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  Of Half a Mind

  Bruce M. Perrin

  Text copyright © 2018 Bruce M. Perrin

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author.

  First Edition

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art by Courtney M. Perrin

  Please visit the Author at

  BruceMPerrin.blogspot.com

  Mind Sleuth Publications

  ISBN-13: 978-1-7320835-0-9 (paperback)

  For Michele, my Renaissance woman.

  Table of Contents

  PART 1. The Great Experiment

  Monday, August 3, 2:13 AM

  Monday, August 3, 9:14 AM

  Thursday, August 6, 9:22 AM

  Thursday, August 6, 9:46 AM

  Thursday, August 6, 10:17 AM

  Friday, August 7, 12:21 PM

  Friday, August 7, 9:46 PM

  Monday, August 10, 2:53 PM

  Monday, August 10, 4:09 PM

  Monday, August 10, 5:17 PM

  Tuesday, August 11, 12:57 AM

  Tuesday, August 11, 9:28 AM

  Tuesday, August 11, 10:14 AM

  Tuesday, August 11, 1:03 PM

  Tuesday, August 11, 1:22 PM

  Tuesday, August 11, 8:13 PM

  Tuesday, August 11, 9:46 PM

  Wednesday, August 12, 8:37 AM

  PART 2. The Data Chase

  Wednesday, August 12, 8:38 AM

  Thursday, August 13, 8:17 PM

  Saturday, August 15, 1:57 PM

  Tuesday, August 18, 10:44 AM

  Tuesday, August 18, 2:54 PM

  Wednesday, August 19, 12:51 PM

  Wednesday, August 19, 2:23 PM

  Wednesday, August 19, 8:43 PM

  Thursday, August 20, 8:58 AM

  Thursday, August 20, 12:57 PM

  Three Months Earlier, Wednesday, May 6, 11:27 AM

  Thursday, August 20, 2:44 PM

  Thursday, August 20, 8:36 PM

  Friday, August 21, 10:36 AM

  Friday, August 21, 2:31 PM

  Saturday, August 22, 5:37 PM

  Saturday, August 22, 8:47 PM

  Monday, August 24, 9:32 AM

  Monday, August 24, 10:13 AM

  Monday, August 24, 1:06 PM

  Monday, August 24, 3:37 PM

  Monday, August 24, 5:56 PM

  Monday, August 24, 6:17 PM

  Monday, August 24, 6:26 PM

  PART 3. Convergence

  Tuesday, August 25, 9:37 AM

  Tuesday, August 25, 10:43 AM

  Wednesday, August 26, 6:11 AM

  Wednesday, August 26, 9:23 AM

  Wednesday, August 26, 2:09 PM

  Wednesday, August 26, 2:33 PM

  Wednesday, August 26, 2:53 PM

  Wednesday, August 26, 6:03 PM

  Same Day, Same Time

  Thursday, August 27, 12:53 PM

  Thursday, August 27, 1:17 PM

  Friday, August 28, 1:04 PM

  Saturday, August 29, 5:14 AM

  Thursday, December 17, 9:22 AM

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Even when we are quite alone, how often do we think with pleasure or pain of what others think of us – of their imagined approbation or disapprobation; and this all follows from sympathy, a fundamental element of the social instincts. A man who possessed no trace of such instincts would be an unnatural monster.

  Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man (1871)

  PART 1. The Great Experiment

  Monday, August 3, 2:13 AM

  He slammed the soundproof door of the experimental chamber, leaving the incessant screaming and the reek of urine, vomit, and sweat behind. Dropping into the chair behind his desk, he released a long sigh and went through it again.

  His final objective floated in the center of his mind’s eye. He could see it. He could feel its unrelenting pull. Then, each of the steps appeared in exacting detail. Break down this barrier. Build this capability. Supplant this weakness. As they aligned in the mental space of his thoughts, he was transfixed by their perfect symmetry. Every step at the proper time, each with its intended effect, leading to the next, producing a new realm of existence.

  True, he wasn’t trained in this field, but his methods to achieve this goal were so elegant, so logical. And if there was anything he trusted, it was his logic. In fact, he was so certain his procedure would work that he thought of himself as ‘the Experimenter’ in the reality-altering research he now conducted.

  “It has to work,” he muttered to the walls. Of course, he knew why it wasn’t. It was the unknown element, the black box sitting in the middle of his perfectly ordered universe. It was the man. Humans introduced an element of chance, of unpredictability, of emotion. To control that element required stronger measures than the Experimenter had anticipated. But he was learning.

  His first approach to the research had been a disaster. He thought he could simply explain the nature of his work and the advances it promised, and his subjects would fall into line. But the individual he had ‘recruited’ first, technically known as Subject Number 1, had proved intractable. No amount of cajoling had moved him. So, when wheedling failed, the Experimenter tried threats. They proved no more effective. Subject 1 was simply paralyzed by fear and motivated only to express his hatred.

  After enduring days of verbal abuse and outright treachery, the Experimenter began to wonder why he ever thought that reason might prevail. The human species was hopelessly embroiled in petty jealousies, groundless loyalties, and trivial dreams. They wasted so much potential with their emotional baggage.

  But while in the thrall of this thought, the Experimenter had accidentally delivered a lethal electrical shock to Subject Number 1. At least, he thought it had been a slip…but perhaps not. He preferred not to inspect his motivations too closely. In any case, that misstep had given him the key to the procedure he now used. That key was pain, because in the instant the electricity ignited the man’s nervous system, Subject 1 showed an understanding of his true place in his now-small world.

  Rousting himself from the reverie, the Experimenter saw that 20 minutes had passed. It seemed mere moments. He peered through a one-way mirror into the experimental chamber, concentrating on the source of his current displeasure – Subject Number 2. He was securely strapped into a modified wheelchair. In front of him, there was a simple display of four lights and four buttons. But the man wasn’t looking at the display; rather, his head was turned toward the mirror, the spittle flying from his lips as he continued his verbal invective without realizing that no one could hear.

  The Experimenter reached over to a computer keyboard on his desk and with a few strokes, he started the software that ran the equipment. Inside the chamber, a green, session-running light came on, signifying that the equipment attached to the man’s head was coming online. After about a minute, one of the lights on the panel lit up. Another trial had begun, but Subject Number 2 didn’t watch. Rather, with this first warning, he strained against the bindings that held him in place, his face crimson, veins bulging in his neck.

  “How many times are you going to do that before you give up?” the Experimenter hissed to himself through clenched teeth. His fingers massaged his temples, pushing against the pain produced by the man’s hopeless struggle. The light sequence ended. An electric shock was delivered. The man convulsed in agony, his m
outh wide in a scream of pain and anger that reached only his ears.

  The Experimenter released a long sigh, leaned back in his chair, and ran his gaze along the calming, gray walls of his lab, letting the automation carry on without him. After a few moments, he rose from his desk and paced to his living area – a corner of the room separated by a pair of partitions around a bed, table, and chair. He retraced his steps to the desk. If there was a way to achieve his ambitions more quickly, dozens of repetitions of this route had failed to make it clear.

  He glanced inside the chamber once more, assuring himself that everything was in place. Electrodes that delivered the shock were attached to one of Subject 2’s legs with his foot placed in a shallow, metal pan with water. The water was unnecessary; any type of connection to ground would work. But somewhere, the Experimenter had read about the near primal fear elicited by mixing water and electricity, and so, a bare foot immersed in the pan had become part of his standard protocol.

  The procedure itself was genius in its simplicity. Four lights on a panel were illuminated in a random order, each lit for two seconds. After the fourth light went out, the subject had ten seconds to press each of four buttons below the lights in the same sequence using his right hand. If he failed to do so, the equipment would deliver an intense, electric shock. Because this procedure was so simple – mere child’s play – Subject 2 had gotten shocked only once during the first trials. But now he was in the second phase of the protocol. Things had changed; the head-mounted device was now active.

  Inside the chamber, the first light of another trial appeared. Subject 2 tensed in the chair, staring at the bulb that signaled the next round of suffering. A drop of sweat rolled down one cheek. But unlike the previous times, he didn’t struggle. Rather, he remained motionless, staring intently at the panel as the lights were lit, one by one.

  Noticing the change, the Experimenter moved closer to the one-way mirror, staring intently. When the light sequence ended, the subject’s gaze dropped to his left hand, which was bound to the arm of the wheelchair. His fingers formed a fist. His muscles tensed as he tried to pull his arm free, but it was no use. His eyes shifted to his other hand, which laid motionless in his lap, exactly where it had been for the last eight hours when this session began. He scowled. His lips moved.

  The Experimenter flipped a switch to activate a microphone, but the man had stopped talking. Then, he thought he saw a finger on the man’s right hand twitch. It was the slightest of movements, if it was anything at all. He moved still closer to the mirror, his nose touching the surface. Through the speakers came a weak, raspy croak. “Move, damn it.” And the hand did. It wasn’t much at first, then it began flopping on his lap, like a fish pulled from the water and tossed on the bank to die.

  The Experimenter lunged for the keyboard, quickly entering the command to withhold the shock, followed by another to end the session. Both he and his subject slumped into their chairs, a smug look of self-satisfaction on the face of the former, complete exhaustion on the countenance of the latter.

  For a moment, the Experimenter considered restarting the computer program to reinforce this first, faltering action, but decided this small success was a good place to end for the night…or what was left of it. It was late, and there was much to do before he could retire. Notes on the progress to date were needed, lest he retread the same ground tomorrow. The electronics had to be removed, cleaned, and stored. Both the man and the chair needed to be cleaned. The floor too. Subject 2 also needed to be fed; the Experimenter wouldn’t want him to starve now that he was showing progress. After that, it would be time to clean himself up and get some rest before starting his ‘day job.’

  He settled back, smoothed the front of his white shirt, and crossed his arms over his chest. To anyone else, that first, fluttering movement of the right hand would be pathetic, meaningless. But to the Experimenter, that simple act was everything. Because in that moment, Subject 2 had commanded his right hand with a part of his brain that would normally control the left side of his body.

  The Experimenter had taken that same, first step long ago. And now, his subject had to follow. These tiny victories were necessary before the man was ready for the new challenges posed by the Great Experiment – an experiment that would perfect a device to rewire the human brain. And when completed, the technology it produced would change the capabilities of man more than the last million years of evolution.

  The Experimenter, of course, would be the first to reap that reward.

  Monday, August 3, 9:14 AM

  “It was like an Edgar Allen Poe story,” I said. “A heavy object – something like a large floor safe – was hanging by a rope over a person. A candle was slowly burning the rope. I was desperate to get to the candle, put it out, but every time I tried, it would disappear into a fog. Or other times, it was like my legs had become lead weights, and I couldn’t move. Then…I’d wake up.”

  Rick Johnson tented his fingers in front of his chin, his eyes going to the ceiling as if deep in thought. “You’re right, Doc,” he said, his gaze returning to my face. “That’s one weird dream. But fortunately, I can help.”

  Why did I ever tell Rick this story?

  “With my extensive education and vast clinical experience….” Rick paused, clearing his throat loudly to signify what we both knew – he had neither. “I can tell you without a doubt that you developed some type of Dudley Do-Right complex as a child. With your fascination with the stock market, you replaced the train racing down the track with a falling safe. Obviously, that safe was about to fall on Nicole.”

  I rolled my eyes, unable to hold my guffaw. “A Dudley Do-Right complex? And I told you this was a year ago in college, right? I hadn’t even met Nicole then.”

  “Amazing.” He held his hands out in front of him, eyes wide in feigned wonder. “You foresaw the future.”

  I could only shake my head. Rick Johnson and I worked in the same division of the St. Louis-based corporation, Ruger-Phillips, named after its founding fathers. Rick’s good-natured irreverence, coupled with a keen eye for technical detail, made him a great colleague. I had only worked with him once, three months previously, but he had become a friend. Even my nickname, Doc, was his idea. Not that I was the only PhD in the division, but it had caught on. The first time our Vice President called me Doc, you could have knocked me over with a feather. I’m not sure he knew my actual name, Dr. Sam Price, but he knew the shorter handle.

  In addition to Rick’s generally phlegmatic approach to life, he had an unnatural ability to remember trivia about everyone. The reference to Nicole was the perfect example. Nicole Veles worked at another company, Biomedical Engineering Associates, and had consulted on my first project for two days. But those sixteen hours had been enough for me to know that I’d like to know her better. My mistake, however, had been mentioning that fact to Rick. Now, he kiddingly implied that every slip of my tongue, every time I was late to a meeting, it was because of a tryst with Nicole. If only that were true.

  “Well, thanks for the psychological consult,” I said. “I’d love to discuss my prognosis, which I’m sure is dire, but I gotta run. Ken is filling me in on my next assignment in 15 minutes. I’ll drop by later so you can tell me what I should put in the final report. Save me a lot of work that way – you know, all those hours poring over messy data and contradictory statistics.”

  “Nice try, Doc, but I know you love that stuff.”

  Since I couldn’t deny it, I shrugged and left for the office of Ken Waters, my immediate supervisor.

  My department at Ruger-Phillips specialized in Independent Verification and Validation contracts. In other words, we were the ‘disinterested, third party’ that made sure the work of others met the government’s specifications. But Rick’s and my roles in those endeavors were different. Rick was a simulator expert. From month to month, his lab might hold anything from a simulator for training nuclear power plant operators to one for Mars rover drivers.

  I, on
the other hand, worked in a discipline that was a relatively recent addition to the division – the use of cognitive science to optimize training. Ken had told me that it was a US Air Force project that had convinced the company to expand. By delivering a mild electric current directly to a pilot’s scalp during training, they found that the time they needed to learn how to interpret radar signals could be cut in half. They called it Transcranial Direct Current Stimulation and using it, they produced a result Rick’s field hadn’t seen in years, if ever. So, with that research, the demand for my skills had been born.

  While the formal recognition of the company’s new branch appeared overnight on organizational charts, establishing a niche with my peers took a bit more time. Soon after joining the company, Rick, quite seriously, had asked me if I could interpret one of his dreams. After stumbling around for a moment, I tried to explain that I knew next to nothing about Jungian dream interpretation – I even went home and did a search on Jung to make sure I had recalled the correct name. As I explained to him, I had studied cognitive psychology and had taken as many statistics and research courses as I could find. Dream interpretation had no place in my course of study.

  When this helped little, I told him that having me interpret a dream would be like him advising on highway construction – Rick was an electrical engineer who knew virtually nothing about the civil engineering side of his field. This explanation had worked, so now, he interpreted my dreams since I was, by my own admission, ‘clueless.’ It had become something of a running joke between us.

  While the camaraderie with Rick formed quickly, the same couldn’t be said about several of the other engineers in the division. They called what I did ‘soft science.’ While that was common usage, it still rankled a bit. So, when they used the phrase, I always asked, what could be harder than my job? Other than perhaps astrophysics, what has more uncharted territory than the human brain? I rarely received more than a grumble in reply.