Crosstalk

by Connie Willis

  And she was sorely tempted to do that, to text Trent: “Did what you said, but no one there.” But before she could get out her phone, lights sprang on in the reception area, and a nurse unlocked the door and waved to her. “Ms. Flannigan? Come in. The doctor’s expecting you.”

  “Mr. Worth is coming, too,” Briddey said.

  The nurse nodded and led Briddey through the darkened reception area and into a room with a desk, a paper-covered examining table, and, on one wall, a huge high-resolution screen. The nurse took her vitals and looked at her stitches. “The incision’s healing nicely,” she said, replacing the bandage at the back of Briddey’s neck with a butterfly bandage. “No sign of infection or edema?” She took her through the same questions they’d asked in the hospital: “Pain? Dizziness? Disorientation?”

  “No, everything’s fine,” Briddey said.

  “Except you haven’t connected yet, is that right? When did you have the EED done?”

  “On Wednesday.”

  The nurse noted it down. “Dr. Verrick’s CMT will be in to set up your connection in a minute,” she said, and left, and a moment later a young man in scrubs came in.

  “Hi,” he said. “I’m Dr. Verrick’s computer medical technician. If you’ll just hop up on the examining table, I’ll get you all set up.”

  “All set up” meant positioning several cameras so Dr. Verrick could see both her face and the back of her head, attaching sensors to her wrist, upper arm, and chest, and using a laptop to bring up an image of an examining room somewhere else. “As soon as we’re ready on this end, I’ll call Dr. Verrick to come in,” the tech explained, connecting the last of the cords.

  “Shouldn’t we wait for Mr. Worth?” Briddey asked.

  “I’ll check,” he said, and went out. And if this was anything like the hospital, he’d be gone for hours.

  Good, C.B. said. That’ll give me a chance to tell you about Dr. Rhine.

  I thought you told me his research had been discredited, Briddey said.

  It was, and it deserved to be. He clearly cherry-picked the data. He claimed that his subjects’ telepathic ability took time to warm up and then faded when they got tired, which means he only used the periods where they had runs of correct answers.

  So his subjects couldn’t really read minds?

  Probably not. Except for this one subject. He scored amazingly high on the Zener tests.

  And you think he was an actual telepath?

  It’s hard to tell. He had phenomenal scores for several weeks and then suddenly dropped back down to the level of chance and below, and stayed there. Like I said, Rhine messed with the data, so he may not have really been telepathic…

  Or?

  Or he decided he didn’t want anybody to know he was and stopped cooperating. My guess is he figured out what would happen if Rhine got hold of the knowledge that he was, and he didn’t want to be put in a circus to tell fortunes or be experimented on, or interrogated—

  Or burned at the stake, Briddey said sarcastically.

  Exactly. And he had the right idea. Telling—

  Shh, Briddey said. The tech’s coming back.

  He can’t hear me, C.B. said, but he shut up anyway as the tech came into the room.

  “Dr. Verrick wants to examine you first,” the tech said, hitting several keys in succession, and Dr. Verrick appeared on the screen, sitting at a desk in front of a laptop.

  “Can you hear me?” the tech asked Dr. Verrick, and when the doctor said yes, adjusted the audio and the resolution slightly. “It’s all yours, Doctor,” he said, and went out.

  “Ms. Flannigan,” Dr. Verrick said, and as always, he seemed genuinely delighted to see her. “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine,” Briddey said cautiously.

  “I understand you and Mr. Worth haven’t connected yet. That’s not unusual. Many couples take two to five days to connect, or even longer.”

  Trent should be hearing this, Briddey thought.

  “Everything looks good,” Dr. Verrick said, staring at the laptop on the desk in front of him. “The surgical site’s healing nicely…no sign of infection…no swelling.”

  He raised his eyes from the laptop. “Are you certain you haven’t connected? As I told you in the hospital, initial contact can be intermittent and faint, a glimmer of a sensation lasting only a second or two. You haven’t felt anything like that?”

  “No.”

  “What about other types of sensations? A sudden feeling of warmth or coldness? A tingling or a scent?”

  You sound like C.B., she thought. “No.”

  “What about music? Or a voice?”

  “A voice?” Briddey said, her body suddenly tense.

  “Yes, several patients of mine have reported that the intensity of the emotional connection was so strong, they thought they heard their partner calling their name.” He peered intently at her. “Have you heard something like that?” and Briddey thought, If other patients have heard voices, he won’t think I’m schizophrenic if I tell him.

  Tell him? C.B. said. You can’t—

  If Dr. Verrick’s patients have heard voices before, Briddey said, then maybe he knows what causes it and how to fix it.

  He said people heard their partners’ voices, not somebody else’s. You want him telling Trent that you—?

  He can’t tell Trent. Doctor-patient confidentiality, remember?

  That’s what Bridey Murphy thought, and she ended up on the cover of Life magazine.

  Will you shut up about Bridey Murphy? she snapped, and said aloud, “Dr. Verrick, I—”

  “Doctor?” the nurse’s voice called from outside the door. She poked her head in.

  “What is it?” Dr. Verrick responded just as if he were there in the room.

  You can’t seriously be thinking of telling him, C.B. said. Think about what happened to Joan of Arc—

  Shh, Briddey hissed, trying to hear what the nurse was saying.

  “Brad was wondering if he could bring in Mr. Worth now,” she said. “He’s supposed to be back at the hospital by one.”

  Dr. Verrick looked annoyed. “Yes, all right.”

  Why can’t the nurse show Trent in? Briddey wondered, and had barely finished the thought when a tech appeared with a metal cart containing a smaller screen and a laptop. He rolled it up next to the examining table and began connecting cords and hitting keys.

  You’re kidding, C.B. said. He makes you get out of bed and drive all the way down here, and he phones it in?

  Trent is very busy, she said defensively. The Hermes Project is extremely important.

  You’ve got that right, C.B. said.

  What does that mean? she demanded.

  He ignored the question. You do realize how ridiculous this is, don’t you? he said. They’re not even here.

  Neither are you, she snapped. And at least Skype has an off switch.

  True, C.B. said. Good point, and surprisingly took the hint and left.

  “All set,” the tech said to Dr. Verrick’s image. “They’re ready on Mr. Worth’s end. Just hit ALT CONTROL and VID2 on your end and then ENTER, and you’ll be connected to him.”

  If only my connecting to him were that easy, Briddey thought.

  “Thank you, Brad,” Dr. Verrick said, and the tech left, but the doctor made no move to bring up Trent’s image. Instead, he stood up, came around to the front of his desk, and perched on the corner of it, leaning confidentially toward Briddey, as if he were actually there in the room with her. “Sorry about the interruption. I was asking you if you’d heard Mr. Worth calling your name or speaking to you?”

  Once you let the cat out of the bag, there’s no getting it back in, you know, C.B. said.

  Shh.

  “The more empathetically sensitive the patient is,” Dr. Verrick was saying, “the more complex the connection and the form the emotions take: tactile sensations, sounds, words—”

  There, you see?

  See what? C.B. said. He’s talking through hi
s hat. You heard him. “Initial contact is intermittent and faint.” Like hell. You and I were completely connected from the moment we started. And he said connecting was impossible for at least twelve hours, which it obviously wasn’t. He doesn’t have the slightest idea how it works.

  Well, he knows more than you, she said, and aloud: “Dr. Verrick, you said emotionally sensitive peop—” and the screen went blue.

  Did you do that? Briddey demanded.

  Do what?

  You know perfectly well what, she said, and the door opened on the tech.

  “Sorry,” he said, hurrying over to the laptop. “Must be a problem with the feed.” He began typing. “I’ll have it back up in just a sec.”

  Moments later Dr. Verrick’s image reappeared on the screen, and the tech apparently assumed that Trent had been part of the conversation, too, because he brought up his image on the other screen and said, “Sorry for the delay, Mr. Worth. We had a technical glitch. Can you hear me?”

  “Yes,” Trent’s image said. He was sitting on the couch in his apartment. He looked over at Briddey. “Did you tell Dr. Verrick that we think he needs to run brain scans to see what the holdup in our connecting is?”

  No!

  Trent turned to look at Dr. Verrick’s image. “Did something go wrong with her EED? Is that why we haven’t been able to connect?”

  “No,” Dr. Verrick said, and repeated what he’d told Briddey about there being no sign of a physical problem.

  “You’re sure?” Trent persisted. “When you decided to keep her in and run more tests—”

  Dr. Verrick’s going to tell him he did that because of your hospital escapade, C.B. said. Quick. Ask him if stress could be a factor.

  “We’ve both been under a lot of stress at work,” Briddey said hastily. “Could that be the problem, Dr. Verrick?”

  “Definitely. There are any number of factors that could interfere with connecting. Stress, lack of sleep, lack of—”

  “If you’re going to say lack of emotional bonding, it can’t be that,” Trent interrupted. “I know that’s the main reason couples fail to connect, but I’m a hundred percent emotionally committed to Briddey, and I know she’s just as committed as I am. There’s no one else in either of our lives, is there, sweetheart?” He and Dr. Verrick both turned to look at her.

  A phone rang, and Trent pulled his out of his pocket. “Sorry, Dr. Verrick, but I have to take this—”

  “Of course,” Dr. Verrick said, and reached to hit a key on his laptop. Trent’s screen went blank.

  “There’s a huge project going on at work,” Briddey explained, “and—”

  Dr. Verrick waved her apology aside. “Actually, it’s a good thing. I have some questions you may be able to answer more freely without him here. Mr. Worth is right. In ninety-five percent of cases where couples fail to connect, the obstacle is insufficient emotional bonding. Could that be the problem here?”

  “Of course not,” she said, and then remembered C.B.’s saying that any sentence beginning with “of course” was automatically a lie, and was surprised he didn’t cut in with some sarcastic comment.

  “There’s no romantic involvement in your past you might not be completely over?” Dr. Verrick was asking. “Or another person you might also have romantic feelings for?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “You’re certain? It’s not uncommon for people to think they’re in love with their EED partner but to actually be harboring feelings for someone else. In some cases the patient isn’t even aware of those feelings.”

  So protesting that she wasn’t in love with C.B. wouldn’t do any good. Dr. Verrick would just think she wasn’t “aware” of it. C.B. was right. She couldn’t tell him.

  “I don’t have feelings for anyone but Trent,” she said firmly. “And I don’t have any doubts. I’m just as committed to our relationship as Trent is.”

  “In that case, the connection delay is almost certainly just that, a delay.” He peered at her. “Didn’t you have a question for me before we were interrupted?”

  Not anymore, Briddey thought. “You’ve already answered it,” she said.

  “And you’re certain you haven’t received any emotions or sensations at all, in any of the forms I’ve described?”

  “I’m positive.”

  He nodded and hit a key on his laptop, and Trent’s image reappeared on the screen, looking annoyed. “I’m sorry about that,” Dr. Verrick said. “There was a problem with the connection.”

  “Did you tell him the issue couldn’t be emotional bonding, Briddey?” Trent asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, then, what is the problem, Doctor? It’s been nearly three days.”

  “As I was just telling Ms. Flannigan, that’s not an unusual length of time,” Dr. Verrick said. “It might take four to five days, or even longer.”

  “Longer?” Trent said, horrified. “How much longer?”

  “It’s impossible to say. There are so many variables.” Dr. Verrick looked speculatively at Trent. “But it definitely won’t happen if you try to force it. Tension and anxiety alter the brain chemistry and make it impossible for the necessary conduit neurons to form, which results in more stress. It’s the same sort of thing which frequently occurs with people attempting to conceive a baby. The harder they try, the more difficult fertilization becomes. It’s essential to break that feedback loop.”

  “How?” Trent asked eagerly.

  “You need to relax and let it happen naturally. I’m going to write you a prescription for an anti-anxiety medication, and I want you to stop thinking about connecting and focus on other things. Read, watch television, play a videogame. Go out to dinner, or to a basketball game or a movie, anything that will take your mind off connecting.”

  “What about sex?” Trent asked, and before she could stop him, “Briddey said you told her we should avoid having sex for the first few days—”

  “I said the nurse at the hospital told me that.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Trent said. “I distinctly remember. You said Dr. Verrick—”

  “I said the nurse said I needed to make sure I’d recovered from the surgery before—”

  “Which is good advice,” Dr. Verrick said, “but I see no reason why sex isn’t fine at this point, as long as it happens naturally and doesn’t add stress.”

  And how could it possibly do that? Briddey thought despairingly. Us having sex, and C.B. listening in while—

  You don’t have to worry about that, C.B. said. I’m not a complete masochist.

  Oh, she thought, surprised and touched—and oddly flattered. She felt herself coloring.

  Please don’t let him have picked up any of that, she thought. He’ll think—

  “Ms. Flannigan?” Dr. Verrick said, looking at her curiously.

  Was she blushing? Please don’t let me be. “Yes?” she asked, trying to steady her voice. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “The doctor asked if you have any more questions,” Trent said impatiently.

  “Oh,” she said. “No, I think I understand what we’re supposed to do.”

  “And do you have any questions, Mr. Worth?”

  “No.”

  “Good. I’ve written you both a prescription for Xanax, and I want you to relax. No stress, no anxiety, and no thinking about connecting. Just let it happen naturally. Which it will,” he said, and blanked Trent’s screen.

  “Thank you, Dr. Verrick,” Briddey said, getting down off the examining table and reaching for her coat. But he wasn’t done with her yet.

  “I want you to call me immediately if you experience any sort of contact, no matter how minor or fleeting,” he said, and gave her his cellphone number again. “Images, sounds, sensations of any kind, whether you think they’re the form contact should take or not. One of my patients experienced a feeling of cold so intense it came through as words, and she heard her fiancé say, ‘Shut the door. It’s freezing.’ Have you experienced anything like t
hat?”

  “No.”

  “A few minutes ago you had to ask me to repeat a question. Were you experiencing some sort of contact then?”

  I was blushing, she thought. “No,” she said firmly.

  Dr. Verrick frowned. “Are you certain? You looked surprised and”—he hesitated, as if searching for the right word—“moved. Softened. As if you’d heard something that—”

  The screen went blank.

  Thank goodness, Briddey thought. “Dr. Verrick?” she said tentatively. “Can you hear me? I can’t hear or see you. I think we’ve lost contact.”

  No answer. Good. Get out of here while you have the chance, she thought, grabbed her coat and bag, and slipped out of the office. The reception area was deserted, and Briddey hesitated, wondering if she should wait and get the prescription, but she didn’t want the nurse checking with Dr. Verrick, realizing they’d been cut off, and calling in the tech again.

  And besides, she thought, driving home through the darkened, deserted streets, anxiety’s clearly not the problem. It’s all I’ve felt these last few days, and it hasn’t prevented my connection to C.B. at all.

  Dr. Verrick is talking through his hat, she thought. But at least by saying that connecting might take several days, he’d given her some additional time to contact Trent, and she intended to make the most of it. She called to him continually the rest of the way home and late into the night, and again early Saturday morning, with no better luck than she’d had before. Her only contact with Trent was the series of texts he sent her as she was driving to work: “Trying to get tkts to Dropped Call” and “No luck. Sold out” and “Meet me for lunch cafeteria?”

  Which reminded her that she needed to call Mary Clare as soon as she got to Commspan and tell her she couldn’t take Maeve to lunch because she had to work, but before she even made it into the parking garage, Mary Clare called her. “We’ll have to reschedule,” she said. “Maeve’s sick.”

  “What’s wrong?” Briddey asked. “Does she have the flu?”

  “No, she doesn’t have a fever. She doesn’t have any symptoms at all. I’m really worried about her.”

  Only Mary Clare. “If she doesn’t have any symptoms, then how do you know she’s sick?”