Of Half a Mind

by Bruce M Perrin

  “I think not,” he hissed to himself.

  He grabbed the keyboard from the desk and restarted the equipment, then leaned back. “I must have more subjects. More grist for the mill of scientific progress.”

  His gaze traveled around the room, falling on the bed sitting in the corner. “And maybe a pet for myself as well.”

  Monday, August 24, 1:06 PM

  I entered my office after lunch, slouched into my chair, and glanced at the light on my phone. It wasn’t blinking, and in our case, no news was bad news. No one was calling about the missing files. No one was phoning with news about the mysterious A.T. I massaged my temples in a losing battle against the tension I felt.

  After speaking with the detective, I had asked Sue to restart her writing assignment for the final report – turn the phantom limb material into a background section for training research. I added the caveat that the report would most likely be an epitaph for a failed project, so write accordingly. I left the same message for Nicole, after failing to reach her on the phone. She’d edit her words on the effect of the Blocker on the left hemisphere and perhaps add some initial thoughts about the electronics based on the specs.

  For my part, I had to pen the words that tied it all together, making it look like we had made progress when in fact, we had nothing. I stood up from the desk and turned to the whiteboard, staring at the list of left hemisphere functions hanging there. Was there inspiration hiding in those words?

  “I’ve got one for you.”

  I jumped at the sound of Sue’s voice. I turned to see her standing in my doorway.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” She came in and sat down in the chair next to my desk.

  “Just lost in thought.” I leaned up against the whiteboard and shoved my hands into my pockets. “So, you’ve got one for me. Is this the one about the boyfriend you had in college who liked to talk during sex? He liked it so much that he’d even call you from the hotel?”

  Sue laughed. “You still remember that? I didn’t know you were so fixated on sex.” For a split second, I was going to deny it, until I realized that would be playing into her hands.

  “OK, I give. What have you got for me?”

  I was still expecting a joke when she said, “Prosopagnosia.”

  I frowned, holding out my hands.

  “The inability to recognize faces,” Sue said.

  “Oh, one of Worthington’s problems.” I looked at the list on the whiteboard. “Not a left hemisphere function, is it?”

  Sue laughed. “You don’t give up, do you? Nope, just the opposite.”

  “What?” I asked, startled by her words.

  “Prosopagnosia?”

  “No, after that. It’s a right hemisphere function?” I asked.

  “Yeah, seems to be. Why?”

  I turned toward my window, looking out at the parking lot and the freeway beyond. “Would you call Nicole?”

  “Well, I could but…,” she started.

  “Yeah, I know. The list of left side functions hasn’t paid off.” I paused, then chuckled. “And I’ll probably be wrong about this too, but I’d like to run something by you two. Since you’re right by the phone, can you give her a call?”

  Sue shrugged, then said, “Sure.” She put the phone on speaker and dialed a number. It rang several times – enough that I was about to tell her to hang up because Nicole had always answered within one or two rings. Then, Nicole’s voice came across the speaker. But in place of her confident, standard, work greeting, I heard a tentative, “Hello?”

  I looked at Sue. She was trying to look innocent, holding her eyes open wide, but the corners of her mouth twitched in a suppressed smile.

  “Hi, Nicole. It’s Sam. Sue and I are here in my office. I had something I wanted to run past the two of you, if you have the time.”

  “I do…but why didn’t you just come by?” she asked.

  “Come by?”

  Nicole laughed. “Sue can explain while you walk to the conference room that’s about 20 yards from your office. Bye.” She hung up.

  “I owe you one,” I said.

  “Hardly,” Sue replied, smirking. “This doesn’t come close to getting even for your fake episode of post Blocker syndrome.” We left.

  Nicole was sipping a cup of coffee with a few dozen folders of Worthington’s notes scattered across the conference room tabletop when we found her. “I figured you’d want these back, so I finished the last of them here,” she said. “You can probably guess, but I found nothing. Not even another reference to Allen Trimmel. Are you done?”

  “I still have 20 to 30 folders to go, but they failed the bend test,” I replied. “No drives in them and too few pages to have all the data from the study, but I’ll check them later.”

  Sue and I sat down at the table across from Nicole. “As for Allen Trimmel, I gave the name to Detective Larry Ahern at the police department this morning. He said he’d look into it, but I’m not sure how hard.”

  “You did what you could,” said Sue.

  I leaned forward in my chair and rested my chin on my hands for a moment while I composed my thoughts. “What I wanted to ask about is this. When the brain adapts – when it finds a new set of neural pathways to compensate for a blocked activity – is the original function diminished? In other words, does the gain from plasticity in one area come at a cost to another?”

  Knowing that Nicole was the most likely to have an answer, my gaze traveled to her face. “I believe so,” she said after a moment. “If the speech function was lost due to injury, for example, and new circuits adapted to restore it, they wouldn’t be doing what they did before.” She paused, frowning. “But the number of neurons and interconnections is enormous. I doubt that the loss would be noticeable.”

  “What if you continued to deprive a function, pushing the brain to recruit more and more?”

  Nicole’s frown deepened. “Are you thinking the Blocker might be producing right hemisphere deficits, as well as increases in left side capacity?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m wondering,” I replied. “I thought we could repeat the same process as before – the one we used to compile the list of left-side functions. But this time, we’ll do it for the right hemisphere.”

  “OK,” the women said in chorus.

  Sue manned the computer in the conference room, while I got a few textbooks from my office. When I came back, she had retrieved the list of left hemisphere functions and had added the word ‘increased’ at the top. The revisions were displayed on the screen at the front of the room.

  Left Hemisphere Functions - INCREASED

  Processing stimuli in the right visual field

  Controlling muscle responses on the right side of the body

  Perceiving stimuli on the right side of the body, e.g., touch

  Language (reading, speaking, writing)

  Math

  Science

  Analytic and logical reasoning

  Mental manipulation

  Semantic priming

  Image generation

  Processing pleasurable experiences

  Decision-making

  Routine or well-rehearsed processes

  Sue added a column for right hemisphere functions, as Nicole and I added candidates to the whiteboard. At first, the mood of the room was light, as everyone was enjoying the break from Worthington’s drivel and doing something positive. But over time, our moods became darker. There was less talking and humor disappeared. When we were done, our list looked like this.

  Right Hemisphere Functions - DECREASED

  Processing stimuli in the left visual field

  Controlling muscle responses on the left side of the body

  Perceiving stimuli on the left side of the body, e.g., touch

  Symbolic reasoning

  Art

  Spatial relationships

  Recognition of objects

  Timing

  Empathy

  Depression

&n
bsp; Holistic reasoning/intuition

  Recall of images

  Recognizing faces

  Mental rotation

  Negative emotions

  Vigilance

  Self-reflection

  Understanding novel situations

  As I studied the list, a dark cloud of foreboding grew in my mind. After a moment, Nicole said, “Well, this explains why Worthington hated art and why he couldn’t remember new people or his daily activities. But the reduction in self-regulation and the increase in pleasure?” She paused, shaking her head slowly. “That sounds like a recipe for electronic addiction. Treatments feel good. And at the same time, self-doubts and worries disappear. That would lead to craving another treatment in an endless cycle.”

  “It certainly fits with Beth’s description of her husband as a man possessed by a machine,” said Sue. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who had been struck by that phrase. “But right-side functions couldn’t disappear entirely, could they?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “Things that get used, like your left arm, would create demand. Those functions couldn’t disappear.” I paused, staring at the list, still wondering if this could be true. “But if A.T. or someone else is out there and he’s using a Blocker, look at what might not get exercised. He’d have no need for sympathy. Cold logic is king and compassion is a waste of time. He wouldn’t look at his motivations, because he’s superior and everything feels right. There’s nothing to stop a lot of those right-side functions from disappearing, and many of them are what makes us human.”

  “Are you saying that this person might end up with no emotional boundaries on what he’d do to keep his electronic world?” asked Nicole. “He’d be a person that’s entirely…well, of half a mind?”

  “Yeah, I guess I am.”

  Monday, August 24, 3:37 PM

  I usually ask if anyone wants a break. Today, I hadn’t. I needed it, even if Sue and Nicole didn’t.

  After I left the women in the conference room, I walked the halls, wondering if the Blocker really could be a path paved by electronic addiction, leading to inhumanity. I couldn’t find a flaw in the reasoning that said it was possible. All we lacked was…proof. We needed the study data.

  Is there a stone we’ve left unturned?

  There must be. The data had to be somewhere. Perhaps brainstorming with Huston, maybe Scott too, would turn up some leads? It was an idea born of desperation, but it was the best I had.

  When I returned to the conference room with a half-cup of coffee, I found Nicole busy on her laptop. “Ah, recording your latest insights about the Neural Activity Blocker?” I asked, smiling. “We value task focus here at Ruger-Phillips.”

  “No, just an email to a friend, while I had a moment.” She hit send as she closed the lid.

  I wondered if that filled another evening on her social calendar. But one thing was certain – there’d be no date with my name on it if I didn’t stop waiting for the perfect moment.

  “Would you like to come over to my place for dinner? I’m not the greatest cook, but I can hold my own grilling hamburgers. I could return the favor for the drinks the other night.”

  “Tonight?” She pulled out her phone. It seemed odd that she wouldn’t remember what she was doing in two hours. But with as many times as I had made a lunch in the morning and then left it on my kitchen counter fifteen minutes later, I couldn’t talk.

  “Tonight would be fine, but how about my place, instead of yours?” she asked.

  “OK,” I said slowly, not sure why she wanted the change in venue. “But it’ll be hard for me to cook there, unless of course you have hamburger and a grill.”

  “Sorry, neither. Do you like Chinese?”

  “Absolutely,” I replied.

  “Great. There’s a Chinese restaurant just down the street. I can stop there on the way home.”

  “I’ll get the food. What do you like?”

  “Their Moo Shu shrimp is good, and I’ll supply the beer. The one we had before?”

  “Perfect. It’s a date,” I said.

  The last sentence came out of my mouth as Sue entered. She cleared her throat more loudly than necessary, smirking at me. I returned a grin, then glanced at Nicole. She was busy shuffling some papers on the conference table, her head down.

  Did I embarrass her?

  For a split second I considered saying, ‘it’s OK. Sue knows I like you.’ Fortunately, I realized how awkward it would be if the first time I mentioned my attraction, it was in front of someone else…and that person already knew. Instead, I said, “We need to think about places where the missing data might be.”

  I got no farther, however, as Ken appeared at the conference room door. “Sorry for the interruption, ladies, but I need to speak with Sam. Would you mind giving us about 10 minutes?”

  Sue glanced at me, then back at Ken. “Sure,” she said, and she and Nicole left.

  Ken closed the door, then turned and stared at me. A frown came over his face. “I thought we had an understanding.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “I thought you were going to leave the Worthington matter to the police?” He held out his hands in a what-were-you-thinking pose, his head shaking.

  “Is this about the name I gave them?”

  “Have you done something else?” I cleared my throat to answer, but Ken held up a hand and shook his head again. “Never mind. Let’s stick to the issues. You were away from your desk, and since it was a police matter, they tracked me down.”

  Ken pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and glanced at it. “It seems that the name you gave Detective Ahern, a Mr. Allen Trimmel, was a wild goose chase.”

  “How could he possibly know already? It’s only been what – about six hours since I talked to him?”

  “He asked.” I jerked my head back in surprise.

  “That’s why you need to leave police matters to the police,” said Ken. “They know what to do; you don’t. He called Ms. Scott, found out that Allen Trimmel was an old friend, before she met and married the doctor. I don’t even want to know how many hours your team wasted digging out that name.”

  I had already told Ken that our work wasn’t affected – finding oddities and passing them to the police was a by-product. But Ken had rejected the argument before, so I didn’t bother repeating it.

  I took a deep breath, preparing for the torrent that my next comment might elicit. “We have…well, hypothesized a possible effect of the Blocker. It’s troubling, what it might be able to do. I think we should tell the police.”

  Ken dropped his gaze to the floor, his head shaking slowly. When he looked up, he asked, “How can you possibly hypothesize an effect when you don’t even know the technology works?”

  “We know it works, at least when it’s applied to both sides of the brain. I even tried it.” Ken knew that, from my reports, but perhaps it wasn’t the best time to remind him.

  “Damn it, Sam. You’re letting your professional standards be influenced by someone else’s fantasies.”

  I’d never heard Ken swear before. I wasn’t sure he did, until now. I took a deep breath. “Sorry, but I don’t think so. Yes, we’re assuming that it would block functions on one side, based on what it does on both. And yes, we’re estimating the long-term effects from the differences between the hemispheres. But it’s solid enough, in my opinion, that the police and the VA should know.”

  Ken stood motionless, staring at me for what seemed minutes. Perhaps he was checking my resolve with the silence. Perhaps he simply didn’t know what to say. But finally, he said, “OK. This project is over anyway, so put it in the final report to the VA. I’ll see that it also gets to the police.”

  “It’s over?” I flinched at the directness and finality of his statement. I knew it was coming, but it still hurt. It felt like failure, even if technically we had done nothing wrong.

  “Look, Doc,” said Ken, his tone softening a bit. “I know you’re still learning the
ropes. But your job is tough enough without getting involved in the customer’s politics. It’s usually more in the form of them trying to befriend you or get your sympathy for some problem they’ve had. Obviously, what’s happened at WHT wasn’t a premeditated effort to compromise you – no one would go to these lengths. But the job still requires detachment.”

  “I understand.”

  “Good.” Ken paused several moments looking at me. “So, is there any reason why we shouldn’t shut this project down? We can always restart, if WHT finds the data.”

  The question was pro forma. He had already made up his mind, but I appreciated him asking. “No, I guess not. It appears the data trail has gone cold.” My spirits sank even further when I said those words, but you can’t keep a project going when there is nothing to go on. “We’ll get to work on the final report. Everything should be ready for your review in about a week.”

  Ken obviously liked this plan better than any of the other schemes I had hatched over the past few days and he nodded his approval. “OK. The management review and release should take ten days to two weeks after that. As soon as the paperwork is in the cycle, we’ll notify Dr. Huston and the VA of the situation, so they’ll be prepared. We could have this project wrapped up in a month to six weeks.”

  Ken looked at his watch. “Your team should be back in a couple of minutes. I’ll let you get back to work.” He left without another word.

  Sue and Nicole must have been standing just outside the door, because they entered as Ken left.

  “We’re done?” asked Sue, cutting to the heart of the matter.

  “Yeah, it’s over,” I said. “We’re shutting down due to the lack of anything to work on…the Blocker specs being the exception, of course.” I paused and rubbed the back of my neck. “Would you two mind brain-storming on the final report for a half-hour or so? I need to make a couple of phone calls.”

  Sue frowned at me. “You’re not going against Ken, are you?”

  “No. Ken didn’t say anything about giving the police and Huston a heads-up on our thoughts. And besides, they’ll get this information later, when it’s released in the final report.”