"You better get started. What have you thought about, so far?"
"I have two ideas. What medicines or procedures can help ease life pressures?" Life Pressures, really? That could almost be a movie.
"That looks like a good one."
"Not really, I have to rely on someone else for help. Medicines aren't something I deal with that often."
"Seeking outside counsel isn't that bad."
"I have to start doing an independent study sometime."
"Good point."
Point, counterpoint. "All I can think of is about treatments."
"I'm sure you will think of something, before your tech consult tomorrow."
"What are you going to do after looking at all the data?" Just returning the favor of prodding like any good doctor or torturer looking for weakness.
"After a month of looking at dreams, I have to write up the findings."
"Do you need any more help?"
"No. As I recall, I’m the one helping you. The rest is easy I can handle it.”
I leave Gary and go to my desk to start researching choices. A person in a black suit walks through the office, security. He goes straight into Dr. Mekova's office and takes her into the conference room. They have a short talk. After a few minutes, the security person comes to my desk.
Tiresome Questions
Wed 6/7/17 9:07 a.m.
"Mr. Abby, correct?" He fans back his coattails, simultaneously palming a black coin-sized disc.
I stand up before saying anything. "Yes." Gary joins us.
"I’m with security. This is a fact finding interview. Do you mind if I record this conversation?" He spins the wafer into the air and it floats above our heads spraying out arcing blue laser light encompassing this group of three.
"I don't see why not." A shrug, great for nonchalance and it works (the Agent almost smiles). This security has me thinking rapid-fire.
"Let's get started. These questions are conducted by Agent 9417. The interview is with Mr. Conor Abby. You were the first to arrive at the office, this morning?"
"I'm not sure. I didn't see anyone else when I came in."
"So, to your knowledge you were the first to arrive this morning?"
No one, check. “Yes."
"When did you arrive?"
"7:30 a.m. you can check the records.” Simple recall means a simple lapdog or pavement pounder.
"All in due time. When did you leave work the previous day?"
Previous day, hmm, they suspect me, laughable. "Around 6. Are you suspecting me?"
"That's yet to be determined."
"I can assure you, I didn't enter Dr. Mekova's office after yesterday afternoon or before she discovered what happened." Overcompensation signals a suspect or experience, both bad for me, but thoroughness doesn't.
"That's good to know. How would you describe your relationship with Dr. Mekova?"
"She's my sponsoring doctor, boss, and friend." Reciting a list borders on scripting, dial back.
"An interesting relationship. Are you aware how serious it is to break into an office?"
What is the point of throwing hints without evidence? Call it. "I’m not sure what you are suggesting. No I don't."
"Thank you for your time Mr. Abby."
Rebuttal. "I just have to make one correction. I'm Dr. Abby."
"I'll change that. Thanks again for your time." He holds out his hand and the twirling disc drops into his palm.
Push advantage/retreat. "I didn't catch your name."
"Y-yes, Agent Huntley."
Success.
(—)
With lunch over, the job of researching a new study resumes. So far, I looked at the possible treatments for anxiety. Developed procedures involve decreasing the amount of stimuli that neurons respond to in a precise way, achieving the intended results. The tech lengthens the trigger zone of the selected neurons. Neurons respond only if the stimulus creates a strong enough electrical signal to cross the trigger zone and become an axonal potential. A good idea that just needs a different application.
Insider Info
Wed 6/7/17 6:05 p.m.
Everyone leaves under my watch while I still do research. Just the tech office stays lit up. I'm not the only one left, packing up my research materials — my notepad. Claire comes to me.
"I see you are still struggling." Dutiful observation of my blank pad peering from under my arm gave everything away.
"For some reason, I can't find any inspiration."
"There is something I always do when I get stranded.” The tech office blinks off.
"Whatever it is, it'll be a big help."
"Come with me. It’s quite a walk." She crosses ahead of my desk and holds open the hallway door.
"Let’s go."
We head out of the office with no idea where she's taking me. Claire never seems at a loss, always brimming with interest and motivation. What could this big something do for me? We go to my floor, tenth, and head almost to my apartment. We enter an apartment just next door to mine, obviously hers with the automatic opening.
We enter a space about half the size of mine with everything crammed in. I mean everything that my apartment has. The walls hold no windows, except the starry skylight. The sofa centers the room with a meter walkway all the way around.
"Let me just find something." Claire dives into a lower cabinet off to the left.
"No rush."
She produces a box from under the table with those red boots from the office. She hands me the box and carefully extracts the boots. I put the box on the coffee table and join Claire on the sofa.
"This is an article about me and a group of students. Take a look." She grabs my shoulder for the tech sharing grasp.
A newspaper article shows up over my view of the world. "I don't get it."
"This is about what I went through to get here."
What inspiration? "It says something about a group of students that were exposed to experimental tech."
"I was one of those students.” Click. “In my tech class, we looked at rapidly evolving tech. Something happened and we were exposed to said tech. After the tech entered our bodies, all the strains competed for control."
"That sounds scary. How did it feel?" Dumb question, awful really, just feeling awful.
"As you know, tech affects our senses. With a few different strains, we lost all sense of the outside world, we just knew about ourselves. We were all taken to the hospital."
"It seems almost hopeless. How did you get better?" (Hopeless, really that’s my response?)
"After we got there, people tell me, they figured out the shutdown commands. It took a few months, but we got back to normal."
"What happened next?"
"I missed a lot. The first thing I remember is the recovery process and trying to return to normal life. The vain and motivation of it was walking again after months lying about. These shoes meant everything at that point. The strength and confidence I would feel from wearing the shoes from generation upon generation of Genovese pushed me harder than even I or anyone thought possible."
“Wow.” My breathy voice drifts to nothing. Claire hands me a shoe for examination without the electric tingle from before. I look inside at a spot where the trim retreats over the three insulating layers.
Claire tells on. “All of us struggled to catch up with other students. We missed some school while recovering. It took a few weeks for some. Others had to spend almost the entire year catching up."
"That is a good story."
"The last article is about all the students exposed to the tech graduating with the rest of the class. I keep this article to remind me what I have gone through — how much things can change. I just wear the shoes for upkeep. The materials need routine use."
I set the shoe on the table and the inch high clear heel lights up blood red. "I just have one more question. Why do people even keep stuff like that around, the evolving tech?" The curious flash fades to nothing. I retrieve th
e boot and press the pencil heel with a burst of red exploding up into the triangular heel's head.
"It is the final step of tech development. A company creates a few variants. The strains coexist in an environment similar to their working environment, where they make changes to compete better. The ones that do the best are ultimately used." Claire presents me the box for repacking the boots.
"Thank you so much."
Claire shutters the box. "Just try to come up with something good."
(—)
The call for another weekly appointment with Mekova comes early. I just sat down with a bowl of cereal fully dressed for work. A cabinet opens up into an eating area right near the window. The call starts, showing an empty desk that is always in the picture.
"Hi, Conor. I’ll be right there.” Her voice comes from somewhere else not visible in this window into her apartment. The running water switches off and a towel moves off then back on a towel bar, at least it sounds like that. She enters a few minutes later in a simple dress that she wouldn’t wear to work. The video chat started per her appointment schedule. The shapeless dull green dress brings out the green in her eyes. “Can we start your medical update?" She settles in.
Today must be a good day for her. "Sure. I'm doing good." I sit up in the chair facing the wall where the screen displays.
She grabs a pad from her desk for a quick review. "It looks like you are almost there. Just another week, before you can get off your medications."
I don’t know what comes next. "Thanks for following up."
"You are welcome, it is just my job." She spins around to return her pad, while I wait.
"I've come up with a study idea."
"That’s good. Just so you know, I’m about to start a study of my own." She interlaces her fingers over her abdomen.
"That's interesting. What are you going to study?"
She thinks over the idea of telling me. "It has something to do with genetic mutation. The last one was about memory reconstruction. I was working on a way to read memories and add missing details. I have done it a few times, so far."
Not much new stuff. Everything a research scientist studies resides filed away somewhere. "Why were you studying memory reconstruction?"
Taking about actual research must help her get through the emotional fallout from the break in. "Right now, just the government has the technique. I want to figure it out for others."
"That's a strange idea. Why don't they just allow the info out?"
"You know those government types, they're secretive."
That statement scares me a little. If they are that secretive about a medical procedure, what does it mean about anything more like monitoring and interventions? “See you at work."
"Until then.”
I finish the last few spoons and spin around to my customized apartment. The sand white wood floors stretch across the room and climb up the walls. A black marble ceiling surrounds the all encompassing sunroof. The kitchen sits in the opposite corner to me. I toss the bowl into the sink and grab my pad from the huge lounge area. I quadrupled the sofa into a flat plain with an offshoot for my bed. One side has a padded railing, and the center features a counter height surface. The other side looks out to a long side table. I rummage through the table near the door for another pad with my research from yesterday. The Japanese influence grew on me.
Running into Claire on the way down doesn’t take away an already good day. I have never seen her in the hall, and she lives next door. Today it is that grey suit from the tech support visit a few weeks ago — a navy blue loose fitting top securely nestled inside.
"Hi, Claire."
She spins around in the deserted hallway walking backwards while I catch up. "You again." Her voice sounds deflated, but she still smiles.
The picture in my head of Claire backing into somebody and spilling their hypothetical coffee makes me smile. "You should get used to it."
"If I knew, I wouldn't have taken that new apartment last week." She fakes a derisive sigh and laughs.
"Yes, I've been going to work on time."
She looks at me seriously. "That makes some sense, really."
"How are you doing?"
"Not much has changed overnight." She sticks her pad inside her jacket and starts gathering up her hair.
"I just want to thank you again, for helping me." I focus on her face, looking for a reaction before she says anything.
Claire lets her hair fall back while she searches her pockets for something to tie it with. "Well?"
"I've come up with something." Dr. Mekova’s mystery rubs off on me.
"Good for you." She gathers up a bunch of ribbon pulled out of a pocket and tucks it inside two curled fingers.
"I just can't believe what you went through. You look like a regular person."
She gathers up a long column from the back of her head and starts wrapping it with ribbon while leaving an equal space. During that, she replies. "I still am. I just have drive. Most people have that, just from different sources." two sheets of hair hang down near her face and ears. She lifts these sheets up alongside her head where they just stay with no support.
"I see what you mean," I say as we enter the elevator.
"Are you ready for your tech consult?" Her hands hide in her pockets while the railing barely supports the small of her back.
A quick reference shows me what I already know. "Almost there. I have to look up a couple more details."
"I hear you're going to a conference."
I look fully at her instead of her reflection on the mirrored walls. "That's right, with Gary."
"Good luck with that." She stands up straight when the elevator crawls to a stop.
I follow her out. "I'll need it. Gary wants me to help him present."
She stops and spins around so I stop short before her. "See you around."
"Later."
We go our separate ways at the end of the entrance hallway. I have a study topic and just need to pick the testing variables — light frequencies, tech, food, social ranking, shelter, family history, economic classes, and security. That should do it.
Doubts
Thurs 6/8/17 8:12 a.m.
"Ready to get started?" Claire asks. She sits on one side of the sofa and looks to me in a chair near the window. The sharp angular furniture surrounds both of us in the tech office waiting area.
"You bet." The pad with my study notes is on my lap.
"This is your first tech consult, right?"
"Yes."
"To advise you on tech options, can you tell me about your study?" She sits up (escaping the reaches of the overstuffed back by a foot) with her feet flat on the ground.
I slide my hands back along the out curved arms and push myself back to approximate her stiff spine. "Okay. It is testing what components of happiness help learning."
A bemused expression dominates her face. "How are you going to make the subjects happy?"
"Making the neurons more excitable."
She smiles with mirth but refuses to laugh for/at me. "Are you going to select neurons or target all of them?"
"I’m thinking to choose the cells." I reach across for my steaming coffee cup now closer to Claire than me. She absconded from anything for herself.
She nods a few times straight faced and resettles her hands on her lap. "I’m not sure how to do that."
The thoughts of why she doesn’t know lapse judgment by me. "I've seen the use of an insulating addition around a small part of the neuron."
"I can do that. Just send me the specs." She watches me study my pad.
"Sure. Light control is next."
The edges of her lips tweak up a degree. "That’s easy. You can just adjust the tech. You know, the room controls."
"Yes." “Room controls triggers my tech to display the info and save it.
"Is that it?" She eases into the seat.
A breath of relief accompanies me relaxing too. I know I should sit up straight but need
practice. "I also need to make a survey."
"That is easy. Just create the survey. I'll have to distribute it. What are you including in your survey? Just curious." She leans sideways onto the handle, getting closer after the concluding the consult.
"It is about how secure they feel in different parts of their lives." The survey looks standard and maybe generic.
"That seems okay."
So-so words like okay and good mean a lot of things. Figuring it out gives me test blankness. Do I know her well enough to understand it? This okay means questionable, I think. "Just one more thing. How do I recruit people to take part in the study?"
"That is somewhat easy. You just find a place on our site and insert your notice. After that the notice will be posted on the other study recruiting sites."
Another slurping sip. "I’m thinking about creating a short lesson to teach the subjects. How should I do that?"
"That is facile once you have created the material. Organizing the info into an interesting format is easy. Just create the presentation and choose a good delivery method."
"I’ll try a few options and see how it goes."
She un-curves her back. "Anything else?"
"Everything sounds good. I think this is going to be a good one."
She eyes me in all truth. Her fingers interlock. "I wouldn't be too sure."
"How come?"
She taps the back of her left hand with an index finger. "I think you are not tracking all the required info."
"What do you think I should add to make it better?"
"Internal factors."
The surprise enters with my wide eyes. "Like what?"
"Do they actively try to be happy?"
I scowl with one side of my mouth. "That isn't an enormous part."
"Are you sure?"
"I have social status, food, shelter, security, and financials isn’t that everything?" I put the half empty cup on the center table.
"Take shelter as an example. How people perceive their home has a big impact. If they constantly look for issues, the problems seem bigger."
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