Up and Coming: Stories by the 2016 Campbell-Eligible Authors (SL Huang) читать бесплатно онлайн полную версию книги

Dan Stout

Outpatient

Originally published by Nature Magazine

* * *

It was definitely a migraine.

The agony clamped down on both temples, and the light from behind the curtain shot daggers through my eyelids. I twisted over to cover my head with a pillow and felt a sudden breeze up my backside.

I sat up, squinting, a hospital gown tugging at my throat. I had no idea what had happened to me. My last memory was of being in my lab, slipping on my sensor headdress and wiring it to the neural monitors.

Pushing the assistance buzzer, I rocked back and forth, trying to keep the migraine at bay. No nurse answered, and eventually I gave up. When I stood, I staggered, a stranger in my own body.

I stumbled out into the hall, relieved to see a familiar logo on the directional signs. I was still in St Anne’s, the hub of my work, where Kim Stanley and I were pioneering Spatial Resonance Neurology—the expansion of the brain’s network into the space around it, building awareness beyond our bodies.

The halls were jammed with patients looking just as confused as me. Apparently some were dealing with even worse headaches than I was, as they leaned against walls, gripping their temples or succumbing to the nausea and vomiting on the floor. The overwhelmed staff ran back and forth. No one paid me any attention.

I picked up a white technician’s coat from a chair at the nurse’s station. I’d had enough of my rear end being exposed. As I put it on, the collar flipped up. Even with a decade of practice I’d never quite figured out how to keep those things flat. I glanced around, one eye shut against the pain of my headache, and tried to figure out what was going on. So many people with signs of headache and nausea. Gas leak? There was no odor of natural gas. Carbon monoxide? The hospital had CO detectors in every hall, but no alarms were sounding. My cell phone would be in my office. I could call 911 and get outside.

Down one floor, having taken the stairs so I could bypass the yelling crowd at the elevator lobby, I reached my office. It had been such a personal victory when I first saw my nameplate mounted on the door. Dr. Ellen Wojicki engraved in imitation brass. Little good it did me now—the door was locked, of course.

A little farther down the hall was the entry to our lab. It was locked as well, but it was controlled by a security keypad. I punched in the access code and entered. There were three figures across the room. I recognized one of them immediately.

“Kim,” I said. Or at least I tried. The word came out like a croak through dried lips and throat. How long had I been unconscious? “Kim,” I said, louder. The figures turned towards me.

Standing beside my partner Kim was a woman who looked disorientingly familiar. She must have just been in the neural expansion chamber: she still wore a sensor headdress across her scalp, the leads drooping across the up-turned collar of her lab coat. Something about her was very wrong. A deep sense of unease and nausea overcame me, and I doubled over. Gasping, I made myself look back up at them.

Behind Kim and the woman, a teenage girl sat perched on a stool. She wore a hospital gown and squinted as if pained by the light. As I watched, she reached out and grabbed Kim’s arm.

“It’s me.” The pleading note in her voice was heart-breaking. “It’s Ellen.”

There was a crash, and an obese man in a hospital gown stumbled through the doors. He showed clear signs of recent surgery.

“Kim,” he said. “Something went wrong. I woke up in someone else’s…” He trailed off as he stared at the woman next to Kim. “Oh, God,” he said.

There was a spike of pain as my migraine raged back into full force. I raised a hand to massage my temple and saw the ID bracelet on my wrist, name and room number printed on treated plastic. My name was apparently Carol Jones.

Over my shoulder I could hear shuffling feet, a growing chorus of “Kim…please, Kim,” as more and more patients pressed into the lab. I did my best to ignore the occasional cry of “It’s Ellen,” as they made my stomach knot and the wave of nausea rise again.

To distract myself I tried to do some math, remembering the range of our devices. I guessed at the population density of San Diego and tried to calculate just how many people would now flip up their collars and prefer their coffee with cream, just the way I liked it. I finally gave up, not really knowing if it mattered anymore. I covered my eyes, both from the harsh fluorescent glare of the lights and because I didn’t want to look again at the too familiar woman standing next to Kim. Eyes shielded I rocked back and forth, trying futilely to hide from the migraine that I knew would only get worse.

The Curious Case of Alpha-7 DE11

Originally published by Mad Scientist Journal : Winter 2015

* * *

Hello, Joachim. This is Dr. Manderagon. Vincent Manderagon.

I’m calling because I’m having trouble with one of our Golems. Specifically…ah…I just had it in front of me…

Here it is: Serial number Alpha-7 DE11. He’s behaving oddly, and I’m worried that it may be starting to spread to the rest of the brood.

I called tech support, but they’re just bouncing me back and forth. I know it’s the weekend, but you’re my sales rep, and I need to get a call back today. Let me give you the situation quickly.

This Golem came with the brood I purchased two months ago—still well within the warranty period. I had them uncrated and left them to acclimate to the island’s humidity so that their clay wouldn’t crack once they were animated, blah-blah, you know the drill.

Regardless, after 48 hours I animated them with holy words and dead man’s blood, and before you know it, they’re stomping up and down the corridors, carrying equipment, cleaning up after surgeries, performing just like they should. I was all ready to give you guys a great write-up on Yelp, when I started to notice odd behavior.

I was checking on the progress of my current crop of subjects when I noticed that there was a Golem stooped over a cage. At first I thought he was cleaning, but he actually seemed to be looking at the hybrid inside. I came closer and saw the Golem and the hybrid were making eye contact. At the time, I chalked it up to the markedly human appearance of the hybrid’s face-admittedly quite an achievement, which took a number of tries for me to accomplish. I caught the Golem’s attention and got it moving, mostly using hand commands as the hybrid started a mewling scream/howl that made quite a racket. The vocal cords on that one were also tricky, but I’ve been making good progress in that area as well. Promising test subject, but it didn’t work out.

So a few days later, I decided to try a new batch of hybrids. I liquidated the old crop and left the Golems to clean up. When I took the fire-hounds out for a run, I passed an open pit where the Golems were disposing of the non-viable human/hyena hybrids, and instead of a pile of refuse, everything was laid out carefully, covered with a light layer of dirt. And here’s the crazy part: there were flowers scattered over them. At first I thought that the villagers had snuck onto the grounds of Maderagon Mansion, but security reported no breeches of the perimeter fence. So it must have been done by someone inside the compound.

Do I have your attention yet, Joachim?

The other twelve Golems in the brood appear normal. But this one—this Alpha-7—seems to almost show emotion. Oh, I know its face is hardened clay, but it manages to convey something with its, I don’t know, its body language, I guess.

When I talked to your tech support people they said that when Golem broods are created, the feeder soul is divided into such small portions that emotions shouldn’t register in the least with any single Golem. But then I got out the manual—or rather opened the file, since you guys are too cheap to provide a paper manual any more. And I found this gem:

"…In rare instances, instead of simply welling up and then dissipating, the energy of the emotion somehow becomes trapped within the physical body of the Golem…Trapped emotions can become problematic, and should be addressed before contagion occurs."

Now what the hell does that mean? Because I’m wondering if a brood of 13 Golems is one soul divided up, and if one of them starts to feel emotions, is there a ripple effect with the others? If that’s the case, Joachim, I’m going to want to have this entire brood replaced, and no, I will NOT be paying the shipping to return them.

What the? There’s a breech in the hybrid containment area.

…all my work…Joachim, if your malfunctioning product—

What the hell is going on?

That…That should be security. Call me asap, Joachim, and let’s get this thing resolved.

Coming! I’m coming you don’t need to break down the—

End of voicemail.