voice sounded distant and muffled as if he were speaking underwater. “. . . important . . . relax . . .”
I gripped the chair arms tighter. The pressure in my head came and lifted repeatedly, each new time intensifying until barbs of pain raked down my spine, branching out to grip my entire body.
I tried to open my mouth, to tell Austin that something was wrong, but the words wouldn’t form. My jaw tightened and I tried to lift my hand. It felt heavy and not at all like a part of my body.
I couldn’t move. Worse, I couldn’t breathe.
I can’t catch my breath . The words were clear and loud in my head.
“Nyah?” Austin’s voice came again, this time unusually slow and deep like a movie running in slow motion.
Can’t breathe . . .
The dark smudges gathered and grew until they covered the world around me. Numbness poured over my head like warm water and I thought, Blood! My head has split wide open! The sensation spilled down my entire body. My eyes fluttered.
Austin?
Austin’s voice drifted into my head, but his garbled words came in fragments.
I tried to push the darkness away, tried to force my eyes to stay open, but I couldn’t. I felt the weight of my body sink deeper into the chair. My torso and limbs shook, my skin trembling, my bones rattling.
My eyes squeezed closed, my teeth ground together. The world surrendered to utter blackness and somewhere far away I heard a scream.
2.2
DAY 3 - 7:15 am
S HE WASN’T dead . One good thing, anyway , Austin thought, but he wasn’t so sure about any of this.
He leaned over Nyah as she lay unconscious on the chair and, with an antiseptic wipe, carefully cleaned the access points he’d drilled into her skull. Each of the precisely placed channels were rimmed with a thin titanium ring that could be capped when not in use—a design upgrade he’d developed after reading an Italian neurologist’s research paper on postoperative sterility practices.
Tapping the brain was minimally invasive, yet there was always a risk of introducing bacteria to the meninges, the brain’s protective outer membranes. The caps were safeguards against that.
He pulled off the surgical gloves then sank into the chair beside Nyah and rubbed the back of his neck. A dull throb worked through him and his eyes felt like they’d been packed with sand and glass.
When had he slept last? Two days ago? Three?
It was all a blur, a timeless cycle of research, self-experimentation and post-clinical analysis. Every trial led to more recalibration, more self-experimentation.
Rinse and repeat had become his mantra.
Experiment, analyze, recalibrate.
Rinse and repeat.
Collect data points, mine the data, extrapolate conclusions, and postulate the next move.
Rinse and repeat.
His dogged tenacity was finally beginning to pay dividends. Each new foray brought new insights into the inner workings of the human mind, his mind. But there was no end to it. Like a mythic Hydra, every question he answered led to two more. But, he assured himself, today marked the beginning of new opportunities.
Having Nyah’s help would certainly speed the process. Maybe she could get above the trees and see the forest where he could not, find the path through it. Sometimes it was simply a matter of looking at a problem with fresh eyes.
He reached over and adjusted the oxygen monitor clipped to her left index finger. He glanced at the red numbers on the LED display. Her levels were good. Heart rate was stable, and her breathing came in steady draws now, not the near hyperventilation she’d experienced earlier. Except for her mild panic episode, the procedure had gone exceptionally well and required only two hours.
Still, as excited as he was to have Nyah as a research partner, the possibility of harming her twisted his stomach into a thick knot. He’d known what to do, true, but something could’ve gone wrong. Still could. They were just beginning and this was uncharted territory, the ragged edge of the
I gripped the chair arms tighter. The pressure in my head came and lifted repeatedly, each new time intensifying until barbs of pain raked down my spine, branching out to grip my entire body.
I tried to open my mouth, to tell Austin that something was wrong, but the words wouldn’t form. My jaw tightened and I tried to lift my hand. It felt heavy and not at all like a part of my body.
I couldn’t move. Worse, I couldn’t breathe.
I can’t catch my breath . The words were clear and loud in my head.
“Nyah?” Austin’s voice came again, this time unusually slow and deep like a movie running in slow motion.
Can’t breathe . . .
The dark smudges gathered and grew until they covered the world around me. Numbness poured over my head like warm water and I thought, Blood! My head has split wide open! The sensation spilled down my entire body. My eyes fluttered.
Austin?
Austin’s voice drifted into my head, but his garbled words came in fragments.
I tried to push the darkness away, tried to force my eyes to stay open, but I couldn’t. I felt the weight of my body sink deeper into the chair. My torso and limbs shook, my skin trembling, my bones rattling.
My eyes squeezed closed, my teeth ground together. The world surrendered to utter blackness and somewhere far away I heard a scream.
2.2
DAY 3 - 7:15 am
S HE WASN’T dead . One good thing, anyway , Austin thought, but he wasn’t so sure about any of this.
He leaned over Nyah as she lay unconscious on the chair and, with an antiseptic wipe, carefully cleaned the access points he’d drilled into her skull. Each of the precisely placed channels were rimmed with a thin titanium ring that could be capped when not in use—a design upgrade he’d developed after reading an Italian neurologist’s research paper on postoperative sterility practices.
Tapping the brain was minimally invasive, yet there was always a risk of introducing bacteria to the meninges, the brain’s protective outer membranes. The caps were safeguards against that.
He pulled off the surgical gloves then sank into the chair beside Nyah and rubbed the back of his neck. A dull throb worked through him and his eyes felt like they’d been packed with sand and glass.
When had he slept last? Two days ago? Three?
It was all a blur, a timeless cycle of research, self-experimentation and post-clinical analysis. Every trial led to more recalibration, more self-experimentation.
Rinse and repeat had become his mantra.
Experiment, analyze, recalibrate.
Rinse and repeat.
Collect data points, mine the data, extrapolate conclusions, and postulate the next move.
Rinse and repeat.
His dogged tenacity was finally beginning to pay dividends. Each new foray brought new insights into the inner workings of the human mind, his mind. But there was no end to it. Like a mythic Hydra, every question he answered led to two more. But, he assured himself, today marked the beginning of new opportunities.
Having Nyah’s help would certainly speed the process. Maybe she could get above the trees and see the forest where he could not, find the path through it. Sometimes it was simply a matter of looking at a problem with fresh eyes.
He reached over and adjusted the oxygen monitor clipped to her left index finger. He glanced at the red numbers on the LED display. Her levels were good. Heart rate was stable, and her breathing came in steady draws now, not the near hyperventilation she’d experienced earlier. Except for her mild panic episode, the procedure had gone exceptionally well and required only two hours.
Still, as excited as he was to have Nyah as a research partner, the possibility of harming her twisted his stomach into a thick knot. He’d known what to do, true, but something could’ve gone wrong. Still could. They were just beginning and this was uncharted territory, the ragged edge of the
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