Chapter 21
People who worked for the Observer program assumed that the version numbers listed on the Observer Handbook referred to how many times the handbook had been revised and that 2.6 simply indicated that it was the most recent version.
That was not true. The versions indicated who received that particular version, not when that particular version had been written. Observers who watched over high-ranking officials received the Observer Handbook version 1.6. Observers who watched over FBI or CIA received version 2.1.
Very few were aware of this fact. The version they received was the only version they ever saw. None of the versions contradicted each other. They all contained the same information. Most of the differences involved how an Observer was to interact with his or her charge.
That, of course, led to the question: What was version 1.0 and who had it?
There were a select few. A very select few.
...and what it contained would be a surprise to anyone who thought they knew anything about the Observers.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
Tim came awake with a start. For a moment, he wasn't sure where he was, what was going on. He half-expected to see bars...a cell door.
A dead body...
Then, he took another breath and looked around the room.
The hospital. Right. Surgery.
It was dark out. It must be either really late or really early. Did that mean that the surgery had gone well or not? He didn't know. Why was it so dark? The surgery had begun in the morning. Surely, it hadn't taken all day.
Did it fail?
The thought made him feel sick. Maybe it had. Maybe it wasn't just the night after. Maybe it was days...or weeks. Years, even.
He started to feel what could only be described as abject terror at the thought.
I'm paralyzed...maybe I'm actually paralyzed now...but I can feel my legs. I know they're there.
He heard his own breath come out in short spurts. He really wished someone was there to tell him what was going on. He felt tears edging closer and closer to being expressed. It was from fear, nothing more...but nothing less. He was terrified at what seemed to be an all-too-likely possibility.
He wasn't thinking. He wasn't thinking when he sat up in bed, ignoring the slight giddiness that accompanied the sudden shift in position. He wasn't thinking when he clumsily pulled his body to the side of the bed and dropped his legs over the edge.
What if I can't walk? What will that mean? What if it was all for nothing?
Panic threatening to take over his mind completely, Tim maneuvered himself so that he could try to stand, little knowing what would happen, even less knowing how he could take it.
Just before he made the attempt, his door opened.
"Mr. McGee!"
Tim looked up and saw a nurse standing there, her eyes wide with surprise.
"What's going on?" he asked. "Why is it so dark? I don't understand!"
The nurse smiled encouragingly at him and approached the bed.
"It's okay, Mr. McGee. Don't worry. You're not ready to try standing just yet. Lay back."
Tim resisted her kindly restraining arms, shaking his head.
"I don't understand what's going on. I don't..."
"Your surgery went fine, Mr. McGee. Everything is fine."
"But why is it dark outside? What happened? Did something go wrong?"
Comprehension dawned in her eyes. "Oh, I see. Nothing went wrong. You were kept partially sedated for a few hours after your surgery and then, when we took you off sedation, I'm sorry, but we assumed you would be sleeping until the morning hours. That's the normal reaction."
"So...why keep me sedated? What happened?"
The nurse smiled at him. "Okay, Mr. McGee, before I answer that question, I want you to do something for me...a couple of things, actually."
"What?"
"First, lay back. Relax."
Tim managed a shaky smile and did as requested.
"Good. Now, I'm going to ask you to do some things that will seem ridiculous. Do them and humor me."
"Okay..."
She smiled and held up a piece of paper with a circle drawn on it.
"Touch the circle."
"What?"
"I told you it would seem ridiculous. Touch the circle."
Tim reached out and touched it without hesitation.
"Good."
The nurse ran Tim through a few other things, all of which made no sense, each time declaring his successful effort to be "good".
"What was all that?" he asked finally.
"You have successfully passed all the tests on cerebellar functioning we can perform at the moment."
"At the moment?"
"Considering your lack of balance, those tests will have to wait."
"Oh. So...why did you–?"
"Because what you weren't told before the surgery is that often, for a few hours, the cerebellum seems to shut down in the patient's head...meaning that you would have absolutely no control over your motor ability. Dr. Barter decided that, given your history, the negative experiences you've had, you'd be better off missing that part of your recovery. Dr. Barter performed the last tests just a few hours ago and you passed...which is why he took you off partial sedation."
"My cerebellum stopped working?"
"Yes. Briefly."
"And it's working now?"
"Yes. You passed all the tests."
"Those are pretty simple tests to prove whether or not my brain is working."
"It doesn't take much sometimes. It's all a matter of understanding the brain."
"And I'm okay?"
"Better than okay. Dr. Barter said that he's never had a surgery go so well."
"When will I know if I'll be able to walk?"
It was a sympathetic smile he received in reply.
"It's going to take some time. Your cerebellum has to heal, and you have to retrain yourself to walk. As you know, that's going to take therapy. Lots of it."
"Yeah. What would have happened if I had tried to stand up now?"
"I probably would have had to pick you up off the floor."
"You?" Tim asked with a slight smile, looking at her rather petite figure.
"Either me or some hired muscle. You feeling better?"
"Much. Thank you."
"I'm just glad I decided to come and check."
Tim nodded. The nurse got up to leave and then turned back.
"Mr. McGee, I hope you don't think I'm probing, but I have a question."
"What?"
"You were an Observer."
"Yeah."
"What was it like?"
"What do you mean?"
The nurse stepped forward earnestly. "What was it like, watching over people from a distance, holding so many lives in your hands?"
"Why?" Tim asked.
"I was recruited...years ago. I refused, but I always wondered what I'd given up."
"You didn't give up anything. You kept a lot of what I lost."
"Do you regret it, then?"
"Yes...and no."
"What will you do now?"
"I don't know." Tim looked at his still-useless legs. "Learn how to walk, I guess."
The nurse smiled. "May I suggest something else?"
"What?"
"Get some sleep."
Tim laughed. "Okay." He settled back, his mind much more at ease and let his eyes close.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
The nurse walked out of Tim's room and walked down the hall to an empty room. She sat down on a bed and pulled out a phone. Dialing quickly, she connected and gave a password. She was given access.
"Yes?"
"The surgery was successful."
"Good. Any sign of future action?"
"None as yet from him. He seems content to take it in small chunks right now."
"What about the others?"
"I haven't heard."
"All right. Thank you."
The nurse disconnected and then walked out of the room and continued her rounds.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
It was a small group of men and women who entered the conference room at an undisclosed location. As was required, everything about the meeting was secret from the date and time to the names of the members. All were known by face, but not by name. Access was gained via a series of passwords, some of which changed daily. It was all part of the security.
"How are the plans progressing?"
"Gaining ground in the West, particularly in the less densely-populated areas where there's never been much need."
"Here in the East?"
"Less, but there are some signs of progress."
"Such as?"
"NCIS of all places. They may be the group that starts the ball rolling."
"Interesting. What about the statistics?"
"Showing improvement...slightly. This year may prove to be the lynchpin."
"Wishful thinking or logic?"
"Can't it be both?"
"I doubt it."
Soft chuckles around the room.
"Requests are definitely down."
"How many withdrawals?"
"Only a few, but that could change."
"All right. Keep me informed."
"What about the President?"
"He is in agreement."
There were a few other items of business and then they withdrew as silently as they had come.
All but one. One stayed behind and looked around the room that had taken over so much of his life. How could he have known how much time it would have taken from him?
A wry smile crossed his face. He might have a different handbook than the rank and file Observers, but the first rule was still the same:
The Observer will not put any value on his own life. He must be willing to give up life, freedom, property, anything required if necessary in order to do his job. If, at any time, his life is in danger, he will give it up without thought. If at any time he attempts to preserve anything of his own at the expense of the life or comfort or wishes of his charge, he will be fired.
If only that were the case for him. He would dearly love to be fired. However, he had promised to uphold the ultimate purpose of the Observer program and he would not shirk his responsibilities.
...even when he had to look at the suffering of others and do nothing.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
When Tim awakened the next morning, he felt much more at ease than he had with his abrupt awakening during the night. Dr. Barter came in and apologized for the fact that the sedation had worn off so quickly. Tim felt some resentment about being kept in the dark about the side effects of his surgery, but he couldn't help but admit that Dr. Barter had been right about his likely reaction.
So what happened next was settling into his therapy which would last for months. For the first week, Tim wanted few visitors as he tried to adjust his mind to the new possibilities confronting him. That desire didn't last...particularly with Abby encouraging Tim to open up to the others. He promised to think about it, but he was still unsure.
Why would so many people really want to know someone like him? He was a nobody...a voice. Without his position as an Observer, he really didn't have anything to offer.
In his mind his only worth had been as a disembodied voice.