The Neurographic Portal (standard:science fiction, 8820 words)
Author: Rick	Added: Apr 23 2005	Views/Reads: 3408/2408	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A covert operation to test a new telepathic device turns into a mind battle for a military engineer with implications for human destiny.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

shoulder as they walked toward the car. 

Brad was given twenty minutes to shower and pack an overnight bag. 
Their exact destination was withheld until they were on the way to 
Logan International.  The driver handed Derek and Brad a manila 
envelope and their tickets. 

“France! Oooh-la-la,” Brad exclaimed, “Will there be young French
maidens in cocktail dresses to turn down our beds at night?” 

“Now, keep your shirt on son,” Derek replied, “This is serious business
and we can't afford any distractions.  We'll be in and out of there in 
two days.  I need to stay a little longer.  Everything will become 
clear after the briefing.” 

Brad looked down at his tickets, “Hey Dad, isn't it a little early for
an eight PM departure?” 

“Actually, I leave on a six PM BA flight and you're on the eight o'clock
on Air France.  For security reasons, we will go on separate flights 
and will meet at Heathrow Flight Connections Centre in the duty-free 
shop, got that?  When the driver pulls up to the international 
departures terminal, he will drop us off separately, me first and then 
you about twenty minutes later.  You'll have some time to kill so just 
go to the pub and relax.  I'll message you after I clear security.  And 
remember, no replies.  Just read the messages and follow instructions.” 


The drop-off plan proceeded with precision.  Brad found a seat in the
airport bar and watched the football game as an amusing diversion.  He 
ordered chicken wings and drank two pints of beer.  The Patriots looked 
good in the first half and everyone in the bar was cheering them on at 
each great play or score. 

After passing through security, Derek messaged Brad, “I'm through.  Wait
another ten minutes and then proceed.” 

At 7 PM, Brad left the bar and proceeded to wait 20 minutes on the
security screening line, but still boarded 30 minutes before departure. 


Their flights landed early Saturday morning separated by approximately
two hours.  The two men each did their own long trek across Heathrow 
from Terminal 4 to Terminal 1. Derek arrived first and proceeded to 
wait patiently in the lounge/shopping area of the Flight Connections 
Centre.  A seasoned traveler, Derek was used to red-eye flights to 
Europe.  Brad on the other hand, felt like zombie due to lack of sleep 
as he made his way to the meeting point.  The airline food was churning 
in his lower GI tract.  He was hungry, but dared not eat anything else. 
 He figured the short flight to Lyon would likely include a snack, if 
he felt capable of eating at that point. 

“Ah, there you are,” said Derek who kept his eyes on bottles of whiskey
in the duty-free shop, “Keep your eyes on the merchandise.  A smooth 
flight I trust?” 

“Yeah, just terrific” replied Brad, “This feels worse than a bad
hangover.  What do we do now?” 

“We're on the same flight to Lyon.  It's not ideal, but it couldn't be
helped on short notice.  It departs from Gate 32.  I suggest we proceed 
separately and board separately as well.  See you later.” Derek turned 
his back and walked out of the shop before Brad could say anything 
else. 

After the 90-minute flight, they landed in Lyon, went through customs
and picked up their baggage, all the while keeping a comfortable 
distance from each other and pretending to be strangers.  Upon exiting 
the baggage claim area, Derek and Brad were each immediately met by men 
in grey suits who escorted them to a BMW limousine waiting at the curb. 
 One of the escorts opened the door.  Inside, an older gray-haired 
gentleman with a wise-looking face and wire-rimmed glasses glanced up 
and beckoned them to enter. 

“Derek, my boy, welcome to France.  Please come in, and you too Brad.” 

Brad was surprised that the man knew his name, but nevertheless followed
his father's lead and complied with this request.  The door was shut 
abruptly by one of the escorts.  Once inside, the gentleman extended 
his hand to Brad and continued in an authoritative tone, 

“My name is Simon.  Your father works for me,” he said and then
addressing both of them, “I understand from my contacts who accompanied 
you on the flights, that everything proceeded as planned and without 
incident,” Derek's and Brad's eyes both widened at this previously 
unknown additional security measure.  He continued, “Well, thank-you, 
both of you, for coming on such short notice.  Did you receive the 
briefing package, Derek?” 

“Yes, sir, I did.  But of course, I already understand the Omega
Directive.” Derek replied. 

“Ha-ha, of course you do, given that our firm invented most of the key
technology components.  Young Brad here needs a primer.  Maybe I should 
allow the father to educate the son, eh?  Go ahead, Derek. Tell Brad 
about what you've really been doing for the past twenty years.  I'm 
sure he'll be fascinated.” 

Brad had a puzzled look on his face as Derek began, “Brad, do you know
what molecular switches are?” 

“Of course, we learned about that back in high school.  Individual
molecules can be manipulated to exist in one of two quantum states.  
They can be turned on and off, just like a switch.  We were told that 
this has been used in place of transistors to make extremely tiny 
computers.” 

“That's right, son.  In fact, theoretical calculations suggest that such
computer circuits can be a thousand-fold smaller than those based on 
the old semiconductor technology.  What is not well-known is that the 
DD has already made such tiny computers and used them in a variety of 
applications where their small size can be beneficial, such as in 
covert listening devices,” Brad was riveted as Derek continued, “These 
molecular switches have also been applied to the miniaturization of 
image capture lenses with great success.   As you know, the needs of 
covert operations have always demanded advances in camera 
miniaturization.” 

“Oh here we go, it's a new James Bond type-gizmo,” Brad popped in
sarcastically. 

“Well, yes, in a way.  The application of light-activated molecular
switches has now made it possible to reduce a digital camera, including 
lens and latent image storage, to the size of a contact lens.  An agent 
can carry his camera right in front of his eyeball without the enemy 
knowing it.  The technical challenge our engineers faced was then 
capturing, storing and sending those images to a command center.  
Here's where the molecular switches came in handy again.  At first, we 
implanted a tiny molecular switch-based digital memory storage unit in 
the agent's neck.  As you can imagine, transistors were simply too 
large and could not possibly have been used.  Signals from the lens 
were transmitted to the storage unit using high-frequency psi waves, 
which do not interfere or overlap with any natural human energy waves.  
Due to the molecular miniaturization, the unit was no larger than the 
head of a pin.  A simple arthroscopic procedure was all that was 
necessary to implant it.  While we were at it, we also implanted a tiny 
hearing aid-type device to transmit audio signals.  Thus, a complete 
video/audio recording could be made of the agent's experience on a 
mission.  However, this was still not ideal because if the agent was 
captured or killed, there was no way to retrieve the device.  We had to 
figure out some way to transmit the images back in real time.” 

“I never would have guessed, Dad...I thought you built missiles and spy
satellites,” said Brad in an incredulous tone.  Derek sighed as he 
smiled at his son.  Brad continued, “Well I'm on the edge of my seat 
here.  How did you work out the transmission problem?” 

“Our idea was to transmit the psi waves directly, rather than storing
the information in the implant.  However, the energy of psi waves is so 
meager that the receiving antenna would have had to be several meters 
in diameter.  We decided to keep the implant, but use it instead as a 
kind of signal amplifier, instead of a memory device.  Again, molecular 
switches were used to engineer this.” 

Brad interrupted, “You mean, the signal sort of bounces off the implant
and is given greater force, much the same way as radio signals are 
retransmitted over wide areas from tall buildings?” 

“Exactly.  Good analogy, Brad. The final piece was working out the
receiver.  Fortunately, the DD has exclusive use of the psi energy band 
and also quite a lot of knowledge on manipulating signals in this 
region of the spectrum.  What occurred to us was that the same 
implanted device which receives the weak psi band signals from the lens 
and hearing aid can also receive the amplified signal from another 
agent.  The name we coined for this direct real-time transmission of 
visual and auditory reality is the Neurographic Portal.” 

“Wow...but wait a minute; what does all of this have to do with me?”
Brad asked. 

“Very good question, young man,” Simon chimed in, “Your father has given
a nice technical summary.  Everything he describes has been worked out 
in the laboratory to the point of having working prototypes.  The 
development costs were huge but it is quite a technical accomplishment. 
 However, we still don't know if it will work.  What we need to do now 
is test it in the real world, but we must maintain absolute secrecy.  
Therefore, we would like you and your father to be the first guinea 
pigs, so to speak.” 

Brad's jaw dropped, but at that very moment, their car pulled up to the
Sofitel hotel in downtown Lyon overlooking the Rhone River.  Directly 
across the river was the St. Joseph hospital. 

Derek interjected “We must go.  Brad, I'll fill you in further over
lunch.  Simon, are we all set?” 

“Oh, yes, everything is going according to plan.  I will not see you
again until after this mission is complete.  Good luck gentlemen.” 

Derek and Brad checked-in quickly.  It was now 10 AM on Friday.  They
ordered some food from room service and continued talking. 

“But Dad, what I still don't understand is why I got pulled into this. 
Aren't there secret agents who could be used to test the Portal?” Brad 
asked as he took a big bite of a French sourdough roll that he had 
spread with whitefish pâté. 

“Yes, Brad, that was an option.  However, as Simon pointed out, absolute
secrecy is considered essential for obvious national security reasons.  
My firm has worked with the French scientists on the Portal under a 
direct order from the highest levels of the US government, the Omega 
Directive.” 

“Which is what?” 

“The Omega Directive specifies that if a telepathic device is developed
that it be used for the betterment of the human condition and not as a 
weapon.  It is the driving principle for this project.  Your absolute 
cooperation in this experiment is essential.” 

“You've got it Dad,” Brad replied firmly.  The two men smiled at each
other and Brad continued, “So what happens now?” 

“Well, we just try to get some rest.  Tomorrow, we'll undergo the
implant procedure and be fitted with our contact lenses and audio 
sensors.  The whole thing will take no more than a few hours.  It's 
really quite simple.  The Portal itself won't be active until the 
implanted psi-wave receivers are turned on.” 

They continued chatting and reviewing the briefing package materials as
they finished their lunch.  As a precautionary measure, they were to 
confine themselves to their room.  Given their red-eye flight, they 
fell asleep quite easily in the early evening. 

On Saturday morning, they ate room service breakfast in the hotel and
proceeded to the lobby at precisely 4:45 AM, as specified in the 
briefing package.   Waiting in the lounge area was a tall middle-aged 
olive-skinned gentleman.  He extended his hand to Derek and greeted 
them with a French accent, “Good morning gentlemen.  I trust you rested 
well.  Brad, my name is Philippe.  Your father and I have known each 
other since our college days in Cambridge.  Derek went into engineering 
and I chose medicine,” he gestured towards the door, “But enough of 
this small talk, our limousine is waiting outside.  We can continue 
chatting during the ride.” 

“Philippe, I heard about your appointment to head up the Ministry of
Health.  Congratulations.  I am glad you are able to continue on this 
project as well,” said Derek. 

“Yes, me too, Derek.  I've put too much of myself into this to step
away.  In fact, I am still responsible for completing the surgical 
phase of the operation.  I will personally carry out the implant 
procedure on each of you.” 

“Brad, we are in good hands,” Derek commented “Philippe is one of the
top surgeons in France, as well as a trusted friend.  We have worked 
together developing the Neurographic Portal for the past fifteen 
years.” 

It was a rather short ride across the Rhone River.  The limousine pulled
into the garage at St. Joseph hospital and they were escorted 
efficiently to the elevator.  They stepped out of the elevator into the 
basement and on the right was rather obscure unmarked door.  Following 
Philippe who unlocked the door, they stepped inside and proceeded down 
a long non-descript staircase ending at a landing with three additional 
doors.  Philippe unlocked the first door on the left.  They stepped 
through and found themselves facing a ceiling-to-floor wall of glass 
separating them from a laboratory space fully-equipped for engineering 
work and animal experiments.  Several groups of white-cloaked 
technicians worked diligently at a variety of complex-looking 
experimental setups. 

Philippe made a hand gesture towards the laboratory and addressed Derek
and Brad, “Gentlemen, what you see here is the facility where the 
device and implant procedure were developed.  It is fully equipped and 
staffed for investigating everything from nanocrystal technology and 
implantation of bionic materials, to neuronal biophysics and psi-wave 
multiplexing.  It operates with complete independence and in isolation 
from the rest of the hospital.” 

Philippe stepped back through the door they had just entered and held it
open, “Now, please follow me.” 

Back at the bottom of the staircase, Philippe unlocked the middle of the
three doors. 

“This is where you will undergo the implant procedure,” Philippe said
pointing to another glass wall beyond which was a small white operating 
room lit with intense white light.  An adjoining perpendicular wall 
revealed the recovery space, where patients were to be brought for 
post-surgery monitoring while emerging from anesthesia and prior to 
being discharged. 

Philippe continued, “The sterile OR is equipped with very sophisticated
ophthalmic and audiometric instrumentation needed for fitting of the 
contact lenses and audio sensors.” 

Adjacent to the sterile space were three adjoining rooms.  Just outside
one OR wall, behind windows, was the control room, a narrow space with 
chairs and computer monitors arrayed down a long counter.  On the other 
side of the sterile OR's airlock and gowning anteroom were two roughly 
10-foot-by-10-foot spaces, an induction room and the recovery room. 

Philippe led them into the experimental OR suite through the induction
room where they took antiseptic showers prior to their passage through 
a sterilizing air lock.  By 8:45 a.m., Brad was laying face-down on a 
rolling operating table.  To calm his nerves, Jacques, the 
anesthesiologist, mixed serious questions with jokes and banter. As he 
prepared to put Brad to sleep, he gave him a serious look. 

"Don't worry; this will be as easy as taking a nap,” Jacques said
whimsically. 

A few moments later, Brad is unconscious with a ventilator supplying his
breath.  It is just after 9 a.m. and Brad's vital signs appear stable. 

Inside the OR, two scrubs place bundles of instruments wrapped in
surgical-blue cloth on a side table.  Another technician pushes a cart 
into the OR loaded with video equipment.  Five minutes pass, and the 
patient is rolled into the OR on the mobile table.  In an adjoining 
washroom, Jacques and the Philippe clean and prep for surgery. 

The laparoscopic surgical procedure is to be accomplished with tiny
cameras and long-handled surgical tools to operate through small 
arthroscopic incisions, thus requiring the use of television monitors 
to view images from the laparoscopes.  A 4-foot wide plasma monitor is 
mounted on one wall, while half a dozen smaller touch-screens surround 
the operating table.  The multitude of adjustable screens ensured that 
the whole surgical team has a view of the action.  The lights are 
dimmed as the procedure is started so that everyone can immerse 
themselves in the images being projected. 

The TVs, along with the lights, towers of medical equipment, and
computers, hang from ceiling-mounted booms.  In the center of the room, 
where the operating table should be, a thick steel column sprouts from 
the floor.  When the patient is ready for surgery, the staff rolls the 
table into the OR and positions it over the steel column, which rises 
up, latches on, and then pneumatically lifts the table off its wheels, 
not unlike an automobile lift in a mechanic's garage.  Attached below 
the bed, the vital-sign monitors glow. 

Soon the largest plasma screen is filled with a live moving image of
reddish-pink, purple and off-white body tissue as Philippe and an 
assistant trace his spinal cord with their tiny cameras.  Remotely 
manipulating surgical micro-clamps and a laser-based knife, Philippe 
ties, snips and cauterizes tissue.  Finally, he places the 
nanosphere-encapsulated device on Brad's spinal cord.  Surface 
molecular arrays on the outside of the implant are tuned to adhere 
specifically to the target myelin-sheathed nerve fibers on the spinal 
cord where maximum psi wave signal can be amplified. 

The simple procedure takes only 50 minutes. By 10:15 a.m., he is nearly
done closing the incisions.  After Brad is wheeled out, the scrubs 
quickly reprogram monitors and lay out new instruments.  Derek, who had 
just been put to sleep in the induction room and passed through the 
sterilizing airlock, is rolled into the OR where Philippe and the team 
perform the procedure on Derek with the same orchestrated precision. 

Brad has been rolled into the recovery area where Jacques administers
dopamine regulators and a mild stimulant as he regains consciousness. 

“Hello, Brad.  How do you feel?” asks Jacques. 

He is barely awake and groaning, “Such an intense weakness...everywhere,
I want to go back to sleep...” 

“That's to be expected and is only temporary.  The self-tuning implant
is scanning your nervous system.  Once it locks on your unique psi-wave 
frequencies, control of your motor cortex will be returned to your 
brain.  In the meantime, I've given you something to make you more 
alert.  By the time your father's procedure is done, you will feel 
perfectly normal.” 

“Is he in there now?” Brad asks, finding the energy to gesture with his
hand towards the OR. 

“Yes, and everything is going quite well.  He will be out in just a few
minutes.  I will leave you to rest while the medications take effect.  
If you like, you can watch the procedure on the monitor,” said Jacques, 
pointing to a large plasma screen in the corner of the room. 

Brad watched in amazement as the arthroscopic mini-camera captured the
act of positioning the dull gray device on his father's spinal cord.  
Philippe withdraws his surgical instruments from the implant location.  
Pink and off-white tissue whiz past the camera, creating a nauseating 
effect of moving backwards through a narrow twisting tube.  As the 
arthroscopic camera approaches the skin, technicians switch the display 
to an external camera focused on the incision point on Derek's neck.  
Philippe closes the incision and assistants apply a small bandage. 

Back in the recovery room, Jacques administers medicine to Derek while
Brad, much more alert now, looks on. 

“Hey, old man,” Brad quips, “How ya' doin'?” 

Derek has barely enough energy to glance in Brad's direction and give
him a thumbs-up signal. 

“Don't worry; the doc is giving you some special juice that'll have you
feeling fine in no time.  Hey doc, that stuff worked liked magic.  I 
feel great.” 

“Those injections will wear off in about eight hours. That will give you
enough time to get home to Boston.  You will then need to dose yourself 
with synaptic inhibitors and get some sleep.  As it is, you will not 
have as much rest as your father.  Derek, your rest period will start 
sooner so I've given you a weaker dose of stimulant, just enough to get 
you back to the hotel.” 

Brad was driven to the airport in Lyon.  In spite of the stimulants and
neural stabilizers in his system, he dozed off while the plane was 
sitting on the tarmac, only to regain consciousness again during 
takeoff.  As the jet reached cruising altitude and speed, he fell back 
into a semi-dreamlike state for a few hours before landing at Logan. 

The effect of the medications was now fading fast, yet Brad managed to
disembark with the other passengers and work his way through customs.  
After entering the terminal hall, his instructions were to meet a man 
in a gray suit with heavy black-framed eyeglasses.  The agent brought 
him to a waiting limousine that returned him to his downtown Boston 
apartment.  It was now 10 pm.  In twelve hours, he was due to be on his 
restaurant shift, followed later that day by a two hour drive to Cape 
Cod.  Brad's instructions were to continue with his weekend vacation 
plans as if nothing had happened. 

He dutifully took the synaptic inhibitor pills.  The implant would now
tune in to his psi-wave frequencies.  The feeling of intense weakness 
returned, even though he had taken no depressants.  Thoughts of the 
whirlwind trip and the incredible surgical procedure swirled in his 
head as he fell into a deep sleep. 

In Lyon, a wake-up call had come for Derek at 1 PM.  He slowly groped
for the phone and drew it to his ear without lifting his head from the 
pillow. 

“Hmm, yes...hello,” he managed to croak out. 

“Hello, Derek, this is Philippe.  I trust you have rested well.  It's
been over 18 hours, you know.” 

Derek was groggy and weak, “Oh, uh...really?  I am still so tired,
though.” 

“Of course.  You'll feel better after you take the medications which you
will find on the side table.  Please take them now.” 

Derek transferred the phone to his other ear and held it in place with
his shoulder while forcing himself out of bed. 

“I'm still listening, Philippe,” he said while walking slowly to the
bathroom.  He filled a large glass with water and washed down an array 
of specified pills, some of which were targeted psi-dependent neural 
enhancers, others simple stimulants. 

“Derek, my dear fellow, as you know, we've worked together on the
development of the Portal for a very long time.  Today, we will find 
out if it works.  The incubation and wave tuning period is completed.  
Your psi-wave transmitter and Brad's receiver will be activated for the 
first time at 6 PM.  This first test of the Portal will last six hours 
and the signal will travel only one way, from you to Brad.  For him to 
achieve the best signal clarity and to avoid sensory overload and 
psychological confusion, all normal sensory input must be minimized.  
Thus, he has been instructed to be in a quiet and dark place.  Where 
was your son planning to go?” 

“Cape Cod.  It is off-season now and he has a secluded rental cottage
lined up.  Philippe, that stuff works fast.  I'm feeling better 
already.” 

“Excellent!  I'll meet you in the lobby at precisely 5 PM. We shall take
a walking tour of Lyon, together, followed by dinner in one of my 
favorite restaurants.  I am hoping that Brad can easily absorb such a 
simple and pleasant experience.” 

On Monday morning in Boston, Brad slept straight through his alarm.  He
finally woke himself up at eleven, an hour after he was due at work.  
The extreme weakness persisted in spite of the fast-acting neural 
stimulants that he took as instructed upon waking.  With his eyes 
barely open, he located his cell phone on the nightstand. 

“Uh, this is Brad.  Can I speak to Mr. Foster?  Thanks.” Brad waits for
a moment for his boss to pick up the phone. “Hi, Mr. Foster.  Yeah, uh, 
sorry, I'm late...yes, I know, I know, I'm sorry, sir...yes, I 
promise...okay, I'll be there in twenty minutes.  Thanks, Mr. Foster.  
Bye.” 

This had not been the first time that Brad had called in late for work. 
Foster was the restaurant manager and he was quite annoyed, 
particularly since Brad had requested a short shift for that day in 
order to leave for the Cape.  This incident only served to reinforce 
Brad's dubious reputation as an unreliable, party-loving young single.  
Since revealing the real reason for his tardiness was out of the 
question, Brad was satisfied to allow Foster to maintain this view of 
him as a kind of cover story. 

With the help of a steady supply of strong coffee throughout the day,
Brad managed to drag himself through his work shift.  He deflected 
several sarcastic comments from co-workers who assumed he had been out 
partying late the previous night.  Again, his reputation came in handy 
as a convenient explanation for his bleary eyes and lackadaisical 
approach to his work duties. 

Towards the end of his shift, Brad pulled himself together enough to
address his boss in a bright, yet professional tone, “Mr. Foster, it's 
almost seven o'clock.  May I go now?” 

“We've still got a dining room full of people, Brad,” Foster looked at
him and considered the situation, “Hmm; I've got a few people coming in 
at eight for the graveyard shift.  Tell you what, get the rest of those 
tables bussed back there, and load the dishwasher.  When you get that 
done, you may go.  Just remember, Brad, you owe me one, okay?” 

“Oh, sure thing, sir, no problem.  Thanks so much.” 

Fifteen minutes later, Brad is off in his truck, with rock and roll
blasting out of the speakers to help keep him alert for the three hour 
road trip. 

He had long ago made reservations at his favorite little set of
bungalows, located out near the tip of the Cape.  The place was 
perfectly situated near the beach as well as Provincetown, yet was also 
secluded enough to provide the required peace and quiet needed for the 
test of the Portal.  After settling into the room he stares out at the 
view of Cape Cod Bay with the twinkling lights of Provincetown beyond.  
With 11 PM fast-approaching, he follows the set of instructions given 
to him to activate the Portal.  This would consist of a 
self-administered injection with a simple pen-type device.  He now 
closes the curtain, turns off all the lights in the room and sits 
comfortably on the bed supporting his back and head with pillows.  He 
dons the issued pair of dark goggles and earplugs.  He has his cell 
phone nearby which he has pre-programmed with a single keystroke for 
leaving a voice-message for his father.  The room is absolutely dark 
and quiet.  With everything prepared, he jams the injector pen into his 
arm and closes his eyes. 

The payload on his injection was a dose of Portal-activating nanospheres
coated with a molecular micro-array, along with some neuroregulating 
drugs.  The cocktail flows into his bloodstream and quickly crosses 
into his brain.  Within minutes, Brad begins to hear echoes of voices 
as dull green and gray shapes and shadows appear to float in front of 
his eyes, reminding him of experiences he had had while under the 
influence of hallucinogenic drugs.  However, the images and sounds 
quickly become far more vivid and realistic.  He sees a man standing in 
the lobby of the hotel in Lyon.  It is Philippe.  Brad leaves a brief 
voice-message to his father, then drops the phone and leans back 
against the pillows in order to fully immerse himself in the sounds and 
images that now bombard his senses. 

The elevator doors opened at the lobby level and Philippe was waiting
there with a smile and hand extended.  Behind Philippe was a group of 
six people whom Derek recognized from the secret clinic.  As the two 
men shook hands, Derek felt a slight pinch on the back of his wrist.  
Philippe had worn a hidden micro-syringe under his shirt cuff which was 
now triggered by the heat from Derek's hand.  The stealth injection 
painlessly entered his bloodstream.  Within a minute, a molecular micro 
array had engaged his spinal column implant, activating the psi-wave 
transmitter. 

“Derek, at this very moment, Brad is giving himself an injection which
will activate his psi-wave receiver.  For the next six hours, you will 
be his eyes and ears.  If you wish to talk to Brad you only have to 
speak in a low voice and he will hear you.  Since this first test of 
the Portal is one-way, Brad will have to send text- or voice-messages 
to your cell phone to communicate.  Is there a message on your phone 
now?” 

Derek looked at his phone, “Why yes, there is.”  Derek listened to the
message. 

“Dad, it is just after 10 PM.  I've just given myself the injection. 
I'm beginning hear your conversations.  The visual is still a bit 
fuzzy, but I can make out Philippe and the lobby.  The Portal seems to 
be working.” 

Derek now spoke directly to Brad in a soft voice, “Brad, I just got your
message.  We are leaving the hotel now.  Good luck.” 

Lyon is a rather pretty city, filled with buildings of classic
architecture and small boutique-type shops.  As Derek and his French 
hosts strolled through the downtown streets, Brad saw, in his mind's 
eye, the countless patisseries, flower shops and fine restaurants that 
line up proudly along the small pedestrian-only alleyways.  Smartly 
dressed French shoppers and families filled the sidewalks.  Brad's 
video reception had gained full clarity.  However, he could sense a 
faint buzzing at the base of his skull, as if a dull headache was 
coming on. 

The entourage boarded a cable car that brought them up to the basilica
of Notre Dame de Fourviere located on a high hill overlooking the city. 
 With approximately 2 million people, Lyon is France's second largest 
city yet has almost no tall buildings.  An observer at the top of the 
hill outside the basilica can easily pick out most of the major sights 
such as churches, schools, museums and major thoroughfares.  Derek 
walked over to the wall to take in the view and, through the Portal, 
Brad saw the sprawling and twinkling city below blanketed by a fading 
orange and deep purple sunset. 

Derek stepped about twenty feet away from the other people taking in the
magnificent view.  He spoke to Brad, “Hey Brad, isn't that a wonderful 
sight?  I hope you are enjoying this.” 

Brad then left a voice-message in response, yet Derek heard Brad
speaking inside his head, “Dad, the Portal is working perfectly.  I 
feel like I'm right there with you walking around Lyon.  It's like 
being inside a movie.  The only problem is that I have a headache 
coming on and it seems to be getting worse.  Talk to you later.” 

As Brad spoke, Derek felt some nausea as a short searing pain ripped
through his skull, yet he managed to reply, “Brad, I don't know what is 
going on, but I can hear you talk.  This first test was supposed to be 
one-way from me to you.  I must inform Philippe immediately.” 

Derek pulled Philippe aside from the crowd that was viewing the city,
“Philippe, I can hear Brad.” 

“What?  Are you sure?” Philippe replied in an incredulous tone. 

“Of course I am.  I definitely heard him speak as he left me a
voice-message.  It appears that the Portal has been activated for full 
two-way contact.  There must have been a mistake with the 
Portal-activating drugs, unless there's something else I should know 
about.” 

Derek looked at Philippe expectantly.  Philippe looked back at him
briefly then turned his eyes away without answering.  Derek continued, 
“Something else too...I have an intense pain in my skull when Brad 
speaks.” 

Philippe took this question as an opportunity to change the subject,
“You are feeling pain because your brain cannot process the input from 
the Portal and your own senses at the same time.  However, as long as 
Brad stays in an environment with minimal sensory stimulation, and he 
does not speak himself, you should be OK.  Brad, if you can hear this, 
please keep those goggles and earplugs on.  Speak only when spoken to 
by your father or me.  Any sound or visual coming from your end may 
cause sensory overload for Derek.” 

Brad heard everything and replied with a brief, “OK, sir.” Derek heard
Brad's response in his head accompanied by another short hot flash of 
pain; Derek could manage only a brief nod to Philippe, to indicate that 
Brad understood. 

Derek and Philippe rejoined the group and they walked together down the
hill continuing to roam on foot, eventually taking a route along the 
Rhone River which cuts through the center of the metropolis.  They met 
a limousine in the central plaza at 7:45PM.  It was a thirty-minute 
drive to the Paul Bocuse Culinary Institute.  Derek looked at his cell 
phone and noticed Brad had left another voice-message, the same one he 
had heard in his head thirty minutes earlier. 

The car passed through the gates of the private compound of the
Institute and up a long driveway.  A huge medieval-style castle bathed 
by spotlights loomed up ahead.  They got out of the car and Derek 
turned his coat lapels up to buffet the cool night air.  Strangely, 
Brad could swear he felt the air's chill as well but only attributed it 
to the realism of the transmitted images.  As they gazed at the 
fabulous granite building accented by turrets and gables, Brad saw the 
castle in his mind's eye and he mistakenly let out a gasp of amazement, 
“Wow, that's awesome!”  The sound of Brad speaking echoed in Derek's 
head, causing him another momentary bout of intense aching at the base 
of his skull along with some disorientation.  Derek reflexively grabbed 
Philippe's arm until the aching subsided. 

As they walked toward to the door, Philippe whispered to Derek, “Are you
okay?” 

“I think so,” he replied, “Brad has to keep his mouth shut if I'm going
to make it through dinner.  Got that, son?” 

The manager of the institute greeted them at the door and ushered them
into a very large and ornately decorated front hall with a twenty-foot 
high ceiling.  Paintings of the founders of the Institute hung on the 
walls, including the famous French Chef Paul Bocuse.  The manager then 
escorted them down a broad stone stairway and along another long 
hallway containing brightly lit glass-enclosed cases describing 
winemaking and vineyard cultivation techniques used by the Institute.  
They then passed through a thick-walled arched entryway into to a cozy 
dungeon-like reception room that was decorated with large wine caskets. 
 Impressive culinary award plaques adorned the walls.  They were served 
champagne and a light appetizer.  To his surprise, Brad could sense the 
aroma of the food and actually taste it in his mouth!  This was not 
supposed to be possible, but he dared not speak again to Derek, per the 
strict instructions from Philippe. 

The manager then whisked them back upstairs to a private dining room for
dinner.  The high-ceilinged room had a single rectangular table with 
settings for eight people.  They arranged themselves around the table 
with Derek and Philippe making a point of sitting next to each other.  
The opening course was fois gras followed by a pumpkin soup with 
oysters both of which were accompanied by a crisp light chardonnay.  A 
robust merlot was poured with the fish and beef main courses and the 
fromage plate.  Through all of this, Brad felt like a fly on the wall, 
yet experienced every detail of the meal as Derek ate.  In his mouth, 
he sensed the smooth and delicate textures of the food and the wine, 
swallowing and finally reaching his stomach. 

As the evening wore on, the excellent food and wine loosened up the
atmosphere.  The grand time became increasingly sprinkled with bold yet 
innocent sarcasm followed by bouts of boisterous laughing.  The meal 
was rounded out with an ice cream and meringue dessert along with 
espresso and tea. 

Philippe whispered in Derek's ear, “Why don't you excuse yourself and go
speak to Brad to assess the situation.” 

Derek then got up from his chair and addressed his colleagues at the
table using his limited knowledge of French, “Veuillez m'excuser tandis 
que regenerez-vous dans le salle de bains.” 

They seemed amused by his American accent, but graciously excused him
from the table so he could refresh himself.  Derek left the dining room 
and walked down a wide marble-floored hallway towards the bathroom. He 
closed the bathroom door behind him, but did not turn on the light. 

“Brad, what is going on?” 

“Dad, it's more than just audio and visual.  I can pick up everything;
smell, taste, touch, pressure, heat.  I'm right there inside you 
experiencing all the senses as you do.  Dad, isn't the Portal is doing 
much more than it's supposed to?” 

As Brad spoke, Derek felt the intense searing pain in the base of his
skull, but managed to reply, “It certainly seems that way, son.  I'll 
get back to you shortly.” 

Derek returned to the dining room and whispered to Philippe, “May I
speak to you for a moment?” 

Philippe stood up and addressed the other diners, “Mesdames et
messieurs, s'il vous plait m'emploient pendant un moment.” 

The two men walked out into the hallway whereupon Derek faced Philippe
and addressed him in an impatient tone, “Philippe, it's more than audio 
and visual; it's everything, all my senses.  Brad can taste, smell, and 
feel objects, sense temperature changes, whatever happens, he is inside 
my brain.  And my head is killing me.  It's gotten a lot worse in the 
past hour.  I am fatigued as well.” 

“We need to get you out of this stimulating environment quickly to avoid
further sensory overload.  I am also going to try to deactivate the 
Portal with anti-sense micro-array injection.” At that moment, Philippe 
put his hand on the back of Derek's neck and jabbed a tiny syringe into 
it, “Of course I do not know if this will work since we obviously have 
never had human subjects for testing.  However, given the gravity of 
the situation I don't think we have a choice.  Brad, I'm sure you're 
following all this.” 

The two men walked back into the dining room and Philippe addressed the
group, “Ladies and gentlemen, our esteemed guest is quite tired and 
wishes to return to the hotel to rest.  We bid you a good evening.  Au 
revoir.” 

They left the castle and headed towards a waiting limousine.  With the
blackness of night providing a background, Derek began to hallucinate. 

“Philippe, I see dull shapes and colors swirling in front of my eyes. 
Is this related to the deactivation?” 

“I'm afraid not, Derek.  The deactivation should have taken effect
within five minutes.  Such imagery is a symptom of sensory overload.  
Your short-term memory banks are flooded and are beginning to spill 
their contents back through your spinal nerves.  Please keep your eyes 
closed.  Driver, take us out of the city.” 

They got into the vehicle and as it pulled away, the visuals became more
intense.  The images dancing in front of his eyes now became more 
defined.  As if in a waking dream, he saw his own memories of events of 
the past three days randomly appear and sequentially swallow each other 
up in rapid succession. 

Derek spoke to Brad in a low voice, “Brad do you see that?  Just respond
with yes or no.” 

“Yes.” 

The sound of Brad's voice now echoed and resonated with a deafening
roar.  The echoes created ripples through the colors and increasingly 
complex patterns which appeared and morphed into each other.  As the 
car drove on, the momentum of the vehicle triggered a roller 
coaster-like experience and Derek felt himself descending rapidly 
through the visual kaleidoscope, only to be shot upward the next moment 
in a sparkling blaze of color and intense light.  Eventually, he lost 
all sense of proper orientation as the roller coaster speed and 
direction changed with increasing force and intensity.  Derek let out 
an agonizing yelp as the pain ripped through his skull. 

Brad, meanwhile, lay flat on his cottage bed with his fists clenched. 
As Derek's short-term memory bank was released, the hallucinogenic 
roller coaster effect and cerebral pain intensified.  He used all his 
effort to keep his mouth closed and avoid screaming in response, but he 
could not avoid letting out a strained moan through his nose.  This 
caused Derek's images and sounds to explode with new and profound 
intensity, reverberating back through Brad's perception of the 
experience.  This feedback loop tightly coupled the two men's senses 
together, echoing an endless variety of colors and pain across their 
respective synaptic fibers. 

The limousine had raced to the outskirts of Lyon and was now pulled over
in an empty field near the airport.  Philippe, seeing Derek grab his 
own neck and begin to make choking gestures, quickly opened the car 
door, allowing Derek to roll out of the car landing face down on the 
soft wet grass.  As he lay there, the kaleidoscopic roller coaster 
gained further momentum as images raced past his mind's eye with 
blinding speed accompanied by an awesome howling.  Derek let out a cry 
of agony and clenched his fists so tightly that his fingernails broke 
the skin on his palms. 

Then, without warning, the hallucinations ceased.  Derek remained face
down in the field.  Philippe jumped out of the car and came to his 
side.  He spoke to him as he helped him turn over and get up, “Derek, 
it worked.  The experiment was a success.  The Portal actually works.  
We've taken a big step towards fulfillment of the Omega Directive.” 

The billows of steam from Derek's exhaled breath, illuminated by the
limousine's headlight beams, hung in the night air and slowly dissolved 
into the blackness.  Between whimpers, Derek replied, “It's 
stopped...nothing...” 

“I know, Derek, we were monitoring your brain on the psi-wave band.  You
and Brad have just had a remarkably unique experience,” Philippe said 
in a somewhat detached tone, as he used a hand held sensor to scan his 
neck in the area of Derek's implant while monitoring the readings on 
its built-in display, “I am not picking up any signals from your 
implant.  It appears that the battery is dead, burned out.  We should 
be quite grateful for that under the circumstances.  How do you feel 
now?” 

Derek caught his breath and replied, “My head aches, but otherwise I
feel alright.  I need to find out if Brad is okay.” 

“For some reason, Brad's implant is still partially functional, sending
out information but not receiving anything.  From the signals we've 
picked up on the psi-wave band, I can assure you that his brain is 
functioning quite normally.  He is now asleep.  Derek, your son is 
young and strong, and should recover with few ill effects.  Let's get 
back in the car, shall we?  You can leave him a message on a secure 
channel.” 

“Dead battery,” Derek pondered, “but they were designed to continuously
recharge by siphoning electrical current from synaptic impulses.” 

“Strange isn't it?  Apparently your extraordinarily intense experience
resulted in such a high level of signal processing and psi-wave 
multiplexing that there was actually an overcharging of the battery, 
which damaged them permanently.” 

“Okay, Philippe let's dispense with the technical stuff and get to the
bottom of this, shall we?  There's something else going on here, isn't 
there?” Derek asked in an impatient tone, “How will the Omega Directive 
ever be fulfilled given the experience I've just had.  The entire human 
race would go crazy.” 

“Ah, that's a very good point, and there is indeed something else you
should be aware of.  As you know, the psi-wave band is not in the 
public domain.  Do you know why?” 

“Of course, there are international treaties which prohibit the direct
manipulation of the human mind by artificial images and sounds.” 

“That's correct Derek; we knew it would only be a matter of time before
clever enemy engineers figured out how to create telepathic weapons.  
We feared that we would all be subject to attacks on our minds by 
malicious mind-hackers, be they enemy governments or terrorists.  
Humankind was threatened.  So we tried to keep the information a 
secret, except for those who were directly involved.  On the other 
hand, we knew that such power held the promise of huge potential 
increases in the ability to advance the capabilities of the human 
species.” 

“Yes, yes, I know, Philippe. This was all in the briefing package.  The
world would be connected in one giant community, one with limitless 
ability to communicate and share knowledge among billions of people.  
Ignorance would become obsolete.  A new enlightened society of 
humankind would be upon us.” 

“Correct Derek, but there is even more to it than that.  It turns out
that psi-waves do more than carry sensory signals; they actually have 
encoded within them the human perception of those signals.  In other 
words, they are the very medium for human thought.  This fundamental 
discovery was made shortly after the psi-wave frequency band was 
discovered twenty years ago.” 

“But the psi band does not overlap with any known human waves...” 

“No, Derek,” Philippe interrupted, “that is not true.  Now that the
experiment is success, I am allowed to tell you otherwise.  I'm sorry, 
but I had to be deceptive about this.” 

“Deceptive?  That's an understatement.  You lied to me, Philippe.  How
could you keep such fundamentally important information from me?  I 
thought we were partners on this project.” 

“I'm sorry.  I had no choice, Derek, and I can certainly understand your
reaction.  The work could only be funded and carried out covertly 
through the DD...” 

“Which is in direct violation of the Omega Directive, ironically,” Derek
protested. 

“Yes, I know, but keep your eye on the big picture here.  With the
successful first test of the Portal, we can now visualize our species 
eventually approaching what has been called the Omega Point, using 
telepathy on a global scale.  Once assumed to be our destiny someday 
only after millions of future generations of human evolution, it now 
seems possible that we have invented the technology to take a kind of 
short-cut.  Imagine the possibilities, Derek...the convergence and 
integration of all aspects of culture, science, philosophy, 
spirituality and technology into a unified and dynamic singularity.  
But beyond the global consciousness of human thought and knowledge, the 
Omega Directive has an even higher goal.  It is hoped that the ability 
of human beings to share their perceptions mean we would see each other 
for what and who we truly are; fear, ignorance and suspicion would 
disappear and with it new-found hope of peace and fulfillment for all,” 
Philippe paused briefly, giving that statement some emphasis, then 
turned back to Derek and continued, “As to how we will deal with the 
side-effects you've experienced, I'm afraid that is yet to be resolved. 
 Maybe Brad's generation can work out a fix.  An engineering solution 
is bound to come faster than waiting for humans to evolve, don't you 
think?” Philippe gave a confident smile as he completed his 
explanation. 

“I suppose,” Derek replied, “But given what I just went through and the
threats posed by mind-hacking, it seems to me that the Portal is too 
dangerous.  Maybe we would indeed be better off waiting for evolution 
to do it the right way.” 

Philippe gave him a disapproving stare and glanced down at the psi-band
monitor which displayed only Brad's sleeping alpha waves.  The two men 
spoke no further as the limousine continued on toward the airport.  
Derek rested his head against the soft leather seatback and stared out 
the window where the first light of dawn was throwing a shadowy purple 
hue across the horizon.  A dull ache persisted at the base of his 
skull.  His mind was churning with concern for Brad's welfare, the 
covert experiment, the crazy roller-coaster hallucination, and the 
power of the Portal, of how it might be used, or abused, at some future 
time.  Whether he liked it or not, the Portal would surely be repaired 
and pursued again someday.  Until that time, however, Derek's thoughts 
were once again entirely his own and would remain securely bound within 
his mind. 


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