The Girl Who Chases the Wind

Chapter 5: Surprise

I raised an eyebrow at that and questioned what he meant.

He elaborated, “You only saw part of Edgar’s brain. Of course, as I mentioned, he can have a dirty mind. So, we tend to edit that out with a delay. He’s been good about keeping…such material to different channels of thought. But he can have several channels going all at once. I suspect he had around twenty then…low for him, but he had to pay attention to us for the entire time. Some entertainment for him and some socialization therapy.”

I could barely imagine holding twenty thoughts at once, but then he didn’t have a lot else to do with his time. Apparently, most were flashes of images and sound with other senses untranslatable and with less coherence than an old music video.

It took me as long as halfway to the next patient to inquire, “Could any brain be hooked up that way?” I recalled wires leading off the side of Edgar’s head, but I hadn’t figured to ask if they were connected to his brain like a sub-cranial EEG. Seemed crude and what I’d seen so far was anything but.

Dr. Feldon had a decent poker face but I caught, a moment before he presented it to me, a flash of pride in something I could only guess at. Folding his arms, he said, “Edgar’s brain has a modest and carefully-managed amount of Memetic Crystalline in place of damaged tissues. Now you know how good it is at storing information. It also provides a conduit for that information. So, your answer is…potentially…”

He relaxed his hands and brushed his legs. “I work by individual cases. I can tell you Edgar can be hooked up to a projector and communicate with us. Someone comes in tomorrow maybe it doesn’t work for them with the same approach. Even you could potentially put out a little signal with your amount of Crystalline. It would be a shadow of pixels in black and white, but I’d bet it could be done.”

Instinctively, I touched my neck. By now the flesh was likely as normal as the rest of my body but, underneath, my nerves had been replaced by a manmade substance. For the rest of the way, Feldon entertained me with a snippet of information I already knew regarding how Memetic Crystalline overcame the body’s immune response. The answer came back to an analogue protein researched in the regulation of early brain growth and pruning. Basically, MC was able to look like any normal cells to the brain’s distinct immune system and almost as well to the rest of the immune system. I flattered him with a few nods and a smile as we made our way to the next patient. The surprise.

She was a small, Filipino woman named Angela. Her short hair with fluffy patches told me she’d had brain surgery not too long ago. She showed off a pretty wig of her own hair. Dr. Feldon greeted her in a language I didn’t know and spoke a few, quick sentences. She smiled back and answered him in what I assumed was the same language.

Angela eagerly gave her consent to photos and video as well as videos the ranch had on file. Together, we watched when she first arrived. I noted the date was just four months ago. She was seated in a wheelchair with an expressionless face and regular tremors. Dr. Feldon classified her with a disease similar to Parkinson's with a rapid onset. Some video within the video showed her several years previous when she could still talk.

Methodically, we worked through the videos as Angela drastically improved. I winced at the full surgeries into the depths of her brain with a version of the anteater probe which slipped into my body. At times, the MC looked more like glittering foam or paste spread around.

Things got a bit complicated when the videos and Dr. Feldon explained that some of the inserts were done in a part of the midbrain I barely knew the name of. However, most of her surgical inserts were done across the motor section of the brain and into parts that seemed entirely unrelated. It sounded excessive, more like spreading around Memetic Crystalline to see what it might do instead of a precise procedure. Nothing Feldon said quit me from this notion. But the results were sitting in front of me and smiling.

I did notice the greatest improvements came with the least logical surgeries along with tweaking dopamine production in the remaining sections of the brain. Angela went from needing two people to carry her as she twitched her feet to just using a cane to push off the chair before doing a full lap of the room. The difference in just one week of surgery and treatment. A lot of the technical stuff still went over my head, but that image was striking. I made a mental note to later ask if I could have a copy of that clip.

That wasn’t to say Angela was cured instantly. She still had the cane nearby and she mentioned tremors that hit her from time to time. Despite all her surgeries, it seemed like she would probably need even more for a permanent solution.

Offhand, I inquired of Dr. Feldon, “You can’t replace the whole brain with that stuff, right?”

Turning from Angela’s chart, he gave me a calm look before asking, “I can’t? Who’s to say? Memetic Crystalline is as much if not more plastic than actual brain tissue. And just think of the wonders of what that can do. I recall this one case decades ago of a man whose brain, over a span of thirty years, was reduced by more than two-thirds with nothing but fluid in the middle. He lived a completely normal life.”

It was an interesting story, but it also evaded my question. I tried, “So…you think that about two-thirds Memetic Crystalline would be the limit for replacement?”

Dr. Feldon shrugged. “I am just a doctor. I’m not here to tell my patients what their bodies are capable of. I’m only here to enable the best healing possible.” A refreshing notion and another evasion. I let it go for the moment.

I stayed as he took Angela over to a nearby room for a brain scan and some other testing to document her progress. It was tedious and methodical, but showed me that the ranch had state-of-the-art diagnostic equipment.

Furthermore, I marveled and took a few pictures of the maps of Angela’s brain with conspicuous gemstones of MC in place of massive networks of nerves. To my eye, the visuals were unsettling, probably as much as seeing cavernous holes where tissue should’ve been. But the owner of that brain was relaxing and joking with the technicians as they positioned her for each scan. Dr. Feldon completed a physical workup before she left.

It was getting into the afternoon by the time he was done. Following a few phone calls, I learned that the pediatric cases would have to wait for tomorrow as well as the person who “worried” for him. But Feldon apparently had one more tour for me.

We left the ranch and clinic behind and walked along a covered footpath. To my right, I could see all the outdoor sports facilities just beyond the edge of the main building. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I caught a glimpse of brilliant green before the wind kicked up and made me shield my face.

The small, rather unassuming building we entered at the end of the footpath turned out to be the primary fabrication area. It was broken down into zones where different things were made. The first area dealt with biomechanical prosthetics, artificial legs integrating bits of muscle and realistic flesh. A lot of computers and bioprinters too.

The next area dealt with entire organ printing as well as legs floating in a pink preservative, oxygenated soup. Someone was having one fitted with a link of Memetic Crystalline to bridge the nerves. I watched them take awkward but tearful steps.

At the end of the facility, after the point where I had to put on a full biosuit (to prevent purity contamination), was where they manufactured and manipulated Memetic Crystalline. The process, once accidental, was replicated countless times over with vacuum-suspended globs swelling like fermenting, alien dough.

I witnessed discarded MC which didn’t meet the standards twist and curl and diminish like another alien wracked with its final death throes. It didn’t exactly throw me off my fears of an eternally-swelling mass of crystal nano poop, but it was fun to watch.

By this time, my feet were aching and Dr. Feldon had his evening checkups to do. He reiterated the rain checks and promised me unnamed but countless wonders for the next day as I returned to the same cafeteria for veggie pasta, chicken salad, and cheese scones. Neither Lily nor Greenie made an appearance.

I let my stomach gurgle a bit as I stalked near the areas which required key cards. I let evening slip around me before I returned to my car for the rest of my bags. A helpful lady in blue led me to my sleeping accommodations along a footpath which nearly took me to the forest.

Arranged in a circle like single-story dormitories, I was led to one of the smaller ones with a few lights on already. The interior felt like some sort of arctic base trying to appear as cozy as a B&B with a little sign-in book by the door. A common area offered a TV almost as nice as Edgar’s projection and access to a garden area with vegetables of all colors, though muted by dusk.

I didn’t know if any of the other rooms were occupied but the book was empty of names. I declined a wake up time as the helpful lady left me to my room. I lingered on the book though and decided, with a smirk, to write the name, “Logan Harper” with a swooping but restrained bit of cursive.

My room, marked simply, “D416” was a corner room with no others adjacent to it. I liked that. The inside felt homey but more foreign than a typical hotel room. I set my bags down and cracked my neck a few times. A couch just off the small kitchen let me spread out easier than any couch I’d ever owned. I inspected the shower/tub combo and approved of the detachable wand head.

All that settled, I opened up my heaviest bag and unzipped the inner compartment. I picked out my flashlight and RF detector. I still had my old, empty toilet paper roll stuffed in there too. It was time to sweep.

I did a physical check of the rooms. I picked up everything on the tables. I tapped the tables for hollow spots. I ran my hands over the wall to feel for printed recorders. Then, with the lights shut off and the blinds closed, I used the tube and the flashlight to look for the shimmer of microcameras or the glint of little holes. Lastly, I ran the RF meter over everything just to be sure.

Just a normal evening in a strange place. I flexed my arms, double-locked the front door, and looked into the bathroom mirror. I’d felt around behind it and inspected whether it was just a disguised projector. I stared into the mirror.

My dark, short hair flopped around with curls of sweat from wearing that heavy biosuit. Fortunately, like with the neck procedure, I hadn’t needed to undress. I scratched at the close-buzzed fringe of hair around my head and stroked my smooth cheeks.

Flexing my shoulders, I undid my blue tie and slipped off my gray suit jacket. Its hidden shoulder pads and thick middle slumped on the door hook. My pants, with similar but different padding, came next. My shoes, with their disguised lifts, followed along with the rest of my clothes. After all the rest, I faced the mirror, naked but for the flattening bra still on my chest. I unhooked it and glanced away from my chest with clenched lips and a sigh.

My bath was nice, even without anything special to put in it. I dressed in sleeping clothes which didn’t give too much away. The top diminished what was already pleasantly insubstantial at my chest and the pants offered the illusion of something manly down below.

Settling into bed, sleep waited as I reviewed what I’d gathered from the day. I had plenty for two-thousand words already. Actually, keeping around that amount would’ve been a great disservice. My patron would get their article, but I had bigger things in mind already.

And the one thing I kept returning to through all my reflections was the nameless Greenie. A mystery I was eager to figure out. At one point, I named her “the wind” for how she ran.

Well, if she is the wind then I am the girl who chases the wind.