Mannering grimaced. “This is going to sound quite… bizarre.”
“Bizarre is how I make a living, Mack. Shoot.”
“The problem is Pan believes he has been awake all of this time. He’s convinced he gained some sort of immortality that allowed him to live for hundreds of years, and somehow he’s lost that gift.”
I frowned. “Why in the world would he get a gonzo idea like that?”
Mannering exhaled a shuddering breath. “Because of the hibernation process. In the past, revived patients awoke with brain damage and/or mental instability after years of stasis. To curb that effect, scientists worked with psychological experts to develop a complex dream system that was inserted into the brains of those undergoing stasis preparation. In effect the individual would continue living in their own mind: developing relationships, experiencing and overcoming obstacles, experiencing endless variations of tragedy and triumph. Everyone’s experiences were different, based on the choices they made in their subconscious.”
I shook my head in wonder. “And the people just accepted it as reality?”
Mannering shrugged. “When you look at the mindset of humanity at that point, it’s not that hard to believe. Just before the Cataclysm occurred, humanity was at its most isolated in standards of human connectivity. The vast majority preferred online interaction to physical, from relationships to the vast gaming worlds where many spent countless hours directing the activities of their avatars, those created personas whose digital existences practically became as important as their ‘real’ ones. All humanity required was the technological advancement to push the envelope on cyber-communicative interface, a way to link the human mind to the digital world.”
The Doc’s summation hit a little too close to home for me. After all, I’d had my memories almost completely removed, and was inserted with new ones. In fact, the majority of citizens in the city had been influenced by mental suggestions as the price of admission into the Haven. I knew all too well the godlike games labcoats liked to play with the minds of the uninformed.
“I’m guessing since the subjects were in stasis for far longer than intended, the artificial memories became completely immersed with their own.”
Mannering nodded. “Impossible to remove without complete neurological shutdown. Most of such Defrosts suffer severe mental and emotional trauma upon awakening, as they are unable to comprehend the changes that have occurred since their submersion, unable to separate the fantasy of their implanted life from the reality of their present state.”
“But not Pan.”
Mannering’s face sagged. He placed a hand delicately on his temple as he slumped over his desk. “No. Pan, as you call him, is convinced his memories are the reality of having lived for those centuries he was in stasis. When he defrosted, he was convinced he had an accident and awoke in the hospital. Nothing can convince him that his memories are not real. So imagine the horror of looking in the mirror and viewing the face you have ‘seen’ unchanged for so long suddenly being altered by age. That somehow the immortality you imagined you possessed was lost to you. What lengths would you go to regain it?”
“The real question is: what is he doing to regain it, and why does he need your help? Don’t tell me he fell for that ‘cure for death’ bunk. Even you labcoats should know that’ll never happen.”
“Of course it won’t,” Mannering said. “Obviously we’re no closer to ‘curing’ death than we were before the Cataclysm. We can hide the effects, slow it down a bit, but death is still a mystery we can’t quite solve. The slogan is good for fundraising, much like breast cancer research was back in the days before scientists actually cured it.”
“So what’s Pan’s angle, then? I’m sure you gave him the down low about his chances.”
The Doc’s face wilted even further. “Pan came to me for help at first. Claimed he had found remnants of notes from a certain Franklin Nicholas Stein, one of the foremost minds in biological and molecular research before the Cataclysm. In fact, his experiments are largely blamed for a chain of events that led the actual event.”
“The event?” I leaned forward, wishing I had a smoke. Unfortunately, my deck of gaspers didn’t get rescued when I did. “You mean Stein caused the Cataclysm? How?”
“Just rumors and speculation, Mr. Trubble. Supposedly he discovered a way to delve into a parallel dimension, a trespass that resulted in a decidedly nightmarish backlash: an aberration that impacted on a global scale. The theories differ on what the aberration actually was. The point is that among Dr. Stein’s supposed experiments was the discovery of the immortal gene. The organic fountain of youth, so to speak. Urban legend has it Stein used the formula to reanimate a corpse, giving it eternal life.”
I felt the hairs prickle on the back of my neck. “And Pan thinks his recovered data contains that information.”
Mannering nodded miserably. “He’s recovered something. Whether it is Stein’s work or an ancient copy of a science fiction novel is beyond me. The experiment he’s focused on requires the harvesting of DNA to create a genetic cocktail that, combined with a distinctive form of atomic fusion, will result in his elixir of legend.”
I clenched my fists so tightly my knuckles cracked. “And he’s harvesting that DNA from the boys that he kidnaps.”
Tears glistened anew in Mannering’s eyes. “I told him he was insane. But he wouldn’t listen. Then he took my daughter, forcing me to work for him. He needs me to set up and run the equipment according to the designs on the recovered data. The machine will inject him with the elixir, draining the DNA from the victims. They won’t survive the experience.”
I stood up. “That’s not gonna happen. Tell me where you’re building the machine, and I’ll shut it down real quick, and get your little girl back to boot.”
Mannering’s shoulders shook as he tried to control his misery. “Building? We’re way beyond that point now, Mr. Trubble. The machine is built, and fully operable. Pan is supposed to perform the experiment tonight.”
I stared at Mannering as the weight of his words sunk in. “Where?”
A large fire broke out in the Gardens around midnight. There was a dumping ground in the corner of the sprawling section of untamed foliage where scumbags liked to drop off quite a few items: old rusted wheelers, garbage, hot weapons, and even a few stiffs now and them. Roll all of that with a few years worth of dead leaves and branches, and all you need is a few gallons of gas and a single match to set off a conflagration that could be seen for miles.
I know because I did exactly that.
I figured Pan’s wandering eyes would be pulled that direction. Gave me enough time to bypass his gated security and waltz right onto his most private property. The Gardens were a tangled lot that stretched for miles, separating the West Docks from the Flats. Once it had been a beautiful swath of well-manicured park grounds where folks could get away from the rat race and relax a bit under a shady spot, walk their mutts, and generally just kick back. Once the dough literally floated upward, the Gardens were abandoned for the most part. The greens grew wild and so did the folk that ventured into them.
Pan’s personal section was in the heart of the Gardens. I took the precaution of picking up a few things before I stormed his hideaway. First was another deck of smokes. My nicotine crave had given me the shakes, and I needed steady hands. The second was a few moon clips for the Mean Ol’ Broad.
The third was James Hooke.