The Traveler's Companion (8 page)

“I’m sure that’s normal. But I don’t know. . . .” Go said with a shrug.

“She used to smile every time I came to see her, even though the chemo was making her nauseous.” Iverson took a breath and tried to avoid becoming emotional. “Like a moron, I spent the last months of her life studying the brain, thinking I was going to find a cure. Truth is I didn’t want to watch her die. It was too painful. I regret that. It was hubris to think I could find a cure for brain cancer.”

“You never got to say goodbye?” Go asked with that same timbre of excitement.

“Not exactly. After her second surgery, she went into a coma. There was nothing I could do.”

“I think I can help you,” Go said.

Although Iverson searched his face for signs of humor and found none, he broke out into laughter.

“You can manifest her here, Doctor Iverson,” Go said, challenging Iverson’s laughter. “She won’t be the same woman, but the version you create will be close enough. It might give you a chance at closure.”

“There is no closure with something like this.”

“There are risks, of course. Manifesting her means more than just remembering her. You’d be resurrecting her emotionally. The nervous system has a difficult time distinguishing between real and imagined experience.”

“We met at Harvard. She was a literature major. She was five feet five inches tall, and she had blonde hair and blue eyes. She was smart and funny and full of irony and she could be a real bitch if she wanted to. A true drama queen. Her worst fear was to be ignored. All ego, really. She had a lot of charm and wanted everyone to know it. She was a good person. Everyone liked her, though few people really understood her.” Iverson turned to Go and said, “Now how the hell would I create a person with that amount of depth and complexity? I could spot an imitation a mile away.”

Suddenly there was the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. Iverson’s sigh was audible when he saw that it was only Angela rounding the corner. She quickly went to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you okay, Doctor? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Angela said.

“Your own daughter calls you Doctor?” Go asked, chuckling.

“In the CIA, Mister Go, we observe formalities,” Iverson said.

Go scoffed. “What exactly are you a doctor of?”

“I went to Harvard and received a B.S. in Electrical Engineering, but after my wife got sick, I returned to get a PhD in Neuroscience. She died before I received my degree,” Iverson said. “Where did you attend college, Mister Go?”

“I was home schooled. My parents traveled too much for me to have any type of formal education, and when my father died my mother couldn’t afford to send me to college. But I’ve spent most of my life trying to make up for it. I surround myself with people smarter than myself whenever possible.”

“If you can’t beat ’em, might as well hire them,” Iverson said.

Angela went to C.C. and casually put her arm around him. At first Iverson was a little startled by the sudden show of affection, but Go seemed completely comfortable with it. He even put his arm around her. It was like they were the best of friends. This was Level Four. Ruthless. Iverson almost felt sorry for him. Was this how police officers felt when forced to use a weapon against a criminal: triumph and guilt all in one?

“I was getting bored in there all alone with Director Gibbons,” Angela said, smiling at Go.

Iverson chuckled. Apparently the director could even bore an android. “I should go check on him.” But Iverson’s words fell on deaf ears, because Go and Angela were locked in an intense gaze.

When Iverson got to the infirmary, he found Gibbons bent over at the waist, attempting to touch his toes.

“Don’t you knock, Iverson?” Gibbons asked. He put his hands to his hips and leaned back to stretch his lower back. He let out a grunt.

“How are you feeling?” Iverson asked

“Haven’t felt this good in years,” Gibbons said.

“Good. Then why the hell did you tell Go personal information about my past?” Near the end of the sentence, his voice began to reveal the anger he felt.

“Come on, Iverson. We’re on the job.”

“Personal information, Mark.”

“And now he’s going to focus his energy on fixing you. Would you rather he tries to get Angela to be creative? She couldn’t manifest her way out of a paper bag,” Gibbons said, twisting at the waist, left then right.

“This was the outcome you wanted?” Iverson asked.

“Of course. We need to keep him engaged,” Gibbons said.

“Fuck,” Iverson said under his breath.

“We need the remote, Ryan. The faster we get it, the faster we get out of here. Program Roboslut to snatch it and you can go back to your little hole in the DS&T laboratories. You won’t ever have to talk about your wife again.”

“Please don’t call her that. I’ve dedicated years—”

“This is not the place for this discussion,” Gibbons said. He began doing squats, his arms out, back straight, bending at the knees.

Just then Angela and Go came through the door. Go was smiling when he asked Iverson, “So . . . you ready?”

* * * * *

Iverson lay supine on the bed, his arms crossed over his stomach, his legs crossed at the ankles. His eyes were open though Go had suggested he close them.

“Embracing nothingness means opening the floodgates to a creative force of unlimited power. For now, just relax,” Go said.

Iverson rolled his eyes and said, “For fuck’s sake.”

“Doctor, please. Negativity is an anathema to creativity,” Go said.

Iverson seemed to sigh with his whole body. With everyone in the room watching him, he was feeling like an experiment. He didn’t exactly like the feeling.

“Let’s keep this easy,” Go said. “Why don’t you just tell me how you first met your wife?”

“I told you that already. We met at Harvard,” Iverson said.

Gibbons chuckled.

Iverson sat up in bed and asked, “What’s so funny?”

“You said Hahverd,” Gibbons said.

“No I didn’t. I said Harvard.”

Gibbons turned away with a smirk.

“Please continue, Doctor. How did you meet your wife?” Go asked.

“I said Harvard,” he reiterated.

“Please, Doctor,” Go pleaded. “Describe the part of the campus where you first saw her.”

Iverson sighed. He slammed his eyes shut. After a moment, he said, “She was in the Science Center. Lots of people were around.”

“But you saw only her,” Go said.

“That sounds corny! I noticed her because she looked lost. I went to help.”

“Her hero,” Go said. “Imagine that day in your mind.”

A collective gasp caused Iverson to open his eyes. He sat up, now in a different room. This was the Science Center building at Harvard. Scores of students were in the hall. None of them seemed interested in a scientist on a hospital bed. They didn’t seem to notice him at all.

“Nice job, Iverson,” Gibbons said, admiring the college corridor.

“This happens sometimes. It’s just a memory. We’re not meant to interact. Same thing happened to me my first time,” C.C. Go said.

Iverson put his feet to the floor and stood. He felt heavy.

“She’s got to be here somewhere,” Go said.

Iverson began to walk down the hall, but he felt as if he were trudging through waist-high sludge. His underarms were wet with perspiration.

Go was blithely surfing through the scene, easily navigating the river of students rushing by, sticking his head in lecture halls. “Where’s your wife, Doctor?” he asked, smiling stupidly.

“She was looking for the Media Department, which, I think, is . . . was on the basement level,” Iverson said, suddenly drained.

“There’s a blonde over there!” Gibbons said.

Iverson spotted her. It had been so long since he had seen that face that he had nearly forgotten it. The part in her hair, the shape of her mouth, the eyes too wide apart. It was the face he had known long ago. The wind was knocked out of him for a second.

A young man approached her. A younger version of Iverson. Immediately he was overwhelmed with self-consciousness. It was like seeing a bad picture. Legs were too thin, hair was too bushy, skin was too oily. He talked with his hands too much. He was standing way too close to the pretty girl, a painful contrast

Gibbons was laughing.

Suddenly Iverson felt dizzy. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he began a face first descent to the floor like a falling tree. He saw a flash of white and then nothing.

* * * * *

Iverson lay on the infirmary bed with one arm draped over his forehead. The lights were out.

Angela knocked once and then entered. “Are you okay, Doctor?” She walked over to the side of the bed. “My scans indicate that C.C. Go was able to heal the trauma to your forehead.”

The ease with which she accepted the instant medical care they received in this place bothered him. He could still barely comprehend it. He felt fine physically, but what was the cost for this miracle?

“I don’t know what happened,” Iverson said. “I was thinking about the day I met Beth and then I felt . . . drained. When I saw that I was back at Harvard, I became overwhelmed. It didn’t feel right. There’s something wrong with this place.”

“I’m glad you’re okay now.”

“How are you and Go getting along?”

She sat on the end of the bed with a playful bounce and said, “He asked me out on a date.”

He slowly pushed himself up to a seated position. “A date?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” she joked.

“What kind of a date?”

“I’m not sure. He said it’s a surprise.”

“I don’t have the benefit of interfacing with you, Angela. You’re going to have to tell me what’s going on in his hypothalamus.”

“Scans show increased activity when I enter the room. Adrenaline levels jump, pupils dilate, heart rate increases to an average of one hundred and fifty beats per minute. Genital stimulation occurs with most types of physical contact.”

“Sounds like it’s working. But I’m worried that it’s not working fast enough. We don’t have much time.”

“What about you and your wife? C.C. said you could be with her again.”

Iverson sighed and asked, “Were you able to locate Go’s remote?”

“He keeps it in his jacket pocket.”

“We need to get that remote, Angela.”

“I understand. It shouldn’t be too hard.”

“The sooner the better. Enough of the games.”

The door flew open and Go entered the room with an expression of revelation. “There’s a difference between recreating a memory and actually creating something. Anyone can recreate. I suspect you’ve been living with these memories for a long time. I can tell just by looking at you that you probably feel like shit. Reliving the past has that effect. Did you see the faces of the people you manifested? They looked like zombies.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Iverson said.

“You need to
create
your wife rather than recreate her. Imagine what she would be like if she were still alive. Only use memories of her as a guide.”

“Sure thing,” Iverson said, hoping he’d stop talking.

Gibbons entered the room, went to a chair in the corner, and sat down. He calmly crossed his legs.

“Where have you been?” Iverson asked.

Gibbons was wearing a curious expression, but it was one Iverson had seen before. This was a man happily guarding a new secret.

“It might help if you told me the whole story,” Go said.

“I’m fine, by the way,” Iverson said to anyone who cared.

Go chuckled, “Sorry, Doctor. I’ve gotten used to people being in perfect health while in the Zone.”

“He’s a little shook up,” Angela said.

“Of course. I understand,” Go said.

“My wife died from brain cancer.”

“And you said you regretted not spending more time with her near the end?” Go asked.

“I went insane,” Iverson said with a shrug. “I thought that because I was a scientist, I should at least try to find a cure for her. I didn’t want to watch her die.”

“I think the Zone can help you, Doctor,” Go said.

Gibbons chimed in, “How can it do that?”

“People have a tendency to fantasize different outcomes after tragedy strikes. The Zone provides a chance to realize that fantasy, to see what might’ve happened. These fantasies have a way of taking on a life of their own. They keep people from moving on. The Zone provides an opportunity to actually experience the fantasy and eventually get closure,” Go said.

“So if you failed an exam, you can create a fantasy of what your life would be like if you aced the thing?” Gibbons asked.

“If you wish,” Go said.

“You believe creating an alternate outcome will help the Doctor?” Angela asked.

“I do,” Go said. “In my case, instead of a childhood spent in isolation, I relived it as a completely normal Norwegian suburbanite.”