Of Half a Mind

by Bruce M Perrin

  I opened my mouth, but Sue held up a hand. “Before you ask me a bunch of questions, I’ll answer them all. I don’t know what it means. At least not yet. But I have some ideas and I’d like until tomorrow afternoon to look at them. I’d also like to have Nicole help, because she can come at this from a fresh perspective.”

  It was unfair that this pivotal issue had fallen to Sue, but I could think of no one more qualified. What I could do with numbers – find systematic patterns in what appeared a chaotic mess – Sue did with open-ended text. She also knew psychology nearly as well as I, although that wouldn’t help. Our answers lay outside known theories and research, and that’s where Nicole would come in. I’d seen a bit of her creative side in her choices of books and her art. As a team, they’d do great.

  “OK.” I settled back into my chair and released a sigh. “I’ll put my curiosity on hold until tomorrow. Let me know if I can help.” I tilted my head toward Nicole. “Looks like the floor is all yours.”

  Nicole glanced at her laptop. “The specifications we received from Dr. Huston have three sections. The first is a 12-page overview of the device. It’s like a brochure you’d give a perspective customer…which is how I think Worthington used it. It’s more advertising than technical. The second part gets into more detail, and that’s where I’ve spent most of my time. There’s a lot of information in it, but I think there’s only one topic we need to discuss.”

  “The coils or the software?” I said, guessing it had to be one of these two innovations.

  “Yeah, you’re going to tell us all about his solid core design using specially manufactured, ferromagnetically active materials and a modified, H-coil geometry, right?” asked Sue, struggling to keep a straight face as she read the words off a piece of paper near her elbow. She turned to me. “This is what we talk about, when you’re not around.”

  “Well, no,” said Nicole, straight-faced, as if she hadn’t noticed Sue’s tone. “The coils and the software are amazing. But no.” She paused a moment, looking at her laptop.

  “The way Dr. Worthington designed the coils, any one by itself can’t produce a response in the brain. But by having the signals from two or more of them converge inside the skull, the threshold can be reached. The software controls which coils fire and so, how deep inside the brain the reaction occurs. It also controls timing, so that a wave pattern can be produced. Voila, you have a Blocker that creates a wave that overwrites other activity.”

  At first, Nicole’s lack of response to Sue had thrown me…until I realized that she wouldn’t see this as an area for humor. Nicole was imparting facts, and she didn’t want any misunderstanding even in jest. And as her description unfolded, it was easy to read her passion for these technical details. Even with a technology she was learning, her speech was more rapid, her gestures more animated.

  “The way you describe the Blocker’s operation – signals converging inside the skull to set up a wave of brain activity. It sounds precise, but I’m guessing it’s not, since Worthington had to aim his device at half the brain.”

  “Yeah, pinpointing the reaction is not as simple as it sounds,” replied Nicole. “The path of magnetism is difficult to predict due to the irregular shape of the brain and the fact that magnetism isn’t conducted uniformly. Individuals differ as well. When Dr. Worthington said that he didn’t have the precision to treat pain in a specific limb, what he meant was he lacked a way to develop a map for a person.”

  She looked around the room, then chuckled and shook her head. “But I guess I got a little off-topic. What I wanted to talk about from Section 2 is the user interface. I think I solved the mystery of what A.T. meant about adjusting the Blocker.”

  “User interface?” I said, leaning forward in my chair. “There is one?”

  “Of sorts,” said Nicole. “It only controls one thing – the wavelength of the blocking signal. The user can change it from the computer.”

  I laughed at myself. “One of the few things Detective Ahern found useful in everything I told him was that A.T. must have had some technical background, if he had ideas about adjusting the Blocker. Looks like that’s out the window. What did he have to know? How to use a pull-down menu?”

  “No, type in a number,” said Nicole, exaggerating a grimace. “It accepts anything between 0.5 and 45. That would be Hertz, or cycles per second.”

  “OK. I’ll give Ahern a call,” I said, still shaking my head. Then, realizing I might be emphasizing the bad news too much, I added, “Nice catch, Nicole. Definitely something we and the police need to know. Thanks.”

  Nicole nodded, a slight smile coming to her face.

  “So, a half to 45 Hertz,” said Sue. “That’s anywhere from being in a coma to higher level thought. Anywhere from darkness to a rush of disjointed images and ideas. I’m betting he wanted the rush.”

  “I was thinking he might go for the lower frequencies,” said Nicole.

  “Eww,” said Sue. “And plunge half his brain into a coma? Why would you think that?”

  Nicole turned toward me. “I understand the words, Sam, when you talk about how split-brain patients can have two, separate experiences. But thinking about what that’s like? It’s hard for me.” She paused, shook her head. “No, more like impossible, but it seems like the separate realities would be confusing, disorienting.” She turned back to Sue. “Setting the Blocker to the lowest frequencies would eliminate that tension. It may explain why A.T. argued for his changes vigorously, as Dr. Huston put it.”

  “I hadn’t thought of it that way,” said Sue. “But it makes sense. And it’s probably good that Worthington didn’t allow the adjustment, or A.T. would have been living entirely in the right side of his head during the sessions. All of the effects of the technology, good and bad, would get magnified, maybe by a lot.”

  “Yeah,” said Nicole slowly. “My thoughts too. That’s everything I wanted to discuss on Section 2. Questions?”

  “You may want to come up with some,” said Sue, turning to me. “Even trivial ones, because you’re not going to like what she has to say about Section 3.”

  “I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration,” said Nicole, but her words lacked conviction.

  I looked at them, hoping to find some clue about what was to come. I found none.

  “I’m good on Section 2, but let’s take 10 before we get to the maybe bad, maybe not-so-bad news.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  It was quiet in the conference room when I returned with my typical afternoon, half-cup of coffee. I set the cup down and wandered over to the other side of the table. Nicole’s notebook was open, jottings on the discussion covering one page. On the facing side, there was a sketch of the podium and edge of the conference table.

  “It’s not very good,” came Nicole’s voice from the doorway.

  “I disagree. Just pen and ink – no color – but that’s a lot of detail.” I looked at her, my eyebrows raising. “Now I’m wondering if your hemispheres work independently – one side keeping up with our talk and the other drawing?”

  Nicole came over to her chair, brushing me as she passed. My arm tingled from her touch. She turned and looked at me, her eyes twinkling pools, more green than brown.

  “I think my engineering background conflicts with my art. I try to make everything perfect, so I’m slow. I’ve been working at getting faster. That’s about ten minutes, before Sue came back after lunch.”

  “Wow. Now I’m really impressed,” I said.

  Sue entered the room, so I retreated to the other side of the table and we all took a seat. Nicole opened her notebook to a new page and cleared her throat. “Well, here goes,” she said, making me wonder if Sue had exaggerated at all. “Section 3 of the specifications deal with producing specific thoughts and perceptions inside the brain. Even taking the thoughts of one person and putting them in someone else.”

  I physically recoiled at her statement, rocking back so hard in my chair that it nearly tipped over.

  This
is disastrous.

  Someone without emotional constraints on his behavior would be dangerous enough. But someone without those restrictions and the capability to impose their thoughts on others would be a monster. He would be capable of anything in the pursuit of his own vision. As was often the case with me, questions piled up in my mind, each seeking priority to be voiced. But before the process had gone far, Nicole continued her summary.

  “However,” she said, drawing the word out, “I believe that even though this topic is in a specifications document, it’s more conceptual than real.”

  “I like the phrase you used earlier today,” said Sue. “It’s speculation, not specification.”

  “OK,” I replied, “but we need to be certain of that…or as close to certainty as we can be.”

  “I agree,” replied Nicole. “The reason I think this section’s about the future is because it’s like a literature review – the kind you might find at the start of a research paper. Researchers at the University of Washington used an EEG to read brain waves from one person. This signal was then sent via the Internet to a second person wearing TMS coils. The idea was that the first person would think about moving his finger and the second person would complete the action. And it worked.”

  “OK,” I said slowly, “but that’s a fairly simple response – move a finger. If you put the coils in the right place, wouldn’t it just about guarantee you’d get a twitch?”

  “In large part, yes. But the unknown is what happens when you drop Dr. Worthington’s TMS capability into this setup. It would do more than stimulate a motor neuron. At least, it would as soon as the aiming issues are resolved. But how much more?” She left the question hanging, raising her open hands in front of her. “And he only hints at the advances that would be required to do more than a simple muscle response.”

  “He hints at it?” I said.

  “Yeah,” she replied, slowly shaking her head. “It’s complex – over my head. I need to study it another day or two before I even have the right questions to ask around work. I’ll have something more concrete for you next week.”

  “OK, thanks.”

  I was beginning to relax, but a look at Nicole told me she wasn’t. She tapped her mouth with a closed fist, her gaze dropping to the table before returning to us. “There’s one other unknown in all of this. Dr. Worthington writes as if there is a companion document – the Neural Activity Blocker Advanced Design Document. And his writing implies it exists. The problem is...no one can find it.”

  I squeezed my eyes closed for a moment. “Have you checked all the files on the server?”

  Nicole started to answer when Sue said, “She did, and I double checked. I also double checked the documents in every box you brought back from WHT. The document’s not there.”

  I nodded to acknowledge Sue’s words, but thought her message was probably something else – like don’t ask such obvious questions. I had to agree, but then, I wasn’t thinking. I was reacting.

  “After we checked the files on the drive, I started wondering if our copy might be flawed for some reason,” said Nicole. “So, I called Dr. Huston and asked him to email me a copy of the directory on his. I verified every file name and size on our drive against his original. They match. And finally, Laverne’s back from her vacation, so Dr. Huston had her go through both the upstairs and basement files again. No luck.”

  “So, we can’t expect them to pull another miraculous discovery out of their hat,” I said with a bit more derision than I intended.

  “No, another seems unlikely. By the way, he did apologize again for misplacing the files.”

  I held out my hands. “Sorry, my comment was petty. He’s said the same to me.” I sighed. “Did Jon happen to talk to Beth about this missing document?”

  “I called her,” said Nicole. “She says she’s removed every scrap of her husband’s papers from their home and gave it all to Dr. Huston. That’s what we have, except for the two other boxes that the students found in the basement. But there’s nothing in them. Both Dr. Huston and Laverne went through them again.”

  “Nicole, thanks. If you and Sue have missed anything, I don’t know what it is. And thanks for calling Beth. That couldn’t have been easy.”

  Nicole smiled, but a sadness showed in her eyes. “You’re welcome.”

  I sighed again. “I guess this document is either permanently missing…or maybe it never existed. Worthington might have referenced a separate paper, intending to write it later.”

  “Dr. Huston mentioned the same possibility,” said Nicole. “That’s all I have right now on the electronics. Other questions?”

  “None from me,” said Sue.

  “Same here,” I replied.

  I glanced at my watch, only now noticing a tension in my neck that must have been there all afternoon. My stomach started to churn. In less than an hour and a half, Nicole would be having dinner with a man who might be a murderer.

  “Doc?” I turned to Sue. “Al’s on his way to the restaurant. Should be there in about 20 minutes.”

  “Yeah, I should get going too. Do we need to go through everything again – who’s where and when?”

  “No,” they both said without hesitation.

  I hoped they were as confident as they sounded, because my inner voice kept trying to convince me of one thing.

  It’ll be OK.

  Wednesday, August 26, 6:03 PM

  “Is there something wrong with the toasted ravioli?”

  I looked down at a half-dozen of the St. Louis favorites, the plate going cold, then up at my server, Sandy. “No, they’re fine. I’m just not as hungry as I expected.” Truthfully, I could hardly eat at all.

  I glanced around the restaurant, knowing what I would see. The place had been empty when Al and I arrived, but by now, many of the booths were taken. Sandy couldn’t be happy about the tips she was losing by me sitting here alone.

  “Hey, I’m sorry it’s taken so long for my friends to show up, but they should be here any minute. You have some type of Mexican or southwest salad, don’t you?”

  She frowned. “The buffalo chicken salad?”

  I hadn’t looked at the menu closely, but figured everyone had something like that. I was wrong. “Chicken Caesar salad?”

  “Anything to drink?”

  “I’ll stick with the water.”

  “Very good,” said Sandy, although I suspect she meant the opposite.

  Al was sitting across and down the aisle from me. The angle was perfect. I could see about half of the bench seat. I glanced over. As I watched, Al’s eyes widened. Atwood must be coming. I tensed, looking down at the table top. If he happened to look into my booth, I didn’t want him to see my face.

  Someone tapped my shoulder and I jumped, hitting my knee on the bottom of the table. “Easy, Doc. It’s just me,” came Sue’s voice.

  Not by choice, I slid over on the bench. I wanted to be able to see Nicole during her meeting with Atwood, but Sue’s description would have to do.

  “Nicole’s in the waiting area and I saw Atwood coming down the sidewalk,” said Sue, as she sat beside me. “Oops, Al just got up. They must be coming.”

  I looked down again, seeing Sue’s bowed head beside me, then motion in the aisle. A moment later, there was more movement and Al slipped into the seat across from us, having crossed over to a parallel row of booths and circled around.

  Sue was stealing a peek down the aisle, frowning. “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure,” she replied. “They’re just standing there, talking. They better…oh, crap.” Sue lunged toward me, pinning me against the back wall of the booth.

  “Nicole gave Atwood the seat facing us,” Sue said in a hurried, hushed whisper. She took a cautious peek around the edge of the booth, then pushed harder into my side. “Sorry, Doc, but if I move over at all, he’s gonna see me.”

  Al was chuckling quietly. “You two wanna get a room?” He had brought his empty beer glass and appetize
r with him when he deserted his booth and he popped the last onion ring in his mouth.

  “Al,” said Sue softly. “I’m going to hide my face and switch places with you.”

  But before she could get up, Sandy returned with my salad. She looked at Al, glanced down the aisle to where he had been, and shrugged. When her eyes came back to the table, she studied Sue and I, then placed the salad on the table.

  “Your chicken Caesar salad,” Sandy said, pushing the plate until it touched the back wall of the booth where I was pinned.

  Funny.

  “Can I take your orders?” she asked, looking at Sue.

  “Just an iced tea for me.”

  I expected a glare from Sandy, but to her credit, she just made a note. “And you, sir?”

  “Half-pound burger, medium rare. Sweet potato fries, large order. And another beer.” He held up the now empty glass.

  “Very good,” she said, and I think she meant it this time.

  After she left, Sue and Al switch places, Sue shielding her face during the maneuver. At least now, I could move my arm if I decided to try the salad.

  “What are they doing?” I asked Al.

  “Just talking. Oh, she must have said something funny. Atwood’s laughing. He’s pointing at something on the wall. He’s laughing again. Now, he’s….”

  “Al,” said Sue.

  “Yeah?”

  “We probably don’t need the play by play. Just let us know if he lunges over the table and starts to strangle her.”

  “Sure, hon.”

  I had to agree with Sue; the running commentary wasn’t helping. I was glad Nicole was safe, but…what? I hoped Atwood would be boring? Sue pulled out her phone, apparently convinced she had nothing to do but kill time until Nicole returned with her report. I turned to Al, hoping to distract myself.

  “So, your wife says you’re off work this week. How’s it feel to be a man of leisure?”

  “It was just these last three days. It’s back to the salt mines tomorrow. But you know, I’m sort of looking forward to going back. It’s been a little boring.”

  Sandy returned with our drinks and he took a sip of beer before he continued. “Sue says I won’t retire well, because I’ve been a bit antsy. But this break was out-of-the-blue. In retirement, I’ll have it all planned out. A little of this, a little of that, and the days will fly.”