Impetus Ch. 01

Pete Hascomb sat in the waiting room of the Huntington memorial hospital in South Pasadena California. He looked down at his hands, tracing the soft contours of his thin fingers and small knuckles. Every day now, his muscles seemed to shrink. The toes of his left foot had slowly knotted into fragile pink nubs since he became bound to a wheelchair.

His father, Jeff, had bought Pete a new Wizard brand wheelchair made of lightweight plastic that cost eighty thousand dollars and came with a lifetime warranty. Jeff had told Pete the chair was worth it. In the end, buying the Wizard saved money.

For Pete, those words had felt like a death sentence. Before the shock of loosing control of his legs could settle, Pete's father inadvertently had squashed Pete's hope of recovering. But somehow Pete had smirked when he switched the cheap hospital wheelchair for the expensive new one his father bought him. Since then, Pete had seen similar styles of wheelchairs on channels like ESPN or FOXSPORTS. Guys like Frank Weeler (Pete thought Frank's last name was a pseudonym) or Terry Richards were a couple names Pete wouldn't have recognized a few months ago, but who were suddenly role models.

It was November 2063. Pete knew the date well because three weeks ago he had turned sixteen, but it had been the saddest birthday of his life. He had been bound to a wheelchair for three months, and his doctor, Dr. Wharton, had told Pete one morning when Pete had felt too sick to get out of bed, that he had Hyper Poliomyelitis or Hyper Polio. "Hyper Polio?" Pete remembered repeating. He remembered the fear that had over taken him by that strange new word, which carried the intonation of forever loosing something dear and irreplaceable. Like that, Pete's entire life had warped into something foreign like a character in one of the comic books he often read. But this was real, and so was the wheelchair he now sat on, waiting patiently for his parents to return.

Right now, they were someplace upstairs discussing Dr. Wharton's latest batch of tests and graphs. Pete didn't know why grownups made such a big deal over graph and test results if all those expensive pieces of paper couldn't help him walk again. Dr. Wharton might as well take Pete's medical history folder and hide it in some rusty file cabinet in the hospital's basement under "H" for hopeless.

Pete didn't care whether he had to undergo any number of painful operations to regain his legs; he just wanted to walk again for God's sake! He missed running and playing with Toby, his long time friend.

Recently, before the accident, Pete had gone through a growth spurt. His Basketball skills had expanded alongside other children who had reached that level of youth where energy grows more potent with use. Some nights, he had imagined making a slam dunk for his high school basketball team. On a good night, the shot was for the school championship trophy, and the audience's cheer was almost loud enough to shake Pete in his bed.

But Pete didn't have those fantasies anymore. He no longer saw himself making that slam dunk. Even at night when he could summon enough power to fantasize, Pete still saw himself wheeling around in the Wizard - even his dreams crippled.

At the moment, his friend, Toby, was probably practicing his jump shot with the guys from school. Damn! Pete thought, and pounded the control box near his right hand, causing the chair to jerk forward, sending his shin into the coffee table.

"Oww!"

The table's edge had slammed into the soft cartilage along the ridge of bone that transferred a sharp rebounding pain between knee and foot. An increasing heat thumped along his leg like a little heart beat palpitating fresh pain.

"God damn, crippled legs!"

Don't be so negative, tuff guy, his father would say. At least you're alive. But Pete didn't consider himself lucky. Being lucky involved winning a bet or beating Toby at basketball ten times in a row. Being lucky was finding five dollars when you forgot your lunch card at home, and you were starving. But being in a wheelchair was definitely not lucky. So it was hard not to let the ugly emotions swimming inside his head like great white sharks to tear him apart.

"Hey, tuff guy." Pete's father, Jeff, said. He stood in the open doorway of the waiting room looking down at his son.

"Hi, Dad. What did Dr. Wharton say?"

"Nothing new." Jeff's eyes stared at the coffee table.

Sarah pushed her husband into the room, "Hi, sweetie." She walked up to Pete and hugged him fiercely around the neck. "I bet you're hungry. How does pizza sound?"

What did the doctor say? Pete wanted to ask again, but he stopped to gauge his parent's bright smiles. Even Dr. Wharton, who had just entered the room, had a wide goofy grin taking up half his face. "How's the Wizard?" he asked. "Have you won any races yet?"

Pete smiled at the thought of winning a race. "No, not yet."

"Tell me when you enter your first competition. I'll hold a cold cup of Gatorade for you at the finish line."

"Come on," Jeff said, waving Pete over to the door.

Everyone smiled as wide as they could. It meant something bad, but Pete moved the control box forward, and the wheelchair silently eased around the table piled with issues of Newsweek and People magazine then went through the door his father held open. It was the final pat on the head that said something was rotten - that doom loomed near. But never once did any of their smiles waver.

"Your father took the day off," said Sarah, "So whatever you want to do is doable."

"Wow," Dr. Wharton said. "I could go for one of those. I almost can't remember the last time I had a day all to myself. Hey, Pete."

Pete turned, raised his brow.

"Make your dad open his wallet, huh?"

Pete smiled then said, "The money might have turned to dust by now."

Everyone laughed. Dr. Wharton stood next to the conference room door and watched the Hascomb family sail down the white hallway toward the elevator.

Sarah asked, "So what's it going to be? What do you want to do?"

Pete caressed his chin and narrowed his eyes. He was happy just leaving the hospital, but knew he should take advantage of his family being together.

It wasn't everyday his father could get a day off from work. Jeff was a computer engineer working for the Government, and had to be at his job most of the day because he was in control of the Sync Project. But Jeff always told Pete that the most difficult part of his job was getting his team to cooperate with each other. Like he was surrounded by idiot savants who could program a pop tart to blow up a small country, but couldn't sharpen a pencil without a democratic vote. That's how his dad had put it. And Pete believed every word because his dad was smart. He could calculate everything and anything like a child working out 2 + 2.

Not long ago before the accident, when Jeff was taking Pete to school, Pete thought he would test his dad with one of his homework math questions. It was one of those toughies with the one train leaving this station at this hour and another train leaving that station at that hour. Traffic was heavy; people honked their horns and kids ran through the middle of the street instead of using the corner traffic light like they were supposed to. But Jeff offered the correct answer a few seconds after Pete read the question from his math book. Only after checking the back of his book did Pete realize his father was right. That's how smart his dad was, and that was why the phone at Jeff's hip always ringed. And so Pete would definitely take advantage of the time they had together. That's why it was important to pick the right activity.

"Do you want to go to Magic Mountain?" Jeff asked as they stood waiting for the doors to open.

No, definitely not. Pete's dad hated Magic Mountain. The only reason Jeff had asked was because he knew Pete liked to go. True, they all could skip to the head of a line because Pete was handicapped, and they could also ride as many as four times consecutively on any rollercoaster, But, no. Pete wanted to do something the whole family could enjoy. "Mmm, nah."

"Whatever you want." Jeff reminded.

Pete offered his dad a tense look before resuming his ponderance. This was a lot harder than it should be. "Mmm, how 'bout we start off with the Comic Factory?"

"Good idea. We'll go there," said Jeff.

"Oh, I like that Indiana Jones girl comic," Sarah said.

"Tomb Raider." Both Pete and Jeff said in unison. There was a smirk of indignation on Jeff's face as if to say, Even I knew that one.

"Ok, boys. Call off your dogs. Tomb Raider. I think she's a cute heroine."

Pete stifled a grimace.

The elevator door, pinged. Pete moved the control box and the wheelchair maneuvered in front of a couple of patients with ease. Only in a hospital could a crippled sixteen-year-old boy stroll around in a wheelchair without people looking on in horror and pity. The patients didn't even glance, and Pete was grateful.

The first floor button was already highlighted so they waited until the doors softly shut. As the elevator passed the second floor there came a dull ring, but it hadn't been from the elevator.

Jeff looked down at his hip where his phone was planted. No matter what he wore, whether jogging pants or summer shorts the phone was a constant accessory. And worst of all, it had the power to destroy family outings.

Pete gauged his father's expression from the corner of his eye, as the elevator passed the second level. Sarah also tried to sneak a look to watch what Jeff would do.

Someone in the back corner of the elevator coughed loudly in a way that said, Either turn it off or answer the stupid thing!

After the sixth ring, the phone stopped ringing. Everyone either sighed or made a general sound of relief, especially Pete. The Comic Factory seemed like an especially good idea at the moment. If only there was some way to get the phone away from his father's hip, then the day could go on without worry.

The elevator doors opened and everyone spilled out onto the first floor. Sarah instinctively went for the back of the wheelchair to push it, but Pete jerked forward, and she paused as if just remembering his new wheelchair was motorized.

An abundance of people stood about or sat thoughtfully in the Hospital's front lobby. Some wore makeshift bandages over arms and legs. Dark blood colored a white T-shirt a man held over his right shoulder. His face was sweaty as he explained something to a family member sitting right beside him.

"Oh, my God," Sarah said, looking at the man with the bloody shirt. "Poor guy, wonder what happened to him?"

Pete looked on as he exited the automated front doors. Outside, two taxis idled at the curb as injured and sick people moved toward or away from the hospital.

"I think I should go and get the van. Why don't you two wait here?" asked Jeff.

Sarah and Pete stopped near a bench so Sarah could sit while Jeff went to get the van. A number of trees provided shade while they waited. Pete let out a yawn and blinked his tired eyes; he was always tired.

"Sleepy?" Sarah brushed Pete's hair away from his forehead and smiled as she had done in the conference room.

"Mom?"

"Yeah, honey?"

"What did the doctor say?" Pete stiffened his gaze so as to detect any false gestures she might offer. But before She answered, she turned away for a moment then turned back with a serene expression and said, "Nothing a few more doctor visits can't cure."

"A few?" Pete had been going to the doctor on and off for the last few months, and now he was in a wheelchair. "They can cure me then?" he asked with a tinge of hope mixed with desperation.

"Well, Pete, it might not be as simple as that. First, Dr. Wharton has to stop the sickness from spreading then he can move onto a cure."

Mom, why are your eyes watery? What aren't you telling me? "Oh." Pete looked away because he couldn't help biting his lip.

"But hey, hey." Sarah pulled Pete's face so he was facing her. "That's the doctor's concern. Your concern is to keep your father from answering his phone so we can actually have some fun today, alright?"

"Why doesn't he just turn it off?" Pete moped.

Sarah blinked against the vacant expression that wanted to take hold and said, "Because your father is a very important man. And right now, they need him at work. Things are at a critical moment."

"Things are always at a critical moment. Will he get in trouble if he doesn't answer?"

"I don't know if it's as easy as that. This project is kind of like your father's pet. And right now his pet needs him very much."

Pete squinted, looked down at his thinning legs and said, "I wish I could put Fido to sleep."

Sarah laughed. "How do you think I feel?" She furtively wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "But it's his job that pays the bills, and paid for this nice wheelchair you've been speeding on."

Pete smiled; it was genuine this time. "I'm trying to learn how to peel out, but I don't think it has enough juice."

Sarah laughed. "That sounds like your father's department."

"Yeah," Pete said, keeping an eye out for the minivan.

They both waited, and after ten minutes, a minivan pulled to the green patient-pickup-curb. Jeff waived and pointed at his watch, as if they were behind schedule.

"Oh, silly." Sarah said as she made to grab the handles of the wheelchair, but once again, Pete jerked forward.

"Come on. Before the next century." Jeff hollered from the open passenger window. The side cab-door slid open, and a metallic lift stretched from the floor inside the van onto the curb of the sidewalk. Pete had to listen carefully to hear the lift's motor, but it hardly made any noise at all.

"You got it?" Jeff asked.

"Yeah, I'm ok. No need to help." Pete got the chair into position then the lift did the rest. A magnet locked onto a metal plate under the wheelchair tight enough to hold over a thousand pounds of pressure. The chair rose then settled into the van, but the magnet held in place. There was no need to change seats because the lift was just as secure, and the Wizard came equipped with its own seatbelt – everything was legal – everything government approved. "I'm locked."

"Ok." Jeff said. The van pulled away from the curb then drove down the long driveway, and then moved onto the street.

Somewhere along the ride, Pete asked, "Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Mom and I think you should turn off your phone." Halfway through the sentence, Pete made it sound like a joke, as if his dad need only laugh and not answer.

Jeff looked at the rearview and did just that, laughed, but his smile crinkled with embarrassment. The smile turned into a sturdy frown before he said, "I never told either of you this, but I guess I should confess since I receive certain scowls whenever this phone rings." As if preparing to admit a dark secret, Jeff took a breath then continued. "I signed a contract two years ago, promising I'd be available to the Sync project at all times of the day."

"A contract?" Sarah asked.

"I didn't really want to, but...management has its way of offhandedly threatening people who don't cooperate."

Pete tried to keep his mouth from hanging open. This was the first time his father had ever said anything negative about the project. He also noticed his mother looked shocked; her left hand squeezed the side of the leather seat as she listened attentively.

"Of course, I signed the paper," said Jeff.

A deep silence pervaded the van to which Pete broke, "I didn't really mean for you to get rid of your phone, dad."

"That's ok because the good news is that the project won't last longer than a few more years." A mixture of sadness and triumph passed his face.

Another belt of silence stretched until Sarah asked, "Why are they ending the project?"

"It won't be for another few years, but I think it'll be more like two and a half, nobody can be sure." Jeff thought for a second then added, "The work will be finished."

When nobody said anything, Jeff exclaimed, "People, that's a good thing!"

Pete and Sarah smiled as if on cue.

"Really?" Pete asked. "Are you sad?"

Jeff took a moment to say, "No, It's finally coming to an end. Most of the mainframe is built. It can run without fault, and we've tested a thousand trial programs." In a more interested tone, Jeff added, "We've tested a few people too." And then with a more pained hesitation, "I've...tried it...too."

Sarah turned, lowering her head like a bull toward its matador. "You've what? Why haven't you told me about this? That's not your job, Jeff. That's not what you're paid for."

Pete felt excited to see his mother's love for his father and because his father was brave enough to do something considerably reckless.

"Believe me, I didn't do anything dangerous."

"I know what you do. Don't tell me those head experiments aren't dangerous. Computers running your brain is what it is."

"It's the future, honey. Soon, people all over the world will meet together in a utopian world to discuss politics and religion without the need to understand each other's language. It's amazing!"

"I know, I know. Criminals won't be able to lie. Drug dealers won't be able to hide their connections. Yes, yes, but its still dangerous and even a little...weird."

Pete's head turned between his father and mother as they argued.

"It's not very risky business. There are safety mechanisms, a dozen of them. There's the master override."

"What did you do, dad! When you were in there? Did it look real? Did it feel real?"

Sarah suddenly stood quiet, as if she too was interested to know what it was like when a machine synced with a human mind.

Jeff smiled, lingering in their curiosity before divulging his answer, "I swam in the ocean."

"Swam in the ocean? What for?" Sarah asked.

Jeff shook his head, as if they could never understand the overwhelming joy of his ineffable memory. "I was moving as fast as a torpedo."

"What!" Sarah gasped.

"Wow! A torpedo, dad? Did you shoot out of the water or something because that's what I would have done?"

"Of course," Jeff answered smugly.

"Wow!" Pete jumped in his chair. His illness withered under the importance of this new achievement. Sync will change the world!

"What do you mean, you flew?" Sarah asked.

"Oh, look. We're here." Jeff stopped in front of the Comic Factory. The name was written in large cartoonish letters while some of the customers leaving and entering looked like cartoons themselves with hair expanded wider then their heads, bodies looked out of proportion because the recent style blended two sizes of the same garment together so that a shirt had one baggy long sleeve while the other was short and regular. The pants were the same fashion except the baggy side corresponded to the regular side of the shirt so that the look was unified – in theory.

Pete didn't dress like a lot of the other kids. His pants and shirt were normal for his size. The only accessory he wore was an eight hundred dollar watch he had received for his birthday.

Jeff and Sarah watched the lift port their son onto the sidewalk. "Dad! A torpedo?"

"Torpedo?" Jeff mimicked and scratched his head.

"Don't be mean. Tell the boy. I'm even curious," said Sarah.

"Oh, that torpedo." He said. Then his eyes changed as if recalling a far off yet memorable experience of lost youth. "I was swimming along in the water, shooting, I should say because I didn't have to paddle. I was propelled like a speed boat, and while I moved, I could see whales and sharks swimming underneath me." Jeff took a deep breath, as the lift retracted and the door slid shut.