By Drema Deòraich
Originally published in three parts, August/September 2024, on UnderSide Stories
~ • ~
Three Months Ago
Kyle fought the urge to fidget and stilled his hands on the arms of his chair. The two project liaisons, Simone and Ellis, held his future. It wouldn’t do to let them see how nervous he was.
“Project growth has outstripped our ability to meet demand,” Kyle said. “Twenty-six new clients signed on today.”
“So?” Simone said. “Add them to the waitlist.”
“That’s already months long.” Kyle glanced at Ellis. “I thought you were going to talk to her.”
Ellis stopped pacing and stared at his colleagues.
“Talk to me about what?” Simone said.
Ellis took a seat, leaned back, and crossed his legs. “I think we should bring in the Does.”
Simone rolled her eyes. “For Pete’s sake.”
“What?” Ellis frowned. “They’re an untapped goldmine.”
“They’re also a legal nightmare. We don’t know who they are. They can’t tell us their names, much less grant their consent to go ahead. We can’t identify their next of kin for approval.” Simone shook her head. “Reuben would never concur.”
Kyle frowned. “Why not?”
“He’d have to get his father’s influence involved. And with election campaigns ramping up, I doubt Senator Chandler would want any connection to this.”
“But,” Ellis said, “our non-profit status—”
“Means nothing,” Simone said. “It doesn’t change the fact that without legal consent and a waiver of liability signed by the patient or family, we could be sued for violation of privacy and who knows what else.” She sighed. “We’ve been through this. Why bring it up again?”
Ellis folded his hands on his lap. “What if we had a damn good reason to hook them up?”
The last time Kyle had seen a poker face like that, he’d lost to the player with a royal flush.
Simone peered at him like an insect under the microscope. “Such as?”
“An attempt to determine their identity,” said Ellis.
“You can’t be serious,” she said.
“Why not?” Ellis shrugged. “Imagine someone learns, five years down the road, that their beloved cousin or sibling was comatose all this time in some state facility. Meanwhile, we operated a program with the potential to identify them and their family contacts, yet we didn’t do it. I suspect Reuben wouldn’t appreciate that sort of spotlight on his Foundation, and neither would his father.”
“He’s got a point,” Kyle said. He’d suggested the same thing to Ellis last week.
Simone’s lip curled. “He’s reaching.”
“No, I’m not.” Ellis leaned forward. “It’d be easy. We hook them up and send someone in for the standard initial tour. Once they establish the patient is stable enough to take a passenger, the tech checks for basic ID markers at level one. If simple observation turns up nothing, we bump the intensity to level two, hope something experiential will identify them. Still nothing? Crank it up to level three and take control. Ask the patient who they are. How they ended up as furniture. Maybe we turn up a family member, make contact, describe the program and what we did as a courtesy to the family. No charge for the service unless they want to hook up for a personal chat with long-lost Uncle Joe. We explain just like we do with everyone else—income from paying travelers helps offset the patient’s medical and maintenance expenses and can possibly earn a small stipend for the family. Income from their comatose brother-in-law.”
“And what if said family member loses their shit,” Simone said, “because we hacked into their dearly beloved without permission?”
Ellis swept a hand through the air. “Due diligence. No different than hospital staff keeping the body alive. We took necessary steps to identify a patient, access their medical history, and contact their next of kin. If the family pulls Johnny out of the program, okay. If not, we’ve got another resource hitchhikers can book.”
“What if we can’t uncover the Doe’s identity?” Kyle said.
“Then I’d say we’ve done all we can to advocate for the patient. But,” Ellis said, “there’s also a chance that one of these jaunts will lead the Doe to a way out. Isn’t that the idea that started this program in the first place? Innovative therapy for a hopeless medical condition? That’s the goal at the very heart of the Chandler Foundation’s mission. Right?”
Kyle snuck a look at Simone.
“So we petition the Court to appoint us as the patient’s guardian and enter the Doe into the program,” Ellis said. “If their names or family members are ever determined during a tour, they’re withdrawn from public access while we go back to step one and start again. If no ID turns up, they become a golden goose for the project. Pluses at every turn.”
Simone squinted at Ellis. “That’s not a bad plan.”
Ellis scowled. “You sound surprised.”
“I am. It’s broader than your usual mercenary approach. Sounds almost like there’s real compassion for the Does in there.” She grinned. “You’re not going soft on us, are you?”
“Hell no.” Ellis scoffed. “They’re barely one notch above bodies in the morgue, far as I’m concerned. But they do have a functioning deepbrain full of memories that John Q Public will pay to experience. For me—and nonprofit or not, I’m willing to bet Reuben will agree—it’s all about the money.” He raised an eyebrow. “In fact, we can even charge more for the Does, since customers will get all the thrill of the unknown with none of the risk the patient faced in real life. Right?”
Kyle’s hands clenched so hard his knuckles turned white. “What do you think, Simone? Will Reuben go for it?”
She pursed her lips. After a moment, she touched her phone’s speed dial. “Only one way to find out.”
~ • ~
Seven Years Ago
Aki Kimura looked across the lab at other scientists working on various projects. Medforma Technology’s facility was always busy, but at least the night shift held fewer distractions. After six months with the company, she’d requested it. Another three hours before sunrise and plenty of tasks to accomplish before then, this grant foremost among them.
Frowning, she turned back to the computer. Grant applications often proved more of a challenge than her dissertation. This one, though, offered a real chance at helping people, which was the reason she’d studied medicine in the first place.
She tabbed to the next field.
“Describe your project’s goal and explain why you think Chandler Foundation can help.”
This grant’s donor, Reuben Chandler, sought ways to manage—or even mitigate—long-term care costs for patients in persistent vegetative states. It was a perfect fit for Aki’s project, which aimed to build on prior research into vagus nerve stimulation. Her eagerness to begin that work quivered in her chest. The only thing that stood in her way was this damn application.
“From the expression on your face,” said a male voice, “I’ll bet twenty to one you’d pay good money for a baseball bat so you could kill that computer right now.”
Aki glanced up at the senior lab tech and sighed. “Something like that.”
He gestured at the workstation. “Problem? Should I call the help desk?”
“No.” She leaned back, rubbing her eyes. “Not unless they can put my dream into clinical terminology and wedge it into these forms.”
“Let me guess. Grant applications.”
“Exactly,” Aki nodded. “You’re…. Doctor Wicks. Right?”
“The very same. Doctor Kyle Wicks. And you’re Doctor Aki Kimura. I’ve heard stories.”
She laughed. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”
“Maybe you just need a break,” he said. “Take a walk. Clear your head.”
“A woman walking alone at this time of night?” She squinted at him. “Not a smart thing to do, even around the campus.”
“I could come along,” he said.
Walk at night with a stranger? Would that be better than alone?
“No hidden motives,” he said. “Just a bodyguard, at your service. If it helps, you can tell me what you’re trying to say on the application.”
“Don’t you have work to do here?”
“I manage this lab, which is here to support its scientists. That means you.” He shrugged. “If escorting you on a long walk at three a.m. will serve that purpose, then that’s my job. All part of the service, ma’am.” He tipped an imaginary hat.
“How can I refuse?” Aki grinned.
She saved her file and walked out with him. They navigated the corridors of the lab building and the Medforma campus, greeting others they passed, then exited at the main security gate. Aki waved at the night guard. If Wicks turned out to be a serial killer or some such thing, at least several people would have seen them leave together.
At the main street, they stopped. A factory across the way lit the night, washing out the stars.
“Which way?” he said.
“The bridge,” Aki said. “I’ve always wondered about the view at night.”
Dr. Wicks pointed to the right. “Après vous.”
She peered at him. “Oh, bilingual, eh?”
“Sure. See?” He cleared his throat and went on. “S’il vous plaît. Gracias. De nada. A che ora mangiamo? Una cerveza por favor. Dónde está el baño?”
“I’m impressed,” she said.
“Don’t be.” He grinned. “That’s the extent of my foreign language vocabulary.”
Dr. Wicks took the position between Aki and the street, as any gentleman should do. Her father would’ve approved.
“Here’s a new one for you—Arigatogozaimasu Wikusu-san.” She glanced aside at him.
“Don’t tell me,” Dr. Wicks said, frowning. “Let me figure it out. ‘Arigato’ is ‘thank you,’ right?”
“Yes. Good.”
They walked in silence for a bit before he shook his head. “You got me. What’s it mean?”
“Thank you,” she said, “for doing this, Dr. Wicks.”
“Nice.” Kyle nodded. “You’ll have to teach me the proper pronunciation so I can add that to my repertoire. Except it’s Kyle, please. And you’re welcome. Maybe it’ll help you refocus”
Her mother would have liked his easy smile.
They strolled along the cracked, uneven sidewalk. Shifts at the factory and at the campus wouldn’t change for a few hours, so there was little traffic. In the distance, a train horn sounded its mournful tone. From the Doppler shift in its pitch, it was heading into the yards, rather than away. Factory noise carried through the still air, a constant hum that buzzed beneath the sounds of crickets, peeper frogs, and other nocturnal creatures.
Campus buildings gave way on the right to overgrown woods. Medforma owned that land but left it as an undeveloped barrier between the research facility and the nearby city. Aki had often wanted to explore the wild space, discover what spirits lived there, learn whether those kami ruled beast, root, or stone, and listen to their whispered wisdom.
She glanced across the street. Tall, chain-link fence topped with razor wire surrounded the junkyard next to the factory. Inside that barrier, old boxcars rusted into oblivion alongside car husks and unidentifiable equipment whose original purpose seemed murky. Security lights glared at the ground surrounding the yard’s boundaries, but inside, patches of shadow writhed. Aki’s neck prickled. Dobermans. Beautiful beasts, fearsome in their silent threat with those broad chests thrust forward. Their ears pointed toward Aki and Kyle.
“So.”
Kyle’s voice penetrated her non-productive reverie.
“Problems with that grant application,” he said. “Did you want to talk about it?”
“I do. It’s just…” Aki paused. “I’m not sure how to phrase it. That’s my biggest problem. I have great ideas, but getting them from my head to the page is the hardest part of the whole project for me.”
“And the grantor won’t accept your word that the idea is fabulous,” he said, “and give you all their money.”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Hmm. I see how that would be a challenge.” Kyle stuck his hands in his pockets. “Okay, let’s break it down. What is the grant’s goal?”
“To fund projects that would compassionately mitigate facility expenses in long-term care for patients in persistent vegetative states. They want more efficacious ways to run their programs without sacrificing one-on-one attention to the patients.”
“That’s a tall order.”
“Not really.” To her right, fireflies lit the shadowed woods, tiny dancers keeping time with the cricket chorus. “They probably expect grant applicants to suggest things like less expensive equipment. Buying supplies in larger bulk. Contracting out the employees, rather than hiring them as staff. Those things would save money.”
“But you have something else in mind?” Kyle said.
The sidewalk jutted up in spots where roots from nearby trees had shoved concrete panels out of alignment. Aki stepped with care. “I think my proposal will be a surprise.”
Ahead the curve unfurled to meet the bridge’s span. The river’s swift passage rumbled far below, its tone more felt than heard.
“Well?” Kyle said. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”
The dim glow of a streetlight exposed his eager expression as they passed beneath it. She hadn’t told anyone about her theory. Not a soul. They’d think she was crazy.
But Dr.—Kyle—would be working with her. Once the grant was funded, he and all the other essential team members would know its details anyway. It couldn’t hurt, not if she shared only the concept, none of the real details. Not that she had many of those yet, anyway.
They stepped out onto the bridge’s pedestrian path.
“Are you familiar with VNS?” she said.
“VNS.” Kyle’s concentration came through in the tone of his voice. “Vagus nerve stimulation? Like they do for seizure cases and treatment-resistant depression? They tried that for patients in a persistent vegetative state a few years ago, didn’t they?”
“Yes. The process brought a number of those in the studies to a minimally conscious state with improved brain activity and behavioral responses. Patients were able to react to an apparent threat, respond to verbal commands, and follow objects with their eyes. Not much more, though.” Reading those early studies had given her the first spark of this idea.
They walked farther out onto the bridge until the distant city appeared, its glow like a galactic cluster in the surrounding darkness of the suburbs. White noise from the river calmed Aki, helped her focus.
She stopped and leaned against the cold metal railing. “So far though, other than one isolated case, no one has been able to bring them back to consciousness. Not all the way.”
Kyle turned toward her. “And you think you can do that?”
He would think she was a lunatic. “Not from out here.”
His features twisted, his confusion clear even in the glimmer of ambient light. “And that means….”
“I think they can’t come back,” she said, “because the familiar pathways between where they are and the higher realms of consciousness are damaged, untraversable. But if I can get inside their heads through neural connections between my brain and theirs, I might be able to guide them across, repair the link, or find another way out.”
Kyle searched her face as if to confirm she was serious before he turned toward the river. His dark hair blew in the crosswind.
Aki bit her lip. She couldn’t tell if the shadow on his square jaw was from the lack of light or because he’d neglected to shave.
He looked at her, still frowning. “So, your project is a rescue effort.”
“Basically, yes.”
“Why?” He leaned one elbow on the rail. “It’s a noble effort, certainly. But so many of them don’t survive more than six months. Prevailing opinion says the ones that last more than a year are irreversible.”
“I’ve heard that said.” She inhaled misty air fragrant with damp earth. “I spent a good chunk of my residency working with these kinds of patients. Most people treat them like objects. They’re ignored or dusted like knickknacks. When people do give them any attention at all, it’s rote, as if the person speaking never expects a response. It’s sad because I think they’re still in there. Still accessible. Still aware. Just … disconnected from any ability to communicate. I can’t even imagine what torture that must be.”
“And you want to bring them back.”
“Sure. If I can. Why not?” She gestured. “They’re human beings, deserving of every chance we can give them. I used to spend most of my free time sitting with the patients in my ward. I’d read to them, tell them jokes, talk to them about my day, tell them about headlines in the news.” The other residents insisted her efforts were hopeless, but Aki believed the patients heard her.
And they had lit this fire for her.
“Did you ever get a response?” Kyle said.
“No, of course not.”
“Then what makes you think they’re still accessible?”
She shrugged. “I can’t explain it. But this is something that hasn’t been tried, and it’s worth a shot.”
Shadows gave Kyle’s countenance a severe expression. Aki shivered.
“Okay,” he said. “Bringing them back to a conscious state could fulfill the goals of the grant. If your project makes it possible for them to walk out of the facility under their own power, then the expense of their care is cut one hundred percent. But,” he paused as if considering his words, “what if you fail to connect?”
Aki turned toward the river and shrugged. “If it doesn’t work, it won’t help at all.” She studied the water’s swift passage, then shot him a sideways glance. “But even a partial success could meet the Foundation’s overall mission because it could offer an income stream.”
He frowned. “How?”
“If I’m able to establish a neural connection to the patient and can communicate with them…” she said.
His eyes widened. “You think their families would pay to talk to them.”
Aki nodded. “Yes. Even a minimal fee would aid in offsetting their expenses.”
“I’d bet the courts would want in on this, too,” he said. “Especially in the cases where a PVS patient is a crime victim. They might be privy to evidence or proof no one else would know.”
“Yes. Probably.”
“You could even take it further,” Kyle said. “What if you could access a patient’s experiences? You could make those available as vicarious thrill rides, where people could pay to live that person’s past almost as if it were their own.”
Aki straightened. “No. That would invade their privacy. Trample their dignity. Family only, unless there is a police matter in which they might prove helpful.”
A car passed behind them, wheels crackling on the asphalt, its headlights sweeping their surroundings as it went. Shifting shadows crossed Kyle’s features.
“Of course.” He nodded. “You’re right. I got carried away.”
~ • ~
Two Months Ago
“Bays two and three.” Kyle pointed. Techs wheeled the newly arrived, unresponsive Does to the indicated stations. Kyle went to bay one and set up for a standard, level-one tour to check for identity. If that didn’t work, he’d kick it up a notch.
He’d never tested a Doe before. Prior immersions had all come with known histories, files thick with information garnered from medical records or family members. He’d known, more or less, what to expect before going in.
But a Doe came with “locked” files—no way to know what he was about to step into.
For some reason, most Does were Johns. This one was a Jane, age unknown. She’d been a Doe for three years. The only records were from her admission to a local hospital’s intensive care when she was brought in off the street. Evidence of some traumatic accident, most likely a hit-and-run. Bleeding into the brain that the ER docs had stopped. No one knew who she was or what had happened. She was just…gone.
After that day, with no known relatives to notify or pay the bills, the hospital had removed her from life support. But the patient refused to die. Instead, she’d been transferred to a state-run facility, where she’d remained until two weeks ago, when the courts signed her guardianship over to the Chandler Foundation.
She’d been the first. Since then, the courts had granted half a dozen new petitions filed by the Foundation, sparking a flurry of activity at the facility while they settled the new patients. Now, the team was ready to begin initial tests.
Kyle drew a shaky breath. No one knew what this would be like. Even Aki hadn’t a clue whether a Doe would have an exit ramp, so to speak. She’d put off trying to access them for that very reason.
He sighed. Aki was gone. It was his program now.
He settled into the bedside station next to Jane Doe number one, pulled the headgear on, attached the leads, and checked the safeties. All showed green. Kyle started the program and sank into the test.
The ride always felt, at first, like he’d stepped onto a sheet of ice. That sideways slide, arms pinwheeling, reaching for balance that hovered just outside his grasp. Then the sudden solid footing on a patch of dry ground. The lurch, and the running steps that kept him upright until he could halt his forward momentum. It always shot his heart into his throat, made his stomach reel until he got control.
This entry’s sudden stop landed him in a dark room. Beyond the open door, light came from the left. Still breathing hard, Kyle stared at it and worked to slow his autonomic responses. The goal was to make sense of what this Doe had to show him. Right. Okay. He could do this. He walked through the doorway and turned toward the light.
Before him stretched a naked hall with closed doors to either side. The light came from around a bend, and he walked toward it, his ears buzzing. Nervous sweat greased his palms. He rubbed them against his jeans.
At the corner, Kyle turned. Another room lay just ahead, its door ajar. Dread dragged his feet to a stop. Someone awaited him in there.
“Hello?” he called.
No response.
He inched toward the opening until he could peer inside.
Across the room, on a four-poster bed piled high with feather pillows, sat a woman whose appearance brought him to his knees. Wearing his shirt—Doe’s shirt—she hugged a framed photo to her chest and wept.
Even after all this time, she mourned.
A hand fell on Kyle’s shoulder, and he almost screamed. The Doe stood beside him, staring at the woman on the bed. What the—
“She never knew what happened,” Doe murmured. “I went out for a walk, like I did almost every night, but that time we’d had a fight. I went a different direction, walked farther. I was distracted. I—”
This kind of interaction shouldn’t be possible. Not in a level-one scan. Kyle pushed himself to his feet and studied Doe’s face. Same shape to its structure, but the Doe in Kyle’s lab appeared decades older than this woman with thick brown hair curling past her ears. Blue eyes blinked, sending tears down her full cheeks.
Kyle grasped her arm with gentle pressure. “What did you do?”
She glanced at him before looking back to the bed with a sob. “I’d had a few beers, must have stumbled into traffic. The last thing I remember is the blast of a horn, and then standing in this room. I’ve been here so long. I can’t seem to find my way out.” Doe wiped her cheeks. “She must think I abandoned her.”
Kyle observed Doe. “What’s her name?” His voice, gentle as a warm breeze, roused a rustle of memory in his own mind.
Doe sighed, the ghost of a smile on her lips. “Sarah Torrence. She’s my wife.”
Kyle turned Doe toward him. “What’s your name?”
Doe frowned. “Why?”
“Because,” Kyle said, “if you tell me who you are, and where I can find Sarah, I can tell her you didn’t just leave.”
Doe’s eyes lit up.
Aki would have been proud.
~ • ~
Six years ago
Aki fell back onto the bed, breathing hard. Sweat trickled down her temples and into her hair. Above, the stars she’d hung with fishing line dangled, their glow faint in the dawn light. Heat rising from the bed sent them moving in a slow-motion dance.
Beside her, Kyle’s eyes gleamed in the shadows. Aki touched his brow, then rolled toward him. She threw one leg over his hips and wriggled close enough to feel his breath.
“I have news.”
His eyes widened. “The project?”
Aki nodded against the pillow.
His gaze searched her face.
“Five families have signed up for trials.”
“Wow.” Kyle blinked. “When?”
“I sent out the letters last week. The last response came in while we were on shift.” Aki held no illusions of immediate success. Theoretical equations and chemical formulae on a computer screen were a far cry from live tests on actual patients. But now she would finally get hard clinical evidence to guide her next moves. She grinned. “I waited to tell you until we got home and could celebrate.”
He rolled onto his back and pushed a hand through his hair. “What happens now?”
That was his only reaction? Aki frowned. He knew how hard she’d worked for this, how many hours the whole team had put in at the lab. She’d thought he wanted this as badly as she did. “Aren’t you excited for the project?”
“Of course!” He turned toward her, his eyes wide, apologetic. “I am! Sorry, I was thinking ahead. Congratulations, Aki.” He leaned in for a long, slow kiss. One hand stroked her breast before sliding around to pull her closer. He touched his forehead to hers. “This is going to put your name in every medical textbook in the country, every science journal around the world. I’m really proud of you.”
Excitement tickled her insides like bubbles in a fizzy drink. She scrunched her shoulders and tightened her grip on his arms. “Just think how those families will react when we succeed. I can’t wait to see their smiles the day they talk to their loved ones.”
Kyle laughed, a low chuckle that warmed her to the core.
Aki was no prude. Despite her traditional upbringing in Japan, life in the U.S. after her parents’ deaths had changed her, made her less concerned with old-fashioned morals. A string of lovers had danced through her life over the years, most as uninterested in a long-term commitment as she had been. Her career meant more to her than any relationship.
But Kyle…
She liked him enough to hope for more.
His laughter faded, leaving a remnant smile. “Have you told the others? The project liaisons? Reuben?”
“No. I wanted to tell you first.”
His smile disappeared. “You know what they’re gonna say.”
Aki sighed. Not this again. She rolled away from him, dropped her feet over the edge of the bed, and sat up. “Can’t we drop that?”
Kyle rose, came around the bed, and sat beside her. She looked away.
“Ak, these people have funded your project for the last ten months. Their grant will last another four years. They’ve been supportive of your failures as well as your successes. Don’t you think they deserve some consideration in return?”
She shook her head. Half a dozen times, she’d explained how commercialization of the project would be degrading to these patients, intrusive on their personal lives, a crime against their honor. She’d thought he finally understood.
His hand came to her thigh, a gentle touch devoid of sexuality but laden with passion. “Look at it this way. If these patients were able to make their own choices, wouldn’t they be willing to work to help offset their own medical expenses? Think of this as a job. Paying clients hook up to patients in order to experience vicarious thrills. The income helps the project and the families. Everyone wins.”
“Everyone except the patients.” Aki regarded him. “Your analogy is flawed. If we opened that door, it would bare their most personal thoughts, their deepest fantasies, their every embarrassing moment for complete strangers. That’s not the same as working a job where those intimate details of their lives would be secure in their own heads.”
“If they had a choice, given their current circumstances, do you think they would approve my plan?” He brushed a strand of hair back from her face. “Couldn’t you at least ask their families what they think?”
She got up, and began to dress.
“C’mon, Ak. Don’t be like this. Can’t we disagree without you running away?”
“This isn’t about a disagreement.” She pulled on a pair of shorts, tugged a tank top over her shoulders, and whirled to stab a finger in his direction. “You’re asking me to compromise my principles. I can’t go there, Kyle. I won’t.” She shoved her feet into ankle socks, then sneakers.
Kyle shook his head. “But if the families give their consent—”
She glared at him. “I owe Reuben Chandler a total of five years. Five. After that, I’m a free agent again, and can do what I want with my project. If my methods are as successful as I believe they will be, on the day the grant is ended, I intend to make this project open source.”
Kyle’s face paled. “Aki, no.”
“This kind of science should be available to everyone,” she said, “not hoarded like so many corporate CEOs do. Sick people shouldn’t have to choose between health care and feeding their kids. Goddamned pharma misers only care about profits. It’s wrong, Kyle.” She stopped for a breath. Why’d he have to start this today of all times? They should be celebrating the project’s success, the start of a new phase in their work.
“I care about these patients,” she said. “Them and their families. No one should have to live like that. I intend to change their lives for the better.”
Kyle stammered over his words, pushed himself upright, and took two steps toward her.
Aki pulled her hair into a rough ponytail and snapped a band around it, pulling it tight. “I’m going for a run.” Without a backward glance, she left the bedroom and slammed the apartment door on her way out.
~ • ~
One month ago
Kyle stood surrounded by busyness as this team prepared for another client’s trip. In the low light of the observation station, his eyes drank in the new setup. Beyond the one-way glass on his right was a small, intimate room with just enough space for the passenger and a tech. Soft color on the walls and comfortable accommodations made travelers feel as if they were in for a spa treatment. On one wall hung a gorgeous seascape painting, its calm colors soothing for nervous clients. Across the room sat a soft, curved chaise, its head near a console where a thin neurocap lay connected and ready for the next patron. Ceiling and floor tiles absorbed sound to help reduce distractions.
Kyle shifted his gaze to the left, past the wall that bisected the one-way window’s view, to the chamber behind the passenger’s cubicle.
White walls, floor, and ceiling made other details stand out. Every bit as small as the traveler’s room, this cubicle held a patient. Another Doe—Harvey. That’s all they knew about him. Kyle had expected all the Does to be as easy to identify as that first one. He’d been wrong. Some gave them nothing. This one, like most, had uncovered his first name in their initial test, but nothing further in subsequent runs.
Weird, but not worrisome.
Harvey lay on his side in his gurney’s padding, his face blank, head braced against the standard PVS tilt, body shrunken. His hands had drawn up into claws, as was common for Does. In Harvey’s case, therapists had curled his fingers around ball grips to help stretch the tight muscles.
Kyle frowned at Harvey’s stained gown. Staff should have made him more presentable, even though no one except staff ever saw a Doe. Management had determined this was better for the traveler’s peace of mind. It wouldn’t do to have a paying client develop compassion for the patient. Bad for business.
One of the program’s neurologists sat amid the techs, perfectly centered at the dividing wall, her own lead cap already in place as she set up parameters for the excursion. She would observe all that happened inside the connected minds, the ever-present face in the crowd, hardly noticed and never identified by patient or passenger. She’d scan for signs of agitation, ready to disconnect the traveler. She would also record her observations and had served twice as an expert witness in frivolous legal cases brought by clients.
In front of the neurologist and techs positioned along the workstation, this side of the window projected holographic readings over the patient’s body. Techs manipulated the size and position of graphs and charts as they worked, while staff brought in the next client—a man in his forties, maybe fifties, balding on top, a slight limp to his gait—whose readings appeared on the glass. He’d bought the top package, not just observation, but full immersion. Wherever the patient took him, the passenger would feel, smell, taste, hear everything the patient did in his experiences. He could talk to the patient, get limited responses to direct the experience, but he could not take control. Only staff were allowed to do that.
In the patient room, the tech connected leads from the console to the cap, adjusted Harvey’s pillow and blanket, then gave a thumbs up. The neurologist nodded in agreement. In the adjacent cubicle, the guest liaison tech pulled the cap onto the client’s head. Another round of checks and confirmations concluded before both techs left the cubicles and the experience began.
In addition to the neurologist, other observers watched every twitch of both client and patient. Medical intervention stood close at hand, just in case. In the fifteen months since the main program went commercial, only a handful of trips had turned sour, and those happened before the Does were added. They’d had no fatalities so far, thank whatever gods might exist.
Kyle still remembered Aki’s first night shift, their walk to the bridge where she’d given him a glimpse of what she hoped to accomplish. Now, after all her long years of research, trials under the grant, political maneuvering, and waiting for the whole thing to take off, her efforts had succeeded in ways she would never have imagined. They’d reunited several Does with their families since Kyle whispered this plan into Ellis’s ear. The rest were declared wards of the Foundation until such time as familial contacts could be determined. Part of Kyle hoped that would happen. But the part of him that loved the dog tracks, the poker table, and the casinos feared losing control of these meal tickets.
He tracked the activity of the holoprojections on the window while he chewed the inside of his cheek. When Aki had disappeared, Reuben handed Kyle the project director’s position along with a corresponding leap in salary. He had to credit Aki, though. Without her genius, he would never have made it to this point in his career, in his life. Before, he’d rented a small flat in the lower end of town. Now, he lived large in a West Beach condo, rode a Harley, and invested in artwork. If the program continued in this same profitable vein, he could soon pay off his bookie. Given a few more years, Kyle could retire in style.
If only Aki could have seen how far the program would go, not just for the program management but for the patients and their families as well. Most of them earned a respectable stipend from their loved ones’ participation in the project. Reuben’s generosity had even advanced the program’s capabilities by at least three levels.
Didn’t matter, though. He knew Aki wouldn’t have approved. He could imagine her reaction to the commercial course the Foundation had taken with her work after she’d disappeared. Her jaw would clench. Her eyes would narrow. Her whole demeanor would tighten as if she were about to do battle.
He sighed and dragged a hand down his face. Aki was gone, and all the wonderings and second-guessings, all the what-ifs and whys in the world wouldn’t change that. Kyle hauled himself out of his reminiscences and went back to work.
~ • ~
Five years ago
The sun peeked over the horizon as they stepped out onto the bridge span. Ever since that first night when Kyle walked her here, they had come back again and again when she needed to clear her head.
This morning, they stood without speaking while the light grew around them. Birds darted between trees on the banks and a breeze redolent with moist peat and a hint of burning trash rose to tickle Aki’s nose. She stared down at the river far below, its current swift, its surface rippled, its waters wide and deep.
A car passed behind them, vibrations on the roadbed transferred to the pathway under their feet. Others followed, shift workers headed home.
“You’re more quiet than usual this morning.”
His voice frayed her last shred of calm. “I should still be there. You shouldn’t have made me leave.”
He laughed, low and warm. “Aki, no one could make you do something you don’t want to do. Look at you. You’ve been at it for ten hours straight. You’re exhausted. You need a break.” He touched her shoulder, rubbed the tight muscles there.
She twitched away from his hand. “We’re so close. I feel like if I could keep going—”
He leaned forward on the railing, pushed into her peripheral view. “If you keep going when you’re this tired, you’ll make a mistake. Maybe even harm yourself or one of your patients.”
She peeked sideways at him, an argument ready on her lips, but something in his expression, some measure of compassion for her plight and a silent appeal to her more reasoned self, made her swallow her words.
She was almost there. Such a delicate balance! To reach into a patient’s mind — not brain; there was a huge difference — and tie into their thoughts rivaled a ballet performed on broken glass. If she pushed any one trial too hard, either the patient or the passenger could be damaged beyond repair. Over the last couple of weeks, she and other techs had managed to connect with patients for a few seconds of confusion before the connections dropped out of sync and they had to stop. Several times, the rider had come away with an enormous migraine. She’d experienced that herself twice now.
It had been Aki’s idea to set the safety parameters inside the boundaries other team members thought sufficient, an extra measure of caution that now she wished she could ignore. But Kyle was right. If she violated her own restrictions in a moment of frustration and someone got hurt, she would never forgive herself.
“You’ve made tremendous strides in the last year, Ak. You’ll reach your goals. In another month, maybe less, you’ll work out that last glitch. A week after that, you’ll notify all the contacts for your test subjects and reach out to families of the other patients in the facility. What’s one more month when you’ve been working toward this for so long?” He nudged her shoulder with his own. “You’d hate me if I allowed you to risk your success when you’re this close to a breakthrough.”
“Yeah.” Her voice barely registered over the sound of the water. She looked down at the river and calmed herself with mental calculations to gauge cubic feet of water per second passing beneath them from a guesstimate of its speed.
He leaned in close. “What’s really going on in there?”
What indeed. The closer she got to success, the more she feared failure. Even when her parents died and she’d left Japan to go to university here, even when she was settling into a new culture and knew so little about how to get by in this strange place, she’d never felt this vulnerable. She took a deep breath. “This is my life’s work.”
He nodded. “I know.”
“I’ve buried myself in its development, hung my self-respect on its outcome.”
Kyle’s eyes peered into hers.
Aki swallowed hard and pushed the words out past a lump in her throat. “What if it never succeeds? Or what if it does, but no one wants what we can offer? What if it was all for nothing?”
“Oh, Ak.” Kyle shook his head and took her hands in his own. “I can’t guarantee it will ever work. But I promise you, if it does, you’ll have more people signing up than you can ever accommodate.”
She wanted to believe him. She gripped his fingers and stepped closer. “How do you know, though?”
His smile took on a confidence she wished she could feel. “Because if nothing else, their families want closure. I’d bet everything I have on that.” He winked at her, then threw an arm around her shoulders and hugged her tight.
She stood in his embrace and willed herself to be that sure of her success.
~ • ~
Now
“Doctor Wicks!”
Kyle looked up from his tablet to see a set-up tech rushing toward him. “Yes?”
“One of the Janes they just brought in, sir—” the tech stopped, breathing hard.
“What’s wrong?” Kyle picked up his pace, now headed toward the initial set-up lab where new Does were brought for their exploratory test. The tech fell in beside him, her face pale, eyes wide.
“It’s—” She swallowed. “I think it’s Doctor Kimura, sir.”
Kyle’s skin went cold. His ears began to buzz. He stared at the tech, her words echoing in his head. They found Aki? He pursed his lips to speak but no words would come. Instead, he broke into a run. Staff members fell back out of his path as he raced toward the lab, the tech close on his heels.
They found Aki!
He rounded the final corner and burst through the doors, skidding to a stop inside. Staff members who had gathered around Jane Doe number seven, murmuring to one another, stumbled back and away from the patient. Kyle’s halting steps carried him toward her gurney.
Same light brown, epicanthic eyes, open now to stare at the ceiling. Did she see it there? That same black mole just below her right eye. Her skin had yellowed and sagged on her skeletal frame like a costume three sizes too big. Her arms had drawn up toward her chest, hands and long slender fingers now hooked into claws, the muscles atrophied from disuse. She would hate that, hate what had happened to her runner’s physique, hate that they had shaved off her thick black hair. She’d laugh at the gown they’d dressed her in. Mint green, her least favorite color.
“Where…” Kyle rasped.
“She came in ten minutes ago with four others from a facility upstate. She—” The tech choked up, cleared her throat before she continued, her voice low and shaking. “I ran to find you as soon as I saw her. Here’s the file.” She pushed a tablet into his trembling hands.
Kyle wrenched his eyes away from the withered husk before him and tried to make sense of the words on the screen as they filtered through his haze…
…found on shore at the delta, miles downriver…
…multiple internal injuries, broken bones, brain trauma…
…no identifying marks or identification on the body…
No, there wouldn’t have been. Aki always carried everything in her purse, not in her pockets.
He scrolled back up to see the date she was found—nearly five years ago.
His hands went slack. He almost dropped the tablet.
The tech grabbed it. “Are you okay, Doctor Wicks?”
Kyle stepped closer to the gurney, his throat too tight to speak. The many faces of Aki—laughing, frowning, angry, happy, passionate, sleeping—superimposed themselves over that of the gaunt manikin on the bed. This program had brought them together. They’d celebrated its successes, fought over its future, collaborated on ways to make it work. So many memories.
Kyle was the one who’d reported her missing. He’d thought her dead. Now…
“Set her up.” His voice croaked as if he hadn’t spoken in weeks. “I’ll go first. Give me full immersion. Full control.”
“Of course, Doctor Wicks.” The techs scurried away leaving Kyle alone with the living ghost from his past.
“Oh, Aki,” he whispered. He’d almost made peace with her absence. Now she was back, and his heart wouldn’t stop pounding in his ears.
~ • ~
Four years, ten months ago
On the way home, they parked his car beside the road and made it all the way to their spot at the middle of the bridge before Kyle prodded her. “Leaving early? Stopping at the bridge instead of going straight home? Now I know you’re holding something back.” He bent his knees to bring his eyes level with hers, his breath frosting the air in front of his lips as he spoke. “Come on. Spill.”
Aki grinned out at the dark horizon, keeping her secret just a little longer even though it threatened to burst out under its own power. But she wanted to get home soon, have some hot cider or tea. It was freezing out here, even with her down coat and thick gloves. She’d forgotten her hat.
She turned a sly expression toward him, her grin gone. “I did it.”
His eyes widened. “You solved the last glitch?”
“Yep. Earlier this shift. I made two more trials, just to be sure, but yes.” Her grin returned. “We’re good to go.”
Kyle’s excitement lit his face from within. He pushed both mittened hands over his hair, his eyes flicking back and forth. When he settled on her again, he gripped her shoulders. “How? I want all the details. Don’t leave out anything.”
Aki laughed, puffing out small clouds of breath. She described every step she’d taken to solve that last hurdle. When she ran out of words, she stopped, breathing fast.
The sound of a train chugged its way into her awareness. She wondered if Kyle was going to propose. She’d thought he was working up to it for weeks now. If he did, it would be a perfect time to tell him about the baby. But let him come to terms with the project news first. Her pregnancy deserved a spotlight all its own.
She’d been taking precautions. They both had, but clearly they’d missed a gap somewhere. They’d never talked about children, but she hoped Kyle would be as happy about it as she was. They’d grown so close, and this was the logical next step. Aki’s mind raced ahead to imagine what their lives would look like a month from now. Six months, when the baby was showing. A year, when the baby was born and the project was well-established. What a delicious irony, giving birth to both a physical child and the first fruits of her life’s work at nearly the same time.
Kyle smiled at her in a way he never had before as he stepped closer, wrapped his wool-clad arms around her, and held her tight. “I can’t tell you how happy this makes me.”
Aki closed her eyes, her whole body smiling. But Kyle’s arms tightened further until she couldn’t catch her breath. The distant train whistled its approach into the yards.
“Kyle—”
He pulled her so close her face pressed into the folds of his pea coat, then lifted her feet off the ground.
“Kyle.” She gasped for air, one hand slapping his back. “You’re hurting—”
He swung her legs up and over the bridge’s safety rail.
Her heart made a little jump, and she grabbed at his wool sleeve as her mind slipped sideways.
what is he doing
“You’re such a genius, Aki,” he murmured into her ear while her legs dangled, kicking, over the open space. “I told Reuben you’d solve it. But we can’t let you take this gold mine into an open-source market. It’s too bad. I really liked you.”
Then she was falling, her lungs sucking the frigid air into her chest with a screech lost in the sound of the water and
this isn’t happening
her hands reaching, grasping for the rail that flew out above her, Kyle hovering there in the cold, his breath a cloud around his head, his features lost in shadow. She would swear her fetus moved inside her and she
i wanted a girl
screamed Kyle’s name. Time stretched out like hot caramel until the water rose up to crush her frame with an icy hand and blackness closed in.
~ • ~
Now
Kyle’s heart raced inside his ribs like a dog after a rabbit. He watched them prep Aki and thought how everything could change in the space of a blink. His mind raced back over that night. With sub-freezing temperatures, he’d noted ice at the edges of the water and up on the banks. They’d been bundled up, but once her jacket got soaked through, that wouldn’t have helped her much. And that fall… he had no idea how far it was, but he’d been certain she wouldn’t survive the impact even if the water hadn’t been so cold. How did she not die?
More importantly, if her body had been found so near that same time, how did this not come back to bite him?
Police had questioned him after he reported her missing, but he’d played the devastated lover very well. With the money Reuben paid him, he could afford to. He’d even bought an engagement ring ahead of time to show them how he was going to propose. They’d believed him, marked her down as a runaway lover. A week later, he’d reported to Reuben that it was done, Aki Kimura was no longer a problem. He’d fulfilled his end of the bargain, and they delivered on their promise. As soon as was reasonable, they’d promoted him to project manager, given him full rein, and turned him loose to make them all rich.
Which he had done.
But with Aki back, even like this, they were all in trouble, him most of all. He’d lost a fortune at the tracks the last couple of weeks, and another at the casino. The bank wasn’t going to wait much longer to start snatching collateral. The Tesla would be the first thing to go, just before the condo. His Harley would be next, followed by his artworks, designer clothing, everything he’d worked so hard for. He’d be destitute. On the street. Maybe dead if his bookie caught him before he could pay up.
He beat back the snarling dogs in his imagination and took a trembling breath. He needed money, and to get money, he needed Does. And a tour like this one? The woman who’d made this whole project possible? People would pay heaps for fifteen minutes in her head.
Except he didn’t dare put Aki up as a potential. If she woke up or gave any passenger even a hint of how she came to be here, Kyle would lose more than the project and all his toys. Best case scenario? Life imprisonment. He wouldn’t go down alone, though. He’d take Reuben and the others with him, assuming they didn’t kill him first. This was their idea—get close to her, figure out her plan, find out how she’s doing it, talk her over to their side. Or—
Shit. Why couldn’t she just die like he’d intended? He should have made sure. Poisoned or throttled her, slit her throat or…
“Doctor Wicks, we’re ready.”
Kyle looked up as if surprised to not be alone with Aki. Too many witnesses, not to mention the security cameras. No chance of killing her here. He didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to see his betrayal through her eyes. But he couldn’t let anyone else test her. Maybe he could kill her once he was in. Was that possible? He’d have to try.
He slid the lead cap on and laid back into the station next to her bed, his mind racing. He remembered the first time he’d assessed a Doe, his fear of not knowing what to expect. Since then, he’d evaluated so many he no longer felt fear of the unknown. This racing heartbeat right now? The clenching in his belly? That was fear of the known. He knew what he would see. And it scared him witless.
He nodded to the techs to start it up. They did, their eyes locked on his form, and then he was falling, falling, falling. This time when the slide began, it was a sheet of ice, only instead of beneath his feet, it was over his head. His arms pounded against the barrier as he slid past, his lungs screaming for air. Current bashed him against rocks and sunken debris, breaking bones as he went faster, too fast to grasp any handhold, hurtling downriver until he slammed his head, and everything went black.
When he opened his eyes again, stars filled his view. The crunching of boots on wet gravel told him he wasn’t alone.
“Hey, lady, you okay?”
He tried to speak, but no sound came. Inside his head, Aki’s voice lilted in a singsong tone.
“Kyle and Ak were out of whack
And Aki didn’t know it
He threw her down and broke her crown
And did it for a profit.”
His skin crawled, raising the frosted hair on his arms. I’m here! he tried to scream. I’m over here! Help!
Aki’s soft laughter drew close to his ear. “They’ll come soon enough. But it isn’t you they’ll be saving.”
A man’s silhouette appeared against the stars, gaping down at Kyle.
“Oh god, lady.” The man’s voice choked as he took in Aki’s ravaged form. “What the hell happened to you?” His thick finger stabbed the buttons on his mobile and he held it to his ear.
“So ironic, don’t you think?” Aki continued, her voice humming in his head. “I might have been the only person who could help you now but you—” She chuckled, as if unable to help herself. “—burned that bridge, didn’t you? Such a shame. I really liked you, too. Did you know I was pregnant when you tried to kill me? Maybe it’s for the best our daughter didn’t survive my fall. You would’ve made a shitty dad.”
Kyle’s limbs began to tingle, then to itch. His stomach felt as though he were on a roller coaster, rising and falling. The smell of burnt toast drifted in on the icy breeze. He remembered that odor. It had preceded every seizure he’d ever had before they finally stopped in his late teens. An eerie sound emerged from his throat. The man above him did not seem to hear it, or to notice when Kyle’s arms began to twitch, drawing up toward his chin in jerky, waving motions. Random neural firings scattered his thoughts, confusing the issue. He struggled to focus.
That toast was really burning now. Why couldn’t he see the flames?
Aki’s laughter grew louder, drowning out everything else, and Kyle could only scream and scream and scream.
~ • ~
“Doctor Wicks?”
Aki opened her eyes, blinking at the brightness of the room. Where was she? It had been so dark by the water’s edge…
“Kyle, are you all right?” The neurologist shone a light into her eyes, then pulled it away, then shone it again before she stuck it back in her pocket and gestured. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
Aki blinked. Focused. “Three.” Her voice sounded so deep. “Cold. Blanket.”
The doc pulled a blanket off bed eight and laid it over Aki. “Better?”
“Uh huh.” Aki blinked. “What happened?” What the hell was wrong with her voice?
Unless…
“You had a seizure. Fell off the gurney. Here. Let’s get you up.”
She and a nearby tech lifted Aki under the arms with a mutual grunt and plopped her down on the empty gurney next to bed seven.
Next to Aki Kimura.
Aki shook her head. She looked at the doctor, at the techs, all of whom were staring at her. She shifted her gaze down to her own hands.
Kyle’s hands. There was the scar he’d gotten on that cast-iron skillet in her kitchen. Below the hand, his legs wore the jeans she’d given him that first Christmas. He’d said they were his favorites.
She leaned past the neurologist to see the ravaged body on bed seven. And again at her new hands. Kyle’s hands.
A manic grin twitched at her lips and only a Herculean force of will kept it hidden. She couldn’t let them see, couldn’t let them suspect. Even she wasn’t sure how she’d managed this. The data never indicated crossover as a potential outcome. Yet when Kyle had tapped into her neurals, she’d thrown herself into a wild gambit she never expected to work.
Of course, this experience threw a new kink into the program. She’d have to ensure it never happened again.
She gaped at the others standing around her.
Him. You’re Kyle Wicks.
Now what? The old Aki would have spoken up. It would be the right thing to do.
Don’t be stupid. That Aki is dead.
Right. Kyle killed her. After an eternity trapped in that mute, immovable shell, she was free. Hell, she felt like she could fly.
“Doctor Wicks? Are you okay? This has all been quite a shock. Do you need to go home?”
That persistent neurologist. Aki shook her — no, his—head. “I’m fine. Just a little shaken up.” What would Kyle say? She had to make this good.
The doctor leaned next to him and gestured at Aki. “Did you learn anything?”
Aki considered her own body, looked at the damage Kyle had done. He had taken her life. Now she would take his. Of course, the man was always in debt to his eyebrows. No doubt she’d have to find out what he owed and pay off his damn bookie or her survival might be short-lived.
“No. But we don’t dare try again. I almost didn’t make it out.” Aki liked the rich timber of this new voice. “As much as I want to know what happened to her, Aki is a nonviable resource. The damage is too great.”
“Should we notify her next of kin?” The tech tilted her head toward Aki. “I know you two were close. I figure maybe you would know how to reach them.
Aki thought about her parents. For the first time, she—he, damn it! If she was going to pull this off, she had to become Kyle Wicks in mind as well as body—was glad they were gone. This would have devastated them, not to mention they would’ve likely bankrupted themselves trying to figure out how to bring her back.
“There’s no one to notify. Mark her file accordingly.” He’d need a few days to get his head—his head! Hah!—around this.
Kyle stood, dropped the blanket back to the cot, and stepped across to look down at Aki. Sleep well, you piece of shit. He turned away, wiping real tears from his face. “We need to ship her back to the long-term facility tonight. Right this minute. Call them up. Get that transport back here.”
The neurologist shook her head. “I don’t think that’s necessary, Doctor Wicks. I’m sure the techs won’t let anyone—”
Kyle stabbed a finger at the tech. “We can’t take that chance. In fact, never mind.” He smiled at the neurologist, making the most of Kyle’s winning grin. “I’ll handle the details myself.”
~ • ~ • ~