The Reality Thief Page 4

  Nick moved to the keyboard control and pressed a few buttons. Sharon felt nothing. Less than a minute later, he gave the “all clear.”

  “Anticlimactic as always, Nick. Let’s see if there’s any difference in the fMRI.”

  Sharon removed the clunky helmet and changed into a robe. It was essential she wore nothing that could affect the 15 Tesla magnetic field of the fMRI. She stretched out on the bed of the functional Magnetic Resonance Imaging machine and waited to be passed into the giant donut-shaped magnet. She could feel her headache threatening to return. I hope this migraine doesn’t interfere with the readings.

  For the next two hours, Sharon underwent a series of perceptual and cognitive tests while the machine measured localized brain activity and tried to correlate it with DNND nano-electronic activity. The final thirty minutes were moderately easier than the first ninety; all she had to do was lie there and report her cognitive experiences while a series of DNND-stimulating signals were sent from the near-field transmitter in the device.

  “I’m getting flashes of blue light. Oh! Now, red. Now I smell ginger beef. What’s that you said? It sounded like, ‘Turn the page.’ Wow, I just remembered the equation describing silicon deposition rates onto nucleated silicene molecules in a FIB. I didn't realize I still knew that!” Her right hand twitched upward a few inches.

  The stimulation and correlation process continued until Nick was convinced the fMRI readings were not coincidental correlations, “Okay, I think we have enough. The DNND net is around 95% functional, and we have enough information to begin fine-tuning the calibration.” He retracted the bed from the magnet and powered everything down.

  Together, they examined the neural recordings. The fMRI brought their dreams to life, highlighting in bright, shifting colors the correlation between her brain activity and the DNND signals.

  “Oh, wow! Look at this. This is amazing. This is truly amazing, Sharon!”

  She looked on appreciatively. “You do realize that compared to the dendy lattice itself, this fMRI resolution is crude. Once the dendies are fully functional, they’ll be able to map my every thought at ten-thousand times better resolution. Now that will be amazing.” She massaged the space between her eyes. “But for now, I gotta go. My head is killing me.”

  Nick eyed her closely. “You worry me. That’s not a side-effect we’d expect. Maybe there's a problem with the interaction between the dendies and the new software.”

  He reexamined the fMRI scans. “I can see some non-localized background vasodilation throughout the occipital and prefrontal cortices, but not at a level we normally associate with migraines,” he concluded.

  “It’s probably just fatigue. Besides, it’s been brewing since before I got to the meeting,” Sharon said. “Between this, David’s latest deals, and the DARPA proposal, it’s been a trying day.”

  Nick’s eyes bored into hers. “Possibly,” he ruminated. “Go home and take it easy tonight. No more proposal writing. Doctor’s orders.”

  Sharon hopped off the fMRI bed. “Okay, I promise to take it easy. Paul’s coming to pick me up in about an hour. I’ll grab a coffee downstairs and wait for him.”

  “Call me immediately if it gets any worse. I mean it.”

  “I will. Let’s get together next Friday and do the fine-tuning. That should give the DNNDs enough time to build their interconnections, and I’ll be finished with the proposal by then.”

  5

  Sharon leaned against the back of the elevator and let her breath out slowly. It was a relief to get out of the company facilities. Her headache started receding as soon as she stepped out of the elevator onto the ground floor. The enticing smell of coffee wafting her way promised further relief.

  The café was bustling with end-of-day customers but she managed to scoop a coveted seat looking into the street. She placed her order and stared vacantly at the stream of varied patrons and passersby. The wide array of ages, backgrounds, and income levels had become a hallmark of successful university-industry collaborations around the world.

  White-haired, smartly-dressed, well-manicured executives of both sexes walked by, deep in conversation with gawky academics, and skateboard-toting youths. The snippets of conversation she caught were mostly about whatever new technological marvel was going to “change the world in the next five years.” That they held wildly different visions of which particular marvel that might be, only added to the energy.

  Her cappuccino arrived. She took a few sips, and started to feel well enough to catch up on some article reading. Because her group worked in several different areas, her standard reading list was massive, including dozens of scientific and technical journals. Aside from writing proposals, keeping up with the latest research literature took up the next biggest chunk of her days.

  It’s amazing I ever find time to do any research or teaching, and those are the jobs I was supposedly hired to do. Like all science professors, she was painfully aware of the university’s desire to maintain that public fiction. What a ruse.

  Sharon removed her tablet from her backpack and selected full reading mode. Given her busy schedule, she used data filters to scan the many journals for the most relevant articles in her fields. She started scrolling through the list of the highest-ranked hundred articles she hoped to review this week.

  She read halfway through the first article before deciding it had nothing important to report, took a sip of coffee, and flipped to the next article. A few minutes later she finished with that one and rewarded herself with another sip. Wow, these are going easier than usual. Sometimes a ten-page report in “Cell” could take an entire day to fathom in all its complexities.

  The next article flew by. She not only understood it completely but could call to mind every one of the images in it, and in the preceding two. Soon, she was skimming a page every few seconds without any reduction in comprehension or retention.

  Man, I'm killing these articles! I’m so glad that headache cleared up. With the grant deadline looming, taking a day off to pamper a headache—migraine or otherwise—was not an option.

  Her wristband chimed, startling her out of her rapt gorging of words, pictures, and ideas. She set down her reading and noticed she hadn’t drunk any coffee in the past…what had it been…fifty minutes?

  She tapped the bandlet display in disbelief. Fifty minutes! It felt like only five had passed since she’d opened the first article and yet, according to the list, she’d ingested sixty-three articles.

  Her bandlet chimed a second time. She looked at it but it didn’t really register. Her head was whirling with confusion. How…? The headache returned with sudden and brutal vengeance, stabbing between the eyes.

  On the third chime, she finally took note that it was Paul calling and answered.

  “Hi, honey,” she managed as the bandlet display came to life.

  “Hola, mi amor,” he crooned, carrying on the tradition they'd picked up during their Mexican vacation last winter. “I got caught in some bad traffic on the bridge but I should be outside Neuro Nano in about two minutes. Hey…,” Paul eyed Sharon’s wan image on his in-dash phone, “are you okay?”

  “Yah, I just have a crashing headache,” Sharon answered. “Probably working too hard. Plus, we had that Board meeting.” She mustered the most reassuring smile she could, but even she didn’t believe it. “I’m sure it’ll pass soon.”

  Could it be the dendies causing this migraine?—she wondered. Is this the right time to tell Paul?

  She waved her free hand toward the screen, dismissing his concern. Aside from making him worry, what would knowing do for him?

  “Listen, I’m at Diverté right now,” she said. Before Paul could give her "that look" and chastise her for not taking better care of herself, she added, “But I’ll meet you in front of the entrance, okay?”

  “Okay,” he replied. Clearly, her immediate state of health was not up for discussion. “I’ll see you soon, then.” The image on her ban
dlet cut off.

  Sharon tucked her tablet inside her backpack, downed what was left of the now-cold cappuccino, and headed outside.

  The headache was severe again but she kept pain relievers in the car for times like this. Headaches, both in the literal and figurative sense, had been an all too common price to pay for leading a university lab these past few years. She stepped closer to the curb as she spotted Paul signaling to pull the car out of traffic.

  Had he arrived a few seconds earlier, or later, or had the immature DNND net in Sharon’s brain not been overly stimulated by the past few hours’ activities, things might have turned out differently. But none of these were the case.

  The car eased toward the curb, and Sharon stepped forward, ready to open the passenger door. It was precisely that moment the newly-mature DNND network decided to shut down the brain that hosted it—only for a minute—to devote all available processing power to information integration between its semiconductor substrate and the host's neural cells.

  Sharon stopped mid-stride and went rigid, arms at her side. Her eyes rolled back and she fell forward, directly in front of the oncoming vehicle. Twisting as she fell, her head met the bumper with a dull thud. The car was braking hard by that point, barely moving. But, because of the timing, the tap to the base of the skull did more damage than readily apparent.

  Catatonic, Sharon rebounded off the front of the vehicle and struck her head a second time on the pavement. Paul leaped out of the car and rushed to her side.

  “Honey! Sharon!” Blood trickled onto the asphalt under her body. “Someone help me, please!”

  Shocked pedestrians looked from the bleeding woman to the anguished man.

  “Don’t move her!” somebody instructed. “I’ve called 911.”

  One of the well-groomed executives Sharon had seen pass in front of her window and enter the café slipped off his jacket and put it over her to keep her warm. He tried to comfort Paul. A skateboarder ran to fetch a doctor from a nearby medical clinic. An elderly woman offered her cloth scarf to slow the bleeding, while a growing knot of curious onlookers huddled around.

  Paul heard someone ask what happened. He looked back blankly and shook his head. He couldn’t make sense of the question, and was unable to answer.

  What nobody there could have guessed was that the accident was catastrophic to the DNND lattice developing inside Sharon’s head. The combination of blows rattled the brain against the skull, causing cerebral arteries to rupture. Jarred nanoparticles of the nascent lattice and interconnecting silicene threads broke free from their anchoring synaptic molecules. Viral RNA leaked from ruptured glial cells.

  Liberated from their host neurons, millions of DNNDs swarmed into the circulatory system in search of a functional neural net. Sharon’s cranium swelled under the pressure of the contusions. Caught up in the blood, the nanoscopic DNNDs spread outside the brain and throughout her body.

  Most of the dislocated DNNDs encountered only muscles or organs and reverted to inert nanobits of silicon. Thousands, however, found their way to the placenta and crossed over to the developing fetus.

  At a little under five months, Sharon’s baby was approaching the age when he would become capable of life independent from his mother’s body. But, of vital importance to the wandering DNNDs, he had already begun to develop a functioning brain. As rudimentary and uncoordinated as it was, the child's burgeoning neural activity offered an oasis to the traumatized DNNDs. They attached wherever they could find active synapses and carried out their program to build a new, intact lattice.

  The DNNDs had found themselves a new home.

  6

  “Okay, I confess.” Darak pushed away from the restaurant table and stood to address the prone figures occupying the floor around him. His face sagged in tired resignation. They’re not going to make this easy for me—he realized but when he opened his mouth, his voice remained gentle and humble.

  “Everyone, please, get up. There’s really no need for this. Please,” he assured them.

  A dozen bewildered faces searched Brother Stralasi’s face for guidance. Looking up from the floor, the monk ventured a peek at the traveler. A warm, forgiving smile beamed down at him. Reassured, Stralasi unfurled his prone body from the floor. One by one, the others followed his example.

  “There, isn’t that better? Now, why don’t we all sit and enjoy our breakfasts, and then you can take me to your lodgings in the Alumita,” he suggested. The room remained perfectly still and silent.

  Darak gestured to the monk with open hands, palms up, to reiterate the invitation, and sat down again. He picked up his fork and knife, nodded encouragingly around the room, and dug into what was left of his pancakes and fruit.

  The diners took their seats. Hushed conversation and soft clinks of tableware returned, punctuated by cautious glances.

  “It is such a blessing to have you in our town,” gushed the instantly more confident Brother Stralasi, revitalized by the sense of security and purpose he drew from regulated decorum and station. “The People will be so excited and honored. That is, if we may speak of your visit?”

  Darak looked at the dozen nervous patrons picking at the remains of their breakfasts. “I think it will be difficult not to,” he said.

  “But if I may be so bold, my Lord, I do not understand why you are traveling without a formal entourage. It honors us greatly that you see fit to visit our tiny outpost, but it would bring us such joy to praise your Light in a more…formal way.” Brother Stralasi eyed Darak hopefully. His wish to be granted permission for a grand celebration was obvious.

  “Sometimes, it is best to mingle with people informally in order to better gauge truth,” was all Darak would say before he resumed eating. Ten minutes later, he pushed back from the table with a satisfied, “Ahhh, that’s better.”

  Darak permitted Stralasi to thank Alum for the blessing of breakfast and the two men exited the restaurant, leaving the staff and remaining patrons abuzz. Word of a Shard’s appearance in their humble town had spread rapidly over the InterLat, drawing a small crowd of Alum’s faithful who were hoping to catch a glimpse. The amazed onlookers fell to their knees in unison when Darak appeared on the doorstep.

  The informal retinue followed Stralasi and Darak at a respectful distance as the two men made their way through town, drawing the devout and the curious along with them.

  “Here we have the Administration, Transportation, and Foundation ceraffices,” Brother Stralasi pointed out as they passed the buildings of bio-ceramic construction along the south arc of the Center Park.

  Darak and Stralasi soaked up the verdant peacefulness of the small city. Leaf-covered branches grew from the tops of the living buildings, creating protective shade for the lawns and gardens below. As they walked, the small crowd behind them grew. Eager late-comers trickled out from homes, offices, and side streets.

  “No doubt, you will want to see inside the Foundation laboratories,” Brother Stralasi suggested, hoping to tease out some clue as to the purpose of Darak's visit.

  “No doubt,” he affirmed.

  Exasperated by the gentle but uninformative responses, Brother Stralasi turned his attention to the pleasing site of a gleaming white, five-storey cylinder decorated with an array of strategically placed small windows.

  “This is the Foundation ceraffice. It is the busiest site in Alumston and a bastion of industriousness.” They passed easily through the stream of technicians coming and going by floaters.

  “Throughout the day, they bring rock, soil, and organisms from all over the continent for analysis, and they return to the wilderness with a fresh supply of materials engineered to help spread the conversion of the planet to Standard Life. I find it gratifying just to stand in their midst.”

  Moving along, Stralasi ushered Darak to the main labs comprising the entire second level. The Good Brother stood patiently as the traveler became peculiarly engrossed by the process.

  Technicians
donned full-length white cotton robes and walked purposefully from the preparation areas to the analyzers, where they inserted various samples into machines that contained neither readouts nor obvious controls. At one of the machines, a technician gently placed a damaged device inside the receptacle and closed its door. Kneeling on soft stools conveniently placed in front of the lab benches, they prayed.

  Darak closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of shuffling feet and the murmur of fervent prayers. There was no conversation, nothing more than an occasional nod of recognition shared by coworkers.

  He looks sad, or maybe in pain—Stralasi mused, but he wasn’t sure why.

  “Do they never grow tired of praying?” Darak asked.

  “How could they, my Lord, when every word moves this world along the path of Standardization and implements the Foundation protocol as required?”

  “Have they no curiosity about how it all works?”

  Stralasi scanned the room, calculating whether any technicians might be within earshot. Surely, the Shard was testing him. He stepped back a few paces so that his hushed response would be less easily overheard. It would certainly not befit a man of his station to be seen tested in front of the technicians and, most especially, to be caught faltering on any level.

  “But we know how it works. Alum Himself answers our prayers to convert the indigenous life of this planet to His Standard Life. His miracles cannot possibly be understood by mere mortals, such as us. His wisdom is infinite and ours is minuscule. We pray for His guidance and He provides us with answers, for Alum is Lord,” he recited.

  “Yes, of course. Alum is Lord,” Darak agreed half-heartedly. “We should continue on. I don’t wish to interrupt anyone in their work.”

  Downstairs, the troupe of curious and faithful parted to let the two men through. They crossed through Center Park, passed by the First and Second Schools, and came to a stop in front of the glorious Alumita.