Connected (13 page)

Doug’s morning stretched out into a dull yet
disquieting eternity. Several times he started to doze, only to be awoken by
noises in the corridor, or by nurses coming in to check on him. He imagined Dr.
Singh looking gravely at the MRI images and informing of some inoperable brain tumour.
“How long have I got, Doc?” he heard himself asking bravely. “Three months –
six at most.” came the imaginary reply. What would he do given such a
prognosis? Spend the time with his parents in Bournemouth? Hang about on the
beach with Cindy - do a little windsurfing maybe … assuming motor reflexes
remained intact? Some of the best days he could remember had been spent this
way, but the thought of them being his last was still deeply depressing. He was
twenty-one years old – on the verge of graduating and starting a new life. He
pictured the funeral, trying to imagine what kind of eulogy he might receive.
This was somehow more comforting, but as he looked down upon the small
congregation in the church of his mind’s eye, he started to contemplate death
itself. Would he just cease to be? Are we just enveloped by nothingness? What
else could there be? Born to secular parents and schooled in religious
diversity, like so many of his generation, Doug had no need for God or
religion. He didn’t particularly like the label atheist, due to the militant
connotations it carried, but if pressed, he would accept it. Most of his
contemporaries would probably describe themselves as agnostic, in order to
avoid confrontation. To a theist, declaring oneself an atheist was tantamount
to calling that person an idiot, whereas agnosticism was more like a gentle
admission that you hadn’t really thought it through - or just didn’t care
enough to have taken a position. Either way, the religious hatred that might be
inspired by atheism would be traded for mere pity and condescension. But as he
pondered his potential passing, the idea of endless nothingness still seemed
hard to conceive. Presumably this was why all the religions had invented some
version of an afterlife, he concluded.

Finally, this morbid reverie was brought to an end
with a large but tepid plate of chicken and rice. Doug’s appetite had returned
with a vengeance, and within a few minutes the plate was clean. He then downed
the accompanying glass of water, emitting a sonorous belch, which reverberated
satisfyingly down the corridor.
“I heard that!” came Cindy’s voice as she appeared at the door carrying a
rucksack. She had changed into a black trouser suit with a white blouse, and
her hair was tied up into a bun. “Nothing wrong with your appetite I see!” she
said, eyeing the empty plate, and kissing him gently on the good cheek. “What
did the doctor say?”
“Wants to do an MRI this afternoon, otherwise nothing much,” replied Doug
glumly. “Says I shouldn’t fall down any more steps,” he added with a note of
sarcasm.
“Oh, yeah, sorry. I meant to tell you about that. Thought it might be better
for everyone if we kept the police out of it. We don’t want Sergei any more
pissed off than he will be already, trust me.“
Doug huffed. “I hope you’re going to stay away from that jerk from now on!” He
took Cindy’s hand and then smiled. “Thanks for bringing my stuff. I’ve been
bored shitless all morning. Even my computing assignment would have been more
interesting than staring at this bloody ceiling.”
Cindy removed Doug’s laptop from the sack and handed it to him. “Power that up
and log in,” she said, rummaging in her handbag and producing a small white
object and a CD. “Here’s the 3G dongle. Plug it into your USB port, and then
pass it here so I can install the software.”
“It’s all right, I can do that.”
“No, it’ll be easier if you let me. Sometimes the driver can be a pain, but
I’ve done it a few times before.”
Doug handed her the PC with a mixture of amusement and admiration.
“Here!” she said finally, sounding pleased with herself. “You’re now connected
to the Internet.” She then placed the rucksack by the side of his bed. “In here
you’ve got a toothbrush, a change of clothes, a couple of books I found on your
bedside table and … your iPod.”
“Ah, brilliant! I forgot to ask you to bring that!” said Doug jubilantly, as he
stretched down for the iPod, groaning with pain as he did so.
“Here let me get it for you,” she said. “I even brought the cable so you can
charge it.”
Doug sighed and looked into her eyes. “You know something? You’re truly
amazing!”
She stared at him for a moment, her face displaying both confusion and sadness.
“I think I might be falling for you!” he whispered.
“You hardly know me,” she replied, walking over to the window and placing her
hands on the sill. She gazed out distractedly and shook her head. “It’s thanks
to me, you’re lying here in hospital with a broken face.”
“I don’t care,” he said, “I think I’m in love with you.”
She glanced at her watch. “I need to be going now. I have some meetings this
afternoon.”
As she bent down to kiss him goodbye, a tear welled in the corner of her eye.
“Look, I’m very fond of you too,” she said, “but love is a big word. Take care
of yourself and I’ll see you later.” And then she was gone.

Doug stared at the doorway for a while, hoping she
might have forgotten something – hoping she might suddenly decide to blow off
her meetings and come back to declare her undying love for him. But the doorway
remained empty. He picked up the laptop in frustration and opened his email.
The first message in his inbox was from a “Peter Sawyer” with the subject
“Dream-Zone.”

Dear Douglas,
I am writing to you in reference to a paper you co-authored with Kal Gupta. It
appears my late brother, Martin Sawyer was in contact with Kal via email – see
attached.
It seems the two of them were working on some kind of video file combining the
evolving fractal patterns described in your paper with some audio files that
Martin had created. Unfortunately, Kal’s email address no longer appears to be
valid so I was wondering whether you could put me in touch with him or help me
to locate a copy of the files they were discussing.
I look forward to hearing from you. My contact details are below.
Best regards
Peter.

Doug reread the message a couple of times, the
words “late brother” leaping from the screen, then opened the attachment. As he
read through the correspondence between Kal and Martin, he wondered why Kal had
never mentioned this to him. Then he remembered the party, and the way Kal had
seemed so eager to show him something. It must have been this, he thought with
a sickening sense of regret. Maybe if he’d just shown more interest, Kal would
still be alive. But at the time, he hadn’t seemed at all troubled by Doug’s
temporary rejection. And then there was the text the following morning. As he
thought about it more, there had been absolutely no warning signs in any of
their interactions over the past few weeks. If anything, Kal had seemed
happier. He looked at Peter’s contact details at the foot of the email, and
dialled the number on his mobile.
“Hello, this is Peter.”
“Hi Peter, this is Doug Richards from Essex University.”
There was a pause. “Doug! Thanks for calling.” Peter sounded excited. “You got
my email then. Were you aware of Kal’s correspondence with my brother?”
“No I wasn’t. Hey – erm – I’m afraid Kal took his own life last week.”
There was another pause. “He killed himself?”
“Jumped thirteen stories from a tower block window.”
“My brother took pills. It was suicide also.”
Doug took the phone from his ear, the word “suicide” hanging in the air like
some ghostly apparition. Some seconds passed as each processed the information.
“Do you still have the files?” asked Peter eventually.
“No… Kal formatted his PC before jumping. He also deleted all his files from
the university server. What about Martin’s?”
“Also deleted.”
“Shit!”
“Indeed. I still have Martin’s audio-only files though. Do you want me to send
a couple to you?”
Doug thought for a moment. He still had the early graphic generators from his
initial work with Kal. “Yes, I can send you some of the fractal programmes too
if you like. I still have them on my laptop.”
“Okay, why don’t you put them into the DZ folder that Kal created. I tried
Martin’s login and it still seems to work. I’ll upload all the audio files that
I found on Martin’s PC. Then we can talk later, if you’re not too busy.”
“I’m lying in a hospital bed with a fractured cheekbone at the moment so no,
I’m not too busy right now.”
“Oh…I’m sorry to hear that. But you’re online - obviously – otherwise you
wouldn’t have got my email, I suppose.”
“Yep. No it’s all right – I’m fine really. Let’s swap files and talk later.”

Doug located a handful of the fractal graphics
generators on his hard disk and uploaded them to the server. It had been
several weeks since he’d done anything at all with Dream-Zone, so he searched
for the most recent file and double-clicked. The familiar patterns started to
shift and swirl on the screen. Intricate shapes and colours melded into one
another in hypnotically rhythmic waves. Doug felt himself being drawn in, as calm
and warming sensations of lightness enveloped his body. It was as though the
whole room was being smoothly hoisted on a giant crane. The hospital bed and
surroundings then seemed to disappear, as his peripheral field of vision began
to blur, focusing his gaze onto the screen in a kind of tunnel vision. Now the
patterns were enlarging as though he were falling into this strange
kaleidoscopic world, and as he did so, a million thoughts and feelings flooded
his mind. In the centre of what was now a swirling vortex, a point of light
appeared, growing in size and intensity until it seemed to fill the entire
screen. Then nothing.

Doug felt sun on his body. A breeze, carrying the
familiar scent of salt and seaweed blew across his naked skin. He opened his eyes
onto a perfect cloudless sky above a deep turquoise ocean. Gentle waves lapped
at a pristine sandy beach, and seagulls could be heard calling in the distance.
The water started to ripple at a point some twenty yards from the shore, and
from the disturbance rose the head and then naked body of Cindy, wading slowly
toward him. When the surf was down to her knees, droplets of water glistening
on her white skin, she stopped and reached out to him, holding something small
and red in her hand. All of a sudden, loud music started to pound from a set of
speakers behind and now there were people all around, fully clothed and dancing
to the music. Feeling naked and exposed, he turned back to Cindy, but instead
of blue sky and ocean there were now disco lights and a stage. It was a night
club, and Cindy was hanging upside down, clutching a steel pole between her
thighs. People were rushing towards her with twenty-pound notes in sweaty
outstretched hands, and she was taking them, stuffing them into a G-string. He
saw Markov at the front of the crowd smiling knowingly at her. She slid
gracefully from the pole and began slinking sexily towards him on all fours.
Doug tried to clamber through the crowd, but could make no progress. He watched
helplessly as Cindy grabbed Markov by the tie, drew his ugly face to hers, and
kissed him on the mouth. At the same time, she produced what looked like a
bright red computer memory stick and slipped it into the breast pocket of
Markov’s jacket, giving it a reassuring pat and winking.

“Mr. Richards!” came a voice. “Mr. Richards!”
There was a hand on his shoulder. Doug opened his eyes. The portly nurse who
had taken his blood pressure was by his side, peering into his face. “Sorry to
wake you, but it’s time for your MRI,” she said, removing the PC from his lap and
placing it on a side table. As she led him slowly and painfully down the
corridor, Doug thought about the dream. Rather than fading from memory almost
immediately, like most dreams upon waking, the images seemed burned into his
mind with an unusually vivid clarity – even for a post-Dream-Zone dream. In
particular, the image of Cindy kissing Markov, and the red memory stick in her
hand, seemed to tug at his consciousness with a frustrating persistence. He
followed the nurse through the radiology department and into a large room, in
the centre of which was a huge white machine. A tall, elegant and familiar
looking nurse approached him from an observation room situated behind a number
of large glass panels. “Doug?” she said.
“Hi…” said Doug in surprise, desperately trying to remember who she was.
“It’s Susan! From the party…remember…I had my hair down then…”
“Susan, yes of course, you said you were a nurse. Great to see you again. How
are you?”
“I’m a radiographer actually, but yeah I’m fine, thanks. Listen, I’m so sorry
about Kal. He was such a lovely guy.”
“Yeah, Me too… sorry that is …not lovely,” he stammered awkwardly. “By the
way, my friend Brian told me you might be driving over to the funeral on
Friday, any chance of a lift? Assuming they let me out of this place, that is.”
“Yeah, maybe. Hey, let’s talk about that later, can we? I’m on a tight schedule
- I have four more of these to do this afternoon. I’ll pop over and see you
before I leave this evening, if that’s okay.”
She helped Doug onto the machine, where he lay, face up, his head just outside
the large white cylindrical chamber. She then placed a cage-like structure over
his face. “I need you to remain as still as you possibly can now,” she said.
“It’s going to get very noisy for the next twenty minutes or so, but you
shouldn’t feel a thing. Just keep your arms to your side and try to relax.”
After a few seconds, there was a low humming sound and he began to slide slowly
into the machine. Once his head was well inside the chamber, the motion stopped
and the humming was replaced with a loud mechanical thrumming. Doug shut his
eyes and began to think of the fractals, which had sent him off into such a
bizarre and vivid dream. As he recalled the colourful images, a calming sense
of awareness washed over him. For a fleeting moment, he felt as though
everything in the world made perfect sense.

After dozing for a while, he opened his eyes and
stared at the machine above him wondering what lay behind the glossy white inner
surface of the cylinder. Gradually an image of large electromagnetic coils
began to break through his field of vision, as though he was seeing through,
and into, the machine itself. He scanned his eyes from left to right, then up
and down. Wherever he looked, the image was a perfect representation of what he
imagined the workings of the machine to look like. He blinked and the glossy
white surface reappeared. “Cool!” he muttered to himself, uncertain of what had
just happened. Clearly he didn’t have X-ray vision, so the image must have been
somehow conjured up by his mind. Perhaps the images had been drawn from
memories of a photograph in some scientific journal – a kind of semi-conscious
hallucination. But it had seemed so real. He tried to recreate it, but
couldn’t.
“Is everything all right in there?” came Susan’s tinny voice from a loudspeaker
somewhere behind his head.
“Yes, everything’s fine thanks. Sorry, did I move?”
“Just a little! Nearly finished.” came the voice again.
Eventually the thrumming sound stopped, and he slid slowly from the machine. Susan
removed the cage from his head and helped him off.
“Everything look okay?” asked Doug.
“I can’t really say. I’m not supposed to interpret. You’ll have to wait for
Doctor Singh for that I’m afraid.”