A loud buzzer erupted in the lab, destroying the hypnotic humming of the computers. He arose slowly, self-consciously attempting not to stagger perceptibly, and walked towards the intercom to be greeted by an emotionless voice.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Dr. Leyans, but there is a man here by the name of Daniel Lantz who claims you’ve sent for him.”

“That’s right, Sergeant, I have. Please escort him in.”

“Sir, he lacks appropriate clearance. I cannot allow him into the compound.”

“I’m clearing him now, Sergeant,” Ken retorted, not attempting to hide his annoyance. “Let him in at once.”

“But sir,” the Sergeant began, “I have strict orders that no one is to be admitted without proper clearance without the express authorization of General Worthing.” The man was insistent, but a tone of nervous annoyance was also detectable in his voice. Waking the general at 0215 hours was not something he cared to do; neither did he wish to incur the ire of the head of a project as important as this must be, judging by all the extensive security surrounding it--security and secrecy unlike anything he’d seen in his twenty-five years of service.

“Sergeant,” Ken interrupted impatiently, “I am the head of this project, not General Worthing. His sole responsibility is the same as yours, to ensure my safety and to secure my project. Mr. Lantz has information I need immediately that is crucial to that which is your duty to guard. If you delay me for one more minute, I promise you that both you and General Worthing can kiss your careers good-bye. Am I making myself perfectly clear?”

“Yes sir,” came the somewhat muffled response.

“Please escort Mr. Lantz to the lab immediately.” With that, Ken turned towards the locked vault-like steel doors and punched in the access code to open them. He felt a little ashamed of his heavy-handed treatment of Sergeant Ellis, a man he had grown to know and like; but he simply did not have time to be diplomatic or overly concerned over a man’s hurt feelings, not when his life depended on what would transpire within the next few hours.

A minute later, the heavy steel door slowly opened outwards. Two military men guarding the door snapped to attention on the outside as Dr. Leyans walked out to meet his friend. Shortly thereafter, he saw Dan being escorted by a somber Sergeant.

“Thank you, Sergeant,” Ken said with a thin smile, “And don’t worry, the surveillance tape of our conversation is on the record, and I take full responsibility for Mr. Lantz’s presence here.”

“That you do, sir” the Sergeant retorted, stiffly doing an about-face, and heading away at a brisk pace.

“Thanks for coming, Dan,” Ken began, turning to his friend and giving him a quick embrace. “I’m sorry to put you through this; you’ll get a full explanation in a minute.” With that, Ken signaled his friend to precede him inside. After both men had entered, Ken again punched in a code and the door slid shut, closing with a final clanging sound which sent a slight shiver down Dan’s spine.

“What the hell is this all about?” Dan demanded no sooner than the door was sealed, nervous anticipation and concern clearly detectable in his tone.

“That is a long and complicated story. But I’ll try to keep it brief. Please, come in and make yourself comfortable; this will take a while.” Both men moved towards a table in the corner of the expansive laboratory. As they walked, the immensity of the place with its myriad electronic equipment began to sink in for Dan. He let out an unconscious, low whistle. “God, what is this place?” he asked with a tone that clearly evidenced a mixture of surprise, curiosity, and awe. He recognized some of the equipment immediately, namely mainframes and the ubiquitous video display terminals. Yet, most of the electronic paraphernalia was completely foreign to him. For the most part it consisted of monolithic metal structures with LED read‑outs and flashing lights; the enormous lab was well lit, almost painfully so, with white halogen light bouncing off the myriad chrome counter tops and milk-white high gloss laminated cabinet surfaces. The facility was spotless, anesthetized to the point of completely eradicating all odors; only the faint scent of ozone could be sensed, barely perceptible. Even the sounds seemed clean--merely white noise, a soothing hum at an almost subliminal level. The general effect, after the initial disorientation caused mostly by an almost oppressive sense of immenseness, made Dan uneasy in a way he could not have explained were he even fully aware of it.

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“This, dear friend, is the end result of my life’s work. You know what I have been working on for the past 15 years, but only in a superficial way. Until a few hours ago, this place stood for hope, a self-made vehicle for redemption. Now ...” Ken’s voice trailed off to a nearly inaudible whimper.” Now, it is a tomb.”

“What the blazes do you mean? What is this place, and what the bloody hell are you talking about?”

Ken sighed, inhaled deeply, and exhaled slowly, mechanically reaching for another snifter for his friend and pouring out a generous serving of the precious brandy after first opening a second bottle, even though there was still brandy I n the bottle he had been pouring for himself, groping for words and a place to begin what he knew would be an explanation difficult to accept.

“I haven’t told you exactly what it is that I have been working on because it is classified information, and because, even if it were not, it would be dangerous for you to know it.”

“I can see it’s heavy-duty stuff. This damned place is a fortress.” I had no idea this lab was still operational.

“To put it simply, I am working on a project which has made it possible to relive one’s past. I can synthesize memories from brain impulses, translate them into code which the computer can manipulate and inject it back into the brain so that the subject actually relives them.”

“That’s . . . fantastic,” Dan interrupted excitedly. “Does it really work?”

“Yes and no. I have incontrovertible evidence that the process works, but the biochemical changes necessary to effectuate the process in conjunction with the physical symbiotic link‑up to the computers is not reversible at this time.”

“What do you mean by ‘not reversible’“?

Ken shuddered almost imperceptibly and answered in a low tone: “I mean you can’t cut the link without some . . . unacceptable consequences.”

“You mean that anyone who gets hooked up to your machine can’t come out of the . . . dream?”

“Basically, yes. Although your characterization of the experience as a dream is inaccurate. The programming is so complex that the person linked with the system literally relives past experiences, or whatever scenario, real or imagined, we inject. You can think of it as a dream, but a dream so very real that it is literally indistinguishable from reality. The effect is not some blurry, black and white fleeting representation, as with most dreams, but a true-life experience. Every nuance of taste, smell, touch, sound and sight are re-experienced; every feeling and thought relived without the awareness that it is other than reality.”

“God,” Dan interrupted. Can you imagine what people would pay to relive a particularly pleasant experience at will? To be with a loved one long dead? To recapture lost youth? This has to be among the greatest inventions of our time. Programmable dreams and truly attainable fantasies!”

“Yes, the potential uses of my invention are many, including the obvious commercial ones. But it’s all a moot point now.”

“What do you mean?”

“My father has just informed me that funding for this program has been cut. I expect the prototype will be dismantled by tomorrow—perhaps the whole lab.”

“But why?” Dan asked in disbelief. “Just because you haven’t perfected it yet? I know you said that once a person gets hooked up to the system he can’t be disconnected, but that must be something you could eventually fix . . .”

“It’s not just that, Dan. I’ve lost three colleagues who voluntarily underwent the link-up. The Senate simply felt it is too dangerous to be allowed to continue. Also, the climate has changed in Washington. Pricey research is out--especially when requested by an intelligence agency known to insiders for its black ops. The deaths of my staff members was simply the last straw that those opposed to the project needed to finally destroy it. I can’t really fully blame them. In the wrong hands, the Phoenix Project could be potentially more dangerous than nuclear weapons.”

“You should never have gone to the government with this. You could have developed it in any major university, or even through private industry.”

“No, I needed my dad’s clout to even get the government to listen to my crackpot notions. And no corporation on earth could have provided the enormous capital needed for the research and development with no guarantee it would work. At any rate, that’s all immaterial now. The real reason I asked you to come is that I have made a decision that I need to speak with you about before I can carry it out.”

“I know you well enough to know that I’m not going to like this,” Dan said, picking up his snifter, swirling the amber liquid slowly, absent‑mindedly, and downing half of its content in a single gulp. It could have been brandy, vodka, or kerosene; Dan would not have noticed the difference. He was preparing himself for whatever it was that Ken had brought him here for. He cleared his mind of everything and concentrated on his friend, waiting to do whatever was asked of him. Ken refreshed their drinks saying “This is your final one. I need you clear headed. Clarity for me is of secondary importance at this time.” He smiled at Ken, then sat back in his chair, warming his brandy in his hand, and exhaling a soft sigh as he resumed speaking.

“Let me tell you straight out why I asked you to come, and we’ll take it from there. I must link up with the system tonight, while it is still possible, and I need you to assist me with the process.”