The Book Keeper Page 4
I returned to the fourth floor of the university library for phase two of my research – the brain. This was going to be far more problematic than research into the eye. Grey matter, and the mapping of areas needing involvement in the mind reading implantation from the eyes. I wasn’t sure that I could conquer this part of the research. I really needed to talk to a medical professor with intimate knowledge of the workings of the brain I think. But I would give it a go at least. If I felt that it was out of my hands, I would request a medico from Mr B. Rubin.
My cell phone vibrated in my pocket. I looked at my watch. Crap! It was 2:05pm. It was Mr B. Rubin.
‘Hello Mr Rubin. Yes sir…….I am at the university library conducting research on various facets of my design sir…….time simply got away from me, I did not realise how late it was sir………I cannot tell you over the phone, sir, it would not be wise….yes, I will report at 9am precisely tomorrow sir….and I apologize that I did not make it to report to you at 2pm today…..No, it will not happen again sir…’
He hung up on me. Rude bastard! He needs to take a crash course on manners 101.
Angrily, I shoved my phone back into my pocket. I looked above the shelf that I had been currently searching in to no avail. Then there was the book that I wanted. It had been placed entirely in the wrong area – perhaps on purpose?
I reached up to grab it, and was hit by the smell of her sweet perfume, Georgia’s. My heart accelerated. I removed the book from the shelf and then turned and looked for her up and down the library isles. She wasn’t there.
My heart decelerated, disappointed. How can the memory of a smell do that to someone? Bloody Book!
I moved along the isle to locate another book that I was wanting for my research. I found it easily and then removed the large book from the shelf, effectively creating a large gap between the books so that one could see into the next isle.
I could only see half of her face framed by her glorious brown wavy hair. But it was definitely her. My heart accelerated again, and butterflies fluttered in my stomach.
I opened the large book and spoke to her, not making any eye contact.
‘Miss Harrison, we meet again.’
From my peripheral vision, I saw her move to the open space to look at me.
‘Mr Darcy,’ she said, her voice full of surprise. ‘Our paths cross again. What brings you here today?’
I smiled to myself. That’s Georgia, straight to the point.
‘You know, design, research, create…I am in the research phase, and you? What brings you to the heart and brain of the medical floor?’
‘Psychology research,’ she said matter of factly. I looked down at my book and smirked. How apt, psychology, reading people. That was something I needed to do with her. She was unreadable, unpredictable.
‘Are you smirking at me Mr Darcy?’ she asked, her eyes serious. Then she appeared before me in the same isle.
“’No, not at all Miss Harrison,’ I replied, keeping my voice even, refusing to make eye contact with her.
‘Liar, liar pants on fire Mr Darcy,’ she said without an ounce of humour in her voice.
Then she snapped her book closed, and bumped into me as she moved away. She turned to face me, walking backwards.
‘There is a whole chapter devoted to people who exhibit your character traits Mr Darcy,’ she called after me, this time with a hint of humour in her voice.
I stopped reading the brain book, and stared straight ahead of me. What character traits is she talking about?
Her voice then came from the book space on the shelf again.
‘The chapter is titled Stalkers,’ she added assertively.
I turned my face towards hers.
‘What? You think that I am stalking you Georgia? How sad and boring your life must be if you believe that!’ I spat at her, my words fuelled with bitterness.
I snapped my book shut, grabbed the other two brain books and stormed off, back to my work space, dropping the books down and creating a loud ear splitting crack, disturbing everyone working on the fourth floor. I looked around. Eyes pierced me like daggers.
Bloody book. Women. Worse!
I rested my forehead against my left hand as I worked on in solitude, blocking out all reality in the library. Study of the brain made for fascinating reading. But it left me with more questions than when I started out.
What is it that generates thoughts, where do they come from?
What is conscience, and how is it formed?
Why do some seem to be void of conscience, knowing right from wrong?
What about creativity, how can one think up something from nothing?
Why are some people gifted without even having had to learn what they are gifted in?
What about belief in God and faith. Where does that come from?
Why do some believe and others not?
What about conscious thought compared to unconscious thought?
And dreams – why? How? What is its purpose in the meaning of life?
I sat back in the chair and sighed in deep contemplation. There seemed to be an area of brain function that cannot be explained, or measured. Frustrated was a word used lightly to as how I was feeling right now. Was it the brain research, or Georgia’s derogatory comment that pierced my heart?
Whatever it was, she was just like the rest of them. How could I have fallen for a little bit of hope that she was different? Stupid, stupid idiot!
I ran my hand through my hair and looked at my watch. 7 pm. Time to head home. I called Max, gathered my stuff and then headed out of the library doors. Max was there waiting me. For once I was glad to see him.
‘Straight home please Max.’
‘Yes Sir,’ he replied, looking at me in the his rear vision mirror.
The rain pelted down, and the sound of the squeak of the windscreen wipers began hypnotising me. It was Max’s voice informing me of our arrival that pulled me out of my distant place.
‘8am tomorrow please Max,’ I instructed as I left from the taxi. I sprinted to the apartment building entrance out of the pouring rain, and then slowed down considerably, walking slowly up the stairs to the apartment.
I breathed in deeply. It used to my apartment. My man cave. Not anymore. I now shared it with the prying eyes of security at the CAI, and goodness knows who else.
I unlocked the door and entered my man cave, gently closing the door behind me. The aroma of another home cooked meal assaulted my nostrils. Beef Stroganoff I think. I placed my bag into the study, and wandered into the kitchen and stirred the pot of food. My stomach growled.
They won’t kill me yet. I haven’t finished their most valuable project. When I do, I am pretty sure that they will dispose of me. I will be a high security risk to them otherwise. I will know too much.
The loud knocking at the front door made me jump. I waited, and hoped whoever it was would go away. But it continued, becoming more aggressive each time, until it became an urgent thumping on the door.
I turned and made my way to the door and stopped, listening again. I heard one more thump, and then a faint ‘please open the door.’
I smelled her sweet perfume before I saw her when I opened the door a fraction, and thought twice about talking to her. She was the last person I wanted to see, after she accused me of being a stalker.
How did she get my address if I ‘don’t exist’?
‘Cohen I know that it is you. I followed you here from the library,’ she said, her voice assertive and strong.
Then she suddenly pushed on the door, forcing it open, taking me by surprise. I resisted her attack, keeping the door more closed than open.
‘Cohen, let me in. I want to apologise to you.’ Her voice was sincere and full of regret. Then she barged in, taking advantage of my moment of weakness.
Women. Bossy, imposing, frustrating, annoying.
I blocked her way into my apartment. I couldn’t let her venture further in because of the heavy surveillance. I didn’t wan
t her involved in any way. I had to protect her.
I wrapped my arms around her and hugged her. It was the only thing that I could do under the circumstances.
‘Cohen?’ her voice was full of shock.
I moved my lips close to her ear and spoke in extremely hushed tones.
‘Listen to me. You need to leave. My apartment is under surveillance. Every move that I make is being watched, recorded and analysed. If you are smart, you will leave.’
She placed her hand around the back of my head, sending a tingling sensation down my spine. She kissed me below my ear and then put her lips close to my ear and spoke so quietly that her voice was barely audible.
‘Then let’s make it dramatic for them, whoever they are. Kiss me Cohen, and then I will slap you across your face and storm out of your apartment. That will give them something interesting to watch and analyse.’
I couldn’t believe what she was suggesting. It was way out of left field. Women. You can’t read them. You can’t predict them.
‘Georgia….I….I…can’t. I don’t know you. I won’t feel comfortable kis….’
My words were taken away from me as her lips were on mine. Her warm soft sensuous lips, melting my knees, making me weak and taking my strength. I wanted to melt into her. I could very easily lock lips with her forever.
Then she pulled away, looked angrily at me, and slapped me across the face. Her slap biting into my skin, the sting echoing about through the layers of dermis covering my craniofacial bones. My immediate reaction was to put my hand over my hurt cheek, and I watched her storm off, slamming the front door behind her.
She was good. Very good. Even I believed her. I stared at the front door for some time, reliving the amazing kiss. And then I ran my hand through my hair, about turned and walked through to a large sash window overlooking the road. I watched her as she stepped into a cab, and disappeared into the distance.
Why had my life suddenly become so complicated, dangerous even? Why couldn’t I have met Georgia under pleasant circumstances?
I breathed out in disappointment, and touched my burning cheek again.
I turned on the sports channel, grabbed my beef stroganoff, and settled down in front of the television, wishing that my worries could be taken away, even for just a short while.
There was so much to plan to stay ahead of the game, so much to do. Was I running out of time?
Chapter 8
‘Mr Darcy,’ white girl’s voice squeaked, as bubbly as ever.
‘Good morning…aaahhh….’ I was waiting for her to fill in her name, but she didn’t. Must I prompt her like a child?
‘How shall I address you?’ I asked. Still no reply.
‘What is your name?’ I asked again - for heaven’s sake…
‘Me?’ she asked, her voice impossibly higher. I ran my hand through my hair in frustration and looked to the floor to control the laughter that was about to erupt from me. Well, there is no-one else here but us.
I looked at her and nodded, raising my eyebrows at her.
‘Oh….Mia, Sir. Go right through. Mr Rubin is ready for you.’
‘Thank-you Mia.’ I smiled slightly at her before I walked through the door of Mr B Rubin’s office.
His chair was turned away from me as usual.
‘9am as requested Mr Rubin.’
He turned slowly in his chair and then gave me three slow claps. Rude bastard. I felt my blood begin to boil. I looked at his face and narrowed my eyes at him. At this point in time, there is nothing to like about this pitiful excuse for a man. What is his job description in this corporation anyway. I would love to know what is in the mind of this man.
‘Progress update Mr Darcy!’ He spat saliva as the words left his small repulsive mouth.
‘I am in the important research phase of the design Sir. I cannot make further progress on the implant until I have intricate details on eye and brain structure. Once these details are sorted, then I can move forward with the drawings of the mind reading implant, and then build a prototype. Do you have a subject chosen for the testing of the device Mr Rubin?’
He stared at me before answering my question. I could see his evil mind turning over as he considered my question, twiddling his thumbs around and around one another.
‘Mr Darcy, I have two possible worthy candidates under consideration for trialling the device. How much more research time do you need?’
‘Time wise…..it’s hard to pinpoint at this stage. Thoroughness is vitally important, including discussions with medical professors – ophthalmology and neurology. If any mistake is made, it could result in blindness, or irreparable brain damage, or both. Mr Rubin, I need you to allow me to conduct my research as I see fit, in the hours that I need to work, without having to return to the office to report to you. It is most frustrating when I am in a certain line of thinking, and then it is interrupted. My line of thought becomes lost. It is very hard to return to that point in time, and that particular genius creative moment. It would considerably speed up the process of development of the implant if I could report to you once I have made significant progress.’
He stared at me, in his Mr B Rubin way. He sat back in his chair.
‘Mr Darcy, if that is the way that you are going to make the quickest progress on the development of the new technology, I give you permission to work your own way. I must remind you though that the implant is of the highest priority, and it has been deemed top secret by the company. You are not to speak to anyone about your work. I am having a contract written up as we speak Mr Darcy. We will have a lawyer present to thoroughly navigate the contract for you to sign. You are now wasting valuable time standing in this office. The meeting is closed. Good day Mr Darcy.’
He turned his chair away from me. He was rudeness personified. What was it that he did in his sterile office daily? I turned on my heel and escaped the suffocating arrogant, rude and hostile Mr B. Rubin. The less contact I had with him the better.
I stopped at white girl’s desk. She did not look at me. Challenge on.
‘Can I get you a tea or coffee Mia?’ I asked in a warm smooth voice. She looked up at me expressionless.
‘Oh…….Mr Darcy. No thank-you. It is not my break time yet,’ she bubbled with her squeaky voice.
“Ah, but you would not have to move, I would be getting you the beverage. How about milk to blend in with the whiteness around here, or some snow perhaps?’ I asked, adding humour to see if she had any.
She put her hand over her mouth and let out a quiet giggle.
‘Oh……Mr Darcy. No thank-you. It is not my break time yet,’ she responded in the exact same words and tone of squeakiness. I stared at her briefly, and noticed that she was writing excessively small words on a small piece of white paper. She slid it over to me in the smoothest of movements, hardly noticeable. I took her hint and moved my hand over the barely visible piece of paper, and hid it in the palm of my hand.
‘Good day then Mia,’ I said formally, and left for the elevator, ascending one floor to my own office.
I sat down at my desk to read the note, but thought the better of it – big brother. I walked over to the massive windows, stood closely to the glass, and inconspicuously read the note.
We are being watched. Mx
Point taken. So I am guessing Mia is not what she seems. Is Mia her real name?
I went back to my desk and my designs. I also retrieved my research from the nerdy floor of the university library yesterday. It was time to start melding the two – technology to human. It was still purely science fiction – didn’t Mr B Rubin see that? I could not see how it would work. And if the truth be known, I did not want this piece of mind reading implant to work. There could never be any good come out of it. It would get into the hands of the wrong people, and used to the detriment of the human race, for the power and money hungry whom had no compassion for others, only their own self indulgences and gratifications in mind.
Play the game. Play it better.
I knew that, without conscious thought about the implant, my brain would continue working on it, and bring to consciousness any problems or improvements. The brain was absolutely and totally fascinating in that way.
I left the office and walked three blocks to the park. There I would not be watched, recorded, analysed or judged. There, I could sit and be surrounded by the beauty and wonder of nature, the laughter and peacefulness of normal human beings, and soak up the warmth and brightness of the sun.
I grabbed at hot dog on the way, then perched myself against the trunk of an ancient oak tree. At first, the sounds of nature spoke to me. The gentle breeze zigzagging its way around and through the leaves and branches. Then it was the chirping of the birds, the barking of playful dogs, and the laughter of carefree children as they played.
And then my eyes settled upon a couple. A man and a woman, relaxing on a blanket lost in each other. He was talking to her, his eyes connected to hers the entire time of the conversation. He kissed her, he pressed his body against hers and ran his hands over her back and along the side of her face. Only to receive a shove from her. Why? What signals did he pick up from her to take the step to kiss her and touch her? Was he sure that she wanted him to do that? At what point did she dislike what he was doing, and how did he not pick up on that signal?
Women. So confusing, so hard to read. I bet that he would love to be able to read her mind. And what about her? Would she like to be able to read his mind and then know what he had planned to do to her? Would a mind reading device be such a good thing? But, what would it take away from relationships? What would it give to relationships?
How would it affect friendships if you really knew what your friends or colleagues thought, how they felt? Do you really want people in your head with your private thoughts and ideas? There had to be a shut off point for mind reading technology. Surely it will not be offered to the general population? What would be the point of it? The only way that the technology would be used is for intelligences, for spying, espionage, criminology. Such a device like this would have to be top secret, never to be revealed to living souls. Perhaps I should also invent a memory extracting device to erase any memory or information of the existence of mind reading technology, to spare the lives of those accidently caught up in its use. Is this even possible?