Divisions, James Gerard [simple ebook reader .txt] 📗

each one has been trained to stay on the specific color through negative reinforcement.  But, watch this.”

 

Lien tapped a button.  Instantaneously, the mice scampered over to the other one’s domain then furiously raced around the table in all directions.

 

“What just happened?” Paul calmly asked.

 

“Simply,” Lien smiled, “we believe a transference of memories occurred.”

 

“I see,” stated Paul.  “And what leads you to believe that?”

 

“As I said,” responded Lien, “these two have been trained through negative reinforcement to stay on a specific side of the table.”

 

“But they are running around in circles.”

 

“Yes they are.  But Doctor Hatford, think about it—they are sharing each other’s ingrained response not to the negative stimuli, but to each other’s memories.”

 

“They seemed confused to me.”

 

“Exactly,” said Lien.  “Each is responding to its own memory and the memory of the other—we have reversed the paths of the memories of the event and can supplant them in one another; hence, the confusion.”

 

“But….”

 

“I know what you’re thinking Doctor Hatford, but please keep in mind the mice are perfectly healthy.  They have no brain disorders or trauma.  Besides, the transference only deals with the responses of their autonomic nervous system—a reaction to pain and subsequently fear.”

 

“No Lien, that is not what I was thinking.  Sure, the ability to artificially produce such a complicated function is astounding, but how does using normal, healthy specimens accomplish anything?  I was given the impression that this facility was on the verge of reestablishing normal functions in a dysfunctional brain.”

 

“I suppose that is why you are needed Doctor Hatford.”

 

“I still do not understand.  These are two healthy specimens.  Have you repeated the procedure on either two with brain dysfunctions or between one healthy one and one dysfunctional one?”

 

“We have, but such experiments have yielded bad results.  But, I do believe we are getting closer to the objective.”

 

“Let me understand something,” Paul inquired, “I am having difficulty relating what I have just witnessed to restoring healthy, functioning neurotransmitters.”

 

“I can see your confusion Doctor Hatford, but think about it.  We have shown the capability of at least retrieving a memory, exchanging that memory, and then supplanting it.  Imagine the ability to retrieve the collective memories then to restore them.”

 

“But that does not make sense.  One, the same neurotransmitters that work to store the memory are the same ones that prevent the memories from being relayed in response to stimuli.  Two, how does supplanting memories from one subject to another reestablish normal brain functions.   Unless you are talking about going around the damaged neurons, somehow in this process create new pathways, what you have demonstrated is all well and good, but it falls way short of restoring normal brain functions.”

 

“You taught me what a marvel and what an intricate and delicate organ the brain is despite being a clump of flesh.  You taught me of its amazing potential by what you have witnessed throughout your practice and in your research.  What if Doctor Hatford, the brain…yes, if the memories were captured then transmitted back, that the brain by its splendid design might just respond by doing some pretty amazing things?”

 

“But stored where?”

 

“Not stored, but the signals transferred, held via buffering, then retransmitted back with the hope that new pathways could be constructed to reach the corresponding region or the damaged pathways could be regenerated in the process.”

 

“I agree it all sounds good, but damaged synapses and neurotransmitters are just that.  There is no procedure that can fully regenerate the damaged pathways.  To get around them through electrical and mechanical means, yes, but to undo all damage and to fully restore all pathways back to normal, no.”

 

“We can retrieve and transfer memories Doctor Hatford with the….”

 

“And?” snapped Paul.

 

“Again Doctor Hatford, that is why we need your help.”

 

Paul hobbled over to a chair and sat.  As his eyes fell to the floor he said, “It is not so easy is it Lien?”

 

“That is why we need you input Doctor Hatford.”

 

“My input,” scoffed Paul.  “You know they named the university’s new library in my honor.”

 

“I know.  I am sorry for not being there but I was here working.”

 

“That is not the point,” screamed Paul.  “The honor is meaningless.  They have given me far too much credit for the work I have done.  In the end, it is all meaningless.  It's like the useless memories of my youth which day by day are returning so vividly.”

 

Lien stepped up to Paul, dropped to her knees, and grasped his hands with hers.  “Meaningless,” she whispered.  “Do you know that when Mister McKay approached me to discuss this job the only thing that mattered to him was that I was your student.  All my degrees…my advanced degrees, were of no interest to him at all.”

 

“Your point my dear?’

 

“I think they have it all wrong Doctor Hatford—you are the library, not the name of it.”

 

“That is very kind of you to say, but I am afraid you have overestimated my success.”

 

“But Doctor….”

 

“You said you have experimented on subjects with dysfunctions and they have failed.  Why do you think they failed?”

 

“It appeared that the mice with the brain dysfunctions, just like the healthy specimens, could not handle the confusion caused by the procedure. They appeared to have responded to an information overload.  As if the memory was supplanted, yet it did not reach the targeted region if that makes sense.  Anyway, like the healthy ones, they became confused and ran erratically around then…well, it was rather unsettling.”

 

“Have you tried exchanging memories involving higher cognitive skills?”

 

“Yes, but unfortunately they also failed.”

 

“With both the healthy and dysfunctional specimens?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Again Lien, I fail to understand how these experiments are leading to success.”

 

“Please,” Lien pleaded, “lead us in the right direction.”

 

“Lead you...my dear, unfortunately you are working at a level that is far beyond my understanding.  But the least I can do is to take a look at the data.  If you could, provide me with all the documentation of your research and I will see if I can make sense of it.”

 

“Sure Doctor Hatford, I’d be honored for you to evaluate my work.”

 

Lien stood, walked over to a desk, and began fumbling about the drawers pulling out papers and piling them on top.

 

Paul looked at all the papers and cringed at the thought of peering through the information.  For the first time in his long life he felt overwhelmed by just the mere thought of peering through the pile of data that was stacked atop the desk.  But, if not for his sake, but the sake of Lien, Mister McKay, and Mister Florentine, he at least remained resolved to help.  He had committed to fulfilling his part as an advisor and put aside the fatigue that was plaguing the mind.  He reasoned he could at least to a take a look at what was going on.

 

A Clue

 After a night of reflection, a thorough look at all of Lien’s notes and carefully plotted data, Paul had doubts about his reasoning ability.  He concluded that while at one time he had been competent enough as both a surgeon and teacher, much of that skill and knowledge had eroded with time—the objective to their research project eluded him.

 

Funny, he thought, that while time and technology, a way of thinking through sophisticated thinking machines had him befuddled, the memories of a yesterday that represented a simpler time were more and more becoming accessible once again.  From the memories of an early childhood life through the onset of adulthood, Paul could clearly remember specific incidents with vivid detail.

 

“It was all so much easier,” he sighed while staring at the static symbols and numbers so neatly arranged on a sheet of paper.  As if it were yesterday, he could clearly remember the decision to pursue his chosen career.  He was so excited as he thought about correcting and eradicating all the diseases and abnormalities that could damage such a wonderful and delicate mechanism as the human brain.

 

It all seemed such a simple process: See a problem, diagnose the problem, and eradicate the problem.  But somewhere along the way, the memory of which lay hid somewhere in the depths of the mind, the objective was hampered by a growing wealth of knowledge aided by new and inventive medical technologies that promised much more hope than that of the simpler time.  In a way he knew, at least could admit, that he was somewhat responsible for enabling the advances..  Yet, he found himself reluctant to recall such for fear of the painful memories that spoke of personal failure.

 

Paul further skimmed through the pages and pages of the reports trying to figure out how their methods refreshed, revitalized, made new again, and restored the normal functions of the organic wonder.  In a way, he likened their approach to the fixing of a machine or to a system made up of individual wires that were connected in a logical way via a circuit board.  If a pathway went bad, simply identify it and amend the problem with a soldering gun.  But in all his experience, he knew it could not be as simple as that.  Yet, he had to admit, there was still a sliver of hope connected to the experiments he witnessed with the mice.  Potentially, there could be some promising results.  But while he could admit to be fascinated by the very act, its true value proved to be elusive.

 

“If they intend for me to act as an advisor,” he grumbled, “then clarify this mumbo jumbo of a mess.”

 

The papers in hand were flung to the ground.  He felt as if he were backed in a corner.   Having no choice but to pick the brains of those who knew what the finished procedure was to be, he was set to lower his pride and just ask.  He was just so frustrated that he could not see clearly this missing data from Lien’s notes.  And not only from Lien, but from both the conversation with Jeffrey and Augustine as well.

 

Mentally fatigued, the mind sapped of strength from pouring over the data all night, Paul looked towards the kitchen but the hunger for knowledge was kindled by an appetite that could only be satisfied at the research facility.  Without hesitation, he walked out the door and gave no thought to the disheveled and dirty clothing that had been worn for so many days.

 

Somewhat attentive to maneuvering through the busy street, Paul mustered up all the logic nurtured by experience and took the quest for reasoning to the next step.  He thought of the reason as to why they would want to proceed by a cross transference between two different subjects.  If they were seeking ways to temporarily store the memories while a patient underwent whatever treatment or surgical procedure was called for, a way to safeguard the information in case of a setback, he simply could not deduce nor understand by what method they intended to do so.  He did remember Lien mentioning something about storing the information, but could not recall the terminology she used or the specifics of it.

 

What, if anything, wondered Paul, could act as an information depository?  Quite possibly, he reasoned, that the younger generation having grown up in the technological age had easily solved such a problem by constructing encrypting software that could code the electrical stimuli, store it in specifically designed storage units, then upload the electrical stimuli back to the point of origin.  And while he