III

ACCEPTANCE

同意

Thomas couldn't believe he'd slept that long. You'd think being preserved within a giant freezer for a thousand years would mean you could go a day or so without sleep. He had to be realistic with himself, though. There was no telling what the process had done to his internal clock. He noticed early on that his sense of time had been altered. Maybe it was the time zone. The headaches were more consistent now, bordering on a minor annoyance than anything else. His reflexes were still lethargic; it would take a few more days until he was just right.

Thomas looked around the dark room that opened up into the dimly lit lab. Everything was so quiet, giving Thomas the impression that he was alone. To him, it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. He imagined Dr. D had sealed off the lab, giving him privacy without disruption.

Non sense!

Thomas wasn't about to spend his first few days lying in bed. There was so much work to get done, namely, rebuilding BEEK. Not to mention that he needed to regroup with Van, Ms. Fiona, and the other three that he didn't really need to see. The stories that they would have! It would also be interesting to see what had changed over the course of a millennium – the people, the technology, the new government. Thousands of possibilities swirled through his lurching mind. He needed to calm down.

Compartmentalize.

That's what he needed to do. Form one goal at a time, accomplish it, and move on to the next. He couldn't expect to jump back into the swing of things. It didn't work like that, at least not anymore. So where would he start?

Thomas angled his head, starting at the digital clock at his bedside. It was 5:17 am. He'd been resting for seventeen hours since been reanimated. That was too long by his standards, but he figured his body used that exorbitant amount time to reboot, repair, and replenish.

He lifted his body up from the cot and stood up, awkwardly stumbling into the file cabinet next to him. His mouth tasted disgustingly salty from the nutritional supplement's aftertaste. It built up in the back of this throat, and the sensation to spit was strong. He flicked on the lights. An overwhelming sense of nausea smothered him the moment the lights flashed in his eyes. The sensation dropped him to his knees. He pulled the nearest trash receptacle that was next to him and vomited inside. The regurgitated mess was the same color was the fluid Dr. D made him drink earlier. It must've been for more than his throat.

Thomas sped through his hygiene, quickly fetching the notebook that he stuff under his pillow. He increased the intensity of the lights, sat on the floor next to his cot, and cracked open the notebook to the first page. The pages had aged surprisingly well for being a millennium old. There was some yellowing, but the handwriting was still legible enough to read. The first few pages dated back to when he was in his late teens. They had yellowed the most, and some of the words had begun to smear. He remembered the jest of it – the mathematical diagrams, the equations, the scribbles of writing; it was all the early developments of BEEK. As interesting as it was to look, it wasn't where his focus was. BEEK would have to wait.

Thomas kept reading, periodically popping breath mints in his mouth to cancel out the foul taste from his vomit. The toothpaste practically didn't do anything. He turned the notebook over, licked his thumb, and went through the latter pages until he found a date he wasn't familiar with. He struck gold on the twentieth page from the last:

Wednesday, March the 30th of ZAC 2124

Dr. D and I have completed the preliminary trials for cryo-stasis pods for Project BLACK TUNNEL. Initial results were not positive. Test subjects experienced raw and blistered skin from the freezing effects. There were several cases of frostbite, resulting in the amputation of digits from hands and feet. Dr. D suggest that we limit the about coolant used on the next trial.

Thursday, March the 31st of ZAC 2124

We've begun secondary trials for test subjects. Dialing back the coolant to three fifths has produced "interesting" results. Occupants did not experience skin irritation or damage. However, they awoke earlier than anticipated, which concludes that our chosen sedative must be increased. Enough must be administered to keep the subject asleep until the automated reanimation agent takes affect at the end of the pod's scheduled preservation date. Extended trials will begin tomorrow at 0700 hours. Subjects will be induced for three months' time.

Monday, July the 1st of ZAC 2124

It's been three months and the subjects were awakened at 0700 under the supervision of Dr. D, myself, and Colonel Rob Herman. After nearly 17 hours of observation, the subjects have experienced several side effects. They include extreme nausea, disorientation, hindered motor skills, and most surprisingly, memory loss. This was NOT expected as it has presented obstacles we were not prepared for. Dr. D and assisting medical staff have concluded the amount of dosage to keep the subjects asleep affects the cerebrum region of the brain. Upon awakening, the subjects did not recall being placed within the pods… ever!

It appears that they're short-term memory has been wiped prior to the three month experiment. They do not remember working on the latter portions of the project, including the pod tests. One subject became extremely unstable as he couldn't recall why his ring and pinky fingers were amputated from his right hand. Sedation was required. The second subject did not exhibit any signs of instability, but was very confused and didn't recall his involvement in the program. He'd been used prior for the past six months! This is an unexpected roadblock.

Aside from memory loss, there were no other adverse side effects. Another key note is that subjects induced will not age. This is due to the coolant and stasis field built into the pods. Subjects would not survive projected timetable if the aging process is not hindered. That covered, more tests will be conducted concerning the solution to memory loss.

Tuesday, July the 14th of ZAC 2124

Okay, tests show that the memory loss is, for the moment, permanent. Subjects have been intensely tested for two weeks without success. All memory, specifically three and a half months, have been cleaned from the subject's memory. There is no telling if the memory will return, but this exhibits a major flaw in the technology. We're running out of time. The rebellion is getting worse, and it's only going to be a matter of before they reach the city. The main candidates MUST be prepped for stasis-pod entry by the end of this current year. We can't wait any longer. The fearis that the candidates, upon rising for prolonged slumber, will suffer significant memory loss. Exact figures are not known, but candidates stand to lose 2 to 5 years prior to being induced. This presents an extreme issue that we might not have time to resolve.

Thomas flipped through the next few pages, his mind reeling. He'd have to suppress his questions later. He had to know what happened next, popped another mint.

Friday, September 6th of ZAC 2125

This will be my last entry. It's happened! The rebels have breached the city. Republican and Guardian Force pilots have been deployed to deal with the threat. It's our fault; we've cut it too close. All solutions to prevent memory loss have failed. We have no choice. Candidates Lieutenant Van Flyheight, Lieutenant Thomas R. Schubaltz, "Elisi Linette" Fiona, Irvine, Moonbay, Dr. D, and the organoid Zeke will have to enter the cryo-stasis pods ASAP. The pods will be set to reanimate candidates in exactly 1,000 years. By then, enough time will have passed until this rebellion is resolved. We cannot win this, and the enemy will continue their onslaught until they succeed in the capture of the ancient Zoidian Fiona. Running is not an option, fighting is not an option. This is a last resort, and we're taking it.

I am Thomas Richard Schubaltz, and I'm writing this to myself. In the likelihood that my memory is compromised, I'm to read these notes and begin rebuilding whatever is left. I should not feel bad when I read this. I've said what has needed to be said to my eldest brother Colonel Karl L. Schubaltz. He will remain here, along with Rob Herman of the Republic, to battle the rebels until all is finished.

-Thomas R. Schubaltz

Lieutenant, Guardian Force

Thomas closed the notebook and leaned his head back on the cot. What he felt like he'd been catapulted into the stratosphere without a parachute, feeling his stomach in his throat on the way down until he splattered on the ground. He ran his hands through his hair and exhaled, his breath cool from the multitude of mints. His headache was back, and this time it actually hurt. The images that fired through his mind were obscure at best. He didn't know whether they were real or just projections from his imagination. What was this rebellion that he kept writing about? He tightly shut his eyes, searching for the memories that just weren't there.

The notebook was flung across the lab.

Thomas hated that he couldn't remember, he hated that Karl wasn't here, he hated that everything he'd known was gone, and he was beginning to hate this new time. No, he had to step back and remove emotion from the equation. He didn't hate where he was. He was grateful. There was just an undeniable feeling of guilt welling up inside of him. Guilt about abandoning the world he'd know behind when it was trouble, guilt about not forcing Karl to come with them, and guilt for nothing staying behind himself to fight.

Was he really needed here?

He didn't think so, not really. Leaving the former world behind was, from what Thomas read, about Fiona and her safety. Van was more than capable of taking care of her. Christ, the two of them practically shared the same heart! He should've stayed with Karl and fought with him. What if he'd died at the hand of these… rebels? Wait… who were these rebels anyway?

Thomas couldn't take it. He needed to get some air before he imploded. If he spent another second in that lab, we would literally tear the place apart in frustration. He got up from the floor and opened the chest that was at the foot of his cot. A few articles of clothing were folded nearly inside: t-shirts, boxer briefs, two pairs of jeans, a fleece, a hoodie, and a heavy winter jacket.

He checked the digital clock/thermometer – 34 degrees; high 40, low 29.

Thomas grabbed the dark navy blue hoodie and slipped it on. The fabric wasn't thick, but at this point, he wouldn't mind the cold. It would numb him. He stepped into a pair of boots, laced them up, and went over to rummage through the duffle bag next to his pod. He eyeballed the pistol for several minutes, contemplating whether or not to take it. There wasn't a need, decided against it. He would give this world the benefit of the doubt, even though no one would look at him twice for carrying a gun; it was, from what he suspected, a military facility. He took the phone instead, powered it on, and stuffed it in his pocket before heading to the door.

The younger Schubaltz barely set his fingertips on the "unlock" icon before the door hissed open. Dr. D stood in the doorway with a tray of covered food in his hands. He nearly lost the whole thing in surprise, dropped the container of orange juice instead. Thomas bent down and picked it up, placing it neatly in the open section of the tray.

"Shucks, you're up early," Dr. D laughed. "I was hoping to slip this in while you were still sleeping."

Thomas fiddled with his hands. "Thanks. I'll eat it later."

Dr. D licked his lips, catching the distress in Thomas's eyes. Something was wrong. He glanced into the back room behind him, notching the disheveled cot and an open notebook lying on the floor several feet away. It wasn't like Thomas to be disorderly. "Is everything okay?"

Thomas stammered, hands still unsure where to go. "I… I just need some air. I can't…"

"It's okay," Dr. D planted a smile. "You don't have to explain. Just let me set the tray down and I'll lead you out. This place is a labyrinth."

"I'll find a way out, thanks." Thomas couldn't wait for Dr. D. He'd want to talk. Sometimes you just didn't feel like talking. Silence was best. He motioned around Dr. D and jogged away down the narrow hall.

"Thomas!" Dr. D called out.

Thomas didn't heed his name being called out. He rounded the next corner, moving away from the RESTRICTED AREA zone he just left. It was wide and spacious and bright, scarcely populated by a few early-morning workers. Some nodded to Thomas with a polite smile, while others were too engrossed in their phones and PDAs too notice. Thomas didn't care either way. He came to the end of the hall that branched out in two directions.

Signs were planted against the walls and up above: - ELEVATORS, MEDICAL WING, MEETING ROOM IV; - STAIRS, BREAK ROOM, LOGISTICS.

Thomas went left, keeping his gait just below a hurried pace. He wouldn't attract much attention, just a man moving where he needed to go. The elevators were ahead of him now on the left. A few people were already waiting for them, but he blended in with the crowd. The smell of coffee and fabric softener practically bled from every person he stood next to. It made him feel sick, the nausea creeping up again. He held down as the doors opened, pushing his way forward so he could access the button panel. Without much thought, he pressed first floor icon and backed away for the others to come inside.

The group of people crammed inside, requested their floor, and rode in silence. A few them meddled in mundane conversation – the weather, what their day was going to be like, not getting enough sleep; it all crept under Thomas's skin. He didn't know why their voices irritated him. They were just talking, going about their natural morning. He left lost, out of sync. Screaming was his first impulse, screaming and running away.

When the elevator finally pinged at the first floor, he was alone with two other occupants. The doors barely parted before Thomas rushed through them. The lobby broad and spacious, tiled with black, reflective linoleum. ZOIDS BATTLE COMMISSION HEADQUARTERS was built into the wall above the exit doors in large letters that transitioned from silver to bluish silver, and then a dull lavender. Uniformed personnel moved around Thomas like he didn't exist. He didn't want to stand idle for too long. A man standing in the middle of the lobby in a hoodie and sweat pants looked suspicious.

Thomas started walking, breaching the doors and out in the early winter air. It hadn't begun to snow yet, but the air was just as cold with sleek streets and dead trees. He was greeted with a bay, honking boats, and massive skyscrapers that were at his far left. Walking gingerly, he crossed the street was the devoid of traffic for the moment. He was thankful that the headquarters building had its own grounds. The last thing he needed was to be met with a multitude of people and their numerous voices. Aside from distant city noises, fog horns, and occasional vehicle tires crunching over the concrete, it was relatively quiet.

The former lieutenant made it to the benches that lined the bay, deciding to lean against the railing. There were a few people sitting at them, but he didn't bother to look at them. He rested his forearms on the cold railing and looked down into the dark water. The sun was still rising, casting dull light through the cloud cover. Thomas breathed in and out; he didn't realize his heart was beating so fast. It must've been an anxiety attack. He almost laughed at that, finding the whole situation darkly comical. His world was dead, and the only reminders that he had was sitting on the floor back in the lab. Going back and opening that notebook would be hard. What else had he documented that would scare him half to death?

The cool air circulated through his body, but he didn't shiver. There was a solace about the place that he couldn't quite explain if someone ever asked him. It was like an overwhelming calm that washed over him. He doubted there was anything mystical about it. Maybe he just needed to be outside. The walls seemed to be closing in on him, trapping. Geez, was this how it was for everyone else coming out of cryo-stasis?

It may have been an hour or so before Thomas decided the flip the hood over his head. The cold was starting to set in; he still remained where he was. He wasn't ready to head back inside, to face Dr. D's questions. Was it strange that he didn't want to be comforted, to be told that everything was going to be okay even though it wasn't? Or maybe everything was okay and he was just overreacting? He came here to protect Fiona, but it also gave him a chance to start anew. For so long he'd only known war and conflict. How he would deal with peacetime was beyond him. He supposed the Battle Commission had a job for him, otherwise he wouldn't know what to do with himself.

Thomas sighed and hung his head low.

"I've had that feeling many times before."

The voice came up behind Thomas before someone stood beside him. Thomas kept his eyes straight, the hood obscuring his peripheral vision. Great, this was the last thing he needed. Dr. D must've sent some shrink to talk to him.

"It gets easier," the voice added. "What you're feeling will pass."

Thomas vented a humorless laugh, visible breath curling from his lips. "No offense, but I'd rather be alone right now."

"That'll pass, too." The stranger interlocked his gloved fingers and hung them over the railing. "I know how you're feeling. You—"

"I doubt that," Thomas said in a condescending tone. "You don't even know who I am or what's going on in my head."

"You'd be surprised," the stranger laughed. "Thomas Richard Schubaltz of the Guardian Force. You still think your BEEK is better than my organoid?"

Thomas's expression dropped. He pulled up from the railing, apprehensive to face the originator's voice. Was it really him? Thomas ignored the churning sensation in his gut, removed his hood, and turned to face the stranger.

Van Flyheight stood there with a boyish smirk on his face.

Thomas's mouth fell open. Those dark eyes that only belonged to one person stared back at him in silence. For the first time since ever meeting the man, Thomas was at a loss for words. His throat suddenly felt dry. "Van?"

"I certainly hope so," Van grinned. "No one else better be walking around with this face."

Thomas couldn't process it. He didn't understand why. Dr. D told him that Van and a few others had come through with him, so why was he having difficulty accepting that. It just didn't seem real, Van didn't seem real. He was different somehow; Thomas couldn't place it. Van certainly looked the same, but there was something about his demeanor that was… off.

"Dr. D said you were awake, but he wanted us to wait at least 24 hours before we caught up," Van explained. He nudged Thomas with his fist. "It's great to see you again, Thomas."

Thomas blinked rapidly. "Yeah… yeah, good to see you." He turned back to face the bay. "I'm sorry; I'm just having a hard time believing you're actually here. You feel so alone waking up, y'know? Did you feel the same way?"

Van could only chuckle through his nose. "Yeah, I felt the same way." He decided to forgo the details of his reanimation. Thomas would need to take everything in in stages, not all at once like he did. "Look, the important thing is that you're here. I dare say that I missed you."

Thomas belched out in laughter. "Not a chance!" The laughter quickly faded, toning down into a vanishing smile. His face steeled and met Van's eyes. "You said it gets easier. Is that true?"

Van touched Thomas's shoulder. There was a tenderness to it, a reassurance. He wouldn't lie. "Yes. Maybe not at first, but you'll know when it comes."

"You and Fiona – how did you cope?"

Van's eyes veered away from Thomas's face. His hand dropped from his shoulder as he turned to stare aimlessly out into New Helic Bay. The question felt like it hit him in the gut. He was still trying to cope; and Fiona, well, she'd yet to begin coping. She never had a chance, really. Keep it to yourself, Van. You can tell Thomas when he's ready. "It's a process. Sometimes it's easier for others. It's all about acceptance. But you're not alone in this, Thomas. You've got us. C'mon—" Van eased Thomas around and gestured toward the building. "Let's get inside and get warm. Everybody's waitin' for ya."

Thomas sighed in surrender. "Yeah, sure." He playfully jabbed Van in his ribs. "You guys better have a good reason for leaving me in that freeze for an extra year."

Van scratched a non-existent itch behind his head with a laugh. "Yeah, that one'll knock your socks off." He looked away from Thomas, smile dropping. I just hope you're ready for it.