Текст книги "The Cure"

Автор книги: Douglas E. Richards

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“What did your advisor say to that?”

“That it was more rubbish. He said it was obviously an artifact. To him, this was even greater proof I was wrong. After all, for me to be right, a quantum computer had to be operating. And we were decades away from something on that level. In fact, the one we were working on at CMU was the most advanced in the world.”

“He didn’t immediately jump to the conclusion it was an alien design?” said Erin, rolling her eyes. “Talk about lack of imagination.”

“Exactly,” said Hansen with a smile. “Anyway, long story short, I was stubborn. I was able to localize the source to…”

He stopped as though considering what he should say next, and there was something about his expression that made Erin believe there was more to his story than he was telling. On the other hand, this was the abbreviated version, after all, so this was to be expected.

“To Yuma,” he finished. “So I went there and began looking for a source. And I kept digging. Drake took notice. Finally he brought me into the fold. I left the graduate program and my old life behind, and removed myself from the grid. For the past four years I’ve been working with him, and learning quantum physics well beyond what human science has achieved.”

Erin realized so much was going on that she hadn’t really internalized just how monumental it was, how epoch-making, for humankind to finally have unambiguous proof, not just of alien life, but of intelligent alien life—although she still needed to verify for herself just how unambiguous this proof really was. But assuming it was true, it would change the course of human thought forever. She remembered reading a quote from a famous scientist, she couldn’t remember who, speculating about intelligent life in the universe, that was particularly apt to this situation: Sometimes I think we’re alone. Sometimes I think we’re not. In either case, the thought is staggering.

“You mentioned you read a lot of science fiction,” said Erin.

“That’s right.”

“I imagine it has to be a thrill to know what this part of the galaxy is really like. To know we aren’t alone. To know that seventeen civilizations exist out there.”

Hansen nodded, and a euphoric glow spread over his face. “I feel like the luckiest man in the world.”

“So how many people work with him, besides you?”

“Indirectly, several dozen. Directly, just me, and only because I forced myself on him. He couldn’t risk that I would keep pressing, trying to get others to take my theory seriously. He knew he might be discovered if I succeeded, so he decided he had to take me on. More as damage control than anything else.”

“So what’s your role?”

“Well, I learn quantum physics and help in any way I can. Which usually involves interacting with other humans, like his security detail, so he doesn’t have to take this risk.” Hansen grinned. “I have an easier time seeming like a normal human than he does. But not by much.”

Erin laughed. For an expert on quantum physics—whatever that really was—she thought he impersonated a human quite well.

“But Drake does have his tentacles—and I do mean tentacles—into a lot of pies,” continued Hansen. “He’s working with a number of people he doesn’t tell me about. As I said, he likes to keep things compartmentalized. Humans are less trustworthy than any species in the Seventeen, so he makes no exceptions in maintaining an ultra-paranoid level of secrecy and security. And that includes me. As integral as I am to his organization in many ways, information is still on a need-to-know basis.”

“So you knew he had someone testing different dosage combinations, but you didn’t know who?”

“Exactly. Drake is dedicated to seeing that we survive and mature and become part of the diversity of galactic civilization. But maintaining absolute anonymity is vital. So he takes the fewest possible chances.”

There was silence in the room as Hansen allowed Erin to ponder all he had told her.

“So is our time out over?” he said finally. “Did I give you at least some sense of who I am?”

“You mean beyond your relationship status?” she said dryly.

Hansen winced. “Uh-huh.”

“Yes, you did. That helped a lot.”

“Good,” said Hansen. “So let’s get back to the main topic. Eradicating psychopathy forever. Drake predicted it would take some effort to persuade you. Despite…” He stopped, realizing he was about to make the same mistake he had made earlier, bringing up her tragic past.

He visibly switched gears. “Explain to me your ethical issues with this. Let’s forget for a moment that taking this step is necessary to save the entire species from self-destruction. I do get how it’s unethical to cure someone without their consent. But these are psychopaths. It seems like they and the world would be far better off—again, even if the stakes weren’t what they are.”

“I’ve done more thinking about this over the past few years than you can imagine,” said Erin. “You do realize that as horrific as these people are, the ones who end up being serial killers are the tip of the tip of the iceberg. All psychopaths are monsters without souls, I’ll give you that. And they typically do leave a trail of shattered lives behind them. But many haven’t been convicted of any crimes.”

“You emphasized the word convicted. So you’re saying they’ve all committed them, it’s just that most don’t get caught?”

“Pretty much. There is plenty of corruption out there that people get away with. And if it’s bad in this country, it’s far worse in many others.” She paused. “But you’re changing the personalities and brain structure of people who, technically, haven’t done anything wrong. They probably have or will, but they haven’t been convicted. And with Drake’s virus they aren’t given a choice. My dean thought using a device to remotely identify psychopaths was like being the thought police, or the pre-crime unit. But this is the ultimate manifestation of that. The virus would be judge, jury, and—well, not executioner. But let’s say—remodeler.”

Kyle Hansen nodded, deep in thought, but remained silent.

“And this is where it gets really tricky,” she continued. “Curing a Jeffrey Dahmer just might be a crueler punishment than imprisonment. Psychopaths in prison are relatively content. They love themselves and never doubt anything.” She looked away. “But recently I witnessed a number of the prisoners I cured. And it’s made me question all of my thinking. I work with the most violent offenders. I’ve come to see that being cured is the ultimate curse for them. They suddenly have a conscience—for the first time. Imagine if I slip you a pill that turns you into a berserker and you savagely kill your wife and kids. Then you wake up and return to normal. For the rest of your life you’d have to live with the memory of killing those who were the closest to you.”

She waited for him to consider this and she could tell that imagining this scenario was making an impression on him.

“I’ve been seeing that lately. The inmates don’t know they’re cured, of course. All they know is that suddenly they’re feeling true empathy and remorse. For the first time in their lives they reflect back on their actions and feel the same horror at what they’ve done as the rest of us would. The pain is enormous.” She lowered her head. “I wouldn’t be surprised if many of the inmates I cured commit suicide before too long. You should have seen them. We’ve had a lifetime with a conscience. We’ve become somewhat acclimated, built up a tolerance. Someone who drinks every day can withstand the effects of alcohol far better than a teetotaler. The systems of these psychopaths aren’t prepared for a soul. Suddenly they know fear. They know uncertainty. They know what they’ve done to others, and why it’s so terribly wrong. And they know remorse.”

“Are you saying you actually feel sorry for them?” said Hansen in dismay. “After what they’ve done? Perhaps being made aware of their atrocities, and having to feel empathy for their victims is the best punishment of all.”

Erin nodded. “I thought that for the first few weeks I wrestled with this. It does seem like what they deserve. It seems like poetic justice.” She turned away for several seconds and her face turned into a mask of pure anguish. “Poetic justice for the lives and potential they so callously destroy,” she finished, her voice breaking with emotion.

For the first time in years Erin’s psychological defense system had broken down and images of her lost family, in different poses of death, had flashed into her mind. Her beautiful mother shot in the face at close range. Her sweet sister, Anna, with her head lolling lifelessly on her shoulder, her innocent face wet from tears. And her father literally stabbing out with his last ounce of strength.

The potency of her loss returned for just a moment, and if she had been standing she would have sunk to the ground. This was followed, inevitably, by a searing hatred that coursed through her veins like a drug. She had found a way to come to terms with her hatred on an intellectual level, but on a visceral level she knew she never would. Tears pooled in her eyes as she visibly fought to regain emotional control.

“Erin?” said Hansen softly. “Are you okay?”

Erin slammed her mental defenses into place, her right hand curling into a fist, and she shook her head in a short, violent motion for just a second, like a dog shaking off water. “I’m fine,” she said weakly.

She took a few breaths and steadied herself. “As I was saying,” she continued, her voice regaining its strength and composure, “I thought being forced to feel pain for what they had done was the ultimate poetic justice. But I’m not so sure anymore. Of anything. Part of me has begun to think of these people as a violent force of nature. I hated them for a long, long time. And the truth is, deep down, I still do. But what’s the point? The ones who murder have less free will about it than you might imagine. That’s what research like mine and others is showing. Their brains are different. I’m not trying to absolve them, or make excuses for them, I’m just stating a fact.

“You don’t hate a hurricane for destroying your town,” she continued. “You may curse the fates and mourn your losses. But you can’t hate a storm. If your friend falls into a river and is stripped clean by a school of piranha, you don’t hate the piranha. You fear them, sure. You avoid them at all costs. You might even try to wipe them out if you can. But you don’t hate them. They’re just being piranha, after all.”

She paused for several seconds to gather her thoughts. “So now you make these monsters human—for the first time. And yes, this is more than a fitting punishment for what they’ve done. But the cured ones weren’t the ones who committed these savage acts now, were they? That was a different version of them. You’re turning a monster into a human, and then punishing the human for the actions of the monster.”

“Whoa,” said Hansen. “Saying you’ve given this some thought is an understatement.”

He rose from the carpet, stretched, and returned to the desk chair, his eyes never leaving Erin’s. “It almost sounds as though you think killing them all might be more humane than curing them all.”

“It just might be,” she replied. “I don’t know. Only God could know something like that. But I’m guessing you’re able to see the moral issues involved with killing one percent of the population. Even without my help.”

“Yeah, I think I’m on top of that one,” he said. “But kidding aside, I have to believe they’d rather be cured than killed.”

“Absolutely. But that’s because, just like they can’t fathom the suffering of others, they can’t possibly fathom what it will be like to suddenly have a conscience. Maybe if they knew, they would prefer death. As I said, my prediction is that there will be a significant number of suicides.”

“It’s a horrible aberration, and situation, no matter how you slice it,” said Hansen thoughtfully.

“I’m not sure if I believe in God,” said Erin. “When you experience what I did before you’re twelve, belief doesn’t come easily. I find it hard to imagine any God taking the time to create a soul in ninety-nine percent of the population, but allowing a perfect storm of genetic errors to make monsters of the others.”

“You’re probably right. But I’ve heard it said that without evil, we wouldn’t be able to recognize or appreciate good.”

Erin twisted her head and stared at him in wonder. For all the thinking she had done recently, this was a thought she had not yet had.

“You make some compelling points,” said Hansen. “About a cure bringing untold misery to the compassionate humans these people will now become. And about the risk of suicide. But isn’t it true these effects will be the most severe in those who have committed the most severe, violent crimes? Didn’t you say the majority of psychopaths are engaged in less-violent offenses?”

Erin nodded. “You’re right. There is a certain symmetry there. Poetic justice again. The psychopaths who have done the least damage will feel the least pain when they gain a soul. Those who’ve caused the most pain, will feel the most pain.”

“To be honest,” said Hansen, “you’ve raised a number of points I wouldn’t have considered. You’ve opened up more cans of worms than I expected. Until I’ve had time to really think this through, I can’t argue with anything you’ve said. But I started this by asking you to forget about the fate of the world hanging in the balance. But now let’s bring that back in. Are you saying you’d still have misgivings, even if it came down to this: either cure them, or lose the entire species because of them?”

“I’d have misgivings, but of course I’d cure them. Provided that I was absolutely certain that Drake and his computer were correct, and these really were the stakes, this is a simple trade-off to make. The world’s easiest trolley problem.”

“Trolley problem?”

“You’ve never done any readings on ethics?”

“What part about carefree geek physicist who loves science fiction and working with an alien visitor didn’t you get?”

Erin laughed. “Jeremy Bentham? John Stuart Mill? Those names ring a bell?”

“I’ve definitely heard of Mill,” he said. “But I couldn’t tell you anything about him.”

“These men came up with a theory of ethics called utilitarianism. The goal of which is basically the greatest good for the greatest number. In choosing between courses of action, this should be the guiding principle. A huge series of thought experiments have been constructed over the years to test this out. Many of these involve trolleys. These techniques are actually known as trolleyology.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Yeah, you tell me about an alien visitor and seventeen alien species, in seventeen locations, hanging out together in hollowed-out asteroids, and I’m the one who’s far-fetched. At least you can Google ‘trolleyology’ to confirm it.”

Hansen laughed. “I can’t say you don’t have a point.”

“Anyway,” continued Erin, “these trolleyology problems reveal some interesting facets of human nature.” She stared at him intently. “Let me give you a few examples. Suppose a runaway trolley is out of control and is coming to a fork in the tracks. You happen to be standing by a lever that can switch them. If the trolley stays on course it will kill five workmen standing on the tracks. If you cause it to switch tracks, it will kill a single workman. Do you switch the track?”

Hansen thought about this for a few seconds and finally nodded.

“Most people agree on this one. Even though you’re taking an action that will kill a man, you’re saving five lives at the same time.” She paused. “What if the five were strangers to you, and the lone person on the other track was your mother?”

“Wow,” said Hansen after a few seconds. “I’m not sure I can answer that.”

Erin smiled. “Sure you can. The answer is that in that case, you’d let the five men die, rather than flip a switch that would kill your own mother. Admit it to yourself.”

Hansen nodded, but looked troubled.

“This is what the majority of people say as well. Final one: Suppose you’re now above the tracks standing beside a very heavy guy. The runaway trolley is heading toward five people. You realize two things: if you jump in front of it, you’re too light to stop it. But if you push the heavy guy next to you down onto the tracks, his body will derail the trolley and the five will be saved. Do you push him?”

There was a long silence. Finally, Hansen shook his head. “No. I don’t see myself doing that.”

“Neither do ninety percent of people from around the world. It’s one thing to throw a switch. It’s another to throw someone under the bus—literally. But if you really think about it using pure reason, you should do it. In both cases one person dies so five can live. What’s interesting is that psychopaths are born utilitarians. Emotions or conscience would never come between them and the math. Two researchers named Bartels and Pizarro studied the ten percent of people who said they would throw the heavy guy onto the tracks. They found them to score high on the scales of psychopathy and Machiavellianism.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that for these types of decisions, you’d actually want to have a psychopath in charge. Anyway, this was just an aside. The real point is that the problem you pose is an easy one. I, and anyone else for that matter, would be willing to do anything—anything—if I was convinced I was preventing species extinction. The math in this case easily outweighs my issues of conscience, any possible weighting of right and wrong.” She paused. “But here’s the thing. I have to be absolutely convinced.”

“Makes sense.”

“But as far as I’m concerned, this could still be just a very elaborate hoax. And even if I was convinced Drake is really an alien, we still can’t be sure of anything else. His projections for our species. His motives. To a normal, the motives of a psychopath are impossible to comprehend. So if the minds of psychopaths are totally alien to us, what about the mind of an actual alien? How do we know anything? Maybe the virus is a cold virus to cure psychopathy.” She paused. “Then again, maybe it’s a virus that will wipe out the human species,” she added, raising her eyebrows. “And you’ve been lied to.”

20

HANSEN DIDN’T RESPOND right away.

Erin shifted on the bed, stretching her legs out while he considered what she had said. She continued to be impressed by him. She fully expected he would defend the alien he had worked with for years, but he didn’t do so immediately. She could tell he was searching his mind, and his emotions, and taking her challenge to Drake’s possible motives seriously.

Finally, he fixed a steady gaze on her and said, “All I can tell you is that I’ve come to trust Drake implicitly. And I have confidence that when you meet him, all of your remaining doubt will be wiped away as well.”

“I hope you’re right,” she said. “I really do. And speaking of meeting him, are you ready to finish explaining the instructions in his text message?”

“Yes. I’d read the message back, but I don’t have my phone anymore. Do you remember it?”

“Not the exact wording, maybe, but at least the gist.”

Hansen nodded. “Okay. So Drake wrote something to the effect of get to the MB—molecular biologist—in Colorado. He added that he would contact us there, forty-eight hours from when he sent the text, and that the guy would be expecting us. So Drake must have managed to get a message to him also.”

“We should contact this molecular biologist right now.”

“Can’t. Drake told me he was working with a genetic engineer in Colorado and had me memorize his address. But he wouldn’t tell me his name or phone number.”

“Compartmentalization?” said Erin.

“Compartmentalization,” agreed Hansen.

Erin pursed her lips in thought. “Drake also said something about starting right away when we got there.”

“Right. This is the guy he’s been working with to have the viral construct ready. Everything is set to go.”

“Does that mean if I were to tell him the proper doses required for each of the eight genes, he’ll know how to engineer them all so they’ll be expressed at precisely these levels?”

“If that’s what set to go means, then yes. I’m not a molecular biologist.”

“So Drake wants us to work with his genetic engineer to finish the virus immediately. Without necessarily waiting for him.”

“Right.”

“Which means he assumed that you could convince me to divulge the combination. He’s confident you’ll get me to overlook his unfortunate Hugh Raborn impersonation and join your efforts.”

“I suppose so,” said Hansen. He stared at Erin and spread his hands out in front of him. “About that,” he continued. “About convincing you. How am I doing?”

“You’re doing great. You’re as persuasive as they come. At this point I think everything you’ve said and believe are probably correct. But the penalty for being wrong about this is too high not to be sure. So I’ll give up the cure. But first I want to at least verify that the virus he’s putting it into is actually a cold virus, and not something more … deadly.”

“And how would you go about doing that?”

“Your molecular biologist in Colorado will have state-of-the-art genetic engineering equipment,” she said. “Which has really come a long way. You can build long chains of DNA to your specifications very quickly, using a device built for just this purpose. It used to be a lot more complicated—you’d have to piece together snippets of sequence from various places, but now you can just synthesize it, base pair by base pair. And there are devices that can do the reverse, take a given stretch of DNA and tell you the composition—break it down to a long stream of A’s, G’s, C’s, and T’s.”

Erin finally noticed Hansen’s knowing nods and stopped. “I’m getting the sense you’re already familiar with this,” she said.

“Given my background, I shouldn’t be. But Drake sent me to a company called Seq-Magic in Houston to check out their new model; the Seq-Magic Ultra. So I actually got to see one of these devices in action. Drake wanted the best equipment available. The Ultra does both synthesis and sequencing.”

“In the same device?”

Hansen nodded.

“The equipment has come even further than I thought.”

“It really is amazing what this thing can do,” agreed Hansen. “It’s fast and insanely accurate.” He paused. “Drake did end up buying one. I only found out recently it had ended up in Colorado.” He gestured toward Erin. “But you were saying…”

“To verify this is on the level, all I’ll need to do is have your genetic engineer give me a sample of the viral construct he’s using. I’ll have your fancy device sequence it. Then I just have to have a computer compare the result to the known sequences of cold viruses, which are called rhinoviruses. There are differences between strains, but they’re slight—just enough to get past your immune system each time so you get a new cold every year. This will verify the virus is what Drake says it is.”

“Sounds easy enough,” said Hansen.

“Well, I oversimplified a bit. The rhinovirus is an RNA virus, not DNA, so the sequence will be the inverse, so to speak, of the DNA sequence. And Drake’s version will have been further engineered. Which means I’ll have to use an algorithm that can compare sequences and allow for interruptions. But the core of the sequence should be identical to known rhinoviruses. And the stretches that aren’t had better not match any known pathogens. If they do…” She paused. “Well, let’s just say that this would be a problem.”

Hansen spent several minutes trying to convince her that this would be an unnecessary waste of time, but he didn’t get anywhere, and finally gave up. “If you insist on testing, we’ll test. But I’m telling you, you have nothing to worry about.”

“Well, I guess we’ve gotten ahead of ourselves anyway. Because verifying the virus will be straightforward. The hard part will be surviving long enough to get to your address in Colorado.”

“I’m not worried about that either,” said Hansen. “Not given your skills,” he said appreciatively. He glanced at his watch. “But with respect to our next move, I think we should lie low for tonight.”

“I agree.”

There was a long silence.

Hansen looked uncertain. “So, um … I guess we’ll be forced to spend the night together in this room, then,” he said awkwardly.

“It’s the only safe thing to do,” agreed Erin.

Hansen blew out a breath. “I’ll sleep on the floor, of course.”

Erin smiled. “Of course,” she repeated firmly.

Erin Palmer had never been the type to sleep with a guy on a first date. Or even a sixth. But there was a first time for everything. And in her heart, she knew that before the night was through, no power on earth would keep her from confirming that Kyle Hansen’s physiology was 100 percent human.