Justin hit a button once more and the room rearranged itself, the large scanning machine receding back into the floor while the banks of monitors divided to move to opposite ends of the large wooden table. Elena and Quinn were invited to sit at opposite sides, a dozen or so monitors in front of them and further electrodes attached so as to monitor brain function and their individual progression through their training.
"These will be your world for the foreseeable future," Justin called out.
It was not a welcome thought. Through the gaps between the screens, Elena could see Quinn at the opposite end of the table, the first time in over eight years that she had willingly put herself in the same environment as him. She remembered how it felt to be in that courtroom, the weight of the eyes of the jury, the press, the onlookers whose gazes met hers on occasion and she could tell they did not believe her. What was she doing in his apartment? Why did she dress the way she had dressed or accept his glass of wine? Had she intended to end up in bed with him that night? The old thoughts inflamed her; none of it changed the fact that he had forcefully taken what should have been willingly given.
"You know the way this works," Justin's voice interrupted. "When you can read what's on the screens, we'll move on."
She escaped her dissociated thoughts, escaping instead into the multitudes of information flashing up on the screens crystallizing in front of her: books of various font sizes, technical data plans, blueprints, paintings; anything that could be represented visually appeared within nanoseconds of each other across the various screens in front of them; the entire back catalogue of written human history could have flashed up for all Elena knew. Though she now had the ability to see and visualize the screens in their entirety, every nanometer in focus, she had difficulty keeping up with the sheer volume of data being presented to her, as did Quinn. But she understood. This was the same trick Justin had shown her in her apartment; he was teaching them eidetic memory, total recall.
Their training had begun.
The images flew past so quickly, and took up so much of her peripheral vision that she began to feel nauseous, much like a virtual-reality rollercoaster simulator, except this was a tunnel of ever-changing data. Though not physically locked down, she felt stuck in her chair much like she had been trapped in front of the long latin wall, forever on edge, Quinn's presence enough of a test in itself, not to mention the level of focus and attention Justin was now calling for. He offered tips and tricks, "Your conscious mind may not be able to keep up, but your unconscious mind sees everything, feels everything; trust that there's space for it to grow," more esoteric glimpses of wisdom that as yet made little sense to her, her concentration waxing and waning as her nausea ebbed and flowed.
She tried her best to use her newfound vision to take in the information in front of her but it was simply not humanly possible. One second she caught a glimpse of a series of data about the anatomy of ancient dinosaurs, the next datasheets related to stock market movements before the Great Crash of 1929, a second later multiple images of the Kings and Queens of England, before the full document of the Treaty of Versailles. There appeared to be no logic, no discernible pattern to the overwhelming swell of information being presented to her every few moments; moments later there could be detailed blueprints of the first spaceship used in the Apollo missions, or texts in ancient languages depicting old Buddhist, Confucian and other religious rites, or even entire books, works of art varying as wildly as from Dickens, Chaucer to Murakami.
It was overwhelming, humbling, exasperating, exacerbating. The images melded into one in her mind, an intricate meshed pattern of numbers, pictures and words that formed into some sort of elaborate visual puzzle, mocking her ignorance and putting her firmly in her place at the bottom of the intellectual food chain. She nearly laughed at the absurdity of Justin's expectations; they would never be able to retain any of this. How in the world were they supposed to keep up, keep track of any of it when they could barely see quickly enough, not to mention information so disjointed?
Jealousy reared its ugly head. If once upon a time she had the ability to see and retain all her law casework, as he had suggested, then maybe she would have had a fighting chance to take on Quinn, his lawyers and perhaps even his unknown protectors, the Encephalon; she would not need to be here right now. Though the reality was that she never would have made it to trial if she had these abilities, she would instead be dead much like the little boy from the news footage, her sense of justice was incensed. How much more could be done if this was taught not just to her but the world over? Compared to the Encephalon even the most intelligent of us must be stuck in the stone ages. She thought of the potential that lay dormant, little Einsteins as yet undiscovered, uneducated, untested. Even Einstein must have paled in comparison to those in the Encephalon.
"You know all this?" She asked Justin referring to the data on screen.
He nodded, "It's basic reference taught to kids."
"Kids?" Quinn laughed, "We studyin' for our SATs?"
Justin smiled, "Something more elementary than that." It was like Justin had said in her apartment. This was child's play for the Encephalon.
As morning passed into afternoon, they lunched at their workstations and stared solidly at those screens. Though none of the data stuck, she found an odd sensation rising in her stomach, the best and worst of the whole of human history on display, tiny fractions, tiny glimpses into the past and present, the here and the now. Though she could not retain the information, no longer relying on her eyes and augmented vision as her irises strained and watered, she nevertheless felt something stir, a slight expansion in her consciousness as her insignificance was put in context. She was nothing compared to the genius contained in any tiny nanosecond of this data. As the afternoon passed, sunlight cascaded along the wall ever further out of sight until night fell and she felt a familiar dull ache in her forehead as the day's stresses overcame her; she noted with some relief that even Quinn fidgeted in his seat unable to contain himself any longer.
Justin called it a day and the team decamped from the hall, the consoles and screens packing away into the tables and surroundings as seamlessly as they had appeared. They trudged into the kitchen where food had already been prepared by Moscow Mike and Rob, an expert dish worthy of any Michelin restaurant, and sat down to dinner, Justin and his team full of conversation, in stark contrast to Elena and Quinn who were both exhausted. Elena plated up some food and sat down in silence, a shattered shell of a human being, but the food went some way to restoring her spirits, the taste of sun dried tomatoes burning into her taste buds. She lost herself in the flavor, the slow monotony of chewing, conversation passing unnoticed around her, no other drain on her senses, until--
"Elena, can you pass me the salt?"
She stopped mid bite, his words instantaneously evaporating her appetite. The room turned silent and all eyes focused on her. Please, not now, she did not have the energy for--
"The salt, Elena," Quinn repeated, his eyes glinting, goading her to say no.
She physically could not lift her arm to help this man, every fiber of her being willing against it.
"Excuse me," She said, getting up to make her way to the exit, plate in hand. Quinn looked victorious.
"Elena," Justin called after her.
She hesitated by the door, "You said we just have to train together, right? Then I'm not spending a single second more with him than I have to."
And with that she left. She leaned against the wall outside for a moment of support, her adrenaline spiked, feeling stupid but somewhat proud. There was another moment of hesitation, of uncertainty, until her feet took her back to the long latin wall where she booted up the console as she had seen Justin do earlier that day. She sat down with her plate in hand, the screens flashing images once more, more glimpses of unknown stores of abstract human knowledge, more to humble her, and settled in to continue while she ate. She was going to finish her training as quickly as she possibly could then get the hell away from Quinn.
Justin appeared unnoticed in the doorway behind her, smiling slightly to himself. He had chosen well. Oh, how he had chosen well.
YOU ARE READING
Encephalon: Emergent
Science Fiction[COMPLETED] New York, present day. Elena's neural network has languished her whole life. Like the rest of us, she has eyes with weak receptors, memory that cannot record every detail and a brain that uses a fraction of its capacity. But Elena is abo...
