| Sun: Libra | Moon: Leo | Mercury: Libra | Venus: Scorpio | Mars: Scorpio | Jupiter: Pisces Rx | Saturn: Libra | Uranus: Pisces Rx |
Neptune: Aquarius Rx | Pluto: Capricorn |
Subject 651
7:10AM
A spherical device floated above a magnetic base. At sunrise, it chimed a series of soft notes, signaling for Subject 651 to begin her day. Tightly nestled in the corner bed of a tidy, modular room, she opened her eyes. The hovering ball continued to chime as her world came into focus.
Morning light crept in from the west-facing window, which stretched from floor to ceiling, bouncing from the treetops framing the slanted shadow of the triangular building. Nightlights under the cabinets and bed frame began to fade slower than the eye could notice.
“Good morning, Subject Six Five One,” said a digitized voice emitting from the sphere, which she had learned was called a Gecko. “The time is now seven hundred hours and ten minutes.”
“Good morning,” she mumbled. She had to force herself to acknowledge the mechanical creature, otherwise it would continue its humming.
“Today is Sunday, October third, two-thousand and ten. The high today is fifty-four degrees Fahrenheit, the low is thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit.” The Gecko produced a velvety light blue intended to help her become energized. It was not terribly effective that morning. “Current indoor temperature is seventy-two degrees. You slept for eight hours and fourteen minutes. You had five sleep cycles. Sleep quality was average. Heart rate is sixty-five. Please provide blood sample.”
“Another cold day.” Subject 651 drowsily sat up and laid out her arm. She connected a small device to her wrist and flinched at the prick.
“Your blood glucose level is sixty-four. You should eat soon,” said the Gecko, now producing a green glow. “Potassium level is below range. Please take a supplement this morning.”
A pill hit a sterile metal tray in the kitchenette a few feet away from the bed. “A supplement this morning,” she sleepily repeated as she stared at the window. “Gecko, can you let more light in?”
The Gecko bleeped and stopped glowing. In a flash, the window shifted from a gray tint to full transparency, allowing the pink light to fill her room and revealing a sprawling view of the North Woods. Once the task was complete, the Gecko resumed its standard color-shifting light patterns. Soft yellow spilled from its sides in waves.
“Please charge the bug,” it said.
She connected a tiny, thin cable to another device around her wrist. The bug monitored her heart rate, body temperature, step count, breath rate, location, and elevation. The tiny thing was, quite literally, aware of her every move.
“Subject Six Five One, based on your nutrient profile, this morning you should have two eggs, one half cup of blueberries, and one banana.”
“Is that so?” She pulled herself out of bed and clumsily walked to the kitchenette, noticing her light-headedness.
“Yes,” the Gecko answered.
“Can we have coffee?”
“Coffee approved, but none for me, thanks,” it said, having apparently been programmed by someone with a sense of humor. There was a whirring sound from the coffee maker next to the sink, followed by the sound of grinding beans, then more whirring, and finally trickling liquid. “Coffee confirmed.”
Within ten minutes, she was resting at the kitchenette island drinking warm espresso, eating a clumsily prepared breakfast, and watching the trees become greener as the morning brightened.
“It’s seven hundred hours and thirty minutes, Subject Six Five One. Time to shower,” said the Gecko. Then, from a small room behind her bed began the sound of running water and the humming of an exhaust fan. “Water temperature is one-hundred-two degrees Fahrenheit.”
She entered a softly lit, stone-tiled room where a stream of lightly pressured water sprayed from a wide, boxy showerhead. Cool lights painted the walls in fluctuating liquid patterns emitted from a cube fixed to the ceiling.
“Please disrobe and step on the scale.” The Gecko’s robotic voice echoed through speakers in the wall. She removed a heather-gray nightshirt—the number 651 stenciled on the back—and matching pair of shorts. A digital scale in the corner of the room displayed her weight on a small screen.
“One hundred and sixty-two point two pounds,” said the Gecko through the speakers. “Your weight is stable. You have gained point zero two pounds since yesterday.”
Subject 651 didn’t love that remark. “You know, I did just have breakfast and a lot of coffee.”
The Gecko misunderstood. “Additional coffee not approved.”
651 shrugged; she was not prepared to argue with a robot that morning. She entered the shower and scrubbed herself clean using a lavender and peppermint soap she had received as a welcome gift from Subject 36 at the Saturday market the previous day.
Once dried, she pulled a white, cotton jumpsuit with black trim over her shoulders, tugged the zipper closed in the front, and tightened the garment so the number 651 displayed just above her heart.
The other subjects often joked that the uniforms made them look ready for a tennis match. Subject 651 didn’t quite understand what they meant. On the back, a black emblem resembling the glyph of Jupiter encased within a circle rested below her neck. It was an emblem seen throughout the facility in all sorts of places and formats, but most notably, it was on the uniform of every subject and staff member. It was the logo of the LeNoir Foundation, according to the researchers.
Footwear was always required on the facility grounds outside of their rooms; the only exceptions were swimming and yoga. Subjects were given long, black boots with cushioned kneepads designed to make gardening more comfortable. They were also issued black gloves for the same purpose. She decided to skip the gloves that day since she wouldn’t be gardening, but when she did wear them, they stretched all the way up to the top of her elbows and wrapped over a few times just underneath her ropey upper arms. She secured her damp, messy curls in a tight headband and pulled her boots up over her knees.
At 8:50, she left her room and strolled down a hall lined with doors on one side and an open view of the first-floor garden below on the opposite. Behind each door was a room occupied by another subject; their number displayed on the front. There must have been hundreds at the facility, and she knew for certain there were many before her that had come and gone.
Her own arrival was foggy in her mind, but she didn’t dwell. Trying to recall anything before the day she woke up was wasted energy. Subject 651, along with the other subjects in the research, suffered from severe amnesia. According to the chatter she had picked up during her short time there, the researchers were picky about who they chose to participate. All subjects had to fall into a certain age group when they arrived, and none could be related. Many of them came from different countries and were a variety of ethnicities.
She reached the south staircase, an elaborate connection of balconies and platforms suspended above the trees. Along the way, she passed subjects 171 and 249, who smiled and waved. 171 carried a basket of blackberries, likely to trade at the next Saturday market.
All research participants lived inside a meticulously cared-for, seven-story building they referred to as the Pyramid of Glass. It hid among the trees of the dense North Woods somewhere in the United States. They knew of a world beyond the walls of the pyramid, and they spoke of it often. From the rumors that circulated, it was a world that was different from what they were experiencing—a world of danger, fear, disease, cruelty, and greed. They often mused on how lucky they were to be there; safe, warm, and provided with care beyond anything they would find at a hospital.
Some subjects even claimed the research itself as a source of intrigue. The LeNoir Foundation’s efforts were infamous among psychology communities and conspiracy theorists alike, the latter of whom were rumored to camp near the building with the hopes of catching something scandalous. According to staff, stories of all sorts swirled within the small towns nearby. Talk of devil worship, slavery, sex cults, even the idea that they were hiding aliens were among the hottest topics breezing through the neighboring cities. The researchers laughed at the theories.
Subject 651 was indifferent to any skepticism regarding the integrity of the research, even when the staff refused to share any information with her about where she had come from, or if she had consented to participate in the first place. They offered crafted and carefully delivered reasons why they could not divulge information, the most convincing of which was that it was crucial she remembered any significant life events naturally. It made sense; her mind, being a blank canvas, could be easily influenced and inaccurate memories planted if the informant had malicious intent. That would both corrupt the research and put her through unnecessary emotional distress. That is what she was told the day she woke up by the man in the lab coat, whose name she never caught.
She had also picked up, through eavesdropping in the plaza café in the center of the garden, that most of the subjects didn’t last through the research for more than two years. It was commonplace for subjects to be suddenly absent with no warning, never having a chance to say goodbye. None of them knew when their time at the research would end. In rare cases, the subjects became staff members, assisting the scientists and contributing to the research. Those that remained seemed never to have recovered the memories of their lives before. It wasn’t clear if any of them spoke to family and friends outside, but all subjects that 651 had ever asked did not remember their families at all. She was no exception.
She had also picked up, through eavesdropping in the plaza café in the center of the garden, that most of the subjects didn’t last through the research for more than two years. It was commonplace for subjects to be suddenly absent with no warning, never having a chance to say goodbye. None of them knew when their time at the research would end. In rare cases, the subjects became staff members, assisting the scientists and contributing to the research. Those that remained seemed never to have recovered the memories of their lives before. It wasn’t clear if any of them spoke to family and friends outside, but all subjects that 651 had ever asked did not remember their families at all. She was no exception.
She arrived in the garden and strolled through the colorful foliage that decorated the grounds. Japanese boxwood bushes lined stone pathways spread outside of the center plaza; a peaceful place where subjects meditated, decompressed, and lounged throughout the day. The entire first floor garden functioned as a greenhouse. Encased inside thick windows; the nearly tropical, humid air was a stark contrast to the frigid Midwest winter windchills that sent gusts against the sides of the structure. Thanks to the sugar-coated descriptions of winter from the others, Subject 651 looked forward to watching the soft snowfall from her cozy room. While she had no memories of snow, the thought of watching it brought her excitement.
A waterfall gushing from atop the colorfully landscaped balconies of the sixth floor loudly spilled its contents into an oversized basin at the north end, guarded by an elaborate maze that made it nearly inaccessible to subjects unless they braved navigating its long, narrow, winding pathways. The basin split into two creeks that ran the perimeter of the square building and hugged the entire garden before meeting at the south, where the huge windows caught the sunlight, creating an idyllic spot for natural pools. Each basin glowed, illuminated by colored lights at the bottom, that were programmed to slowly adjust their hue throughout each season. It was a beautiful display, especially in the twilight hours, when subjects mingled throughout the sixth-floor balconies, admiring the colors below and gazing at the treetops painted in nectarine sunsets beyond the windows.