Her eyes shot disappointment my way. “Would you want to have some stranger kicking up the painful past? How would you even explain to them how you know Charlie?”
Her points were valid. I nodded and shrugged.
“So, are we settled? I can get rid of this letter, Ryan?”
For a few moments, I couldn’t respond for being instantly lost deep in thought. There was no telling whether the PO box still existed, and even if it did, I had no idea if anyone from Charlie’s family was still alive given how sick they were in my dreams. Even worse, if I acted on the letter, it could potentially undo all the precautions Junior had put in place.
“Ryan?”
All that being true, getting rid of the letter felt undeniably wrong. With that realization, my next actions were on impulse alone.
“Sure. Get rid of it.”
She let loose a big sigh. “Great. I’ll go out the front door and have Barb deactivate our key apps. Then I’ll meet you at the truck.”
I nodded but couldn’t take my eyes off her hand as she balled up the letter and headed back into the hallway. I replaced the piece of wood and followed behind her quickly, watching her chuck the letter into the large trash can we’d borrowed from Barb, the building manager, for the move. I couldn’t stop myself from walking right up to it and extending my hand to grab the crumpled letter.
“Oh, and Ryan?”
She was coming back. Shit!
I darted toward the fridge, pretending to check it one last time as Helen walked back through the front door.
She pierced her eyes. “Is it still empty?”
I didn’t miss a beat. “Yes. Had a craving for cold coffee, then I remembered we poured it out.”
She tilted her head, but then moved on. “Okay. Can you grab the planter off the balcony? I want to take it after all.”
“Sure thing.”
She turned and left for real this time. Almost unconsciously, I dove into the trash and got the paper. It had been saturated in that morning’s coffee grounds, but it didn’t matter to me. I made my way out onto the balcony and pushed the paper deep into the dirt of the planter, then patted it flat. As I went down the fire escape, I realized that I was leaving the apartment for the last time, but the strange feelings that came with that were overshadowed by the guilt already setting in from bending the truth to Helen. Regardless, behind it all, there was also something else entirely different. Like an addict getting his first hit in months, a fire burned in me that took hold. With one last look at Charlie’s old place, I couldn’t hold back my thoughts.
There’s no going back now.
Chapter 2:
The Right Conductor for the Job
“There’s no going back now.”
The tired, gray man in a white lab coat muttered as he flipped open the cover to the green button. He then hesitated, pondering his calculations for a moment in the quiet of the lab. His breathing was erratic because he felt as if he was finally about to create something original.
What if we’re off again? What if we lose more subjects? Dammit, we can’t keep getting it wrong.
But all of the man’s analysis had proven successful, and in those final seconds, a nagging voice in his head wasn’t going to convince him otherwise. With his mind as settled as it was ever going to be, he raised his hand just above the button and came down on it with extra force.
The lab shook to life, and the overhead lights dimmed as the sizzle of electricity filled the space. Power diverted from everywhere else in the facility, and the lights on various equipment were flickering with intensity. A few steps below him on the lab floor, his subjects lay across metal tables. On the wall opposite them, a monitor flashed on and a series of letters and numbers ran across the screen. Eventually, a program window appeared and six progress bars all began counting up at the same time.
Neural Transfer Program
Neural transfers initiated. 1%. 1%. 1%…
The numbers grew at different rates while the man’s anxiety grew steadily. He looked down at the lab’s main procedure area. The twelve lifeless subjects had on helmets that connected them two-by-two. A thin white mist emanating from their bodies signified that their core temperatures were climbing at acceptable rates. The gauges nearby provided confirmation.
The most difficult phase of the procedure was set to begin. The equipment and instruments at his station had to be precisely manipulated in a specific sequence to maintain the appropriate levels within the subjects. In all the man’s testing, he’d found that having a good rhythm to the work produced the best results. As a fan of synthesized orchestra music, he knew just what to do.
The progress bars neared fifty percent as he began to play his instruments. Flipping switches, turning dials, and pressing buttons, the man closed his eyes. The melody of the experiment was breathtaking.
The sizzling electricity provided the rhythm for the symphony. To the left of the procedure table, large machinery kicked on with deep tones offering up bass. On the right, a respirator came to life with the intermittent sound of mechanical breathing that served as percussion. Unable to resist the catchy beat, half the subjects’ chests began rising in unison with the respirator. Upon opening his eyes, the man was delighted to have dancers.
The subjects’ numbers continued to rise erratically, which should have made the doctor pessimistic. But instead, he just enjoyed the sweet, sweet music.
Neural Transfer Program
Neural transfers in progress. 63%. 57%. 69%…
Giving way to the bridge of the melody, the commotion from the respirator subsided. His subjects continued dancing on their own. The man felt like his masterpiece was finally coming to fruition. As some of the progress bars grew, he couldn’t contain his excitement.
“It’s working! It’s working! Just a little longer.”
One progress bar hit 93%.
“A new record!” He took a series of short breaths, hardly able to contain himself. But his excitement was short-lived.
The lights in the room went red, and a mechanical voice beckoned over the intercom. “Warning: Subject vital signs are weakening.”
His symphony was suddenly playing off-key. “No! That can’t be true!”
Spinning around to his computer console, the man rattled through several lines of code, but for the life of him, he couldn’t find any problems. A door opened behind the man, and a younger woman entered the lab dressed similarly.
“Dr. Martin, the alarm. What’s the matter?”
He scoffed at the question, continuing to type away.
The woman persisted. “The temperature was off, wasn’t it?”
“Dammit, Dr. Campbell!” He shot her a nasty look. “I don’t need an ‘I told you so’ right now! If you’re not going to help, please leave.”
Without a word, Dr. Campbell pushed the man aside and began frantically typing. A scowl came over her face that increased in intensity the more she typed.
“I hesitated for just a second!” Dr. Martin seeped with anger.
Campbell shook her head. “Your execution was flawless. It’s the program. It’s off by five-degrees Celsius. There’s nothing more we can do at this point.”
“Warning: Subject vital signs critically low.”
Martin stood up from his chair and turned to his dancers, whose chests were still faintly moving to the chaotic ruckus of the lab. It had been his intent to conduct a charming song about the beauty of life. Instead, he had produced a tragedy, and it would have to come to its inevitable and characteristic conclusion. Martin flipped a cover at his station to reveal a big red button. He slammed the button, and the voice from above spoke again.
“Neural transfer aborted. Neural transfer aborted.”
The building jolted back to normal electricity levels, and the lights brightened rapidly, causing the doctors to flinch. The din of the lab s
lowly receded into silence, and Martin watched as the chests of the subjects lowered for the last time. The voice from above returned, spewing sorrow at Martin.
Subject Pair #1 Status: Deceased.
Subject Pair #2 Status: Deceased.
Subject Pair #3 Status: Deceased.
…
Martin plopped back down into his chair and slumped over his desk.
Campbell put her hand on his shoulder to offer some reprieve. “These new trials are so close, but it’s tough work. Let me help you next time.”
He took a deep breath and sat up straight, still turned away from her. “I’m starting to think it isn’t possible.”
Campbell shook her head. “No. The simulations say otherwise. We just have to fine tune it. Remember the small lab that you started in? Look how far we’ve come. We can’t stop now.”
Even if he was pissed at his latest failure, Martin couldn’t argue with Campbell’s assessment. The more he thought about her, the more his mood improved. He turned to her. “As always, you’re right. You’re the colleague I need, but not the one I deserve.”
“Stop,” she scowled. “We couldn’t have come this far without your early work.”
Martin stood up and looked passionately into Campbell’s eyes. “I don’t know how I got so lucky to be with the most brilliant scientist of our time.”
Campbell leaned in with a smirk. “Well, if you keep making it obvious at work, that won’t be the case for long.” Her expression changed to anger, and she whispered hard, “I don’t like gossip!”
Martin shook his head. “Is it really gossip if it’s true? I love you, J—”
“Sh!” Campbell’s face scrunched up as she furiously looked around for anyone watching in the lab or through the surrounding windows. When she confirmed there was no one, she snapped back at Martin, “Yes, and I love you too, Rex. But we’ve been over this. It’s hard enough to be respected as a female scientist. I don’t need anyone thinking I’m sleeping with you to get ahead.”
She scanned the area again, fixed her lab coat, and softened her tone considerably. “Now, I’m heading home. Can you clean up this mess quickly enough to join me for a night cap, or am I sleeping alone again tonight?” She winked at him.
A dumb grin stretched across Martin’s face, but it melted away quickly. “No, I want to check the logs to be sure of the miscalculations. I’ll just see you in the morning.”
“Suit yourself.” Campbell nodded and left.
Martin typed a bit more into his console before finding where the error had occurred.
Dammit, she was right about the temperature.
He spent the next several hours trying to correct the program but hit his limit before actually being satisfied. Martin stood up, stretched, and yawned. Then, he couldn’t help but peer down at his former dancers again. He could have called in the overnight lab assistant to do most of the cleaning for him, but he was unusually sad about this group. To him, it was only right that he took care of the best dancers that he’d ever had.
Dr. Martin went down the five stairs to the lab floor and walked over to the procedure tables. He leaned onto one with both hands and just stared for several moments. Thinking deeply about his past, as depressed as he was, he couldn’t help but let loose a muffled snicker and a comment under his breath.
“If only she knew…”
Martin had come to be a world-renowned brain surgeon and data transfer expert. While it was true that he was extremely intelligent and had worked hard during and after his formal education, his work had always been driven more by personal edification than scientific progress. That had been no more evident than in the way he conducted his experiments. He’d never wasted time understanding the basics of a topic, but instead jumped right in to connecting the dots of other scientists’ work. Virtually all his breakthroughs had come on the heels of others, and some had been ethically questionable as a result. Some experts in the field had enabled his behavior by saying that his work had been more important than the work on which he piggybacked.
The only person to call him out on this tendency had been his late wife, Lana. She’d claimed he was all but stealing the work of others. Martin had been in denial at first, but Lana had been very persuasive. Fortunately, she’d also had a knack for shifting his focus to the fundamentals of a project, which would allow for a more organic progression of ideas.
After Lana had passed, he almost immediately reverted to his old ways. The only difference was that he couldn’t hide the truth from himself. It seemed like he was often his biggest, and only, critic. As a result, he felt like he’d stopped tapping into his potential. He couldn’t shake the imposter syndrome that had haunted him since Lana’s revelation, and he had just been waiting for the day when someone would call him out on his bullshit, effectively ending his professional career as a scientist.
Each time he’d failed to be the first to conduct a digital neural transfer, it illustrated just how big of a leech he was. There had been no question in his mind that Campbell was far more suited for the role as Chief Neural Transfer Engineer. Yet, the higher-ups hadn’t been comfortable with a young, inexperienced woman being the face of any project, let alone a pioneer in the field. All that said, Campbell was as intelligent as she was fierce and beautiful, and she deserved every bit of the spotlight that he had gotten the last couple of years. All of it had been painfully obvious to Martin, and he was certain Campbell knew it as well.
Dr. Martin shook the depressing thoughts from his mind and shifted his focus back to his subjects. “Rest in peace, Daisy. Your group was the closest thing that I’ve ever had to a ballet.”
As he started to clean up their remains, he only felt worse. Had he just tried a little harder and gotten assistance sooner, Daisy’s group might have survived, and they would all be famous. Instead, Daisy’s group was just another failed test case, a footnote in the documentation. The more failures there were, the less likely the board would offer more funding. As difficult as it was, he knew what needed to be done.
Satisfied with the lab’s cleanliness and his level of self-contempt, Martin wandered over to the other side of the lab. He stopped at the large terrarium on a table against the wall and dipped his hand in. He gently grabbed one of the squeaking inhabitants, held it up to his face, and sighed. “I’m sorry you had to see that, Benny. I know you were close to Daisy and the others.”
Benny’s nose went wild trying to sniff Martin. “Squeak! Squeak!”
“I know, I know. But we were so close.”
“Squeak!”
“You’re right, Benny. I should have done it a long time ago.”
He put Benny back into his tank and finally called it a night.
For the next several days, Martin and Campbell hunkered down in the lab, analyzing every minute detail involving the procedure. Campbell was anything but confident throughout those days, but that began to change a few days before the next scheduled attempt.
It was a seemingly normal morning at the lab. Martin and Campbell stared intently at Benny as his daily routine was about to begin. A dull tone acted as Benny’s alarm clock, and he popped out of his hay bed. He darted toward the water drip and drank exactly five drops in a cadenced pattern. Next, he moved onto the breakfast dish where he meticulously ate four pellets. Then, he immediately made his way to the small pool for a bath. Jumping out, he shook off the excess water as he always did, and he was finally ready for exercise. Benny dashed to the running wheel and jumped on. With a couple of quick steps, the timer behind him started, and the wheel began to spin relatively fast. As usual, the wheel let loose a quiet, high-pitched squeal that always gave the doctors goosebumps. After precisely thirty-five seconds, Benny jumped off and scampered toward a small opening in the wall of his terrarium that led to a place out of sight.
The doctors went through a door in the same direction as Benny and arrived in the La
byrinth, an impressive fifteen-by-fifteen-meter room filled with ten-centimeter, clear tubing that twisted and turned in every direction. Initially, the mice were food-trained to complete only small portions of the maze, but as their comprehension expanded, so too did the expectations for them to complete more with fewer tangible incentives. This run was Benny’s final attempt before being completely weaned off sustenance as a motivating factor. After the digital neural transfer, food would be reintroduced as an additional motivating factor to entice him to solve the maze successfully.
There were dozens of ups, downs, lefts, rights, and diagonals that culminated in the only successful way to complete the 150-meter labyrinth. At the end, there was a large red button for the mouse to push, and he’d be rewarded appropriately. Benny had begun his journey, and he was instantly on pace to break his old record of 12 minutes, 12 seconds.
“I have a good feeling about this bunch.” Martin pointed to the clock.
Campbell shook her head and turned to him with concern on her face. “Doctor…Rex, I’m worried. Losing the last group was not only hard on you, but also the team. Since our funding is on the line, why don’t you let me compile and build your program just to make sure nothing was missed? Hell, I’m even open to executing the final run.”
True to form, Campbell had beaten Martin to the punch, and he was awe-struck by her forwardness. Asking the Chief Neural Transfer Engineer to all but step down was a risky move even if they were romantically involved. Martin didn’t think he could respect her more, but as always, she’d found a way to exceed his expectations. He felt like he should have been chewed out for standing in the way of progress for so long. But regardless of how painfully obvious it was that Campbell was the right person for the job, there wasn’t even a hint of condescension in her tone. It made accepting reality that much easier for him—Campbell was a prodigy much more humble and gifted than him.
Regardless of their relationship, a part of him knew she spoke cautiously because of their power dynamic. It made him that much sadder, and it was even more of a reason to do the right thing. Ultimately, it was one of the hardest things for him to do, handing over a project that he was so passionate about, but he knew that his pride and reputation were far less important than moving science and humanity forward. So, for the first time in his life, Martin was going to refuse credit for someone else’s work.
Between Two Minds: Revelation Page 4
