Of Half a Mind Page 8

  We left to meet with Worthington.

  Tuesday, August 11, 10:14 AM

  The wait with Laverne was nearing 15 minutes, and it was taking a toll on her. When she got up from her desk for the third time, she nodded with her head toward a corner of the room. I followed her over.

  “Dr. Worthington’s really not so bad,” she said barely above a whisper. “He’s actually quite brilliant, and underneath it all, he’s a caring person.”

  I had leaned close to hear, but with those words, I drew back and looked at her closely. Did she really believe this, or was she trying to convince herself? The sadness in her eyes implied the former.

  “It’s just that he’s been under so much pressure with all the late nights and research set-backs. And his wife hasn’t helped things either, with all her eleventh-hour demands,” Laverne said.

  I smiled and nodded, impressed by her loyalty. “Don’t worry. Dr. Worthington’s conduct in these meetings has nothing to do with our job. We’re only interested in….” I got that far in my disclaimer when the door opened and Worthington appeared. I gave Laverne a parting nod and smile, hopefully lessening some of her concerns.

  As before, Worthington walked ahead of us, sat behind his desk, and then gestured to the chairs aligned against the far wall. Unlike before, Atwood wasn’t in attendance. “Well, did you figure out my study?”

  In the end, our work would be unaffected by his attitude, as I had told Laverne. But that didn’t mean I liked dealing with him. I felt my muscles tense and my blood pressure increase with his conceit. “I believe we’ve derived all the information it contains.”

  Perhaps he didn’t recognize all the possible meanings of the statement, as he replied, “Good. So, you have other concerns?”

  I was glad our agenda was short. “We have only two questions, and then, we’d like to get the files mentioned in our contract and we’ll be on our way.”

  Worthington scowled, but said nothing.

  “We’ll be receiving the observation reports and the results from the Beck Inventory,” I said. “But we were wondering if you had any comments on A.T.’s behavior beyond what’s in those documents?”

  Worthington leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. “If there’s one issue you need have no concern about, it’s any negative effect of the technology on A.T.’s state of mind or his actions.” He waved a hand, as if swatting away a pest. “There was nothing troubling in his behavior during the study.”

  “So, no new behaviors emerged?” Sue asked. “Nothing seemed to become more prominent?”

  Worthington’s face reddened, but the emotion passed quickly. He leaned back and stared at the wall over our heads. “He was more intense, more driven than I first expected, but nothing more. Certainly, there’s been nothing of concern in his actions since he left.”

  “But A.T. withdrawing from the project prior to completing the final tests – could that have been the result of some negative side-effect?” Nicole asked.

  Worthington’s expression darkened again, the color lingering this time. He grasped the arms of his chair, sat up, and glared at her. “His leaving was a setback. His explanation for withdrawing seemed weak at the time, although technically, he didn’t need any reason at all. Mostly, it was just a surprise.”

  Worthington leaned back and looked at the wall again, as if his own words had calmed him. “It’s only that he was making such good progress using the Blocker. And he had taken an interest in it. He’d even made some suggestions about adjustments. But in the end, the call to go on to bigger and better things was probably too much for him to ignore.”

  The word that caught my attention was ‘adjustments.’ Worthington’s paper had said that A.T. was a student at a local university and was being paid for participation. I had thought ‘starving, psychology graduate student.’ Having been one, I knew that paid studies were valued – easy money for little work. But if he was suggesting changes to the hardware or software? Well, a psychology curriculum wouldn’t have given him the necessary background.

  “What kind of adjustments?” I asked.

  The words had hardly passed my lips when Worthington snapped, “Out of scope for this discussion…and your job.”

  That was possible. Any talk of future development would be beyond our contract; we only had a requirement to understand the current system. “OK,” I replied. “Anything else you noticed about his behavior?”

  Worthington blew out a breath, shaking his head in disgust. “No, you’re wasting my time. We developed a post-treatment protocol and followed it precisely. If A.T. had been affected negatively, we’d have seen it.”

  “Did you review the post-treatment observation reports?” asked Sue.

  Another flicker of anger crossed Worthington’s features. “None was required. I recorded those observations – every last one of them,” he said, emphasizing each of the last five words.

  I knew Sue wouldn’t be intimidated by Worthington’s blustering, so when she gave me a slight shake of the head indicating she had no more questions, I was certain she was satisfied with the information we had, or perhaps, only satisfied that we were unlikely to get more. But I knew Nicole less well. At a glance, she didn’t appear bothered as she shook her head too, but maybe she had a good poker face.

  There were a few issues that still bothered me – mostly A.T.’s ‘intense interest’ followed by an abrupt, poorly explained departure. But I had done enough research to know that on occasion, participants just decide to leave. Or they get a better offer. For all I knew, A.T. had won the lottery. We had pressed Worthington on this issue as much as we could.

  That left the final question. While I would introduce it, it would be up to Nicole to ferret out any details that were unclear. I didn’t know if she had done this kind of interview before, and if not, I couldn’t imagine a worse situation or person on which to learn.

  “We’d like to learn more about the electronics involved in the Neural Activity Blocker. And specifically, we’d like to know how the Blocker stimulates the brain. We suspect you didn’t drill holes in A.T.’s head for electrodes.”

  I knew the statement wasn’t that funny, but on the off chance it might reduce the tension, I threw it out. But Worthington’s reaction couldn’t have been worse if I had called him a liar and fraud. His faced turned red, a vein popping out on his forehead. His whole body tensed, as he leaned forward in his chair.

  “You think I’m an idiot,” he spat between clenched teeth. “How the Blocker works is irrelevant to you.”

  Knowing we had at least three copies, I pulled out my list of the information we were due. I looked at it a moment, less to refresh my memory than to consider my approach. I stood, walked to the desk, and extended the paper. He didn’t move, so I pulled it back and read from it.

  “Under contract, we should receive, and I quote, ‘descriptions and functional diagrams of the Neural Activity Blocker sufficient to determine its impact on the activity in the brain.’ Unquote. That’s directly from the VA.”

  “Lies,” he screamed, as spittle flew from his lips. “The VA is fully aware of the device’s capabilities. They’d never request such a thing.”

  He paused, glaring at me. The silence of the room was unnerving.

  “I believe you’ll find…,” I started, but he held up a hand.

  A bitter laugh escaped his lips, as his eyes moved from my face, to Sue’s, then Nicole’s. “Until now, I had no idea what you were up to.” He spoke slowly, softly, continuing to shift his glower among us. The change in volume and tone felt even more threatening than the previous shouting. “You’re nothing but common criminals. The only question remaining in my mind is, who’s behind this?”

  He looked at Sue and me, his lip curling in disgust. “You, Dr. Price, Ms. Jordan. You probably have no clue as to what my discovery represents, as there are no rats in a maze in my work.”

  He shifted his eyes to Nicole. “Ms. Veles, on the other hand, at least works at an org
anization that might, with enough time, be able to make some sense of my creation. But she never heard of me before two days ago.”

  How does he know all that?

  Of course, Ruger-Phillips was identified on numerous documents Worthington had, but Nicole’s company wouldn’t be mentioned by name. He had been checking up on us and his familiarity with the members of my team was troubling.

  Worthington turned in profile, staring at a blank wall. His hands were clenched on the arms of his chair, his knuckles turning white. “No, you three have no concept, no idea, meaning that Jerome Caufield is behind this.” He snorted in derision. “I stopped the doctor from stealing the Blocker once. But now, it seems he’s enlisted some simple-minded dupes who plan to hide the deed under the guise of a forged, government contract. I never should have revealed anything to that quack.”

  I considered denying any connection with Caufield, but for all I knew, he was a VA bureaucrat somewhere on the signature cycle for our contract. It was best to ignore Worthington’s accusation for now.

  Faced with the question of ‘what next,’ I did what came naturally, what I was known for. I persisted. In the face of near certain defeat, I tried one final appeal in hopes it would expose this tirade as nothing more than a misunderstanding.

  “We’re here only to fulfill the requirements of our contract to the VA. That contract requires an accounting of the physiological effects of the electronics, and we can only get that from the specifications. We require that information if we’re ever to understand A.T.’s experience.”

  Beads of sweat popped out on Worthington’s forehead. He stood, walked around the desk, and stood mere inches from my face. His labored breathing brought the smell of stale coffee to my nose.

  “You’re a fool,” he snarled, stabbing the air with a finger. “Do you really believe I’m going to hand over documents that would allow the doctor to duplicate my triumphs? You say you want to know what the experience is like? It’s like white noise, but one that opens your mind rather than fills your ears. It provides a clarity, a precision, and a breadth of thought like nothing you’ll ever experience.”

  I stumbled back, my eyes searching his face. “You used…. Tell me I’m wrong, but that sounds like…you used the Blocker on yourself?”

  Worthington’s face distorted with rage, his eyes bulging. He bared his teeth as if to snarl something, then clamped his mouth in a tight line. He looked down. My eyes followed his, finding the page of our contract still in my hand. He grabbed it, ripped it up, and threw it in my face. Then, he spun and stormed from the room into his lab.

  I made my way back to my chair and the three of us sat there dazed. Perhaps I should have tried harder to find something to break the tension, but being glib or dismissing the incident as trivial or meaningless was more than inappropriate; it was dangerous. Finally, I found my voice.

  “Can we meet back at the Ruger-Phillips offices at 1:30? We need a new approach for this project. One that puts a lot of distance between us and that man.”

  I received their quiet concurrences and we left.

  Tuesday, August 11, 1:03 PM

  “You can’t do this,” Subject 3 rasped when the Experimenter entered the chamber. “I got rights. Lemme go.” Then, he started coughing.

  It had taken until almost 3:00 AM for the Experimenter to find his latest test case. He had rejected one candidate who was twitching wildly in his sleep. Another was so skinny, the Experimenter wasn’t sure he would survive the drive back to the lab, much less the research. And then, there was the woman. He shuddered at the thought. But for all his care, all his hunting, the wheezing man who now sat before him was the best he could find.

  The Experimenter walked over and faced him. “Time for you to go, get something to eat, and get some rest.”

  “Don’t need nuthin’ from you.”

  “Perhaps not, but I need the device on your head.”

  Subject 3 stared at the Experimenter, his throat so dry he gagged when he tried to swallow. The cough returned, worse this time.

  “That’s right,” said the Experimenter when the hacking stopped. “I use it. You’ll come to appreciate it too, trust me.”

  “I’ll die first.” The Experimenter nodded, thinking the man’s statement might be more of a prophecy than a rebellion.

  He went to his work area and entered a command on the keyboard. Returning to the chamber, he pulled a heavy, cloth cap from a drawer. It roughly resembled a driving cap, with that flip of material resting on the bill. “Shall we try this on for size?”

  There was no response. The Experimenter would have been surprised had there been one, because the command he had entered caused the Blocker to paralyze the man’s voluntary muscles. The involuntary muscles would continue to function. His heart would beat. His lungs would breathe. His eyes would blink. But much of the rest of his body was useless.

  Subject 3 had been using his right hand during the earlier session, so the Experimenter now secured it to the chair. He checked the bindings on the man’s feet and head. Then, he carefully removed the Blocker from his head.

  Subject 3 came to life – or at least as much life as possible when lashed to a wheelchair. The room was filled with a tormented howl. The Experimenter made out the words ‘gonna kill,’ but wasn’t sure who was killing and who was dying. He placed the ‘driving cap’ on the man’s head, flipped a tiny switch on the back, and the room was again plunged into silence. It worked.

  Crammed under the crown and inside the extra fold of material on the driving cap were a high-capacity battery and a microprocessor. Wires from the tiny computer led to a series of metal disks embedded in the material. It was a portable Blocker. And it was set to paralyze the man, using the same configuration as the full, laboratory version, just in a much more compact form. With the battery, it could immobilize the wearer for about 20 minutes on a charge. The Experimenter smiled. He’d eliminated the risk of tasing his subjects during the return to their prison.

  He wheeled Subject 3 to the residence and into the larger cage. There, he tipped the chair to the floor and removed the bindings. He dragged the man to one of the walls, leaning him against it. After removing the wheelchair and securing the cage, the Experimenter reached through a slot, removed the paralyzing cap, and quickly pulled it out of the enclosure. There was little chance the subject would recover his wits in time to grab the Experimenter’s arm, but he held the Taser in his other hand, just in case.

  Subject 3’s face screwed up, preparing to release another howl of protest until he noticed the food setting in front of him. It could be poisoned, but he was hungry. What had it been since his last, good meal? A day? Two? Whatever, it had been long enough, and he started eating greedily.

  The Experimenter left the residence and returned to his work area via the chamber. To allow his research to go more quickly, he had automated much of the rewiring protocol, allowing the computer that drove the equipment to adjust the mental tasks. He had also refined his methods. There was, for example, no longer an abrupt shift from a sequence of four lights to one involving nine. The challenge was introduced slowly, automatically by the computer.

  He consulted the log from the software. The session had begun just after 6:00 AM. During the seven hours of treatment, all under the direction of the computer, the man’s suffering had been considerable, but that was the nature of these first trials. He retrieved his notebook from a desk drawer and updated it.

  He rose from his desk and entered the experimental chamber, taking the notebook with him. First, he cleaned the Blocker cap, then removed a large, plastic cover from his personal, treatment chair. He rolled it into place under the cap, his heart starting to beat faster in anticipation of the coming mental voyage.

  He checked his notebook to refresh his memory, although the act was unnecessary. He was all too familiar with the problems he would soon address under the Blocker’s electronic guidance. First, there were the people hired by the VA – Price, Jordan, and Veles. The sight
of their names in black and white on the page made his blood boil. It was an instinctive response, an animalistic drive born from the threat they posed to his biological need. They couldn’t be allowed to come between him and the electronics that gave him true life.

  And then there was the good doctor. He knew too much and had ambitions far too great for his poor station in life. At first, he had seemed brilliant, capable of understanding how completely the Blocker could crystalize one’s world and expand one’s vision. But the Experimenter no longer believed that. Any time spent trying to enlighten him would be wasted; he was intellectually inferior and hamstrung by his emotional attachments. No, the doctor must die, lest the information in his head become known and the Great Experiment terminated before fruition.

  He checked the configuration of the device once more, assuring himself that it was set for his own, personal needs. Then, he adjusted the timer.

  “Tell me what I need to do,” he said aloud as he flipped the switch. Soon he would know, because in the cold, hard calculus of the Blocker-created world, there was never error.

  Tuesday, August 11, 1:22 PM

  I like action-adventure novels. In some of the books of that genre, there is a hero who has a tiny voice in the back of his head that lets him know when something bad is about to happen. I had nothing like that, as I sat picking at the chef salad I had bought for lunch. No, I had something akin to the blast of a fire-engine siren two inches from my ears and the flashing lights of a slot machine that had made the $100,000 payoff directly in front of my wide-open eyes. Worthington was dangerous. Of that, I was certain.

  That thought drove the plan that was forming in my mind. It consisted of equal parts of reporting everything we had learned to my management and then enlisting the help of the VA to obtain the data we needed. I wanted to avoid rolling the dice in further direct contact with Worthington. Having made up my mind, I disposed of my half-eaten salad, and went to meet Sue and Nicole in one of our conference rooms.