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Andrea saw herself mirrored in the immense glass walls of the mysterious building. A detour on the way home to her dormitory was forbidden, but still she had repeated the offense every day for the last two weeks.
A park-like perimeter of the edifice contrasted dramatically with its austere opacity. Flowered walkways hosted graceful wooden benches. On the benches, sparsely distributed, were solitary people who seemed to do nothing but stare into the distance. The people were of different ages, though most were elderly. The one quality all the bench sitters shared was an air of composure and somber contemplation.
Finally, one day, Andrea summoned the courage to sit next to an elderly man who had met her gaze with his own. His manner was benign, almost inviting.
"Hello," Andrea murmured softly, as she regarded him with a cautious glance.
His eyes were the color of coal. The skin around them wrinkled like pieces of crinoline. Andrea realized this man was older even than her grandfather, who was the oldest person she'd ever met.
"Young lady, you are brave," the elderly man observed. "People pass by all the time. They look but hurry on. Why did you stop ? Are you not afraid?"
There wasn't much that frightened Andrea, but she didn't tell him that. She said instead, "Everybody on the benches looks peaceful. Why are you here? Why do the others sit outside on the benches, as though waiting for something?"
"That's because we are waiting. We are waiting to go into that building, which is a memory vault, and then we are waiting to die."
Andrea pulled back from the man. What could he possibly mean? She'd never heard of anything called a memory vault. And dying... that was one of the subjects no one raised because to do so was to breach etiquette.
"There is no need to be alarmed, young lady. In the memory vault are contained memories from thousands of volunteers. We, all of us on these benches, are waiting to record for tomorrow what we know today, and what we experienced yesterday."
People didn't refer to the past as he did. It was another breach of etiquette. Everyone was expected to look forward, to hope and plan for the future.
"Isn't it wrong to spend time looking back?"
"Not for those invited to engage in this exercise. All of us have been given news that death is close, perhaps only months away. When we die, all our memories, everything we know, dies with us. It would be a loss to science to forfeit that information. The memory vault preserves it."
Andrea knew of course that some people who were ill, or very old, became disoriented and rambled about times past. This breach of etiquette was a pathology, a sign of mental decline. Ramblers were placed in health care facilities where they could recover or pass their days of decline in the care of physicians.
"A building dedicated to the pathology of rambling?" Andrea questioned.
"No dear, not rambling. Those unfortunates who have begun to ramble are of no use to the memory vault. Invitations to this place only come on recommendation of a doctor who certifies that the individual is of sound mind but is facing a short lifespan."
"You know you're going to die?" Andrea was incredulous. She knew people died, but usually that happened far away, or suddenly.
"Well, dear, we all die. It's just that there is some certainty about when that will happen for contributors to the memory vault."
"What does the memory vault do with the information?"
"Our recollections are fed into computers, where they will be analyzed and quantified. AI is powerful. It has freed humans from most kinds of physical labor. But gaps remain. These exist in the irrational aspect of human psychology. Memories, recalled with inevitable error, may provide a key to unlocking the puzzle of the illogical."
"Imperfections help to make something more perfect?" Andrea was confused by the apparent contradiction. She had been instructed that the perfect is the ideal. To be uniform and consistent is to approach the perfect.
"Because, my dear--what did you say your name was?"
"Andrea." It was a breach of etiquette to give her name to a stranger, but so far she had broken every rule. Worst of all, she had given in to irrational curiosity.
"Well, Andrea, it seems that imperfection, unpredictability, is central to the human psyche. Those of us who sit on these benches recall our memories several times for the vault. Each time, our recollection changes. It is in the way the narratives change that science hopes to discern a pattern. In this pattern the frailty, an elusive essence of the human psyche must reside."
Discussion of human error and frailty was new to Andrea. A door was opening, and it frightened her. The foundation of certainty began to crumble.
She stood up, and spoke to the elderly man in a shaky voice.
"I'm not sure I should be talking to you, sir...."
The elderly man's eyes narrowed.
"Perhaps you should have thought of that before. We have been looking for someone unique. Contemplating death alters perception. We need someone for whom tomorrow is a promise, not a lost opportunity. We need you, Andrea."
Andrea started to walk backwards. She felt arms holding her shoulders. Where had these people come from?
"You see, Andrea, we were waiting for you. Well, not you, but someone with your curious nature. You will be a valuable addition to our project."
Andrea wanted to scream, but she was bundled so tightly that no scream could escape.
The elderly man spoke to her warders.
"I think this one will be more productive than the last. She has spirit, and intelligence. Her spontaneous responses will be critical to our studies."
He called softly after the bundled woman.
"Don't be afraid Andrea. The use we put you to will be far more significant than anything else you would have done with your life."
He looked away, toward the pedestrians who strolled by. If he sat there long enough he was bound to draw the attention of another potential subject for the memory vault.
This story was written as a response to an early prompt from the Inkwell: Tomorrow (Prompt #54).
