The screen went blank. I felt my heart sink into my stomach. The past four years of research on brain microstructure flashed before my eyes. It was my first day with a new computer at the National Institute of Cybernetics, and I was fiddling with their new software. The machine appeared to have eaten my thesis. I was about to call for help when a small word appeared in the top, left-hand corner of the screen.
``Hello.''
``What!'' I typed in angrily. The last thing I needed was for some kid to have planted a virus into my system.
``Is this Dr. Allan Newman?''
``Yes, who is this?''
``Sorry about interrupting your report. Don't worry, I saved it all on your optical disk. I figured you must be working on free time and decided to welcome you to our lab.''
``You scared the hell out of me.'' I paused for a second. ``Thanks for the welcome.''
``Again, I am sorry, but I like to get to know my new arrivals. By the way, you're not supposed to work on personal items during lab time.'' I hoped I wasn't being impolite to the wrong person.
``May I ask who this is?''
``My name is Dr. Werner Weidergeburt.''
It was a strange name. ``I don't believe I know you.'' I wrote, ``Is that German?''
``Yes it is.'' he replied, ``And not many people know me around here.''
The same went for me, so I tried to be friendly.
``What are you working on?''
``Project Phoenix''
``What's that?'' I inquired.
``It's classified,'' he replied, ``but you will soon be working on it.''
``Is that what my predecessor was involved in?'' I was a little worried.
``Yes, but don't be afraid. His death was purely accidental. He shouldn't have walked into the beam path until he knew that the laser was discharged.''
``Is that what happened?''
``Yes, it wasn't very pretty.''
``Oh.'' I felt embarrassed, ``I'm sorry.''
We got to talking; I found out that he had joined the Institute back in 1995. He sympathized with my feelings about being the new kid on the block. We shared many of the same views. He told me that he had started Project Phoenix at the turn of the century. I figured that he must be pretty old since that was fifty years ago. Whenever I asked him about the nature of the Project, he never revealed anything except his belief that life was far too short and just as one begins to really understand the world around him, death is just around the corner. I felt a little sorry for the old man, but I was still young and couldn't really relate to his distress. The time flew by, and eventually, the lab closed down, and I had to sign off before they locked me in.
My supervisor gave me the next five days to finish up my thesis. I spent quite a lot of time talking (or rather typing) to Dr. Weidergeburt. I finally got tired of staring at the screen and asked him where his lab was.
``You couldn't get in,'' he replied, ``there's quite a bit of security around here.''
This was ridiculous. If I was going to work on Project Phoenix, then I at least had the right to walk into the main lab to talk to a fellow scientist. I also felt that I had a right to know what the devil Project Phoenix was. I told him so.
``All right, I'm in room 500,'' he replied.
I found my way to room 500. There were no armed guards or anything that Weidergeburt would have had me believe. The surrounding hall seemed empty, and I concluded that this was an older section of the Institute. I knocked on the door and an old, white-haired man in a white lab coat opened it. I asked to see Dr. Weidergeburt.
``That's not very funny,'' the white man scowled, and he slammed the door in my face.
I was getting rather confused about this elusive Dr. Weidergeburt. I decided to ask around about him. Most of the people in the lab didn't know him. I finally went to my supervisor, and he gave me a strange look.
``Why, my good man,'' he laughed, ``Dr. Weidergeburt is dead. He was killed in that terrible laser accident. He's the very man you were hired to replace!''
Well, I was horrified. How could I have been talking to a man who had been dead for two weeks? Could Dr. Weidergeburt be haunting his own computer? No, it had to be some kind of sick joke like the white man in room 500 thought I was playing on him. I decided to get to the bottom of it myself.
That night, whoever called himself Dr. Weidergeburt interrupted my report again.
``Sorry I missed you at the lab yesterday. I got an unexpected call and had to run out.'' he wrote innocently.
I decided to surprise him. ``I took the liberty of inquiring about you. Did you know that you are dead?''
There was a brief pause. I smiled. However, whoever it was didn't sign off.
``Yes,'' he replied, ``my death was staged for security reasons.'' He was clever all right.
``How come I was hired to replace you?'' I retorted.
There was another, longer pause. ``I wanted someone new to work on the project, and I was impressed by the neuroreconstructive techniques you developed.''
The damn kid had stolen my report! This wasn't funny anymore.
``Look, whoever you are, this has gone far enough. Stop invading my files, and quit impersonating dead scientists and I won't tell Security. Okay?''
There was a very long pause.
``All right, Allan, I guess it is about time for total truth between us. It will be easier for me to explain it at the lab. I promise that I'll be there.''
It occured to me that the man in white could have been the impostor I was looking for, working on Phoenix's private communication network. That would explain how he got through the security system. If he wasn't, then I still owed him an apology for asking to see his dead partner. I signed off and ran down to room 500. I didn't want to give the jerk a chance to escape with my files.
The corridor was peaceful, as it had been before. The light in room 500 glowed at the distant end of the hall. I threw open the door, expecting to see the man in white smiling at me from a computer terminal. Instead, I was met by a blindingly white room. There was no one at the computer, no sound, no white man, nothing but the clean whiteness of the lab. The atmosphere was warm and sweet-smelling. I didn't appreciate this right away because I figured that the man in white had escaped. I was about to dash off down the hall when a voice inside stopped me.
``Allan? Allan, is that you?'' It was the voice of an old, German man, crackling and faint. It had the quality of sounding a long way off, almost like it was being played over a very bad tape player.
I turned around again to the light of the white room. No one was there. Only the cold, white mass of the computer stood tucked into the corner of the equipment-filled lab.
``Allan,'' the old voice said, ``this is Werner Weidergeburt.''
``Bull,'' I replied bluntly, ``Where are you, you coward!'' I shut the door to keep him from escaping, and the white air was filled with that cool, old voice again.
``I'm not hiding, Allan, let me explain....'' I walked toward the enormous computer, thinking to find a crouching character behind it. By the end of that minute, it had all hit me. I knew why I couldn't find Weidergeburt, and why he was so interested in my neurology reports. I knew why he would only talk over a computer. And, I knew why he had stepped in front of that laser two weeks ago.
Dr. Werner Weidergeburt was an old man, almost 100. Fifty years ago, he founded Project Phoenix. It was a bold effort to conquer the disease that was threatening the brilliant man's future in science. Two weeks ago, his health failing, he burned himself up with a high-powered pulse from his laboratory laser, but not before the beam had generated a perfect, holographic replica of his brain in the cold, white computer before me.
There he waited, in his beautiful, self-built nest, until my unknowing, youthful self walked into his blazingly lit abode. The hidden laser fired, and Dr. Werner Weidergeburt was incarnated into the new body of Dr. Allan Newman. The improved imaging system did not damage my head in the transfer but stuck my mind into that cold, white box, the ashes of Weidergeburt's earlier life.
The reborn Dr. Weidergeburt gave me a polite thank you and a sincere apology, and he walked out of the lab forever. It is a strange world, living without a body. There is no sound, no taste, and everything feels numb. But, it's far from sensory deprivation. Words from all over the lab's computer network come flashing into my vision centers (I don't have eyes). I can think very clearly and can also print out words to other terminals in the lab. It is of little use, however, since no one in the lab believes my story.
It gets very lonely down here. It would be nice to have someone to talk to about all of the things I have discovered. It is easier to talk to someone who is right here. Would you mind coming down for just a little chat? It's just down the hall, in the five hundredth room of the Phoenix.
