Homesick

Dr. Poole stood next to Sally’s image in her quarters on the ship. Across from her was Daaarrm, his superior smile still intact and the echo of his words still ringing. “The faceless masses would no longer need the mountains of consumer products you produce!” Later, he went on to refer to these masses as “a class of people who shouldn’t even exist.”

Poole put her hands on her hips, as if challenging this new adversary. She couldn’t imagine how Sally could face this creature with such courage and defiance. She’d looked into the eyes of evil itself without blinking. And she won.

Poole reached out to touch the illusion. The recording was visual only and contained no tactile information. Her fingers passed through Daaarrm’s face and then through the back of his head. Poole stepped back then, looking thoughtfully at her hand-held. At a touch of the keypad, the room morphed back into her office at the institute. The lab space was massive compared to Sally’s quarters and the floor stretched out comfortably with no hint of a warp. Daylight entered through a rectangular window in the paneled wall.

The worktable formed an island in the center of Poole’s office. On it were many things that didn’t really exist. Sally’s dusty and damaged binoculars sat atop a burlap sack of metal rods Scott might have carried. Next to these was Scott himself, or more accurately, his face. Scott was working in his world now, a world only he could see. His eyes were bright, as if he had just completed a remarkable feat of athletic prowess and was being welcomed into a crowd of well-wishers. How could Poole describe such a face? How could anyone? ‘Childlike’ was the closest she could come. The face held no pain or any hint of fear or discontent. The face had no goals nor motives, no likes nor dislikes.

Rachel fingered her hand-held and another face appeared next to his. But, strictly speaking, it was also his. It was a holo-portrait of Scott Anderson taken before the mission. This face was not so much child-like as it was ‘boyish.’ It was the face of an adventurer, but one who knew responsibility and the taste of pride. There were light-years between these faces, and the contrast between them brought out the true ugliness of what the Masters had done. The face of the current Scott Anderson, now ‘4702,’ could never know pride or accomplishment. His smile showed no substance, only the empty glee of a fool.

Beside the faces were other objects that looked yet more out of place on the table. A red football helmet covered with signatures sat next to a fresh ear of corn and a collection of model airplanes. Prominently displayed next to these was a plastic cartoon figure of the Corn Husker himself. He was a blonde-haired farmer holding an oversized ear of corn. His grin was comical and only slightly less grotesque than that of 4702.

Rachel glanced at the artifacts. Behind them, almost hidden in the Nebraska memorabilia, were the faces Scott had forgotten. Carrie’s bright red hair was only approximated by the illusion, but her defiantly optimistic stare was captured perfectly. Her smiling lips were full, punctuated with prominent dimples below bright green eyes. Her daughter looked remarkably like her, but her expression held more wonder than determination.

Rachel considered what she knew of the man. Scott was a farm boy from Nebraska. He was honest, civic minded, and devoted to hard work. His hair was always crew-cut and, like many farmers, he was seldom seen without a favorite seed cap. From his pictures, Rachel could see a clean-shaven, bright-eyed man who would laugh in the face of risk. He was a cute man, deliciously simple in his love of life, and yet brilliant in the sciences. His was also a remarkable Air Force pilot with an amazing service record, more than ideal for the historic flight to which he was assigned.

For Scott, Carrie was a marvelous asset. Her love for him was abundantly clear in every piece of correspondence. She was a nurturing woman, tirelessly devoted to making their home a comfortable one. She said she fell in love with Scott because, even though he always had a joke to tell to look confident, she knew he was vulnerable underneath. He needed her. He needed a mother figure in his life and she volunteered to take the job. She used to joke that she had four kids instead of three. In the summer he would be the first to light fireworks and Carrie would be the one to call him in. Perhaps he was not a perfect man, but who was?

Rachel looked again at the artifacts. She picked up a stack of snapshots Carrie had given her. They were pictures of a man who was comfortable yet reliable, not unlike the dog she saw curled up by the remains of a fire. Aside from sports memorabilia, there were endless books about old cars and pickup trucks. A cute man, she thought. One not every woman would love, but no decent person could hate.

Rachel whirled around and let out a deep sigh when Sally appeared beside her.

“I’m sorry,” Sally said, stepping back. “I was told I could find you here and that it was okay to access during business hours.”

“Oh yes, Captain, of course,” she said, setting down the pictures that weren’t really there. “I was just spacing out again.”

“He was quite a character,” Sally remarked, looking over the collection on the table. “He told me more about those Corn Huskers in six months than I ever thought I could know. But I guess that’s sacred ground for Nebraskans.”

“So his wife seems to think.”

“Go Big Red!” Sally chanted.

“You bet!” she laughed. “So how can I help you?” she asked, grateful for the diversion.

“First, I wanted to thank you for what you’ve done so far, and for not calling me a sentimental fool the other day. Many of my colleagues would have.”

“Well, if that’s what they’d call you, join the club.” She motioned to her collection of Scott souvenirs. “I’m one of those few psychologists who feels you almost have to get involved to make a difference. I mean, you can’t cross the line, but if you don’t care at all there isn’t much good you can do.” She held up Scott’s picture. “He’s a person first and a patient second. I wouldn’t sleep with him, but that doesn’t mean I can’t care about him and even like him.”

Sally nodded. “I also wanted to say your approach seems to be having measurable results. He’s no longer deteriorating and he may be putting on weight.”

Rachel nodded, but didn’t show much enthusiasm. “Like I said, this isn’t a cure, but it’ll do that much, I suppose.”

“You said you wanted my help, Doctor,” Sally said, stepping forward. “Well, you’ve got it. Anything I can do I will. I’ll be glad to assist, but I know this is much more your field than mine.”

“Don’t be so sure,” she laughed. “We may both be out of our leagues here.”

“What are you working on now, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Oh, ask away! But I’m not really working now. It’s more like I’m . . . searching.”

“For what?”

“It may sound cliché, but I’ll know it when I see it.”

“Inspiration.” Sally nodded. “That’s how Jackie works. She sometimes calls it ‘playing with the pieces.’”

Rachel motioned to the table. “Plenty of pieces here. Some of them have to be relevant. I’m still hoping something in Anderson’s background might throw up a flag and give me some idea how to reach him. So far nothing’s really worked.”

Sally nodded. “Well, we both have his personnel file, but I’ve lived and worked with him for six months. Maybe I could spot something if you tell me what to look for.”

“Something that will get his attention,” Rachel mused. “Something that will jog his memory, and yet not be obtrusive enough to shatter the reality bubble he’s in right now. I’ve tried using his family, but that hasn’t had much effect.”

“You mean having Carrie’s face on one of those sisters?”

“Yeah, that’s right, you saw it. But it didn’t make a difference. He doesn’t even flinch!”

“What about one of us? He remembers us.”

“Oh, he’d recognize you and Ian all right. But it’s the way he remembers you that’s the problem. If he saw you now, he’d either run like hell or begin to suspect what I’ve done. You see he can remember things, but only according to certain rules. Obiiilion got him to remember the basics of how to remote navigate your shuttlepods, for example. The knowledge is there if you know how to ask for it. But that’s the stuff I don’t want him to remember now! Once he starts doing that, he might remember what the ship’s movement feels like. VR can’t mask everything. He also might remember how real VR can look, and that might get him thinking. Believe me, this ship-in-the-bottle he’s in is the only thing we’ve got going for us!”

“Because he’ll die if he knows he’s still on the ship.”

“And also because, for the first time, we have some access to him. We have common ground here if we just knew how to use it!”

She touched her keypad and a holographic image of the labor camp lit up the table.

“This is his world now. This is the world he understands. He can’t face our world and he wouldn’t survive on the planet itself, but here we can begin to learn what he’s become and what rules he plays by.”

“A sort of neutral ground,” Sally agreed. “A compromise, as you say.”

“Think of it like a game. This is the playing field we’re restricted to. The tools we use and the answers we’re allowed to get all have to come from here.” She passed her hand through the image. “The Masters made the rules, and those rules can’t be broken. If nothing else, it’s an orderly hellhole. But, no matter how we try to reach him, we have to abide by the rules without exception.”

“That’s why you disguised yourself as a Master.”

“Exactly! No brother or sister would ever waste time asking him questions, let alone the sort of questions we need to ask. And the Builders aren’t taken anywhere near as seriously.”

“And that symbol makes you a Master?” Sally gestured to her forehead.

“It’s not quite that simple.” She sighed, searching for words. “I also have to be a bitch. I’m expected to be either self-indulgent and apathetic like Obiiilion or cruel and abusive like Daaarrm would be. To be convincing, I’ve chosen to be a little of both.”

“That’s why you put on weight. In the VR, of course!” she quickly added. “Not really.”

Poole laughed and made a dismissive gesture. But then her face darkened slightly. “I should tell you that I have to treat him poorly, him and the facsimiles. I do it no more than necessary.”

Sally nodded.

“You see, even the Masters have to obey the rules.”

“In what way?”

“Well, first of all, Masters would never lower themselves to be found in that place where the Brethren eat and sleep. That’s because it would make them just as sick as it would us. In fact, few Masters ever turn up in the labor camp at all. Obiiilion goes there just to look over the human livestock!” She grimaced at the thought. “That means I have to be careful just how often I visit and I have to have some believable motive for every question I ask.”

Sally shook her head in wonder, beginning to appreciate her task.

“And, Captain, I know it put you all through hell, but the information I collected from Daaarrm and Obiiilion’s visit was extremely valuable!”

“Good!” Sally said. “I’m glad something useful came of it!”

“But the big problem isn’t so much convincing him I’m a Master, but figuring out what to do with that power. You see, the object of our game contradicts the rules of theirs!”

“Explain.”

“We want to unlock his mind!” She pointed to her head. “We know his memories are still intact. We’ve seen them retrieved by the Masters for their specific purposes. And I’ll stake my life on the notion that his long-term memories are there, too. The conditioning is just a facade draped over them.”

“Draped?”

“It’s like he’s wearing an iron mask, locked with a very complex lock.” She laced her fingers over her eyes, peeking out from between them. “You can open a small door to get a look at his eyes, for example, but to see his ears may take a totally different approach. And to remove the mask altogether, which is our objective, may not even be possible!” Her expression took on a hint of despair. “My biggest hope was that the conditioning would wear off on its own, given time. I’d been counting on it.”

“Why?” Sally asked. “Why would it wear off?”

“It’s the nature of what’s been done to him. How long did they actually have him down there before you rescued him?”

“About a week,” she said, shaking her head. “It took that long for the UN to give us the option!”

“But I’m willing to bet whatever they did took less than a day. That would give him plenty of time in the labor camp to acquire all the injuries you treated.”

“That would make sense,” Sally agreed.

“I think this is a simple and automatic process. It’s like stamping a label onto a can.” She clapped her hand over her wrist. “That’s why I also think the most important part of the process is to lock up the memories and personality traits that make us all different. They want the Brethren to all think alike. They don’t want them to remember unless it helps them. So they have to make them not want to remember who they were, but to think of themselves as incredibly lucky to be who they are!” She watched Sally for understanding.

“So Scott would never want to be Scott, even if he could be.”

“Yes, but that also means the process can afford to be very sloppy! Not much creativity really has to go into it. It’s supposed to be easy and convenient.”

“So?”

“So they aren’t going to do more than they have to, right? And it doesn’t really have to be all that permanent either.”

“I still don’t know what you mean by that.”

“How long would Anderson have lived if you hadn’t rescued him?”

“I’m still amazed he was alive when we found him!”

“Could he have lasted a year?”

“Maybe.” She shrugged.

“Two?”

“I doubt it.”

“Three on the outside, let’s say. Now, if you count all the Brethren, even the ones they use as whores inside the palaces, it’s not likely any of them would live much longer than ten years, right?”

“I suppose.” Sally nodded, beginning to follow her reasoning.

“Then why would their conditioning be made to last longer than that?”

“I see your point.”

“They could always reinforce it, if need be, and they’d still have the implants in place.”

“So, how long do you think it would take to wear off?”

“That’s just it.” Poole sagged. “It could take many years, and that’s assuming it would actually wear off!”

“And we can’t really expect Carrie to wait forever for her husband.”

“But, in essence, we should be able to speed up the process! There has to be a way!” She paced the room. “You see, you can think of the brain as a straight piece of metal. They’ve bent his.” She made a bending gesture with her hands. “Now, the metal’s normal shape is still in there somewhere. Gradually, it will try to bend itself back.” She slowly unbent her invisible model. “But that doesn’t mean it would automatically bend itself all the way back even given centuries! We’re going to have to bend his mind back for him somehow!”

Sally nodded.

“But that works both ways,” she added. “Even when he’s back to normal, the conditioning will never go away. He could just as easily bend back into it, even years later.”

“And we don’t even know how to bend him back,” Sally said, shaking her head.

“Well, that’s what the game is all about!” Rachel challenged. “You see, we can’t actually be the ones to bend him back. Only he can! We have to make him want to!” She pointed to the model. “But we have to do it according to the rules!”

“But, what if the Masters told him to remember who he was __”

“But they wouldn’t!” Poole interrupted. “That’s against the rules! The Masters would never say that! And, if I were to try something so blatantly obvious, we could lose what little ground we have so far!”

“It’s a catch-22,” Sally said. “In order to get him to leave that world, we have to abide by its rules. But the biggest rule they have is that he can never leave!”

They stood staring at each other for a few moments more.

“And that’s what you’re looking for, isn’t it? You need some way of reaching him that the Masters didn’t think to block.”

“A loophole, yes,” Poole agreed. “We need some way to get him to think for himself. We need some legal way to open his mind that wouldn’t be out of character for the Masters to do. And, if it isn’t here . . .” She motioned to the model. “Then it must be here!” She pushed the model aside and the Nebraska memorabilia returned.

“I’m sorry, I guess I haven’t been much help.”

“On the contrary! You’ll be just as likely to think of this as I will, if not more so!” She looked to Sally like a coach delivering a pep talk. “You were there! You saw them and talked to them! Try to think the way they think!”

Sally shuddered, sickened by the idea. “If that’s what it takes. I’d do that much for him.”