By
James McCormick
Wallis Tyrone
looked out from his seventy-second floor, office window and gave a small,
almost imperceptible, sigh. As he gazed
down at the seemingly endless, frenetic city life below him, the milling ant
like objects and the grid locked traffic of late afternoon, he felt incredibly
weary.
It hadn’t
been like that in the beginning, when he had come to Titan City as a young
man. He had been trying to make his
fortune then, and the money, energy and bustle of the metropolis had drawn him
to it like a beacon. But that was a
long time ago. He was an old man now,
very old, as the shrunken, wrinkled face staring back at him from the glass
told him, and he was tired of the whole damn place.
He was lost
in these thoughts when the intercom buzzed.
He turned away from the window and went over to his polished oak table.
‘Yes Helen?’
he answered, pushing down on the speaker button.
‘Mr Bryce is
outside sir,’ the voice replied. ‘He’s
a little early but …’
‘Send him
in,’ Tyrone interrupted. ‘I’ll see him now.’
‘Yes sir.’
Tyrone sat
down, smoothed down the sides of his silver hairpiece and leaned back in his
leather bound chair. He wanted to look
composed, in control, when Bryce walked in.
He wanted the other man in no doubt as to his seriousness.
There was a
knock at the door and a tall, slim man, dressed in an immaculate Italian suit
walked in. He extended a hand to Tyrone
and the latter stretched out his to receive it. As he did faint motors whirred in his arms as they aided
atrophying muscles.
‘How are you
sir?’ the younger man said in a clipped, efficient voice.
Tyrone gave a
weak smile, ‘Fine Edward,’ he answered.
‘Please sit down.’ He gestured
to the chair opposite.
`Bryce
complied and placed his briefcase neatly on the table. With a business like click he sprung it open
and began pulling out a series of different coloured files. He scanned through them quickly and began to
arrange them in front of him.
Tyrone
watched him with interest. He had never
seen Bryce so formal before. But then,
he had to admit he had never made a request like this.
‘Are those
the relevant papers?’ he asked.
Bryce turned
tired looking eyes on him and nodded, ‘Yes sir,’ he answered. ‘Everything bearing upon what we … er …
spoke about.’ He studied the older man
for a moment then went on, ‘You know Mr. Tyrone, I have to confess, when I got
your call yesterday evening it came as something of a shock. I mean, you’ve been president here now for…
what is it… eighty-five years? That’s forty-two
years before I was born. You’re the most
successful president in the history of big business. World Energy Incorporated have handed over billions to extend
your life.’
Tyrone
nodded, ‘I know Edward. And I’m
grateful to them.’
A frown
spread across the lawyer’s lean face,
‘Then why do
you want to give it all up sir?’ Tyrone
leaned his head back and gave a sigh, an action only made possible by the
contraction of artificial lungs, deep inside his chest.
‘Because
Edward,’ he answered. ‘I’m tired.’ He looked into the lawyer’s red eyes.
‘Not the
tired where you’ve been up all night working, like I suspect you have
Edward. That’s not my meaning. No, it’s more like my … soul’s tired.’
He looked
back at the other man, almost nine decades younger, and saw only a blank
expression. He would have to try and
make him understand.
‘I was
married once,’ he began, casting his thoughts back to the previous
century. ‘Laura, she was called. Pretty young thing with the bluest eyes you
could imagine.’ A smile played on his
parchment like lips. He saw the
lawyer’s intense expression as he listened.
Tyrone reached into his silk waistcoat and pulled out a large, silver
watch.
‘I always
keep this picture of us with me,’ he said popping the lid and clicking the
ivory clock face open. A moment later a
small, holographic image of a young woman appeared. As they watched she gave a little, silent laugh as a tall, dark
haired man came up behind her and placed his arms around her waist. The two stood there, smiling, holding each
other.
Tyrone
watched it for a moment and then snapped it shut. ‘That’s how I like to remember things,’ he said softly. ‘She was about twenty nine or so then … or
maybe … just turned thirty,’ he added with a frown. ‘Anyway, it was just before we started our family.’
He gave the lawyer
a smile that the latter was forced to reciprocate despite his
bewilderment.
‘We had two
children,’ Tyrone went on, ‘a girl and a boy.’
His eyes fixed on Bryce. ‘Like
you Edward, I believe. How are they, by
the way, your children?’ Bryce gave a shrug,
‘Fine sir,’
he replied.
Tyrone
nodded, ‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘Family’s important. Laura thought so too. You know, whenever I had a free weekend, she
would make us go up into the mountains, to a little log cabin I owned. Away from the bustle.’
He let out a
little laugh, ‘I taught them all how to swim in the lake there, even
Laura.’ His old, shrivelled face seemed
to glow with the memories.
‘They were
good kids Edward, Beth and Alex.
Luckily they took after their mother and never had any interest in
business. Beth actually became quite a
successful artist. That certainly
wasn’t from me.’
He shook his
head, lost in the past.
‘Mr. Tyrone,’ Bryce cut in. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand why you’re
telling me this.’
Tyrone shrugged,
‘Because,’ he said, ‘that’s all that really mattered, don’t you see?’ He closed his eyes for a moment, ‘I didn’t
know it at the time. Even before I
became president, the company was my life, my home more of a rare pleasure I
could enjoy once in a while. The years
drifted by and then …’ he sighed. ‘I
sincerely hope you never have to witness the death of a child. It is the most … unnatural feeling to
outlive one’s children.’
His eyes
narrowed, ‘I suppose it was from that time that I failed to be a person really,
to have an identity outside of the company.’
Bryce shifted
uneasily in his chair, ‘But Mr. Tyrone, you are not an ordinary man. You are the president. You are WEI.
Don’t you see that?’ Wallis gave
a sad smile and shook his head. The movement
was a little jerky and mechanical,
‘No,’ he
answered with a finality in his voice.
‘Not any more. I would like to
see the retirement papers I asked you to draw up.’
Bryce looked nervous, ‘You do
know that if you break your ties with the company then …’
Tyrone held
up a hand, ‘I know I can’t live long without the support of WEI
technology. That’s not important
anymore. I’m ready to die. I just want a few weeks to try to be the man
I once was, or get as close to him as I can.’ He smiled, ‘I plan to go up to
the log cabin, sit on the old rocker in the porch and watch the water, feel the
wind on my face. All I’ll need are my
memories.’
He looked at Bryce. ‘That’s no
too much to ask is it?’
The lawyer took
a deep breath. ‘I’m afraid sir …’ he said in a serious voice, ‘ …It is.’
Tyrone looked
at him, puzzled. ‘What?’ he asked.
‘Surely no one has the right to stop me doing this.’ He glared at the lawyer waiting for his
answer. ‘Do they?’
Bryce nodded,
‘I’m afraid they do sir. I’m sorry, but
when you told me what you were planning I had to tell the board members. They were pretty spooked. If word of this got out our stock would
plummet.’ He indicated the documents
laid out before him. He turned them
around for Tyrone to see, one by one.
‘These are
all copies of the surgical procedures you’ve undergone, everything from your
internal organs to most of your skeletal system has been replaced. I’m afraid it is my job to point out to you
that WEI owns all of it.’ Bryce’s face
was nervous yet defiant.
Tyrone looked
at the papers, all had the WEI logo at the bottom. If not for the lawyer’s expression he would have laughed.
‘You think all these cyborg patch up jobs
means that WEI owns me? Is that what
you’re saying Edward? One thing you
forget is that a man is defined by his thoughts, his memories, his cognitive
ability. WEI does not own them.’
To his
surprise the lawyer shook his head.
‘I’m afraid
sir, they do’ he replied. Tyrone
froze. The lawyer` slid a large pink
document in front of the old man, ‘In
2117, you suffered a major stroke, one which shut down the blood supply to your
brain for nineteen minutes, twenty three seconds. Now, that is not necessarily enough time to cause brain death,
but it is enough time to destroy all higher cognitive functions. Therefore all the information in your
cerebral cortex was transferred onto computer chips before brain damage
occurred and then attached to your cerebellum.
You see, why you still have your cerebellum, your reptilian brain as it
is sometimes called, your cerebrum, the cognitive, thinking part has become
property of WEI. And, sir, please
understand, as inhuman as it sounds, the knowledge in your head is far too
valuable for WEI to simply allow you to destroy it.’ His eyes dropped, ‘I’m sorry Mr. Tyrone. I’m only doing my job as senior lawyer.’
To Bryce’s surprise the old
president did not react by shouting at him, or cursing. He didn’t even look angry. Rather he was quiet, thoughtful. He placed a spindly hand under his chin and
stayed like that for a while. Bryce
almost thought he had been forgotten about when
Tyrone turned his eyes on him, ‘So,’
he said in an almost whisper, ‘you’re saying that WEI will never let me
go?’ The lawyer did not know how to
respond. He found himself nodding
weakly in answer to the question.
‘I see,’ the old man said. He tapped a bony finger on the pink
folder, ‘I’m going to fight this
Edward,’ he said in a matter of fact voice.
The lawyer gave a shrug, ‘How can
you do that sir?’
Tyrone sat forward in a combative
manner, ‘Well, despite all these
alterations I’m still here aren’t I?
And a living human being has rights.’
Bryce's expression though told him all he needed to know.
Tyrone sat
back, folded his hands over his midsection.
He looked at Bryce and nodded, ‘Let me guess. That was the first thing the board had you do after I phoned,
wasn’t it? To bend the rules to declare
me dead.’ The lawyer’s eyes failed to
meet the other man’s.
‘Yes,’ he
answered. ‘There was enough medical
evidence to conclude that the person who was Wallis Tyrone no longer legally
exists. I’m … sorry sir.’
Tyrone gave
the younger man a smile, ‘Me too Edward,’ he said, standing up. ‘Me too.
Well, if you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone.’
He went over to the window and
clasped his hands behind his back. ‘That will be all, thank you.’
Bryce sat there for a moment
then began to gather up the folders, placing them back in the briefcase.
‘I really am very sorry sir,’
he repeated and then scuttled out of the room, head bowed.
Tyrone stared out the window
for a long time. He had picked up the
habit years ago, doing it when he needed to think especially clearly. One thing was certain in his mind, he would
not submit to being the property of WEI, and he would not, could not, continue
living like this. One way or another it
was over.
There was only one way
out. He studied the pane in front of
him. The glass was reinforced and it
would take a considerable effort to break.
He turned back and looked for something heavy enough to use. His chair, although big did not have the
sufficient weight to carry it through the glass. The table though was a different matter.
He went over to it and placed
his hands underneath it. He had been
told when he had had the kinetic motors implanted in his arms and legs that
they were far stronger than human muscle and tendon. He had never really had chance to test out the claim. He hoped the doctors had not been
exaggerating.
With one movement he lifted
the table above his head. The motors
whined, shook, in protest as the huge weight bore down on them. They wouldn’t hold up long like this, but
that didn’t matter. They just needed to
work for him this one last time. He
took a few steps back from the window and then charged.
He had to succeed first
time. Security, via the tiny camera in
the ceiling, would be watching his every move.
When they realised what he was doing they would be on him, trying to
‘save’ him from his act of suicide.
The table slammed into the
window and shattered more easily than he had hoped. Shards of glass flew everywhere.
Tyrone smiled and threw the table aside. As he did so he felt his left arm go limp as the motor burnt out.
The city wind began to race in
and felt good as it ran over his face.
He stepped forward and put one leg through the hole. A dagger like piece of glass caught at his
trouser bottom but he tore it free and placed his foot on the ledge outside.
Suddenly the office door flew
open and two, black clad security guards rushed in. One of them, a large man with cropped iron-grey hair raised a
hand in a calming gesture, ‘Now Mr. Tyrone,’ he said. ‘Don’t do anything rash.’
Tyrone held his good arm up in a farewell,
‘Don’t worry,’ he replied. ‘I’ve thought this through, and all with the help of
WEI’s cognitive chips too.’
With that he stepped through the
window and let himself drop gently away from the building. The guards raced over to the window but it
was already too late. All they could do
was stare down and watch their president plummet away from them. Both men knew it was their last day on the
job.
As he saw the ground racing up
towards him Tyrone felt his hairpiece come away and then the cool afternoon
breeze rush over his bald scalp. The
sun, for the first time in decades, touched his skin. He smiled at these almost forgotten experiences. There was no fear, only a sense of
exhilaration.
As he drew closer to the
ground he saw a small green dot appear.
It grew steadily larger until it resolved itself into small park area
that lay like an island in the middle of the city chaos. As the seconds raced by he realised that
that was where his trajectory was taking him.
He fell further and could see the trees, standing around the park’s perimeter
like giant sentinels. In the centre was
a lake and around it some flowerbeds had been planted.
‘How nice’, he thought. ‘A lake,’ and then all went black.
**********
For an endless time there was
only oblivion. Tyrone had no idea how
wonderful it had been until he was dragged away from its soothing embrace. The first thing he was conscious of was a
deep voice in the darkness.
‘It’s worked,’ he heard it
say. ‘Wallis Tyrone is awake.’
‘Thank god,’ another one
returned. ‘This is the most expensive
procedure WEI’s ever undertaken. I mean
most of us thought it was impossible.’
‘Well, gentleman,’ the deep voice
went on. ‘We can recommence business
with Wallis Tyrone still officially as president of our board. And, that is something we can say with
complete sincerity.’ A chorus of laughs
accompanied the remark.
‘Let’s just activate the optical switch and …’ there was a click
and suddenly the darkness was gone. Tyrone
found himself looking at the faces of the members of the WEI board. Closest was Royce, his vice president and
owner of the deep voice he had been listening to. He leaned forward, his perpetual Cuban cigar clamped between
capped teeth, ‘Good to have you back sir,’ he said cheerfully.
At first Tyrone could not
understand his situation. He was in the
boardroom, that was clear enough, but he wasn’t sitting down like the
others. Rather he seemed to be
somewhere close to the centre of the table.
From this position he was able to see all around him.
A feeling of despair, panic
came over him. He should be dead. Why wasn’t he? He tried to speak, demand what was going on, but found he had no
voice. Instead he saw his words flash
up on a digital screen close by,
‘What is going on?’ he read in
large, blue, digital letters. Royce
looked at message and then directed a smile at him.
‘You’re safe and well Mr
Tyrone. WEI was able to save you after
your unfortunate … er … accident. Isn’t that good news? The doctors tell us you can live
indefinitely in your present state.’ He
looked back at the others.
‘Long live President Tyrone,’
he chanted. The others repeated the
chant in unison.
Royce turned back to him,
blowing a cloud of tobacco in his direction.
But the smoke never reached him.
Instead it hit some invisible barrier and dispersed.
Tyrone realized a transparent
screen must have been erected all around him.
But why? He was trying to
understand this when he noticed the reflection above him.
It showed what looked like a grey,
lumpy tennis ball with red plastic patches on it. Above it, floated a smaller object. A …
Oh dear lord, he thought,
no. He understood now. He was inside a container placed in the
centre of the boardroom table. He
himself was little more than a base of a brain and computer chips floating in
liquid. He could see all this because
WEI had fashioned for him a new, cube like, artificial eye that attached to a
sliver of his optic nerve.
He wanted to scream, but
couldn’t. He had no mouth.