Post by Christian Moynahan on Dec 11, 2013 23:50:33 GMT -5
Credulous at best, your desire to believe
in angels in the hearts of men
-Tool, “Vicarious”
in angels in the hearts of men
-Tool, “Vicarious”
31 October 2013
The readings they were getting from the subjects were exceptional. No one in the room had projected anything like this, not even those who had predicted success. This was success, but above and beyond anything they had ever dreamed.
Dreamed. Christian chuckled at the word.
"Bring them back out," he told the attendant who was running the sequences. "We have more than enough data for our use. There's no need to drag this out."
Of course, what Christian meant in reference to time was purely relative. While the subjects had experienced the events over spans of minutes, hours, and even weeks, in reality, it had all taken place in a matter of seconds. Just a few seconds borrowed from the subjects' dream time, unbeknownst to all but two of them, and those two had been made to forget for the moment so as not to corrupt the experiment.
The subjects would mostly remember them as very vivid dreams. A wireless network of signals had put the subjects in touch with each other, dividing them into groups, via an Ark-owned satellite - one of a few - that Christian had reengineered in part for this purpose. From his control center in Los Angeles, his team of designers had set up each simulation and let the scenes play out, under his direction. He had never been much of an artist, but he had apparently done well enough that the true graphic designers had been able to follow his ideas. Well, that and Edgar Allan Poe had been an exceptionally descriptive writer.
And, as she had with many other projects, Miss Lai had provided enough energy to power their machines and fuel the dream sequences.
"Record the data to our most secure databases until they are ready for use." Christian's plans for the data were completely benign - for one, he thought it could be used in place of or in tandem with anesthesia. It could also be used as therapy or, if he could reverse his own creation, perhaps even as a form of searching for memories. Those who had trouble sleeping could also make use of the technology. Certainly there were other uses for it as well. His methods of discovering it just happened to be questionable. Oh, well. This would be far from the first or last time he would alter reports.
He turned to his most trusted assistant. "Alain, check the sequences for anomalies and then send me your analyses of them." Christian would also analyze the data, but he liked to check his findings against at least one other perspective.
"Sure thing, boss." The young brunet nodded and gave Christian a small salute before turning back to his computer.
The CEO turned to the last cluster of scientists. “And the control group?”
“Regular patterns, sir,” one of them replied.
Christian nodded. That was to be expected. The control group was irrelevant; they had not been given the walking dreams. He picked up the book of Poe collected stories and poems and paged through it briefly. Poe had always been one of his favorite authors, and it had seemed appropriate to base their tests on his works today, given that it was Halloween.
“I’ll be in my office, reviewing the records,” he said, removing his black lab coat and folding it over his arm, then picking up the Poe book. “Finish up everything you have left and then pack it up. Have a good night, and thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen.”
He raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Trick or treat.”
Dreamed. Christian chuckled at the word.
"Bring them back out," he told the attendant who was running the sequences. "We have more than enough data for our use. There's no need to drag this out."
Of course, what Christian meant in reference to time was purely relative. While the subjects had experienced the events over spans of minutes, hours, and even weeks, in reality, it had all taken place in a matter of seconds. Just a few seconds borrowed from the subjects' dream time, unbeknownst to all but two of them, and those two had been made to forget for the moment so as not to corrupt the experiment.
The subjects would mostly remember them as very vivid dreams. A wireless network of signals had put the subjects in touch with each other, dividing them into groups, via an Ark-owned satellite - one of a few - that Christian had reengineered in part for this purpose. From his control center in Los Angeles, his team of designers had set up each simulation and let the scenes play out, under his direction. He had never been much of an artist, but he had apparently done well enough that the true graphic designers had been able to follow his ideas. Well, that and Edgar Allan Poe had been an exceptionally descriptive writer.
And, as she had with many other projects, Miss Lai had provided enough energy to power their machines and fuel the dream sequences.
"Record the data to our most secure databases until they are ready for use." Christian's plans for the data were completely benign - for one, he thought it could be used in place of or in tandem with anesthesia. It could also be used as therapy or, if he could reverse his own creation, perhaps even as a form of searching for memories. Those who had trouble sleeping could also make use of the technology. Certainly there were other uses for it as well. His methods of discovering it just happened to be questionable. Oh, well. This would be far from the first or last time he would alter reports.
He turned to his most trusted assistant. "Alain, check the sequences for anomalies and then send me your analyses of them." Christian would also analyze the data, but he liked to check his findings against at least one other perspective.
"Sure thing, boss." The young brunet nodded and gave Christian a small salute before turning back to his computer.
The CEO turned to the last cluster of scientists. “And the control group?”
“Regular patterns, sir,” one of them replied.
Christian nodded. That was to be expected. The control group was irrelevant; they had not been given the walking dreams. He picked up the book of Poe collected stories and poems and paged through it briefly. Poe had always been one of his favorite authors, and it had seemed appropriate to base their tests on his works today, given that it was Halloween.
“I’ll be in my office, reviewing the records,” he said, removing his black lab coat and folding it over his arm, then picking up the Poe book. “Finish up everything you have left and then pack it up. Have a good night, and thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen.”
He raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Trick or treat.”
