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Something distracts you - a noise, perhaps a branch tapping against a window - and when you look back you suddenly don't know where you are. Everything seems strange; for a moment you can't even remember what it was you were doing just a second ago.
And then everything snaps back into place. You are sitting in your own living room, in your favorite chair, and you chuckle to think how a place so familiar could seem strange, even for a moment. The French have a word for this experience, you think: jamais vu, the opposite of déjà vu.
A cup of coffee sits by your elbow, and sunlight is streaming in the window. It must be morning; you had better get hustling or you'll be late for work. You begin to stand up, then, with a sudden start, remember that you don't have to. The company you used to work for had been bought out by a conglomerate - was it really only last week? You were one of the whiz kids in research and development, but the conglomerate sold off the company's assets and the whole R&D division was cut back. Your department, biology and pharmaceuticals, was shut down completely. Not that it was a loss to you personally. They'd let you go with a golden handshake, a separation settlement large enough to ensure that, if you wanted, you need never work again.
The day stretches out ahead of you, free and clear. There is nothing you have to do, no place you have to be. You are free of the tyranny of the time clock.
And then, just as you start to relax, you realize there is nothing you particularly want to do, either. Remember? Your longtime lover walked away last month; the parting was cordial, but irrevocable. The idea of pick-ups and singles bars always did nauseate you, and your old friends are scattered far away. You settle back, confused and puzzled.
Your eyes drop down to the table, and you see the book. You smile. Things are not all bad. The book is a new one by your favorite author. The book you'd heard so much about but hadn't had time to read because your job kept you so busy. A Sky of Shattered Diamonds. Now you have time for it. The cover is worn; somehow you must have found a copy in the used bookstore. You sit down and flip it open. In an instant you're swept away.
The insistent ringing of the doorbell interrupts you. You come out of the novel slowly, reluctant to give up the vivid world of Diamonds. Your mind is still reeling from the book. The wonder of it, the incredible panorama of experience! What an adventure!
You're struck by the blast of cold air as you open the door. Wasn't it just spring? But there is snow on the ground. Peculiar how time flies when you're not paying attention.
At the door is a pizza delivery boy, shivering slightly in the cold. He's come to the wrong house; you didn't order a pizza. But the name on the order slip is yours, and the pizza has all your favorite toppings. Suddenly you realize how hungry you are and just how good that pizza smells. You start to search for money to pay him, but the delivery boy smiles and says it's on your account.
You'd like to read as you eat, but hold yourself back. You want to stretch out the book as long as you can, savor it like a fine wine, rolling it over on your tongue. You wish the book, and the afternoon you'll spend reading it, would never end.
Instead, while eating you think back on your research. Your team was hot on the trail of a cure for Alzheimer's disease; another year and you might have had it. You'd mapped out the degradation mechanism, a subtle depolarization of the neural fibers; last week your team completed tests on a drug that would mimic the symptoms in chimpanzees. Now your cure will never be developed. These days there is no profit in developing new drugs; the time and expense of FDA approval and the potential for devastating lawsuits are far too high for any risk-conscious executive.
You shake your head at the folly of it all, eat the last piece of pizza, and return to a brighter, more vivid world.
It's evening by the time you finish. Tears stream down your cheeks, and your breath comes in short gasps. You're emotionally exhausted. Books like this are what makes life worth living. The book calls for a celebration, so you decide to go out for a steak dinner. You eat slowly, still half immersed in the intense reality of Shattered Diamonds. You head home feeling fat and satisfied. If only every day could be like this!
A tear leaks out of your eye. You'll reread it, of course, over and over, but never again with quite the same intensity or joy of discovery as today.
After dinner you go jogging, stretch your muscles after a long day. The wintry air feels good against your skin. When you get back, you head for the fridge. Ahead of you stretches the world of reality, day after pointless day, made even dimmer seen in the afterglow of Diamonds. But, for today at least, nothing can shatter your good spirits.
In the refrigerator there is nothing to drink. It is packed from front to back with vials of clear fluid. They're quite familiar; you must have taken them from work your last day (funny you don't remember your last day of work. You'd think you ought to remember that). You look around, and, yes, there are the syringes. By the syringes is a notepad. In slightly faded felt-tip ink is a note in your own handwriting: "Twenty-four hours: 0.41 cc."
The drug is familiar, yes. The one you helped develop, the one that creates one of the symptoms of Alzheimers disease, selective removal of recent memory. What else could it be?
You pick up the phone to place the pizza order for tomorrow. When you hear the voice answer, you can faintly hear him shout to someone in the background "the usual."
All in all, you can't think of a thing you'd want to change.
How long had it been? A year? A decade? It doesn't matter. You make the injection and lie down to sleep, dreaming of shattered diamonds.
Geoffrey A. Landis is a research scientist at the Ohio Aerospace Institute in Brook Park, Ohio. He is also a Hugo- and Nebula-Award-winning science fiction writer.
Caleb Brown is an illustrator and biologist living in Montana. By day he drives a delivery van, and by night he draws pictures with his computer.
Center for the Study of Science Fiction - includes critical essays about science fiction, an annotated list of the most important works in the history of the genre, and links to other science fiction sites.
Alzheimer Research Forum - focuses on current issues related to Alzheimer's disease research. See also the HMS Beagle Review of the site.
Alzheimer Web Home Page - links to research articles, conferences, grants, patents, drug therapy, and other related sites.
Alzheimer's Disease: Unraveling the Mystery - information for lay people who are interested in research on Alzheimer's disease. Maintained by the National Institute on Aging and the National Institutes of Health.
