if only all of the monitors were reading the output from
just one patient.
She went back,
calmer now, and tried the experiment again. It wasn’t a maintenance
problem. They hadn’t foolishly hooked all the EEGs into just one
patient. All six people were experiencing exactly the same brain
activity. There was no doubt. The fact that it couldn’t possibly
happen was rapidly becoming irrelevant.
*
Felicity stood
in the ward with Barbara Crane, Roy Bannister the Maintenance
chief, and George Hanley, as they considered the machines. Shirley
Benson had been sent home with a sedative.
“Perhaps they
were all switched on at the same instant,” Barbara suggested to
show how little she knew about it.
“Doesn’t
matter,” Roy Bannister said. “Each monitor would immediately pick
up on the waves of the individual brain it was monitoring.”
“Then how do
you explain it?” Barbara wanted to know.
“I can’t. It’s
kinda like they all got the same brain.”
“A sort of
collective unconsciousness,” George suggested.
“That’s right,”
Roy thought. “You know. They reckon we all share the same
sub-conscious mind.”
“Let’s leave
Freud out of this, shall we?” Barbara scowled, knowing a dirty word
when she heard one.
“I don’t know
if we can,” Felicity murmured, looking around as if Sigmund was
standing right behind her.
“Well, the
patients all seem to be surviving it, whatever it is,” Barbara said
irritably. “And we do have a lot of other sick people to deal with.
Can’t afford to waste time over this.”
Barbara hurried
off as if she had patients needing her attention, rather than
paperwork, and Roy wandered away, scratching his head but then he
often did.
“Well, at least
now we know why the comas don’t relate to their injuries,” George
said thoughtfully. “They’re all in the same coma, literally.”
“I doubt that.
It has to be in the equipment somewhere,” Felicity knew. “Computers
behave like this. People don’t.”
“As far as we
know.”
“You have a
better idea for me, George?”
“Maybe this
does have something to do with the collective unconscious.”
“Well,”
Felicity smiled. “They’re an unconscious collective, at least. The
rest is psycho-babble, George.”
*
There was an
annoying young man who wore a black silk shirt, lurid checked
pants, a tweed jacket and dark glasses even indoors. His hair was
all greasy curls and the tatters of a failed beard clung to his
acned chin. He strutted about making demands in his abrasive
English shop-steward accent, pouting with resolution.
“She’s got
commitments, you know. I gotta to know when she’ll be
available.”
“We can’t
possibly know that, Mr. Tierney.”
“I’ve already
cancelled engagements right round the South Island. A lot of bloody
disappointed people. Andromeda Starlight is a big name in show biz,
you know.”
Felicity had
never heard of her. “We just have to wait, Mr. Tierney,” she said
wearily.
“I gotta to
book her in Oz. There’s contracts and all sorts of arrangements.
King’s Cross, Surfers, big time!”
“I’m sure that
when they hear she was blown up by a volcano, they’ll understand,
Mr. Tierney.”
“We really
didn’t need this right now. Her career was peaking. Gold dust is
slippin’ through our fingers here.”
“You must be
patient...”
“But how come
you keep sayin’ there’s nothing wrong with her.”
“Apart from a
lack of consciousness, there isn’t.”
“You must have
some idea. Come on. Give me your best shot.”
“We have no
idea. People have remained in unexplained comatose conditions like
this for all their lives, although not usually. A few hours or days
is much more common. It really is quite unpredictable.”
“How many days,
average? Give me somethin’ to work with.”
“We have no
idea.”
“Can’t you give
her somethin’ to wake her up?”
“No. No such
inducement exists and there would be no moral basis for using it