“Sumimasen, Hakamatsu-sanr ” she said. “Let me introduce our commander, General Valeriy Borzov of the Soviet Union, as well as the journalist-cosmonaut Francesca Sabatini.”
She turned toward the latecomers. “Dobriy Utra,” Nicole said to the general, quickly nodding a greeting in Francesca’s direction as well. “This is the esteemed Dr. Toshiro Hakamatsu,” Nicole said. “He designed and developed the biometry system that we are going to use in flight, including the tiny probes that will be inserted into our bodies.”
General Borzov extended his hand. “I am glad to meet you, Hakamatsu-san,” he said– “Madame des Jardins has made us all very much aware of your outstanding work.”
“Thank you,” the man replied, bowing in the direction of Borzov after shaking his hand. “It is an honor for me to be part of this project.”
Francesca and General Borzov took the two empty seats at the front of the auditorium and the meeting continued. Nicole aimed her pointer at a keyboard on the side of a small podium and a full-scale, multicolored male model of the human cardiovascular system, with veins marked in blue and arteries in red, appeared, as a three-dimensional holographic image in the front of the room. Tiny white markers circulating inside the flowing blood vessels indicated the direction and rate of flow. “The Life Sciences Board of the ISA just last week gave final approval to the new Hakamatsu probes as our key health monitoring system for the mission,” Nicole was saying. “They withheld their approval until the last minute so that they could properly assess the results of the stress testing, in which the new probes were asked to perform in a wide variety of off-nominal situations. Even under those conditions there was no sign that any rejection mechanisms were triggered in any of the test subjects.
“We are fortunate that we will be able to use this system, for it will make life much easier both for me, as your life science officer, and for you. During the mission you will not be subjected to the routine injection!scanning techniques that have been used on previous projects. These new probes are injected one time, maybe twice at the most during our one-hundred-day mission, and they do not need to be replaced.”
“How did the long-term rejection problem get solved?” came a question from another doctor in the audience, interrupting Nicole’s train of thought. “I will discuss that in detail during our splinter session this afternoon,” she replied. “For now, it should be sufficient for me to mention that since the key chemistry governing rejection focuses on four or five critical parameters, including acidity, the probes are coated with chemicals that adapt to the local chemistry at the implantation site. In other words, once the probe arrives at its destination, it noninvasively samples its ambient biochemical environment and then exudes a thin coating for itself that is designed to be consistent with the chemistry of the host and thereby avoid rejection. “But I am getting ahead of myself,” Nicole said, turning to face the large model showing blood circulation in the human being. “The family of probes will be inserted here, in the left arm, and the individual monitors will disperse according to their prescribed guidance programs to thirty-two distinct locales in the body. There they will embed themselves in the host tissue.” The inside of the holographic model became animated as she spoke and the audience watched as thirty-two blinking lights started from the left arm and scattered throughout the body. Four went to the brain, three more to the heart, four to the primary glands of the endocrine system, and the remaining twenty-one monitors spread out to assorted locations and organs ranging from the eyes to the fingers and toes.
“Each of the individual probes contains both an array of microscopic sensors to sample important health parameters and a fancy data system that first stores and then transmits the recorded information upon receipt of an enabling command from the scanner. In practice, I would expect to scan each of you and dump all your health telemetry once a day, but the recorders can handle data covering up to four days if necessary.” Nicole stopped and looked at the audience. “Are there any questions so far?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Richard Wakefield in the front row. “I see how this system gathers trillions of bits of data. But that’s the easy part. There’s no way you or any other human being could look at all that information. How does the data get synthesized or analyzed so that you can tell if anything irregular is happening?”
“You’d make a great straight man, Richard,” Nicole said with a smile. “That’s my next subject.” She held up a small, flat, thin object with a keyboard on it. “This is a standard programmable scanner that permits the monitored information to be sampled in many different ways. I can call for a full dump from any and!or all channels, or I can request transmission only of warning data…”
Nicole saw many confused looks in her audience. “I’d better back up and start this part of the explanation again,” she said. “Each measurement made by each instrument has an expected range — one that will vary of course from individual to individual — and a much wider tolerance range used to identify a true emergency. If a particular measurement only exceeds the expected range, it is entered in the warning file and that specific channel is marked with an alarm identifier. One of my options using the scanner is to read out only these warning lists. If an individual cosmonaut is feeling fine, my normal procedure would be just to see if there are any entries in the warning buffer.”
“But if you have a measurement outside the tolerance range,” interjected Janos Tabori, who was the backup life science officer, “then watch out. The monitor turns on its emergency transmitter and uses all its internal power to send out a beep, beep noise that is frightening. I know, it happened to me during a short test with what turned out to be improper tolerance values. I thought I was dying.” His comment caused general laughter. The image of little Janos walking around emitting a high-pitched beep was amusing.
“No system is foolproof!” Nicole continued, “and this one is only as good as the set of values that are entered to trigger both the warnings and the emergencies. So you can see why calibration data is essential. We have examined each of your medical histories with extreme care and entered initial values in the monitors. But we must see actual results with the real probes inserted in your bodies. That’s the reason for today’s activity. We will insert your probe set today, monitor your performance during the four final simulation exercises that begin on Thursday, and then update the trigger values, if necessary, before we actually launch.”
There was some involuntary squirming as the cosmonauts thought about the prospect of tiny medical laboratories indefinitely embedded in their critical organs. They were accustomed to the regular investigative probes that were placed in the body to obtain some specific information, like the amount of plaque blocking the arteries, but those probes were temporary. The thought of permanent electronic invasion was disquieting, to say the least. General Michael O’Toole asked two questions that were bothering most of the crew.
“Nicole,” he inquired in his usual earnest manner, “can you tell us how you make sure that the probes actually go to the right places. Even more important, what happens if one malfunctions?”
“Of course, Michael!” she answered pleasantly. “Remember these things will be inside me as well and I had to ask the same questions.” Nicole des Jardins was in her middle thirties. Her skin was a shiny copper brown, her eyes dark brown and almond-shaped, her hair a luxurious jet black. There was an unshakable self-confidence radiating from her that was sometimes mistaken for arrogance. “You won’t leave the clinic today until we have verified that all the probes are properly positioned,” she was saying. “Based on recent past experience, one or two of you may have a monitor wander off course. It is an easy matter to track it with the lab equipment and then send overwrite commands as necessary to move it to the proper spot.
“As far as the malfunction issue is concerned, there are several levels of fault protection. First, each specific monitor tests its own battery of sensors more than twenty times a day. Any indiv
idual instrument failing a test is turned off immediately by the executive software in its own monitor. In addition, each of the probe packages undergoes a full and rigorous self-test twice a day. Failure of self-test is one of many fault conditions that causes the monitor to secrete chemicals causing self-destruction, with eventual harmless absorption by the body. Lest you become unduly concerned we have rigorously verified all these fault paths with test subjects during the past year. r
Nicole wound up her presentation and stood quietly in front of her colleagues. “Any more questions?” she asked. After a few seconds” hesitation she continued, “Then I need a volunteer to walk up here beside the robot nurse and be inoculated. My personal probe set was injected and verified last week. Who wants to be next?”
Francesca stood up. “All right, we’ll start with la bella signora Sabatini ” Nicole said w.th uncharacteristic flare. She gestured to the television personnel. Focus those cameras on the tracer simulation. It’s quite a show when these electronic bugs swarm through the bloodstream.”
9
DIASTOLIC IRREGULARITY
Through the window Nicole could barely discern the Siberian snow-fields in the oblique December light. They were more than fifty thousand feet below her. The supersonic plane was slowing now as it moved south toward Vladivostok and the island of Japan. Nicole yawned. After only three hours of sleep, it would be a fight all day to keep her body awake. It was almost ten in the morning in Japan but back home at Beauvois, in the Loire Valley not far from Tours, her daughter, Genevieve, still had four more hours of sleep until her alarm would awaken her at seven o’clock,
The video monitor in the back of the seat in front of Nicole automatically turned on and reminded her that in only fifteen minutes the plane would land at the Kansai Transportation Center. The lovely Japanese girl on the screen suggested that now would be an excellent time to make or confirm ground transportation and housing arrangements. Nicole activated the communication system in her seat and a thin rectangular tray with a keyboard and small display area slid in front of her. In less than a minute Nicole arranged both her train ride to Kyoto and her electric trolley passage from there to her hotel. She used her Universal Credit Card (UCC) to pay for all transactions, after first correctly identifying herself by indicating that her mother’s maiden name was Anawi Tiasso. When she was finished a small printed schedule listing her train and trolley identifiers, along with the times of arrival and transit (she would reach her hotel at 11:14 a.m. Japanese time), popped out of one end of the tray.
As the plane prepared for its landing, Nicole thought about the reason for her sudden trip one third of the way around the world. Just twenty-four hours ago she had been planning to spend this day around her home, alternating some office work in the morning with some language practice for Genevieve in the afternoon. It was the beginning of the holiday break for the cosmonauts and, except for that stupid party in Rome at the end of the year, Nicole was supposedly free until she had to report to LEO-3 on January 8. But while she had been sitting in her office at home the previous morning, routinely checking the biometry from the final set of simulations, Nicole had come across a curious phenomenon. She had been studying Richard Wakefield’s heart and blood pressure during a variable gravity test and had not understood a particularly rapid surge in his pulse rate. She had then decided to check Dr. Takagishi’s detailed heart biometry for comparison, since he had been engaged in a strenuous physical activity with Richard at the time of the pulse surge.
What she had found when she had examined a full dump of Takagishi’s heart information had been an even bigger surprise. The Japanese professor’s diastolic expansion was decidedly irregular, maybe even pathological. But no warnings had been issued by the probe and no data channels had been alarmed. What was going on? Had she detected a malfunction in the Haka-matsu system?
An hour’s worth of detective work had resulted in the identification of more peculiarities. During the full set of simulations, there had been four separate intervals during which Takagishi’s problem had occurred. The abnormal behavior was sporadic and intermittent. Sometimes the extra long diastole, reminiscent of a valve problem during the filling of the heart with blood, would not appear for as long as thirty-eight hours. However, the fact that it did recur four different times suggested that there was definitely an abnormality of some kind.
What had mystified Nicole was not the raw data itself — it was the failure of the system to trigger the proper alarms in the presence of the wildly irregular observations. As part of her analysis she had traced laboriously through the Takagishi medical history, paying special attention to the cardiology report. She had found no hint of any kind of abnormality, so had convinced herself that she was seeing a sensor error and not a true medical problem.
So if the system was working correctly, she had reasoned, the onset of the long diastole should have immediately sent the heart monitor outside the expected range and triggered an alarm. But it didn “t Neither the first time nor any other time. Is it possible that we have a double failure here? If so, how did the unit continue to pass self-test?
At first Nicole had thought about phoning one of her assistants in the life science office at ISA to discuss the anomaly she had found, but she decided instead, since it was a holiday for ISA, to telephone Dr. Hakamatsu in Japan. That phone call to him had completely bewildered her. He had told her flatly that the phenomenon she had observed must have been in the patient, that no combination of component failures in his probe could have produced such strange results. “But then why were there no entries in the warning file?” she had asked the Japanese electronics designer.
“Because no expected range values were exceeded,” he answered confidently. “For some reason an extremely wide expected range must have been entered for this particular cosmonaut. Have you looked at his medical history?”
Later on in the conversation, when Nicole told Dr. Hakamatsu that the unexplained data had actually come from the probes inside one of his countrymen, namely cosmonaut-scientist Takagishi, the usually restrained engineer had actually shouted into the phone. “Wonderful,” he had said, “then I’ll be able to clear up this mystery in a hurry. I’ll contact Takagishi-san over at Kyoto University and let you know what I find.”
Three hours later Nicole’s video monitor had revealed the somber face of Dr. Shigeru Takagishi. “Madame des Jardins,” he had said very politely, “I understand that you have been talking with my colleague Hakamatsu-san about my biometry output during the simulations. Would you be kind enough to explain to me what you have found?”
Nicole had then presented all the information to her fellow cosmonaut, concealing nothing and expressing her personal belief that the source of the erroneous data had indeed been a probe malfunction.
A long silence followed Nicole’s explanation. At length the worried Japanese scientist had spoken again. “Hakamatsu-san just visited me here at the university and checked out the probe set inside me. He will report that he I found no problems with his electronics.” Takagishi had then paused, seemingly deep in thought. “Madame des Jardins,” he had said a few seconds later, “I would like to ask you a favor. It is a matter of the utmost importance to me. Could you possibly come to see me in Japan in the very near future? I would like to talk with you personally and explain something that may be related to my irregular biometry data.”
There had been an earnestness in Takagishi’s face that Nicole could neither overlook nor misinterpret. He was clearly imploring her to help him. Without asking any more questions, she had agreed to visit him immediately. A few minutes later she had reserved a seat on the overnight supersonic flight from Paris to Osaka.
“It was never bombed during the great war with America!” Takagishi said, waving his arms at the city of Kyoto spread out below them, “and it suffered almost no damage when the hoodlums took over for seven months in 2141.1 admit that I am prejudiced,” he said, smiling, “but to me Kyoto is the most
beautiful city in the world.”
“Many of my countrymen feel that way about Paris,” Nicole answered. She pulled her coat rightly around her. The air was cold and damp. It felt as if it might snow at any moment. She was wondering when her associate was going to start talking about their business. She had not flown five thousand miles for a tour of the city, although she did admit that this Kyomizu Temple set among the trees on a hillside overlooking the city was certainly a magnificent spot.
“Let’s have some tea,” Takagishi said. He led her to one of the several outside tearooms flanking the main part of the old Buddhist temple. Now, Nicole said to herself as she stifled a yawn, he’s going to tell me what this is all about. Takagishi had met her at the hotel when she had arrived. He had suggested that she have some lunch and a short nap before he returned. After he had picked her up at three o’clock, they had come directly to this temple.
He poured the thick Japanese tea into the two cups and waited for Nicole to take a sip. The hot liquid warmed her mouth even though she didn’t care for the bitter taste. “Madame,” Takagishi began, “you are doubtless wondering why I have asked you to come all the way to Japan on such short notice. You see,” he spoke slowly but with great intensity, “all my life I have dreamed that perhaps another Rama spacecraft would return while I was still alive. During my studies at the university and during my many years of research I was preparing myself for one single event, the return of the Ramans. On that March morning in 2197 when Alastair Moore called me to say that the latest images from Excalibur indicated that we had another extraterrestrial visitor, I nearly wept with joy. I knew immediately that the ISA would mount a mission to visit the spaceship. I resolved to be part of that mission.”
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