Page 34 of The Love Operation

“That’s all the more reason we need to try it on me again. The protocol includes multiple rounds of treatment.”

“In the second phase.”

“But this is how you can get ahead. I am your chance to really see what your study design is capable of, without the ridiculously limited approval restrictions.” I sit up straighter. “We need to do it tonight.”

She eyes me curiously, slightly wary. “We need to be methodical about this, Cord. You’re exhausted. You have circles under your eyes.”

“I’m fine. And wouldn’t it be advantageous to see how sleep deprivation affects memory recall? If anything, this is a great variable to test.”

She taps her pen against her mouth, considering. I’m wearing her down.

“I want to know if it will happen again or if it was a fluke,” I continue. “This experiment has already proven the ability to enhance memory—it has legs. I’m fully aware during these ‘episodes.’ So yes, let’s be cautious, but let’s test the bounds of this. We owe it to ourselves and science.”

She argues, but even from the start, it’s half-hearted. The scientist in her wants this just as much as I do. We both know where this is heading.

Several minutes later, she hands me the drug cocktail. Once I’ve swallowed all the pills, she prepares the electrical stimulation, the same fat spider legs crawling across my face. I relish them this time.

About thirty minutes later, she turns on the screen and the diffuser, and the title Fun Facts About Aardvarks glares back at me.

I narrow my eyes at her. “You already had this ready?”

Delenn grins. “You think I wasn’t prepared for you to push me into another round?”

Fair.

She switches slides. The words Orycteropus afer stare back at me. “Let’s see how your brain handles facts about aardvarks.”

We do it all over again.

When she asks me to remember what I read, I smile because it’s back.

A laugh bubbles in my chest. It wasn’t a fluke.

Before I recite the facts, I relive the memory. I see the screen, the exact order of the words, the flicker of movement as Delenn taps her pen against the desk. I hear my own voice, reading it in real time.

Delenn gasps. “This effect is reproducible.” Her voice is breathless. “Do you realize what this means?”

I don’t respond because I’m already thinking ahead.

I can learn anything.

I still don’t respond to her when I’m within the memory, but now, even Delenn doesn’t seem all that concerned about this detail.

“It’s something we’ll need to figure out later,” she says, smiling and writing furiously.

But I’m starting to hit a wall. My brain feels foggy and clear at the same time, and the dissonance is off-putting.

Delenn notices my yawn. “Okay, that’s enough. It’s after ten. You have surgery tomorrow.”

She’s right. We call it quits. I need sleep.

We walk out together, both riding the high of our results.

When we round the corner, Delenn squints down the hall. “Who’s that?”

I don’t need perfect memory recall to recognize the shape of his shoulders, the way he owns the hallway as he walks down it.

It’s Isaac.