Technology Staggers On

By Mark Worden

“The wonders of modern technology,” I marveled, as Dr. Lemual Quark guided me through the immaculate corridors of the Lower Umpqua Addictive Conundrum Institute.

Dr. Quark, Director of the Lower Umpqua Addictive Conundrum Institute, had invited me to observe a new artificial organ in its first trial run. It was a Nuclear-Powered Liver (NPL), an achievement, Quark told me, that would rival the Jarvik-7 vinyl heart and the newly developed pancreas pump.

As Quark explained, “By regulating the flow of insulin, the artificial pancreas allows one to continue sugar addiction and junk food gluttony without having to alter eating habits. Just so, our liver pump — our NPL — allows one to drink any quantity of alcohol without suffering undue drunkenness or uncomfortable hangovers.”

Needless to say, I was boggled. “Wait a minute,” I said. “I can see a vinyl heart and a pancreas pump, Dr. Quark. But a nuclear-powered liver with unlimited alcohol consumption? That sounds incredible.”

Quark’s mouth formed a cryptic smile and his eyebrows lifted enigmatically. “I know, I know,” he said. “It sounds unreal, but that’s the way it is with technology — with innovative computer-aided design and bio-engineering.”

Then he reminded me about Arthur C. Clarke’s observation that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. “Basically our device is a very simple form of magic. The NPL has a built-in Blood-Alcohol Concentration (BAC) control — a feedback mechanism that regulates the metabolism of alcohol.”

As Quark explained it, with an NPL implant a drinker could preset the BAC regulator to, say, .12 blood-alcohol concentration to maintain that slightly lubricious glow at parties and other social events. That way a drinker could drink any amount of booze and remain moderately disinhibited and entertaining, if not altogether brilliant in conversation.

Then, before driving home, the slightly tipsy drinker resets the BAC control to .05 or less, and the NPL kicks in and burns off the excess alcohol in the flash. “Zap!” said Quark. “You’re sober and in no danger of getting arrested for drunk driving. It makes driving under the influence obsolete.”

Quark briefly outlined other advantages: The NPL, he noted, would be indispensable in the world of business and government. For example, a businessman could party and booze it up all night long with prospective clients and then sober up almost instantly when it was time to play hardball — time to read the fine print, get the contracts signed.

Diplomats and congressmen could attend affairs of state and cocktail parties hosted by lobbyists without being unduly influenced by alcohol — all by the simple act of setting their NPLs to burn off the lavish quantities of alcohol typically consumed at such functions.

Not least, the NPL would allow shy men to imbibe enough alcohol to get courage to pick up women, and the burn off the alcohol to allow uncomplicated consummation. “No more will the sensitive male be distressed by impotence due to the drink that provoketh the desire, but taketh away the performance,” Quark reflected.

Quark’s colleague, Dr. Hepatikos was waiting for us in one of the high-tech lab rooms. He was stripped to the waist. A curious small black box appeared to be implanted in his right side, about liver level. Quark explained that the NPL had been implanted without problems in hogs (they love alcohol), but this was to be the first trial with a fully-functioning NPL implanted in a human subject. In the tradition of the truly great scientists of the past, Dr. Hepatikos had offered to volunteer.

We watched attentively as Dr. Hepatikos drank shot after shot of pure grain alcohol. His BAC began to rise: .04, .08,.10, .14. When it reached .18, Dr. Hepatikos was clearly intoxicated: glassy-eyed, loud-mouthed and expansive. Drunk as a skunk.

At that point Dr. Quark made some notes. He set the BAC control at .08 — he called it the “glow zone” — then started an electronic timer and pushed a button to activate the nuclear-powered liver.

Dr. Hepatikos quickly began to sober up as his NPL metabolized the excess alcohol in his blood stream. He stopped drooling. He straightened up in his chair, and he regained his scientific demeanor.

Dr. Hepatikos continued drinking. But he remained sober. His remarkable NPL instantly metabolized everything he drank and kept him right square in the glow zone.

Quark squinted at the readout, pursed his lips thoughtfully, nodded his head, and took more notes.

About fifteen minutes later, while Quark and I were talking about the unique possibilities of the NPL — specifically its potential impact on the epidemic of alcoholism and other drug abuse — I noticed that Dr. Hepatikos was becoming increasingly agitated. “Look!” I shouted.

Dr. Quark turned and watched with horror as his coworker slumped into a drunken stupor. Red warning lights began flashing and the digital BAC display showed an ominous .24. And it was climbing rapidly.

Quark leaped into action. He grabbed a Phillips #2 screwdriver and an electronic veeblefetzer. With smooth deft movements he opened the black box implanted in Dr. Hepatikos’ side and worked on the NPL controls. Precious minutes lapsed. The BAC climbed: .29, .31. By now Dr. Hepatikos was unconscious. In a few moments the alcohol in his bloodstream would reach fatal levels.

Quark worked with feverish precision.  A fine sweat broke out on his forehead.  He made several delicate adjustments.  Nothing.  He grunted and stepped back. He tapped the NPL lightly with the handle of his screwdriver.  His hands and eyes had a greenish glow.

The digital BAC read-out stopped climbing. It peaked at .35 and began to descend. We watched breathlessly as the BAC hit .31. It hung there for what seemed like an eternity. Then it shakily began going down: .29, .27, .25, .20.

I heaved a sigh of relief. “Close call,” I said.

“A minor malfunction,” Quark confidently replied. But as he watched the descending BAC, his voice flooded with restrained enthusiasm. “It works! It works!”

We turned Dr. Hepatikos over to a nurse who was instructed to give him vitamin B-12 shots and keep him away from alcohol and other intoxicants.

As we left the historic lab, another member of Quark’s staff came lurching down the hallway in the arms of two attendants.

“Another nuclear-powered liver implant?” I asked after they passed.

Quark smiled and shook his head. “No. That’s Dr. Pons.” Quark’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “He’s engaged in preliminary testing of . . . ” He paused coyly.

“Of what?” I blurted out impatiently.

“An ethanol-powered brain,” Quark said, with an air of almost mystical reverie. “We see it as a revolutionary new frontier in artificial intelligence.”