the body causes a cascade of confusion, fear, and finally
unbridled panic.”
“But this doesn’t happen immediately?”
“No. The first few minutes following the transfer are
actually quite pleasant.” He closed his eyes as if recalling a memory. “Even
euphoric.”
The truth beneath the man’s words kicked Jake in the gut.
“Are you telling me you’ve done this yourself?”
De Vries smiled, tapping the wired cap that was still on his
head. “Many times,” he said, rolling his chair up to the computer console.
“Allow me to demonstrate.” He moved the mouse and woke the display. After entering
a password and a few quick commands, he opened a side console and pulled out a
bundled group of wires with a female receptor matching the one in the padded
chair. He reclined his chair, plugged in his skullcap, and hit the
Enter
button.
Jake was taken aback by de Vries’s swift moves and the man’s
seeming lack of concern for what he claimed he was about to do. Jake half expected
to see sparks travel from the headset and along the wires, and streams of data
to flow down the computer screen, reminiscent of an old horror flick. Instead, he
watched as the Everlast founder’s body sagged and his face went lax. Jake
rushed forward and checked the man’s neck for a pulse.
“Don’t worry. I’m not dead yet.”
The hollow voice startled Jake, emanating from the console
speakers. It sounded like a younger version of de Vries.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Far from it!” de Vries said. “Ninety-nine percent of me now
resides elsewhere, still connected to the remaining one percent that I’ve
allowed to remain behind in order to maintain my body’s life functions.”
Jake shuddered at the prospect of what would happen if de
Vries’s body failed and his consciousness was wholly resident in the
electronics. He focused his thoughts on the man’s physical brain, as he’d done
often to help others. He could sense the man’s presence, both the part in his
chair-bound body and the part in the computer. He also felt the man’s emotional
pain, and instinctively projected a calming influence over him.
“Ahhh…” de Vries said, the edge gone from his voice. “I can
feel you. It’s just as your patients at the VA described it.”
Jake’s connection faltered, jolted by the revelation that de
Vries knew about the patients he’d helped.
As if sensing Jake’s reaction, de Vries pleaded, “Don’t
stop, please. I mean you no harm. I swear it. I’m simply trying to find a way
to adjust to my new body.”
Jake glanced unsteadily from the man to the machine,
confused that de Vries would refer to the computer as a body. But at the same
time, connected as he was to the man’s consciousness, he finally realized de
Vries was telling the truth.
About everything.
Jake shrank back. He’d been certain his family was here;
everything had pointed this way. He’d flown halfway around the world...
“Oh my God... ” he whispered, this time meaning it. His
thoughts flashed on Francesca and the children huddled alone somewhere, praying
he would soon save them. His mind reeled, severing the mental connection with
the old man.
De Vries’s body flinched and took in a deep breath, his mind
back in its fragile home. He removed the skullcap and blew out a raspy sigh. “Dear
Lord,” he said. “You are a true miracle, Mr. Bronson. You have the power to
make this dream a reality.”
Jake shook his head, wanting desperately to bolt from the
room but not knowing where the hell to go. He finally answered out of
compassion for a man facing a terminal illness. “I’m sorry but you’re wrong. I
may have helped a few guys connect with their new artificial limbs, but helping
someone become accustomed to living wholly within a computer will never work.”
“Yes,” de Vries said, making an entry on his tablet that
caused the back wall of the lab to open to another brightly lit room. “But what
about helping someone adjust to an entirely new body?”
Jake gasped as he followed de Vries into the room, where a
horizontal glass enclosure contained a fully developed younger version of the
Everlast founder, suspended faceup in a viscous liquid, with probes everywhere.
A horrific vision of the future flashed across his mind: of vast warehouses of twitching
clones being grown to await their aging counterparts; of bodies being eviscerated
when only an organ was harvested, its husk discarded like a carcass in a
butcher shop; of a black market of bodies grown without the permission of their
unsuspecting twins, to be inhabited by the brain of another, spawning a class
of body-jumping criminals targeting the wealthy or world leaders.