Robert Sawyer - Quantum Night

“Why on Earth would he agree to put that helmet on again after what it did to him the last time—not to mention what happened to Travis Huron?”

“Surely those things were because of the transcranial focused ultrasound,” said Dominic. “We won’t activate that part; it obviously isn’t working quite right. But if we don’t calibrate the helmet properly, any new subvocalization data we collect will be useless.”

“Jesus, Dom, we should just shelve the whole project.”

“For what reason? Nobody but you or I knows about the subjects fainting.”

“It’s not fainting, damn it. Travis is in a coma, and, unlike Jim Marchuk, he shows no signs of coming out of it.”

“I agree that’s really unfortunate,” said Dom calmly. “But we’ve stumbled onto something huge— huge —and I’m not going to just walk away from it. We need to get Marchuk back in here.”

At last, Menno nodded reluctantly. “I suppose it can’t hurt to ask.”

“Sorry to bother you again during the holidays, Jim,” Dominic said. He was sitting on a lab stool, and Menno was leaning against a wall.

As far as Menno could see, Jim looked no worse for wear despite what had happened last time. He was dressed in tan corduroys and a tattered Calgary Stampede hoodie. “No problem,” said Jim.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” asked Menno.

Jim looked puzzled by the question. “I’m fine, thanks.”

Dominic scowled slightly and took back control. “Good, good. We were hoping you’d be willing to do another stint with the helmet.”

“The new one or the old one? I didn’t much like that new one.”

“Don’t worry,” said Dominic. “We’ve, ah, loosened it up; it, um, won’t be as tight a fit this time.”

“I don’t know,” said Jim.

Of course the boy was going to refuse, Menno thought. But Dominic pressed on. “Please.”

Jim frowned.

“It would really help us out,” Dominic added.

Menno shook his head slightly. It was a waste of—

“Sure,” said Jim, with a shrug. “Why not?”

“Okay, Jim,” said Dom into the intercom mic, looking at the young man through the glass. “Try again.”

“I am trying,” said Jim.

Menno pointed to the oscilloscope. “The phonemes are there, and there, see?”

Dom nodded.

“But there’s nothing else,” said Menno. “Ask him to try another phrase.”

“Jim,” said Dom, “think the words to ‘Humpty Dumpty’—you know, the nursery rhyme.”

Jim nodded, and the oscilloscope dutifully showed little spikes for each syllable.

Dom looked at Menno. “Maybe you damaged the helmet more than I thought.”

“No,” said Menno. “When I put it on myself, just to test, it showed the usual internal noise. But we can’t use me to calibrate because we didn’t save any of my earlier recordings.”

Dom keyed the mic again. “Jim, can you make sure the serial cable coming out of the equipment bank is tight in its socket?”

Jim checked the RS-232C port. “Snug as a bug in a rug,” he said.

The boy fell silent, and Menno’s heart sank as he looked at the flat line on the phosphor screen. “Oh, God,” he said. Fortunately, the intercom was off; Jim was staring blankly into space.

“It’s not our fault,” Dom said quickly.

“The hell it isn’t!” snapped Menno, pointing at the flat horizontal tracing. “We did that to the boy. We shut off his inner voice.”

“What horrible things?”

Kayla looked out the semicircular window. The sun had set; the rivers were dark and still, winding blacktop roads. I let the words hang there for a moment as she chewed on her lower lip. At last, she looked back at me, blue eyes slightly narrowed. “You really don’t remember? Not even that?”

“Honestly, no.”

“Look,” she said, “I kept track of you a bit over the years. Checking online now and then, or asking mutual acquaintances how you were doing. And people kept saying things like, ‘Oh, yeah, Jim. What a nice guy!’ And you were a good guy when we started dating. Thoughtful, kind, supportive. So when…”

She trailed off and looked at the blond brick wall.

“What?” I said.

“So when you got violent, it was a total surprise, you know? Knocked me for a loop.” She lowered her voice, and then, softly, sadly, she added, “Figuratively and literally.”

I was absolutely floored, and I’m sure my eyes went wide. “My… God. I—Kayla, honestly, I wouldn’t—I’d never… ”

She lifted her head and finally met my gaze—and held it, looking really, really hard, her attention flicking from my left eye to my right and back again. “Did you take your own test?” she asked. “The microsaccades one?”

“Of course.”

“And?”

“And I’m normal, absolutely. Not a psychopath.”

“You know, just on the numbers, there’s a thirty percent chance you are.”

“I’m not.”

She drew her eyebrows together and compressed her lips.

“Look,” I said, “whatever happened—whatever I did—I’m so, so sorry. It has to be related to the brain damage that caused me to lose those memories. But I’m all right now.”

“You can’t know that. Until a few days ago—until what happened on the witness stand—you didn’t even know you’d lost any memories. Who knows what else you don’t remember doing?”

“I’m not a psychopath,” I said again. “I can prove it with my goggles.”

She looked dubious again. “I mean, your technique is interesting, but…”

“Okay, all right. Prefer your own equipment? How ’bout this? I’d love to see that synchrotron of yours, and you can test me for yourself. What is it, ten hours by car to Saskatoon?”

“Eight, if you’ve got a heavy foot like me, but, seriously, Jim, that’s not necessary.”

“Hey, I’m only teaching a couple of summer courses. My last class ends at 1:00 on Thursday, and you said that’s about when you’re going home. I don’t have another class until 8:00 A.M. Wednesday morning.” I made my tone offhanded. “We could do it this weekend. Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone to share the driving?”

She was clearly startled. “Well, I mean, um, how would you get home?”

“Greyhound? VIA Rail?”

She looked out into the darkness again, then slowly turned back to me. “Okay, sure. Why not? But I have to warn you: Saturdays I go see Travis.”

I was surprised at the way my heart fell, but Kayla was brilliant and beautiful; was it any wonder she had a boyfriend?

“Oh. Um, okay.”

“You could come along, if you like. Just like old times.”

Good grief! Just how much had I forgotten? “I, ah, wouldn’t want to be a third wheel.”

She looked startled for a moment. “You really don’t remember, do you? Travis is my brother.”

“Oh!”

“We used to visit him here in Winnipeg, back when we were dating.” She saw my puzzled expression. “He’s in a coma; has been for ages.”

“What happened?”

“Nobody knows. They found him passed out. No head injury, though; he didn’t trip and smash his skull, or anything like that.”

“Huh.”

“He was so strong, and not just physically. He was a brick, you know? He was fourteen when our dad was diagnosed with lung cancer. Our mother was a mess, but Travis, he was her pillar of strength.” She paused. “Anyway, Trav and I grew up in Winnipeg, but when I got the job at the synchrotron, I moved him and my mom to Saskatoon.” She shrugged a little. “It didn’t make any difference to Travis, and Mom was delighted to be closer to her granddaughter; she looks after Ryan for me when I can’t.”