MIND FIELDS (9 page)

Chapter ten

  Much to the delight of Dr. Sandra Fletcher and the neurological team that worked with her on the neuronanobot trials, every single patient had shown the same remarkable results that Rocky Stankowski displayed.  By mid February, 2051, ten months after the human trials had started, thirty patients had been treated and thirty patients had been cured.  The FDA felt compelled to abort the trial, and set guidelines recommending TPNT as the treatment of choice for traumatic brain injury.

___

  Sandi had been so wrapped up in the details and analysis of the TPNT trials that it never occurred to her that someone else could have independently devised the techniques for producing the nanobots.  The idea that someone outside of her lab would have the information necessary to apply for and receive patents for neuronanobot fabrication never crossed her mind, at least not until she attempted to file the applications herself, only to discover that they already belonged to BNI.

  “What!” she screeched into the phone. “What do you mean?  That’s impossible.  Nobody could possibly have the data needed to …”

  Sam Collier looked over his shoulder.  He had never seen Sandi so unrestrained at work.  Sandi was usually as demure as her five-foot tall, one hundred pound frame would suggest.  To those who knew her at all, her appearance was truly deceiving; she was one hundred pounds of boundless energy, always on the go, always striving to make herself and all those around her a little better.  Sam liked to joke that he usually needed a nap after watching her work, but he also admired her composure.  Somehow, she kept all that vim and vigor under control, and though she was never afraid to say what was on her mind, she always did so with restraint and respect for those around her.  It was a rare thing indeed to see Dr. Fletcher lose her temper.

  He cringed as she slammed down the phone.  “What was that all about?” he asked sheepishly.  He wasn’t so sure he really wanted to unleash her on this one.

  “Unbe
liev
able,” she screamed at no one in particular.

  “Uh, sorry,” Sam mumbled.  “Never mind.”

  “Huh?”  She glanced over at Sam.  “Did you say something?”

  “Oh, no.  Just minding my own business over here.”

  Sandi smiled.

  “Guess that must’ve sounded pretty bad, huh?”

 
That’s the kind of question that doesn’t really have a right answer,
Sam thought to himself.  “Well …,” he said, searching for the right thing to say. 

  “You won’t believe what that was about.  That was Parsons from the legal office.  It seems that someone else applied for our neuronanobot patents before we did; BNI already has the patent.  How in the hell could they have gotten hold of the data for the fabrication process?  You and I are the only ones that have access to … “

  Sam’s eyes widened.  “Whoa, wait a minute.  You’re not really suggesting that I would have sold our data to those scum bags, are you?”

  “What?” said Sandi, deep in thought.  “Oh … no.  No, of course not.”  She looked up at him.  “You didn’t, did you?”

  “Sandi!”

  “Sorry, Sam.”

  “No problem, Doc.”  He understood the implications.  He and Sandi might still be able to lay claim to having discovered the process first, maybe even have the procedure named after them, but with BNI holding the patents, the income and, more importantly, future control of the procedure would be in the hands of JT Anderson.  He and Sandi would have little say in how the procedure would be adapted for clinical use now.  “But hey, look at the bright side,” the thought of naming the procedure after Sandi stuck in his head, “you’ll still be famous.  Just think, one day, millions of people will have Fletcherbots in their heads.”

  It was so ridiculous sounding that, as miffed as she was, even Sandi had to laugh.  “You rat, I’m trying to be pissed off here.”

  “Yeah, I knew you couldn’t do it for too long.”

  “Don’t be so sure.  There’s only one person I know of who could have pulled this off.  I’m going to have a look at those patent applications from BNI, and then I’m going to pay a little visit to Dr. Paul Hingston.  I just can’t seem to get that bastard out of my life.”  She looked more upset than angry, like a wave of bad memories had just washed over her.  Now it was personal.

  “Want me to come along?”  Sam asked.

  “Nah,” she smiled and took his hand.  “Thanks, Sam, but I’ve got to do this alone.”

  He nodded. “Well, I’m just a phone call away if you change your mind.”

  She nodded back, and then grabbed her coat and left the room.

  Sam watched her go, and wondered what twist of fate might befall her next.  He hated to see the pain that oozed from the wound left by her breakup with Paul seeping back into her life.  He wished there was something more that he could do, but this was not the time.

___

Sandi left the lab with more than the usual determined strut in her step.  The legal office was in the process of receiving faxed copies of the neuronanobot patents that had been awarded to BNI, as well as copies of the original patent applications. By the time Sandi arrived, the copies were waiting for her.

  “Thanks, Ms. Prescott,” she said to the secretary who handed the thick folder to her.  “Do you mind if I take this with me?  I’d rather have a chance to digest it in more comfortable surroundings.”  She realized how foolish that sounded as she looked around the posh offices of the legal department, but as beautiful as they were, they were not her idea of comfort.

  “No problem.  Mr. Talbot said they were yours to do with as you please.”

  “Good,” Sandi replied as she looked out the window.  “It looks like a good day for a fire.”

  Ms. Prescott looked horrified.  She had worked very hard compiling the faxes into a nice, neat portfolio for Dr. Fletcher.  This was a woman who took great pride in her compulsive nature.

  Sandi noticed the look of horror on her face.  “Just kidding, Ms. Prescott.  Just kidding.”  She tried to bite back the laughter, but was only partially successful.

  The secretary, looking offended, breathed a sigh of relief and patted her hair to make sure each strand was in its proper place.

  “Thanks again,” Sandi said, lifting the portfolio.  “I really do appreciate it.”

  Ms. Prescott’s tension noticeably eased, and Sandi felt a little better.  She didn’t mean to make the poor lady self-conscious, but the pomposity of the office was rather comical.  Sandi felt a giggle coming on again, and turned to walk out the door before it escaped. 
Well, at least I can still laugh,
she thought to herself as she zipped her coat and headed for the parking lot.

  For the first time in recent memory Sandi decided to take the afternoon off.  She phoned Sam so he wouldn’t be worried, and went home to dissect the work of BNI in private.

  Sandi pulled into her driveway and tapped the garage door opener.   She looked up through the windshield at the blanket of light gray clouds carpeting the sky.  She had lived in Baltimore long enough to know when snow was on the way.  The garage door lifted, and she pulled her red Mustang convertible into the garage, thankful that she had chosen a house with enough storage space so she could actually use the garage for her car.  She hated digging her car out of the snow.

  By the time she went inside and changed into a well-worn pair of jeans and her favorite sweater, the snow had started to fall.  She fixed herself a cup of hot chocolate and curled up on the sofa with the portfolio Ms. Prescott had prepared for her.  She stared at the file disdainfully, angry at it for spoiling the moment.  Curling up in front of the bay window on a snowy day with a steaming cup of cocoa was something she usually associated with unwinding.  This was going to be anything but relaxing.

  Sandi opened the portfolio.  The face page was the fax indicating how many pages were sent.  She tossed it aside and began to read the first document, the patent application from BNI.  There on page one was the signature of the applicant, Dr. Paul Hingston.

  “You snake,” she hissed at the paper.  She wasn’t really surprised.

  Slowly, Sandi thumbed her way through the pages, first the applications and then the patents themselves.  Her anger grew more intense with each turn of the page.  “What a slime-ball!” she shouted.  “No way could this be a coincidence.”  Every page was familiar to her.  BNI had duplicated virtually every facet of her work.  It wasn’t as if they had gone down an independent pathway and come up with the same conclusions, but this work had all the hallmarks of stolen research.  Every aspect of the work she had been doing with Sam Collier for the last two years was duplicated right here on these pages.  It was obvious that someone had stolen her data.

  After an hour of filing through the patent literature, Sandi had had enough.  She stood up and stretched, then nearly fell as she tried to put her weight on her right leg, which had been crossed under her on the sofa.  Pins and needles shot through her foot, and she angrily stamped on the floor, trying to pound some life into it.  Once it would take her weight, she began to pace around the room trying to calm herself, but time only made her anger grow greater.  Finally, she walked into the kitchen. 

  “Computer, phone Dr. Paul Hingston at BNI in Columbia, Maryland.”

  “Searching for number … connecting.”

  Sandi paced anxiously while she was waiting for the call to go through. 

  “Computer, audio connection only.”  She couldn’t stomach the thought of looking at Paul right now.  It would be much easier to give him a piece of her mind with a good old-fashioned audio phone call.

  “Hello?”

  “Paul, is that you?”

  “Yeah... Sandi?”  He hadn’t heard her voice in quite some time, but it was a voice that he would never forget.  “It’s great to hear from you.”

  “I’ll just bet it is.”

  “What’s the matter?”  He could tell by her tone that this was not going to be the kind of call he had hoped for.

  “What’s the matter!  You steal two years of my work and you want to know what’s the matter?”

  “Steal two years of … oh, I see.  You heard about the patents, huh?”

  “You’re damned right I did.  How in the hell do you have the nerve to use stolen data to file for patents?  Are you trying to advertise to the world that you’re a thief?”

  “Whoa, hold on a minute.  I worked damn hard on the neuronanobots.  You knew that we had been working on the same project as you.  Don’t you remember that the last time, it was
me
calling
you
to accuse
you
of stealing
my
work?”

  “I sure as hell do.  It’s not too often that someone accuses me of stealing research.  I remember it vividly.”

  “Then you shouldn’t be all that surprised that we were still working on the same project.  The only difference is that we beat you to the punch this time.”

  “Yeah, right.  Give me a break.  Do you really think I’m that stupid, Paul?  You didn’t even try to hide the fact that you stole my work.  You used the exact same gene sequences that we used …
exact. 
What are the odds of that?  Do you think I’m dumb enough to believe that’s a coincidence, or did you just figure that I’d never look at your patents?”

  Paul didn’t know what to say.  The odds of them both coming up with precisely the same gene sequencing, the identical mechanism for having the Phase Two nanobots to find the Phase One bots, synapse with them, transform into synthetic neurons and synapse with the healthy neurons in the brain were miniscule.  “About a million to one, I’d guess.”

  “What?  Is that all you’ve got to say?”

  “They were an exact match?”  Paul still couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “Exact.  Every one of them.  Like you didn’t know.”

  “No, Sandi.  I didn’t.”

  They both knew that there was only one explanation.  Somebody had to be stealing data from one of their labs and giving to the other. 

  “I’ll get back to you, Sandi.”  The line went dead as he hung up.

  “No you don’t, Paul Hingston.  You’re not walking away from this that easily.”  But it was too late.  She was too spent to call him back.

 
God, he sounded sincere,
she thought to herself. 
That self-righteous son of a bitch really thinks that
I
stole the data from
him
? 
She thought for a moment. 
Could Sam have been stealing the data from BNI and feeding it to me without my knowledge, somehow guiding me to my conclusions?
They had worked so closely together on this project that sometimes it was hard to remember which ideas had been hers and which had come from him. 
Nah. 

It had to be Paul, that bastard.  Unless …I suppose someone in
his
lab could have been pulling one over on him, stealing my data and spoon-feeding it to him.  I can’t believe he could really be so naive … well, it probably was him, but in either case, I’m going to make sure he knows I’m on to him.  I’ve got the proof right here. 
Sandi patted a large manila envelope, containing a hard copy of her research on the Phase Two neuronanobot programming.  She loved her computer, but never completely trusted digital records.  She always kept a back-up paper hard copy of her work. She made up her mind right then to send a copy of her work to Paul.  There wasn’t anything to lose; he obviously already had the data
and
the patents to prove it; there were no secrets left to steal. 

Sandi’s work was all dated, a paper trail of her painstaking research.  This would prove that she had done the legwork independently, that it really was her work.  She wasn’t quite sure why, but she wanted to make certain that he knew it.

Sandi lit a fire in the fireplace, and went to the bookcase to make a selection from her library, mostly art and travel books, except for the vast collection of science fiction paperbacks that lined the top two shelves.  She smiled as she pulled out a copy of Asimov’s
I, Robot
, remembering the intrigue it had brought into her life those many years ago when she had first read it.  It was one of the stories that had first kindled her fascination for sci-fi, and more importantly, had whetted her appetite for scientific research into the seemingly impossible. 

She curled up on the sofa in front of the crackling fire and opened the book, taking care not to tear the brittle pages from their cover.  The musty scent of the old paperback comforted her.  She considered it a rare opportunity to relax with a good book. These days, most of her reading was limited to nanotech journals.  She glanced out the window at the gathering snow and smiled serenely.  It was nice to leave her problems behind, even if only for a little while.

___

  Guy Andrews had a musician’s work schedule.  He worked late at the downtown nightclub, The Pendulum Pit, most nights and slept much of the day away.  Guy was surprised to see Sandi lounging on the sofa when he came downstairs.  Sandi was a workaholic; she never came home early.

  “Hey, what’s the matter, babe, you sick?”  He stretched his arms up high over his head and yawned as he came down the stairs in his long flannel robe.

  Sandi looked up from her book.  “Nah. Just decided to take the day off.  The neuronanobot project is done for now, and I decided I needed a break.”

  “Good for you,” he said as he gave her a kiss.  “So, what do you think, should we go into Hunt Valley and celebrate at Sal’s Place?”