He’d given up his long and very profitable career as a neurosurgeon to follow this radically different approach to repairing the human brain. It had been his daughter’s death from a baffling coma that had propelled him in such a radical new direction. He’d been forty-two when Samantha, his only child, was born. After his wife’s death eleven years later she’d become his whole life. Then at the age of seventeen she’d failed to wake up one morning. He’d done everything within his power to revive her but to no avail. She’d died five months later. She had just wasted away in front of him for no apparent reason. He’d never been the same after that. This treatment, the concept of the FENS instrument had come to him in a dream. It was crazy but true.
He saw the instrument in his mind’s eye but he couldn’t turn it into a reality. He spent ever more time outside of the operating room attending and speaking at conferences. In the end he gave up his medical practice altogether to pursue what many of his colleagues considered a phantasm. He went on the lecture circuit, preaching to whoever would listen. He preached of a totally new approach to treating the brain. But it was really fringe. It was based on a very controversial model of the way in which the human brain functioned. He had so many detractors. No one had ever tried anything like this before and the costs of building the instrument he proposed were astronomical. But before he could win over the sceptics he’d need to build a working model of the thing. It had to move from concept to design to reality. He needed an engineer for that. That was where Karl had come in. He was the brother of a surgical nurse he had worked with in his former life. Karl immediately saw the value of Wilson’s concept and signed on. Together they lived on small stipends and fellowships as they sought the illusive large grant that might allow them to prove the technology of which they spoke. With his worsening heart condition weighing upon him Wilson knew he was running out of time. He couldn’t bear to have lived his life in vain. He had to make it work. Then just three years ago he found the donor he sought, a donor with deep enough pockets and sufficient vision to see the potentials of his FENS instrument. It was a hard sell to be sure but the Martin International Foundation had approved it.
The thing was that, short of a miracle, it wasn’t going to happen. He’d run into more problems than he’d anticipated. Finding the right superconducting material for the main coil, engineering adequate shielding, and finding a way to channel the pure power they’d need into the instrument without blowing every relay in the building were but a few of the challenges they faced. They brought in a second engineer fresh out of college, Connie Cox. She added new insight into the problem. The three of them managed to solve all of the problems they’d encountered but it had taken too much time and too much money. Now they were far behind schedule and way over budget. Their lease here at the Martin Neurological Center was paid up through next July but that wouldn’t do them much good if they couldn’t make the final payment on the electromagnet. That was well over a hundred grand, and right now he couldn’t even make this month’s payroll.
This afternoon he’d have to break the news to Karl and Connie at their weekly meeting. How he dreaded this one. They’d come so far and for nothing.
It was a cold morning out there, but he’d take a walk around the block nonetheless. Maybe the frigid air would shock his system, give him some ideas. He was walking past the main desk when the receptionist stopped him.
“Dr. Wilson, this man has come to see you, but he doesn’t have an appointment,” said the comely young brunette.
Dr. Wilson gazed over at a middle aged man in a well pressed dark business suit. The tall bearded man rose to his feet, briefcase in hand and walked in Dr. Wilson’s direction.
“I’d hoped to catch you this morning, Dr. Wilson,” he began, in a distinctly Scottish accent. “My name is Aberdeen, James Aberdeen. Might we talk somewhere more private?”
“I really don’t have much time,” replied Wilson, “if you’re a salesman…”
“I’m not selling anything,” said Aberdeen. “I think what I have to say will interest you. It’s in regards to your FENS project.”
Wilson considered Aberdeen’s words. They titillated his curiosity. Very few people were aware of his work with FENS. How did he find out about it? “We can meet in my office.”
A moment later Aberdeen sat across from Wilson at his desk.
“I’ll come straight to the point,” began Aberdeen. “I represent a group of private investors who have taken great interest in your endeavor here. We found your paper on the electronic stimulation of neural synapses intriguing. The potential of this technology has far reaching implications in the treatment of the human brain. If successful it could relieve the suffering of many. Your current financial situation must not be allowed to hinder the development of FENS.”
Wilson was shocked. “What would make you assume that we are having financial problems?”
Aberdeen looked at Wilson with a very knowing look as if he’d asked a question with an all too obvious answer. “Am I mistaken?”
Wilson felt very uncomfortable. He felt truly insulted, yet his desperation overrode that emotion. “You are not mistaken.”
Aberdeen nodded. “Thank you for your honesty, doctor.” He reached into the briefcase at his side and pulled from it a large rectangular block of shimmering metal. He placed it on Dr. Wilson’s desk. Then he pulled forth a second, identical to the first. “I believe you will find that each of these bars weighs approximately twenty pounds. They are yours. It should not be difficult to convert them into cash.”
Wilson reached for the shimmering bar on top. It was exceptionally heavy. “It looks like gold.”
“It is gold,” confirmed Aberdeen, “at least mostly. It might contain trace quantities of iridium and osmium, but I believe that they are just as valuable as gold in the current market.”
Dr. Wilson was practically without words. Then he tempered his joy. “And what would you want in return?”
“The continuation of your research,” replied Aberdeen. “My investors are very philanthropic. They want nothing more than to relieve the suffering of mankind, especially children. Your research will do just that, more than you currently realize. That knowledge will be our reward. We require no other.” Aberdeen glanced up at the clock. “But I know that your time is valuable. You have much to do and I have other appointments.” Aberdeen rose to his feet to leave.
“Wait,” said Wilson, also rising. “Who are these investors you represent? Are they associated with Matthew Martin and the Martin Foundation?”
“They are not,” replied Aberdeen, “at least not directly. My associates wish to remain anonymous. It is important that they do so. I bid you a pleasant morning.”
With those words Aberdeen departed. For about ten seconds Wilson just stood there. He gazed at the two gold bars before him. Then he rushed toward the hallway. He had to know more, but when he reached the hallway, Mr. Aberdeen was nowhere to be found. He looked both ways then quickly made his way toward the receptionist’s desk. She was just putting down the phone when he arrived.
“Did Mr. Aberdeen come past here?” asked Wilson.
“No, Dr. Wilson,” she said. “I haven’t seen him since he went back to your office. Is there a problem?”
Wilson looked back into the hallway and then to the main doors. “No, no problem.”
Wilson returned to his office almost expecting the two bars not to be there. They still rested on his desk, their smooth surfaces reflecting the light of the morning sun streaming through the window. This was incredible. These sorts of things just didn’t happen. But were they real? He intended to find out.
Forty-seven-year-old Karl Lund glanced across the conference table at his assistant Connie Cox then up at the clock on the wall. “He’s twenty minutes late.”
Twenty-six-year-old Connie nodded even as she took another sip of coffee. “Yeah I noticed.”
“I’m not really surprised,” continued Karl. “I feel we’re so close, so close, but I g
uess we’ll never know. We’ve solved the induction problem, for whatever good that does now. What good does it do us if we don’t have the funding to see this project through? This was John’s whole life. I lived it with him for the past nine years. Now it’s over.”
“You don’t know that,” objected Connie.
“I assume that,” replied Karl.
“I have faith that you’re wrong on that score,” replied Connie. “I believe in miracles.”
“I don’t,” said Karl. “I’m a realist. We’re in the red financially. I don’t see where help is going to come from.”
Dr. Wilson entered the room. He sat down at the table across from his two protégés. They waited to hear what Karl supposed would be bad news.
“We have received a new grant,” announced Wilson. “I am not certain of the exact amount but it is on the order of $400,000.”
Karl looked absolutely shocked. Even the ever positive Connie could not hide her amazement.
Wilson spoke of his strange encounter this morning; of the man he only knew as James Aberdeen. The telling of the story left far more questions than answers.
“And these blocks are actually gold?” asked Karl.
“They are,” confirmed Wilson. “A friend in the chemistry department at the college confirmed that much. We’ll have a full assay in a few days. Forget how incredible or irrational this whole story sounds, it happens to be true. I already have a buyer. The gold is here and very soon we will have converted it into cash. We are back in business. We have the funds to turn our dream into reality. Who cares where the money came from?”
“I do,” objected Karl. “Suppose it’s stolen?”
“Why steal that much gold and then turn around and give it to someone you don’t even know?” posed Wilson. “No, I don’t think it’s stolen.”
“Sometimes we entertain angels unaware,” suggested Connie, a smile on her face.
“I don’t know if Aberdeen sports a pair of wings or a tail and horns,” replied Wilson. “Right now I don’t much care. All I know is that we’re back in business. We should have funds by the time the coil is ready. We’ll proceed on that assumption. Let’s get to work people. Your pay checks might be a few days late this month but you will get them. We have a lot to do before the coil arrives.”
Connie Cox and Dr. John Wilson watched from the control room as the power to the coil passed a million watts. The whine of the instrument increased in pitch and volume. All the while Karl monitored the magnetic field from the laboratory itself. He nodded approvingly.
“We have an excellent focus,” Karl said into his microphone headset. “I think we’re in the center of the sweet spot. The shielding is doing its job too, finally.”
“And the emitters?” asked Connie.
“We’ve still got some alignment work to do there,” admitted Karl, “but that shouldn’t give us too much trouble. Go ahead and throttle back on the power, slowly. We don’t want the field to collapse too quickly and overheat the relays.”
The pitch of the instrument dropped along with the volume. Connie looked very pleased. She turned to Wilson. “We just set a record for the most powerful magnetic field ever generated by man.”
“We’ll need to contact Guinness,” said Karl.
“We need to keep this thing quiet,” corrected Wilson. “I don’t want this to become a circus. “We’ve had a productive couple of months but I want to do a lot more testing before I put one of our patients under this instrument.”
“Have you decided who yet?” asked Connie.
“Not yet,” admitted Wilson. “We need a diagnostician, someone who can give us a better picture of the brainwave activity of our perspective patients. I’ve read of a new high sensitivity EEG instrument under development over in Philadelphia at the University of Pennsylvania. There are only a handful of people familiar with its operation and interpretation. I’ll be interviewing one of the young interns who helped develop it later this week. I hope to offer him a position on our team if he impresses me.”
“We won’t be able to offer him very much,” cautioned Karl.
“I realize that,” replied Wilson, “but I know this young man. His mother used to work with me as a surgical nurse in the OR years ago.”
That comment raised Karl’s eyebrows. “Like my sister. Are you in the habit of gleaning prospective employees from the families of nurses you’ve worked with?”
Wilson smiled. “Apparently, and this nurse was one of the best. I’ve met her son several times over the years. He has a real heart and mind for medical research. I think he will be a great addition to our team. I’ll be interviewing him on Friday and if we’re lucky he’ll agree to come on board with us. He just completed his internship. His name is Ron Griego.”
“The computer enhanced EEG will record subtle brain wave activity that would have been totally undetectable using older EEG units,” said twenty-eight-year-old Dr. Ron Griego, placing the readout on the desk of the conference room. His dark eyes scanned the room. He had everyone’s attention.
Dr. Wilson’s picked up the chart and examined it carefully. He nodded.
Ron looked at the three researchers across the table from him. The interview had been going on for over an hour now. This had been quite an intense job interview for a position that paid less than $40,000 per year. Most young specialists wouldn’t even have considered such a low paying position. But this was working with Dr. John Wilson. His mother had spoken of him often. She said that he was the most brilliant and insightful surgeon she had ever worked with. She said that Wilson was on the threshold of a great discovery and Ron wouldn’t miss the opportunity to be a member of his research team.
“There is a rare affliction of the brain,” said Wilson. “It affects only young people. There hasn’t been a lot of research on it due to that rareness. Worldwide I know of only about a hundred cases. It appears to be more common in the developed countries than in the third world. It’s called Hobart’s syndrome. Its victims are struck down suddenly and completely, slipping into a coma from which they never awaken. No one has ever recovered from this affliction and no treatment has had even the slightest effect. There are no warning signs, no symptoms until the full-fledged illness renders its victims completely unresponsive. The only commonality of all of the sufferers is that they are between the ages of nine and twenty-two. Recently there have been an alarming number of cases here in the northeast and in Northern Europe, mostly England, France, and Germany. It is in the treating of Hobart’s that FENS will be most useful. You’ve heard of Hobart’s?”
“Yes,” confirmed Ron, “I’ve heard about it though I don’t know too many specifics. It was identified about twenty years ago if my memory serves me correctly.”
“It does,” confirmed Wilson. “It was first identified in England back in the late sixties.”
“I don’t even know what causes it,” admitted Ron.
“No one does,” continued Wilson. “I believe that something is degrading neural activity in the regions of the brain responsible for higher brain function, mainly the cerebrum and also obstructing the passage of signals from the cerebrum to other parts of the brain. FENS will stimulate the surrounding tissue with an RF beam and channel the resulting neural electrons into these inactive regions with a powerful magnetic field. I theorize that these electrons will stimulate these regions into activity once more. That at least is the theory.”
Ron already knew the theory. His mother had told him about Dr. Wilson’s theories some time ago. They were controversial but they made sense, at least to him. “And you want to use my enhanced EEG unit to evaluate the results, a sort of before and after.”
“Exactly,” said Wilson.
“It would be preferable if you didn’t have to build one from scratch,” continued Ron. “We have three of them at the university. I had a hand in building every one of them. I don’t think it would be very difficult for me to convince the university to allow me to borrow one for a time to do these test
s you want. No, I don’t think it would be difficult at all, it would help prove the technology, and that is something that they very much want to do.”
“Indeed it would,” noted Wilson. “Hobart’s is a baffling affliction, I and my team probably know more about it than any other people on the planet and still it confounds us. There are things about it that defy explanation.”
“Such as?” asked Ron.
There was a moment of hesitation. Then Dr. Wilson continued. “For one thing the victims of the affliction display strange marks, rashes, upon their skin from time to time. All will display what I call linear bruising mostly upon their back and arms. The bruises are long; perhaps four to ten inches in length but only a quarter inch or less wide. It is not the result of anything external, it simply happens. It’s like the victim was slashed with a dull knife or hit with a whip. But the most confounding thing is the large circular bruises that appear under their armpits and upon their thighs about once every 22 days. It’s like clockwork. It is accompanied by rapid and unexplainable weight loss and a huge drop in the blood volume and iron content of their blood. All of the victims display this symptom. Sometimes they even require transfusions afterward. But where the blood goes is a mystery. It doesn’t appear in the feces or the urine, it simply vanishes.”
Ron had to think about that one for a moment. “They don’t lose it through sweat?”
The Realm of the Drells Page 6