Chapter Twenty-Four: The Quickened and the Confused

"So, what's your best guess?"

Dr. Spencer had just finished briefing the small group and baffled expressions adorned the face of most everyone in the room.

"Dr., you know that this is not my area of expertise," Harold offered defensively.

"I know that, but we're really out of ideas," Dr. Spencer began to plead. "Anything you can tell us - even if it's just a guess, it wou-"

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"Listen. I'm sorry about what happened, but c'mon, Harold! There's no reason to let what happened get in the way of something as significant as this. I'm asking you for help - isn't that enough?"

For the first time that day, the two let down the wall of formality the had been present since Harold arrived. It had been several years since the two had spoken. Years ago, Dr. Spencer, who was fairly well-off, had irked Harold by refusing to invest in his company at a critical time. Dr. Spencer assumed that this incident from the past was now returning to haunt him. He now stood there vulnerably with a stack of paper several inches thick and small glass container in a plastic bag that contained the "tissue" that was obtained from the pseudo-biopsy that was performed on Chris's arm.

"Fine. I'll take the information back to the office with me and look into it if I get a chance."

It wasn't that Harold didn't find the quickening of an artificial arm to be amazing - he did. There were other things that required his full attention at the moment, not the least of which involved the impending dissolution of his marriage. Disputes from the past, no matter how petty or great, mattered little to him now. He had the uneasy feeling that his controlling grip was loosening. It was important that controls were tight. They must be.

The others in the room didn't speak for a few minutes. Perhaps the only person that could help them was now walking out the door and didn't seem at all interested in their plight. Looking uneasily at each other they gradually resumed the conversation from back before Harold had arrived. For weeks they had analyzed their data - pouring over charts and graphs and papers covered with thousands of medical terms. The most frustrating thing of all was that no matter how much information they had and understood, in reality they knew nothing. Having gathered as much information as possible – from blood tests, tissue samples, CAT scans, and so on - they released Chris from their care while they continued to examine the data.

Dr. Spencer had left the hospital to come to Reno and work with the doctors from the university. They each wanted to be part of a discovery that was sure to make them famous, and yet not one of them had anything significant to contribute to the cause. The meeting they found themselves in now was much like the dozens of other meetings they had – a brainstorming session, of sorts. Ultimately, they would each concede that they knew nothing.

Meanwhile, Harold made his way back to his office. The evidence of the great mystery that consumed the group of doctors was now in a disorganized pile on the passenger seat. He had forgotten about it as soon the stack of paper left his hands. It was a short drive, not much time to really think or ponder. It was good that he was going to the office before heading home – it would be good to check on a few things. Besides, what was there at home? Things there weren't worth looking forward to. He needed to relax and get his mind off things. With his mind darting between thoughts, he eventually found himself thinking about where he had just come from. He supposed it wouldn't hurt to look at the papers he now had.

He hadn't been lying. This topic really was outside of his area of expertise, but not so far out that he didn't feel it merited his time. His previous research dealt with artificial limbs and ways to make them more useful by tapping into the nervous system. “Smart parts” he had called them. Using nerves and the mind to enhance function of an artificial limb was a far cry from a bizarre accident that caused the limb to actually become part of the person. It wouldn't hurt to look.

Harold found himself sitting in his car, parked at his reserved spot. He didn't remember driving the last half of his drive to the office. He thought momentarily about this fact, but quickly shook it off, grabbed the stack of papers from the seat next to him and made his way toward the building.