Lake

 

 

I am a Nobel.

I keep repeating it to myself, trying to summon the excitement I should be experiencing, because it’s a monumental achievement. I merged! When I told Deborah about late-thirties Sophie, the dated lab equipment, and how she was experimenting with octopus enzymes, the joy on Deborah’s face helped some. But my accomplishment feels itchy around the edges, because I wasn’t entirely honest. I fully planned to admit that Sophie thinks I’m her latest lab assistant, but as the words were forming on my lips, something stopped me.

I want to give Sophie time to realize she now only lives in my dreams. I owe it to her because she did, after all, allow her consciousness to be implanted into my brain. And that excuse is partly true. But there’s more to it.

Sophie’s and my situation is similar to strangers who have been shipwrecked on a deserted island. She’s going to appear in my dreams for the rest of my life, and if we aren’t compatible, not only will our interactions be miserable, the quality of our work will suffer. We need to build a relationship on our terms, not theirs. If I tell Deborah, they’re going to take control away from me. Sophie and I need to solve this issue ourselves. Because, of course, we will. We’re very intelligent women.

As promised, they transferred me up to the Nobels wing, and I now have free reign of the unrestricted areas. And that’s an aspect of my reasoning, too. If I told them the truth, I’m certain I’d still be locked in that depressing room while they try to determine why Sophie doesn’t remember me. I beat the odds and merged, and now I’m going to help the person in my head understand what happened to her so we can discover the cure to Alzheimer’s together.

I take a reassuring breath and pull open the door. Like the other areas in the complex, the Nobels’ dining hall more resembles a hospital cafeteria than someplace inviting, unless one considers the red fire alarm on the wall as flair. The savory aroma, though, makes me realize how famished I am.

The room could hold fifty people, with tables arranged for twos, fours, and eights. I suppose they’ve planned for the future, when there will be more of us Nobels living here. Today, though, there are only two sitting at a corner table.

A petite girl with curled, long, blond hair and retro tortoise-shell glasses looks up from her sandwich. She gives me a huge, welcoming smile. The other Nobel, a boy with a bad case of acne, is shoveling food into his mouth. I’d swear he’s thirteen years old, but every Nobel is sixteen.

Deborah explained that sixteen is the age when the brain has developed higher-order thinking skills based on learning taxonomies, but since the pre-frontal cortex won’t be fully developed until we’re twenty-four, it’s still receptive to the infusion of a second consciousness. At our age, we aren’t locked into a self-image of who we are and the person we’ll evolve into.

I head over to them. “Hi. I’m Lake, the Nobel for Chemistry.” It’s exhilarating to say it to someone other than my mirror’s reflection.

“I’m so glad you’re finally on this floor,” the girl says, gesturing to the seat next to her and moving aside a book. “My name is Juliette, but everyone calls me Jules. I’m Economics, and this is Marty. He’s Literature. Join us.”

“Thanks.” I set down my tray while casting a sideways glance at Marty.

Jules explains, “He’s not a big talker.”

Marty continues to slurp up spaghetti, as if he’s accustomed to being spoken about in the third person.

“Has Deborah showed you around The Flem?” she asks.

“The what?”

She wrinkles her nose. “I know it sounds gross. Alex started calling this place The Flem, and it caught on. I can’t wait for you to meet him. He’s so much fun.”

I didn’t have many friends in high school. I could never relate to what they found important. Excitement vibrates through me. Things may be different here.

“Wasn’t meeting your Mentor the best ever?” Jules asks.

“It was extraordinary.” To keep the full truth off my face, I select a French fry and chew it to mush. “What are you both working on—am I permitted to ask that?”

“Of course,” Jules says. “We don’t keep secrets here. I’ll be working on a theory to fairly distribute wealth among the masses, but I won’t start on it for a while. There’s so much I first need to learn from my Mentor, Sarah. And Marty’s novels will one day be heralded for creating a new social consciousness. Right, Marty?” She nudges him with her elbow.

“Uh-huh,” he mumbles, without meeting my eyes.

“Your focus is on Alzheimer’s, right?” Jules asks.

“How do you know that?”

“I pestered Deborah until she told me all about you.” She giggles. “My mom is always accusing me of being such a busybody, but I can’t help it. I find people so interesting. Don’t you?”

I’m more fascinated with how chains of a molecule form the backbone of the DNA of every creature on earth, but we all have our predilections. “Sure. Where are the other Nobels?”

“Probably sleeping.” Jules shoves aside her barely eaten tuna sandwich. No wonder she’s the size of an elf.

“It’s past noon.”

“Our sleep patterns are a little off,” she explains.

“Off?” Marty says before stuffing an entire piece of garlic bread into his mouth.

“Some of us are sleeping more than others,” Jules says. “But the longer we dream, the more we can accomplish with our Mentors, right?”

I need to determine what’s considered the norm so the Darwinians don’t label me as lackadaisical, which in my old life would have been laughable. After Mom got sick, Dad had to leave the tour to take care of us. When his ex-band won Best Jazz Album of the Year days after Mom died, he retreated into himself. He’s never really reemerged. Since then, I’ve worked as many jobs as possible to help out.

“How many hours have you been sleeping?” I ask Jules.

“My Mentor is being totally fair.”

“Thirteen hours today,” Marty answers. “So far.”

No wonder he’s acting like a starving hyena. When Deborah suggested I get something to eat, I assumed it was because she wanted me to meet the others. Her true motivation may have been entirely different.

“Is there a particular reason you’re sleeping that long?” I ask him.

Jules says, “Time in the dreamspace is … Marty, you’re better with words than me. How would you describe it?”

“Different.”

I wait for him to expound, but he goes back to carb loading. I’d been led to believe this experience would be like going to school, but in reverse. At night, Sophie will instruct me on what I need to know. During the day, after I debrief with Deborah, I’ll complete the homework Sophie assigns. Once my Mentor considers me sufficiently trained, I’ll continue our experiments in the awake-world.

“Do you mind sleeping that much?” I ask Marty.

“It’s fine,” he says.

Is he avoiding my eyes because he’s not being entirely truthful, or is he merely shy?

Jules says, “The whole purpose of our being here is to continue our Mentor’s work. They aren’t slave drivers. They just want to spend as much time as they can being conscious with us.”

I hadn’t considered that paradox. Every hour we’re awake is an hour our Mentors don’t, in essence, exist.

“Sarah has given me a ton of homework, and it’s not going to get done by itself.” Jules picks up her book, Capitalism and Freedom. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

I smile. “Me, too.” It feels like I’ve already made a friend.

Jules flutters her fingertips as she leaves.

Marty stands. “Eat when you can.” He grabs his notebook and follows Jules out the door.

I know I agreed to remain here until I’m twenty-one, but I didn’t expect to sleep away the next five years. And what happens after I leave? The Darwinians said I could still have a career and a family, or do whatever I choose with my life. The significant difference for us Nobels, though, is we’ll always have the advantage of a second intelligence when it comes to our careers.

But if I’m constantly sleeping, how can I lead a normal life?

Mental slap. Just because Marty’s sleeping pattern is prolonged doesn’t mean Sophie expects the same from me. Jules’s Mentor sounds reasonable. Once we get past Sophie’s misperception of my role in her life, these are the issues we’ll figure out together. I’m certain tonight will be an entirely different experience. Why am I waiting? I can take a nap as soon as I finish eating.

To put me into a food coma, I abandon my burger and grab a turkey sandwich for the tryptophan and a cup of chamomile tea to calm me. No one else appears while I finish my lunch. No one, such as Stryker.

Was he able to merge last night? If I’ve been mistaken about the consequences of failure, then he—

I shove away my doubt and replace it with positive thinking: Sophie will know who I am. Sophie will know who I am …