by Wendy Devore
I glanced around the room and realized that the face of each and every team member, though already haggard from weeks of toiling round-the-clock, shone like a beacon. It was as though Andrew was projecting some kind of charismatic aura, and we were all basking in it.
And then the moment passed. The team broke into a series of excited side conversations. Andrew grabbed my elbow.
“Kathryn, can I have a word in my office?”
I nodded and followed silently as we snaked through the sterile LED-illuminated halls, my insides churning in furious anticipation. The door of the office had barely swung closed when I reached my arms around his neck and pulled him toward me. His kiss was hungry, and I was swallowed by the peculiar sensation of falling that always ripped through me whenever we were able to manage a few stolen minutes. This moment, just like each one before, never failed to astound me. Within the span of five short weeks, my life had utterly transformed. The huge paycheck, my part in this phenomenal new brain research, and even this relationship—it all seemed too good to be true.
“I dreamed about you last night,” I whispered, coming up for air. Even now, after every embrace, I expected to open my eyes someplace else, covered in electrodes.
“Dreamed, or dreamed?” he asked, lips on my earlobe.
I involuntarily arched my back as shivers of delight traipsed down my spine.
“The normal kind. I’ve been adhering strictly to my meditation practice.”
“‘Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,’” he whispered.
I pulled away and gave him a sly smile. “‘And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.’ Nice try, but I know that you’re ripping off the Bard.”
“So you know your Shakespeare…” He reached for my chin and cradled it gently in his hands.
“Michelle played Helena in A Midsummer Night’s Dream at Shakespeare in the Park last summer.” I smiled. “We ran a lot of lines.”
The realization that I hadn’t seen my sister in weeks weighed on my heart. I really needed to take an afternoon off and get out of this place. And I would; once I finished this phase of my project.
Andrew kissed my nose and released me, and immediately the familiar, dull ache set in. I felt it every time we parted. I knew what he would say. He said it every time.
“We have to be careful,” he insisted. “If my father learns about this relationship, he will use it as leverage.”
“I know,” I sighed. “I’m just as excited as everyone else about the potential for Project Satori. Maybe even more so since I’m the one with the defective brain. But I hate sneaking around. It kills me that I only get to steal a moment or two with you every few days.”
“Be patient,” he urged. “Once this prototype is up and running, Andric will be distracted publicizing his new triumph and bringing it to full production. He’ll be so busy being exalted that he’ll hardly notice me.”
There was a hint of bitterness hidden under his nonchalance.
“You’d better head back to your office,” he suggested. “There are a dozen suits that can badge in here at any time.”
“Too bad we can’t just pop off to some alternate reality,” I replied wistfully.
“Even if Project Ubiquity hadn’t been suspended, it would be no use,” he pointed out, eyes twinkling. “Because the minute we touched, you’d beam us home anyway.”
“True,” I lamented. I turned to the door. It was torture to go when every molecule of my being longed to stay.
My new office was a decided step up from my previous workspace in the lab. I didn’t have a window, but the recessed lighting had the bright, warm quality of sunlight.
I opened my development environment and compiled yesterday’s attempt at implementing the decoding methods for the visual word form region of the brain that I’d read about in the CereLink slice. Instead of success, I stared down a long list of errors.
The thought of the leap we were about to achieve over existing science was exhilarating. I knew it could be done; I had read the papers and I had seen it in action. This made the project a thrilling inevitability rather than a long and frustrating wild goose chase.
The morning flew by. I was so deep in the code that lunchtime didn’t even register. The alarm I’d set for three thirty to remind me to eat broke my reverie. I silenced the alarm and ignored my growling stomach. I compiled again, then ran some unit tests, and suddenly, to my surprise and delight, everything appeared to be working.
I committed my code changes and locked my desktop. I picked up the phone on my desk and dialed the four-digit extension to the fMRI suite’s control room.
The woman on the other end of the phone was brusque. “Radiology.” The background commotion meant something was going on down there.
“Uh, hi, it’s Kate. Can I run some tests using the fMRI?”
Even though the huge, expensive machine was installed specifically for me, I was still intimidated every time I asked to use it.
I could hear the din of several conversations in the background and the rustle as she placed her hand over the phone’s receiver to reply to a question. “Sorry, Kate. The Satori hardware team is in here with their prototype right now. I don’t know how long they’ll be. Maybe in an hour?”
“Okay, thanks,” I said.
At least this meant I had time for a bite to eat on my way down there. I gathered up the printouts of the sample text I would read during my test and headed out in search of sustenance.
Forty minutes later, I was squeezing into the fMRI suite’s control room, already crowded with eleven other people. Through the large plate glass window, I could see three portable server racks arranged in a semicircle around a cluster of white lab coats. As the researchers moved aside, they revealed Andrew seated in a chair, thick inky snakes of cables running from each of the server racks and attached to his huge, black helmet.
I nervously threaded my way through the crowd, past the control station toward Janine.
When I reached her, I kept my voice low. “How’s it going?”
“Well, it’s a mixed bag,” she replied. She looked as worried as I felt. “The safety checks passed, and this morning we switched to the nanoprobes coated in polysorbate-80. No readings. Dr. Ichpujani went back to the drawing board. Fifty minutes ago, Andrew took an intra-nasal dose of the new batch of nanoparticles; this time coated with a different biopolymer derived from crustacean shells called chitosan. They’re spinning up the machine for another trial now.”
The crackle from the intercom plunged the stuffy room into silence. “Control, we’re ready to start the test.” The group surrounding Andrew stepped back.
I stood on my tiptoes to try to glimpse the monitors at the front of the room. Amir sat before the console, no longer dressed like a dinosaur.
He spoke into a microphone. “Rock and roll, ladies and gents!”
He unleashed a flurry of keystrokes, and data began scrolling furiously across multiple windows. I itched to get close enough to read the logs onscreen, but the experts huddled around blocked my view.
“Howzit, brah?” Amir spoke into the mic again.
“I feel fine,” Andrew’s terse reply reverberated over the intercom. “Are you reading anything yet?”
“We’re not detecting anything,” someone spoke over Amir’s shoulder. “I don’t understand it. The nanoparticles should be in place by now.”
“The diagnostics on all the components checked out,” another confirmed. “The hardware all appears to be functioning per design. Something’s wrong with the probes.”
Amir pressed the mic’s activation button. “No bueno. All the gear operation appears legit, but we’re not getting the readings we expected.”
Andrew sounded strained. “Let it go for another ten minutes.”
The tension in the room was thick, all eyes staring at Andrew or over Amir’s shoulders at the monitors. Ten minutes passed. Nothing happened.
Amir hit the mic button again. “Sorry, man, nothin’. I�
��m shuttin’ this bad boy down.”
Amir pounded on the keyboard again, and the cluster of lab coats inside the fMRI suite congregated around Andrew once more, detaching the helmet as well as a litany of other sensors meant to monitor heart rate, blood pressure, and oxygenation. Everyone except Amir, Janine, and the radiologist shuffled dejectedly out of the control room.
Andrew and Dr. Ichpujani joined us in the control room, as the other white coats wheeled the server racks and the attached cumbersome helmet out of the fMRI room.
“The nanoparticles will work their way out of your system in the next twenty hours or so,” Dr. Ichpujani reported.
Andrew ran a hand over his head, and I noticed the gobs of conductive gel matting down his hair. It was painfully obvious we were still light-years away from the elegant technology of CereLink.
Andrew sighed. “Amir, will you run a full diagnostic on the prototype to triple-check that all the hardware systems are fully functioning to spec?” He sounded beyond exhausted.
“You got it, boss.” Amir rose from the console. His gray tee read “2B || !2B.”
“Does Amir have any real clothes? Or is he singlehandedly keeping the ironic coding T-shirt industry in business?” I asked Janine.
“Don’t be a hater, Kate!” Amir winked as he sauntered out of the room in his squeaky flip-flops.
The radiologist, Camilla Herrera, had quickly taken Amir’s place at the console. “Kate, I should have the machine up and ready to go in about twenty minutes.”
Andrew sighed and turned to Janine. “I’m going to go back over the transcripts. There must be something I’m missing. Those nanoparticles are key; if we can’t get them right, this whole thing goes up in smoke.”
As if on cue, the door to the control room swung open, and the formidable form of Andric Breckinridge stormed in. I sank back against the wall, and Camilla shrunk down in her seat, but Andrew and Janine held their ground.
“The test of your prototype has failed,” he barked.
“We’ll rerun again tomorrow, with adjusted parameters,” Andrew replied evenly.
“This project is running on borrowed time!” Andric slammed his fist against the console table so forcefully that Camilla jumped.
Andrew kept his preternatural cool. “According to the project plan, we’re right on schedule.”
Andric’s gaze settled on the large, white machine behind the glass window, now performing its start-up sequence. His frigid blue eyes narrowed as he gestured toward the fMRI machine. “Never mind the massive loss we’ll take on that useless monstrosity!”
Even though it was no CereLink, I was still in awe of the gorgeous seven-Tesla machine just waiting for me beyond the wall.
“Oh, no, we’re definitely using that,” Andrew and I responded in unison.
I blushed and looked away. Breckinridge gave me a calculated stare.
That was a stupid mistake, I thought. I shifted my gaze downward, excused myself, and slipped into the small side room we reserved for changing into the loose, metal-free clothing we wore for our fMRI test sessions. I lingered for longer than necessary, hopeful that when I emerged, Dr. Breckinridge would have absconded and taken his fury elsewhere.
I emerged from the claustrophobic, jackhammering cacophony of the fMRI machine, and before I even slid the helmet from my head, Camilla was on the microphone.
“Kate, your mobile has been going off like crazy for the last half hour.”
I slid off the scanner’s bed and hurried into the control room, bypassing the data from the reading trial and immediately heading for the heaped pile of my street clothes, where I found my mobile.
Michelle: Hey Kate? Are you there?
Michelle: Kate? I’m really not feeling well. Everything hurts, and I think I have a fever. Can you call me?
Michelle: Oh, man, I just blew chunks all over the restaurant’s staff bathroom. Heading home…
Michelle: OMG, I can’t stop coughing, and I can hardly breathe. Something’s seriously wrong.
Mom: Kate, can you check on Michelle? She sounds really sick…
Michelle: Fever is getting worse; I just checked next door—Mimi is home. She is driving me to the ER. Meet me there?
Three missed calls: Mom
Voice mail: Mom
Voice mail: Mom
Voice mail: Mom
I bypassed the voice mails and immediately dialed my mother. She picked up on the first ring.
“Oh, thank God, Kathryn! Where are you? Are you at the hospital? How is Michelle?”
“I’m sorry, Mom, but I was at work. I’ve only just seen the texts…”
“I have no idea what is going on. She won’t answer her phone. I tried calling the emergency room desk, and no one will tell me anything.”
“Don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll be fine.” I put her on speaker and propped up the phone as I pulled on my clothing. “I’m fifteen minutes away; I’ll head over there right now.”
Despite my reassurances, I felt as panicked as my mother sounded.
“Camilla, can I borrow your computer for a minute?”
I sat down at her workstation and gathered up the fMRI results, posting them to the server, then launched the Mutt email program on the command line to dash off a quick message.
To: [email protected]
Subject: fMRI results; OOTO for a while
From: [email protected]
Results for fMRI scans of text reading are on the server in my directory. Code is checked in under my branch
Michelle is in the ER, leaving now. Not sure when I’ll be back.
-K
I badged into the garage bay, and my access card unlocked the key fob cabinet. Selecting the pickup closest to the exit, I raised the rolling door and gunned the truck across the rutted dirt track, squinting as I headed west, straight into the setting sun.
I had forgotten—it was Halloween. Costumed children crowded the streets everywhere, and traffic slowed to a crawl. Stanford Medical Center was only six miles as the crow flies from the facility hidden in the hills, but it took me nearly an hour to reach it. I ignored my mom’s frantic texts, arriving in ever closer intervals.
I parked the dusty pickup in visitors’ parking and headed straight to the emergency department check-in desk, which was manned by a harried-looking middle-aged woman in blue scrubs.
“Excuse me? My sister checked in a little over an hour ago? Her name is Michelle Rathman.”
I didn’t expect the dark look that crossed the woman’s face. “May I see your ID please?”
“I’m her sister, Kate. Kate Rathman,” I said, handing over my driver’s license.
“Please take a seat, Ms. Rathman,” the woman suggested, returning my ID and sliding a sheaf of papers over the desk. I realized that the woman refused to look me in the eye and had subtly shifted backward in her chair, as if she wanted to put some distance between us.
“When was the last time you were in contact with your sister?”
A wave of guilt overtook over me. “We’ve been texting, but we haven’t seen one another in almost three weeks. How is she? Can I see her?”
The ER receptionist’s body noticeably relaxed, and she gestured to the stack of paperwork. “We are missing admitting paperwork for your sister; please fill out the forms as best you can and return them when you’re finished. Someone will be out to speak with you shortly.”
I frowned. It was puzzling that she’d given me no information at all about Michelle’s condition.
I took a seat and texted my mother that I’d reached the hospital but had no details, and began filling out forms. I had completed only half of the paperwork when my name was called. I approached the desk.
“Kate, I’m Dr. Patel.” Short and thin, with closely cropped brown hair and round spectacles, he wore the expected white coat, but he didn’t offer to shake my hand. He gestured toward the end of the room. “If you would please follow me?”
I shrugged, dropped my half-completed pap
erwork with the receptionist, and followed Dr. Patel. “Doctor, no one will tell me what’s going on with my sister. Is she okay?”
He gave me a worried glance. “I’d prefer to discuss Michelle’s particulars in my office.”
I’d barely managed to settle into the seat in front of his desk before the questions started.
“Has your sister recently visited any country in Asia?”
“Uh, no. She doesn’t even have a passport. Neither of us has ever been out of the country.”
“Does she regularly come in contact commercial fowl, live or dead?”
“You mean like chickens?” I asked incredulously. “No, not unless they’re on sale in a freezer pack at the grocery store.”
“Does she regularly spend time in environments where she would come in contact with wild aquatic birds?”
“Why are you asking me these questions?” I demanded. “What on earth is wrong with my sister?”
Dr. Patel stared at me. “And the last time you were in contact with her was?”
“I’ve been working…on assignment. It’s been nearly three weeks,” I repeated.
“Michelle is quite ill. She’s currently in isolation in the intensive care unit…”
“The ICU!” A cold panic sweat broke out on my skin. “How is this possible? She just started feeling sick this afternoon.”
“…and since she transported Michelle to the ER, Mimi Wilhardt has been admitted to isolation for observation, until we can determine whether she is infected.”
“Wait, my neighbor is infected? With what? What’s wrong with Mimi?” I asked in confusion.
“Your sister’s rapid influenza diagnostic test was positive,” Dr. Patel continued. “I want you to understand, her symptoms are quite severe. Her white blood cell count is very high, which is indicative of bacterial pneumonia. This is a serious complication. She’s breathing with the help of a ventilator, and we’ve started an antiviral neuraminidase inhibitor, which should help bring the viral load down. Right now her fever is extremely high and she is not yet responding to treatment.”