Free Passage by Connie Willis

an NDE.”
    “And Mr. Mandrake will claim that the effects produced in the laboratory aren’t the same as the ones the NDEer is experiencing. In his book Mr. Mandrake says the lights and tunnel vision produced during anoxia experiments are completely unlike the ones his patients describe.”
    “And without an objective standard, there’s no way to disprove that,” Richard said. “NDE accounts are not only subjective, they’re hearsay.”
    “And vague,” Joanna said. “So your project is hoping to develop an objective standard?”
    “No,” he said. “I’ve got one. Three years ago I was using the RIPT scan to map brain activity. You ask the subject to count to five, what his favorite color is, what roses smell like, and locate the areas of synaptical activity. And in the middle of the experiment, one of the subjects coded.”
    “Because of the scan?”
    “No. The scan itself’s no more dangerous than a CAT scan. Less, because there’s no radiation involved. It was a massive coronary. Completely unrelated.”
    “Did he die?” Joanna asked, thinking of Greg Menotti.
    “Nope. The crash cart team revived him, he had a bypass, and he was fine.”
    “And he’d had an NDE?”
    Richard nodded. “And we had a picture of it.” He reached in his lab coat pocket and pulled out an accordion-folded strip of paper. “It was three minutes before the crash cart could get there. The RIPT scan was running the entire time.”
    He shifted so he was sitting next to her and unfolded the long strip of pictures. They showed the same black cross-section of the brain she’d seen in PET scan photos, with areas colored in blue and green and red, but in sharper detail than she’d seen in the PET scan photos, and with rows and rows of coded data along either side.
    “Red indicates the greatest level of activity and blue the lowest,” Richard said. He pointed to an orangish-red area on the pictures. “This is the temporal lobe,” he said, “and this,” pointing to a smaller splash of red, “is the hippocampus.” He handed her the strip. “You’re looking at an NDE.”
    Joanna stared at the splotches of orange and yellow and green in fascination. “So it is a real thing.”
    “That depends on what you mean by real,” he said. “See this area where there’s no activity? That’s the visual cortex, and this and this are sensory areas, where outside information is processed. The brain isn’t getting any data from outside. The only stimuli are coming from deep inside the brain, which is bad news for Mandrake’s theory. If the patient were actually seeing a bright light or an angel, the visual cortex here and here,” he pointed, “would be activated.”
    Joanna stared at the dark blue areas. “What did he see?” she asked. “The man who coded.”
    “Mr. O’Reirdon,” Richard said. “A tunnel, a light, and several scenes from his childhood, all in succession.”
    “The life review,” Joanna murmured.
    “My guess is that those images are what account for the activation here,” he said, pointing at yellow-green spots in asuccession of the pictures. “These are random firing of long-term-memory synapses.”
    “Did he see a shining figure in white?” Joanna asked.
    He shook his head. “He felt a holy presence that told him to come back, and then he was on the table.”
    He indicated a picture near the end of the strip. “This is where he came out of the NDE state. You can see the radically different pattern. Activity drops off sharply in the temporal lobe and increases in the visual and auditory cortexes.”
    Joanna wasn’t listening. She was thinking, they always talk about going and coming back, as if it were a real place. NDEers all talked about it that way. They said, “I came back to the ambulance then,” or, “I went through the tunnel,” or, “The whole time I was there, I felt so peaceful and safe.” And Greg Menotti had said, “Too far away for her to come,” as if he were no longer in the