Jane Doe #7
a science fiction by Drema Deòraich (1 of 3)
Are you ready for some science fiction? This will be in the vein of scientific advancements, set in the current world, that have great capacity for good or for evil.
You may ingest this story in 3 easy installments of about 15-20 minutes reading time! First installment due now.
Jane Doe #7 (1 of 3)
by Drema Deòraich
Three Months Ago.
Kyle fought the urge to fidget and stilled his hands on the arms of his chair. The two project liaisons, Simone and Ellis, held his future now. It wouldn’t do to let them see how nervous he was.
“Project growth has outstripped our ability to meet demand,” Kyle said. “Twenty-six new clients signed on today.”
“So?” Simone said. “Add them to the waitlist.”
“That’s already months long.” Kyle glanced at Ellis. “I thought you were going to talk to her.”
Ellis stopped pacing and stared at his colleagues.
“Talk to me about what?” Simone said.
Ellis took a seat, leaned back, and crossed his legs. “I think we should bring in the Does,” Ellis said.
Simone rolled her eyes. “Oh, for Pete’s sake.”
“What?” Ellis frowned. “They’re an untapped goldmine.”
“They’re also a legal nightmare. We don’t know who they are. They can’t even tell us their names, much less grant their consent to go ahead. There’s no way to identify their next of kin for approval either.” Simone shook her head. “Reuben would never concur.”
Kyle frowned. “Why not?”
“He’d have to get his father’s influence involved. And with election campaigns ramping up, I doubt Senator Chandler would want any connection to this.”
“But,” Ellis said, “our non-profit status—”
“Means nothing,” Simone said. “It doesn’t change the fact that without legal consent and a waiver of liability signed by the patient or family, we could be sued for violation of privacy and who knows what else.” She sighed. “We’ve been through this. Why bring it up again?”
Ellis folded his hands on his lap. “What if we had a damn good reason to hook them up?”
The last time Kyle had seen a poker face like that was last week, just before he’d lost to a player with a royal flush.
Simone peered at him like an insect under the microscope. “Such as?”
“An attempt to determine their identity,” said Ellis.
“You can’t be serious,” she said.
“Why not?” Ellis shrugged. “Imagine someone learns, five years down the road, that their beloved cousin or sibling was comatose all this time in some state facility while we operated a program with the potential to learn their name and contact their family, yet we didn’t do it? I suspect Reuben wouldn’t appreciate that sort of spotlight on his Foundation, and neither would his father.”
“He’s got a point,” Kyle said. He’d suggested the same thing to Ellis last week.
Simone’s lip curled. “He’s reaching.”
“No, I’m not.” Ellis leaned forward. “It’d be easy. We hook them up and send someone in for the standard initial tour. Once they establish the patient is stable enough to take a passenger, the tech checks for basic ID markers at level one. If simple observation turns up nothing, we bump the intensity to level two, hope something experiential will identify them. Still nothing? Crank it up to level three and take control. Ask the patient who they are. How they ended up as furniture. Maybe we turn up a family member, make contact, describe the program and what we did as a courtesy to the family. No charge for the service unless they want to hook up for a personal chat with long-lost Uncle Joe. We explain just like we do with everyone else—income from paying travelers helps offset the patient’s medical and maintenance expenses and can possibly earn a small stipend for the family. Income from their comatose brother-in-law.”
“And what if said family member loses their shit,” Simone said, “because we hacked into their dearly beloved without permission?”
Ellis swept a hand through the air as if shooing a fly. “Due diligence. No different than hospital staff keeping the body alive. We took necessary steps to identify a patient, access their medical history, and contact their next of kin. If the family pulls Johnny out of the program, okay. If not, we’ve got another resource hitchhikers can book.”
“What if we can’t uncover the Doe’s identity?” Kyle said.
“Then I’d say we’ve done all we can to advocate for the patient. But,” Ellis said, “there’s also a chance that one of these jaunts will lead the Doe to a way out. Isn’t that the idea that started this program in the first place? Innovative therapy for a hopeless medical condition? That’s the goal at the very heart of the Chandler Foundation’s mission. Right?”
Kyle snuck a look at Simone.
“So we petition the Court to appoint us as the patient’s guardian and enter the Doe into the program,” Ellis said. “If their names or family members are ever determined during a tour, they’re withdrawn from public access while we go back to step one and start again. If no ID turns up, they become a golden goose for the project. Pluses at every turn.”
Simone squinted at Ellis. “That’s actually not a bad plan.”
Ellis scowled. “You sound surprised.”
“I am. It’s broader than your usual mercenary approach. Sounds almost like there’s real compassion for the Does in there.” She grinned. “You’re not going soft on us, are you?”
“Hell no.” Ellis scoffed. “They’re barely one notch above bodies in the morgue, far as I’m concerned. But they do have a functioning deep-brain full of memories that John Q Public will pay to experience. For me—and nonprofit or not, I’m willing to bet Reuben will agree—it’s all about the money.” He raised an eyebrow. “In fact, we can even charge more for the Does, since customers will get all the thrill of the unknown with none of the risk the patient faced in real life. Right?”
Kyle’s hands clenched so hard his knuckles turned white. “What do you think, Simone? Will Reuben go for it?”
She pursed her lips. After a moment, she touched her phone’s speed dial. “Only one way to find out.”
#
Seven Years Ago
Aki Kimura looked across the lab at other scientists working on various projects. Medforma Technology’s facility was always busy, but at least the night shift held fewer distractions. After six months with the company, she’d requested it. Another three hours before sunrise and plenty of tasks to accomplish before then, this grant foremost among them.
Frowning, she turned back to the computer. Grant applications often proved more of a challenge than her dissertation. This one, though, offered a real chance at helping people, which was the whole reason she’d studied medicine in the first place.
She tabbed to the next field.
“Describe your project’s goal and explain why you think Chandler Foundation can help.”
This grant’s donor, Reuben Chandler, sought ways to manage—or even mitigate—long-term care costs for patients in persistent vegetative states. It was a perfect fit for Aki’s project, which aimed to build on prior research into vagus nerve stimulation. Her eagerness to begin that work quivered in her chest like a flutter of butterflies. The only thing that stood in her way was this damn application.
“From the expression on your face,” said a male voice, “I’ll bet twenty to one you’d pay good money for a baseball bat so you could kill that computer right now.”
Aki sighed and glanced up at the senior lab tech. “Something like that.”
He gestured at the workstation. “Problem? Should I call the help desk?”
“No.” She leaned back, rubbing her eyes. “Not unless they can put my dream into clinical terminology and wedge it into these forms.”
“Let me guess. Grant applications.”
“Exactly,” Aki nodded. “You’re… Doctor Wicks. Right?”
“The very same. Doctor Kyle Wicks. And you’re Doctor Aki Kimura, star pupil of the legendary Professor Tansyn. I’ve heard stories.”
She laughed. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”
“Maybe you just need a break,” he said. “Take a walk. Clear your head.”
“A woman walking alone at this time of night?” She peered at him. “Not a smart thing to do, even around the campus.”
“I could come along,” he said.
Walk at night with a stranger? She squinted. Would that be better than alone?
“No hidden motives,” he said. “Just a bodyguard, at your service. If it helps, you can tell me what you’re trying to say on the application. Or not. Whatever you want.”
“Don’t you have work to do here?”
“I manage this lab, which is here to support its scientists. That means you.” He shrugged. “If escorting you on a long walk at three a.m. will serve that purpose, then that’s my job. All part of the service, ma’am.” He tipped an imaginary hat.
“How can I refuse?” Aki grinned.
She saved her file and walked out with him. They navigated the corridors of the lab building and the Medforma campus, greeting others they passed, then exited at the main security gate. Aki waved at the night guard. If Wicks turned out to be a serial killer or some such thing, at least several people would have seen them leave together.
At the main street, they stopped. A factory across the way lit the night, washing out the stars.
“Which way?” he said.
“The bridge,” Aki said. “I’ve always wondered about the view at night.”
Dr. Wicks pointed to the right. “Après vous.”
She peered at him. “Oh, bilingual, eh?”
“Sure. See?” He cleared his throat and went on. “S’il vous plaît. Gracias. De nada. A che ora mangiamo? Una cerveza por favor. Dónde está el baño?”
“I’m impressed,” she said.
“Don’t be.” He grinned. “That’s the extent of my foreign language vocabulary.”
Dr. Wicks took the position between Aki and the street, as any gentleman should do. Her father would’ve approved.
“Here’s a new one for you—Arigatogozaimasu Wikusu-san.” She glanced aside at him.
“Don’t tell me,” Dr. Wicks said, frowning. “Let me figure it out. ‘Arigato’ is ‘thank you,’ right?”
“Yes. Good.”
They walked in silence for a bit before he shook his head. “You got me. What’s it mean?”
“Thank you,” she said, “for doing this, Dr. Wicks.”
“Nice.” Kyle nodded. “You’ll have to teach me the proper pronunciation so I can add that to my repertoire. Except it’s Kyle, please. And you’re welcome. Maybe it’ll help you refocus”
Her mother would have liked his easy smile.
They strolled along the cracked, uneven sidewalk. Shifts at the factory and at the campus wouldn’t change for a few hours, so there was little traffic. In the distance, a train horn sounded its mournful tone. From the Doppler shift in its pitch, it was heading into the yards, rather than away. Factory noise carried through the still air, a constant hum that buzzed beneath the sounds of crickets, peeper frogs, and other nocturnal creatures.
Campus buildings gave way on the right to overgrown woods. Medforma owned that land but left it as a barrier between the research facility and the nearby city. Aki had often wanted to explore the wild space, discover what spirits lived there, learn whether those kami ruled beast, root, or stone, and listen to their whispered wisdom. Yet she usually slept during the daylight hours when such an adventure would be safer.
She glanced across the street. Tall, chain-link fence topped with razor wire surrounded the huge junkyard next to the factory. Inside that barrier, old boxcars rusted into oblivion alongside car husks and unidentifiable equipment whose original purpose seemed murky. Security lights glared at the ground surrounding the yard’s boundaries, but inside, patches of shadow writhed. Aki’s neck prickled. Dobermans. Such beautiful beasts, yet fearsome in their silent threat with those broad chests thrust forward. Their ears pointed toward Aki and Kyle.
“So.”
Kyle’s voice penetrated her non-productive reverie.
“Problems with that grant application,” he said. “Did you want to talk about it?”
“I do. It’s just…” Aki paused. “I’m not sure how to phrase it. That’s my biggest problem. I have great ideas, but getting them from my head to the page is the hardest part of the whole project for me.”
“And the grantor won’t accept your word that the idea is fabulous,” he said, “and give you all their money.”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Hmm. I see how that would be a challenge.” Kyle stuck his hands in his pockets. “Okay, let’s break it down. What is the grant’s goal?”
“To fund projects that would compassionately mitigate facility expenses in long-term care for patients in persistent vegetative states. They want more efficacious ways to run their programs without sacrificing one-on-one attention to the patients.”
“That’s a tall order.”
“Not really.” To her right, fireflies lit the shadowed woods, tiny dancers keeping time with the cricket chorus. “They probably expect grant applicants to suggest things like less expensive equipment. Buying supplies in larger bulk. Contracting out the employees, rather than hiring them as staff. Those things would save money.”
“But you have something else in mind?” Kyle said.
The sidewalk jutted up in spots where roots from nearby trees had shoved concrete panels out of alignment. Aki stepped with care. “I think my proposal will be a surprise.”
Ahead the curve unfurled to meet the bridge’s span. The river’s swift passage rumbled far below, its tone more felt than heard.
“Well?” Kyle said. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”
The dim glow of a streetlight exposed his eager expression as they passed beneath it. She hadn’t told anyone about her theory. Not a soul. They’d think she was crazy.
But Dr.—Kyle—would be working with her. Once the grant was funded, he and all the other essential team members would know its details anyway. It couldn’t hurt, not if she shared only the concept, none of the real details. Not that she had many of those yet, anyway.
They stepped out onto the bridge’s pedestrian path.
“Are you familiar with VNS?” she said.
“VNS.” Kyle’s concentration came through in the tone of his voice. “Vagus nerve stimulation? Like they do for seizure cases and treatment-resistant depression? They tried that for patients in a persistent vegetative state a few years ago, didn’t they?”
“Yes. The process brought a number of those in the studies to a minimally conscious state with improved brain activity and behavioral responses. Patients were able to react to an apparent threat, respond to verbal commands, and follow objects with their eyes. Not much more, though.” Reading those early studies had given her the first spark of this idea.
They walked farther out onto the bridge until the distant city appeared, its glow like a galactic cluster in the surrounding darkness of the suburbs. The hissing white noise of the river calmed Aki, helped her focus.
She stopped and leaned against the cold metal railing. “So far though, other than one isolated case, no one has been able to bring them back to consciousness. Not all the way.”
Kyle turned toward her. “And you think you can do that?”
He would think she was a lunatic. “Not from out here.”
His features twisted, his confusion clear even in the glimmer of ambient light. “And that means….”
“I think they can’t come back,” she said, “because the familiar pathways between where they are and the higher realms of consciousness are damaged, untraversable. But if I can get inside their heads through neural connections between my brain and theirs, I might be able to guide them across, repair the link, or find another way out.”
Kyle searched her face as if to confirm she was serious before he turned toward the river.
Aki bit her lip. His dark hair blew in the crosswind. She couldn’t tell if the shadow on his square jaw was from the lack of light or because he’d neglected to shave.
He looked at her, still frowning. “So, your project is a rescue effort.”
“Basically, yes.”
“Why?” He leaned one elbow on the rail. “It’s a noble effort, certainly. But so many of them don’t survive more than six months. Prevailing opinion says the ones that last more than a year are irreversible.”
“I’ve heard that said.” She inhaled misty air fragrant with damp earth. “I spent a good chunk of my residency working with these kinds of patients. Most people treat them like objects. They’re ignored or dusted like knickknacks. When people do give them any attention at all, it’s rote, as if the person speaking never expects a response. It’s sad because I think they’re still in there. Still accessible. Still aware. Just … disconnected from any ability to communicate. I can’t even imagine what torture that must be.”
“And you want to bring them back.”
“Sure. If I can. Why not?” She gestured. “They’re human beings, deserving of every chance we can give them. I used to spend most of my free time sitting with the patients in my ward. I’d read to them, tell them jokes, talk to them about my day, tell them about headlines in the news.” The other residents insisted her efforts were hopeless, but Aki believed the patients heard her.
And they had lit this fire for her.
“Did you ever get a response?” Kyle said.
“No, of course not.”
“Then what makes you think they’re still accessible?”
She shrugged. “I can’t explain it. But this is something that hasn’t been tried, and it’s worth a shot.”
Shadows gave Kyle’s countenance a severe expression. Aki shivered.
“Okay,” he said. “Bringing them back to a conscious state could fulfill the goals of the grant. If your project makes it possible for them to walk out of the facility under their own power, then the expense of their care is cut one hundred percent. But,” he paused as if considering his words, “what if you fail to connect?”
Aki turned back toward the river and shrugged. “If it doesn’t work, it won’t help at all.” She studied the water’s swift passage, then shot him a sideways glance. “But even a partial success could meet the Foundation’s overall mission because it could offer an income stream.”
He frowned. “How?”
“If I’m able to establish a neural connection to the patient and can communicate with them…” she said.
His eyes widened. “You think their families would pay to talk to them.”
Aki nodded. “Yes. Even a minimal fee would aid in offsetting their expenses.”
“I’d bet the courts would want in on this, too,” he said. “Especially in the cases where a PVS patient is a crime victim. They might be privy to evidence or proof no one else would know.”
“Yes. Probably.”
“You could even take it further,” Kyle said. “What if you could access a patient’s experiences? You could make those available as vicarious thrill rides, where people could pay to live that person’s past almost as if it were their own.”
Aki straightened. “No. That would invade their privacy. Trample their dignity. Family only, unless there is a police matter in which they might prove helpful.”
A car passed behind them, wheels crackling on the asphalt, its headlights sweeping their forms as it went. Shifting shadows crossed Kyle’s features.
“Of course.” He nodded. “You’re right. I got carried away.”
Meet the author:
Drema Deòraich’s short fiction has appeared in Electric Spec, Asymmetry, Backchannels, and Mithila Review. Entheóphage, her debut novel, was self-published in October of 2022 and was nominated for the 2023 Ursula K. Le Guin Prize for Fiction. Fallen, the first book in her Founder’s Seed trilogy, was self-published in May of this year. Book 2, Broken, will be released this Fall.
My underside story:
My partner and I used to live in a 1940s apartment building with a full basement that was strictly off-limits to tenants (so they said). One day we went down there anyway, just to explore; we found all this really old, interesting stuff that had been stored and forgotten—art deco lamps, old claw-foot tubs, and dusty boxes of who-knows-what. It was really cool, and that feeling of doing something “forbidden” added to the adventure.
If you liked this story, come back for the middle segment soon, and in the meantime, check out these stories!
