Threshold

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

One week later, a rendering of a metallic sculpture displayed in a hologram in Becca’s darkened bedroom. It was formed by waves and curves and what appeared to be protruding leaves, but upon closer examination, an entrance came into view.

It was a building. Or a complex of buildings.

She rocked back and forth in her wheelchair and used her hand to rotate the view of the structure, then zoomed out. Around the development was a forest.

Shifting in her seat, surreptitiously monitoring the conversation downstairs, Becca adjusted the settings on the audio equipment that was connected wirelessly to a hidden microphone in the living room. Becca’s face was gaunt, if one were to notice, which would be unlikely due to her captivating violet eyes that often directed a penetrating focus on the subject at hand.

Becca overheard Dr. Novelli say, “Half of all people at this stage live a year or more at least.”

“So I have a f-fifty-fifty chance of reaching my fourteenth b-birthday,” Becca said to herself.

Hearing her death sentence roll off the lips of her prominent neurologist would normally be a shocker, but Becca was at least a little prepared for it—that is, as prepared as any thirteen-year-old could be. She’d speed-read countless medical journals about her disease, a rare variant of amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, commonly known as ALS. And she knew her ALS was exacerbated by a body run by an autistic brain.

Knowing Arturo could also hear her mother, Becca said, “Forget that, Arturo. I m-mean it. I want…to spend the whole d-day in the Stream. The whole day.”

A blue light, indicating Arturo was active, increased in intensity in the hologram in front of her.

“There is a high probability that the procedure your father is planning will improve your condition. Are you still planning to go through with the procedure?” Arturo said.

“I read your stats. I don’t know. M-maybe. In the Stream, I can make things bet-better. When these… As soon as these p-people…leave me alone, we’ll go. ”

In the living room of her post-and-beam architectural in the hills above downtown Ventura, California, Ronni leaned forward as she took a deep breath, then brushed back her auburn hair with both hands, held her head, and said, “What about the other half? Jesus, Connie, you said there are new treatments.”

Dr. Connie Novelli, Becca’s neurologist since her birth, was in her late forties, and today she was wearing a Dolce & Gabbana suit, Persol glasses, and had her hair up. She leaned forward and placed her hand on Ronni’s knee. They’d became somewhat like friends over the years.

“Yes, there are new drugs, but nothing conclusive yet.”

Ronni’s heart palpitated, contracted, taking her breath with it.

“More drugs?” Ronni said.

“They are mitigating the symptoms but not slowing down the progression of the…”

“Disease,” Ronni said.

“Yes. Also, regarding that other issue we discussed. Patients with sensory-motor problems, some of them, at least, have reported feelings of a presence nearby, on occasion, I mean. The medical data on this points to damage in three brain regions, the temporoparietal junction, the insula, and the frontal-parietal cortex.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that we can explain all of this by analysis of the pathology. Of what we are treating.”

Mathematics and computer science were Becca’s natural languages, but she was not a robot; she was all human, flesh and bone—except, that is, for the device that was implanted in her neocortex to counter the deterioration of motor neurons, assist with ambulation, and reduce her acrophobia. Becca knew she’d have to endure another Pollyanna facade that her mother would instinctively create to avoid discussing her life in remaining percentages and calendars. But first, she would have to deal with something else, since accompanying Dr. Novelli was her full-of-life fourteen-year-old son. The strategy, one that Becca was all too familiar with, was to get the typically antisocial Becca to extend herself by relating to someone close to her age.

Hearing footsteps, Becca swiveled her chair to face the enemy as her bedroom door opened.

“Becca, please say hello to Devin, Dr. Novelli’s son. Devin, this is Becca. Honey, why don’t you show Devin some of your projects? Can we turn on some lights?”

Ronni flipped the light switch, and Becca put on a pair of sunglasses.

“Here’re those cookies you like. I’ll be back in a bit,” Ronni said.

“Hey,” Devin said.

Pushing the plate of cookies away, then folding her arms in front of her, Becca said, “Lots of things are breakable.”

Ronni left the bedroom door wide open.

What, Mom? You think I’m gonna jump this kid’s bones or what, right there from my goddamn wheelchair?

Becca observed the boy as he surveilled her bedroom, including the measuring equipment, various gear, machinery, and computers. On the desk were sketches of technical invention ideas. Large whiteboards leaned against the walls, filled with math and physics equations. Devin ran his finger across a vial on the table, and Becca’s rocking increased.

Is he doing this just to aggravate me? If so, it’s working.

The boy with the athletic build looked over the sudoku game on the desk, then the drawings and photographs on the walls. Becca hummed. An image of the enhanced avatar that Becca used in the Stream was a centerpiece on her wall.

“Who’s that, an actress?” Devin said.

“No, that’s the real…” Becca lifted the edge of the plate of cookies, let go, and the plate clacked back down on the wooden desk. “These are for you,” she said.

“Yeah, sure,” he said.

Devin picked up a cookie and turned his attention to the hologram of the building in the forest.

“That place is rad, where is it?”

“It’s in the Stream, not R-RL.” She swiped quickly and closed the hologram.

“Yeah, I heard you spend, like, all your time there. I use it for shooter games, it’s killer. What’s your avatar’s name?”

Becca did not answer. On another wall was a flat hologram that could be launched into 3-D if desired. It was playing a live video feed of a small brain connected to a computer.

“What’s that gross thing?”

“That’s a happy m-monkey.”

Devin examined the quantum computer and nodded like he knew what it was. Becca smirked. He peered through the glass doors of a cabinet containing clear canisters labeled “Quantum Dots.” She wondered if the boy could tell a quantum dot from a Skittle.

Above Becca’s bed were pages of numbers thumbtacked to the ceiling—rows and rows of seemingly random numbers: 161, 299, 431, 484 ,and on and on. Devin noticed.

“What’s the deal with all those numbers?”

“Just n-numbers,” she replied.

“That’s so weird.”

Devin turned his attention to the worktable and started to fiddle with solar cell parts. “So, what’s this stuff?” He held up a small solar panel and inadvertently reflected sunlight into Becca’s face.

“Sorry,” he said.

“That’s from my mom’s w-work, and you should probably not be t-touching it.”

“I heard you like puzzles.”

Becca took the solar panel from his hand and set it back in its place on the desk.

“Heard you were in the hospital. That kinda sucks. I bet my mom can fix you,” he said.

Devin stopped fiddling and turned.

“That’s mean,” he said. “Sorry. I mean, you look fine to me. You know, for the most part.”

“That’s a relief. I feel c-complete now,” she said.

A new hologram appeared. It was a video conference feed of two of Becca’s classmates, Allan and Rachel, both nineteen, from the computer science department at Stanford.

“Hey, Becca, we’re not sure this is right. Did you complete this yet? It’s due tomorrow,” Allan said.

“Did it this m-morning,” Becca said.

Allan touched his screen. A new hologram opened in Becca’s bedroom, and a document titled, “NanoScale thermal transport with photons and phonons,” appeared. Below the title, there were several equations. Becca scanned the document while Devin observed.

“That’s pretty close. There-there is a mistake, however,” Becca said.

“f**k me, I knew it,” Rachel said. “Sorry.”

“It’s—it’s okay, Rachel.” Slowly turning her head toward Devin, Becca said, “I’ll s-send you the corrected version in a minute.”

“Thanks. Hey, who’s that in the background? You gotta boyfriend now?” Allan said.

Devin laughed. “Nada so fast, dude.”

Becca clicked off the video call.

“My mom said you got into Stanford somehow already. So, what…what grade are you in?” Devin said.

“I’m in grad school, which doesn’t have g-grades.”

“Oh yeah. So whatta ya gonna be, I mean, when you grow up? Gonna work for your dad on the Stream. I mean, you’re a kind of a geek, right?”

“You mean f-freak, huh?”

Becca stopped rocking. Sat dead still in her chair. Turned her head toward the hologram on the wall.

Devin pulled a chair up beside Becca.

“No, I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I think it’s kick-a*s that you’re so smart.”

Becca leaned back in her chair slightly, paused for half a second, then turned and started to work on the assignment. Devin nodded, then stood up.

“Sorry. So, I’ll see ya,” Devin said.

“See ya,” she said, not looking up as Devin left.

Becca listened for the front door to close. It was quiet, and she kept listening. She knew her mother was gathering herself and would be coming to check on her sooner or later.

“Arturo, construction s-status, please,” Becca said.

The hologram of the three-dimensional building appeared again, and her eyes intensified. She tried the move the building around, but the hologram was frozen.

“The Stream,” she said.

THE STREAM v17.3 — VIRTUAL REALITY

From the tropical jungle hillside, an iridescent creek flowed into the turquoise ocean; waves lapped the white sand. Becca sat in a beach chair at the water’s edge.

“Arturo, load my list, please,” Becca said.

In front of Becca, dozens of three-dimensional images opened, floating above the water. There were puzzles, games, a construction crane, a chemistry laboratory, and other applications that, when selected, launched full VR environments.

“Architect app,” she said.

Blueprints of the curvaceous complex overlapped in windows in front of her.

“Okay, good. Now highlight the changes since the last viewing, please.”

Thousands of windows appeared.

Becca jerked backward, stunned by what she saw.

THE CONVERGERE

Looking down from one thousand feet above the forest floor in Mendocino County in Northern California, the magnificent undulating structure stood in a clearing among four-hundred-foot-tall redwoods and sequoia giants. The billowing nonsymmetrical surfaces were ellipses, sweeping like the petals of giant flowers, or ocean kelp in the currents, unfolding, breaching to the sun. Convex curves, others concave, like sails catching the wind. The various-sized buildings were connected into a cohesive whole.

From five hundred feet, shades of blue gray with satin sheens were apparent, others shimmering metallic, changing hues as one’s viewing angle changed, never harsh or industrial, ultramodern yet organic with its twisting shapes.

At ground level, the winding walkway approached from the side to what seemed to be the front of the complex, giving the appearance that it was built on a slight diagonal. The reflecting rays of sunlight painted the surrounding dense forest with a soft, warm glow that formed a mosaic of color and shadow.

Some of the contours of the walls flowed like gentle waves cascading sideways, emerging from the Earth at various angles, never perpendicular. There was no delineation of wall and roof, a snapshot of a moment in time, a still life of merging and transforming shapes, like bodies of stringed instruments, a upright-up bass, or the side of a grand piano. The forms evoked purpose—to mesmerize the ancient forest with its symphonies? Yet it was quiet here, silent, tranquil.

Other masterpieces were built on Earth with similar features, but this marvel of architecture was immense, millions of square feet spanning dozens of acres, dwarfing any building that may have served as inspiration. But it was not only its size that separated this creation from any other; it was also the luminescence. The surfaces of the building were emitting light. If one observed long enough, a sense of a metamorphosis taking place was felt—undefinable yet intentional, mysterious yet profound.

The creation was vacant.

Never occupied.

No known history—builder unknown.