Remember

by Karthikeyan, Girish

  "All this info is correct. This is just a formality. Can we get started now?" She flips open the top button of her olive turtleneck dress shirt. The next button encloses a small oval cutout featuring a silvery question mark pendant.

  "Yes."

  She slips her hands over the under desk keyboard, while a white reflection shades her rose-colored glasses. "You have finished high school."

  I dryly answer in the affirmative.

  "You have degrees in neuroscience and chemistry."

  A nod this time.

  "You have worked as a research scientist for 6 years."

  "Yes."

  "That should be it. Don't worry about your memory coming back. After you start working, it should return very soon." Her optimism from this morning returns.

  "Where to next?"

  "We use more tech than you are used to. I think you should do your first study with another scientist. It makes more sense than just allowing you to start working. How does that sound?" She types without sound, while I answer.

  "Sure."

  "Dr. Stephens is a very good person to start with. His area of expertise is the sleep state. He is just about to start a new study. Does that sound like a good fit?"

  "Why not?" Her question wasn’t really a question, what else can I say?

  "Before you get started, do you have any questions?"

  "I don't have anything." Nothing to ask with no new info.

  "Okay."

  We head down and through the hallway. The other side seems to be an office with multiple rows of glass-topped desks. People from the other area gather in small groups discussing or at desks working. We get closer to a lone researcher.

  "This is Dr. Stephens, Dr. Abby." She waves to each of us.

  He reminds me of a grown up version of David, someone I remember from somewhere. Gary has grown out the brown crown and kept the rest the same. He occasionally combs his fingers through this hairy mass. His skin appears all over even toned. He says "Gary."

  "Conor." My hand almost juts forward of its own accord.

  Gary turns back to the empty desk, ignoring my hand. "Let's get started."

  "The nice doctor,” I glance to Mekova just standing there with her arms behind her back. “Told me you work with the sleep state. What are you studying right now?"

  Gary rifles through hair a few more times. "We're going to identify whether REM dreams are usually positive."

  I search for what he’s looking at as a hint then circle around to the other side. "What method are you going to use?"

  He leans on the desk and really looks at me for the first time. "Record the dreams and identify the general impressions."

  "I think I need more."

  Mekova retreats to her office.

  "You better sit down for this.” Gary pulls over a chair from the next empty desk and pushes it over to me. We sit on opposing sides of his desk. “We're going to instruct the tech to identify the visual pathways from the eyes to the visual cortex. During this mapping time, a controlled image will be shown as the only external stimuli. This allows us to transform the electrical signals into a clear and accurate image. With me so far?"

  The answer comes from somewhere. "I've done it before with just tracking the neurotransmitters."

  "This is almost the same. The tech will just track the movement of the sodium and potassium ions. Moving on, in the dream state, the pathways from the visual cortex to the parietal lobe are mapped in the same way. Using the data from the control stimuli, we can piece together what the subject sees in the dream state. The same process is to be used with the other senses." He pushes himself away from the desk then back in.

  "That all seems to make sense. We see the dreams. What are you working on?" I motion to the space above the desk.

  "Right now, I'm doing the coding."

  I get up and answer during my walk around the desk. "All the programming I've done has been visual."

  He has already moved out of the way with his chair. "You can do that here, also. I prefer typing. You just type in what you want to happen. You can also speak or show." He clasps my shoulder.

  The air above the desk to the ceiling fills with screens. A tingle up my forearm with the tech screen creates four areas of gooseflesh corresponding to each screen. I shake my head away."I-I'll try typing."

  "Here you can use this computer." Gary pushes the chair across in front of me. Some invisible force stops the chair from spinning into the desk.

  A shelf just under the desk houses the input panel. The keys just emerge from the panel to reach my fingers. Let me think. First to the control. The screen in front of me shows a chat with the computer. I continue in Gary’s stead.

  G. stephens> Locate visual pathway. With the visual stimuli.

  Then the test.

  G. stephens> Locate dream visual pathway.

  Oh, forgot to make visual key. “Change control.”

  G. stephens> Match visual stimuli to signals sent from optic nerve.

  “Change test. “

  G. stephens> Use mapped impulses to make image.

  I should ask if this looks good "Hey, Gary." I speak louder than usual to overcome the sound dampening near the desks. Everyone looks at me, and Gary comes to the computer from a nearby cluster. "Is this good?"

  "No, that's not good. You have to be more specific. You can see if it accepts."

  “Send.” It shows a warning.

  C> The programming is too general. Are you sure you want to continue without any additional changes?

  I try again.

  G. stephens> No.

  "Oh, one more thing. We usually use the messaging system to communicate."

  Last time, I didn't enter the starting or ending location for the tracking. Switching to just speech input works better than typing. I should “change the control to, ‘Locate visual pathways from the optic nerve to the visual cortex by tracking movement through the ion channels, while the visual stimulus is shown. Match visual stimuli with signals and create a key’" Change test to ‘Locate pathway from visual cortex to parietal lobe.’ Send.” It says

  C> Would you like to add additional programming?

  G. stephens> Yes.

  I enter the programming for the other senses.

  (—)

  Gary comes over from another desk an hour after lunch. "We have to meet with the techie, to discuss tech options."

  We head to the office — under Dr. Mekova's — a huge space filled with containers of tech and body part models. We wait in the deserted space before the counter.

  "What do you know about the techie?" My left hand fogs up the counter mounted screen.

  Gary looks out the wave shaped window to outside. "Not much. Claire usually stays to herself. Like most of them, an outsider."

  I just say something, circling around my issue with his box theorem. Everything belongs in a box. In this case, a job defined box. "That's good to know."

  "How can I help you guys today?" A voice comes from the back of the office. I look over there to see the techie appearing from under a desk with rounded features on olive skin. Her long black to brown hair flows cut into a massive amount of layers, one for almost every hair from an inch on up. Everything highlights her deep brown eyes, from her choice of black jacket and velvet slacks to her skin. She speaks with a soft voice.

  "We are just looking for some answers," Gary says.

  I add a better description. "We're doing a study about dreams."

  "What is the best way to get tech into the brain?" Gary asks. They are almost staring each other down.

  Some history circles those two.

  Claire sits in the stool behind the counter and interlaces her fingers. "Yeah, that’s a good one. As you already know, just L-tech crosses the blood-brain barrier. The interface between H-tech and L-tech provides the rich thought interaction. The programming of L-tech remains static. The L-tech congregates within the sensory cortices. There are some new types of tech that can migrate to different reg
ions," Claire replies.

  This info highlights an ignorance that shouldn’t be there. “How does this pick up what people think?”

  Claire answers as if ready for the question. “That doesn't directly happen as the tech just monitors sensory activation. The tech captures external stimuli for points of focus. The best example of that is writing something on a piece of paper and staring at it for a while. The other method ends up washing vast amounts of data through the brain, most of which is ignored by not reaching the threshold for perception. If relevant info comes through, the mind picks up, increasing sensory focus, which holds data long enough for active perception.”

  I attempt a near quote to make it more amicable. "Where do we get the new tech that migrates?"

  She looks at me quizzically and says, "That tech is impossible to get. It is cutting edge, only the government has access to that stuff. You should know that by now."

  "Oh, right." Quick retreat.

  "You guys should see if you can find an atypical method to get the tech to the desired loc," Claire suggests.

  "How does regular tech change how we experience life?" Another lame question I should know the answer to. Damn memory loss.

  "The alteration of perception can be created in the brain, sensory organs, and the external environment. After that is pointed out, it becomes apparent," Claire responds with a casual tone despite the condescension.

  "Right, the tech must affect the sensory organs." Nothing else concludes with everything I've witnessed today. We leave the office and head back to the computers.

  Gary says excuse me, runs upstairs, and into Dr. Mekova's office.

  I wait at the bottom of the stairs.

  He flashes a smile on the way down. "Sorry, I just had to set up a meeting for tomorrow."

  I hide my chagrin for the fitness disparity between us. "That's good."

  "She's the best person to ask 'how to introduce normal tech into the brain?'"

  "That does make sense. She is a real doctor after all." A nagging voice in my head reminds me ‘I'm a real medical doctor too.’

  "You gave the techie a hard time."

  I act unduly surprised. "I’m just out of it today. I actually don't know how I forgot so much."

  Office Politics

  Tues 5/2/17 9:30 a.m.

  "Hi, Conor. Oh, sorry Dr. Abby. I didn't see you come in Dr. Stephens." Dr. Mekova waits behind the small meeting table and motions us to sit. We settle in for a short meeting this Tuesday morning.

  Gary says, "Yesterday, I wanted to talk to you about our study." That hasty trip after the inconclusive meeting with techie Claire.

  "Yes, what is the best way to execute your study," Dr. Mekova recalls.

  "What are your thoughts?" I intercede on Gary’s behalf after that lunchtime panic attack at the mention of asking Mekova a personal question, yesterday.

  She interweaves her fingers before saying anything. "You guys have two options. One: use an intracranial injection. Two: use a spinal puncture. You have to, of course, find a less invasive method. I have used tech to make insertion points within the body. With standard tech, the biggest issue is finding the right parameters for the code," Dr. Mekova rattles off the answer with authority.

  "That shouldn't be a problem. We can test different settings and see what'll work best, in the lab," Gary says.

  Maybe the skittishness from before was a fake out just for me. "That sounds good, Gary."

  "Tech will be suitable to perform the task," Dr. Mekova observes.

  "I think that's it. Conor do you have anything to add?" Gary says.

  "That's it. Thanks Dr. Mekova." We both leave.

  The techie thinks I'm inept, so I relish straightening her out. "I'm going to talk to the techie. What's her name?" Her name escapes my grasp just now.

  "Claire something…" Gary just freezes for a few seconds.

  I just leave Gary at the base of the stairs and circle around to Claire’s office. She works from the counter on an invisible screen. “Hey, Claire."

  "Oh, it's you, again." She sounds histrionic in her tiredness.

  I cross the 2 meters to the counter. "Yes, I was about to tell you we figured it out." A smug expression sneaks over my face.

  "Good for you," she says dryly, without caring.

  "Dr. Mekova was a big help. She suggested using a tech insertion method to get the tech into the brain." I attempt a push up off the counter and end up stumbling out with a flushed face.

  Claire tries stifling a laugh with her hand, but it unleashes an explosive one. "Good,” throat clearing, “luck with that. If you happen to need my help, you know how to find me."

  That conversation ended fast, omitting the laughing. I kept looking at her eyebrows. They run just along that soft brow ridge. It just looks natural. Her slightly rounded small nose fits right between those eyes. She was so aloof the whole time. I take issue with the holier-than-thou attitude and have to do something about it. Somehow make her "see the light,” everyone is good at something. I have to figure out how to setup the tech injection without her help.

  (—)

  "Everything works, what’s next?" The simulation just finished with the tech finding the pathways.

  "We just have to wait for the participants to arrive. I've sent out an ad for people to join. We might as well eat lunch while we’re waiting." Gary walks over to the nourisher near the conference room. Everything comes out of the nourisher. How do they give us so many options?

  (—)

  Lunch with Gary today ended with me agreeing to disburse info about Mekova in hopes of his promotion. For some reason, I can't stomach the taste of meat any more. Anyway, the study work continues well into the afternoon. For me, reading up on other dream studies. Around 3 or 4, a message from Mekova shows up.

  Irena:

  Due to the decrease in study participation rates, a new survey requirement has been instituted. Please get the reason for refusing participation after initial info. Follow the standard procedure with this change. Thank you.

  The group groans. And I don't know what it means.

  Conor:

  Gary, what are we going to do with this?

  Gary:

  Be right over.

  Gary comes over.

  "What does this mean?" This assumes he got the same message.

  He touches the edge of my desk for a quick peek at the screen. "Oh, the dreaded survey — an interview we have to do with test subjects. Now, they want us to interview the people that just requested info too."

  "That is just a waste of time." Another interview beyond a screening adds more hassle than it’s worth.

  "I know. Usually, the new researchers have to practice the interview with Dr. Mekova and the techie." His relaxed face reeks of boredom.

  "This is just great." Spending one more minute with that unbearable techie reviles me.

  "It isn't that bad. Come on." Gary hands over the list, a few questions about some random study.

  I just ask Claire all these questions. Here goes. Today Claire has decided on a velvet knee-length skirt, with similar black flats. Instead of a maroon silk blouse, an aqua with black pinstripes. She sits on the couch facing the cluttered counter. My endless observation of her irritates me like unending hiccups. I just walked in through the open door.

  "Hi, I'm Dr. Conor Abby." I stride up to her and extend my arm.

  "Nice to meet you.” She ambles up. “I’m Katarina Genovese."

  A formal intro? "Yes, I'm here to conduct a survey for the dream category assembly study." The scientific nomenclature of study types produces an ambiguously detailed chimera.

  "I have not been a part of any study."

  I have to admit she can act with those brows wrinkled down to eyelids and crumpled like tissue paper. My enunciation picks up to match her. I can’t stand her, but she still makes me better. "I understand that. This survey is to understand why."

  "I see." She sits down while smoothing out her skirt.

  I f
ollow her lead. "Let's get started, then. You requested info about that study, right?"

  "Yes." She focuses on my eyes with a stare that makes me uncomfortable.

  "Why didn't you choose to become a subject?" Reading off the list relaxes me.

  "It's too invasive."

  "Can you be more detailed, please?" Pressing for more feels right.

  "It is just too invasive and that is…"

  Before I realize what happened, I'm outside the office. She must know how to handle people. Anyway, time for the next one.

  I knock on her office door from the landing outside. She opens a few seconds later.

  "Hi, I'm Conor Abby."

  She shakes my hand briskly. "Hi, Conor. I’m Irena Mekova."

  "Okay, I'm here to ask you some questions." A phone ringing flies in through my ears and Mekova doesn’t notice. My tech. Then a message plays. Please choose to answer or hang up. I choose hang up on my forearm.

  She waves me over to the meeting area. "What is this regarding, please?"

  "I see here you've refused to become a part of a dream classification study." Maybe something more friendly would help, like dream classification.

  "Yes, correct."

  "What sparked your interest?" Not from the list but a good icebreaker.

  "I'm almost never able to recollect my dreams."

  My scientific curiosity springs up. "That's strange. Anyway, what about the study didn't you like."

  "The public nature of the results."

  A privacy nut. "Do you know that the results aren't shown with your info?"

  "Yes, I still do not feel comfortable with others looking at my private dreams." She crosses her arms and almost shakes back and forth like a stubborn child.

  "Just one last question, would you be interested in tech that allows you to experience your dreams?" A marketing question?

  "I do not understand the use, except for people who can't remember their dreams."

  The act slipped with that line. Does the fact that ‘she can’t remember’ her dreams mean nothing anymore? "There is some evidence that says people have a hard time remembering the whole dream. They just end up remembering some of it by waking up during."