David Marusek: Mind Over Ship

Cabinet appeared in front of the doctor, startling him. It wore the persona of an elderly woman. “Yes?” it said.

“We’re having a care plan meeting, as I told you not ten minutes ago,” said Dr. Lamprey, “and I would appreciate your attention.”

“Certainly,” said the old mentar, who promptly disappeared.

Dr. Lamprey frowned but continued. “Let me just say that the quality of Ellen’s care continues to be excellent, and you are all to be commended. Likewise, Ellen’s physical progress remains strong. Her physical growth continues to catch up on her early deficits, and I have no remarks to add along those lines. What I want to concentrate on” — and here his voice deepened — “is her psychological recovery.”

The mood in the room changed. The jennys all looked at their hands. “Yes, I see you’re aware of what I’m talking about,” he continued. “With injuries so grievous, it’s a minor miracle she survived at all, and the experience has taken its toll. Ellen lost a significant mass of brain tissue, especially in her motor regions and cerebellum. To compensate, we’ve ramped up her brain’s own neuron-generating process, and new tissue is replacing the lost. It helps that her entire body has been replaced, which has provoked the whole region to rewire itself.

“What I am concerned about is the damage done to her prefrontal cortex. While not extensive, it’s not as easily repaired as the motor regions without a permanent effect on her psyche. Not to be too graphic about it, but her head was literally plucked from her body by the force of the impact. Her safety helmet saved her brain, but it could not mitigate the sheer brutality of the experience. It leaves indelible marks.

“That being said, the human mind is a resilient organ, and early signs lead me to believe that Ellen’s personality will reemerge essentially the same as before the accident. However, there is always the danger of unexpected complexes developing, and that’s what I think we’re seeing now. I’m referring specifically to her recent delusion that her mother is still alive.”

It was a problem that Mary had, in fact, been the first to report. Oblique references to her mother’s many contingency plans led to assertions of her survival. It had been going on for several weeks and was becoming more pronounced.

“We cannot ignore this,” the doctor continued, “especially now when new networks are being established. Keep in mind that the neural circuits used most frequently become the strongest. You might say they increase their own bandwidth with usage. If we don’t deal with this delusion now, it may become literally engraved in her prefrontal cortex and link up to other neural regions to eventually hijack her entire personality. It’s better for us to be proactive.”

The doctor paused a moment for the gravity of his words to sink in. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Last night, I explained the situation to Ellen, and with her permission, I infused the regenerative medium in her hernandez tank with a drug called Protatter. When activated, this drug dampens neural firing. When we dampen a circuit often enough the brain thinks the circuit is unnecessary and prunes it back. So, this drug, in effect, can erase memories. We have to be careful which memories we erase, and we’ll proceed in a very conservative manner. Ordinarily, I would rely on a patient’s guardian mentar to control the dampening, but” — the doctor looked around the room and shook his head. “Ellen’s guardian seems to be having cognitive problems of its own, and her new mentar” — he nodded at Lyra — “may be a little young for such responsibility. Therefore, you, Ellen’s nurses and companions, will have to do the job.

“In order to tell Protatter which circuits to dampen, we need to listen very closely to everything Ellen says, and every time she expresses her delusion we tag it. For this I’ve supplied Nurse Eisner with clicker devices.”

The jenny held up a small plastic disk for the others to see, and the doctor continued. “Press the button for as long as she talks about the idea that her mother is still alive, then let it go. Don’t press it if she mentions her mother in any other context. We don’t want to erase all memory of her mother. Only press it when she expresses a belief that her mother is alive on this Earth. Don’t be concerned if she says she’s in heaven or otherwise spiritually alive. And don’t worry about making a few mistakes along the way because it’s the cumulative total of hits that will have the effect and not any individual error.”

“She’s waiting for you,” June, the new jenny, told Mary.

“I’ll spell you when you’re tired,” the evangeline Georgine said.

“Don’t forget your clicker,” Nurse Eisner said.

Mary waved them all away and gently shut the heavy Map Room doors behind her. Ellen lay in a parallelogram of sunlight on the carpet beneath the window. Mary crossed the room soundlessly and loomed over the drowsing baby/woman. Ellen’s body was that of a healthy sixteen-month-old toddler. She was dressed in a plain, pea-green eversuit that left her fat arms and legs bare. She wore pea-green booties. Surrounding her neck was the large, horseshoe-shaped brace that helped support her adult head. Or, rather, that helped the head support its baby body.

It was Ellen’s original head, the one she had been born with. A safety helmet had swallowed it moments before a devastating space yacht crash had obliterated the rest of her. It was a head that was a bit rattled still. It was covered with all-new baby skin, smooth and flawless. New button nose, comically small ears.

Mary moved into her light. “Mary?” the adult head said, blinking and yawning.

“Yes, good morning, Ellen. It’s me.”

The baby raised her arms, and Mary picked her up, mindful to support the ungainly head. She carried her to the huge chairdog that was crouching in the corner, and the window followed them along the wall.

“No, window,” Mary scolded. “Go back where you were.” The window fled back across the wall, and Mary lowered herself and Ellen into the chair-dog. The chairdog stretched and scooched to balance their weight until they were perfectly comfortable, but then Mary remembered the clicker, and she had to lift Ellen to search her pockets for it. When they were resettled, Mary said, “Sleep well?”

“No, Mary, I did not.” Ellen’s voice lacked the force of adult lungs. “I kept waking up feeling I was drowning in that fecking tank ! I want to sleep in a real bed , but they won’t listen to me. Can’t you make them listen to me?”

“I’ll mention it,” Mary said. “But you and I both know what they’ll say: the tank is best for gaining weight and growing bigger.”

“But they’re wrong! I know they are. They listen to you, Mary. Promise me you’ll speak to them.”

“I promise. Now, what’s on the agenda? You told Cyndee you wanted to work today, so what needs to be done?”

“Oh, Mary, there’s so much to be done, more than can fit into one lifetime, and it just keeps piling up ! I don’t know how I’ll ever get out from under it all.”

Mary gave the baby a little squeeze. “Don’t worry so much. Just slow down and take it one thing at a time. What should we tackle first? Lyra, what do you have to get us started? Make it something easy.”

The mentar appeared in the room in her new clothes and pulled the slate from under her arm. “Libby from the Department of Justice is standing by with a briefing on their investigation into your mother’s death.”

Lyra ! Mary said silently. Weren’t we in the same care plan meeting a few minutes ago?