The Speed of Dark (41 page)

As before, we take our seats, and the others slowly take theirs. Dr. Ransome I know; Dr. Handsel is not here. There is another doctor, an older woman; she has a name tag with L. HENDRICKS on it. She is the one who stands up first. She tells us her name is Hendricks; she tells us she is heading the research team and that she wants only willing participants. She sits down. A man in a dark suit stands up and tells us his name is Godfrey Arakeen , an attorney from the company’s legal division, and we have nothing to worry about.

I am not worried yet.

He talks about the regulations that govern hiring and firing of handicapped employees. I did not know that the company got a tax credit for hiring us, dependent on the percentage of disabled workers by division and specialty. He makes it seem that our value to the company is that we are a tax credit, not the work we do. He says that Mr. Crenshaw should have informed us of our right to talk to a company ombudsman. I do not know what an ombudsman is, but Mr. Arakeen is already explaining the word. He introduces another man in a suit; Mr. Vanagli , it sounds like. I am not sure how to spell his name, and it is not easy to hear all the sounds in it. Mr. Vanagli says if we have any concerns about anything at work we shouldcome talk to him.

His eyes are closer together than Mr. Arakeen’s eyes, and the pattern on his tie is distracting, gold and blue in little diamond shapes arranged like steps going up or down. I do not think I could tell him about
Page 191

my concerns. He does not stay, anyway, but leaves after telling us to come to him anytime in office hours.

Then a woman in a dark suit tells us that she is the lawyer from Legal Aid who normally works with our Center and that she is there to protect our rights. Her name is Sharon Beasley. Her name makes me think of weasels, but she has a broad, friendly face that does not look like a weasel at all. Her hair is soft and curly and hangs down to her shoulders. It is not as shiny as Marjory’s hair. She has on earrings with four concentric circles; each one has a different-colored piece of glass in it: blue, red, green, purple. She tells us that Mr. Arakeen is there to protect the company and that although she has no doubt of his honesty and sincerity—I see Mr. Arakeen shift in his seat and his mouth tighten, as if he is getting angry—still we need to have someone on our side, and she is that person.

“We need to make clear what the situation is now, regarding you and this research protocol,” Mr.

Arakeen says, when she sits down again. “One of yourgroup has already begun the procedure; the rest of you have been promised a chance at this experimental treatment.” I think again that it was a threat, not a promise, but I do not interrupt. “The company stands by that promise, so that any of you who decide to take part in the experimental protocol can do so. You will receive full pay, but not the stipend for research subjects, if you choose to do so. You will be considered as employed at another site, with the employment being participation in this research. The company is prepared to cover all medical expenses arising from the treatment, even though this would not normally be covered by your health care policy.”

He pauses and nods to Mr. Aldrin . “Pete, why don’t you hand out those foldersnow. ”

The folders each have a name on the cover, on a little sticker, and another little sticker that says: PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL: NOT TO BE REMOVED FROM THIS BUILDING.

“As you’ll see,” Mr. Arakeen says: “these folders describe in detail what the company is prepared to do for you, whether you choose to participate in this research or not.” He turns and hands one to Ms.

Beasley. She opens hers quickly and starts reading. I open mine.

“Now, if you choose not to participate, you will see—on page seven, paragraph one—that there will be no repercussions whatsoever on your terms of employment here. You will not lose your job; you will not lose seniority; you will not lose your special status. You will simply continue as you are, with the same necessary supportive work environment—”

I wonder about that. What if Mr. Crenshaw was right and there really are computers that can do what we do and do it better and faster? Someday the company could decide to change, even if they do not change now. Other people lose their jobs. Don had lost jobs. I could lose my job. It would not be easy to find another.

“Are you saying that we have a job for life?” Bailey asks.

Mr. Arakeen has a strange expression on his face. “I… did not say that,” he says.

“So if the company finds out we do not make enough money for them in a few years, we could still lose our jobs.”

“The situation could require reevaluation in light of later economic conditions, yes,” Mr. Arakeen says.

“But we do not anticipate any such situation at this time.”

I wonder how long “at this time” will last. My parents lost their jobs in the economic upheavals of the early aughts , and my mother told me once that she had thought, in the late nineties, that they were set for life. Life throws curves, she said, and it’s your job to catch them anyway.

Page 192

Ms. Beasley sits up straight. “I think a minimum period of safe employment might be specified,” she says.“In light of our clients’ concerns and the previous illegal threats of your manager.”

“Threats which higher management had no knowledge of,” Mr. Arakeen says. “I don’t see that we could be expected to—”

“Ten years,” she says.

Ten years is a long time, not a minimum time. Mr. Arakeen’s face reddens. “I don’t think—”

“So you are planning termination in the long term?” she asks.

“I didn’t say that,” he says. “But who can foresee what might happen? And ten years is far too long a period. No one could make a promise like that.”

“Seven,” she says.

“Four,” he says.

“Six.”

“Five.”

“Five with a good severance package,” she says.

His hands come up, palms forward. I do not know what this gesture means. “All right,” he says. “We can discuss the details later, can’t we?”

“Of course,” she says. She smiles at him with her lips, but her eyes are not smiling. She touches the hair on the left side of her neck, pats it, and pushes it back a little.

“Well, then,” Mr. Arakeen says. He turns his head one way and another, as if to ease his collar. “You are guaranteed employment under the same conditions, for at least five years, whether you choose to participate in the protocol or not.” He glances at Ms. Beasley,then looks at us again. “So you see,you do not lose by a decision either way, as far as your job security is concerned. It’s entirely up to you. You’ve all qualified medically for the protocol, however.”

He pauses, but no one says anything. I think about it. In five years, I will still be in my forties. It would be hard to find a job when I am over forty, but retirement would not start for a long time. He gives a short nod and goes on. “Now, we’ll give you a little time to review the material in your folders. As you can see, these folders are not to be removed from the building for legal reasons. Meanwhile, Ms. Beasley and I will confer on some of the legal details, but we’ll be here to answer your questions. After that, Dr.

Hendricks and Dr. Ransome will continue with the planned medical briefing for today, though of course no decision will be expected from you today on whether or not to participate.”

I read the material in the folder. At the end is a sheet of paper with a space on it for my signature. It says that I have read and understood everything in the folder and that I have agreed not to talk about it to anyone outside the section except the ombudsman and the Center Legal Aid lawyer. I do not sign it yet.

Dr. Ransome gets up and again introduces Dr. Hendricks. She begins to tell us what we have already
Page 193

heard before. It is hard to pay attention because I know that part already. What I want to know comes later, when she starts talking about what will actually happen to our brains.

“Without enlarging your heads, we can’t just pack new neurons in,” she says. “We have to keep adjusting the number, so there is the right amount of neural tissue making the right connections. The brain does this itself, during normal maturation: you lose a lot of the neurons you started with, when they don’t make connections—and it would be chaos if they did.”

I raise my hand and she nods at me. “Adjust—does this mean that you take some tissue out, to make room for the new?”

“Not physically take out; it’s a biological mechanism, actually, resorption —”

Cegoand Clinton described resorption during development: redundant neurons disappear, resorbed by the body, a process controlled by feedback control mechanisms using sensory data in part. As an intellectual model, it is fascinating; I was not upset to learn that so many of my neurons had disappeared when I knew that it happened to everyone. But if she is not quite saying what I think she is not quite saying, they are proposing to resorb some of the neurons I have now, as an adult. That is different. The neurons I have now all do something useful for me. I raise my hand again.

“Yes, Lou?” This time it is Dr. Ransome who speaks. His voice sounds a little tense. I think he thinks I ask too many questions.

“So… you are going to destroy some of our neurons to make room for the new growth?”

“Not exactly destroy,” he says. “It’s quite a complicated thing, Lou; I’m not sure you’ll understand.” Dr.

Hendricks glances at him, then away.

“We aren’t stupid,” mutters Bailey.

“I know what resorption means,” Dale says. “It means that tissue goes away and is replaced by other tissue. My sister had cancer and they programmed her body to resorb the tumor. If you resorb neurons, they’re gone.”

“I suppose you could look at it that way,” Dr. Ransome says, lookingmore tense . He glares at me; he blames me for starting it, I think.

“But that’s right,” Dr. Hendricks says. She does not look tense but excited, like someone waiting to ride on a favorite carnival ride. “We resorb the neurons that have made bad connections and grow neurons which will make good connections.”

“Gone is gone,” Dale says. “That is the truth. Tell the truth.” He is getting upset; his eye is flickering very fast. “When some is gone, the right kind may not grow anyway.”

“No!” Linda says loudly. “No, no, no! Not my brain. Not taking apart. Not good, not good.” She puts her head down, refusing eye contact, refusing to listen.

“It is not taking anyone’s brain apart,” Dr. Hendricks says. “It is not like that at all… It is just adjustment—the new neural attachments grow, and nothing’s changed.”

“Except we aren’t autistic,” I say.“If it works right.”

Page 194

“Exactly.”Now Dr. Hendrick smiles as if I had just said exactly the right thing. “You will be just as you are, but not autistic.”

“But autistic is who I am,” Chuy says. “I do not know how to be someone else, someone who is not. I have to start over, a baby, and grow up again, to be someone else.”

“Well, not exactly,” the doctor says. “Many of the neurons aren’t affected, only a few at a time, so you have that past to draw on. Of course there is some relearning, some rehabilitation, to be done—that’s in the consent package; your personal counselor will explain it to you—but it’s all covered by the company.

You don’t have to pay for any of it.”

“Lifetime,” Dale says.

“I beg your pardon?” the doctor says.

“If I have to start over, I want more time to be that other person.To live.” Dale is the oldest of us, ten years older than I am. He does not look old. His hair is still all dark, and thick on top. “I want LifeTime ,”

he says, and I realize that he is not just talking about something lasting a lifetime but about the commercial antiaging treatment LifeTime .

“But… but that’s absurd,” Mr. Arakeen says, before the doctors can say anything. “It would add… a lot of money to the expense of the project.” He glances at the other company people sitting to one side at the front of the room. None of them look at him.

Dale closes his eyes tightly; I can see the lid of the left eye flickering even so.“If this relearning takes longer than you think. Years even. I want to have time to live as a normal person.As many years as I have lived autistic. More.” He pauses, his face squeezing together with effort. “It will be more data,” he says.“Longer follow-up.” His face relaxes and he opens his eyes. “Add LifeTime and I do it. No LifeTime , I go away.”

I glance around. Everyone is staring at Dale, even Linda. Cameron might do something like this, but not Dale. He has already changed. I know I have already changed. We are autistic, but we change. Maybe we do not need thetreatment, even to change more, even to be—not just seem—normal.

But as I think about that and how long it might take, paragraphs from the book come back to me. “No,”

I say. Dale turns and looks at me. His face is immobile. “It is not a good idea,” I say. “This treatment does things to the neurons and so does LifeTime . This one is experimental; nobody knows if it will work at all.”

“We know it works,” Dr. Hendricks puts in. “It’s just—”

“You don’t know for sure how it works on humans,” I say, interrupting her even though interrupting is rude. She interrupted me first.

“That is why you need us, or people like us. It is not a good idea to do both. In science, you change one variable at a time.”

Mr. Arakeen looks relieved; Dale says nothing, but his eyelids droop. I do not know what he is thinking.

I know how I feel, shaky inside.

Page 195

“I want to live longer,” Linda says. Her hand flings out as if it had a life of its own. “I want to live longer and not change.”

“I do not know if I want to live longer or not,” I say. The words come slowly but even Dr. Hendricks does not interrupt. “What if I become someone I don’t like and am stuck living longer like that? First I want to know who I would be, before I can decide about living longer.”

Dale nods slowly.

“I think we should decide on the basis of this treatment alone. They are not trying to force us. We can think about it.”

“But—but—” Mr. Arakeen seems caught on the word, jerking it out, then makes a twisting movement with his head and goes on. “You’re saying you will think… How long will that take?”