The Terminal Experiment

CHAPTER 15

Hobson Monitoring had a standard database of medical journalists worldwide to whom electronic press kits were routinely sent. A few members of Peter’s senior staff argued that this particular release should also go to religion editors, but Peter vetoed that. He was still uncomfortable with the moral aspects of the discovery. Besides, everyone from the National Enquirer on down would be clamoring for interviews soon enough. An invitation to the press conference went out by E-mail and courier three days in advance of the actual event. Peter was uneasy about the wording of the invitation, but Joginder Singh, his PR person, was adamant that this was the correct approach:

Several reporters did call, trying to sniff out whether the story would really be worth pursuing, or if this was just going to be the release of a new piece of hospital gadgetry. But no advance information was given out. Everyone had to wait until Thursday morning. And then…

About forty reporters showed up for the press conference — Hobson Monitoring had only once before gotten more, back when it had announced its first public share offering. Peter knew half the reporters by name: Buck Piekarz, medical correspondent for the Toronto Star, Cory Tick, his counterpart from the Globe and Mail; Lianne Delaney from CBC Newsworld; a fat guy who covered Canadian stories for the Buffalo News; a stringer for USA Today; many more. The reporters helped themselves to fresh fruit and coffee while they chatted amongst themselves. They were surprised to not be receiving press kits up front, although Peter and Joginder assured them that full kits, including data disks and transcripts of Peter’s remarks, would be distributed as they exited. Several of the journalists present would videotape the conference, anyway.

Cathy had taken a vacation day to be there with Peter. At a quarter after ten, he made his way up to the front of the room. Cathy beamed at him, and, despite the butterflies in his stomach, he drew strength from her presence. “Hello, everyone,” he said, smiling at them all in turn, but holding a special, lingering smile on Cathy. “Thank you for coming out. Please forgive all the secrecy — I know it seems a tad melodramatic. But what we’re going to announce here today is something very special, and we wanted to be sure that responsible journalists heard about it first.” He smiled.

“Joginder, if you’ll dim the lights please? Thanks. Now, everyone, please watch the wall monitor. You’ll all be getting copies of the recording I’m about to play when you leave. All set? Run the demo, please, Joginder.”

The journalists watched intently as Peter narrated a slowed-down playback of the brain scans of Peggy Fennell’s death. Peter went into a fair bit of technical detail — these were, after all, medical correspondents. When the soulwave actually departed from Mrs. Fennell’s head a murmur moved through the audience.

“Play that last bit back again,” called out Piekarz from the Star. Peter signaled Joginder to do so.

“Exactly what is that?” asked another reporter.

Peter looked at Cathy, sitting in the front row. Her eyes were twinkling. He affected a shrug. “It’s a cohesive electrical field that leaves the body through the temple at the moment of death.”

“At the exact moment of death?” asked Delaney, the woman from Newsworld.

“Yes. It’s the final bit of electrical activity in the brain.”

“So — so it’s what?” said the woman. “Some kind of a soul?” She said the word offhandedly, as if a joke, giving her room to retreat in case she was making a fool of herself.

But in the weeks since Sarkar had first uttered that term, Peter had grown more comfortable with it. “Yes,” he said. “That’s exactly what we think it is.” He raised his voice, speaking generally to the room. “There it is, ladies and gentlemen: the first ever direct scientific recording of what may be a human soul leaving a body.”

A buzz erupted, everyone talking at once. Peter spent the next two hours answering questions, although some of the print reporters with early deadlines grabbed the press kits and exited almost at once. He made clear that his studies had yet to reveal exactly what happened to the soulwave after departure — it seemed to remain coherent, but there was still no proof that it didn’t dissipate shortly after leaving the body. He also stressed that very little data was available yet about the content or structure of the soulwave, and, in particular, about what, if any, meaningful information it contained.

But it made no difference. The idea of a soul was an archetype, universally grasped. People already were sure, in their hearts, of what the soulwave represented.

That night, Cathy and Peter saw that the CBC TV story was picked up by CNN in the States and the BBC World Service. The announcement was all over the net within hours and made front-page news in the evening editions of the Toronto Star and several American papers, and was plastered across page one of newspapers around the world the next day. Within twenty-four hours, the entire developed world knew about the discovery.

Suddenly Peter Hobson was a celebrity.

“Is the caller still there?” asked Donahue, back on daytime TV after his failed presidential bid.

“I’m here, Phil.”

Donahue made his tortured face; precious seconds were being wasted. “Go ahead — I have very little time.”

“What I’d like to know,” said the caller’s voice, “is what life after death is really like. I mean, we know now that it exists, but what’s it really like?”

Donahue turned to Peter. “That’s a very good question, caller. Dr. Hobson — what is the afterlife like?”

Peter shifted in his chair. “Well, that’s more a subject for philosophers, I’m afraid, and—”

Donahue turned toward the studio audience. “Audience, are we prepared for these questions? Do we really want to know the answers? And what will America do if the afterlife turns out to be unpleasant?” He spoke into the air. “Show ’em, Bryan — number 14.”

A chart appeared on the screen. “Sixty-seven percent of the people of this good country,” said Donahue, “believe that the soulwave proves the Judeo-Christian model of a heaven and a hell. Only eleven percent believe that your discovery, Dr. Hobson, disproves that model.”

The chart disappeared. Donahue spied a raised hand in the back of the studio. Still spry at seventy-five, he bolted for the back row and shoved a microphone under a woman’s chin.

“Yes, ma’am. You had a brief comment.”

“That’s right, Phil. I’m from Memphis — we love your show down there.”

First the little-boy face, patted on the head. “Thank you, ma’am.” Then the pained face, as if something was caught going down his gullet. “I have very little time.”

“My question is for the doctor. Do you think your discovery is going to get you into heaven, or are you going to hell for interfering in God’s mysteries?”

Close-up on Peter. “I — I have no idea.”

Donahue did his standard theatrical arm gesture that ended with his finger pointing directly into the camera. “And we’ll be back…”

The silver-haired Latin fox turned to face the audience. According to the tabloids, he’d recently undergone the Life Unlimited process, so viewers had centuries of his particular brand of television to look forward to.

“Life after life,” he said, portentously. “That’s our focus on this edition of Geraldo. Our guests today include Peter Hobson, the Ottawa scientist who claims to have captured the immortal soul on film, and Monsignor Carlos Latina of the Archdiocese of Los Angeles.” Geraldo turned to the man wearing a black cassock. “Monsignor — where do you think the souls are today of those clergy members who molested boys in church-run orphanages?”

(Roll computer graphic of Capitol Building dome. Cue music.) Announcer: “From ABC News: This Week with Peter Jennings. Now from our Washington headquarters, here’s Peter Jennings.”

Jennings, gray haired, dour, facing into the camera: “The soulwave — fact or fantasy? Religious revelation or scientific truth? We’ll ask our guests: Peter Hobson, the engineer who first detected the soulwave; Carl Sagan, author of the best-selling Eyes of Creation; and Helen Johannes, presidential advisor on religion in America. Some background on all this from our man Kyle Adair. And joining me in our Washington studio will be—”

(Medium shot of Donaldson, his features sharp despite his wrinkles; his shoe-polish brown toupee looking obviously fake.)

“Sam Donaldson—”

(Medium shot of silver-haired Will, walleyed and bow-tied, looking like a retired plantation owner.)

“ — and George Will. Later, we’ll be joined by commentator Sally Fernandez of the Washington Post … all here on our Sunday program.”

(Run commercials: Archer Daniels Midland’s new all-vegetable automobile. General Dynamics — “our work may be classified, but we’re a good corporate citizen.” Merrill Lynch — “because someday the economy will turn around.")

(Roll prerecorded backgrounder.)

(Fade up in studio.)

Jennings: “Kyle, thank you.”

(Recap guests and panelists.)

(Insert Peter Hobson on wall monitor, with dateline display at top showing “Toronto.")

Sam Donaldson, leaning forward: “Professor Hobson, your discovery of the soulwave could be seen as a great liberator of oppressed people, final proof that all men and women are created equal. What effect do you think your discovery will have on totalitarian regimes?”

Hobson, politely: “Excuse me, but I’m not a professor.”

Donaldson: “I stand corrected. But don’t duck my question, sir! What effect will your discoveries have on the human-rights violations going on in the eastern Ukraine?”

Hobson, after a moment’s reflection: “Well, I’d love to think that I’ve struck a blow for human equality, of course. But it seems that our ability to be inhuman has survived every challenge to it in the past.”

George Will, over steepled fingers: “Dr. Hobson, the average American, struggling under the burden of an excessive government with a ravenous appetite for tax dollars, cares not one whit about the geopolitical ramifications of your research. The average church-going American wants to know, in precise and plain language, sir, exactly what characteristics the afterlife actually has.”

Hobson, blinking: “Is that a question?”

Will: “It is the question, Dr. Hobson.”

Hobson, shaking head slowly: “I have no idea.”