The Eternity Prize - Chapter 20
Alive and Alive
JOE
Earth date: May 1, 2080
Biblis Patera Hospital, Colony 5, Mars
Joe conducted a wide-ranging search through State’s medical databases but couldn’t find results that were anything like Jamila’s. After a week of searching, he had to conclude that her results were unverifiable. His ‘Alive and Alive’ theory was bogus.
This led to insomnia, and a new theory: The conundrum of sleep was proof that Khoury's beliefs about consciousness were wrong. ‘Vibrations of consciousness’ weren’t comparable to light and sound. You couldn't shut off your consciousness the way you could shut your eyes or cover your ears. Sleep came and went as it pleased. Like a woman, it offered its favors at the most inopportune times. When you were clearly willing, it turned away. Sleep, and therefore consciousness, was something much more complex than just waves.
The residents' hall door squeaked open. The footsteps had a familiar beat. Speak of the devil.
"Wake up, Doctor Roth." Nat said, half singing. "Come back to the land of the living.”
He crunched his eyes shut.
“We’ve got candy” she teased as she pulled off her cap. Sweaty curls tickled his ear. Every cell in his body stood at attention, sleep was out of the question. He rolled over, his fingers grazed her scrubs. "I could use something sweet."
She pulled away. "Is that all I am to you?"
He blinked. 'I could use something sweet' was his standard response in their pre-coital routine. He'd said it in the right tone of voice, with the right degree of warmth. And he could tell, she wanted him too. Somehow, he'd missed a cue. Time to get the beat back. He linked his playlist to the speakers beside his cot, got up, swiped on B.B. King and proceeded to the second step. "You sound like a woman who needs a back rub."
She pursed her lips. "What I need" she said. "Is to get away from this place. Colony 4 is like the subway – it’s dirty, crowded and stinks of piss."
This was not a pre-coital routine. She had a bug up her ass about something. "I wouldn't know." he said cautiously. "They won't let me leave the hospital."
"That's why you're so depressed. You need to get out." She leaned closer. "I know this cute little bar, South of Lycus Sulci. The Casablanca Cafe. Everybody who is anybody goes there."
"Hmm ..."
"Todd never wants to go. He says it's too expensive."
Joe frowned. Rule #4 of their sexual consent contract stated that Nat's husband Todd must never be mentioned. Guilt about their affair instantly killed Joe's desire.
"Take me there." she said "I want to feel special."
He pointed to his ankle bracelet. "No can do."
"Pay Security to look the other way."
He didn't have the time, money, or interest for this adventure, but he didn't want to risk their consent contract with the truth. “I can’t.” he said.
She glared at him. "When a woman gives herself, her whole self to you, she wants to feel special. I was talking about this with Ada yesterday."
"Ada?"
"My friend, the redhead. I've mentioned her, like, a hundred times."
He did remember - Ada – full lips, big brown eyes, adorable French accent. She showed up drunk at one of his AA meetings, took the first chance to speak and declared "AA is run by bastards who are trying to control you. Don't let them. Free your minds!"
Joe and every other guy in the room was smitten.
Nat read his mind with C-Meter precision "I knew it!” she cried. “You want me, and you want her too!" She threw her cap into the laundry with an angry thump. "Ada says men are never satisfied with what they have. They're always looking for their next conquest." She slammed her locker shut. "Admit it – she's right."
Joe looked down at the floor. "It's true. Men are horn dogs who are never satisfied with one lover."
Nat snorted triumphantly.
"And I'm sure Todd would agree." he said.
"Oh ... oh!" she cried. "That's it! We are so over." She blinked her Gizmo to project their sexual consent contract on the wall, then held her finger over 'delete'.
"But ..."
"No more butt for you, buster."
"Wait! I'm sorry! And I was wrong. I can take you to that Casablanca place."
"Yeah?" Some softness returned to her voice. "What about your ankle bracelet?"
"This silly thing?" with a couple of eye swipes it fell to the floor.
Nat smiled. "Being a genius comes in handy."
He opened his tablet. "I can get us bargain tickets. Coincidentally, the Casablanca Cafe has been spamming me all week with two-for-one offers."
Nat saved the consent contract, then looked over his shoulder. "You have mail from Grace Park. Why is it in your spam folder?"
"Grace is dead. Some jerks are using her name to catfish me."
"She's not dead, didn't you hear? She faked her suicide with a Holobot."
"What? Why?"
"Tired of the rat race, I guess. Open it."
"No, it was sent from a Twenty-sixer site."
"The cult?"
"Yes. Just one click could set off a worm that ..."
"Oh, don't be such a chicken."
He opened the email.
“I know, this letter is coming to you from a dodgy source, and it'll probably wind up in your trash bin, but it's the only way I can reach you.
I thought it was strange that my messages to you were never answered, and never marked as received. But I didn't have time to investigate. Now, I have nothing but time. I traced the path using the old-school stuff, SMTP and reverse tracers."
No doubt, that was Grace, resourceful and quick. He smiled.
Long story short, most of your mail is being redirected to an antique server farm in the old Bell Labs building in New Jersey. Urgent messages from me, Ed Reidel. One was sent on the day Ed died. As far as I can tell, Karman received them, opened them, then forwarded them into oblivion.
"Karman - goddamn him!"
Nat frowned. "What a crappy thing to do."
Joe was about to open Grace's file when the alarms blasted. Two shorts, one long. A shootout.
Nat grabbed a cap and stuffed her hair under it. "Jesus. Third one this week."
Mrs. T. stood in the ER, waving her arms, gasping for air, drowning in words she couldn’t bear to say. Joe ran to her, checked her dilated pupils. Nat wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and tried to get her to sit down. Small grunts of protest escaped from her throat. She pointed to a gurney pushed against the wall.
Joe turned slowly, hoping against hope he wouldn’t see Jamilla. But there she lay. Tagged. He ran to the pale, still child. With shaking hands, he checked her vitals. No cardiac rhythm. No arterial blood pressure. The shot through the lower base of her brain stem dealt the fatal blow.
Words bubbled from Mrs. T.'s mouth. "Baloq sent ... his assassins, disguised as — cartoons! I thought it was part of the show … but my husband — knew. He ran at them, guns blazing." She wept as they wheeled her husband to the morgue. "My man. So brave. But he couldn't save our little angel."
Joe linked to Jamila’s Neuro connector– also unresponsive. He tried resetting it. Nothing. His shoulders slumped.
But then — there was a glimmer of light. A delta wave sparkled in the C-Meter, clear as a blue sky. "She's alive!" he cried.
Nat stood beside him. "What?"
"Somehow, her consciousness, her unique consciousness, is still there. Alive and alive."
Mrs. T. saw it too. "My miracle girl." she cried.
An orderly grabbed Jamila’s gurney, about to steer it towards the morgue. Mrs. T. clutched at the man's arms and pulled him away. As Joe helped her, Henning ran between them and pushed Joe back. "No, Dr. Roth, not again. This girl is a goner. You have a real patient waiting for you in room six."
"Fuck off!" Joe cried, shoving her aside.
She opened her mouth, but it was so clogged with fury, no sound came out. Broeks rushed behind her, put his hands on her tensed shoulders and said "Everything is ok! I just signed myself in. We'll keep the kid in stasis until Joe is finished."
"We?" Joe said.
"Me, Nat and Taggert. She'll be in good hands." Broeks said, rolling Jamila’s gurney away.
Henning found her voice. "This is the last time!" she cried.