Of Half a Mind Page 13

  He received the chuckles mixed with groans he expected. “Seriously, thanks for being flexible,” Huston said.

  We left his office, but didn’t find Laverne at her desk. Perhaps she was on a break, or maybe she was digging up the files we had requested. I hoped the latter; I was anxious to get them.

  When we reached the first floor, I said, “Rather than all of us driving back to Ruger-Phillips, what about a short recap now?” I had noticed a St. Louis Bread Company restaurant on our first visit. “How about the Bread Co just down the block?”

  Nicole said “Sure,” as Sue nodded her agreement.

  Wednesday, August 19, 2:23 PM

  “Can you believe we’re even in the same lab?” asked Sue, as she and Nicole approached the booth I had claimed at the Bread Co. “It’s like night and day, the way things have changed.”

  I picked up my bagel and coffee and slid over when Sue stood next to me with an iced tea. Nicole took the other side.

  “True,” I said. “But it’s almost too good to be true.”

  Both women stopped what they were doing and stared at me. But after a moment’s reflection, I had no specifics. “It’s probably nothing. Just the sudden change, like Sue said.”

  “Yeah, we may get what we need without the National Guard,” said Sue.

  I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, taking a bite of a bagel. Noticing my look, Sue turned fully toward me and said, “Yeah, I sat by you so I could slip a hand on your knee when Nicole’s not looking.”

  Fortunately, I got the napkin over my mouth before I choked.

  “Or I figured we’d have the same questions for Nicole, and this way, we can both see her.”

  “OK, I can buy that,” I said. “You first or me?”

  Nicole put her drink down, as Sue raised a hand toward me.

  “OK,” I said. “Brain waves and how they’re related to different mental states? I only remember Alpha waves for sure.”

  Nicole twirled a strand of her brown hair around a finger, then said, “This place has Wi-Fi, right?”

  She pulled a laptop from her bag before either of us could answer. “In general, Delta waves are characteristic of a coma or deep sleep. Theta waves are produced during lighter sleep, during some types of emotions, and when dreaming. Alpha is relaxed thought, like daydreaming.”

  All the time she was talking, her hands were moving quickly over the laptop keyboard as she found the signal and logged in.

  “Beta waves are dominant when someone is anxious or actively thinking about a problem. Finally, Gamma waves represent what you might call higher-level thinking – the integration of simpler thoughts, experiences, and actions. And here’s the frequencies of those waves,” she said, spinning the laptop toward us.

  I glanced at the screen, not sure if I was more impressed with Nicole’s ability to recall the detail or to find the website so quickly when she wasn’t focusing. She probably noticed the look of disbelief on my face, as she said, “This is right off my company’s home page, and I have that bookmarked, of course.”

  “It was still fast,” I said. “And it’s Delta, Theta, Alpha, Beta, Gamma from coma to complex thought, right?”

  “In general terms, yes,” she replied.

  I glanced at Sue, who appeared happy to let me ask the questions. “TMS?”

  Nicole spun the laptop back toward her, typing as she talked. “Transcranial magnetic stimulation. It creates a magnetic field outside the skull, which in turn creates electric currents inside. You stimulate the brain, but without putting electrodes on or through the skull.

  “Yeah, I never liked the idea of having holes drilled in my head,” said Sue. “And the point is to change the activity level in the brain using TMS?”

  “When it’s used for depression, yes, that’s the idea. Long-term treatment increases brain activity in areas that were relatively quiet. But there’s still a lot of research. People are looking at things like the frequency of the stimulation, its strength, its location. I’m not sure we’ve done more than scratch the surface. Here’s a picture,” she said, turning the laptop back to us again.

  It showed something like two, thick metal disks – almost the size of tuna cans – attached side by side and held near a person’s head.

  “Some of the patents Worthington received were for TMS coil design,” said Sue. “Guess that makes sense, if he’s going to come up with something like the Blocker.”

  I took my last bite of bagel and washed it down with a sip of coffee. “That’s it for me. Sue?”

  “Nada,” she replied. “You covered them.”

  We both looked at Nicole. “With Sam explaining what the split-brain studies were about and the list we put together of the left hemisphere functions…well, the discussion this morning seemed pretty clear.” Nicole had mentioned our after-hours talk enough now that Sue had stopped giving me a knowing nod. But she did say to Nicole, “Show off.”

  Nicole faked a scowl in response. “But hearing about some of those safety studies,” she said. “I mean, someone can see an object, can’t name it, but can find it in a bag without looking. I understand why that happens, but it’s so….”

  “Weird?” suggested Sue.

  “Or incredible,” Nicole said. “It’s incredible how these parts of the brain can be so well coordinated in everyday life, yet so independent when we give them the chance.”

  At her words, I recalled my amazement when I had first encountered this research. “With the constant communication between them,” I said, “there aren’t many clues about what they can do separately, except from some isolated case studies. But I guess Worthington’s technology might change all of that.”

  Nicole picked up her tea. I leaned back and sipped my coffee. Sue sat looking out the window. I can’t say what the women were thinking, but I was wondering – with a mixture of excitement and trepidation – about the prospects of all we were discovering.

  Wednesday, August 19, 8:43 PM

  The white panel van sat in the darkness of a nearly deserted parking lot. Inside the vehicle, the Experimenter could just make out the sound of the trucks on Interstate-70, probably a quarter-mile away. In the dim rays from the dashboard light, he stared at the words in his notebook, ‘Spare no pain.’

  “It should be, share the pain,” he muttered to himself. In the last 24 hours, he had found two good candidates for that fate.

  The first was his office administrator. She had always been a bit emotional, but she had become hysterical when she saw the nub that had been his left, little finger. She had shrieked, knocking her desk chair over as she jumped up in horror. The Experimenter hadn’t known that was possible with a chair on rollers.

  She had finally calmed herself enough to call for transportation to the hospital, but not before she dropped the phone twice. When she hung up, she started fanning herself and bemoaning the cruelty of his accident. After a few moments, she stood and walked to the filing cabinets, as if she was going to straighten something there. But she touched nothing. Then, she returned to her desk to fan some more. And whimper some more. Soon, the pattern repeated.

  His assistant’s constant, pointless activity and her inane chatter battered his psyche. Finally, her emotional torrent became too much, and he went to his lab intent on returning with the Blocker to silence her, intent on sharing the pain.

  But logic had prevailed. She was too close. Her disappearance would bring unwanted attention. He’d already resorted to electronic communications for most of their dealings. It just needed to be all of them, because she was and always would be so ordinarily human in her thinking.

  As for the second candidate to share the pain, the Experimenter was about to meet with him. Not trusting his memory from the previous encounter, he read the man’s name and physical description from his notebook. He exited the van and walked across the parking lot with his briefcase and a box of parts.

  It was well past normal working hours for the small, local engineering firm, but with what
he was paying them, they could meet him on his schedule. And the night was much less distressing. He pressed a doorbell and after a moment, a man fitting the description appeared.

  “You must work long hours,” said Nils Jurgensen.

  “I do,” said the Experimenter, looking at but not taking the hand Jurgensen offered.

  “Well, I can respect that,” said Jurgensen, the slight frown from the snub disappearing an instant after it formed. “I’m only too glad to come in when you have the time. Let’s step back into the shop and take a look at those parts. I have some butts to kick, if they’re out of spec.”

  The Experimenter donned his color-suppressing glasses. Jurgensen frowned, but said nothing. They walked past a reception desk, Jurgensen entering a code to give them access to a work area beyond.

  “Ah, it’s a crazy time for me. We just had our first child – a boy.” Jurgensen paused, expecting the usual congratulations, but it never came. “Our current place is so small. I gotta find something bigger soon, or I’ll never get any sleep. You have kids?”

  “No, although occasionally I feel like I do.”

  They had reached a worktable and Jurgensen turned to look at the Experimenter, his forehead wrinkling.

  “The people I work with require a lot of my time.”

  “Oh, sure,” said Jurgensen. “Some of the kids we hire don’t know a lathe from a lamppost.”

  The Experimenter handed over the box of parts and Jurgensen spilled a few metal disks onto the work surface. Retrieving a micrometer caliper, he measured several of them. By the second, he was already shaking his head.

  “Well, you’re right. They’re off. No doubt about it.”

  “I don’t make mistakes,” the Experimenter said evenly.

  Jurgensen’s lips drew into a tight line and he nodded once. “Yeah, sorry. Any chance you can work with these? I can give you a great price.”

  The Experimenter glanced at the bandage on his left hand.

  “Ouch,” said Jurgensen. “What happened to your hand?”

  “Sorry, but I have no use for your mistakes,” said the Experimenter, ignoring the question. “I need them replaced.”

  Jurgensen took a breath. “Of course. Sure. Our work’s guaranteed. Bring us some more stock and we’ll machine the replacements for free.”

  Logically, it was a setback; the Experimenter had even expected it. But standing here now, the man’s words felt like a physical assault. They were squeezing the life out of his body, as surely as fingers around his throat. Adrenaline poured into his blood stream. His heart pounded in his chest. His body trembled with pent up rage. He fought against the urge to lash out, knowing that the man was not actually threatening his life, but at the moment, logic held no sway with the ancient parts of his brain.

  He set his briefcase on the work counter and opened the top. Reaching inside, he rubbed his hand across the fabric of the Blocker cap. His fingers tingled at the touch, a wave of relaxation spreading through his body. Even though this cap wasn’t set for his use, wasn’t even turned on, its mere presence reminded him of the electronic sanctuary awaiting him at his lab. Logic reasserted itself. Taking this man would get him nowhere.

  “I don’t have enough of the stock on hand,” the Experimenter said, his voice reflecting the fatigue he felt from fighting his instincts.

  “Sure, bring it in whenever you can. I’ll make sure it’s at the top of our queue.” Jurgensen paused. “Look, I’m really sorry about our screwup. At least, as small as those parts are, it shouldn’t cost that much.”

  “Three thousand, six hundred, seventeen dollars, plus shipping.”

  Jurgensen frowned. “That’s just a guess, right?”

  The Experimenter could have explained that given the exact dimensions of each disk, the loss from machining, and the cost of the stock, this price was exact. Instead, he said, “Ballpark.”

  Not trusting that his calm would hold, the Experimenter closed his briefcase, put the disks back into the box, and turned to leave. Jurgensen followed him to the front door.

  When they arrived, Jurgensen said, “Sorry again. I should be able to get you the corrected parts the day after we receive the material.” He paused a moment, looking at the Experimenter. “You know, I looked you up online.”

  The Experimenter’s hand moved to the clasp on his briefcase, a finger nestled against it. He could have the Blocker cap out in seconds, but holding it on the head of a struggling man? That would be difficult. Unfortunately, the Taser was in the van.

  “Really?” replied the Experimenter. “Find anything interesting?”

  “Tons,” said Jurgensen. “I have to say, we’re honored to have someone like you, Dr. Atwood, coming to us. I mean, you’ve been involved with some real pioneering work. It’s a real privilege.”

  The Experimenter stared at Jurgensen, his fingers continuing to caress the clasp. Finally, he dropped his hand and nodded. “Fix your mistake and we can both value the association.” He turned and left the building.

  The Experimenter walked across the parking lot, took a seat inside the van, and rolled down the window. Jurgensen was infuriating, but this was neither the time nor the place to remedy that situation. In a moment, the engineering building went dark. Jurgensen exited the front door, walked to a car parked alongside the building, and drove away.

  The Experimenter reached for the ignition, his hand stopping just as it touched the key. In the pools of light from the street lamps, he noticed movement. He looked closer. A man was jogging along the shoulder of the road, his movements slow and jerky. He reached forward again to start the van, but again paused.

  “Are you OK?” called the Experimenter, as the jogger passed within a few yards of his vehicle.

  The jogger veered from his path, his hands coming up in defense. The Experimenter cracked the door of the van, filling the cabin with light.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  The jogger dropped his hands and took a step forward. “Just cramping up a little. Spent half the day on a plane and probably didn’t drink enough for this run.”

  “Yeah, you’ll sweat it off here. Where you from?”

  “Seattle,” the jogger replied. “It’s warm there too, but nothing like this humidity. I usually get in a four or five-mile run, no problem.”

  The Experimenter nodded. “Staying in shape. That’s a good habit. You need a ride somewhere?”

  “Oh, no, that’s OK. I’m just going to the hotel up the street.”

  “Suit yourself,” the Experimenter said, as he closed the door and reached forward as if to start the van. “Hey, would a bottle of water help? I have some in the back.”

  The jogger hesitated, then said, “That’s OK. I’m almost back.”

  “It’s no problem. I have a couple of cases in the back and I was going to get a bottle anyway.”

  The jogger hesitated again. “OK, thanks. I’d hate to strain a muscle, just for the lack of a drink.”

  The Experimenter got out and opened one of the side doors as the jogger hobbled over. “Looks like the water’s on the other side. Have a seat and I’ll go around and get it.”

  The jogger sat, turning halfway into the van to watch as the Experimenter opened the door on the other side and removed a bottle from the case. He tossed it across.

  The jogger caught it and removed the top to take a sip.

  The Experimenter slipped his hand into a bag hidden behind the cases of water. He withdrew the Taser, careful to keep it out of sight.

  “You got a lot of hooks and rings in the back here,” said the jogger, as he turned to look out into the night.

  “Just tie-downs when I’m hauling cargo.” The Experimenter raised the weapon, steadied his hand, and fired. The jogger slumped into the van, as the weapon delivered its paralyzing charge.

  “You see, Subject Number 4, I don’t like my cargo moving when I’m trying to drive,” he said, as he retrieved the restraints from the bag. “Someone could get hurt.”
>
  Thursday, August 20, 8:58 AM

  “No really,” said Sue, as we climbed the last flight of stairs to the third-floor landing of the WHT building. “I’d like a bumper sticker that says, children in the backseat cause accidents, but accidents in the backseat cause children.”

  Nicole groaned, saying, “That may be a bit long for a bumper sticker.”

  “No problem,” she replied. “I’ll get another that says, if you can read my bumper stickers, back off. You don’t know me that well.”

  Nicole covered her mouth, shaking her head and laughing. It wasn’t that Sue was that funny, but rather, she had been reeling off these one-liners since we ran into her in the parking lot. I had seen it before, so I stepped aside and let Nicole play straight man.

  “Laverne’s not here,” I said, as we topped the last step. “But it looks like someone left us a note.” I went over and read it, “Make yourself at home in my office.”

  I looked at Sue and Nicole, then my watch. “Almost 9:00.” I tapped on Huston’s door, in case he was already there, but heard nothing from inside. We entered. His jacket was draped over the back of his chair like the day before, but otherwise, there was no sign of him. We resumed our places in the conversation area. Despite the collegial atmosphere of the previous day, I felt somewhat tense. Even Sue had run out of quips, as we sat there quietly.

  Huston burst through the door to his lab a bit breathless, almost as if he had been at a full run. “Good, you’re here. You haven’t had to wait long, have you?”

  With this reminder of the vast difference between our original host and our new one, the tension drained away. “No, we just arrived.”

  “Excellent,” Huston said. He was wearing a white lab coat, but removed it as he walked to his desk. He threw it over the arm of the chair with his jacket, making it look more like a coatrack than a place to sit. Then, he retrieved a few pages from one of the desk drawers and took a seat with us.