NeuroVault Chapter One
Your Mind, Our Promise
This book is the reason I’ve been absent on Substack lately. It’s been hard to pull myself away from it for even a moment. I have a comfortable backlog of chapters written now and plan on posting one every Friday until it is complete. Check back every week for updates and if you enjoy it, please remember to like and share. It would mean the world to me. <3
Chapter One
The dream always started the same way: clean, precise, almost comforting in its familiarity. Mara stood at her station under the harsh fluorescent lights of Bay 7, the air thick with coolant mist and the metallic tang of hot chips. The CNC vertical mill, an old Haas VF-3, serial number long since worn off the plate, hummed steadily, spindle at 9000 RPM, feeding at 80 IPM. The fixture was loaded. One hundred 6061 aluminum blanks clamped in tight rows, waiting for the roughing pass. She’d programmed it herself two years ago, tweaked the tool paths until the cycle time dropped below eight minutes per part. Solid work. Reliable work. The first tray came off clean. The second too. Then, in the third quadrant, positions 3-1 through 3-15, started drifting. A whisper at first. 0.0002” out on X, then 0.0004”, then enough that the CMM would flag them red. Fifteen parts in a neat little row, every one undersized on the boss diameter, every one scrap. She wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her wrist, staring at the touchscreen. The alarm hadn’t tripped. No servo fault, no following error. Just quiet, consistent failure.
“Carl!” she called over the whine of neighboring machines.
“Carl, get over here!” Carl ambled up five minutes later, toolbox swinging, coffee in hand. Same stained Carhartt jacket, same half-smile that said he’d already decided the problem was operator error before he even looked.
“Fifteen bad again,” she said, pointing at the tray.
“Third quadrant. Same as yesterday. Same as last week. It’s the ball screw or the encoder. I can hear the backlash when it rapids back for the spring pass.” Carl set the coffee on her workbench without asking.
“You can hear backlash, eh Mara?” Carl’s skepticism was apparent through his mocking tone.
“Look, I checked the encoder last Tuesday. Zero fault codes. Ball screw is within spec. You’re probably pushing the feed too hard on that last pass.”
“I dropped it to 80 IPM this morning. Still drifting.” Carl shrugged, peered at the screen for three seconds, then tapped the override button, slowing the feed even more.
“Run it again. You’ll see.” She bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste copper.
“I’m telling you...”
“Run it, Mara. We’re behind.” She ran it. Fifteen more parts out of spec. That was when her anger turned cold and practical. Carl was gone, called to another breakdown in Bay 4, and Mark was due for his walk-through in ten minutes. She couldn’t wait. She powered down the spindle, hit the E-stop, but forgot one crucial step. The lockout/tagout procedure was straightforward: breaker off, lock on, key in her pocket. She skipped it, saving time, just hit the E-stop, and cracked open the side panel to check the ball screw coupling herself. One quick look. That’s all she needed. Her left hand reached in, fingers brushing the grease-covered nut. She felt it—the microscopic play, the tiny give when she rocked the shaft. There. Proof. Behind her, boots on concrete.
“Mara, what the hell are you doing back there?” Mark’s voice sounded sharp and tired, his ego already hurting from a full morning of production meetings.
“The fixture’s full of blanks,” he said, stepping closer to the control. “Why’s the machine stopped?”
“I’m checking the...” He didn’t wait for the answer. He reached over, thumbed the reset, then slapped the green cycle-start button like it was a vending machine. The Haas woke with a hydraulic hiss. The fixture jerked forward. Mara’s arm was still half-inside the guard. The ball screw locked, reversed, and pulled. Metal met flesh in a single, wet crunch. She felt the radius snap first, a clean break. White-hot pain flashed up her arm. Then the ulna folding sideways, the radius grinding against itself as the table kept feeding. Coolant sprayed across her face like arterial blood. She heard the scream before she realized it was her own. Then the world went black at the edges, the fluorescent lights collapsing into a single white point.
She woke gasping, sheets soaked, right hand clamped around her left forearm as if she could still stop the bleeding. The apartment was quiet except for the low, muffled sounds of her dad’s TV and her own ragged breathing. No factory. No Haas. No Mark. Just the dull, constant throb in her left arm, the real one, the mangled one, wrapped in faded Ace bandages and surgical scars that had never quite faded to silver. The clock on the nightstand glowed 3:17 a.m. She lay there, staring at the ceiling cracks, waiting for the dream to finish bleeding out of her. It never really did.
Her mouth was dry; the glass of water on the nightstand empty signaled a need for a trip to the kitchen.
“Hey Cupcake, can’t sleep?” Sitting in his old recliner, Mara’s father sat quietly. The faint hiss from the oxygen bottles couldn’t be heard over the distinct murmur of an old rerun of the Price Is Right. Bob Barker presenting the next Showcase Showdown.
“You either I see.” She replied, ruffling his hair as she passed.
“Sleep is for the weak, Mara.” With a smirk on his face, he rummaged through the pockets of his dirty old bathrobe, looking for his lighter. Glass in hand, Mara snatched the unlit cigarette out of her father’s mouth as she passed, returning to her room.
“You know you aren’t supposed to smoke around the oxygen tanks, Dad.” Closing her door behind her, she sat on the windowsill overlooking Hammer Town. The cool night air, filled with the smell of smelted metal, wafted inside as she opened the old, wood-framed pane of glass. As she lit her father’s cigarette, a tear rolled slowly down her cheek. With a sigh, she took a deep breath and exhaled the smoke into the night air.
The sound of an email notification pulled Mara back from deep thought. Flicking the cigarette out the window, it exploded in amber light as it hit the rail on the fire escape, then tumbled to the alley below. The floor creaked and groaned as she made her way to her computer, a relic from her time at MIT. With a touch of the mouse, the screen came to life, requesting her password. With perfect muscle memory, her right hand started its trained routine, but when it’s time for her left hand to jump in, the task becomes harder. Nerve damage caused by the accident has given this hand amnesia. Frustration builds as the backspace key erases what she had typed. Starting the process over, slower this time, she concentrates on every key pressed. Checking her inbox, a new email from her employer, NeuroLease Manufacturing, sat ready to read.
Subject: RE: Workplace Incident – Case File #2024-B7-041 – Benefits Status Notification
Dear Ms. Gunn,
Following the conclusion of our internal investigation into the workplace incident occurring on 03/04/2126, in Bay 7, this letter serves as formal notification regarding your employment benefits status. After a thorough review of incident documentation, witness statements, and applicable workplace safety protocols, it has been determined that the injuries sustained on 03/04/2126 directly resulted from a failure to adhere to established Lockout/Tagout (LOTO) procedures as outlined in Section 4.3 of the NeuroLease Manufacturing Safety Manual. Specifically, the investigation concludes that proper isolation and energy control procedures were not followed prior to accessing the machinery in question. As outlined in your employment agreement and the NeuroLease Manufacturing Benefits Policy (Section 9, Clause 2), disability coverage and extended health benefits are not applicable in circumstances where injury results from employee negligence or non-compliance with documented safety protocols. Effective immediately, the following benefits are hereby terminated: - Short and long-term disability coverage - Extended health and dental benefits - Workplace injury supplemental pay. You may be eligible for continuation of basic provincial health coverage through various government programs. Please contact your local service center for further information. This decision was reviewed and approved by senior leadership and is considered final. Should you wish to formally dispute this determination, you have fifteen (15) business days from the date of this letter to submit a written appeal to Human Resources.
We wish you well in your recovery.
Sincerely,
Denise Calloway
Human Resources Manager
NeuroLease Manufacturing Inc.
(905) 555-0182
“Fuck.”
Leaning back in her chair, Mara stared upward. The ceiling cracks adding even more frustration to her mood. Shaking her head, she shoved the feelings aside, an increasingly frequent necessity lately. Her hand reached for the mouse. Moving the cursor to a program that is always open but minimized in the taskbar. It’s something that used to be a daily routine, a routine that has become much less frequent since moving back home to take care of her dad. It’s a program that she wrote herself. A component of her thesis on AI development. She named it Hermon, a nod to the Greek god Hermes, the god who managed the communication, transfer, and interpretation of knowledge. The window opened. A winged sandal, flapping and flipping, appeared on the screen with the word “Learning” floating above it. Mara wished she had added a progress bar or a percentage callout.
“Maybe tomorrow.” She said to herself as she minimized the window again, as she climbed back into bed.
Morning came fast. Light strained to push through the constant layer of smog that floated over the city. The sound of a garbage truck in the alley 3 floors below jolted Mara from her slumber. After wiping the sleep from her eyes, she arose to face another day of uncertainty.
“Morning Dad. Did you get any sleep?” The smell of freshly brewed coffee flicked at her nose as she passed the living room, enticing her towards the small kitchen.
“A little sweetheart. How about you? Catch any Z’s?” Picking a cup out of the sink, Mara turned on the faucet to rinse it out. Water sputtered and pipes groaned with the task.
“A few.” She held a bottle of Irish cream to the dull overhead light. Just enough for one more cup. A small win, she thought to herself. She would take it as a good sign.
“I’m going to run to the gas station after my coffee. Do you want anything?” Bringing the cup to her lips, she took a careful sip.
“I could use some cigarettes since you took my last one.”
“You have nicotine patches in your side table, Dad. You’re supposed to be quitting, remember?” With a grumble, he reached for the drawer. With the rough sound of old dried wood on old dried wood, it opened, revealing the box of patches.
“These things never work.” He complained as he tore open a pouch.
“They work if you want them to work, Dad.”
With her coffee finished, Mara grabbed her keys and threw on a jacket.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Walter yelled at his daughter as she left. With an eye roll, she closed the door, pulling it hard to shut it. Her footsteps echoed as she trotted down the stairs. A dog barking at the noise as she passed the second floor. As the front door swung open, with a hiss from the hydraulic cylinder, Mara stepped out onto a somber Victoria Avenue.
“Mara?” a voice called from beside her. Mark, wearing a light brown trench coat and dark brown penny loafers, stood with hands in his pockets. A look of hope and dread somehow on his face.
“What do you want, Mark?” Annoyance rushed forward. Maybe today wasn’t going to be so good after all.
“I just want to talk. I heard about the investigation.” A car drove by. The sloppy sound of wet pavement under its tires.
“What’s there to talk about? It was my fault. Not the guys who pushed the button.” Mara, flipping him a middle finger, turned to walk away. Reaching to stop her, Mark placed his hand on Mara’s shoulder. A hot pain seared up through her arm and neck. Mark saw the mistake and grimaced.
“Shit, I’m sorry, Mara. Look, let me buy you a coffee.” Rubbing her shoulder to ease the pain, Mara considered kicking him in the jewels.
“Fine, but I want a muffin too.”
Thank you so much for taking the time to read the first chapter of my book. This story means a great deal to me, and sharing it feels both exciting and terrifying in equal measure.
I would love to hear your thoughts. What worked for you? What didn’t? Was there anything that pulled you out of the story, or a moment that made you want to keep reading? All feedback is welcome, the honest kind especially.
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More chapters to come. Thanks for being here.