F Paul Wilson - Novel 05 (48 page)

 
          
You
say, "So you think this memory was so awful that she'd rather die than
remember it?"

 
          
"Or
perhaps someone
else
preferred that she die rather than remember
it."

           
The remark strikes you like a blow.
"Someone else?" You're shocked. You can't think for a moment.
"Who? Why? How?"

 
          
"1
have no idea. ]ust trying to cover all the possibilities. The strategic
location of this memory
—
or I should say, of this
former memory
—
disturbs
me to no end."

 
          
"What
disturbs
me,"
you say, "is the finality of what we see here.
These two ends here will never be rejoined. It's hopeless. If this symbolic representation
is a true reflection of Sam's neurophysiologic condition, then..." That
tightness in your throat again. You can barely speak. "Then Sam will never
regain consciousness."

 
          
The
realization hurts you more than you ever thought anything could.

 
          
She's
going to die. Hell, she's as good as dead now. And you can't help her. You've
failed her.

 
          
Again.

 
          
You
feel a sob building. But you can't allow yourself to break down. You close your
eyes, swallowing hard, collecting yourself.

 
          
"]ulie?
Are you all right?"

 
          
"No,"
you say, and the word sounds choked. "No, I'm not."

 
          
"Then
I think it's better you exit. After
all,
anything of interest here has
been destroyed, and her pulse is
—
well
into the nineties now."

 
          
You
glance at the readout strip. Pulse up to ninety-four; respirations up from six
to eight.

 
          
You're
as edgy as Dr. S. And hot. You'd like nothing better than to run to someplace
cool where you wouldn't have to feel so damn ineffectual and powerless.

 
          
But
you pull yourself together. You're loath to admit defeat.

 
          
"I'm
curious," you say, meeting the eye's giant stare. "Which end do you
think is which? Where's that eye looking out from? The cortex or the RAS?"

 
          
"If
the condition of the memoryscape is any clue to the condition of the cortex, I'd
say that eye has got to be looking at you from the reticular activating
system."

 
          
"Exactly
what I thought. The midbrain is fine. It's the cortex that's out cold."

 
          
"And
it will remain that way unless contact is reestablished.
I
don't see
that happening. Like a ruptured tendon, like a severed nerve, it won't heal,
the ends won't knit unless approximated."

 
          
You
can't see any way to bring the two severed ends together, but...

 
          
"Maybe
there's some way to bridge that gap."

 
          
"How?
What will you use? Whatever was in that span has been vaporized."

 
          
A
wild thought flashes through your mind.

 
          
"Why
not me?"

 
          
"What?"
Dr. S.'s stare from the window is almost as wide as that of the giant eye
before you.
"Exit now, Julie. I think you're losing your mind."

 
          
"No,
I'm serious. Sam and I are made of the same stuff. Identical twins, remember?
Why not use myself to bridge the gap?"

 
          
"But
that's impossible
.
You have no physical presence in the memoryscape.
You're
immaterial, a ghost. And without any substance, how can you bridge
anything?"

 
          
No
way you can keep it a secret any longer. You remove the data glove and hold
your virtual hand before you where he can see it.

 
          
"What's
that?"
he says.
"Did you scan your image into the program?"

 
          
"No.
It's me."

 
          
Stunned
silence for a few seconds, then Dr. Siegal's voice, shaky, barely audible,
trickles into your earphones.

 
          
"Dear
Lord! Julie . . . when
—
?"

 
          
"I
first noticed it on the second level." She remembered the bruise from the
kraken.

 
          
"You
soloed there as well?"

 
          
"Yes,
I had to."

 
          
"Dear
Lord! 1 warned you, Julie. I knew the genetic link between you and your twin
was too dose. Now look what's happened! Do you know what this means?"

 
          
"Yes.
It means I might actually be able to
do
something here."

 
          
"It
means you can be hurt here, dammit!"
You've never heard Dr. S. so
angry. Or frightened. "Get out,
Julie. I order you. Exit
immediately."

 
          
"Not
yet. I have to try something. I can't call it quits yet."

 
          
"You
exit now or I'll cut the satellite feed."

           
You've been expecting that threat,
and you're ready for it.

 
          
"Then
you'll be pulling the plug on both of us. I'm Sam's only hope. Do you want to
deprive her of her only chance to regain consciousness? Is that what you
want?"

 
          
"No,
of course not."

 
          
"Then
give me a chance here. Just one. Please."

 
          
A
very long pause. "I
don't like it.
I
haven't liked any of
this."
Another pause, then, "Go
ahead."

 
          
You
shut his window and approach the open eye. You run your hands over the
surrounding fingerlike projections. Their tips undulate back and forth in
response to your touch, like the tendrils of a sea anemone, tickling your
palms. You glide to the other side. This eye remains closed and the papillae
here are much less responsive. Which confirms your worst fear.

 
          
Sam's
cortex is failing... almost gone.

 
          
You
wrap your arms around the trunk and try to move it, pull it farther out of the
volcano wall. But you might as well be trying to uproot an oak.

 
          
So
much for trying to make ends meet. You never had much hope of that anyway. But
if you can bridge the gap with your virtual self, maybe you can act as a
conductor. Maybe you can send a wake-up call to Sam's cortex.

 
          
And
maybe you can't. But you've got to try.

 
          
You
place your hands against the papillae on either side of the closed eye,
straighten your arms, then stretch your feet toward the other stump.

 
          
You
don't reach. You extend to your fingertips and point your toes, and still you
can't reach the other side.

 
          
Damn!

 
          
Frustrated,
you rotate until you're upright, suspended between the stumps.

 
          
You
need help, and there's only one person who can give it.

 
          
"Sam?"

 
          
You
call out the name and it echoes in the volcano's chimney. You know that beyond
your earphones, in the real world, your voice is filling the bedroom. Your
words are entering Sam through her ears and via the memoryscape. She's
got
to
hear.

 
          
"Sam!
Sam, can you hear me? It's me, Julie. I don't know if you've been aware of me,
but I've been traveling your mind, trying to bring you back."

           
You wonder how Sam, if she can hear
you, will react to those words.

 
          
"Isn't
that a laugh ... me wanting to do something for you? But it's the truth. I'm
here to help you. I've been trying
for
weeks but haven't found a way to
do it until now. Trouble is, I can't do it alone. You've got to work with me.
Just a little. Do you hear me, Sam? Please ... give me a sign if you hear
me."

 
          
You
watch the closed lid. Not even a twitch. And on
the
other side ... an
unbroken stare.

 
          
"Sam!
Listen! Can you hear me or are you ignoring me? I know I've got no right to
think you'll trust me. I know I've
hurt
you time and again, and I know
I've crushed every olive branch you've extended until you ran out of branches,
but this time is different. I'm here as a friend, Sam. As your sister, ready to
act
like a sister for the first time in our lives."

 
          
A
beep from the physiologic ribbon. Sam's pulse is up
to
118. Her
respirations are 10. Damn ...

 
          
Is
that the sign? No. Can't be. Her pulse was on the rise before you began
talking to her. Then why is this happening? You haven't been in the memoryscape
all that long. Is it because
of
first time
you are?

 
          
Whatever
the reason, it's not good. The program will automatically exit you when her
pulse hits 130.

 
          
You
hear a rumble. The walls of the volcano tremble.
What
was that?

 
          
And
is it getting hotter, or is that just you?

 
          
"Listen
to me, Sam. There's not much time. Some way, somehow, you've got to let these
words through. Between
the
two of us, you were always the one who could
love, and I know you loved me. And I know I killed that love over
the
years.
If you hate me, Sam, you've got every right. But
that
was the other
Julie. This is a different Julie talking. For
the
first time in my life
I'm here for you, Sam. As a sister. As the missing part of you. I
—
"

 
          
Another
beep. Pulse now 125.

 
          
And
a louder rumble. The lava is bubbling more, and appears to be rising. ..
slowly, perhaps, but you know its roiling surface is closer than before. No
question
—
it's definitely hotter.

 
          
And
you're almost out of time. You press on.

           
"We were betrayed, Sam. We were
warped by a madman. The result is, neither of us is complete. You've got the
rest of me, Sam. And I've got the rest of you. We can beat this, but neither of
us can do it alone."

 
          
The
WINDOW is blinking. A click brings Dr. S.'s worried face into view.

 
          
"Give
it
up, Julie. There's some sort of reaction going on. Get out before you
hurt her and yourself as well."

 
          
"No.
Not yet. I've got a feeling I'll never get this chance again. Please, not
yet!"

 
          
"It's
not up to me. The program will
—
"