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symptoms were vaguely Alzheimer s-like, but there was no specific loss of
acetylcholine neurons, no neurofibrillary plaques. Our suspicion was that
the new cortical growth was sufficiently distinct in some way that it
eventually triggered an autoimmune response. Mortality depended on how
essential the new growth had become to the organism.
Collingwood shook his head.  All those years ago, doing synthesis
protocols I never really imagined we would have to face this. Him, I
mean a human being, an enhanced adult human being. Are his symptoms
severe?
 Intermittently.
 Advanced?
Maxim shrugged.
 Well, Collingwood said,  we might be looking at tiny lesions,
peppered over the frontal lobes. But there s so much activity, Max, it s just
difficult to say. He turned back to the video display. Maxim saw him stand
suddenly erect as something caught his attention.  Hold on wait a
minute 
The attending nurse in the PET room picked up a microphone; her
voice was relayed to the speaker grille over Collingwood s head.  Doctor,
she said,  the patient is convulsing shall I pull him out?
Maxim hurried to the window. He could see John lying with his head in
the mouth of the PET scanner, as if he were being devoured by the
machine. His pale, long limbs were trembling slightly.
Collingwood looked at Maxim; Maxim shook his head.
Collingwood said,  Hold him steady a few more minutes.
There was silence, punctuated by the whirring of disc drives. Maxim
looked over Collingwood s shoulder at the video display.
The butterfly-wing image of John s brain was changing, subtly but
distinctly. The bright colors began to fade; in particular, the hot band of the
frontal lobes faded toward shadow. Watching, Maxim felt a cold hollowness
at the pit of his stomach.  What s happening?
 His glucose economy is suddenly down. Behaviorally, you mean?
Jesus, I don t know I ve never seen anything like it.
Maxim said,  He s changing.
 That s obvious!
 I mean, he s not John anymore. I think he s becoming Benjamin.
 The secondary personality you mentioned?
 I believe so.
 This is radical, Collingwood said.  I ve never seen this kind of
bottoming-out. Is this voluntary?
Maxim began to shake his head, then reconsidered. It was a
tremendous coincidence, that Benjamin should manifest just as John was in
the PET scanner. It was as if John wanted to show us this, Maxim thought.
John s way of cooperating with the test.
Or Benjamin s.
 Not exactly voluntary, he told Collingwood,  not on the conscious
level. But John is a unique individual. Not voluntary, but perhaps not an
accident.
 The patient is febrile and convulsive, the nurse reported,  but he
seems to be coming around. . . . Doctor?
 Pull him out, Collingwood said.
He switched off the intercom and looked at Maxim. Video images
were still cycling through on the monitor behind him. Cool blue butterfly
wings. Icy Rorschach blots.  Jesus Christ, Max, Collingwood said
tonelessly.  What did we do to this man? Just what kind of thing is he?
* * * *
16
Benjamin was back. But Benjamin had changed.
Amelie was deeply pleased, at first, to be with him again. She realized
how much she had cherished the time before Benjamin went away before
Roch moved in and took his place. Having even a fraction of that life
restored was like an answered prayer. She worried that there might be
some conflict with Susan or Dr. Kyriakides, but there was not; aside from
the time Benjamin spent in therapy sessions with Kyriakides and a few
medical tests, Amelie was allowed to have him to herself. Susan
maintained a polite, somber distance; and after a few days she left the city
on some mission for Dr. Kyriakides.
In the beginning, Amelie was shy with him. Things had changed, after
all. She knew so much more than she used to . . . maybe too much. She
knew what Dr. Kyriakides had told her: that Benjamin was an invention of
John s, a puppet creation that had somehow, like Pinocchio in the old
Disney movie, come to life. She accepted that this was true; but she
couldn t bring herself to believe it . . . not really believe it . . . certainly not
when she was with Benjamin, who was, after all, a person, a living human
being; more alive, she thought privately, than John Shaw had ever been.
But this new knowledge saddened her and made her timid; it meant
that things were different now.
Mostly, she waited for Benjamin to come to her.
He did, one cold Wednesday after a therapy session with Kyriakides.
Benjamin came to her room. He touched her shoulder.  Let s take a walk,
he said.
* * * *
The snow had drifted into blue mounds and dunes across the lawn.
Benjamin took her by the hand and led her down the front path to a lane that
wound in from the main road, along a column of snowy birches.  It s pretty
here, he said.
Amelie smiled. He was always saying things like that. Simple things.
She nodded.
He walked a few more paces.  You know all about me now.
 Not all about, she amended.  I wouldn t say that.
 About John and me.
 A little, I guess.
 About what I am.
She nodded.
He said,  I never lied to you, you know. But it was hard to explain.
 John wasn t around much in those days, Amelie said.
 A few nights at the doughnut shop. I remember some of that now.
He looked at her somberly.  More of John s memories are spilling over.
Getting mixed up with mine. Dr. Kyriakides thinks that s a good thing.
Amelie didn t respond.
 Back then, Benjamin said,  I thought he might just fade away.
Otherwise if I d known what was going to happen I would have told you
more. I guess I thought one day he d just be gone. There would just be
me.
 It s hard to understand, Amelie ventured.  How that must feel.
 I remember a lot of John s childhood. I think those memories were
always there . . . but they re closer now. I remember his time with the
Woodwards. They were good people. Ordinary people. John was never [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]