Dhungwana 2117: A captivating sci-fi novel: The Dhungwana Chronicles (2117-3451) Part 1 (6 page)

“Would you like to have a drink at my place? I have a surprise for you!” suggested Noah Wolsh from Community 887 403.

The visit to the museum was proving very interesting, unlike the catering which was insufficient and evidently hadn’t been planned for a dinner with two hundred people.

Dayla, in spite of herself, ate very little anyway, and managed to dance with Ian, who stiffened like a board after the second step and lasted only a few minutes before escaping back to his seat.

Dayla, Ian and ten friends met at the home of Noah Wolsh around midnight.

Noah made them all sit around a table, then left for a moment and came back with a box that he placed on the table.

“You won’t believe it! I found it at a flea market: a Commodore 64 made back in 1982. It’s hardly been used and it works! And you know what's installed? Pac-Man... Shall we have a little tournament, a sudden death playoff?”

Noah pulled out the Commodore 64 and set it up; all his friends, excited to see and touch such a historical object, raced to start first.

At 1.00 am, Ian and Dayla accompanied Noah to the kitchen to prepare some fruit and ice cream. Noah, carelessly, hurt himself with a knife, deeply wounding the middle finger of his left hand.

“Noah, that needs sewing up... I’d better take you to hospital” Ian said. He had seen the extent of the cut.

“Thanks, I'd rather not, if it doesn’t stop bleeding, then we’ll go to hospital. Otherwise I want to stay and see who wins! Luckily, I've already played... too bad I got eliminated.” Noah answered as he wrapped his finger in gauze soaked with disinfectant.

At 2.00 am Dayla and Ian, feeling exhausted, said goodbye to their friends and went to Dayla’s home.

“Ian, did you notice how none of them got sleepy? They’re still all playing Pac-Man. And they made some incredibly high scores… at least five times ours!” said Dayla, as she reactivated her apartment’s housenet which had been on standby.

“Of course, I noticed, it’s something I’ve noted often recently. But the question that makes me wonder is Noah’s finger: that cut on his finger needed stitches... but after about an hour it seemed almost totally healed... ”

“Maybe you made a mistake… it was just the blood,” Dayla interrupted him: “How about a hot cup of tea, a bit of music and then we’ll sleep peacefully? Ten minutes relaxation and we’ll be less anxious... we need to let go.”

“And let’s hope not to hear
Strangers in the night
... ” Ian added.

Dayla set the soft music program to shuffle and
Strangers in the night
was the first song to be performed.

“Ian… have we already lived this moment? I have that unpleasant feeling of
déjà vu
again... ” At that point Dayla interrupted the program, quickly drank the infusion and set the main robot for the next morning.

“Yes, I think so... Otherwise, why would I have thought about a song from two centuries ago? I don't feel like drinking the infusion or listening to music now. Let’s go to bed, tomorrow we will do some analysis. It’s likely that we’ve caught some virus. Flu is going around and exhaustion is a symptom. This strain is very aggressive, it attacks the lungs. Tomorrow we’ll check on that, Dayla. Let’s go to bed, I'm exhausted.”

Ian and Dayla went to bed without talking and Ian silently bet to himself that neither of them would be able to fall asleep immediately.

The next morning, before going to BlueGray Corporation, Ian and Dayla performed an auto-check up with the customized kit supplied to each Dhungwana inhabitant. The kit had to be used by the end of the year to give the Health Tutor basic information on which he would or wouldn’t ask for a subsequent in-depth clinical check up.

“Dayla, the results say that we are both healthy and in good shape... but last night our friends were in stronger psychophysical form than us!” said Ian, very puzzled, looking at the results. Then he continued: “Please, send the results to the Health Tutor, so they’ll evaluate our health status and provide us with two new kits.”

“And then what? And the damned feeling of
déjà vu
that we can’t get rid of?” Dayla asked.

“Indeed, I believe that we have a problem and, what’s more, a serious problem… ” Ian said in a worried voice: “But I think that even these indicators are somehow calibrated incorrectly. Maybe they made a mistake and sent us kits intended for another couple... Remember we received the kits together even though we live in two different apartments. As for the
déjà vu
that haunts us, maybe it’s a symptom of a psychiatric illness or even a mineral deficiency. We have the same diet and we both share ancient genes that, combined with other triggers, might increase the chances of schizophrenia. Let’s have the exams repeated in hospital and talk to Charlie Bickler, the neuropsychiatrist. I see no other solution. We have to remove any doubt and resolve this.”

Dayla looked at her wristsynk and said: “Hey, Commodore, could you deal with that, please? I have no time to spare: I must go to the corporation as I have an appointment in an hour. Let me know.”

The District 604 hospital was one of the best polyclinics and research centers in the North West of Dhungwana; its facilities had been built recently and took up twenty floors of the skyscraper next to BlueGray Corporation.

Medical care was provided after a complete check up based on genetic tests that provided valuable information on the risk of hereditary disorders.

The hospital was also a university research center that used the expertise and biotech equipment supplied by BlueGray Corporation.

Health Tutor doctors 46 793 and 46 785 received Dayla and Ian separately in their offices at 6 am; they commented on the self-check up results and asked them why they had made a joint request for an appointment with the psychiatrist Charlie Bickler.

Ian's experience in the health sector made it easier to manage the interview with the Health Tutors: he had in fact suggested to Dayla that she give exactly the same answers to the likely question of why they had both asked for a single appointment with Charlie Bickler. The reason related to some unpleasant sensory experiences which had affected Ian and Dayla the previous month and which kept happening again and again.

“Dayla, Ian! What a pleasure to see you again!” Bickler said getting up from his desk to shake their hands “I just finished examining your genetic profiles and the results of the recent check-up... ” he said, looking down at his diagsynk: “There aren’t any indicators or markers which need to be followed up.”

“So what brought you here?” continued Bickler: “Please sit down, and tell me what is troubling you at this time in your lives.”

Charlie Bickler had been a classmate of Ian’s since their primary school days; they had attended the same school until graduation, and afterwards had chosen different courses at university and then pursued different careers. Nevertheless, Ian and Charlie had always remained on good terms, and they went jogging together from time to time at 7 am.

“We came to see you” said Ian: “because for some time now, about a month and a half, we have been affected by a peculiar phenomenon that recurs practically every day. But… let me try to explain. Suddenly a fleeting thought comes into our minds like a flash, an image, and right after what we saw as a flash really happens... A precognition, a coincidence... I don’t know... They are repetitive images, many annoying, and afterwards they leave a sense of dismay, of mental confusion.”

“And tell me, what type of events are involved in these precognitions?” asked Bickler.

“Ordinary everyday situations, such as a lady who comes out with her dog at a specific time and that greets the bus driver in a certain way every single day. Or random events, foreseen by us… they occur apparently for the first time but we have the feeling we’ve already experienced them... There have been so many such episodes of precognition... we now fear it’s the first sign of mental illness, perhaps visible in our DNA” Ian replied, very worried.

“I understand your point. In fact your genetic mapping is very clear on this, even if we are not able to date the genes that are involved and to measure the probability of their interfering with your internal systems again. Nevertheless, it would be an extremely rare case, or rather two cases… A trivial question: are you under stress for some reason? Maybe work?”

“Yes, but no more than usual, Charlie... or at least I don’t think so” said Ian.

“It’s the same for me: I’m always very busy and under stress, but it's part of the game, and at the moment I don’t have any pressing problems” Dayla intervened.

“Okay, I’ll take note of that. You will both stay here the entire day, and we’ll carry out more specific tests, so that we are able to completely exclude a psychiatric diagnosis. I’ll accompany you now to the room that I have assigned you” said the psychiatrist, putting his diagsynk in his pocket.

Ian and Dayla were subjected to a series of laboratory tests, including extensive toxicological, cognitive and behavioral tests.

At 6.30 pm that same day, the nurse who had followed them throughout the day, brought them back to Charlie Bickler’s office.

“Take a seat… ” said the neuropsychiatrist as he smiled: “First of all, I can tell you that there is no need to be afraid: we haven’t found any evidence of psychiatric illness. However, the tests show stress levels higher than the normal limits for both of you. This phenomenon of
déjà vu
that bothers you is not an act of "precognition" or "prophecy", it’s an anomaly of memory; it’s the bringing to mind of a false memory. In fact, the sense of "reminiscence" in the exact moment of
déjà vu
is strong in many events, but some circumstances of prior experience (when, where and how it occurred) remain uncertain. This is caused by the overlap between the neurological systems responsible for short-term memory and those responsible for long term memory.

“Therefore, I think you’re suffering from paramnesia caused by stress; in other words, incorrect or inaccurate recall improperly localized in the space-time dimension. In addition, you are influencing each other, amplifying this phenomenon.”

Dayla settled back in her chair, she didn’t feel at ease and the sound of the Charlie Bickler words seemed to her unnatural, as if he were playing a part, but she said nothing. She looked at Ian.

“We're sick, anyway... ” Ian said.

“If you are referring to the mandatory reporting procedure... yes, you will be reported and monitored daily in accordance with SOPs. But you are not sick, you are just under stress and, with a calibrated and customized therapy for your systems, within six months you will be back in shape. You won’t be hospitalized, you will continue to carry out your tasks and your activities in the communities” said Charlie, as he waited for Ian to reach this conclusion for himself.

“So I’ll have to resign my position as Commodore of Health Fleet Research... ” Ian said, looking down at the ground.

“No, that won’t be necessary as you won’t be hospitalized; you will only be suspended from your function until complete reintegration. Don’t worry!” continued Bickler: “I’ll expect you right here in my office at 8 am tomorrow morning and I’ll give you your personalized therapy.”

Ian and Dayla stood up, thanked and said goodbye to Bickler, then headed toward the building exit.

Dayla made no comment until they reached home.

“I'm not convinced at all, Ian” she said bluntly, sitting down on the couch: “Bickler didn’t seem to be himself today. Six months of therapy... and for what? Can you believe it? Six months!”

“Obviously, it’s necessary, Dayla... The phenomena of
déjà vu
could compromise our working and social life. You saw how our friends in the communities distanced themselves from us not so long ago… Charlie is a great friend, and he’s helping us” Ian replied, annoyed.

Dayla said nothing; she set their dinner menu through the housenet but received an instant communication that the kitchen had run out of the vegetables she had chosen. So she flicked on the table search and looked for a store nearby that could deliver the products within half an hour.

Ten minutes later she gave up the search, set a new menu for their dinner and, before going into the shower, told Ian: “How is it possible that with so few food outlets, the ones still open are so inefficient? You know, I just contacted several of them, and they all gave me the same answer: they were able to make deliveries only six hours after an order? So, no vegetables tonight, Ian…sorry.”

Dayla and Ian waited for Bickler Charlie in his office at 8 am the next day.

“This may be 2117 but, whatever people say, doctors are still like alchemists... The war against cancer hasn’t been won, new pathogens resistant to antibiotics and antivirals have appeared out of nowhere... ” Ian explained to Dayla as they watched a commercial sponsored by the Ministry of Prevention.

“At least alchemists still exist... ” replied Dayla: “Apothecaries don’t. The concept of pharmacy as a selling point has been totally out of date for more than thirty years... Consider, Ian, hospitals are the center and hub of our health care system since legislation now rigidly controls the production, prescription and delivery of drugs... frankly, the situation worries me... ”

“Because you’re forgetting the reasons that led to that legislation: in this way we avoid price and distribution wars, forgery and conflicts over selection for the delivery of drugs. Only a well organized and efficient health care organization, like a hospital, is currently able to offer the best treatment at sustainable costs, and deliver it to all the people who need care. A hospital cannot have competitors” replied Ian, who out of the corner of his eye had glimpsed the smiling face of Charlie Bickler.

“Good morning! Are you ready?” Charlie Bickler shook their hands and sat down at his desk.

After a few minutes, a medical researcher came into the office with two packages that he put in front of Bickler. He then nodded to everyone present and returned to his laboratory.

Bickler got up, picked up the package prepared for Dayla and said: “This is a patch, a replaceable slow-release patch which must be inserted in the health slot of your wristsynk, each patch lasts a week. Please, Dayla, can you give me your device, we need to program it? Thanks. Same thing for you, Ian. We need your clinical updates in real time, so that we can send them to the Federal Communities and to the Ministry. These patches are for the first thirty days. I'm sure in a couple of months you will both be feeling better.”

After the first worldwide flu pandemic 66 years previously, the Health Ministry had astonished many communities by eliminating implanted personal digital identifiers, integrating the identifier in the new wristsynk. The Health Care Board had in fact mentioned the old implants might have been the cause of health risks, but little official information had been released and soon people had become so used to wearing the wristsynks that they had quickly turned into a fashion item.

“Can I at least choose the shape and color?” asked Dayla timidly, who had purchased the very latest wristsynk which changed shape, material and color depending on the selected program.

Bickler smiled: “Only the color, the device must in fact contain the patch and there is only one available format.”

“Dark purple!” Dayla answered, firmly.

Bickler called a colleague, who withdrew the two devices, and gave them back to their owners about ten minutes later.

“Well, I'll show you how you can insert the weekly patch in the slot” said the psychiatrist, and showed Dayla and Ian the simple procedure: “Done! One last thing: the influenza epidemic that broke out in the North West of Dhungwana is turning into a pandemic; it’s forcing millions of people to bed. Even if you get infected, don’t remove the patch; it isn’t necessary as the patch doesn’t interact with any medication. You can collect the next patches directly from Pharmaceutical Dispensary 27 on the thirty-fifth floor. So, see you in three months! But if there are any problems, call me immediately.”

Ian and Dayla said goodbye, left the hospital and walked over to the BlueGray Corporation.

“It makes me feel itchy!” complained Dayla.

“Don’t think about it. It’s only a momentary discomfort. It’s the same for me.”

“But I don’t feel sick at all” Dayla continued: “Six months of therapy is an eternity... ”

“It will pass quickly, you'll see... I’ll come to yours tonight…ok? You could call our six friends from the beta community and ask if they want to have dinner.”

“Next week, Ian. Tonight we’ll be exhausted after starting this therapy. I know already I won’t be in the right mood for socializing.” replied Dayla firmly, hesitating just a second at the entrance of BlueGray Corporation, quickly kissing Ian and then waving goodbye before he could reply.