Perhaps it was Byrne's desperate wish not to collide that transmitted via brainwaves to the Bamboo-Copter. He let go of his hands and looked up. He was currently hovering like a patch of cloud in mid-air, only a few centimeters from the ceiling.
"It really is thought-controlled... incredible."
After getting a handle on the situation, Byrne concentrated, testing the controls of the device on his head. Fly forward, slowly. With that thought, his body drifted forward under the gentle pull of the blades. It didn't take long for him to master the basic flight techniques.
Byrne descended to the floor, tucked the Bamboo-Copter away, and looked out at the gloomy, gray sky. He shook his head. "A pity the weather in this city is so foul. Otherwise, I'd really love to take a lap outside."
Returning to his desk, he looked at the open books and thought, Sigh, the content in these books is so dry. If only I could just eat the knowledge and have it go straight to my head.
Wait... eat it?
Doraemon had Memory Bread for exactly that. Since the Bamboo-Copter appeared, Memory Bread should work too. In the white mist space yesterday, Boy-Byrne had mentioned in passing that he had tried it.
However, according to the original rules, Memory Bread had two glaring flaws. First, the memory duration was short; the moment you "discharged" the waste, the knowledge vanished. Eating too much could also cause diarrhea, clearing the memory even faster. Second, a single slice could only hold so much. To memorize nine volumes of data, he'd need to eat at least two thousand slices. Forget Byrne—even an ogryn couldn't stomach that much.
Still, he wanted to try. Any help was better than pure rote memorization.
Just like before, with a flick of a thought, a slice of white toast appeared in his hand. He pressed the bread onto the book, flipped it over, and saw the text perfectly imprinted on the surface. He ate it, and the words became crystal clear in his mind.
Seeing it work, Byrne tried to manifest more. But this time, he failed.
What happened? Can I only manifest a specific item once?
After several tests, he arrived at a preliminary understanding of his "cheat":
He could only manifest items from the worlds where his alters resided, and they had to have been in direct contact with that alter.
Each unique item could only be manifested once per day (at least, for now).
Given these constraints, Memory Bread wasn't going to cut it. During registration yesterday, Byrne learned there were only 35 vacancies for Tax Collectors, yet over 5,000 people had signed up. Usually, only a few hundred applied. The surge was due to people like him—desperate to dodge the draft.
To out-hustle 5,000 competitors in a week, his only real hope was the miraculous NZT-48. Unfortunately, he couldn't manifest it yet because his alter hadn't touched it.
Byrne recalled the dream and whispered prayerfully, "Please, other me... you have to succeed."
New York City, Queens, inside a bar.
Vernon set a glass down in front of Eddie and said irritably, "I don't want to talk about my sister. Let's talk about you."
The disheveled Eddie Morra leaned back, sighed, and said dejectedly, "How can I put it? It's slower than planned. I haven't kept up with the schedule."
"How many words have you written?" Vernon asked.
Eddie stared at his drink, twisting the glass slowly. "Not a single word."
Vernon looked at Eddie's face and smiled. "Creative block, then?"
"Yeah."
Vernon hesitated for a moment before speaking. "I can solve your problem. But only this once."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pill, placing it on the table. "I work for a pharmaceutical company. This is a new drug, recently approved and about to hit the market."
Eddie looked down. Inside a small square plastic bag lay a tiny, clear pill. At a glance, it looked like a common vitamin. He looked up at Vernon. "What's in it?"
"It's a gift, Eddie. It unlocks the brain's potential. They say the average person only uses twenty percent of their brain. This pill lets you use one hundred."
Eddie let out a short laugh. "I admit I'm in a bad way, but I'm not desperate enough to believe a ridiculous pitch like that."
As Eddie spoke, Vernon's phone rang. After hanging up, Vernon pointed to the pill. "I have to go. I wish we could talk more. Take the pill as a 'nice to see you' gift."
Eddie took a sip of his drink and shook his head. "I don't want it."
Vernon stood up and slid his business card onto the table. "Just take it. Don't be ungrateful. Do you know how expensive this is? Eight hundred dollars a pop. Call me; you'll thank me later."
Vernon patted Eddie on the shoulder and walked out. Once he was gone, Eddie picked up the pill, inspecting it closely. Eight hundred for one? Really?
He stared at the pill, lost in thought, until a sudden exclamation came from behind him.
"Well, if it isn't Eddie Morra! What a coincidence, running into you here."
The voice startled Eddie. His hands jerked, and the pill dropped onto the table. He turned around to see a man he recognized: Byrne Claud, the acquisitions editor for his new book.
After waking from the dream, Byrne had researched Eddie Morra. Seeing his face confirmed he was indeed the protagonist of Limitless. Taking a chance, Byrne had gone to the small bar from the movie where Eddie meets his brother-in-law.
His luck had held. He'd found him on the very first try.
Seeing his editor, Eddie gave a strained, awkward smile. "M-Mr. Byrne. What a coincidence."
Internally, he was panicking. It had been nearly a month since he signed the contract, and he hadn't written a single word.
Byrne took a glass, sat down across from Eddie, and asked, "I was just about to call you to check on the progress. Since we're here, tell me—how is the book coming along?"