The Turing Option

Snaresbrook looked relaxed, efficient. Discussing the approaching operation with the anesthesiologist and the nurses, then supervising the careful placement of the projector. “Here is where I am going to work,” she said, tapping the hologram screen. “And this is where you are going to cut.”

She touched the outlined area that she had hiked onto the plate, checking once again that the opening would be large enough to reveal the entire area of injury, large enough for her to work within. Nodding with satisfaction, she projected the holograph onto Brian’s skull and watched while the resident painted the lines on the skin, following those of the image, matching it exactly. When he was finished more drapes were attached to the surrounding skin until only the area of the operation remained. Snaresbrook went out to scrub: the resident began the hour-long procedure to open the skull.

Luckily Benicoff had seen enough other surgical procedures not to be put off. He was still amazed at all the force that is needed to penetrate the tough skin, muscle and bone that armor the brain. First a scalpel was used to cut through to the bone; the scalp, spreading apart as it was severed, was then sewn to the surrounding cloth. After the bleeding arteries were sealed shut with an electric cautery it was time to penetrate the bone.

The resident drilled holes by hand, with a polished metal brace and bit. Bits of skull, like wood shavings, were cleared away by the nurse. It was hard work and the surgeon was sweating, had to lean back so that the perspiration could be dabbed from his forehead. Once the holes were through the bone he enlarged them with a different tool. The final step was to use the motorized craniotome, fitted with a bone-cutting extension, to connect the holes. After this had been done he worked the flat metal flap elevator between skull and brain to slowly pry up and free the piece of skull; a nurse wrapped the piece of bone in cloth and put it into an antibiotic solution.

Now Snaresbrook could begin. She entered the O.R., her scrubbed-clean hands held up at eye level, poked her arms through the sleeves of the sterile gown, slipped on the rubber gloves. The instrument table was rolled into position, the tools on it carefully laid out by the scrub nurse. The scalpels, retractors, needles, nerve hook, dozens of scissors and tweezers, all the battery of equipment needed for the penetration of the brain itself.

“Dural scissors,” Snaresbrook said, holding out her hand, then bent to cut open the outer covering of the brain. Once it had been exposed to the air, automatic sprays kept it moist.

Benicoff, standing against the wall, could not see the details now; was just as glad. It was the final stage that mattered, when they rolled over the odd-looking machine that was now pushed back against the wall. A metal box, with a screen, controls and a keyboard, as well as two shining arms that rose from the top. These ended in multibranching fingers that grew smaller and smaller in diameter, each tipped with a glistening fuzziness. This was caused by the fact that the sixteen thousand microscopic fingertips at the branching ends of the instrument were actually too small to be seen by the human eye. The multibranching manipulator had been developing for only a decade. Unpowered now, the fingers hung in limp bundles like a metallic weeping willow.

It took the surgeon two hours, working with the large microscope, scalpels and cautery, to clean the track of destruction, a slow and precise debridement of the lesion left by the bullet.

“Now we repair,” she said, straightening up and pointing to the manipulator. Like everything else in the O.R. it was on wheels; it was pushed into position. When it was switched on, the fingers stirred and rose, descended again under her control into the brain of its designer.

Snaresbrook’s skin was gray and there were black smears of fatigue under her eyes. She sipped her coffee and sighed.

“I admire your stamina, Doctor,” Benicoff said. “My feet hurt just from standing there and watching. Do all brain operations last that long?”

“Most of them. But this one was particularly difficult because I had to insert and fix those microchips into place. It was like combining surgery with solving a jigsaw puzzle, since every one of those PNEPs had a different shape in order to perfectly contact the surface of brain.”

“I saw that. What do they do?”