Aeorul Cycle

“An Experiment”
June 27th, 2034
“All right, Senator. You’ll be back to normal in a few days.” The wizened old man nodded agreeably and closed his eyes. He felt the needle slide into his arm and moved not a muscle as the fluid spread through his veins. He sighed and relaxed into the bed. The sounds, smells, and feelings gradually ceased to exist while the soft curtain of blackness settled around him. “Goodnight, Senator.” Finally, his thoughts subsided into nothingness.

Dr. Milton Kimes studied the man sitting in front of him. The white hair curled wildly around his head and lines from thousands of smiles and laughs creased his face. One of the most important political figures in the U.S., and Dr. Kimes was glad the surgery had succeeded. “So, how are you feeling, Senator?” The old man frowned and cocked his head.
“My memories are muddled. I remember events that make no sense.” Dr. Kimes nodded sympathetically.
“That is understandable. We downloaded the memories left uneaten by the tumor onto a disk before transplanting the fresh brain. Your thoughts and feelings are still settling into the new area. Because this is unexplored territory, we’re assuming that you’ll be back to normal in about a month. You still have a lot of adjusting to do.” Senator Prade shook his head.
“It feels strange. I’m used to feeling a burning pressure point in my head; not having it feels abnormal now.” Senator Prade rubbed the back of his head.
“Well, the tumor resided in your hippocampus, one of the brain structures that help institute all your memories. Both your short and long-term memories were being severely deleted the bigger your tumor grew. We downloaded everything left behind and tried to add some extra events that we believe may have been erased by the consuming tumor. Your new brain is perfect in structure and health, and it should last for the rest of your hopefully long life,” Dr. Kimes leaned forward and shook the senator’s hand, “It’s time for your therapy session. I’ll be back to check up on you.” Without pausing to hear Senator Prade’s reply, he walked out of the room and shut the door behind him. The senator sighed and settled back onto his bed and waited for the therapist to arrive.

“What do you remember?” The young woman leaned forward intently and stared into his eyes. The old man felt her blur before him. He frowned.
“I discovered my brain tumor seven months ago and went to Milton Kimes. He proposed experimenting a brain transplant. I surrendered to him.” Sharlee wrote furiously onto the paper.
“Senator Prade, there are still some concerns about your health. Yes, your memory is impeccable, but there are the questions whether or not you have a soul and if you will know how to react after being reintroduced into society.” For a brief moment, the senator silently chewed on this disturbing piece of information.
“Sharlee, I believe I am just as normal as any other person inhabiting the Earth. In fact, I also believe that I can still contribute positively to our nation’s future.” The young lady stared at him intently.
“Senator, I may believe you, but many will not,” she wrote nothing in her notes, “I believe our session is over.”

Prade drove toward the White House. He had been free for three days and already he felt the urge to take back his duties as a United States Senator. He felt happy, but strangely so, it seemed almost as if a remote control had turned on a 'happy' button. It didn’t feel genuine. He remembered his past, his present, and his desires for the future. He was like any other human being: with feelings and hopes. Yet, he felt like he was running on autopilot. His thoughts were interrupted at the red light. Stopping, he waited. Turning at the green, he entered the White House private parking. Suddenly, to his horror, he noticed a multitude of reporters waiting on the steps. As soon as he stepped out, the reporters rushed to him and stuck out their microphones. The old man lowered his head and pushed his way up the stairs, pushing microphones and cameras out of his way. Security came a few seconds late and handily took care of the problem. As he stepped into the building, the secretary at the desk looked up in bewilderment.
“Senator Prade! You weren’t to be expected back for several more hours!” He ignored her and continued on down the hallway. Not to be brushed aside, the secretary followed at a respectful distance. “I will inform the President of your arrival of course, shall I arrange a meeting?” He nodded briefly before shutting his office door in her face. He gave a loud sigh in relief and rested his forehead against the wooden door. To his surprise, he heard a man clear his throat behind him.
“Jonathan Prade… what are you doing here so early?” Chuckling as he turned around, the senator smiled at the man seated leisurely in the chair behind the desk. He thought before answering the question.
“Mr. President, I firmly assure you that if you had been in a hospital bed for three months, you too would be aching to get back to the busy life. It’s amazing what lying prone for that amount of time can do to your will to work.” The man in the chair laughed. He gestured for Jonathan to sit down in another chair.
“Jon, I want you to tell me everything.” That was all he said. He leaned forward and stared intently at the senator, waiting for a response. Thousands of replies raced through Jon’s head. This was the first time someone had asked him what had happened in the actual experiment. To his surprise, he found himself prepared to answer.
“Mr. President, nine months ago I began to feel extreme pressure at the back of my head. Headaches strong enough to knock me down were constant. Foolishly, I went to the doctor late, believing a good sleep would cure it. An x-ray was taken and a brain tumor was found. No previous brain transplant had ever been attempted, so hopes of living were remote. I was recommended to Dr. Milton Kimes, a surgeon who had been studying the brain for several years and believed to know a way to cure tumors and other brain disorders. I went and talked to him, and he gave me a lot to think about. He proposed a complete brain transplant. Bouncing off of the success of permanent use of bionic organs, he had created a ‘bionic brain,’ so to speak. Due to the law preventing any research or experimentation in harvesting and reattaching human brains several years before in 2022, he chose the alternative option of creating a brain from scratch. He believed that this brain of his was completely capable of functioning just like any natural brain and showed me some of his statistics. So… I agreed to it. Quickly, he set a date and the surgery took place. It took a while to recuperate, but soon I was feeling just the same as usual. There are some risks though; risks I’m willing to accept.”
“What kind of risks?”
“He’s afraid that gradually over time, my body will label the brain as foreign and attack it. If that happens it, I will die quickly. Another thing is that people, not just citizens, but also politicians, have been proposing the belief that creating a bionic brain is just like cloning a man, just not the whole body. Since the brain is what makes the body work, it would be exactly the same as cloning- to them. Others think that I have not fully gotten my memories back; that the government believed me dangerous in knowing too much about some issue and had a certain part of my memory wiped out. Silly of course.”
“Jon, do you remember anything about the Aeorul Cycle?” The senator bit on his lip, thinking hard and drawing up a blank.
“No, should I?” Now the president was staring at him, and he didn’t at all like what he saw in his expression. What was the Aeorul Cycle?
As if right on schedule, the annoying secretary entered. “Oh Mr. President! I was looking for you. You have a meeting with the governor of Kentucky right now. Please follow me.” Nodding at Prade, the President stood and walked out. Jonathan Prade stared at the closed door for a long time.