“When will we be able to talk to Mr. Delaney?” Schorcht snapped.
“Perhaps never.” Dr. Snaresbrook stood up. “You have my report. Make of it what you will. I am doing my very best, with still-experimental techniques, to rebuild that shattered mind. Trust me. If I succeed you will be the first to know.”
She ignored the voices, the questions, turned and left the room.
10
September 17, 2023
Brian came slowly back to consciousness, rising up from a deep and dreamless sleep. Awareness slipped away, came again, sank into darkness again. This happened a number of times over a period of days and each time he remembered nothing of the previous approach to consciousness.
Then, for the first time, he did remain on the borderline of full awareness. Though his eyes were still shut he gradually began to realize that he was awake. And dreadfully tired. Why was that? He did not know, did not really care. Cared about nothing.
“Brian…”
The voice came from a very great distance. At the edge of audibility. At first it was just there, something to be experienced and not considered. But it kept repeating. Brian, then Brian again.
Why? The word rolled around and around in his thoughts until memory returned. That was his name. He was Brian. Someone was speaking his name. His name was Brian and someone was speaking his name aloud.
“Brian — open your eyes, Brian.”
Eyes. His eyes. His eyes were shut. Open your eyes, Brian.
Light. Strong light. Then soothing darkness once again.
“Open your eyes, Brian. Do not keep your eyes closed. Look at me, Brian.”
Glare again, blink, shut, open. Light. Vagueness. Something floating before him.
“That’s very good, Brian. Can you see me? If you can, say yes.”
This was not an easy thing to do. But it was a command. See. Light and something. See me. See the me. See me say yes. What was seeing? Was he seeing? What was he seeing?
It was hard, but each time he thought about it the process became easier. See — with the eyes. See a thing. What thing? The blur. What was a blur? A blur was a thing. What land of a thing? And what was a thing?
Face.
Face! Yes, a face! He was very happy to discover that. He saw that this was a face. A face had two eyes, a nose, a mouth, hair. What about the hair?
The hair was gray.
Very good, Brian. He was doing so well. He felt very happy.
His eyes were open. He saw a face. The face had gray hair. He was very tired. His eyes closed and he slept.
“You saw that, didn’t you!” Dr. Snaresbrook clasped her hands together with excitement. Benicoff nodded, puzzled but agreeing.
“I saw his eyes open, yes. But, well—”
“It was terribly important. Did you notice that he looked at my face after I spoke?”
“Yes — but is that a good response?”
“Not just good, but immensely significant. Think for a moment. You are looking at a young man’s body that for a long time had a disconnected mind — broken into disconnected fragments. But you see what happened now — he heard my voice and turned to look at my face. The important thing is that the brain centers for auditory recognition are in the back half of the brain — but the eye-motion controls are in the front part of the brain. So we must have got the new connections at least partly correct. And there was more. He was trying to obey — to understand my command. This means that a good many mental agencies must have been engaged. And note that he labored very hard, made mental connections, rewarded himself with a feeling of happiness — you saw the smile. This is tremendous.”
“Yes, I did see him smile a little. It’s good that he is not depressed, considering his injuries.”
“No. That’s not the important point at all. If I were concerned about his attitude, I’d prefer for him to be depressed. No, my point is that regardless of whether he’s pleased or annoyed, at least he isn’t apathetic. And if his systems can still assign values to experiences, then he can use those values for self-reinforcement — that is, for learning. And if his systems can learn properly, he’ll be able to help us repair more of the damage.”
“When you put it that way — then I see why it is important. What next?”
“The process continues. I will let him sleep, then try again.”
“But won’t he lose his short-term memories? The memories that you have restored? Won’t they fade away if he sleeps?’
“No — because these are not short-term memories but reconnected K-lines or functions that existed before. K-lines are nerve fibers connected to sets of memories, sets of agents, that reactivate previous partial mental states. Think of them as reconnected circuits. Not reconnected in fragile human synapses, but in tough computer-memory units.”
“If you are right — that means that everything you have done is working out,” Benicoff said, hoping that his lack of enthusiasm did not show in his voice. Was the doctor reading an awful lot into one little flicker of a smile? Perhaps wanting to believe so much that she might be deceiving herself. He had been expecting something more dramatic.
Erin Snaresbrook had not. She had not known what to expect in this totally new procedure, but was immensely satisfied with the results now. Let Brian rest, then she would talk to him again.
A room. He was in a room. The room had a window because he knew what a window looked like. There was someone else in the room. Someone with gray hair and a white thing on her body.
Body? Her? The white thing was a dress and only hers wore dresses.
That was good. He smiled widely. But not completely right. The smile slowly slipped away. It was almost right, he had done well. The smile returned and he slept.
What had happened the night before? He stirred with fear; he couldn’t remember, why was that? And why couldn’t he roll over? He was being held down. Something was very wrong, he didn’t know what. It took an effort of will to open his eyes — then quickly clamp them shut since the light burned them painfully. He had to blink away the tears when he hesitantly opened them again, looked up at the face of the stranger looming close above him.
“Can you hear me, Brian?” the woman said. But when he tried to answer, his throat was so dry that he started coughing. “Water!” A cool, hard tube pushed between his lips and he sucked in gratefully. Choked on it, coughed and a wave of pain swept through his head. He moaned in agony.
“Head… hurts,” he managed to say.
Nor would the pain go away. He moaned and twisted under the assault, pain so great that it overwhelmed all other sensations. He was not aware of the tiny slice of pain when the needle went into his arm, but did sigh with relief when the all-encompassing agony began to ebb.
When he opened his eyes again it was with great hesitation. Blinked tears as he fought to see.
“What… ?” His voice sounded runny but he did not understand why. What was it? Wrong? Too deep, too rasping. Listened as the other voice came from a great distance.
“There’s been an accident, Brian. But you are all right now — you are going to be all right. Do you have any pain? Do you hurt anywhere?”
Hurt? The pain in his head was lessening, was being muffled somehow. Other pain? His back, yes his back — his arm too. He thought about that. Looked down and could not see his body. Covered. What did he feel? Pain?
“Head… my back.”
“You’ve been hurt, Brian. Your head, your arm and back too. I’ve given you something to take away the pain. You’ll feel better soon,” Erin said, looking down at him with grave concern at the white face on the pillow, framed by the crown of bandages. His eyes were open, reddened and black-rimmed, blinking away the tears. But he was looking at her, questioning, following her when she moved. And the voice, the words clear enough. Though wasn’t there a marked Irish accent to what he said? Brian’s accent had changed after all his years in America. But an earlier Brian would certainly have more of the brogue he had brought to this country. This was Brian all right.