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he’s
not here. He’s hardly ever here.”
“What do you mean? Where is he?”
“Best guess is Bethesda Naval Hospital in Maryland.”
“That can’t be.”
“Let me ask you this: Was he actually in the room with
you?”
110
“No, he was up in the surgeon’s booth. He uses—”
“A robotic arm?”
“Yeah.”
“Exactly. He does the surgeries remotely.”
I start to speak, but stop myself. For some reason, I find
this idea horribly offensive. All this time Dr. Buckley/
Wilson/Whatever wasn’t even in the same state while he
was doing brain surgery on me?
“Why did you say the procedure isn’t permanent?”
“It can become permanent. What they do is inject a
sort of plasticizer compound into your head that seeks out
certain kinds of nerve cells. Every time you think about an
incident, the compound migrates to those nerve endings.
Once all the nerve endings containing a certain memory
are identified, they inject another compound that causes
the plasticized stuff to harden and kill the neuron for good.
Before they do that, though, the process is reversible.”
I touch my head in wonder. “I can still get my memo-
ries back? All of them?”
“If that’s what you really want.”
“Of course I do.”
Don’t I?
“There’s a pill you can take that flushes the plasticizer
out of your system through your cerebral spinal fluid.”
“Pills,” I say. I get up and put my hand in the pocket of
the coat I stole from the locker. I pull out the baggy and
show it to Pierce.
“Where’d you get this?”
“I don’t know.”
111
He sighs. “How can you not know? Did they just appear
in your pocket?”
“Basically, yes.” I tell him about what happened during
the injection procedure, the clothes in my room, and the
passcard.
He goes silent for a moment.
“What?”
“Pretty amazing timing, wouldn’t you say? I mean,
right before someone busts in to try to kill you, clothes and
a passcard magically appear in your room?”
“I think it was Larry who gave them to me,” I blurt out.
“Why?”
“I just do.”
“I can understand why someone on staff might want
to help you, you know, avoid getting whacked. But why
would one of the doctors who’ve been trying to erase your
memories want you to take those pills to bring them back?”
“I don’t know.”
Pierce laughs. “Okay, listen. You’re not allowed to
answer ‘I don’t know’ to any more of my questions.”
“Then you better stop asking me questions.”
He sits down at the desk. “Well, whatever the story is,
you’re probably better off not knowing.”
“Why?”
“Why put all that mud back in your head again? I wish
I could chuck out half of what’s in my brain and get a fresh
start. Seriously, it’s for the best that you never took them.”
“I did take them,” I say. “One of them, anyway.”
112
“What?” He jostles the computer table with his leg and
catches one of the computers before it hits the floor.
“I took one right before those soldiers busted in.”
“That’s a problem then,” he says. “That’s a big, huge
problem.”
113
CHAPTER 12
f my brain is in jeopardy, I know I should probably ask
Iwhy, but it’s still hard to get the question out of my
mouth.
“Why is it bad that I took one of the pills?”
He rubs his eyes and says, “I don’t understand all the
medical stuff they talk about in their case studies. . . .”
“You have their case studies? For everyone in The Cen-
ter?”
“I do now. That and a whole lot more. Normally I don’t
come along on these kinds of projects, but 8-Bit set up this
yurt and wanted me here, out of sight, so the soldiers don’t
know I’m here.”
“To take their files?”
“To take everything. All their research data and patient
files. Every last thing. And to leave with it if 8-Bit ran
into any problems. I think that’s what’s in this encrypted
114
file he left me. Instructions
not here. He’s hardly ever here.”
“What do you mean? Where is he?”
“Best guess is Bethesda Naval Hospital in Maryland.”
“That can’t be.”
“Let me ask you this: Was he actually in the room with
you?”
110
“No, he was up in the surgeon’s booth. He uses—”
“A robotic arm?”
“Yeah.”
“Exactly. He does the surgeries remotely.”
I start to speak, but stop myself. For some reason, I find
this idea horribly offensive. All this time Dr. Buckley/
Wilson/Whatever wasn’t even in the same state while he
was doing brain surgery on me?
“Why did you say the procedure isn’t permanent?”
“It can become permanent. What they do is inject a
sort of plasticizer compound into your head that seeks out
certain kinds of nerve cells. Every time you think about an
incident, the compound migrates to those nerve endings.
Once all the nerve endings containing a certain memory
are identified, they inject another compound that causes
the plasticized stuff to harden and kill the neuron for good.
Before they do that, though, the process is reversible.”
I touch my head in wonder. “I can still get my memo-
ries back? All of them?”
“If that’s what you really want.”
“Of course I do.”
Don’t I?
“There’s a pill you can take that flushes the plasticizer
out of your system through your cerebral spinal fluid.”
“Pills,” I say. I get up and put my hand in the pocket of
the coat I stole from the locker. I pull out the baggy and
show it to Pierce.
“Where’d you get this?”
“I don’t know.”
111
He sighs. “How can you not know? Did they just appear
in your pocket?”
“Basically, yes.” I tell him about what happened during
the injection procedure, the clothes in my room, and the
passcard.
He goes silent for a moment.
“What?”
“Pretty amazing timing, wouldn’t you say? I mean,
right before someone busts in to try to kill you, clothes and
a passcard magically appear in your room?”
“I think it was Larry who gave them to me,” I blurt out.
“Why?”
“I just do.”
“I can understand why someone on staff might want
to help you, you know, avoid getting whacked. But why
would one of the doctors who’ve been trying to erase your
memories want you to take those pills to bring them back?”
“I don’t know.”
Pierce laughs. “Okay, listen. You’re not allowed to
answer ‘I don’t know’ to any more of my questions.”
“Then you better stop asking me questions.”
He sits down at the desk. “Well, whatever the story is,
you’re probably better off not knowing.”
“Why?”
“Why put all that mud back in your head again? I wish
I could chuck out half of what’s in my brain and get a fresh
start. Seriously, it’s for the best that you never took them.”
“I did take them,” I say. “One of them, anyway.”
112
“What?” He jostles the computer table with his leg and
catches one of the computers before it hits the floor.
“I took one right before those soldiers busted in.”
“That’s a problem then,” he says. “That’s a big, huge
problem.”
113
CHAPTER 12
f my brain is in jeopardy, I know I should probably ask
Iwhy, but it’s still hard to get the question out of my
mouth.
“Why is it bad that I took one of the pills?”
He rubs his eyes and says, “I don’t understand all the
medical stuff they talk about in their case studies. . . .”
“You have their case studies? For everyone in The Cen-
ter?”
“I do now. That and a whole lot more. Normally I don’t
come along on these kinds of projects, but 8-Bit set up this
yurt and wanted me here, out of sight, so the soldiers don’t
know I’m here.”
“To take their files?”
“To take everything. All their research data and patient
files. Every last thing. And to leave with it if 8-Bit ran
into any problems. I think that’s what’s in this encrypted
114
file he left me. Instructions
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