The Traveler's Return (Traveler Series 3)

by Dr L. Jan Eira

  “So what can they do now that they couldn’t do before?” asked Brent.

  “Theoretically, they should have more perception abilities,” said Ellie. “And we can again communicate with them. They may gain other neuro elements, but frankly I didn’t take much time to study their unused brain capacity before.”

  “We’ll begin by sending imagery of what is happening to them,” said William. “And advise them that Alexandra is back with them to help them. And that it is crucial that their Valerie not have neurosurgery. That none of them have neurosurgery. The protein particles in their brains will dissolve and be completely gone in a few months. Surgical removal will be devastating and unnecessary.”

  The three doctors looked at one another, puzzlement inundating their faces.

  Brent broke the silence. “That’s where we are now. Us being back on the Traveler Research Space Center without Valerie is the result of our enhanced brain capacity. Despite our comas, we are again in communication with the travelers. Hence these dreams we are now having.”

  “Still, how will we stop Valerie from undergoing neurosurgery?” asked William. “She’s so far away.”

  “Boston’s Mass General Hospital,” said Ellie.

  “Can any of you really perceive things about your environment that you couldn’t before?” asked Brent. “I’m not sure I can sense anything new.”

  “Let’s go to bed and turn off the lights,” said Ellie. “Really concentrate on our surroundings in a dark and quiet environment. I believe we’ll discern phenomena beyond our five usual senses.”

  “Let’s explore these,” said William. “See how we can use these perceptions to stop or at least delay Valerie’s surgery.”

  Brent looked at the computer monitor and pointed to a moving dot inside a large building. He said, “Looks like they’re taking Valerie somewhere.”

  “Yeah, to surgery,” said Ellie.

  “No, to her death!” said William.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Valerie felt her body being moved. Not in the conventional way, where her senses of hearing, sight or smell so indicated, as these were useless to her now, given her deep coma. She could sense the presence of different concentrations of chemical signatures, which she attributed to changes in paints on the walls. She wasn’t sure exactly what was changing; after all, these new perceptions were mysterious to her as yet. She needed time to study them and to make them part of her personal repertoire. Also novel to her, and perhaps most important, was the question as to why these new perceptions had been attained, at a time when she was supposed to be totally unaware, in a deep coma. And now she was being moved. If she was aware, could she communicate with the scientists? The soldiers? Her three friends?

  If William, Brent, and Ellie were with me, I should be communicating with them already, and I should have been aware of their presence, she mused. I presume I am apart from them. She wished she could use her five familiar senses to gather further information—smell, sight, touch, taste, hearing—but these would not obey her now. These new, strange sensations surely would help her. Somehow. I’m in the midst of drugs. Vaporizable drugs! She had experienced this sensation before when she shadowed her dad at the hospital, as they had entered the operating room to do a consultation. Before, using her sense of smell. Now, using some unknown ability to discriminate small aerosolized molecules from thin air. I’m having an operation! But not the others? She experienced a strong hunch of danger. I wish I could communicate with William, Brent, and—

  “Commander Valerie Rovine,” said a computer voice very familiar to Valerie. “You have a call from Commander William Baten. Do you wish to accept?”

  “Computer, yes, I accept the transmission.”

  “Valerie, you are being prepped for neurosurgery to remove a protein mass the travelers left in your brain,” said William, his words hurried.

  “We all have one,” said Ellie. “Surgery is unnecessary and very dangerous.”

  “We have to find a way to stop the surgery,” said Brent.

  “I assume you are all in comas too,” said Valerie.

  “Yes,” said Ellie. “But we are in Indianapolis, you are in Boston.”

  Silence reigned for a long beat, and then William interrupted. “We must find a way to stop these fools from operating on your brain!”

  “What are the assets and tools at your disposal?” asked Valerie.

  “Not many,” said William. “Can’t talk. Can’t move. Can’t write. Can’t—”

  “We can perceive new things like changes in atmospheric pressure and chemical composition in the environment,” said Brent, “for whatever good that will do.”

  “We can govern our vital signs,” said Ellie.

  “Really?” asked William. “How do you do that?”

  “The deepest portion of our brain stem is barely affected by the coma-inducing medications,” said Ellie. “If you concentrate a bit and internalize your thoughts, you can manipulate the medulla oblongata, which is the part that governs the blood pressure and heart rate as well as respirations.”

  “Yeah, I discovered how to do that earlier,” said Valerie. “I slowed down my heart rate a whole bunch for a few seconds. In fact, I think that’s why I’m being operated on urgently in a few minutes.”

  “Oh great!” said William. “How do we stop it?”

  “By the way, Alexandra is here to help us,” said Ellie. “Not sure where she is, but she’s back on—”

  “Forgive the intrusion, Commanders,” said the little girl whose face now appeared on the computer screen, the large headphones covering both sides of her face. “I have been monitoring your progress. I’m presently inbound to Boston with an en route time of an additional twenty minutes. I should be at your side in about forty-five minutes, Valerie.”

  Ellie smiled. “I have an idea.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Neurosurgical OR-3 was buzzing with agitation, all preparing for the unusual case of a young woman with a rare brain tumor. The word circulating among the staff was that she had somehow acquired an intracerebral mass, the properties of which were as yet to be defined. When a person in this age group arrived in this unit with a mass in her brain, the most prevalent speculation always involved the use of illicit street drugs. So, diseases such as HIV, hepatitis, tuberculosis, and the like were always potentially a problem for the surgical staff, who feared self-contamination from these potentially fatal infectious diseases.

  “You better double-glove on this one, newbie,” said Gladys, an older, overweight, African American woman who would be the circulating nurse for the case. She counted supplies to be dispensed onto the sterile field and verified her checklist, all along keeping an eye on the new nurse.

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Cara, her red curls peeking through her blue surgical cap. She was fully gowned and gloved.

  “Hurry up, girl,” said Gladys, dropping a second pair of surgical gloves. “Dr. Moffett will want to start cuttin’ the second he arrives. This is an emergency case. The girl’s heart rate dropped suddenly, and that’s always a bad sign in these cases of head tumors.”

  “She was on the schedule for seven in the morning,” Cara remarked.

  “That’s what I’m telling you, girl,” said Gladys. “Get it ready. Dr. Moffett don’t like to be waitin’ on nobody, especially for late-in-the-evening cases. He’ll be wantin’ to get back home to his sweetie.”

  Cara hurriedly grabbed the sterile envelope containing the redundant pair of surgical gloves and slipped them on. She noticed the tremors of her hands as she did. This was her first emergency neurosurgical operation since she began to solo three weeks ago. She rehearsed the steps to be taken in her mind: the Betadine scrubbing of the scalp to sterilize the skin, the organization of the surgical field, and the routine preparation of the equipment Dr. Moffett would require. She knew the drill well enough, and her confidence was up to task. Yet, her body shivered slightly, and she sensed minute beads of perspiration form beneath her he
ad cap and underarms. She took a deep calming breath and prepared to sterilize the surgical field. The water faucet was just turned on in the sink right outside OR-3, indicating Dr. Moffett had just arrived and was now scrubbing.

  On the OR table, the young woman, her patient, Valerie Baten, lay still, her chest heaving up and down intermittently. A white sheet covered her to her neck. She appeared peaceful and stable. Her head was fully shaven. An endotracheal tube exited her neck stoma and connected to a respirator. Dr. Jeniece Grennan looked over the settings and jotted down some numbers on her anesthesiology report.

  Cara grabbed the Betadine-soaked sponge on the instrument table and prepared to sterilize her patient’s scalp when she heard the loud alarm of the cardiac monitor followed by the anesthesiologist’s anxious screams coming from right behind her.

  “Goddamn it. Her heart stopped!” shouted Dr. Grennan. “Call a code stat! Get Dr. Moffett in here! Start CPR!”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Four comatose teenagers lay on their beds, their functional brains useless to them still, strong coma-inducing IV medications dripping slowly into their veins.

  In Indiana, Brent, William, and Ellie continued to strive to understand and decipher their new perception abilities.

  “What’s your bright idea?” asked Brent, very high-frequency waves emanating from his brain, unperceived by all others in the room—all except Ellie and William next to him and Valerie hundreds of miles away.

  “I wonder if we are able to move objects with our minds?” asked Ellie.

  “Telekinesis?” asked William.

  “What are you thinking of moving?” asked Brent.

  “If we could move stuff around, we might be able to disable the surgical equipment the surgeon needs to operate on Valerie.” Ellie thought a moment. “I’ve been trying to move the sheet that’s covering me, but I don’t think it’s working.”

  “That may work, I suppose,” said Brent.

  William chimed in. “I believe moving things physically is not feasible. That takes applying force, and for that we need muscle power. But we may be able to influence electrical current with a disruptive brain wavelength.”

  “Valerie, are you still with us?” asked Ellie.

  “Yes, I’m here,” said Valerie. “But they’re about to start the surgery, I think.”

  “I’ve been measuring the undulating frequency of the electrical current of the appliances in this room,” said William. “It’s sixty hertz. If we send out a similar signal in the exact opposite direction, it should cancel out the electrical input into the machines and turn them off.”

  “I’m feeling the frequency you’re talking about, William,” said Ellie. “Can you feel it, Valerie?”

  “Yes, I think so,” said Valerie. “I’m trying…”

  “OK!” said William. “Can you perceive the undulations? The signal goes up and down sixty times a second. Sixty hertz.”

  “Yes,” said Valerie. “Maybe. Not sure.”

  “Concentrate, Valerie. I want you to send out the same exact signal but in the opposite direction,” explained William. “When the electrical signal goes up, your brain output should go down and vice versa. This way the signals cancel themselves.”

  “I’ll try it.” Valerie felt uncertain. She had not perceived electrical wavelengths until now, and the new sensation William talked about was weak and distant. She found it difficult to concentrate on it. She needed time and practice to discern it more fully. But at the present moment, she sensed the approaching overwhelming and unmistakable chemical composition of stainless steel—10 percent chromium, 20 percent nickel, and 70 percent iron oxide. She recalled this from when she shadowed her father into the operating room. A scalpel. The first incision on her scalp was about to be made. The operation is beginning right now.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Gladys had finished her circulating nurse chores and was now prepared to sit back and scrutinize the newbie scrub nurse’s performance on her solo act. Today was Cara’s first gig in an emergency brain case, and the patient having heartbeat problems was sure to add bombshells to the saga at hand.

  I bet this wet-behind-the-ears nurse will fall to pieces, she thought. And when she does, I better be ready to pick them up.

  Dr. Moffett burst into the room and rushed to the patient’s side. Valerie lay prepped on the surgical table in OR-3.

  “What’s going on, Jeniece?” demanded Moffett.

  “Her heart stopped for about fifteen seconds, and then it normalized,” said Grennan. “Didn’t have to do anything. Everything came back to normal and stayed normal.”

  “It must be her intracranial pressure playing tricks on us,” said Moffett. “Let’s separate this tumor from this brain, shall we?” He winked at the new nurse. “What’s your name, beautiful?”

  “Cara, sir.” Her words were insecure and soft.

  “Well, Cara, give me the knife,” said Moffett. “We are about to make history, you and I.” He winked again. “This brain tumor is a one of a kind, never before seen, and we have the honor of touching it for the first time in history. Me first, of course. But you can have sloppy seconds.” He winked a third time. He extended his hand toward Cara, the telltale sign of a surgeon demanding a surgical instrument.

  Scalpel in hand, Moffett’s steady grip prepared to make the first cut. It was then that all the monitors and lights flickered momentarily but remained on.

  “Goddamn it,” yelled the neurosurgeon. “What the hell is happening with the electricity?”

  “Nothing major,” said Gladys, her voice calm and reassuring. “Just a minor interruption in power. All is normal. All is well.” Her singsong words seemed to have a calming effect on all. “You can proceed with your surgery, Dr. Moffett.”

  Deep in her sleep, Valerie’s brain detected and registered very high-frequency signals—wavelengths she had recently learned to decipher.

  “Valerie!” It was William. “Did you shut down the electrical appliances in the room?”

  “No!” she returned. “I’m trying, but I can’t do it. It’s hard to concentrate when somebody’s taking a saw to your cranium.”

  “So the surgery started already?” asked Ellie.

  “Yes. I was only able to cause the lights to flicker. Am I going to die with this surgery?”

  Brent communicated next. “Unfortunately, this surgery is very high risk.”

  “How far are they in the surgery,” said William. “Can you tell?”

  “My brain is exposed, and they are dissecting down to the thing,” said Valerie.

  “Alexandra, can you hear me?” asked Brent.

  “Yes.”

  “How far are you from Valerie?” asked Brent.

  “About fifteen to twenty minutes away,” said Alexandra.

  “Valerie, can you cause more distraction in the room?” asked William. “Slow them down somehow? Even if it’s only flickering the lights.”

  Silence. No response at all.

  “Valerie,” said Ellie. “Are you able to respond?”

  Nothing.

  “I suspect the cerebrumular particle has been removed from her brain,” said Alexandra. “Without it, she will not be able to detect the high-frequency waves necessary for communication.”

  “Oh God,” prayed Ellie. “Please let her be OK!”

  “Hopefully, she’ll survive the surgery,” said Brent.

  “Or worse,” said William. “Survive surgery but come out brain dead. Forever.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  The small jet landed flawlessly at Norwood Memorial Airport. The virtual computerized image in her head had advised Alexandra to use this airfield for landing instead of Logan International, which was bustling with air traffic in and out, even at this wee hour of the morning. Though Alexandra made sure her airplane was completely transparent to the air-traffic controller’s traffic-detection systems, a jet flown onto a busy runway by a four-year-old little girl was sure to be noticed and potentially delay her ar
rival at Valerie’s bedside. Norwood Memorial Airport had no tower personnel, and the four servicemen on duty were fast asleep, sprawled on the comfy couches and reclining chairs of the welcoming building’s waiting and rest areas. Their wake-up and call-to-action scheme, radio communication from arriving flights, would never transpire tonight, and as such, the on-duty personnel slumbered away.

  Alexandra deplaned, leaving the jet at the end of the active runway. Taxiing to the tarmac would likely be detected and possibly provoke a stir. She walked hurriedly to the fence separating the airfield from the city of Norwood, Massachusetts, and climbed over with way more ease than expected of a typical preschooler.

  She quickly scanned the parking lot for electric cars and then walked fast to a white Nissan Leaf, the lights of which were now flashing, its onboard computer controlled by Alexandra. She entered the car and soon was on her way to Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston.

  “Computer, scan for information about Valerie.” She spoke firmly as she drove on, her derrière on a stack of newspapers to allow her visualization of the road ahead.

  “Scanning.” A long few seconds of silence ensued. Finally the computer reported some news. “Valerie is reported as unstable in neurosurgical suite number three. The brain tumor was only partially removed. She is expected to be transferred to Neurosurgical ICU in about twelve minutes.”

  “Computer, any news about her medical condition?” inquired Alexandra. “Beyond unstable?”

  “The brain tumor was more diffuse than expected and encroachment into normal brain was spread. Significant brain damage is anticipated. Lifelong coma probable. Odds of survival with no untoward effects are less than five percent.”

  Serious and solemn, with her gaze on the road ahead, Alexandra drove on as fast as possible, the high beams of the Nissan cutting through the dark of night.

  Looking at their resting, comatose bodies, Brent, Ellie, and William appeared untroubled, peaceful, and serene. Inside their newly acquired activated brain areas, however, it was nothing but turmoil.