As Mr. Ternal settled back in the chair and finally seemed to relax, Jenna initiated the recording program. She noticed right away how much feedback Mr. Ternal’s sensors were providing. Her training told her that this meant he was either very alert, very nervous, extremely intelligent, or some combination of the three.

“Yeah, that tracks,” Jenna muttered to herself.

“I’m sorry?” Mr. Ternal responded.

“Ope! Sorry,” Jenna quickly replied. “Just adjusting some settings.”

She turned the reverberation down. If she hadn’t, the thoughts and memories she was about to excite and then record would present like feedback from a bad microphone loop. This resulted in a very low-quality product and, more importantly, was extremely uncomfortable and disorienting for the donor.

Once the feedback was adjusted to a net zero, she engaged the perception datums. First was the ‘self’ datum, which allowed the donor to be self-aware during the memory recording and helped maintain some control over the thought processes and flow of information so that it could be transcribed in a more orderly fashion.

The second datum was the ‘space’ datum. This one afforded the donor a sort of anchor in a firm, fixed reality. Without it, their perception of time and space could ebb and flow with the memories themselves. Again, this also produced poor quality recordings, but was even more dangerous than the errors from a faulty ‘self’ datum. Without the proper anchor in space, the donor’s consciousness would drift from memory to memory in a desperate attempt at making sense of when and where they were.

“I’ve engaged the ‘self’ datum,” Jenna said calmly. “Next will be the ‘space’ datum. These effects are designed to keep you from becoming disoriented, although some describe it as a sort of ‘out of body’ experience.”

Mr. Ternal did not respond verbally but slowly clenched his fists and closed his eyes in a slow, delayed blink. His breathing remained nominal.

Jenna ran her finger down her list of procedures one more time before giving the next direction. She was acutely aware of how much her hand was shaking from the pure excitement and nerves.

“Ok, Rob,” Jenna began. “You should now be what we call ‘Liminally poised’. This simply means that we have your cognitive processes properly synced with the system, and we are ready to begin exciting information, thoughts, and memories out of your neocortex. That’s where your facts should be stored.”

Mr. Ternal let out a slow breath and nodded approvingly.

“Sorry,” Jenna stammered. “One last thing I forgot. Just be aware that you may re-experience this information as it’s being pulled out for recording. Some people describe it as a combination of text files, sound bites, and even short visual sequences. At least, that’s how it saves to the system. But usually, you’re experiencing them rather quickly. If we went through them in real time, it would take as long to record as it took you to gain all this knowledge in the first place!”

That last fun fact seemed lost on Mr. Ternal, and Jenna proceeded to the next phase. She clicked record on the room camera and microphone, and then began the cognitive recording software. As trained, she waited five seconds to gather what they referred to as ‘cerebral room tone’.

“Okay,” Jenna began as clearly and professionally as she was taught. “Memento Stratus Three Six Alpha. Subject Mastery Division. Donor Robert J. Turnel, electrical engineer. Recording Technician Jenna Severs. Thursday, September 22nd, 2039. Begin excitement exercise in three…two…one…”

Mr. Ternal seemed to hold his breath for just a moment, and the lab became unbelievably silent.

“Electrical hazard safety,” Jenna stated slowly and clearly.

Mr. Ternal tensed for a moment but then relaxed. The process was always alarming the first time.

“Arc flash hazard,” Jenna continued.

Mr. Ternal returned to his steady, deep breathing.

“Electrical fault, Jenna said.

With each new phrase, Mr. Ternal’s posture seemed to calm.

“Stand-off distance,” Jenna read off.

Mr. Ternal closed his eyes and breathed softly.

“Energized equipment,” Jenna read, keeping an eye on her subject, “de-energized equipment.”

Jenna continued reading and re-reading the prescribed phrases for nearly fifteen uneventful minutes. She didn’t understand the need for the repetition, but during her training had been told that the system’s AI conceived of its own buzz words and that reading them in the exact order was part of whatever proprietary ‘special sauce’ Memento guarded so closely.

“Exposed element,” Jenna read.

It was only a fraction of a second. She almost wasn’t sure she’d seen it, but Jenna kept her eyes fixed on Mr. Ternal’s fist as she read off another phrase.

“Arc Flash Suppression,” she read.

This time, his entire body shuddered.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Ternal, we’re almost done, here,” she said. “This is basically a formality at this point.”

Jenna would later describe Mr. Ternal’s action to her co-worker, Felicity, as “convulsions”, but in that moment, he appeared to bounce up out of the chair and to his feet. He turned his back to the glass and ripped the sensors from his temples.

“Mr. Ternal, please!” Jenna shouted. “That’s very dangerous.”

He didn’t answer right away as he struggled to regain his footing and orientation. Jenna watched in uncomfortable silence as his pupils shifted in and out of extreme dilation. He clasped his hands to his eyes. After a moment, his breathing slowed, and he moved his hands down from his eyes.

“Who put you up to this?!” he demanded. His voice was now sharp and shrill. His arms gripped around his chest.

“What?” Jenna said dumbly. “I…Rob…Mr. Ternal…this shouldn’t have happened. I’m not sure…”

His piercing eyes bore through her. She looked at her screen for some sense of direction or understanding. Besides the obvious warnings about disengaging the system prematurely, there was one other notice she hadn’t seen before.

‘Subject Mastery Division not advised to record data from Amygdala source. You are advised to flag those items for deletion.’

“Oh,” Jenna said hopefully. “Ok – here. It says that something was inadvertently triggered from your amygdala. That means it’s some sort of emotionally charged memory which are considered irrelevant to your case file. We’re only supposed to collect object data and knowledge, you see, so perhaps this was a disturbing memory related to an arc flash accident or something.”

Mr. Ternal’s eyes remained fixed on Jenna. He said nothing but continued his intense, labored breathing.

Matt Hebert is an engineer and self-published author. His dopamine-fueled creative pursuits have spanned from chicken keeping, sand sculpture, acting, and public speaking, but writing is nearest and dearest to his heart. He lives in Bellevue with his wife and two daughters. You can find him on Instagram at @jerkofalltradeshebert or email him at matt.hebert.books@gmail.com

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