Insensate Incarnate

Insensate Incarnate: a Short Story

TROIS:

this-
this is the-
this is the one-
“This is the one I want, Papa.”
     Orville Avary had momentarily lost sight. He blinked for a few seconds until his vision returned. Once it did, he looked all round himself. The toy store was alight with children’s dreams and parental tiredness. Along the walls were shelves stocked with toys, calendars featuring furry friends, and movies like Cinderella and Finding Nemo. The children in the store were all occupied with various gadgets, their parents with small talk and gossip. Mothers carried handbags and chided their offspring.
     “Papa?”
     Orville nearly collapsed when he saw her. Red pigtails, green eyes, and just the cutest little spray of freckles across her nose. Her smile was radioactive with innocence of youth and unbridled hope for her future, which once had seemed so bright in comparison to reality. She had been wearing a white blouse with yellow flowers on it. Orville recalled morbidly that before, the first time, he remembered those flowers red with blood.
     His eyes having misted and his mission having returned to the forefront of his mind, he grabbed Teresa’s hand in his. Flesh so soft and warm he could have held it forever, he tugged her lightly along. She kept hold of her toy - a stuffed and rather used looking red teddy - even as they dashed past the register without paying. The cashier opened her mouth to stop the duo, but they had already made their way out into the mall’s masses.
     She dialed security’s number.

***

“Papa, stop! You’re going too fast! Papa!”
     Orville picked up his daughter, breaking into a light jog. She asked him where they were going, stolen stuffed bear held close, and he didn’t answer. He just had to go. He had to get out. He knew that whatever his decisions, the timer only had another three hours left, but by God, they would be his most cherished hours.
     “Sir! Sir, you need to stop!”
     An overweight security officer had tracked Orville. Orville jogged a little faster, much to the officer’s travail. Orville heard his pursuer say something with a heaving voice into his walkie. Teresa, eyes wide, began to sniffle. The tears might soon be flowing, but, acutely aware that the bullets would just as soon be tearing, Orville resisted security’s calls.
     Two more officers popped out of a Macy’s. Orville dodged their weak attempts to grab at him, entering the store. He was practically sprinting when he shoved through the exit doors, upsetting a woman carrying her newly purchased dress on the way out to her car.
     He tried to remember where he had parked. It had been years since he drove that blue Mercury. He closed his eyes momentarily, remembering. So many years forgetting this day, just to have his memory depend on it.
     It hit him. Just around the corner by Sears. It would be a bit of a run, but
(“Sir! Freeze!”)
he could make it.
     He adjusted his silently crying daughter in his arms and fled.

***

     “We now have reports that the death toll has reached the three hundred mark. The shooter has now been identified as one Gerald Lundebower, twenty-eight, who has just recently been fired from his job as a bus driver for Rinlee Public Schools, which reports suggest was due to illegal possession of marijuana. More information after this. Stay tuned to BAKE; we’ll keep you updated."
     Orville shut off the television, satisfied. Teresa sat in the corner of their living room, playing with her new plush toy. She had since recovered from the scare at the mall, more so than she had when Orville had lived through the true experience. This faux world felt closer to home than reality ever could.  
     He stood, walked over to and crouched beside his daughter. He patted her hair.
     “Ice cream?” he offered.
     Teresa looked up at him, a smile of delight spreading across her face. The two headed for the door, chatting as only a father and his daughter might.
     These truly would be his finest hours.

DEUX:

     The secretary handed Orville a clipboard and instructed him to his seat among the others. At the top of the sheet was written ICIC - that is, International Computer Interface Corporation. And under it, the introduction:
     Quantum computing has come of age, and is being integrated into every sphere. As you might already know, quantum computers are superlative for parallelism. The new technology that you will be so fortunate to test just a few months before it hits the market is a new type of neurological scanner, which is able to image the entire brain, every neuron, every synapse - all simultaneously, so fast that it doesn’t miss a beat. The collected data is processed by a quantum computer, which is able not only to construct a perfect structural model of the brain, but also the neural networks. The implications will be huge. Disorders such as epilepsy and dementia can be diagnosed, studied and treated with modern medicines, surgery, and devices that target the specific disorder in a patient, often times before said disorder has the time to gain leverage over its host. Human learning can be studied; we can fully understand how we acquire new knowledge and skills. Cognitive processes can be studied; human intelligence can be examined holistically - we can now see how the brain integrates all of the inputs and signals. Artificial intelligence that mimics the human brain can be built. Human brain-computer interfaces can be constructed. Memories might even be examined and refined to fit the preference of the concerned patient. And with your help, many, many more opportunities await!
     Patients? Orville pondered. Is that what we are? The technology was still under a trial phase, evidently with good results from numerous groups of participants (or so the secretary had been so kind to tell him whilst preparing his sheet). But still … patients? It sounded too formal. Too close to subject. And perhaps that was what bothered Orville the most; the idea that maybe all he had ended up volunteering for was the opportunity to be used as some sort of lab rat.
     Bullshit, Orville convinced himself. Rat or no rat, the money is what counts. Five hundred bucks more than I had yesterday, and that’s all this is going to be. A money grab.
     Now more comfortable with greed at his side, Orville read on. Lined up were a series of questions followed by blank lines for answering. He jotted his name and examined the first:
     D.O.B.:
     His pencil scratched a date against the sheet.
     Home Address, City, State, ZIP:
     More scratching.
     Next of kin:
     Orville paused. Was this necessary? He wrote his mother’s name.
     Place of Employment:
     He wrote the name of the law office in which he worked (he would not disclose, however, that he was a custodian).
     Allergies:
     N/A.
     Favorite color:
     He frowned. Was this part of the experiment? Looking round at the other participants, he decided it must be. Yellow was what he wrote.
     And, finally, the instruction Orville had known was coming:
     Using the lines below, describe, as accurately as possible, the moment in which you would like us to examine and refine for your pleasure.
     Orville took a deep breath and put pencil to paper.