Recursion(24)

“Ready to do this?”

“It’s just…What if I feel pain? I’m not totally sure what to expect.”

He stares toward the one-way glass—haggard and emaciated, his ribs showing through sallow skin.

“You can expect what we talked about,” Slade says. “Dr. Wilson is sitting here beside me. You want to say something, Paul?”

The man with wavy silver hair dons his headset. “Reed, I have all your vital signs in front of me, which I’ll be monitoring in real time, and a full contingency plan if I see that you’re in distress.”

Slade says, “Don’t forget the bonus I’m going to pay you if today’s test is successful.”

Reed focuses his hollowed-out stare back on the tank.

“OK,” he says, psyching himself up. “OK, let’s do this.” He grabs the handles on the sides of the deprivation tank and climbs unsteadily inside, the slosh of water audible through the speakers.

Slade says, “Reed, let us know when you’re comfortably settled in.”

After a moment, the man says, “I’m floating.”

“If it’s all right with you, I’m going to go ahead and close the hatch now.”

Ten tense seconds elapse.

“Is that OK with you, Reed?”

“Yeah, all right.”

Slade keys in a command. The hatch slowly lowers into place, closing seamlessly.

“Reed, we’re ready to turn out the lights and get started. How you feeling?”

“I think I’m ready.”

“Do you remember everything you and I discussed this morning?”

“I think so.”

“I need you to be sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“Good. Everything’s going to be fine. When you see me next, tell me my mother’s name is Susan. That way I’ll know.”

Slade dims away the light. A previously dormant monitor glows to life, displaying a live feed of a night-vision camera looking straight down on Reed from the ceiling of the tank. It shows him floating on his back in the heavily salinized water. Slade pulls up a timer on the primary monitor, sets it for five minutes.

“Reed, this is the last you’ll hear from me. We’re going to give you a few minutes to relax and center yourself. Then we’ll be under way.”

“Got it.”

“Godspeed. You’re going to make history today.”

Slade starts the countdown and removes his headset.

Helena asks, “What type of memory are you reactivating?”

“Did you notice the tattoo on his left shoulder?”

“Yeah.”

“We inked that yesterday morning. Last night, we mapped the memory of the event.”

“Why a tattoo?”

“Because of the pain. I wanted a strong, recent encoding experience.”

“And a heroin addict is the best you could come up with for a test subject?”

Slade makes no response. His transformation is astounding. He’s pushing this project farther than she was ever willing to go. She never imagined she’d encounter someone more driven and single-minded than herself.

“Does he even know what he’s gotten himself into?” she asks.

“Yes.”

Helena watches the time wind down. Seconds and minutes slipping away.

She looks at Slade and says, “This is way outside the bounds of responsible scientific testing.”

“I agree.”

“And you just don’t care?”

“The kind of breakthrough I’m looking for today doesn’t happen in the shallow end of the pool.”

Helena studies the screen that shows Reed floating motionless in the tank.

“So you’re willing to risk this man’s life?” she asks.

“Yes. But so is he. He understands the state he’s in. I think it’s heroic. Besides, when we’re finished, he’ll go into rehab at a luxury clinic. And if this works, you and I will be drinking Champagne in your apartment…” He glances at his Rolex. “In ten minutes.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ll see.”

They all wait in a strained silence for the final two minutes, and when the timer chimes, Slade says, “Paul?”

“Standing by.”

Slade stares down the length of the console to the man in control of the stimulators. “Sergei?”

“Ready when you are.”

“Resuscitation?”

“Paddles charged, standing by.”

Slade looks at Paul and nods.

The doctor releases a breath, presses a key, says, “One milligram push of Rocuronium, away.”

“What’s that?” Helena asks.

“A neuromuscular blocking agent,” Dr. Wilson says.

Slade says, “Whatever happens, we can’t have him thrashing around in there, destroying that headpiece.”

“He knows he’s being temporarily paralyzed?”

“Of course.”

“How are these drugs being administered?”

“Through a wireless IV port embedded in his left forearm. It’s basically just a version of the lethal injection cocktail, minus the sedative.”