Now they were trying something even more experimental, a new investigational tool developed by the room’s other occupant, Dr. Susan Templeton, a molecular biologist with whom Julian had worked at Princeton for many years. He had sought out his colleague, recognizing he had exhausted what he could do. Or maybe it was also born out of guilt, knowing their last trial had likely pushed Kat over the edge.
Lisa held out no hope that this procedure would be successful. It certainly wouldn’t save Kat. Her friend was already gone. What lay in the bed, her chest rising and falling rhythmically, her heart reflexively contracting and relaxing all on its own, was only an empty husk. What they were about to attempt—to get information out of the dead—felt ghoulish, bordering on abusive.
Even Painter had questioned this decision. How can we be sure Kat even knows anything more? Maybe it’s best we let her go in peace. But he left the final decision to Lisa, trusting she’d make the right choice. So she went ahead and approved it. She knew Kat would not mind, not if it offered any chance to save her daughter, as fleeting as that might be.
But there was another reason, too.
Lisa crossed over and took Kat’s hand. She stared at her shaved head, covered in a net of electrodes, her skull hidden under a helmet full of ultrasonic emitters. Lisa had been bedside with Kat from the very beginning. She had sensed Kat struggling inside there. Her friend had proven herself to be a fighter, all the way to the end. And if given the opportunity, Kat would continue to fight even beyond that.
She squeezed Kat’s hand.
I intend to give you that chance.
“I’m all set,” Dr. Templeton said.
The molecular biologist sat on the other side of the bed from Julian. Her computer station was a twin to the neurologist’s, only her monitor showed a rotating 3-D gray schematic of a brain. The rendering had been compiled from several scans of Kat’s brain, mapping every detail. Throughout the image, thousands of tiny red dots covered the surface, coating every gyrus and sulcus, every wrinkle and fold of her cerebral cortex. They were peppered over her cerebellum and washed down her lower brainstem.
The dots on the screen marked the locations of motes in Kat’s brain. As Lisa stared, she could see a few particles move, shifting to new positions by the beat of a tiny capillary or an eddy in Kat’s cerebrospinal fluid.
Dr. Templeton called these molecularly engineered particles “neural dust.” Each mote was actually a fifty-cubic-micrometer device holding a nest of semiconducting sensors. Each one was encapsulated by polymer to make them bio-neutral, so they weren’t rejected. The load of them had been injected through a port at the base of her skull, directly into Kat’s cerebrospinal fluid. From there, the piezoelectrically charged particles settled across the surface of her brain, drawn to the weak current still coursing through her neurons.
“Are you ready, Lisa?” Julian asked.
She nodded. Her role from here was simple enough.
Julian turned to the molecular biologist. “Let’s see if we can raise the dead.”
Dr. Templeton tapped at her station and the helmet over Kat’s skull whirred to life, buzzing softly like a hive of bees. Lisa pictured the emit ters inside casting out ultrasonic waves, washing throughout Kat’s skull, plumbing for anything there.
“The crystals are powering up,” Dr. Templeton reported.
A glance over to the biologist’s station revealed all the red dots on her screen flashing to green. The ultrasonic vibrations were exciting the piezoelectric crystals, supercharging them to power the tiny transistors now bonded to Kat’s brain.
“It seems to be working,” the molecular biologist reported, her voice full of amazement.
This system had been developed at the University of California’s Center for Neural Engineering. Researchers there had success with rats, and now human studies were being conducted at other universities, including Princeton.
Kat was one of the first guinea pigs.
The purpose of neural dust was to absorb the readout mechanism of a nerve and transmit the information back to transducers built into the helmet. It allowed for a superfine scan of a brain, far superior than anything produced by an MRI.
Lisa stared over to Julian. “Anything?”
“I’m still waiting for the feed from Susan.”
Dr. Templeton hunched closer to her station. “Transmitting now.”
Lisa held her breath. Yesterday they had used Julian’s fMRI machine to scan Kat’s brain, which his DNN program then interpreted into images as Kat concentrated. The hope today was that the neural dust could perform an even greater miracle.
“Okay,” Julian said. “Got it. I’m pairing and linking your incoming data streams into my DNN servers.”
Over the past half day, Julian and Susan had calibrated their two systems to work in unison. The DNN network had amazingly taught itself how to convert the data from the molecular biologist’s dust into brain maps, the equivalent of the MRI scans it was familiar with interpreting. Only these maps were a million times more detailed and accurate.
Julian turned to Susan. “Crank up the power.”
The biologist twisted a dial at her station and the helmet’s buzzing grew louder.
On the screen, the green glow of the motes brightened. The ultrasonic boost excited not only the piezoelectric crystals but even Kat’s brain.
They all waited a full minute, letting everything charge up.
Finally, Julian nodded to Lisa. “You’re on.”
Lisa swallowed, stood, and leaned closer to Kat’s head. She cleared her throat and yelled into the helmet. “Kat, we need your help!”
Lisa pictured her words vibrating Kat’s tympanic membranes, stirring the tiny bones in her ear, exciting her auditory nerve, and sending an electrochemical charge into her brain.
Though Kat was gone, this system should still be functioning.
Likewise, somewhere in that melon of dead brain matter, Kat’s memories were hopefully still coded and recorded, waiting to be tapped and downloaded.
“Kat! If you know anything about Harriet or Penny, picture it!”
Lisa hoped the triggers Harriet and Penny might have a reflexive response, churn up something. She turned to Julian. “Anything?”
He shifted back so she could see the amorphous gray pixilation of his screen. “No. If there’s even a whisper of a response, the sensitivity of Susan’s dust should capture it.”
“What about more power?” Lisa asked, swiveling to the other station.
Susan shrugged and twisted her dial to the max. “We’re in uncharted waters.”
The helmet vibrated and hummed even louder. On the screen, the motes grew brighter, blurring together into an emerald rendering of Kat’s brain.
Lisa bent to her friend and shouted. “Kat! Harriet! Penny! Christmas! Attack!”
She tried every trigger she could think of, her eyes fixed to Julian’s screen.
The pixilation stirred, swirling, coalescing, then expanding. It looked like a shadowy heartbeat, struggling to push something forth.
Kat, is that you?
“It could just be noise,” Julian said, noting the change.
“It’s not,” Lisa said.
I know it’s not.
She leaned and pressed her cheek against Kat’s. Her brow touched the helmet’s edge. It vibrated fiercely, as if Kat herself were fighting in there.
Lisa remembered Painter’s admonition.
How can we be sure Kat even knows anything more?
Lisa knew the answer.
She fucking knows.
Lisa screamed. “Kat! Harriet! She’s in danger! Help us now!”
12:08 P.M.
We have no more time.
Standing in her cell, Seichan listened as Valya bellowed, her string of Russian curses echoing from above. Someone had seriously pissed off that woman.
And I can guess who she’ll vent that anger on.
Seichan had already expected something would happen soon. In her head, she had been tracking the time. It had been a little over twenty-four hours since Valya had taken Harriet away to make a ransom demand. If Valya had given Sigma a deadline, a day made sense.
Which meant, time was almost up.
Knowing this, Seichan had been pacing her cell, too nervous to remain still. Harriet sat cross-legged on her tiny bed, coloring sullenly in a book, ignoring a tuna sandwich, though she had nibbled at a bit of cheese, like a timid mouse, hiding her face under a fall of auburn curls. Harriet hadn’t spoken a word since her sister was taken. But she had let Seichan nestle with her on the small bed, the two curled close, napping for a couple hours. Seichan had woken with Harriet’s tiny fingers entwined with hers.
That more than anything broke her heart.
I have to do something.
Seichan continued to pace. She knew she could not physically overpower her captors. Especially as they remained cautious, even with her being eight months pregnant. And no threats could free her.
If I can’t fight or talk my way out of this damned box . . .
She huffed a breath and glanced to the other tiny cot.
At least Penny was safe.
Hours ago, Seichan had panicked when she heard the gunshot after the girl was hauled out of the cell. But it hadn’t been Penny. Valya’s men had killed the ultrasound tech after completing her exam, clearly wanting no witnesses. One of the guards had shared this information, mostly to quiet Harriet’s sobbing.
It had worked.