Lock In (Lock In, #1)(25)

Now it was Wisson’s turn to shoot his husband a look, and rightly so. There was no way this discussion was not going to get awkward, fast.

But before I could answer, Buchold continued on. “We’ve been working on research to unlock Haden’s sufferers,” he said. “Not to just simulate eating but to give Hadens back the basic body integrity to do things like chew and swallow. To free their bodies and bring them back—”

“Bring us back from what, exactly?” Hubbard said. “From a community of five million people in the U.S. and forty million worldwide? From an emerging culture that interacts with but is independent of the physical world, with its own concerns, interests, and economy? You’re aware that a large number of Hadens have no memory of the physical world at all, aren’t you?” Hubbard pointed at me. “Chris here experienced lock in at two years old. What do you remember from being two, Jim?”

I glanced over to Dad but he was engaged in a side discussion with Carole Lamb and my mother. He was going to be no help here.

“You’re missing the point,” Buchold said. “What we’re trying to offer is options. The ability to break free of the physical constraints Hadens live with daily.”

“Do I look constrained to you?” Hubbard said. “Does Chris?”

“I’m right here, guys,” I said.

“Then tell me, do you feel constrained?” Hubbard asked me.

“Not really,” I admitted. “But then, as you said, I don’t have much basis for comparison.”

“I do,” Hubbard said. “I was twenty-five when I was locked in. The things I’ve done since then are things any person could do. That any person would want to do.”

“You just have to borrow someone else’s body to do them,” Buchold said.

Hubbard smiled, showing his teeth. “I don’t borrow someone else’s body to pretend I don’t have Haden’s, Jim,” he said. “I borrow someone else’s body because otherwise there’s a certain percentage of people who forget I’m a person.”

“All the more reason for a cure,” Buchold said.

“No,” Hubbard said. “Making people change because you can’t deal with who they are isn’t how it’s supposed to be done. What needs to be done is for people to pull their heads out of their asses. You say ‘cure.’ I hear ‘you’re not human enough.’”

“Oh, come on,” Buchold said. “Don’t get on that horse with me, Hubbard. No one’s saying that and you know it.”

“Do I?” Hubbard said. “Here’s something to think about, Jim. Right now, neural networks and threeps and all the innovations that came out of the Haden Research Initiative Act have been kept to the benefit of Hadens. So far the FDA has only approved them for Hadens. But paraplegics and quadriplegics can benefit from threeps. So can other Americans with mobility issues. So can older Americans whose bodies are failing them in one way or another.”

“The FDA has kept threeps to Haden’s victims because jamming a second brain into your head is inherently dangerous,” Buchold said. “You do it if you have no other choice.”

“But everyone else should still have that choice,” Hubbard said. “And now, finally, they’re going to get access to these technologies. Among every other thing it does, Abrams-Kettering sets a pathway to getting these technologies out to more people. More Americans will be using these technologies in the future. Millions more. When they do, Jim, are you going to dismiss and belittle them, too?”

“I don’t think you’re hearing what I’m saying,” Buchold said.

“I’m hearing it just fine,” Hubbard said. “I want you to hear that what I hear sounds like bigotry.”

“Jesus,” Buchold said. “Now you sound like that goddamn Cassandra Bell woman.”

“Oh, man,” I said.

“What?” Buchold said, turning to me.

“Uh,” I said.

“Chris doesn’t want to tell you that my Integrator for the evening is Nicholas Bell, Cassandra Bell’s older brother,” Hubbard said. “I on the other hand don’t have a problem letting you know that.”

Buchold stared at Hubbard silently for a moment. Then: “You have got to be f*cking—”

“Jim,” Wisson said, interrupting.

“Everything all right?” Dad asked. His attention had finally returned to our end of the table.

“Everything’s fine, Dad,” I said. “But I think Jim has a couple of questions that might be best asked to you directly. If Carole doesn’t mind swapping seats with him for a bit that would be lovely.”

“Of course not,” Lamb said.

“Excellent,” I said, and looked over to Buchold, hoping he would take the hint, or at least be grateful to me for some face time with Dad. He nodded curtly, stood up, and swapped seats.

Hubbard leaned in. “Nice save,” he said, very quietly.

I nodded, and then rubbed my jaw. The pain was coming back. I was pretty sure it wasn’t because of my molar.

My internal phone went up. I answered it with my inside voice. “Yeah,” I said.

“Shane,” Vann said. “How far are you from Leesburg right now?”