Tube Travel
Mike Wilson
They came for him early that morning. Not even allowing him to eat breakfast, they slapped some handcuffs on him and said, “This is your day. If you live through it, you get to go free.”
He grumbled back, “Oh great.” He was thinking of the bank job that led him to this place, and the ten-to-twenty he faced otherwise. All for twenty grand I never received. This is the best option I have. I’ll play their game this once. The bastards.
They led him out of the prison, to a waiting van. The offer was repeated to him by an official at the medical institute. By prior arrangement with the state, his sentence would be commuted and he would be freed. But only if he agreed to help test out a new transportation device, and sign a waiver absolving the government of any responsibility in case of an accident. He signed, thinking ‘what difference would it make anyways; they were killing him slowly with prison life. If something went wrong it would just speed things up.’ They drove him to a building belonging to the institute, located out in the suburbs.
Mark looked out the window, seeing lush houses, cars, the lucky people owning such things.
How I would like to pluck some of that fruit, he thought, scenes of rape and theft running through his mind.
The Tube apparatus was warming up. A high-pitched whine emanated from racks of collimation modules, preparing the thousands of precise beams. An ozone smell permeated the area. All of the indicators were green, and everything appeared to be functioning at high efficiency. Mark was nervous. He eyed the small tube he was facing with apprehension. He was seated in a square chamber, about six by six by ten. Surrounding his ‘chair’ were hundreds of beam nozzles. and receptors. These, in turn, were surrounded by miles of cabling, power units, computation modules - enough to fill half the building. They would scan every atom of his body, and then convert his atoms through a process of magnetic plasma modulation. His atoms would be converted to an intense beam of pulsating laser light, and fired through a fiber-optic cable hundreds of miles, to be decoded and re-assembled on the other side. It had worked on animals - most of the time.
“How do you feel, Mark?” a voice sounded in the chamber.
“Alright, I guess. I think the sedative is beginning to take effect.”
“Good. You just relax. The animal trials have been successful in the hundreds. You should be fine,” said the voice, belonging to Dr. Sanderson of the Institute for Advanced Medicine. “And then you will go down in history as the first human being to travel through a fiber-optic cable - albeit a highly specialized one.
“Oh, great. Bad enough that I got busted trying to rob that bank; I should have taken out a couple of guards while I was at it. Oh well, gotta go somehow, eh?” He looked over at the heavily reinforced window, at the assembled teams faces, and winked.
“Come on, now, Mark. You knew what you were getting into here. And, like I said, it is proven safe. It’ll be a piece of cake!”
“Alright, alright. Let’s get this over with, shall we?” Mark was getting annoyed all over again.
“Only a few more minutes. Relax now, Mark. Soon this will be over, and you will be in the history books,” said Dr. Sanderson. Soon, Mark was left alone with his thoughts. He remembered the botched bank job yet again, how with just a few adjustments in their timing, it might have worked. He imagined himself knocking over a bigger bank, or even taking an armored car - that would be a retirement package - if he ever made it through this so-called test, that is.
All of a sudden, a multitude of beams laced his body with bright light, tracing contours, measuring, calculating. Then, even brighter wavelets of light ran up and down his body, compressing spaces, altering shapes. Powerful particle beams copied every cellular pattern and molecular link, and encoded these onto the laser beam even now pumping his essence through the glass fiber-optic cable (specially constructed for this purpose). Several minutes later, in a receiving chamber, light played out over an empty plastifoam chair, and a form began to appear. Particle and light beams translated his essence back into a body, and the body back into a human one, the human one back into Mark. He became whole again, all spaces intact. The process took about five minutes. Then the door opened, and doctors rushed in to check his pulse and vital signs. His body rested limply against the webbing, head lolling, eyelids fluttering. His heartbeat was erratic.
“Get the paddles! STAT,” shouted a medic. Other aides rushed up quickly with the necessary items. They moved him into a specially prepared medical theater next to the chamber. A short jolt from the paddles stimulated his heart to beat at a proper rhythm. Some oxygen from a mask helped him to breathe. An IV was inserted with a nutrient solution. And Mark had made it. He could not remember precisely what happened - his thinking felt fuzzy. The altering beams could not capture thoughts mid-stride. The effects on his brain chemicals were unknown, but could be surmised from the numerous animal experiments and computer modelings. So he was held for a week at the clinic in Portland, for observation and therapy. They determined that he appeared to be fine. He had done it. He had made a trip through a tiny glass fiber, hundreds of miles, from Los Angeles, California to Portland, Oregon, to an Institute clinic. And he was intact.
“Wha... What happened?” he said, upon regaining consciousness.
“You did it, Mark. You made it through the fiber! You remember the fiber?” replied a medic.
“Yeah, I think. I was supposed to do this crazy experiment, go, oh! You mean I made it? I went through that tube?” Marks eyes widened in surprise. He touched his face with shaking hands in wonder.
Dr. Carlson grinned. “Yes, yes. You did it. Congratulations. Now, you have to give us a run-down. How do your joints feel? Are you hungry?”
Mark rubbed his forehead. He felt different inside, like he was in love with life - odd. “Be patient with me, please,“ he said. Carlson frowned. “We need your help filling out some questionnaires.”
“I would be happy to, Doc.” Mark flashed a beatific smile. “Just tell me what you want, and I’ll be happy to help out.”
Dr. Carlson hesitated, and looked Mark over curiously. “Are you sure you feel alright? “
“I feel confused, doc, although I could use a glass of water or something.” Mark sat up in his bed and patted his stomach. “It feels pretty empty - but I don’t want to be any trouble.”
Wow, this is a change. The devil becomes an angel. “Sure, no problem Mark;
Someone get this man a glass of water!” Dr. Carlson yelled out the doorway.
“But we need to do some of this right away, while your memory is still fresh. Now, please, Mark.”
“Okay, I‘m ready.” said Mark. “What do you want to know?”
“For starters, how do your joints feel? Arms, legs, fingers?”
Mark stretched and flexed his limbs. “They feel okay, I guess. A bit stiff. My fingers are sore.”
“Where?”
And the questions went on for an indeterminable amount of time, but to Mark, it seemed like it went by quickly. They finally removed the IV and fed him a lunch, and it was delicious. For all intents and purposes, he felt fine. He informed them that he remembered up until being seated in the sending cubicle. And then, the next thing he remembered, he was laying on the receiving web.
Dr. Carlson was talking to Dr. Sanderson on the phone. “It was as if his body blocked out what happened. Since, of course, the body would have no way of really remembering being dissasembled bit by bit and reassembled hundreds of miles away.
Sanderson replied, “Well I am glad he made it through okay. Shows that our invention really works.”
Carlson grinned. “Kind of gives you faith in your own hardware, eh?”
“Well, it is one thing to send rats through, but a live human body is another thing entirely. But we are very pleased with these results. This is the culmination of two decades of work by the Institute,” enthused Sanderson.
“Maybe the time has come for one of us to use it, now that have a successful human subject.”
“Perhaps. Dr. Kagin here has expressed a desire to go through; Maybe he will be next. We will let you know. Meantime, keep tabs on Mark Maulsby - he should be monitored for quite awhile, for any aftereffects.”
“Sounds good. Bye for now.” Carlson ended the call.
Then Carlson went to the room where they were holding Mark. “Well, Mark, we need to do some further assessments; we should be done here in a week. As I understand it, you will go through some processing, and then be freed in another week or so. The Correctional Officers are coming by in awhile to pick you up. By participating in this test, you have gained your freedom.”
“Good, I look forward to going out and making a difference in the world. There are so many people with needs out there.” Mark got a faraway look in his eyes.
Carlson blinked a few times. “Well, I’m sure they will be glad to hear that at the correctional institute. Now let’s get you to your room to rest up, and then do some further tests.”
Later, dictating a record of the experiment, Dr. Carlson noted, “The only side effect I can determine is that it changed a career criminal’s attitude to that of a charity worker. Amazing transformation. We will monitor him, of course, but I hope this sticks. Perhaps the tube travel apparatus could be a quasi-treatment for sociopaths!”
“Yes, he was fine. No obvious side effects, although we are keeping him for observation.” The voice sounded reassuring. Dr. Kagin listened, and then delivered his bombshell. “I want to try it. Why? Because I helped design it, and I am not getting any younger. We have had dozens of successful animal trials, and now a good human test. I want to give it a try. Oh, don’t worry. Hell, I’m in my sixties, I don’t really care at this point. Okay....sounds good...” Finally Kagin ended the call, a satisfied look on his face. Why shouldn’t I get to be one of the first through the tube...
Mark Maulsby was walking down Main street on a sunlit morning. He was free now, and feeling full of love, and in love with life. He loved every ounce of the world, every dirty cigarette butt on the ground, every soiled park bench, every grimy bus sign, every stumbling, slobbering homeless drunk. He still had some cash from the modest amount given to him by the correctional facility upon his discharge. As another panhandler approached him, noting how he had handed out some bills already, he gave the man a big smile. “Do you need help, sir? I want to make a difference in this big, beautiful world.” And handed him one of his last dollar bills.
Mark didn’t much care where he would lay his head down, only that he would find a place. Meanwhile, the world needed his healing love. He kept walking for a couple of miles, and finally decided it was time to rest. Even someone determined to help the world needed rest at times. He sat down on a bus bench near a busy intersection.
Another gentleman plopped down next to him shortly afterward. He was disheveled looking, long stringy hair, and needed a shave.
The man squinted, rubbing his whiskered jaw. “Well, look at what we have here? Is it really Mark Maulsby?”
Mark turned and looked at the guy. “Do I know you, sir? Do you need help?”
“That tube squirt must have scrambled your brains for sure. I was with you on that last job, remember?” said the man, sitting back and staring at him.
“Dennis? It is you! Do you need help, Dennis? I’ve changed now.”
“Oh well isn’t that special. Well, Mr. Help The World, what I would like to know is why there is a price on your head right now. See, somehow a hundred thou disappeared from that last job, and the cops never recovered it. They still don’t know where it is. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that now, Mr. helping hands?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about. They grabbed me without any money. You guys were supposed to take the sacks. Anyway, that life is over. I’m a new man now, Dennis. You should go through the tube. You will be astounded at how it makes you feel,” said Mark.
“Well, that is interesting, but that is the same line you have told everyone. And since the man who hired us is not too happy about his money being gone, you have to be made an example of, Mark.” Dennis reached underneath his coat, looking around furtively.
“Dennis, please. Now lets talk this over. You don’t understand what has happened...”
“Oh I understand all right. They just let you go after some tube experiment. And now you are handing out money right and left to every bum you see? Yeah, I understand. Not too bright, Mark.”
Mark sputtered. “You don’t understand....that was the money they gave me...”
He didn’t get a chance to finish. Dennis produced a 12-inch long hunting knife, and plunged it into Mark’s side one, two, three times. Mark gasped in pain and surprise, his hands trying to block the knife and getting cut in the process.
Dennis leapt up, and said, “nice knowing you, do-gooder. See you in hell.” And then he ran off, tossing the blade away.
Mark settled back on the bus bench, thinking to himself, “at least I was able to help some people before I go...” The red haze that permeated his fall into unconsciousness was shot through with love for humanity and all its fallibilities. Then, his world went black.
———————————————————————
Dr. Sanderson sat stunned in a break room at the institute, watching the news report with several other doctors and aides. “Mark Maulsby, a former inmate who recently took part in a groundbreaking experiment in long distance travel, was found stabbed to death on a bus bench in central ......”
“After all we have done, now this? Who can understand these things?” he said to no one in particular. An office aide came up, and sat next to him. They both stared at the TV in shocked silence.
———————————————————————
“The fact of Mark Maulsby’s transformation from a hardened convict to a charitable person is something that requires further study. The fiber-optic transport system that we thought would revolutionize travel now seems to have an additional benefit. It seems that during Maulsby’s transit and reassembly, the computer programs that reassembled him made some automatic adjustments to his brain.” Drs Sanderson and Kagin were lecturing an assembled group of specialists at an institute office in Los Angeles.
“So let me get this straight. Instead of his brain structure, the software assembled him back together according to what his brain should have been, a more standard structure,” an assistant asked.
“Yes, that is correct. The computer made certain decisions and reconstructed brain tissue accordingly,” said Dr. Kagin.
“What it says to me, is that anyone going through will be rebuilt according to a computer model, and not who they really are. In effect, you are killing the original to make a copy?”
“Well - not exactly. The whole thing will require further study. Anyone going through will need to sign waivers, and go on a strictly volunteer basis,” said Sanderson.
A laywer piped up from the back, “Make darn sure they know all the risks - and sign a pile of waivers. The institute could potentially be charged with murder if we don’t get this right!”
“True enough. We still have a lot of work to do,” said Dr. Sanderson, grimacing.
———————————————————————
Dr. Kagin thought to himself, you just can’t help it, you old fool. Always having to be the adventurer.
But there is only one way to understand the problems with the transport system firsthand, and that is to go through it. Here goes nothing!
“How do you feel, Doctor?” the voice came through a speaker in the chamber where Kagin sat in the transport chair.
“A bit funny in this one-piece suit, but otherwise fine. Let’s get on with it, shall we?”
“Okay, Dr., just checking. Just relax and try and be still. Initiating the process in 30 seconds now...”
The light flared up all around him, and then Dr. Kagin lost all awareness of what was happening. His molecules, atoms were being scanned, copied and stripped away at the speed of light, from multiple directions. He shrank and shrank, tissues being exposed and stripped away in milliseconds. Soon, he was nothing but encoded light, travelling through glass, on his way to Portland, Oregon. He arrived in moments, and was reconstructed, layer by layer in the special receiving chamber. A few moments later, he began to dream again.
“Dr Kagin? Can you hear me? Dr. Kagin, are you okay?”
His dreams, full of passions and animal lusts and desires, were rudely interrupted. Some damn fool, how dare he?
“Wha...What do you want?” He opened his eyes. Bright light, doctors. “Where am I?”
“You made it, Doc. You are in Portland. How do you feel?” Dr. Carlson was looking him over. He held up some fingers. “How many fingers?”
“Three, you dummy. Whatsamatter, don’t think I can count?” Kagin gave him a scowl.
The doctors in the room glanced at each other uneasily. “We are just seeing if you are okay.”
“Of course I’m okay, I made it through, didn’t I? Now would someone get that IV out of my arm and get me something to drink? I’m famished,” barked Kagin.
The medics slowly moved to comply, still surprised by this change in his demeanor. One whispered to another, “He was never like this before, was he?”
“Are you sure you won’t stay a little while longer, Doctor?” Dr. Sanderson looked at Kagin, concerned.
“I’ve stayed here for a whole day. My vitals are stable, and I feel fine. What more do you need?”
“Well, you will fill out the questionnaires? That is after all why you went through,” said Dr. Sanderson.
“Yes, of course. Give them to me, will you?” A medic moved quickly to comply.
“I’ll mail them to you, Sanderson. Now, if you please,” said Dr. Kagin.
“Okay, Doc. Be careful out there. I suggest you get back to LA in the next couple of days.”
“I’ll be going to the airport tonight - I just feel like getting out and getting some air. Thanks for your concern,” said Kagin, adopting a softer tone.
“Alright then. Take care.”
“Thanks, and thank you all for your efforts,” said Kagin, addressing the doctors and medics assembled in the room. He soon took his leave from the Institute building, and walked out onto the streets of Portland. He had some amazing new appetites, and it was time to satisfy them. All he needed was a suitable weapon, and some victims. He rapidly moved to acquire both.
———————————————————————
The meeting room had built up an aura of tension almost as thick as the odors of sweat and stale coffee.
But it was about to be concluded, finally. The moderator gaveled for silence, and then said:
“So, it is agreed then, that the State of California Penal Commission will commence experimental trials on ten inmates, who have given prior consent, for the purposes of particle-dispersal and reconstruction tube travel, for ethics modification testing? Can I have a motion?”
An assemblyman stood and read out a motion. “Second?” “I second” “How many in favor?” “How many against?” “The motion has passed! The program will commence upon the selection of ten suitable volunteers.”
———————————————————————
Renie Abelson stared at the strange apparatus facing him. What he saw were hundreds of protrusions all around his ‘chair’ and facing him was a small glass tube about 1 inch in diameter. They told him he was going to be sent through that? <>IMaybe this will be my execution, they just didn’t want to tell me outright. Well, no turning back now. I signed all the papers. If I make it, I get to go free - a commutation by the Governor himself.
“OK, Renie. Sit up straight and face the tube. Try and take a few breaths and relax. Just a few minutes to go.” He heard a distant whine rise in pitch, and more join in. Like a hundred dentist drills.
Shortly, the beams came on, the room lit up like the Sun, and Renie was disassembled before he knew what hit him. His essences were encoded on beams of light, and pumped through the specially-made fiber optic cable. He arrived in Portland, intact, five minutes later. Just not conscious. He slumped against the webbing. He was not breathing. The team rushed in, and administered CPR. Within minutes they had him revived, breathing, heart beating. He was whole again.
“Renie? Can you hear me?” Someone lifted one of his eyelids, and flashed a light in it.
“Hey - ow. Stop it. I am here.” Renie found himself conscious and all too aware. He opened his eyes, saw himself laying in a bed, with an IV in his arm, and surrounded by people. “Did I - looks like I made it?”
“Yes, indeed you did, Renie. You are whole, hale and hearty as far as we can tell. So how do you feel?” Dr. Sanderson flashed him a smile.
“Not too bad, Doc. I feel happy inside, but probably from the ride I just had - is that the right thing to call it? I feel good. But I could use a little water....”
The docs looked at each other, nodded. Yep, this one is changed alright.
———————————————————————
They sent more inmates through. The results were mostly what they had hoped. The meaner, more vicious death-row inmates came out the kindest, sweetest people one could hope for. But the last one, who was merely a convicted small-time drug dealer, came out the least changed. He was still a bit worldly. And he was showing some ill aftereffects.
“So Josh is slurring some words, and showing some motor deficiencies?” asked Dr. Carlson over the phone.
“Yes, he stutters some, and he stumbled about every fifth step. We need to keep him here awhile, I’m afraid.”
“Well, do so. I wonder if the beam calibrations are being adjusted properly. I think it is time to halt the experiments awhile to do a thorough check of all of the equipment.”
“That seems sensible to me. By the way, has Dr. Kagin showed up there yet? He said he was going to fly back a long time ago.”
“No - we haven’t heard from him yet. I thought he was staying on there with you guys,” said Sanderson.
“Uh oh. We need to find out what happened to him, ASAP. He was not acting normal when he left here.”
“Well, thanks for letting me know about this now. I wonder, should we call the police?”
“No - not yet. Let me hunt for him some here. Dang it, things were going so well.”
“Well, you better handle it, Carlson. We don’t need bad publicity now.”
“I will, I will. Better go now. Goodbye.” Dr. Carlson ended the call, and swore.
Meanwhile, Dr. Kagin was enjoying the sights, sounds and smells of Portland street life. He had been patient, biding his time, selecting a victim carefully. We didn’t get to use a knife like this in med school. But then I never got to do an autopsy on a live person before. He could already smell the blood, hear the screams, and this gave him an erection. His intended victim, a small girl, ran and skipped away down a street. He followed from a distance, figuring out the best place to do his thing.
There - that is a good spot. A narrow alley, just ahead. He sped up his pace, getting right up behind the girl. He would grab her and whisk her into the alley. Just then, he heard a police car making those electronic beeps. Turning to look, he saw someone inside the car waving at him. Darn it - better hide the knife.
“Are you Dr. Jonas Kagin? Please come over here, sir.” The cop was polite but firm, waving him over. Kagin shuffled over to the police car. “Sir, the institute called us and they are very concerned.”
“I’m fine, officer. Thank you for your concern, but I feel fine. Really.” Kagin had a large knife shoved in his back pocket, hoping they wouldn’t see it. The cops looked at each other, then one said, “Well.. they want you to call them immediately, they are very concerned.”
“I will, officer, I promise. Thank you for your concern, but I must be going.” Kagin turned to walk away. One of the cops saw something in his pocket. “Where are you going?” Kagin began walking away swiftly.
“Hey! Dr. Kagin! Stop.” He broke into a run. The cop began chattering into his radio, and they moved to follow him. The little girl had long since moved on, oblivious to her sudden good fortune.
The car slowed, and one policeman jumped out to give chase. They shortly had Kagin collared and cuffed - he didn’t move as fast as he would have liked. “It’s back to the office with you, doc. What are you carrying around this knife for?”
———————————————————————
Dr. Sanderson waved a copy of the LA Times at the assembled board of the Institute, in consternation.
“It’s all here. The device particulars, the agreement with the governor’s office. Even the unintended effects of the device. Look at this headline!” He pointed to the large, bold words: New Transportation System Reforms Criminals. “My phone has been ringing all day. The Governor is livid.”
One of the senior doctors on the board, named Livingston, said, “This is terrible. We will probably be investigated up, down and sideways.” Another piped up, “So who talked? That is what I would like to know.”
“Me too, Parker. Me too.” Sanderson fixed him with a glare that made him sit back. Sanderson straightened up, and looked over the entire group of men and women, mostly doctors. And said, “I’m suspending the program. We have sent through eight of the volunteers anyway. I would suggest that everyone be ready for phone calls from the press, if you haven’t already gotten them. And please, please - refer all questions to me or Dr. Carlson. That is our job. Thank you.” Dr. Sanderson sat down. Then, the room erupted.
———————————————————————
Dr. Kagin sat in the busy police precinct office, gazing around. An officer finished typing his report, turned to him and said, “one of your colleagues is coming down to pick you up.”
“I told you, I am perfectly fine. I can walk back to the institute from here!”
“That is not what they said; you need to be checked out further, doc.”
Kagin stood up, and yelled, “This is outrageous! I demand that you let me go! You can’t hold me!”
“If you don’t shut up, we are going to have to put you in a cell...” the cop didn’t get a chance to finish. Kagin grabbed him by the shirt and hit him, knocking him over. Some other cops ran over to help, and Kagin was restrained. “Take him to a cell! Damn crazy idiot.” They did so, pushing him in a common holding cell and slamming the door shut.
Dr. Kagin stood a moment, shook himself, and then looked around. He perched himself down on a bed with a grimy mattress, and tried to meditate some. A man was seated across the way in the large holding area. He peered at Kagin, then said, “Say, aren’t you one of those eggheads at the Institute? Yeah, I recognize you.”
Kagin said, “Excuse me, but I don’t believe I know you.”
“Oh yes you do. You bastards cheated me out of a sentence commutation. I was going to be number nine through that tube of yours, and you went and canceled the program on me.” The man approached Kagin and stood over him, fists clenched.
“I don’t know you! Get the hell away from me!” Kagin barked. The man grabbed Kagin by the shirt to lift him up. Kagin reacted as only his changed self could, by hitting the man in the face. They then went at each other ferociously, hitting, grabbing, even biting. The two cops standing outside the wire-cage cell were going to intervene, eventually - but they wanted to see the outcome of this. It wasn’t every day that two guinea pigs from the Institute got into a fight right under their noses.
Finally, when Kagin had the other man beaten unconscious, they decided it was time to stop things. It took three policemen to restrain him. His victim ended up in a coma anyway. Eventually, Dr. Kagin had to be committed to an institution for the criminally insane.
The institute decommissioned the tube transport system, and sold the component parts for scrap. Drs. Sanderson and Carlson were brought up for malpractice charges in the state of California, but managed to escape with fines and probation. Several of the volunteers that went through did live happy and productive lives. Josh, the last one through, ended up going back to prison on a burglary charge, and died in a riot the very next year. No one ever tried to use fiber optics to send people long distance again.
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