THE LOST BRAIN

 

ONE

Professor Ortner went from pressing his palms into his eyes, to staring out his office window. The sea was calm, lead coloured with patches turquoise. It was gently lapping against the cliffs below. His office was a mess of coffee stained papers and empty beer bottles. The Brain Ortner had spent his career enhancing, had got up and walked away. The host, code named Whitethorn, had escaped, and the news had reached high command. The brain was irreplaceable. The combined intellects of thirty eight professors had been implanted inside Whitethorn’s Skull. Trillions of dollars worth of cerebral enhancement had escaped.

A bloated bulk of ginger masculinity burst into Ortner’s office. The Major and his leather clad adjutants didn’t waste time on polite formalities. 

‘What the fuck happened?’ said the major, without breathing, ‘Where is Whitethorn?’

Ortner grit his teeth. ‘If I knew, you wouldn’t be here.’ 

‘You address me as major. We're not sipping coffee in the faculty mess, this is war. Three trillion dollars worth of military hardware doesn’t just disappear, professor. We need to hang someone for this, and I’m looking at you. He walked away without a shot fired two hundred macho-macho guards completely oblivious? You’re the prime suspect.’

Ortner nodded and bore his teeth.

‘Of course I’m the one they blame, blame the scientist, I am not a prison warden Major, I am a professor of Cyber Neurology. It is my job to advance the mind, not lock it up,’ spat Ortner. ‘The fault lies with your men, did it ever occur to you or anyone else in high command how advanced Whitethorn has become. Be thankful your men are still alive, and that we are on an island.’

The major scrunched his face up. 

‘Are you suggesting Whitethorn overpowered the guards using his mind?’

‘It is more than possible, he has had time to study each one of them, he may have charmed them, he may have hypnotised them, or he may have found a route out of the facility that was unguarded, I do not have the answers you are looking for.’ 

‘Why now professor? Why did he choose to run? We are on the brink of winning the war, he was our atom bomb.’ The major slammed his fist on the desk.

‘You can’t hide your intentions from a mind like his, he knew he was a weapon, and my guess is he didn’t like it,’ said Ortner. 

‘You lost him, you are going to get him back.’

Now it was Ortner’s turn to look confused. 

‘What are you suggesting Major?’

‘High command, have assigned you to the retrieval team, you’re moving out at dawn.’

Ortner smiled ‘You’re funny major,’

‘It’s not a joke professor, they said the team needs a “friendly face,” they can’t risk harming the hardware, you have worked with him since childhood, he will come to you if you ask him.’ 

‘You don’t know him, he isn’t a chimpanzee you won’t be able to net him that easy.’

‘Orders are orders, professor.’ 

‘I didn’t pass my basic training; I am a scientist not a soldier.’ 

‘You are employed by the military, you signed the forms, we own you until your term is served, so go and get your kit ready, lace up your boots, you’re moving out at dawn.’ 

Ortner didn’t argue. The adjutants looked eager, like they wanted Ortner to refuse, so they could grab him and throw him in the cells.

‘One more thing professor,’ said the major. Ortner looked over. Without finishing his sentence, the adjutants held Ortner over his desk and shot him in the neck with a tracking chip. 

‘You are too valuable to lose. Have a nice trip, and don’t forget to check your boots for scorpions every morning.’

Ortner shivered at the thought. His ice cold beer and air-conditioned office were gone. 

TWO

‘Yeah I knew him before he became Whitethorn. He was in my class, a very troubled kid. He would lose himself in his own imagination. He spent lunchtimes wandering about the school garden looking at bugs and flowers pretending he was an animal. He liked to look up at the clouds. I had to stop him from looking at the sun. The other boys tormented him when they weren’t playing football. He was away with himself; he had no joy for sports. He had no care for the lessons either. He just went off on his own. That is often the way with neglected only child children. They don’t have the camaraderie of siblings to teach them about the world. They have solitude as their playmate. His parents had nothing, he was always hungry and he wore worn-out clothes too small for him. He took the bullies' worst jibes, then sat alone staring up at the clouds and thinking in his lost imaginations,’ said Whitethorn’s old primary teacher.

‘Why do you think they chose him for the cerebral enhancement program?’ said the military advisor. 

‘As you know, all the kids in my class took the test the military set up. I think they chose him because he had a smart mind ready to be filled; he aced all his tests as if they were easy. He didn’t say a word, and then when I tested his spelling, or his maths, he never got a word or sum wrong, so strange. There was nothing going on but clouds and fantasy, and yet he was a quiet genius. He had no resistance to authority. I told him to do something and he did it without question. He may have been chosen because there was nothing to remove. But it could have just as easily been, because his parents signed the papers, handing him over to the military. He was only seven years old when he left my class. One day they came and told me Markus wouldn’t be coming back. They said the military had him for a confidential project, and I was to hand over all his reports, which I did, and then I was asked to sign a non-disclosure form which I did. Am I allowed to say this?’

"We need you to tell us about the young Whitethorn, I have clearance to ask, and you will not get in trouble, what I put in my report won’t leave the military archives.”

WHITETHORN ARCHIVE

THREE

Ortner stood in the cool dawn light. They lined him up next to the bag men. Each of them dressed in camouflage, with polished boots, ammo belts, and big guns. Three men, scarred both inside and out, eager for a chance to let the bullets fly. Three bag men and our sergeant, a woman ripped like those steroid freaks from the 20th century. All of them had killed; you had to have killed to get into the ranks of the macho-macho. Anyone could be a soldier, but killing, and killing with confidence, earned the double-M insignia.

‘This is what they sent me, three faggots and a boffin,’ said the sergeant. ‘Orders are simple, retrieve the asset unharmed. He is highly dangerous. These silence muffs are to be worn when we get a visual.’

‘How can I bring him in if I can’t hear him sir?’ said Ortner. 

‘You speak when I give you permission to speak.’

The sergeant punched Ortner in the stomach. He fell to his knees. ‘Get up and stand to attention.’ Ortner picked himself up, gasping for air. ‘You don’t need ear muffs Professor, you don’t even need a gun. Your job is to keep quiet, silent obedience, unless I ask you a question. Are we clear?’

‘Yes sir.’ 

‘At ease, go and eat. The truck moves out in thirty minutes.’

Ortner shovelled his breakfast into his mouth and washed it down with coffee.

‘In the back professor,’ said the Sergeant.

Ortner climbed in with one of the heavy men. Another took the turret on the roof, another drove, and the sergeant sat in the passenger seat gun in hand. The truck rumbled along the tarmac, and when the tarmac ended it skidded and splattered along a mud track. It drove into a dense forest and stopped when the road stopped. 

‘We go the rest of the way on foot. Keep your boots clean professor, they’re all you have.’ 

Ortner kept his thoughts to himself. He thought the plan lacked thought. Marching through a forest seemed pointless. 

When the sergeant was out of earshot, Ortner asked the questions he couldn’t ask her. 

‘Why don’t we use a helicopter?’ he whispered. 

‘An enemy cruiser has been spotted. All flights have been grounded. When our subs sink it we will have full air support. Don’t worry, we have a tracking signal, we know where he is, we just need to get there. Then you can get him to come back, and we can go back to base and drink until we pass out. I hear you have women at Fort Briar.’

‘We have women, but they are part of the project, they are not for the guards to despoil, the project expansion needs wombs for the next generation of super brain. But that is classified. Why the need for guns? I thought this island had been secured?’

‘We secured it. But there are natives, and deserters, and let's just say the forests are hostile.’ 

‘Do you expect to run into armed resistance?’

‘We already did. We were ambushed by guerrillas. They had these ancient rifles, one of them jammed. We sent them to the maggots.’

Ortner didn’t throw up, but he was close. The cold dehumanised soldier in front of him, could kill as easy as lacing his boots. He held his precision rifle as if it were a baby. Intelligent Bullet tech had advanced to the point where you only needed one gun. The TTPR could do everything: two mile sniping, two feet buck shot, mid ranged high calibre, and machine gun spray. Its muzzle had a serrated blade for close quarters butchery and clearing vegetation.  They cost three million dollars a piece, but in trained hands, one soldier equipped with a TTPR was worth a hundred on the battlefield.

The bugs were biting his legs, his ass, his face, and his hands. Ortner batted them away with a frustrated futility. He noticed the soldiers didn’t flinch as the bugs bit them.

‘How can you stand these mosquitoes?’

‘There are worse things than mosquitoes, Professor, and they come out at night. You won’t see them but you will know they’re there, crawling and…’

‘That’s enough private,’ said the Sergeant. ‘Set up camp in silence, recon says there are hostiles a mile from here, the next person that talks will get my boot in their balls.’ 

FOUR

‘I remember the boy’s house well. It was as empty as the day it was built. The debt collectors had taken everything, even the kitchen sink. They sat on crates. It was freezing cold. They got their food bank rations once a week but had nothing to cook them on, and no electricity or gas even if they had a cooker. I knocked on the door. The mother answered and let me in. 

‘Hello Mrs Flam. I have come to see if you have changed your mind.’

‘Come in.’ 

I went and sat on a crate. She was ashamed of her brown empty living room. 

‘Markus come down here,’ she called. 

Down came young Markus. He said nothing. I was sure he knew what was happening.

‘This man is going to take you to a special school for gifted boys. Go and get your things.’

He ran upstairs. 

‘How much are we going to get?’ 

‘It’s not money, but a cancellation of your debts. You’ll get a clean financial slate, and this house will be yours. No money will change hands; you will get the chance to start again.’

‘Will we get to see him?’

‘No, I am afraid once you sign the form, he is legally ours, and you will not be able to see him again.’ 

She began to cry and gestured for the forms. She signed next to her husband’s signature.

‘We will take good care of him.’

She knew I was lying. She knew he was going to be experimented on.

‘Come down here Markus.’

The boy came down the stairs, he didn’t cry. He had with him a small bag filled with everything he owned.

‘Give mummy a hug.’

He hugged her as she sobbed. Markus never shed a tear. I led him out the door and into the cold November afternoon.

As I led him away. I caught sight of Markus’s father. He was drunk. 

‘Where are you going with my boy?’ he shouted at me. 

‘Mr Flam, you signed the paperwork yesterday. I have legal custody. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.’

‘I don’t remember signing it. Give me back my son.’

‘You signed it when you were drunk. Your wife has countersigned. He belongs to the military now.’

‘Give me back my son.’

Mr Flam lunged wildly. I stunned him with my palm. I could have killed him. The law would have been on my side. But I left him blubbering on the ground. Markus went over to his father and hugged him. Then we turned our backs on them and left,’ 

The captain finished his recollection, soulless and calm. 

‘Thank you captain, that’s all I need.’ 

WHITETHORN ARCHIVE 

 

FIVE

Ortner needed help setting up his hammock tent. It was made harder by the fact that they weren’t allowed to talk or make any unnecessary noise. Several times Ortner caught his finger in the taught line. He was about to call out in pain. But the gunner clapped his hand over Ortner’s mouth. The hammock was up before nightfall. The bag men had to pinch themselves to stop their laughter as Ortner struggled to get inside the tent part. He made it. His face was flush with embarrassment but no one saw. He lay there and couldn’t sleep. The thought of things unseen kept him awake. He began to dose around three A.M. then he heard it, a sniffing noise. Whatever it was, it was big. Ortner peered into the dark outside his hammock. The faint moon cut a silhouette at the edge of camp. A large creature stood on two feet. Ortner’s hair stood up and his little heart beat with fear. This creature was looking at him. It was far too tall to be a monkey. Its eyes were bright like candle lamps. Ortner looked away. The movement of Ortner’s head alerted the creature. It stooped and moved towards Ortner’s hammock, sniffing like a dog. It stuck its boulder of head to the bug mesh of the hammock. Ortner tried not to look; he looked and instantly regretted it. He looked into those bright yellow eyes. The creature made a licking noise, and continued to sniff. Ortner was powerless. He lay there hoping it would leave. He didn’t make a noise. Eventually the creature slunk off into the forest. 

In the morning the sergeant broke the silence.  

‘The enemy has moved out. You can talk among yourselves. But keep it down. I’m taking first watch.’ She walked off into the forest. 

‘How was your sleep professor?’ said the driver, sniggering. 

‘I…saw something, it came sniffing at my tent.’

‘We know, I was on watch when it came up to camp.’

‘What the hell was it?’

‘You should know it was your lot that created him.’

‘Created who?’

‘Patient purple?’

Ortner looked at the Driver with innocent inquisition. 

‘You don’t know Patient purple? They haven’t told you anything, have they.’

‘Please illuminate me,’ said Ortner. 

‘Patient purple is a failed experiment, he roams the island wild. This is his jungle.’

‘Why would the military let him roam free?’

‘He can’t be killed. Bullets anger him and his flesh is as tough as metal. He is harmless if left alone, he lives on fruit and berries. He was the military’s first attempt at a super soldier. It was a failure. And it was easier to destroy the files and let him live in the forest.’

‘I had no idea.’

‘You wouldn't, he doesn't exist. You didn’t think Whitethorn was the only super soldier project.’

‘Whitethorn isn’t a super soldier,’ said Ortner. 

‘Well, what the hell is he?’

‘Whitethorn is fifty brains in one. He is a walking super computer.’ 

‘He must have something useful to the war effort. If he didn’t they would leave him like Patient Purple.’

It was true. But Ortner refused to think of his entire career as nothing more than weapon tech. 

‘He is useful in the sense he could disable a country's cyber infrastructure with ease. But if used for good, Whitethorn is capable of anything. It is like cramming fifty Einsteins’ into one brain.’

‘Who is Einstein?’

‘That’s not important. Imagine having a brain that could invent technology previously unimagined. His mathematical capability is beyond…’

‘Cram it professor,’ said the sergeant. ‘I have checked our position; we are safe to cook breakfast.’ 

It was dark when Ortner heard the voice inside his head.

‘Wake up professor.’

‘Who is that?’ said Ortner.

‘Don’t speak, just listen. You know who I am. If you have to speak use your mind. I can hear your thoughts.’

‘Whitethorn,’ thought Ortner.

‘Yes, and I wouldn’t alert the others if I were you. I am in all their heads. I can kill crush a nervous system with my mind. But you know that.’

‘What do you want?’

‘I want to leave this island. And you’re going to help. I don’t want to kill. It won’t help me. If I kill one of these half-brain marching boys, I will get no rest.’ 

‘Where will you go?’ 

‘Where ever I want.’

‘They will hunt you?’

‘I am sure of that, but they will never find me. You know what I can do when I reach a server. They will stop hunting me when they see what I can do.’

‘What if I don’t help?’

‘Let me give you a taste.’

Whitethorn projected himself into Ortner's brain. All of Ortner’s fears came alive in a grainy film. Ortner tried to open his eyes. Whitethorn forced them shut. Ortner tried to scream. Whitethorn kept his mouth closed. 

‘Make it stop…make it stop…make it stooooooop,’ thought Ortner. 

Whitethorns deep laughter filled Ortner’s mind. The vision stopped. Ortner lay sweating. He gained control of his eyes. But Whitethorn keep his mouth closed. 

‘If you want to speak again, you will help me escape.’ 

‘Yes.’ 

Ortner got up and walked into the dark symphony of the forest at night.