Total Amnesia: Forgotten Lives Read online

  Total

  Amnesia

  By

  J.W. Northrup

  You don’t have a soul.

  You are a soul.

  You have a body.

  C.S. Lewis

  CHAPTER 1

  Espree suddenly sits upright in her chair. Her emerald green eyes stare ahead, searching.

  Oh, no! This is too soon!

  She has become aware that a Harvest ship is approaching Earth with a purchase order to collect up all the humans and deliver them to the customer.

  She knows she could just blow up the ship, but that will only delay the inevitable. Furthermore, the consequences of such an action could result in the total annihilation of the humans and the vaporization of a planet.

  The humans have been sold and nothing is going to stop the wheels of business from turning, not even an all-powerful free spirit.

  Just as it happens on millions of other planets a million times a day, the inhabitants of planet Earth will soon realize they have no weapons against the inexorable forces of universal business and an utter ignorance of the condition they are in.

  Like chickens in a chicken farm, they only know the boundaries of the chicken coop they call Earth and when the time comes for them to be delivered to the buyer; they will have no choice in the matter.

  Espree closes her eyes and moves instantaneously to the Bridge of the approaching ship so she may observe the activities of the crew and determine how much time she has left. Her presence is entirely unknown by the crew members on the ship. Her will body remain behind on Earth and appear to be asleep.

  Nothing in this universe can detect the presence of a free spirit when it is outside the body and that is why, in this universe, a free spirit must be captured and attached to a body. Otherwise they simply do whatever they please, they rarely follow the rules, they can’t be located or controlled or taxed and they can create all kinds of mischief.

  ABOARD THE SHIP:

  Captain Toko has begun to glow green with interest as Universal Harvest Ship 397R38-28A-43J approaches the planet. He was expecting the usual large, dirty brown globe, but this is an enchanting little jewel of a planet shining brightly in the blackness of space.

  “Pretty little planet,” he says, his smooth green dorsal ridge expanding with interest. He looks over at Bisto seated at the ships main terminal.

  “So what’s the story with this place Bisto?”

  Bisto begins to change to a light green color and his fish-like dorsal ridge becomes erect with curiosity. He reaches over with a slender, willowy arm to activate the data monitor and begins to read the spec sheet.

  “Let’s see here, some of the locals call it “Earth” or “Tierra”. Gravity is light, the nitrogen oxygen atmosphere is relatively clear, but it looks like the 3B humanoids have developed a crude form of combustion technology for their energy production and its byproduct is dirtying things up a bit. Once we’ve eliminated them it will probably clean up on its own; if not a little Monoxidal spray will clear it out. I think we have a few leftover canisters from the harvest of planet Wixon a while back.”

  “Looks like the kind of place you’d build a vacation retreat,” says Toko leaning forward, his yellow catlike eyes studying the screen with satisfaction, “these Class H planets can be real nice, particularly when any indigenous higher forms are eliminated.”

  Bisto shakes his head. “They should never let humanoid types loose on a pretty planet like this. All they do is build sprawling, ill-planned cities and scar up the ecosystem. They leave their garbage in big rotting heaps because they have no vaporizers; build endless strips of roads for rolling vehicles because they don’t teach them anti-gravitics; and connect everything with a mess of wires because their brains are not programmed to conceive of wireless electricity.”

  Toko nods in agreement. “Humanoids should be confined to the stark planets where their scatterbrains can be focused. There are too many distractions on a planet like this”.

  Bistro’s begins reading through the database and as he reads his usually bland coloration turns from grayish-green to the same lighter tones as Toko.

  “Wow! This is interesting! This has to be one of the more diverse planets in this system. They have more varieties of creatures here than you have in that brain of yours. You know the famous Zuell and Crock traveling circus? This is where they bred those dinosaurs some 300 deci-terms ago—right here!”

  “I’ll be damned! Do you think there are any left?”

  “Don’t be silly, they transferred them to the Colomb system. Anyway, that’s a patented gene pattern.”

  Toko is looking through the database. “Man they got everything here!” The screen begins displaying a series of random images showing the diversity of life on the planet. A picture of an octopus appears on the screen.

  “Look at that! Yuck!”

  He brings up a Siberian Tiger.

  “Oh man!” they all say in unison, “that’s beautiful!”

  “I’d like to take one of those home with me, is the gene pattern protected?”

  “Uh, let’s see,” says Bisto bringing up the genetic data on a tiger, “Nope, it says genetic pattern 387490283974-CR is public domain if you use a gene lock.”

  “Alright!” says Toko enthusiastically, “My boy has a birthday coming up, that would be a great gift! Check the price Bisto.”

  Bisto selects the “purchase” icon below the picture on the screen.

  “Nope, not for sale; the numbers are too low.”

  “Crap.”

  They continue browsing through images: A beetle, an eagle, a mule deer, a worm; the variety is truly amazing.

  An image of a horsefly comes up and they gasp in unison.

  Bisto glows a smile and calls up Goot, the Controller, on the Televiewer.

  “Hey Goot, look at this!”

  Goot looks up from his computer as Bisto steps aside to reveal the image of the horsefly.

  “Look at that Goot; they modeled this one after you!”

  As a member of the pedantic, practical Centurian race, Goot’s face is dominated by the same multi-faceted eyes of a horsefly although the rest of the body is more humanoid. Goot merely buzzes it off and gets back to work.

  “This is what happens when you leave an experimental breeding planet unattended for a few hundred deci-terms,” says Bisto as he scans through the database,

  “Listen to this:

  “BRG—the Biological Research Group—bought the planet about 600 deci-terms ago but later ran into financial problems. As a solution, they acquired some 3B-humanoid genes from an R&D outfit that had a lot of success creating new marketable workers. At the time the 3B model of humanoids were still in the prototype stage, but they had a lot of potential in certain markets and BRG had the genetic lab to support the R&D. Their plan was to create a ‘seed’ population, obtain exclusive rights on the genetics and sell 3B’s to breeders as an investment.

  “But here’s the thing, they didn’t bother to mention that the 3B’s would be mixed in with all the experimental breeding on the planet; BIG mistake. Standard Breeders found out about it and sued BRG. So of course BRG went belly up and the planet was turned over to the bank to be auctioned off. Then Universal Work Forces—which as you know, has always been an industrial breeder—buys the planet. Apparently they’re planning to use the incredible genetic diversity to supply zoos, circuses and the lucrative pet market. They’re diversifying into exotic breeding.

  “Anyway, they find that the 3B population has had no adverse reaction to any of the experimental species. Amazingly, they find the genetic pattern still well within 3B humanoid standards—a virtually pure strain. Unfortunately, the population was left alone f
or a number of centi-terms and, as these uppity 3B humanoids generally do when they associate them with other genetic patterns, they began disrupting UWF genetic engineering. They’ve been altering the environment, doing their own primitive form of breeding.

  Toko laughs. “You know humanoids; they like to breed that arrogance in them. It makes ‘em good at resourceful type of work and lousy at tedious jobs—that is until they’re been through a full training cycle.”

  “That’s right; you gotta train 3B’s,” says Bisto.

  “So as you know, the selling price of 3B’s has gone down and since there will be no exclusivity rights, they’re really not worth the trouble.”

  “Quite a strange history” says Toko.

  Espree has heard enough. Back on Earth, her body suddenly twitches, the green eyes open and the body is once again imbued with life.

  The timeline is changed. It is time for me to carry out my plan— prepared or not.

  Her eyes appear to be searching outwardly, then fix and are steady.

  1200 feet away Tim Johnson looks up from the book he is studying at the library. He decides to check and see if Professor Espree is in her office.

  CHAPTER 2

  My name is Tim Johnson and I am walking across campus, silently reprimanding myself for the obsession I have developed with Professor Espree.

  I know her office hours well and I know she is available, so I’m going to see her because have a question about Hooke’s Law and she said it would be on the test. I’m really happy to have a question about it too, because there is nothing better than sitting across a desk from Professor Espree and listening to her talk to me and look into those beautiful green eyes when they are directed at me and me alone. That trumps everything else I have to do today.

  I know it’s silly, but it is time I faced up to the undeniable, reality of the situation. I am the self-assigned, fawning admirer of a woman—something my very essence, at the point of conception, vowed would never happen.

  I’ve always prided myself in never being sucked in by some silly female playing me for a fool; never been one to be caught up in the rapture of a game I feel is beneath me; never one to fall into the trap of petty infatuation.

  But that’s exactly what it is and she’s got me.

  It is certainly not her intention to do so. She is surely not aware of the fact that she has created this affect upon me. But that is irrelevant because it is my action not hers.

  My manner has always been so confident and aloof; undaunted by the futile attempts of others to change my point of view. I am a rock-solid non-conformist, unwilling to follow the crowd unless someone can give me a good reason—and few have.

  Yet, in the presence of Professor Espree my unassailable persona falls down like an oversized pair of pants freed from their suspenders and I stand before her embarrassed and self-conscious. I become a sheepish boy, grinning uncontrollably at every word; giggling like some inane idiot; stumbling over words that are beneath me to utter.

  For the past 20 years I have successfully avoided anything that would amount to infatuation with the opposite sex. I have dated many beautiful girls and I have to admit I am attractive in a Steve McQueenish sort of way. They seem to gravitate toward my rugged good looks and my self-confident, rebel manner. But I have never wanted for women nor desired the commitments and narcissism that come with a relationship. I just never wanted to play that game and when I see that look—the eyes of a young woman in love directed toward my own, I must pull back—or be pulled in to a game I have no desire to play—a game that, right or wrong, I consider beneath me.

  That is until Professor Espree entered my universe and pulled me in to the unreasonable world that I have loathed so—the world of petty infatuation.

  And now, I just want to talk to her. I want to be noticed by her, to be engulfed by her awareness of me, to bath in her attention. It’s terrible, it’s silly, it’s everything I’ve tried not to be but it is what I have somehow inexplicably become.

  I arrived here 15 months ago at Stanford, a free man in pursuit of knowledge, unbridled by the obligations of a relationship, free to seek out the secrets of our existence, to discover what this game they call life is all about—a game which, ironically enough, I never cared to play, yet one that interests me intensely as I view it from the my aloof viewpoint.

  I enjoy watching the people get caught up in their petty games. I watch them obsess and worry about grades and rules and the pressure of their peers and I chuckle and continue on in my parallel dimension. I play along and act as they do, but it’s always been an act, nothing more.

  Then one day I walked into Biophysics 205 and took my usual seat in the front row, prepared to grill this latest so-called authority with my blunt, un-social questions, unaware that my life was about change as Professor Espree entered my universe.

  With none of the usual authoritarian attitude, she walked in and stood before the class and I could sense the eyebrows of my classmates raise and surreptitiously scan her slim, professionally dressed figure, because I was doing the same. You could practically hear the wheels turning in the heads—and mine—posing the same question:

  “She’s a professor?”

  She looked to be in her mid thirties. My first impression was that she was immaculate as opposed to exotic, striking as opposed to gorgeous. Not a single dark brown hair on her head was out of place, not an ounce of excess fat on her body. Her legs were curved just as they should be, her arm formed just as a female arm should be formed. There was nothing extraordinary, nothing you would label as sexy or dazzling save one feature—those emerald eyes. They caught my attention immediately. They were amazing, not merely from their bright color, but from the brighter soul that seemed to animate them. I sensed her eyes not as eyes, but rather, as windows to her spirit. Like a picture window on a mountainside retreat, they reveal a world before her, unencumbered by attitude or evaluation or judgment—only perceiving what was there; nothing more.

  In that short instant, as she stood before the class, I somehow sensed, for the first time in my life, what it meant to observe and only to observe, devoid of some pre-conceived notion of what one is looking at. “Experience” and “memory” had a whole new meaning now. They were no longer assets; in fact they were liabilities, obscuring the present by double exposing it with past memories that cloud the “now” with what has happened in the past.

  I will never forget that sudden realization I had while gazing at her for the first time and I will never forget that, at that very instant, her eyes shifted and looked directly at me as if acknowledging what I had come to realize. It was surreal.

  And it got worse.

  As she spoke to the class, her words seemed to translate my concept into words:

  “I am not an authority.” she began. “Facts are not dependent upon authorities; they are dependent upon one’s ability to observe. One observes by looking, not by memorizing and regurgitating facts. Authorities can inhibit observation by requiring you to accept their statements of fact without observation. Therefore reliance upon authority may earn you a diploma, but it will also disable your ability to observe. In Science and in life, observation is your most important asset.”

  I remember sitting there wondering whether the realization was mine somehow communicated to her or hers transferred to me.

  It was at that point that she had me and I knew that somehow—in some crazy way—we were of one mind. She was my soul mate and I needed to find a way to get her to realize that I was hers.

  I sat there that day in the front row and stared. I don’t believe I even blinked. And when she occasionally cast a glance in my direction, I would introvert and feel like a silly school boy. It was so unlike me.

  I did not ask a single question during that class. It was a first.

  I tried for two semesters to get close to her. I seized every opportunity I could to stop by her office and ask questions that might lead to a conversation that would penetrate the barrier of professional d
etachment between teacher and student. I spent much of my study time, not engaged in actual study, but scanning the text to come up with questions I could ask her during her office hours—hours around which my life seemed to revolve. She was a magnet pulling me into orbit around her; off my plotted course. Yet I could never seem to get too close enough to take that fateful step and break through the “social” barrier.

  Our conversations never went beyond the subject at hand. I still knew nothing about her life. Was she married? She did not wear a ring. Did she have children? She never spoke of her own life or used examples of her life in lectures. I wanted so much to ask and yet, I was terrified that I might reveal my true intentions; that I was in love with her; and therefore to be considered amongst the ranks of her—no doubt many—young male admirers to be patronized and tolerated but never considered as equal.

  When she spoke, her eyes looked directly at you—seeming to penetrate your very being with words were clear and always friendly with no wasted expression, no corned up emotion and none of that fake “social” elocution that personally drives me crazy. I wondered if she could see how attracted I was to her—not just intellectually but physically. She was just a model human being with no frills and no added accessories.

  Don’t get me wrong, I like the frills, but when it comes to my definition of a soul mate, when it comes to someone I really want to be with other than to satisfy my libido, I don’t want someone who likes to her dangle frills at me. I admit, I’ve been with more than a few girls who have drawn me in with their adornments, but after the first few times experiencing the carnal pleasures, I rapidly lose interest. I begin to see the flaws that were hidden by the frills and I can’t honestly return their affection. Then I see the glow in their made-up eyes when they look at me and I feel the emotional bond beginning to surround me like a web and I just have to get out of there.