Oleander: Memories Are Deleted in Space

By Ryan Armstrong

From USA Today Bestselling author Ryan Armstrong, a scientist journeys through space to discover alien life, and recover her loss of what defines us – memories.

I'm Emily Bircher.

A scientist. My memories were deleted.

I don't remember, but my feelings remain.

I'm traveling space, to study alien life.

Hoping feelings stop at the speed of light.

2095: Dr. Emily Bircher is the most brilliant, celebrated research scientist on earth, a botanist, and a medical doctor. Emily loses her husband, Alaric. She dims her memory of him, calculating that is how to move on.

The US government invites her to embark on an interstellar mission to the exoplanet, Proximus b. Earth's nearest neighbor. The planet has a strong magnetic field allowing it to retain an atmosphere like earth's.

Emily refuses to go, she is still grieving. The government deceives her, stealing her memories of Alaric from the chip in her brain. Leaving her with only scarred pain.

With nothing tethering her to earth anymore, she travels at nearly the speed of light to the planet, a five-year journey. Her groundbreaking research there uncovers alien life's possibilities, while her experience provides evidence of humanity's depraved, violent limits.
Emily still yearns for the husband she doesn't know she had. He wasn't carved out of her brain, the feeling of him is still etched into her heart.

Her greatest discovery on the planet is communication with an alien life form.

Through love.

Love is built from memories.

Emily finds memories create feelings that never truly go away.

To love, Emily must accept the feelings that lost memories create.

From USA Today Bestselling author Ryan Armstrong, a scientist journeys through space to discover alien life, and recover her loss of what defines us – memories.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LM Vintage Publishers
• Release date: Aug 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9798223882039

Ryan Armstrong

Ryan Armstrong is a USA Today Bestselling author. He writes science fiction and historical fiction.  Ryan has authored five books and owns a small traditional publishing company, LM Vintage Publishers.  His most recent novel is Oleander: Memories Are Deleted in Space. Ryan holds a B.A. in history and English from the University of Oklahoma. He lives in the Fort Worth, Texas area with his wife and two boys.

Book preview

Chapter 1

I REMEMBER WHAT HE smelled like after a five-mile run. He smelled of earth-sweetened sweat.  I first smelled it when I met him at the gym from a distance, later up close when we made love. I didn’t like it if he had just come in from a run, but after he sat a while and the salt from his skin dried onto the shirt he wore, I found I liked the smell. It was a scent that I loved because only his mother and I knew it. We could recognize him by it. But not even his mother had this privilege. I reached into the hamper and grabbed one of his worn shirts. I inhaled Alaric’s smell with heavy breaths into my nose. I exhaled and repeated this for five minutes. He was no longer cold and dead, now ash, sitting in an urn outside our bedroom. He couldn’t be dead if I could smell him, his skin, he must be here now hugging me. Loving me. He would never leave me alone. No, he was alive, fate had brought us together at the gym, and fate wouldn’t allow us to part. I knew that.

For a brief time, his scent assaulted my limbic system, calling up emotions and activating vivid images in my Personal Action Network (PAN).

Suddenly, my neocortex took over.

I dropped the shirt and vapidly said to no one, Histocompatibility complex proteins.

My brain spoke truth.

These proteins enable people to distinguish their cells from invading pathogens. It’s proven that women prefer men’s scents that smell different from their own.

I knew that it wasn’t fate that had brought us together, it was the smell of the t-shirt I had now let fall to the ground. Meeting him at the gym and his smell being opposite of mine had made our connection start. True love did not go on. As much as it made me shudder to think of it, I knew Alaric’s remains were static in the other room, stamped with the date of his expiration: 2095. They lacked his scent. He couldn’t love me if he was dead.

I dropped the plastic bags that were in my right hand, clenched tight because I didn’t want to let go. I wanted to save his scent, believing through doing that I could save part of us. But that was a fantasy – my brain playing cheap tricks on me. If I saved his dirty laundry, I would be continually pinging my limbic system like a drug addict, to feel he was here when he was not. To feel that our love was fate when it was chemistry, quite literally.

I yearned for him back, I craved for his return. I coveted his love and never wanted to forget him. But because he couldn’t return, I wanted to let the love go. The love caused the pain, that raw, dull aching in my chest.

I grabbed the shirt off the floor, put it in the laundry basket, and picked the basket up. But my limbic system wasn’t done with me, and even as I did this and knew it must be done, my eyes welled up with tears.

Alaric, I whispered to the silence.

WHY DO NURSING HOMES still smell in 2095? I was hit by the smell of sick, stale air – formaldehyde delayed – as I strode to the front desk.

I am here to visit Ms. Jennifer Bircher.

This place didn’t utilize augmented reality; directions didn’t appear in my vision. The man sported a white uniform, which resembled psychiatry ward worker garb. He nodded, looking up, activating his PAN. The chip in his brain.

He yawned, saying, She is in room 45B. Door’s open. Just go midway down that hallway, he pointed to the left hallway, her door is on the righthand side.

I nodded, and he did the same. I took a left and found myself standing under a doorframe with 45B stamped at the top of the door.

Jennifer’s back faced me as she watched television. I rapped on the open door.

She turned to me, smiling. Come in. I have been expecting you.

I entered and sat down in the chair opposite her, briefly surveying the small room. It had a recliner that she occupied, a plastic chair in which I sat down, a bed, an old non-holographic TV, and a handicap bathroom – the door half-open.

Jennifer, I said.

I know what you are going to say.

I believed her too far gone to understand what I was going to say.

What do you know?

That my son is dead.

I was livid. Who had told her?

My nails dug into my clenched fists.

She smiled. But it isn’t true, is it? I know you came to tell me I’m being lied to.

I planned to tell her he was dead because she deserved to know. She ought to have the chance to comprehend it. I had been worried about telling her, about how she might react. I knew I would break down.

I started to cry, quietly.

Oh dear, don’t be so sad. I know he loves you very much. He told me so every time he visited.

I sniffled and wiped my tears.

So, you remember me?

Yes, you are his wife.

You know that Alaric is not like Carl, my husband.

I nodded. I am certain of that.

But you – you are like me.

Yes, we have things in common.

Carl came to visit the other day, the good version of him, before... She paused, tears welling. But he comes less than he used to. She sighed.

Do you know when Alaric will come to visit me? she asked.

This was a bad idea. If she had been told he was dead, how could I help?

I don’t know that Alaric will visit, I said.

Her chest puffed up with pride. Well, he cured cancer. He showed me a newspaper saying he did.

I lost my composure completely and bawled.

She got up and shuffled over to me, holding me in her bosom. Emily, you must remember he has important things to do, top secret. They need him.

I stopped sobbing. Who?

Oh, two men came to visit me yesterday. They asked me about him, said he was going on a long trip. He would be gone for a long, long time. I may not see him again. But he is going to save the world – all of us. She smiled. It is a big price not to see him, but I am proud to pay it.

She had created her fictional reality – who was I to disagree if this helped her cope – or made the pain disappear?

Yes, you are right.  He is going to be away.

She let my head go and oddly went and lay on her bed.

You know, Emily, he loves you even if you don’t see him. It’s not because he doesn’t want to see you.  He just can’t. You understand, right?

Yes, I do. I held back tears. More tears would be selfish.

I felt she must want me to leave. You look tired, I can show myself out in a minute.

No, please, Emily. I want to sit for a little while with someone else who loves him.

Yes. That would be nice, wouldn’t it? I realized.

I grasped her hand with mine. She turned to smile at me as I did.

Jennifer, I will visit you.

Sometimes, I forget things, she admitted.

I know, and that doesn’t bother me. I’m pretty forgetful, too.

Can you turn the TV off? she asked.

Sure. I accessed my PAN with a brief look up, and it was off.

I brushed something off my leg and looked down. Ants were crawling on the linoleum floor. I made a note in my head to make sure that was taken care of. 

May I use your restroom?

Of course, dear.

I got up and closed the door, though I didn’t need to use the restroom. 

I looked around. 

Filth. 

The toilet had feces on it. Roaches were crawling on top of the shower drain. I turned on the water – it didn’t even work. I was seething. 

How could Alaric put her in a place like this?

I flushed the toilet and opened the door. 

Jennifer said, When did you get here, dear? I am sorry, I can’t remember.

Just a little while ago.

I am sorry. You are Emily, my son’s wife, right?

Yes. Why did Alaric choose this place for you?

Because I insisted. I don’t like those fancy places with robots, I like old-fashioned wood doors. Emily, did you know Alaric is famous and on a special mission? The people here lied to me – telling me he is dead. But he is not. I will never believe them.

I know, Jennifer.

She yawned. I’m tired.

Go to sleep, I will stay with you until you do.

I’d like that. Will you hold my hand? she asked.

That sounds nice, I said, grasping her hand.

Her eyes were closing. The men who came...

Yes? I said.

They said if I told you, they would kill me.

I shivered, though I didn’t believe the story.

But they won’t because you won’t tell them.

I won’t, and you are safe, I assured her.

She smiled. They also said something else, dear.

What? I asked.

Your ring is so beautiful. You aren’t wearing it, but I remember what it looks like. I understand you aren’t wearing it because of them, she said.

Thank you, but I don’t understand. I shouldn’t have said anything.

They told me that Alaric is in your ring. But I don’t believe that – he is on a special mission. I just don’t want them to kill us to get your ring.

I gripped the sides of the plastic chair. I had never told anybody about what was in my wedding ring. Someone had come to threaten her.

Not wanting to make her scared, I said, I won’t let that happen. I will give them my ring if that is what they want.

Thank you, dear. I can’t remember – wait, you are my boy’s wife. That is who you are.

I squeezed her hand. I want you to know you are loved. I love you, Mom.

She squeezed my hand back.

I knew you must. I love you, too, she said. 

Her eyes fully closed.

A few minutes later, I let her hand go and slipped out. 

I confronted the man at the front desk. You let strangers come visit old, helpless women and threaten them?

He didn’t look up from his desk. I don’t know what you’re talking about.

I will report you.

He was unfazed when I added, The room has ants on the floor, and the bathroom is disgusting.

We will take care of it in the morning.

Go clean that room now. I don’t care if you do it yourself. And you don’t wake her up while you do it, I demanded through seething teeth. 

He didn’t move.

I thought for a beat and shifted tactics.

How would you like to make an easy $5,000 dollars?

He looked up. Now?

Yes, you look after her and don’t allow her visitors except for me. You call the police and me, in that order, if whoever visits won’t leave. And you clean those ants up and the restroom, too. I will give you half right now. I will give you another half after it’s done.  Every week, I will give you $5,000 to keep it that way. I will provide you a list of what I expect you to do to make this rathole livable for her. Sound like a plan?

Yes, ma’am.

I immediately transferred $2,500 to his account via our PANS, likely several days of his wage.

He looked up briefly at his PAN, a smile coming over his face.

It isn’t free. Get to it. Now. I’m not leaving until I see her room and bathroom clean.

He left, returning after twenty minutes. I quietly inspected his work. Jennifer slept. He had done a decent job. I paid him the other half.

So, $5,000 every week? he confirmed.

Yes, a list of tasks and $5,000 to your PAN weekly. I will periodically check if the list has been done when I visit. Most important is task number one. No visitors. Understand?

OK. He reached out his hand. I shook it once and pulled back.

Have a nice night, he said. 

I pretended not to hear and left.

Opening the doors, the music of the city at night filled my ears. Dark summer heat raged into my face and blew away the fear that had gathered in my stomach.

Maybe I told her about the ring and forgot? No other rational explanation. What was wrong with me that I believed her? She isn’t able to be rational because of her illness. I need to be logical.

Still, a small feeling of doubt remained. But feelings aren’t logical.

Alaric would be proud of me.

I smiled.

Chapter 2

I WAS GETTING READY for the banquet, slipping into my sequined dress.

Sweetheart, could you please zip me up?

Alaric smiled, kissing me on the neck as he slid the zipper up my dress, giving me pleasant tingles.

After the awards, I don’t know how I can continue to act deserving at dinner.  It’s so much pressure, my nerves are a wreck.

I reached for my bottle of Benz Instant Release from the nightstand next to the bed, to tame my anxiety, as he finished zipping my dress.

He reached into my palm from behind me, pressing against me, and gently tugged the bottle out of my hand.

You will have a drink instead, have a little fun – this, he said, will just put you to sleep. He threw the bottle on the bed.

I turned around, saying, I’m nervous. I don’t know that I deserve to be here. So many people had to do with this discovery.

Discovery, is that what you’d call it? You are the most famous scientist ever known. You did something bigger than any scientist has ever done. And how do I know you were mainly responsible for it?

I imagined he would say it was because I was being given the most prestigious award ever given a scientist, a Nobel Prize.

But I was wrong because he picked up a newspaper from the coffee table and held it up to me, grinning like a schoolboy does when he believes himself right. He looked adorable.

"Because you are credited as the top story, in bold, on the front page of The New York Times."

You would think that because you work for a newspaper. Why is it that they put out paper copies anymore – is it nostalgia or are newspapers trying to go out of business? I winked.

He chuckled. I ordered this because they don’t print them anymore. It was worth the expense.

I was less nervous, the pressure of being here, and the attention that I didn’t seek, felt lighter. Alaric could lighten anything for me. He lifted my burdens.

I smiled at him warmly and took the newspaper out of his hand. I chucked it to the side.  I grabbed his collar, pulled him to me, and gave him a short kiss as a thank you.

If you are a good boy, maybe you’ll get lucky when the banquet is over.

I am already the luckiest man in the world.

Alaric believed in luck and fate; he was a romantic guy. I didn’t believe in fate, a pre-ordained and positive planned occurrence of events in one’s life. We are all biologically and environmentally conditioned to act the way we do. Good or bad things happen to people because of random chance. I would count luck as an accurate term in our nomenclature. I could believe in luck because it was random chance, not unlike natural selection. I was the luckiest woman, and not primarily because I won the Nobel Prize.

Alaric. I teared up.

What, honey, don’t mess your makeup.  What is wrong?

Nothing, I said as the tears brimmed.

I feel so lucky for being selected, for the prize, yes, but for even more for you.  I want to deserve it all, and I don’t feel like I do.

He hugged me, encircling me with his love. Then let’s just say that we are both lucky people who deserve each other. He briefly glanced up.  I’ve just called the elevator with my PAN.  Can you believe they even have PAN connectivity in this old place?  Now, c’mon, the guest of honor can’t be late.  What would the Swedish Royal Family think?

I laughed loudly at that. 

This was all surreal.

We walked out of the Nobel suite, the elevator door waiting.  We got into the clear, plastic tube. Doors slid shut, immediately opening again.  We abandoned the elevator on the first floor, stepping onto marbled surfaces. A sea of tuxedos and formal dresses lay before us.

Someone yelled, Dr. Bircher!

A collective silence took hold of the room, all eyes turning to me. A clap began racing until the room filled with the sound. The crowd stared at me smiling. 

I blushed, not enjoying this level of focused admiration. Then they started to cheer.

Dr. Jeffrey Murphy, my colleague at Johns Hopkins, had just gotten off the elevator. He walked over. My face bore an awkward frown of discomfort and anxiety. He took my hands in his. 

His years made him wiser than I. I searched his face, and he imparted wisdom, Look at me. Don’t look at them. They are just excited over what you have achieved.

Do they cheer everyone like this? Their clapping continued unabated.

He chuckled lightly. They aren’t cheering me, are they? He used his familiarity with me. You are remarkable, Emily, but I know you are only a human being. They are cheering you because you are the embodiment of world-altering medical science. If you think of it that way, you don’t have to be nervous. Imagine them cheering the science when they gawk and clap. The discovery, the change it is making in the world – is overwhelming to them. It isn’t you they are cheering. You are just the witness of their admiration for the discovery.

I calmed. Thank you. Is it that obvious I’m nervous?

The clapping started to die down, filtering through our conversation less.

Emily, I am a research scientist, not a psychologist, but I can read your face. They can read your face, too, but they are too enamored of the achievement to see it clearly – that is how I know they are clapping for it rather than you.

I felt comfortable and suddenly hugged him. This seemed to reignite their clapping for another thirty seconds. As I turned to the banquet guests, I wasn’t nervous and had a beaming smile. I could agree with them now. The science was amazing, the medical achievement for humanity was history-altering. A cure for cancer. It would save billions of lives in the coming century.

The clapping died down, and we all moved toward the banquet hall. I walked with Alaric, hugging his arm.

Chapter 3

AFTER ALARIC HAD PASSED, I was sitting at my desk, outside the hall adjacent to the lab. My office doorway peered into a hallway with ugly white and gray linoleum floor tiles that were lit underneath.  Invisible pinpricked holes allowed light to diffuse the entire space. It illuminated the space with natural sunlight, without glare, even at night. 

My eyes wouldn’t have noticed the floor, as my gaze normally focused on my surroundings. I had turned my office light diffuser off.