Although Snaresbrook was there to supervise, it was the computer that controlled the implants, the fingers moving so fast that they blurred into invisibility. In flashing procession the thin-film chips were guided one after the other into place, until the last one was secure. The fingers withdrew and Snaresbrook felt some of the tension drain away. She straightened and realized that the pain in her back was sharp as a knife point. She ignored it.
“The next stage, the connecting process, has now begun. The film surfaces are a modification of active matrix display technology. The object is for each semiconductor, when activated by the luminescence, to identify a live nerve. Then to make a physical connection with that nerve. The films are coated with the correct growth hormones to cause the incoming nerve fibers to form synapses with the input transistors. The importance of these connections will be made manifest at the next implant procedure. Each dead distal fiber must be replaced by a fetal cell that is genetically engineered to grow a new axon inside the sheath of the cell it is replacing—then grow new synapses to replace the old, dying distal ones. At the same time as the fetal cells, dendrites will grow to contact the output pad on the film chip.”
The operation took almost ten hours. Snaresbrook was present the entire time.
When the last connection had been made the fatigue hit like a locomotive. She stumbled and had to clutch the door frame as she left the room. Brian required constant monitoring and attention after the operation—but the nursing staff could handle this.
The procedures-to mend Brian’s brain were exhausting—yet she still had other patients and scheduled operations that had to be done. She rescheduled them, sought out and received the best assistance from the top surgeons, took only the most urgent cases. Yet she was still working a full twenty-four hours, had been for days. Her voice trembled as she made verbal notes on the procedure just finished. Her desk computer would record and transcribe them. Dexedrine would see her through the day. Not a good idea but she had little choice.
Finished, she yawned and stretched.
“End of report. Intercom on. Madeline.” The desk computer accepted the new command and bleeped the secretary.
“Yes, Doctor.”
“Send in Mrs. Delaney now.”
She rubbed her hands together and straightened her back. “Switch on and record as file titled Dolly Delaney,” she said, then checked to see that the tiny red indicator in the base of the desk light came on. The door opened and she smiled at the woman who hesitantly entered. “It was very good of you to come,” Snaresbrook said, smiling, standing slowly and indicating the chair on the other side of the desk. “Please make yourself comfortable, Mrs. Delaney.”
“Dolly, if you please, Doctor. Can you tell me how he is?” Her voice had a tight edge to it as though she was working hard to keep it under control as she spoke. A thin, sharp-eyed woman clutching her large handbag in her lap with both hands; a barrier before her.
“Absolutely no change, Dolly, not since I talked to you yesterday. He is alive and we must be grateful for that. But he has been gravely injured and it is going to be weeks, possibly months, before we will know the outcome of the procedures. That is why I need your help.”
“I’m not a nurse, Doctor. I don’t see what I can possibly do.” She straightened the purse on her lap, keeping the barrier in place. She was a good-looking woman—would have looked better if the corners of her mouth hadn’t turned down sharply. She had the appearance of a person the world had not been kind to and who resented it. “You say you need help—yet I don’t have any idea at all what has happened to Brian. Whoever called me simply said that there had been an accident in the laboratory. I had hoped that you would be able to tell me more. When will I be able to see him?”
“Just as soon as possible. But you must realize that Brian has suffered extensive cranial damage. Severe trauma of the white matter of his brain. There is—memory impairment. But he can be helped if I find a way to evoke enough of his early memories. That is why I need more information about your son …”
“Stepson,” she said firmly. “Patrick and I adopted him.”
“I didn’t know, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, Doctor, there is certainly nothing to be sorry about. It is common knowledge. Brian is Patrick’s natural son. Before we met, before he left Ireland, he had this … liaison with a local girl. That was Brian’s mother.” Dolly took a lace hanky from her bag, touched it to her palms, pushed it back into the bag, which closed with a loud snap.
“I would like to know more about that, Mrs. Delaney.”
“Why? It’s past history, nobody’s business now. My husband is dead, has been for nine years. We had … separated by that time. Divorced. I have been living with my family in Minnesota. He and I did not communicate. I didn’t even know that Paddy was ill, no one ever told me anything. You can understand my being a little bitter. The first I knew that something was wrong with his health was when Brian called me about the funeral. So that is all in the past as you can see.”
“I am very sorry to hear about the separation. But, tragic as this is, it does not alter in any way the earlier details about Brian’s life. That is what you must tell me about. It is Brian’s developing years that I want to understand. Now that your husband is dead, you are the only person in the world who can supply this information. Brian’s brain has been severely injured, large areas have been destroyed. He needs your help in restoring his memories. I admit that much of what I am doing is experimental, never tried before. But it is the only chance he has. In order to succeed I must know where to look—and what to look for in his past.
“The problem is that in order to reconstruct Brian’s memories I will have to retrace his mind’s development from his infancy and childhood. The enormous structure of a human mind can be rebuilt only from the bottom up. The higher-level ideas and concepts cannot be activated until their earlier forms again become able to operate. We will have to reconstruct his mind—his mental societies of ideas—in much the way they were built in the first place, during Brian’s childhood. Only you can guide me at this point. Will you help me give him back his past in the hopes that he will then have a future?”
Dolly’s mouth was clamped tightly shut, her lips white with the strain. And she was shivering. Erin Snaresbrook waited in patient silence.
“It was a long time ago. Brian and I have grown apart since then. But I raised him, did my best, all that I could do. I haven’t seen him since the funeral …” She took her handkerchief out again and touched it to the corners of her eyes, put it away, straightened up.
“I know that this is very difficult for you. Dolly. But it is essential that I get these facts, absolutely vital. Can I ask you where you and your husband first met?”
Dolly sighed, then nodded reluctant agreement. “It was at the University of Kansas. Paddy came there from Ireland, as you know. He taught at the university. In the School of Education. So did I, family planning. As I am sure you know, there is finally the growing awareness that all of our environment problems are basically caused by overpopulation, so the subject is no longer banned in the schools. Paddy was a mathematician, a very good one, overqualified for our college, really. That was because he had been recruited for the new university in Texas and was teaching in Kansas until they opened. That was part of the arrangement. They wanted him under contract and tied up. For their own sake—not his. He was a very lonely man, without any friends. I know he missed Dublin something fierce. That was what he used to say when he talked about it, something fierce. Not that he talked about himself that much. He was teaching undergraduates who were there just for the credits and didn’t care at all about the subject. He really hated it. It was just about that time when we began going out together. He confided in me and I know that he found comfort in my companionship.
“I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. Perhaps because you are a doctor. I’ve kept it inside, never talked about it to anyone before. Looking back now, now that he is d
ead, I can finally say it out loud. I don’t … I don’t think he ever loved me. I was just comfortable to have around. There is a lot of mathematics in demography, so I could follow him a bit when he talked about his work. He lost me rather quickly but he didn’t seem to notice. I imagine that he saw me as a warming presence, to put it simply. This didn’t matter to me, not at first. When he asked me to marry him I jumped at the chance. I was thirty-two then and not getting any younger. You know that they say that if a girl is not married by thirty that’s the end of it. So I accepted his proposal. I tried to forget about all the schoolgirl ideas of romantic love. After all, people have made successes of arranged marriages. Thirty-two is a hard age for a single girl. As for him, if he loved anyone it was her. Dead, but that didn’t matter.”
“Then he did talk about this earlier relationship with the girl in Ireland?”
“Of course. Grown men aren’t expected to be virgins. Even in Kansas. He was a very honest and forthright man. I knew he had been very, very close to this girl but the affair was long over. At first he didn’t mention the boy. But before he proposed he told me what had happened in Ireland. Everything. I’m not saying I approved, but past is past and that’s all there was to it.”
“And how much did you know about Brian?”
“Just as much as Paddy did—which was precious little. Just his name, that he was living with his mother in some village in the country. She didn’t want to hear from Paddy, not at all, and I knew that made him very upset. His letters were returned unopened. When he tried to send money, for the boy’s sake, it was refused. He even sent money to the priest there, for the boy, but that didn’t work either. Paddy didn’t want it back, he donated it to the church. The priest remembered that, so when the girl died he wrote Paddy about it. He took it badly, though he tried not to show it. In the end he worked hard to put it all from his mind. That’s when he proposed to me. As I said, I knew a lot of his reasons for what he did. If I minded I kept it to myself. She was dead and we were married and that was that. We didn’t even talk about it anymore.
“That is why it was such a shock when that filthy letter came. He said he had to see what was happening and I didn’t argue. After he came back from that first trip to Ireland, I have never seen anyone so upset. It was the boy that mattered now, past was past. When Paddy told me about his plans for the adoption I agreed at once. We had no children of our own, could have none, there were fertility problems. And the thought of this motherless little boy growing up in some filthy place at the end of the world, you see there was really no choice.”
“You have been to Ireland?”
“I didn’t have to go. I knew. We had been in Acapulco for our honeymoon. Filthy. People ought to realize that there is nothing wrong with the United States—and it is a lot better than all those foreign places. And by this time the new position had come through and Paddy was teaching at the University of Free Enterprise, double the Kansas salary. A good thing too, the amount we had to pay to those Irish relatives. But it was worth it to save the child from that kind of a life. Paddy did it all—nor was it very easy. Three trips to Ireland before it was settled. I fixed up the boy’s room while Paddy went back that final time. He had a friend there, a Sean something he had been to school with. A lawyer now, a solicitor they call it over there. Paddy had to go to court, before a judge. Ours is a Catholic marriage, that was the first thing they wanted to know. No chance of adoption if we weren’t. Then paternity tests, humiliating. But worth it in the end. The plane was four hours late getting in but I never left the airport. It seemed they were the last ones off. I’ll never forget that moment. Paddy looked so tired—and the boy! Skin the color of paper, must have never been out in the sun for his entire life. Skinny, arms like matchsticks sticking out of that filthy jacket. I remember I looked around, almost ashamed to be seen with him dressed like that.”
Snaresbrook raised her hand to stop her, checked again that the recording light was on. “Do you remember that moment well, Dolly?”
“I could never forget it.”
“Then you must tell me about it, every detail. For Brian’s sake. His memory has been—shall we say injured. It is there but we have to remind him about it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Will you help me—even if you don’t understand?”
“If you want me to, Doctor. If you tell me that it is that important. I am used to taking things on faith. Paddy was the brains in the family. And Brian of course, I think they both looked down on me, not that they ever said. But a person can tell.”
“Dolly, I give you my word that you are the only person in the world who can help Brian now, at this moment in time. No one can look down on you now. You must restore those memories. You must describe everything, just as you remember it. Every single detail.”
“Well, if you say it is that important, that it will help, I will do my best.” She sat up straight, determined. “At that time, when he was young, the boy was very dear to me. Only when he was older did he grow so distant. But I think, I know, that he needed me then.”
They both looked so tired as they came toward her, Paddy holding the boy’s hand. Father and son—there was no mistaking that red hair with the gold highlights.
“I must get the bags,” Paddy said. His unshaven cheek rough when he kissed her. “Look after him.”
“How do you do, Brian? I’m Dolly.”
He lowered his head, turned away, was silent. So small too for an eight-year-old. You would have guessed his age at six at the most. Scrawny and none too clean. A bad diet for certain, worse habits. She would take care of that.
“I’ve fixed your room up—you’ll like it.”
Without thinking she reached out to take him by the shoulder, felt him shiver and pull away. It was not going to be easy; she forced a smile, tried not to show how uncomfortable she felt. Thank God, there was Paddy now with the bags.
When the car started the boy fell asleep almost at once in the backseat. Paddy yawned widely then apologized.
“No need. Was it an awful trip?”
“Just long and wearisome. And, you know”—he glanced over his shoulder at Brian—“not easy in many ways. I’ll tell you all about it tonight.”
“What was the problem about the passport you mentioned on the phone?”
“Red tape nonsense. Something about me being born Irish and a nationalized American and Brian still being Irish, though the adoption papers should have taken care of that. But not according to the American consul in Dublin. They found some forms to fill out and in the end it was easier to get Brian an Irish passport and sort the rest out at this end.”
“We’ll do that at once. He is an American boy now and has no need for a strange foreign passport. And wait until you see. I fixed up the spare room like we agreed. A bunk bed, a little desk, some nice pictures. He’s going to like it.”
Brian hated this strange place. He was too tired at first to think about it. Woke up when his father carried him into the house. He had some strange-tasting soup and must have fallen asleep at the table. When he woke in the morning he cried out in fear at the strangeness of everything. His bedroom, bigger than the parlor at home. His familiar world was gone—even his clothes. His shorts, shirt, vest, gone while he slept. New clothes in bright colors now replaced their grays and blacks. Long trousers. He shivered when the door opened, pulled up the covers. But it was his father; he smiled, ever so slightly.
“Did you have a good sleep?” He nodded. “Good. Take yourself a shower, right in there, it works just like the one in the Dublin hotel. And get dressed. After breakfast I’ll show you around your new home.”
The shower still took some getting used to and he still wasn’t sure that he liked it. Back home in Tara the big cast-iron bathtub had been good enough.
When they walked out he felt that it was all too strange, too different to take in at once. The sun was too hot, the air too damp. The houses were all the wrong shape, the motorcars were too big-an
d drove on the wrong side of the road. His new home was a strange place. The pavement was too smooth. And water all around, no hills or trees. Just the flat, muddy-looking ocean and all the black metal things in the water on all sides. Why did it have to be like that? Why weren’t they on land? When they had arrived at the big airport they had changed to another plane, had flown across the state of Texas—that is what his father had called it—to get here, an apparently endless and empty place. Driven from the airport and parked the car.
“I don’t like it here.” He said it without thinking, softly to himself, but Paddy heard.
“It takes some getting used to.”
“Middle of the ocean!”
“Not quite.” Paddy pointed to the thin brown line on the distant horizon; it shimmered in the heat. “That’s the coast, just over there.”
“There ain’t no trees,” Brian said, looking around at this strange new environment.
“There are trees right in front of the shopping center,” his father said.
Brian dismissed them. “Not real trees, not growing in barrels like that. It’s not right. Why isn’t this place properly on the land?”
They had walked the length of the metal campus and the adjoining housing area. Stopped now to rest on a shaded bench overlooking the sea. Paddy slowly filled his pipe and lit it before he spoke.
The Turing Option Page 6