Human (4 page)

It had been several weeks since Bayron had last visited Smith's home. The last time he was there it was to get new images of Smith's prefrontal cortex at various cognitive states. "Think about bunnies." Snap. "What's two plus two?" Snap. The prefrontal cortex was where the left brain's empiricism reconciled with the right brain's desire for uncertainty to create what laymen call a personality. The questions he asked varied from complex to absurd. Smith understood that the more questions he asked, the better Bayron could model this mysterious part of the brain. The more empirical data he could gather, the better he could formulate an algorithm to interpolate functions that he was unable to observe. But that had begun month's ago, when Smith's voice was still loud enough to be heard. Hermelinda remembered the two men, doctor and patient, sitting together for hours, laughing and chatting, and she remembered how gentle and charming Smith's smile was.

In the months since that data gathering mission (during which Bayron came to know more about Smith than one man should ever know about another), Bayron had completed an almost cell by cell perfect model of Smith's prefontal cortex and assigned attributes to all of them and his beloved empty spaces in between.

He could never have completed the task had it not been for Stanley, the Russian model. Because Stanley was "predeceased", the Russians were able to cut away the cells to view them in three dimensions. Thus they were able to measure things that could not be measured in living tissue. Bayron had kept his promise to Smith and didn't use the Russian model for anything he was able to glean from the images of Smith's own brain. He only used it for those things that were missing. It saved him what could have been years of guesswork, trial, and error.

Bayron arrived at the mansion less than an hour after receiving Myra's call.

Now, on this visit to Smith's house, Bayron had something no one else in the world had: a detailed, and quite possibly functional, model of a human prefrontal cortex. If the model was perfect, it would contain Smith's entire personality. Other parts of the brain, are largely about data storage and data processing, but who a person is takes place in the prefontal cortex, Bayron explained.

Smith barely looked alive to Bayron. He was neither moving nor speaking. Bayron skipped the usual niceties and started the meeting with a series of tests and measurements. Smith's prefontal cortex was still functioning perfectly well. Even though barely able to move or speak, Smith still managed to make clear when he was happy, sad, agitated and so on.

His memory, however, was not faring quite so well and this concerned him. Everything he could remember of his life, his childhood, his experiences, likes, loves and annoyances- had already been recorded. Even the progress of his disease. This is why he asked Myra to send for Dr. Bayron.

"He looks terrible." Bayron whispered to Hermelinda, cognizant of the fact that Smith ears were probably functioning fine and the human being was still present, even if stuck in a useless body.

"Everything is starting to shut down," said Hermelinda. "He still tries to work...but..."

"I've been monitoring his charts and vital signs from the lab, Hermelinda. I know it's not good. So does he."

"I read him the Wall Street Journal every day. Cover to cover..." Hermelinda said. Bayron knew that she had grown very close to Smith and that Smith had grown very close to her-- after all, he had modeled Smith's prefrontal cortex. There were no secrets he didn't know. He actually knew a little bit more about Elijah Smith than Elijah Smith knew about himself. He knew Hermelinda loved him and that he loved her–just the kind of information an outside observer might know long before the participants. After all, what else could she have possibly meant by, "I read him the Wall Street Journal every day"?

She could have cried if she wanted, Bayron thought. There was no need to hold back. Soon Smith would be a living, but purely technological entity. His body, though, would actually die.  In a few years the world would know that the death of the flesh does not equal the death of a person. Until people could accept that fact (or soon to be fact) the death of the body was still as good a  time for tears as any. He tried to remember the last time he had cried. And he did. It was when he threw a shovelful of dirt over a tiny coffin and he never cried again.

Hermelinda led Dr. Bayron to Smith's bedside and gently wiped a little spit off of Smith's chin with a soft cloth. Smith grunted when he saw Bayron. Bayron bent down close to Smith's mouth to hear. Smith struggled to speak and all that came out was a grunting whisper. "It's time," was all Bayron needed to hear.

In a matter of hours Smith's living room had become a beehive of activity. Hermelinda sat on the edge of Smith's bed and propped Smith's head on her lap so he could watch all the goings-on. She knew he wanted to see. She had developed a special sense for his needs and wants.

Several boxes of Smith's personal belongings were being carted out of his room under Dr. Bayron's watchful eye. Medical equipment, monitors, machinery, books, clothes, and records. Smith saw his laptop computer placed in a box by a beef-handed stranger and for the first time in his life he felt helpless.

He wanted to say, "Hey! Careful with that!" But he couldn't. He knew he had no power to exert control over what was going on. Everything was in Bayron's hands now. This, he thought, is trust.

As if reading his thoughts, Hermelinda squeezed his hand in hers, raised it to her lips, and gave it a reassuring kiss. Smith had never married. He regretted that. If he were still young and healthy, he would want a wife just like Hermelinda. When she was near, he knew everything was going to be okay.

Dr. Bayron came to the bedside and sat on a small stool so that he was eye-to-eye with Smith.

Bayron leaned in close and spoke softly. "I'm going to sedate you for the move," he said, "but you will need to be conscious for the surgery."

Smith smiled the best that he could. He hoped Bayron understood that the smile meant: "I trust you my friend. I trust you not to let anything bad happen to me."

Bayron nodded, and Smith felt confident that Bayron had understood.

Bayron continued, "The first surgery will have the artificial brain take over your involuntary muscle functions. Your breathing, reflexes, and heartbeat will all be controlled from the brain we modeled from your brain.

"To do this I will be physically removing a small piece of your biological brain. As you know this procedure is irreversible, but, should the artificial brain fail to work or fail to work immediately, these functions can be accomplished mechanically with a pacemaker and a respirator. If the model functions properly... well... we'd be the first..." Bayron looked for some reassurance from Smith, but all he could read on Smith's face was pain. He and Smith had reviewed the plans, the contingency plans, and the contingency-contingency plans over and over and over. Neither he nor Smith needed any reassurances. They were both men of science, after all. They knew the risks.

By replacing one small discreet piece of Smith's brain at a time with technology and letting those technological parts get used to performing their functions in conjunction with the remaining biological brain, they would have the best chance of ensuring Smith's survival during the transition.

"So let's just do it already," Bayron said as he injected the sedative into Smith's arm.

Smith awoke, he did not know how much later, in strange surroundings. It had been so long since he had been out of his home, that he could barely believe his eyes.

But soon he recognized some familiar things about his new location. The narrow, slightly grey windows, the unusually thick floor moldings, a particular scent in the air- like a caricature of pine- which at once brought on a flood of memories which he believed had been lost forever. He knew he was in the SmithCorp Building. Naming the building for himself was his first effort at immortality. Even if he would not be remembered for his accomplishments in science and industry, he would be remembered by this building for sure. The building would always be big, strong, warm, and confident.

He could no longer turn his head to inspect the details of his surroundings, but being able to move his eyes was sufficient for him to ascertain that he was in a makeshift hospital room. He could hear the familiar bleeps and blips of the vitals signs monitor that had been like a conjoined twin for at least a year and it gave him comfort. It was a constant, objective assurance to him that he had not, in fact, passed away.

He had barely oriented himself to this new, yet familiar, place when Hermelinda walked in. She said, not asked, but said, "How are you today, sleepyhead?" She knew he couldn't answer, yet somehow she could tell he was happy. That made her feel good too. "Welcome to the infirmary," she said. "We tried to make it nice, but we also had to bring in a lot of equipment. This place is as well equipped as the best hospitals in the world. This is our home for the next few months, I guess."

Smith was having trouble understanding everything he heard. Somewhere between his ears and his mind, little bits of information were getting lost. But he heard her say, "our home," and that sounded nice to him.

"Takahashi came by, but Dr. Bayron won't let him in. He said he just wanted you to know he was here for you." Hermelinda whispered in Smith's ear as she leaned over to adjust his pillow. "He and Myra are waiting in your old office. They both said they won't leave until they know your alright." She touched his freshly shaved scalp. "I already have you prepped," she continued. "Dr. Bayron doesn't want to waste any time. He's going to give you the local anesthetic in just a minute."

She noticed a far away look on Smith's face. "Mr. Smith? Are you in there?" It was the first time that Hermelinda had felt that, maybe, just maybe, Smith wasn't completely present. He seemed far away. Maybe lost. She brushed the feeling aside. After all the man was just moments away from having a piece of his brain replaced by an unproven technology.

Dr. Bayron came in wearing surgical scrubs. Hermelinda realized that she had never seen Dr. Bayron in surgical scrubs. Seeing Dr. Bayron looking like a real surgeon signaled to Hermelinda that it was time to start acting like a real nurse. She quickly, and without personality or fanfare, recited Smith's vital sign measurements to Bayron.

Bayron's response, "Thank you, nurse," clarified that their long, cordial acquaintanceship would not be permitted to interfere with the consummate professionalism demanded by the circumstances.

Bayron then addressed Smith. Hermelinda noticed that Smith appeared to have come back from wherever his mind had taken him and that he seemed to be fully engaged in listening to Bayron.

"I'm going to apply a topical anesthetic to your scalp. Then, once the skin is desensitized, I'll inject a local anesthetic beneath the skin. Once the anesthetic has the opportunity to start working, I'm going to drill six holes in your skull. This won't hurt, but the sound of the drill is likely to alarm you, so I'll be getting you high as a kite without letting you fall asleep. Blink rapidly if you feel any pain." Bayron continued to recite, as if it were a mantra, the order of operations.

"Now the only thing we're doing today," Bayron continued unnecessarily, "is turning over your involuntary muscle movements to the new brain so we can keep your body functioning until we move you out of it."

Smith could tell that Bayron had been over the procedure, both mentally and in simulations, hundreds, maybe thousands of times. This made him feel secure.

The entire surgery barely took two hours. Throughout the procedure, Smith had waking dreams about butterflies, rainbows, and flowers. He only felt pain once and began blinking his eyes. Bayron noticed the activity and explained that the pain was because his heart had stopped momentarily as he switched control of it from Smith's damaged brain to the new, artificial one.

Bayron reassured him that the pain was a good sign since it meant that his involuntary nervous system was already being controlled by the model brain instead of the biological one.

When the surgery was over, Smith felt very tired, but he knew from his conversations with Bayron that he could not sleep yet. He knew he would be given a stimulant to prevent him from falling asleep.

Other than being tired though, he felt no different. He wasn't sure how he expected to feel, but at least he expected to feel different. After all, by some definitions he had just died.

Hermelinda had raised the head of Smith's bed so that he was in a seated position. She sat on the edge of his bed near his knees. "You okay, baby?" She asked. He smiled a weak smile and Hermelinda knew he was going to be fine.

"Dr. Bayron asked me to keep you company for a few hours while he tries to get a little rest. He said not to let you fall asleep. He wanted me to let you know that all of your involuntary muscle functions are now being controlled by the model. He said that some of your circulatory system may have suffered some atrophy and he's worried about blood clots, so I'm going to give you a little massage now to keep your blood circulating and prevent clotting in your legs, okay?"

Hermelinda knew how to read Smith's eyes. It was a skill she had picked up when he was no longer able to speak. His eyes said yes, but they said it very emphatically. What was she noticing, she wondered? It was his pupils. They seemed somehow shinier or blacker or, maybe, bigger.

"Your vital signs are great," she said. Your heart rate is steady as a metronome, your pulse is strong. Your lungs are working at full capacity. Now that involuntary muscle systems are being driven by the model, you've got the vites of a 30 year old. Even your eyes look sparklier. Dr. Bayron must be opening a bottle of Champagne with his crew right now watching these vitals."