The Problem With Immortality Ch. 07

Chapter 7

By Gary LM Martin

Chapter 7: The Top And Bottom Intellects

"So are you going to tell me what happened?" Jessica demanded, as she radically rotated her hips, grinding the walls of her vagina against the head of Anson's penis.

It had all been very confusing. Jessica had been in the middle of communing with her inner self--so she thought--and then time seemed to skip a beat. Suddenly she was in a hotel in Appenzell, and shortly after that, on a flight back to the United States. She didn't remember what happened while she was getting in touch with her true self, but she did remember that it had been grand, and glorious, and she really wanted to do it again.

When they got back to America, though, they were totally exhausted and starved from malnutrition. Every part of Jessica's body hurt, especially, inexplicably, her vagina. For the next three days, all they did was eat and sleep. They slept, got up and ate, then slept again, and ate again whenever they woke.

Finally, after three days of this, they were feeling remotely human, but Jessica wanted to know what had happened.

"Tell me," Jessica cried, as she rode up and down on Anson's penis. "Tell me!"

"Nope," said Anson, enjoying the sight of her eggplant shaped breasts bouncing up and down on him.

"I want to go back there," said Jessica, bouncing up and down on him,.

"You can't," said Anson.

"But I want to! I was touching my inner self!"

"You weren't the only one touching your inner self," said Anson wryly.

Jessica stopped moving on his penis. "You see? You've been saying snide things like that for three days, but won't explain yourself. If you don't tell me right now what happened, I'm going to climb off and stop in the middle."

"Go ahead," Anson shrugged.

Jessica glared at him, and grudgingly resumed the reproduction ritual. "You're lucky I need an orgasm badly," she growled. "I don't know how long it's been since I had sex."

It's only been three days, Anson thought. You just can't remember it.

Jessica growled, and finished the sex act as quickly and aggressively as she could, taking out her frustrations with a mix of anger, lust, and passion. By the time she climaxed, Anson had too, and he squirted into her with his milky goodness.

"So what now?" she asked, lying in his arms.

"We shower and get dressed."

"No, I mean about our research," said Jessica.

"I think we need to think smarter," said Anson.

********

Samuel Schiminovich's IQ was off the charts. Most modern IQ tests topped off at around 180. Scientists were not sure but thought Schiminovich was around 250, if a proper test could be conducted to measure it.

Schiminovich finished 12 years of primary schooling in 8 years; finished college in one year; and then proceeded to pursue one graduate degree after another at a ferocious pace. By the time he was 35, he had garnered five master degrees and six Ph.D.'s

His inventions spanned all the categories of sciences and medicine. He theorized the principles used to create force shields around spaceships; he invented a cure for RZT and Mind Numbness; he created an ion drive that was four times as efficient as the current one; and he created a theory that seemed to explain, without paradoxes, the inevitable limitless nature of the universe.

When immortality was achieved, Schiminovich was among the first to realize the potential downside, that people would run out of ways to be stimulated. He set his brilliant mind to work on the problem, and quickly came up with a solution: to make people as smart as he was.

Since Schiminovich was having the time of his life inventing things, being the genius he was, he figured everyone else would too.

It didn't quite work out that way. Not everyone wanted to be a producer. But a few people--scientists, artists, and others, took him up on his incredible offer.

"They were people who were stuck in a rut, Mr. Ford," said Schiminovich, his unkempt black hair waving like a large unruly black afro, even though he was white. "They were people who had reached their mental limits, and wanted more. It would be perfect for Mr. Odour."

"Mr. Odour is not an inventor," said Anson. Jessica sat by his side.

"But he's a brilliant man nonetheless. How could he not be, to make so much money? And brilliant men always want to be more so."

"How does your process work?" Anson asked.

Schiminovich smiled. He love to explain his brilliance. "Creativity is determined by making unlikely connections between different ideas. That's reflected in the brain by connections between radically different brain cells. My treatment increases the size and number of connections between different brain cells, as well as boosting overall neurotransmitter levels used in creative thought."

"Is there any risk to the treatment?"

"There's a risk to getting out of bed in the morning," said Schiminovich. He knocked on his plastiwood desk. "But so far, we've had uniformly great results."

Anson thought about all the cheats and frauds they had met on their journey so far. "Would it be possible to meet some of the people who have been... enhanced by your method?"

"Of course. Follow me."

He led Anson and Jessica into another room. They saw a white haired mathematician rapidly scrawling on an electronic whiteboard. "This is Sergei Krickolev. What are you working on now, Sergei?"

"The wave patterns of the first 17 dimensions," said Krickolev.

"I thought you said there were only 13 dimensions."

"That was this morning," Krickolev snapped. "I've given the matter more thought." He turned and rapidly wrote more mathematical equations almost more rapidly than the eye could see.

Schiminovich led them to another man typing rapidly on a holographic keyboard. "Here is Doctor Misha Algunkin. What have you for us today, Misha?"

"I am working on a way to create clones who have the genetic memories of their original subjects," said Algunkin, talking even as he typed. "All it would require is a brain to brain transfer that is sound and compatible. I am working on the theory, the biological components, the mechanical components and the computorial interface required."

"So which of these components are you working on now?" Schiminovich asked.

"All of them, of course," said Algunkin.

"Of course," said Schiminovich. He smiled and gestured for Anson and Jessica to follow him to another chamber.

They found themselves in a room with a man playing a piano.

"This is the famed pianist Michael Hurwitz. What are you working on today, Michael?"

"A new composition. What do you think so far?"

He started to play a new tune. He was an excellent piano player, which made Anson think of Jennifer. The tune he was playing was catchy, and new, and not like anything he had heard before. Hurwitz went on for a moment or two before stopping. "What do you think?"

"Brilliant!" said Schiminovich. "What do you think, Anson?"

"Very good," said Anson, and he meant it. "How long have you been working on that?"

Hurwitz shrugged. "I don't know. An hour, maybe."

An hour?

Schiminovich gestured for Anson to follow him out of the room. "When Michael came here, he was depressed. He had no ideas for new compositions. All these people, all of them, were clinically depressed. They had reached the limits of their abilities. My treatment gave them a new lease on life."

"Very impressive," said Anson, and again, he meant it. "Would you mind if we observed your subjects for a little while?"

"As long as you don't interfere unduly with their work."

"Of course not," said Anson.

"Very well. I'll be in my office if you have further questions." He turned and left.

Anson turned to Jessica. "What do you think?"

"It sounds like a brilliant idea," said Jessica. "No pun intended. Of course, Odour is not an inventor or an artist, but who knows what ideas he might come up with after getting an IQ boost."

"Yes," said Anson. "Maybe we should go on the holo now and suggest it to him."

"Let's!" said Jessica, turning to go.

Anson grabbed her arm. "Or... maybe we should spend more than ten minutes investigating this option, and look around a little more."

"Oh," said Jessica, pouting.

They watched them at work, the scientist, the doctor, and the musician. There were several other geniuses at work in other rooms. They really seemed to be geniuses. After all they had been through, Anson was on alert for fabricated results.

Anson went back and watched Krickolev, the mathematician. He watched silently as the man worked for a while. As he watched, a woman came up to him. "He's brilliant," she said.

"He is," said Anson.

"He was before the treatment too," said the woman. "I should know. I'm his wife. Elena."

"Anson," said Anson, extending his hand. She shook it.

"In some ways, he's much better than he was before."

"Some ways?" Anson asked.

"Well, for a long time he was burned out. He couldn't develop any more theories. He was very depressed. That was very bad. For a time I feared he was going to go on the Weed."

"Krickolev?"

"Yes," said Elena. "I was so worried. But then he got the treatment. Still, I am not sure that things are much better now."

"How do you mean?"

"Well... look at him."

"I am. He's happy, he's working hard, he's focused."

"Yes. On his work. And only his work," said Elena. "I have seemed to disappear from the equation."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," said Anson.

"If that were the only problem, it would be worth it, to see him happy like this," said Elena. "But there is another price being paid here. His mind has become supercharged. He cannot turn it off."

"Turn it off?"

"He cannot sleep. His mind is overactive. He has to take stronger and stronger drugs to make him sleep, but they are becoming less and less effective. His mind will not rest. He is slowly burning out. He has headaches more and more frequently."

"Schiminovich didn't mention this."

"Why would he?" said Elena bitterly. "This is the price to be paid for being a genius. A mind that always runs like an FTL drive."

"Is it reversible?"

"Schiminovich claims it is. But where would we be then? Back to where we were. And after all this, I do not think Sergei would take well to losing such brilliance. I fear he would submit himself to the Soylent Green rooms, to be recycled. "

"No!"

"How would you feel, if you were suddenly a super genius, and then it was snatched away from you? You'd feel like an idiot, knowing you had potential that could never again be tapped. It would be like worse than when you started. No, this way is bad, but it is the least worst of the alternatives," said Elena.

Anson looked at Krickolev, and then his suffering wife. "Thank you," he said sincerely.

She gave a pained smile. "You are welcome."

Anson went and watched the other geniuses for a while, and then a different idea started to form in his head. He went back to Schiminovich's office.

"So you're back!" said Schiminovich. "Ready to sign up your client for my service?"

"Not quite," said Anson. He explained the conversation he had had with Elena.

"Well, of course there's a price. There's always a price for brilliance! Do you think I get more than four hours of sleep every night? Do you think my mind isn't always racing with ideas?" He grabbed its head. "My head feels like a ship with the FTL drive always set to maximum. I feel pain from it, I do, but I accept it as the price of my gift. So does Krickolev."

"I'm not sure my client wants to pay that price. But I was wondering about the reverse," said Anson.

"The reverse?"

"If turning someone into a genius creates a lot of agitation, what would happen if you turned someone into a very... simple minded person?"

Schiminovich gave Anson a sly look. "Have you been speaking to my staff?"

"Your staff? No. Why?"

"Because we have been experimenting with this very idea for six months."

"You have?"

Schiminovich nodded. "We've gotten a few subjects. Volunteers, you understand, people who were desperately depressed, and about to submit themselves for recycling at a Soylent Green Center. "

"And what were the results?"

Schiminovich gave Anson an odd look. "Come and see for yourself."

He took Anson and Jessica two levels down to another part of the building. They went into a room where three individuals, two men and one woman, were watching holos or playing games.

"Ball!" said one man, playing with a colored ball. He kicked it to Schiminovich, who picked it up, patted the man on the head, and handed it back. "Ball, very good, Anson."

"His name is also Anson?" said Anson, suddenly very alarmed.

"Yes," said Schiminovich.

"Colors," said the other Anson. "Red, Green, Yellow. Colors goooood."

"Yes, Anson, colors very goooood," said Schiminovich.

They went over to another man who was watching a game of robot football. "Manuel, do you like the game?"

Manuel didn't answer. He just sat there, drooling slightly, as he watched two teams of robots playing on the holovision.

"Manuel? I asked you a question."

"Game good," said Manuel. He held up an empty bag of chips. "Food!"

"I'll have someone refill that," said Schiminovich. He led Anson over to the woman, who was playing with small robotic dolls who were marching around in a dollhouse.

"Do you like my toys, Mister?" she asked.

"They're wonderful. Which one do you like best?" Anson asked, getting down on his knees.

"I like the one who bakes, 'cause I like cakes and cookies," said the woman, who happened to be rather fat. "Do you like cakes and cookies?"

"Very much," said Anson.

"You're nice," the woman smiled.

Schiminovich took them out of the room. "As you can see, Mr. Ford, they are all perfectly happy."

"But dumb. Very very dumb," said Jessica.

"That's the price to be paid for happiness," said Schiminovich. "You can be a genius, and pay the price of mental agitation, or you can be happy, and pay the price of stupidity. But what some would call stupidity others would call ignorance. And there is an old saying about ignorance being bliss, for some."

"For some," said Anson. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Schiminovich."

"You're quite welcome, Mr. Ford."

As they left the building, Jessica asked Anson. "So, which would you rather be, a genius, in mental agony, or a retard, but very happy?"

At that moment Anson, who was still tortured by thoughts of Jennifer on a daily basis, wasn't sure how to answer that.