Afterimage

by Roderick Geiger

  “Gyttings has returned to Austin, claiming it will look better if he keeps his distance. He says he does not want the news media to get the idea he is meddling in the research. But I take his departure as a mandate that my authority is supreme. Gyttings left Chalmais here in Eugene to run interference, and Chalmais seems to be bending over backwards not to step on my toes.”

  Gill settled back in the enormous leather chair and, drawing a deep breath, took a moment to absorb the technological specter before him. Only minutes away from the first wet test, technicians and lab personnel hustled about, checking and adjusting, chattering into headsets. The Bridge was alive with activity, more like a NASA rocket launch then the generally tedious bio research to which Gill had become accustomed.

  Sara entered the Bridge with Adel holding onto her arm. The two made their way toward Gill, maneuvering around workers and cartloads of electronics. They sat on either side of Gill and exchanged pleasantries.

  “This is a great day,” Adel said. “After so many years…to see Mark’s work revived like this.”

  Gill grunted nervously.

  “You’re still concerned about the missing notes, aren’t you?” Adel asked.

  “Of course,” Gill said flatly. “We shouldn’t be conducting this test until I have a chance to read all the notes, especially the latest.”

  “I assure you, Dr. Vrynos, you know all you need to know for this phase.”

  Gill wanted to say her husband was dead because he hadn’t known everything he needed to know, but he checked himself. “What about the box,” he said instead.

  “I called Dr. Evans last night,” Adel said cheerfully, unwilling to be affected by Gill’s anxious irritability. “He was too ill to come to the phone but his assistant says they’re still looking for it and they’ll send it along as soon as they find it.”

  “That’s what they said the last time,” Gill blurted. “I still don’t get why a retired detective has any business with…”

  “Gill, Adel told you she gave it to him,” Sara scolded.

  “She told me he took it from her attic 10 years ago during the investigation into the professor’s disappearance. Why does he still have it? Shouldn’t it be police property, like as in evidence?

  “He’s such a nice man and he was so interested in Mark’s work,” Adel said. “After he retired he asked me if he could hold onto it.”

  “But for 10 years?” Gill railed.

  Adel’s thoughts drifted back to the three months covered by the missing box, the autumn and winter after Mark’s breakthrough. It had been a very trying time for them. Mark’s doctors unable to agree on what was wrong. All the while Mark remaining busy with INFX, running interspecies tests, a rat with a dog, a gibbon ape with a rabbit. There had been no survivors. “It was mostly a dead end,” she said to Gill, patting his arm. Still, she had to wonder what a retired detective needed with such technical information.

  “I’m going to go check my station,” Sara said, rising. “If I leave Adel here with you, do you promise not to bite her head off.”

  “I’m sorry,” Gill said.

  He hadn’t noticed Chalmais approach from behind. “Dr. Vrynos, is there a problem?” The Texan was looking at his watch. “This test has got-ta-go on schedule.”

  “We’ll be starting soon,” Gill said quietly.

  Chalmais nodded, gesturing with his head toward the audience area. “I’ll be back there if ya’ll need me.”

  Gill glanced back and noticed the chairs and sofa filled with observers for the test. Most were senior executives, dressed in conservative suits and wearing company photo I.D. badges. It was standing room only back there.

  “This is getting carried away,” Gill grumbled. Deverson had observed many times in his post-breakthrough notes that he did not understand the actual cause of energy release during the live tests. It was therefore impossible, Gill extrapolated, to calculate the intensity of the resultant explosion and thus impossible to guarantee the safety of all these people.

  Deverson had also made a margin note about his fear of touching off some kind of chain reaction. Gill pondered this and the myriad other warnings Deverson had discussed in his rambling volumes. If they started a meltdown here, for example, and reduced the earth to a single, mammoth burst of energy, a tiny supernova consuming the solar system and spreading outward across the galaxy, Marcy would never forgive him. Actually, it didn’t much matter. Marcy wasn’t going to forgive him anyway.

  Gill shook himself clear of the thought and continued his log:

  “Today we will not be needing the functional capabilities of this lab, since Deverson’s fastest scan ran at only about one image per ten seconds. All we are attempting to do here is reproduce Deverson 204 and make a 13-ounce rat disappear.

  “The critical issue, as Deverson indicated in his notes, is timing the scan end-of-sequence to hit those last million neurons, that core of dying brain cells just as they make their last, desperate synapses, share their final thoughts before the last connections go dark. How can I know exactly when to start the sequence? Dr. Galtrup and I have modified Deverson’s old method for running the core failure countdown. Our new program measures brainwave activity over time, computing estimates of the quantity of core failure, then presents this information as a percentage of total Core Failure. But there is still a subjectivity to this aspect of the experiment that I can only hope to get right.” He paused a moment, then switched off the recording.

  “Alright folks,” Gill said loudly, “let’s settle down. Everyone to your stations. All non-essential personnel please leave the room and move to safe distances.” Gill waited a moment as activity subsided and the crowd thinned. “Okay, if we’ve got any red lights I need to hear about them now.” He leaned back, pulling on his chin. His hands and face felt clammy. “Lets dim the work lights to 50%. Imaging?”

  “Good here,” Galtrup squeaked. “Helium exchangers minus four-one-seven Celsius and holding. Input power at 380 amps, minimal flux.”

  “Okay. Let’s pan out on Mainscreen for a full body view,” Gill said. Nothing happened. “Sara?” Gill barked.

  “Sorry,” she said, snapping out of a daydream. “Panning out. Readings are normal. Weight and mass fluctuations within expected tolerances. Good luck, Clint and Josie.”

  The Mainscreen rolled back from a close-up of Josie’s neck until the rodent’s entire body came visible.

  “Life Signs,” Gill said, pivoting his chair to Dr. Lomax’ station.

  “That Josie’s a healthy rat,” Lomax said, scanning eight lifesign monitors, which read the entire spectrum of the rodents’ measurable body functions. “They’re conscious and we’re looking good.”

  Looking good? Oh brother! Gill let out a sigh, knowing he’d reached the point of no return. “Okay, doctor. Let’s put him down.”

  “Suction,” Lomax said, and in a moment the clear tube into Josie’s thigh turned red. Someone in the back row groaned. The rat quivered, spasmed twice, then relaxed into sleep, pigment in it’s shaven skin drawing gray. It took seven seconds.

  “He’s down,” Lomax said quickly. “Synapse activity is…declining.”

  The numbers on the CF monitor dropped quickly, starting at 100%, falling to 93%, 88%, 79% in less than 60 seconds. “Estimate 16 minutes to core failure.”

  “Okay, Will, let’s roll them in,” Gill said.

  The conveyor crept slowly forward and as it disappeared into the MRI, Galtrup switched the main monitor to a split-screen image provided by cameras looking inside the tunnel from either end. “I’m bringing sound levels up now,” Galtrup said, his fingers clattering away on his keyboard.

  They listened as the machine’s syncopated hammering became audible. With each heavy, thuwmp, the camera images jostled slightly, distorting, twisting in the middle.

  “Just like Deverson said,” Sara noted. “Even with all the shielding we’re losing video.”

  Gill took a deep breath. “Okay people, anything to say, say it now o
r forever hold your peace.”

  Except for the thumping, the room was quiet, tense.

  “Then power it up, Galtrup, give me point-five Tesla.”

  Galtrup responded by clattering on his keyboard and the control room filled with a new whirring sound. The Imaging monitor faded from blue to brown, two, fuzzy, pear-shaped objects assembling center-screen, washing again and again, each time doubling in detail as the pixels shrank in size. In a moment it became recognizable: lateral cross-sections of the rodents’ brains. “I’m getting some ghost-effects here,” Galtrup chortled. “Give me a moment to re-batch.”

  “There’s the amygdala,” Lomax said excitedly. The CF monitor had stabilized at 56%. “Estimate 12 minutes,” he said.

  “Confirmed,” Gill said, leaning forward on the front edge of his chair. “Roll them in another 20 millimeters, Will, one-point-five degrees axial.”

  Galtrup obliged, operating a small joystick on his console, which caused the MRI screen to drop out of focus, then back in.

  “Passing eight minutes,” Sara said. Suddenly the CF monitor dumped from 51% to 26%.

  “He’s going down,” Lomax said. “Going fast.”

  “Make that four minutes,” Sara said, her eyes glued to her own screens.

  “Five millimeters left, tilt one degree axial, 2 degrees coronal,” Gill said, and in a moment added: “I think that’s it.”

  Adel felt for Gill’s arm and squeezed. “I never get tired of this part,” she whispered.

  “Look how the brain matter is changing color, from the outside in,” Galtrup observed.

  “It’s retreating,” Adel said. “Into the anterior temporal.”

  “Oh God,” someone groaned from the back row.

  “Galtrup?” Gill said. “On Sara’s mark.”

  “I’m good,” he said.

  Sara adjusted her count several times before she at last announced: “Okay: go in five, four, three, two, one and…”

  “Batch,” Galtrup said, punching the enter key on his keyboard.

  The cameras inside the MRI tunnel walls were pure snow and the cameras mounted at the ends recorded wildly distorted images, a blurred movement inside the tunnel. A dead silence fell over the room.

  “Minus five seconds,” Sara whispered.

  “What was that?” a technician said excitedly.

  “I felt it too,” came another voice from the back row.

  “It’s getting cold in there,” Sara said, watching the infrared monitor. “I show helium pressure stable…no coolant leaks. What gives?” The main screen suddenly winked white. Then the monitor viewing up the tunnel went white. The copper-tinted window had completely fogged-up with condensation.

  Both MRI monitors blinked off. The room seemed to be vibrating slightly, at first noiselessly, then accompanied by a high pitched, muted whistle, faint, growing louder.

  “What in the hail is that?” Chalmais bellowed.

  “Hell is right,” Galtrup chirped.

  The whistle dropped in pitch, louder, the vibration stronger.

  “Turn it off,” Gill commanded.

  “Off,” Galtrup shouted, voice cracking mid-sentence. “I’m all off here!”

  “This is it!” Adel screamed with glee. “I can feel it! Here we go!”

  All at once the room shook hard, a single jolt, a few observers shrieking, making other surprised noises. Then a muffled thunderclap sounded which seemed to echo away many times.

  “Mark!” Adel sang out. Everyone else remained quiet, listening as the sound faded, the vibration passing, leaving only a vague smell of overheated electronics in its wake.

  “Fantastic,” Chalmais bellowed, breaking the silence. “Outstanding!” He began to clap. Several others in the back row joined in the applause.

  “Bring the lights up and turn everything else off,” Gill ordered. “Sara, what are you reading in there?”

  “Few rads above normal; not critical. But it’s cold, 30 Fahrenheit at the door, 18 on the exterior of the tunnel. We must be leaking helium.”

  “Crank up the air exchangers,” Gill commanded.

  “Congratulations, people,” Chalmais said, clambering to his feet. “Looks like you’re on the right track now.”

  “We’ll need some time to analyze our data before we know what track we’re on,” Sara corrected.

  “Any chance we kin run another test yet today?” Chalmais asked.

  “No,” Gill answered with authority. “None.”

  Galtrup went in first and was greeted by a blast of icy wet air and the sound of running water. He covered his nose with the hem of his lab coat against the smell of overloaded circuit boards, burnt insulation, melted plastic. It was pitch black.

  A technician came forward with two halogen work-lights, revealing Lab Four’s floor littered in acoustic ceiling tiles and track, fiberglass insulation, florescent light fixtures, broken glass. “Kill the damn fire-suppression sprinklers already,” he barked.

  The technician’s eyes burned from residual smoke, a purplish cloud. “Whoa. Look at that,” he said as he approached the blackened MRI tunnel.

  Gill and Sara followed, noting the patterns of soot around the tunnel opening, and a large brownish blotch shaped like the number ‘8’ on the far wall in direct line with the tunnel. They stared at one another forebodingly. “Let’s get a sample of that stain,” Gill said.

  “Fantastic,” Lomax said, moving in behind Adel. “Utterly fantastic.”

  Galtrup continued forward, Geiger counter in hand, to the edge of the tunnel. “No shit,” he squealed, peering in. “It’s goddamned empty.”

  The others joined him, staring, awe-struck, into the vacant tunnel. The subject table, it’s mechanicals, the CT head, the cameras, belts, scale, wiring, Josie, Clint, all gone.

  “I told you,” Adel sing-songed.

  “Converted to energy?” Galtrup asked.

  “Gyttings is not going to like this,” Chalmais said.

  “Here’s the best part,” Adel said. “Everybody be real, real quiet.”

  “Your husband’s notes didn’t even begin to…” Gill started.

  “Shhh,” Adel interrupted. “This only works for a minute. Listen.”

  They obeyed, looking around the room, which the air handlers had now cleared of smoke.

  “What are we listening…” Galtrup began.

  “Shhh,” Adel repeated.

  A few moments passed. “What’s that?” Sara said apprehensively, eyes uplifted.

  “What’s what?” Galtrup said, looking up.

  “I didn’t hear anything,” Lomax whispered.

  “Quiet,” Adel commanded.

  Gill moved over to one of the work lights and aimed it at the ceiling.

  “There it is again,” Sara said breathlessly. “A scratching noise.”

  “I heard it too,” Gill said, panning the light.

  It sounded again, this time over by the tunnel opening. Gill moved the light, searching for the source.

  “Up there,” Lomax said, pointing at the ceiling. They all heard it: a tiny squeaking noise.

  “Sounds like a mouse,” Galtrup said, working the other light.

  “Uh oh,” Sara said, swallowing hard.

  “Afterimage,” Adel said triumphantly.

  Day 6

  Monday

  Eugene, Oregon

  “Dad? How come you an’ Mom keep passin’ me back and forth?”

  The question caught Warren off guard. He looked over at Tyler, belted onto the front seat. Warren started drifting into the slow lane. Someone honked. Asshole! He swerved.

  “Is it because you don’t like me?”

  “No way, buddy. You got it all backwards. It’s because we like you so much we’re always trying to be with you, get you for a couple extra days.”

  “Really? Then how come Mom called you to come pick me up so she could go to Reno with that Kevin guy.”

  A light drizzle was falling on the morning rush hour, such as it was in this small city
. Cars had their lights on. Kevin? Unemployed loser. But he and Louise had made a solemn promise not to be disrespectful of one another with Tyler; not to use the boy against the other parent. Now I gotta cover for her again. “No, I called her, Tyler. I said I wanted you with me so we could go up to the snow! Then she planned her trip.”

  “Oh. Good. When we goin’?”

  “Later in the week, son. Daddy’s got to work now.” The boy seemed satisfied, went back to looking out the Buick’s side window. Tyler’s self-doubt was growing, day by day. Joint custody? It was tearing him apart.

  Warren’s thoughts drifted back to Saturday, to Ilene. They’d languished in bed half the day, then taken a leisurely breakfast together, afterwards walking along the river. As if on cue, the reluctant sun had broken through patches of blue sky, momentarily bathing them in shafts of golden light. Good, romantic stuff.

  And she was good company too, Warren thought, funny, animated, never at a loss for words except when she wanted to be. She was comfortable with herself, confident, but she had a vulnerable side too. She had feelings. And the intimacy, the sex, was as good as any in his experience – which was pretty limited. More importantly, he’d needed someone to trust, someone smart and levelheaded, with an eye for the big picture. He certainly didn’t trust his superiors at The Agency, subject as they were to interdepartmental pressures, which often ran against the greater good, and prone as they were to blindness in the cause of personal ambition. He’d felt too small, too young to go on without a second opinion, without a moral ally. He needed a partner. So he’d decided – and this was a big leap - to trust her.

  He’d allowed her to coax copious amounts of information out of him, almost everything he knew about Dr. Deverson, Adel, Detective Evans, INFX. At every step he’d made her promise to sit on the information until they both decided it needed to break in story form.

  Then, just as it was going so well, a Sunday morning message from Louise. Her new boyfriend had won a trip to Reno for the week and he, Warren, needed to take Tyler. Now. Or else Tyler would just stay with her sister Sharon in Oakland. Crack-head Sharon? I don’t think so!