There is music in my heart
My best friend Terry died three months ago. I did the things a best friend does—I spoke at the funeral, I comforted his family, and I helped his fiancee Hannah pack up his things. Terry had been a constant in my life since junior high, despite all the obstacles that usually erode a twenty-year friendship like time and distance. We came from vastly different backgrounds from the start—I was from a small working-class household, while he grew up in a large family so wealthy that money wasn’t even really a consideration for them—just a given, like water or air.
Yet growing up, his parents were always kind and welcoming to me, and while I was never close to Terry’s brother and two sisters, they were never stuck-up or mean. When I stayed with them during the funeral and the following few days, they were just as I remembered, and I could tell they appreciated having another person there that loved Terry and could share the burden of losing him so suddenly.
Still, he was my only real connection to that family and their lives, and when I flew back home the following week, I had no expectation I would ever have much contact with any of them again. That’s why I was surprised when a few days later I got a call from Hannah. She told me Terry had bought me a gift before he died, a very unique kind of service that they had both used before and really loved. He had wanted it to be a surprise for the next time we were together, but now that wasn’t possible, so she wanted to let me know.
I was strangely touched by both the gift and her thinking to call and tell me about it. It sounded just like something Terry would do. Wiping my eyes, I asked her what kind of “service” it was. She gave a short laugh and said it would be better for it to be a surprise. The people should be contacting me in the next few days to set up an appointment, and everything would be explained then.
With that, she said her goodbyes and was gone.
The following Friday, I was sitting in my living room across from a distinguished-looking man in a well-tailored suit, his vaguely European accent adding a pleasantly cultured lilt to his words as he told me about his company, Mneumonica. He said his name was Dimitri Aller, and he had a very special gift for me.
“Andrew, if I offered you the chance to take a wonderful trip to anywhere in the world, a true adventure full of beauty and excitement, wouldn’t you want to go?”
I gave a slight smile. “Well sure, yeah.” Was that the gift? A trip to wherever I wanted?
The man returned my smile briefly as he nodded. “Of course you would. But now, what if I told you that after you took that trip, you would have no memory of it at all? You would have no trace of it having happened in your life whatsoever?”
I frowned. What was this? “Um…I don’t know. I don’t think I would, no.”
The man’s expression turned to a contemplative frown. “And why’s that?”
Shrugging, I paused a moment as I tried to find the right words. “I just…I don’t know what the point would be. I would just be losing time from my life and having nothing to show for it when it was done.”
Aller raised a finger. “Exactly. We are, in many ways, our memories. Things that happen that we don’t know about or don’t remember…well, they are of little power or value to us. Would you agree?”
“Yeah…I guess so.”
Nodding, he went on. “Well then, would you also agree that the opposite is true? That memories of things that did not occur can be very powerful and of great worth?”
I felt a growing unease at all this. This man, while very polished and pleasant, was making little sense. I almost felt like I was being given a sales pitch for a self-help seminar or a fancy cult. Hoping I didn’t sound rude, I asked him what exactly he was offering. Far from looking insulted, the man’s face brightened as he leaned forward.
“I’m offering you, or rather, your friend Terry is offering you, the gift of memory.”
“We have developed a method of permanently implanting knowledge and memories inside a human brain. I know it sounds like science-fiction, but I assure you it is not. Our research and technology is thirty years ahead of what is commonly known or available because we have the support of a small but very powerful clientele that can afford to pay substantial sums for such advancement.”
I shook my head. “Still, how is that possible? It sounds like something out of the Matrix.”
He chuckled. “Or Total Recall. Believe me, I’ve heard them all. But it is nothing so fantastical as all of that. Essentially, we have perfected a technique by which we can induce a dreamlike state in a subject. During this period, we can then introduce very specific memories into the brain. You know how some dreams seem very real and stay with you after you wake? It is akin to that, though much more detailed and resilient. Your sleeping brain will think it’s a dream and when you wake, it will be recalled as real past events.”
Swallowing, I weighed his words. I had trouble believing it was true, but even if it was, I wasn’t going to trust someone to mess with my memories. On the other hand, Hannah said that she and Terry had both done it, and I knew he’d never have gotten it for me as a gift if he didn’t believe it was safe. I had the worried thought that it seemed strange he had never mentioned it to me before, but possibly that was just so it wouldn’t ruin the surprise if he planned on getting me to try it in the future. Either way, I decided I could at least finish hearing the man out.
“So…what kind of things can be implanted?”
The man sat back in his chair and folded his hands across his knee, looking distant as he began again. “Oh, all the things you might expect. Wonderous vacations, exciting adventures, elicit romances.” He shot me a sly look at the last. “Of course, it cannot be anything too fantastical or the brain won’t accept it as reality. So no trips to Mars or having superpowers, I’m afraid. And, those things are beyond the scope of what you’re being offered in any case. We have three Tiers of service. Tier One is the least expensive and is where everyone has to start. It is what we call the Knowledge Tree.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Have you ever wanted to know how to build a car engine? Or fly a plane? Or play the piano? Tier One will give you a professional level of knowledge in one subject area. Something that would normally take years of dedication will be learned in less than one day.”
My eyes widened. “Are you serious?”
Aller smiled again. “Very much so. You’ll still have to train the muscle memory, of course, but that usually takes a few hours of practice at most. It will be like you are an expert returning to a well-known skill after being away from it for a year or two. And you will keep it forever.”
I was starting to be excited in spite of myself, but I thought back on something else he had said. “Why did you say everyone starts at Tier One?”
“Well, for two reasons. First, the human brain is very adaptive, but we find the greatest success by starting with something relatively small. As strange as it sounds, it is much easier to teach you how to be a tennis pro or an excellent computer programmer than it is to give you a week-long adventure as a deep-cover secret agent. The brain accepts the core information easily, but the experiences themselves are trickier. With Tier One, we’re merely giving you what we call “filler experiences”—you on a tennis court or sitting at a computer in a bare room. Just enough memory of learning the skill that your brain accepts it as reality and does not experience any mneumonic dissonance. After a brain has experienced the technique, it becomes more accepting of more elaborate realities and the other Tiers become an option.”
“Ok. I guess that makes sense. What’s the second reason?”
Aller chuckled again. “Why, the money-back guarantee, of course. If you are not completely satisfied with your Tier One experience, you will get a full refund of the money your friend paid for it.”
I gave a nervous laugh. “What’s to stop me from liking the treatment and still asking for a refund?”
Aller gave a slight smirk. “Well, that’s your prerogative, of course. Normally our clientele is not concerned with how much it costs or getting the money back,” he glanced around my apartment, “but I understand not everyone is in the same financial position. Rest assured, if you complete Tier One and want a refund, you will get it, no questions asked.”
My head was buzzing as I asked the next question. “How much money did Terry spend on this?”
The man shrugged lightly. “I believe it was $600,000.00.”
and it's wond'rous when it sings,
The following week I was in a coldly-beautiful clinic in rural Iceland. The flight and accommodations were part of the service, I learned, and as I was ushered to my room, I found myself amazed by my surroundings. Everything was so white and clean, but more than that, I almost felt like I was on a spaceship from the time I stepped into the lobby of what could have just as easily been an exclusive, ultra-modern hotel.
Soft light emanated from the walls and ceiling, and nearly everything seemed to be seamlessly automated and voice-controlled. Ambient music played quietly in most of the halls, and underneath that, the almost inaudible hum of something that vibrated the air like a distant heartbeat. Over the next day, I was treated to wonderful food and strange but comfortable surroundings. The next afternoon it was time for the treatment.
I was taken into a room with a large padded chair, and while I saw several machines and banks of electronics along one wall, I had no real idea how any of it worked. I had been assured that the treatment required no surgery or physical implant, but simply amounted to the right combination of chemicals and the manipulation of electromagnetic fields. I was strapped down, but they said that was only to keep me still in case of mild muscle contractions.
Several people clad in white made preparations around the room as I was given multiple injections, and within a minute I felt myself beginning to fade out. I felt a last moment of dim panic, and found myself focusing on a dark spot on the otherwise pristine far wall, willing myself to stay awake and see what they were actually going to do me. I knew the thought made no sense, and within moments I was waking up back in my room. I looked at the clock and saw that actually six hours had passed.
It was then that I saw the guitar propped against the far wall.
I had picked learning the guitar for both sentimental and practical reasons. Terry and I had always talked about learning to play, but I could never afford lessons and I always suspected he avoided learning because he understood that and knew I wouldn't accept help from him either. I also thought guitar was a good idea because it was a relatively small addition to my brain if it worked and easier to argue for the refund if it didn't, assuming they were being honest.
I sat up and then stood slowly, gingerly testing my feet as I stepped toward the instrument. I felt fine. More than fine. I felt better. And I knew as soon as I touched the guitar that I'd be able to play it.
Within two hours my hands had come close to matching what my head already knew. I played songs of all kinds as easy as breathing, tears of wonder in my eyes as I strummed the guitar. I could never have imagined being given such a gift, and when I finally slept, it was the best sleep of my life.
I woke with a start to find Mr. Aller sitting at the foot of my bed. When he turned to look at me, his face was unreadable.
“Good morning.”
“What? What are you doing here?”
He glanced down at his hands. “Well, there's a small accounting manner we must attend to.”
“Accounting?”
He puffed out a discontented breath. “Yes. When your friend procured this…gift for you, we placed a customary hold on his bank account in the amount of $600,000.00. The sum was not withdrawn at the time, as we do not withdraw payment until the service is rendered.” Clearing his throat, he went on. “Yet when we went to withdraw payment this morning, we learned that the account has been closed. We contacted the bank as a courtesy, and were informed that the account was set up as a limited trust that was liquidated upon Terrance's death.”
I felt my mouth go dry as cotton. “What does that mean?”
Aller's eyes were hard when he turned back to me. “It means you owe us the money, of course.”
I let out a burst of nervous laughter. “I can't pay that. I can't afford a new car, much less this.” I gestured toward the guitar laying next to me in the bed before looking back at him. “You have to know that.”
The man's lips twisted slightly. “Nonetheless, we must be made whole. But we aren’t unreasonable. You can either pay the sum owed in full or, in the alternative, bring us two new clients of equal or greater value. One or the other, within one week.”
I felt myself growing angry. “Listen. I didn't ask for this, and your agreement isn't with me. I'll talk to Terry's family, but I make no promises, and honestly, it’s your problem more than mine.”
Mr. Allers let out a dry laugh. “You think so, boy? Do you think we can only give you pleasant memories?”
Standing up, I began backing away in fear and frustration. “You're insane.”
He stood and met my gaze steadily. “Do you want to have memories of a childhood where you were molested? Or perhaps the guilt of drowning a baby sister that never existed?” He gave me a contemptuous last look as he walked past me towards the door. “One week. Then we come for you.”
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Credits
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