To Walk Again
In the quiet confines of the hospital room, Nooj lay edgily waiting for the therapist to arrive. Today was the day he was to begin to learn to walk again. Maester Mounfar had promised to prod the Al Bhed attendants into starting him on the path to independence. Unfortunately the path would not begin with a single step; steps of any sort or number were far down the road for him. First he must be trained in the use of the machina arm that now lay heavy and useless on the mattress beside him. He felt like a rag doll that had been modified with the addition of a lead soldier's parts, half the one and half the other, neither half able to function with any ease. The fact that the mechanical arm and leg were permanently a part of his living body did not make him the more inclined to accept or trust them. In fact, he had tried to rid himself of them only to discover that his current strength was not equal to the task. In the aftermath of that fiasco, Mounfar had convinced him that if he was ever to escape the confines of the hospital and participate in the outside world again he would have to make his peace with the impedimenta that had been foisted upon him.
He threw back the sheet and looked at the leg with silent loathing. The clumsy mal-formed thing was as repellent as he remembered. He was not surprised to be once more consumed with the desire, no, the compulsion to rip it away and be done with it. Better dead on the mountain top than like this. Death on the mountain top was what he had been hunting when the limbs and the heart and the lung had been taken in a climactic moment of conflict with the monster Sin. It had never been part of his plan to end up like this – maimed, helpless and weak. He had spent his adult life as a Warrior and now what was he? A useless collection of disparate pieces discarded and immobile on a bed. He raged internally and with utter futility.
The whisper of soft soles on a hard surface alerted him and he hastily pulled the sheet back into place as a cheerful looking little woman with Al Bhed features walked into the room, eyeing him speculatively.
"Good morning, Nooj. I am Gilden, your therapist. I hope you're in the mood to work today." She bent to raise the head of the bed. "Now, can you sit up by yourself or shall I help you?"
"I think I can do at least that." He struggled to pull himself erect and, bracing with his right arm, swung his right leg over the edge of the bed before attempting to move the rigid left leg.
"Let me help you with that; no sense using all your energy just getting ready to work." With a quick twist, she aligned the prosthetic leg alongside the other, bending the knee with a practiced gesture. "Now into this chair..." She beckoned to the orderly who had positioned himself just inside the door and who, without apparent effort, scooped up Nooj's body, shifting him into the wheeled chair the therapist had pulled up alongside the bed.
A sudden wave of vertigo seized the invalid and he made an abrupt grab at the chair's arm. He resented every symptom of his incapacity and this unaccustomed weakness was yet a further assault on his dignity. In addition, being lifted like an infant both infuriated and humiliated him.
"I could have managed," he snarled and was appalled by the whining querulous sound of his own voice.
"Yes, I expect you to put yourself back into the bed when we're finished today." She wheeled him briskly down the hall to the therapy room.
"What's to be done today?" He heard himself with more satisfaction, noting that he sounded controlled and in charge again.
"Well, first we need to check and make sure the connections are properly established. You have been told that you will be moving the machina with your mind, haven't you?"
"Mounfar mentioned something about that."
"Then you understand what must be done. We are going to teach you to use the arm first, so that you can manage crutches and, later, a cane so you can move around. Now..." She lifted the inert machina arm and placed it on a small tabouret, bending the elbow so that the forearm and hand lay flat. "Search in the area of your brain dedicated to the left side of your body and identify the nerves that went to your hand originally."
There was silence in the room. Nooj sat, eyes closed, and concentrated on rummaging through his mind. There! He had them! The synapses which had powered his lost hand. There was a strange feeling – a numbness – as though they had been forced into a vise that had deprived them of sensation. He tentatively manipulated the levers – this time watching the metal and ceramic hand closely. A minute twitch ignited a spark of hope which he quickly suppressed lest it flame out of control. He could no longer emotionally afford too much hope.
"It seems the wiring is correct and has survived the stress you put it through."
Nooj was momentarily confused. Did she expect him to apologize for trying to get rid of the implants? He looked up at her from under his brows. Her face was serene, reflecting neither blame nor approbation. She placed her own hand under his prosthetic one. "Try to grasp my fingers, but gently. I'd rather you didn't pinch them off."
He turned his mind back to operating the mental controls he had located.
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Two hours later, the therapist called a pause for rest. Nooj fell back against the padded support of the chair and twisted his neck and shoulders, trying to work out the tension that had gathered there. He was more tired than he ever remembered being in his entire life, aching in every muscle he had left. It had never occurred to him how much effort and energy went into such simple things as closing one's fist. The machina hand lay on the stand, glove removed and the glistening rods looking innocently benign. It was a small thing to be so effective an instrument of torture. Without actually thinking about it, Nooj recalled the ease with which he had grasped a sword with the original and was astonished to see the replacement quickly shape itself as though holding a hilt.
Gilden turned to him, "Did you do that on purpose?"
"Not really, I was just remembering how easy it used to be."
"And the hand responded?"
"Seems like it did."
"All right! That's more progress than I thought you'd make in a week. Now, rest and I'll send down for some lunch and we'll start on the shoulder afterwards. As soon as you get the shoulder and elbow working, you can try the crutches and then stand up. This is phenomenal!" She made no effort to hide her excitement. The Al Bhed were not stoics.
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Once the position of the controls had been located and isolated, headway was made with ever increasing momentum. After he had rested a while and had eaten, he had found the key to the shoulder and the elbow quickly and by the end of the day was able to raise the machina arm and bend it to touch his head and the other side of the chair. Gilden restrained him from attempting any more on the first day, insisting he not overly tire the still not entirely stable implanted nerves.
"I'm going to take you back to your room now and let you get yourself back into your bed. And that will be enough for one day. Nooj, you're still fragile and can easily lose all this progress if you're not careful. Tomorrow, we'll do all this over again and perhaps try the crutches."
The trip back to his room seemed much shorter than the reverse had been in the morning. He was able to use both arms to pull himself from the wheeled chair and onto the edge of the bed where he sat slumping with exhaustion.
"Now, lie back and I'll put your legs up and you can sleep for a long time." Gilden patted his back with an almost maternal pride. "Then I'll fasten this arm down so you don't try to use it in your sleep." She broached this gingerly, having read the full report on the previous incident and having been warned about his sensitivity on this subject.
"What! I won't let you do that. I won't be tied down again – not for any reason." The memory of the day before was too strong and raw.
"Nooj, please let me do this so we don't have to start all over again tomorrow." She was patient; her profession had accustomed her to irrational men.
"Do you think I am likely to forget how to access the controls? I assure you my people are better schooled than that."
"No, I don't think you'll forget. I'm concerned you may dislodge one or more of the connections if you move too much or abruptly in your sleep. Now you've found the way and we know they work, Gaing needs to secure the nerve endings more firmly in their receptors; he'll do that early tomorrow."
"More surgery?" Nooj was torn between disquiet and disgust. "Why wasn't I warned?"
"We didn't want to worry you before we checked. It's not going to be like all the other ones. You'll be awake. They'll use local blocking spells." Gilden coaxed watching him carefully.
"No paralysis or such?" He remained suspicious.
"Only the most minimal. I give my word and you can talk to Mounfar first if you wish."
"That shouldn't be necessary. All right – do what you must."
The weary resignation in his tone concerned her; she must not break him any further. "I'll do as little as I can. And I'll be here early before they take you down for the surgery. Now, lie very still." She carefully positioned the left arm at his side and, using soft gauze, bound it to his body so that there could be no inadvertent movement. That done, she laid her hand on his forehead and with a gentle pat was gone.
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Once again Nooj was positioned on the surgeon's table, looking up into the glaring lights. This time he saw them since he was permitted to retain his consciousness. He could not move because of the paralyzing spells that had been cast when he was first wheeled in but his eyelids were free and he could observe the activity around him. His left shoulder had been bared of the flesh-like material that had sealed it and, if he turned his head and eyes as far as possible, he could see the tangle of rods and cables that formed the foundation of his left arm. The Al Bhed surgeon, Gaing was probing deeply into the oozing red matter in which the machina devices were fixed and, peering through his magnifiers, was manipulating a nearly invisible tool which resembled a deformed hook to tighten the receptors around the neural bundles governing the actions of the arm.
Nooj could feel the pressure of the tool and the quick erratic bursts of heat that signaled the sealing of an area. He had requested and had been allowed to manage his own pain control - to his great satisfaction. In that way, he could keep his awareness high and feel less at the mercy of his Healers – particularly the surgeon, whom he trusted not at all.
Finally, the task complete, Gaing drew the pseudo skin back over the open wound and cemented it in place – closing off the cavity in which he had worked and concealing the internal parts of his inventions. He washed the fresh blood from the site and, as attendants wiped down the area, strode toward the door.
"Wait." Nooj had to struggle against the fringes of the paralysis to force out the word. "I'm sorry I put you to the trouble of repeating your work this week."
Gaing didn't bother to hide his surprise. "You're a stubborn one, aren't you? I don't know many who could talk with this degree of stillness on them. It's all right; repeating the job just made sure I knew what I was doing. But, I'd rather not do it again. I'll probably see you in a few days when I do the finishing job on your leg." With a brusque clap on the limb in question, he left, shrugging off his gown. At the door he turned to add, "I should be grateful you're so stubborn. If you weren't you'd never have survived what I did to you in the first place."
Nooj did not have the strength to respond to that statement as he relinquished the effort to stay awake and let himself drop into sleep.
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Days passed, each marked by its own milestone. The first time he stood erect without the assistance of another human was a moment of particular celebration for him, persuading him that there was the possibility of independence somewhere in the future. Gilden had propped the second crutch into the hollow of his left shoulder and held it there until he could fasten his machina hand around the grip. When she let go and stepped back, he felt himself tremble and sway but with all his will power, forced himself to stand upright and steady for several minutes before collapsing onto the elevated bed. Only a few hours later, he was positioning both crutches himself and standing longer and more steadily.
The next day, he took his first step since his death on the mountain-top. With the crutches firmly in place and his gaze fixed with equal firmness on the floor, he tentatively slid the mechanical foot a scant four inches and lurched forward, almost falling before the strong arm of the attendant orderly caught him.
"I think I'd do better with a cane instead of the two sticks." He muttered when he had recovered his balance. "I can't seem to get them moving in sync with my right foot."
Gilden nodded, "OK. We'll try that. Whatever you feel comfortable with. Have you any sense of where the controls of the leg are?"
"Not yet. I'm moving the leg with the residual muscles in what's left of the thigh and hip because I can't feel anything at all in the area. Do you suppose they've not connected or slipped away?"
"Don't know. They shouldn't; if you can't locate them by the end of the week, I'll ask Gaing to check it out."
Nooj accepted the cane with its ergonomically designed handle and, with his other hand on the rail of the bed, stood gradually erect, seeking his center of gravity. After a few minutes, he breathed deeply in satisfaction and smiled tightly.
"That's better. I feel more confident. I'm going to try for a full step."
"Be careful; don't try too much until you're sure." She motioned the orderly into position where he could catch or at least cushion a potential fall.
The maimed man focused inward, visualizing his movements with precision, then with his weight on his right foot, eased the left one forward until it was well in advance of the other. He slowly shifted his weight until it was supported on the cane which he had moved to align with the machina foot and, teetering for a moment, lifted the right foot and brought it forward to parallel its fellow. There he was! A full pace away from the bed, still upright. He paused before repeating the actions, this time more quickly and with a longer step. Again and again. With a gesture of triumph, he flung back his head and laughed. He was walking! No more immobility; he could walk again. In his delight, he neglected to look at what he was doing and the cane intersected the motion of the foot. Unable to feel what was happening and unaware of the tangle, he fell heavily before the aide could catch him and sprawled on the floor, still laughing.
"So much for pride. I'm punished for the sin before I even get to enjoy it. Help me up if you will be so kind."
Once on his feet again, he declined an offer to rest and continued the exercise until he had made a full circuit of the room, ending up again at the side of the bed where he had begun. With an air of accomplishment, he shoved himself onto the mattress and lay back against the raised headrest, the cane carefully placed by his side.
"I'll just keep this," he said, gripping the shaft possessively. "I may decide to get up again while you're away."
Gilden, who had watched with both delight and concern as he insisted on doing more than she thought sensible, almost shouted, "No! You must not try this until you're steadier and stronger. You've got to promise me that you won't get up without help until I say so."
"Do you think you can stop me?" He was coolly contemptuous.
She angrily pressed her lips together, "I can report your behavior to Mounfar. He can stop you and you know it."
Nooj lay still and did not speak; his eyes were focused on the door behind her where the figure of Gaing had made its appearance.
The Al Bhed surgeon strolled into the room. "Am I interrupting a therapy session?'
"Not at all," Gilden almost curtseyed. "Our star patient has just completed a walk around the entire circumference of this room and I was reminding him not to overdo it."
"The whole room? On your first try? I see you're using the cane and not the crutches. I was going to suggest that since you have good upper body strength. Any problems?"
"Well, yes. He can't seem to find the controls for the leg and is using the muscles alone and that's not going to work too well." She ran her finger down the length of the hip and thigh stump.
"No; there's not enough there. Tell you what – tomorrow morning, I'll open this area and tinker a bit with the receptors and so forth while you're awake. That should help you identify them and we'll see. Do you want to discuss anything else with me?"
Nooj shook his head before Gilden could break in.
"Well, I want to talk to you a bit. Therapist, could you and your helper leave us for a little while?"
"Certainly, doctor. We'll be in the office if you need us."
When they were alone, Gaing drew a chair up beside the bed and settled himself down for what he obviously intended to be a long chat.
"There are some things we haven't talked about. Many amputees have questions about intimate and personal matters that they are reluctant to bring up. I have had experience dealing with such problems and, as your surgeon, am willing and available to answer any questions you may care to pose." He waited expectantly.
Nooj was silent, his face unreadable.
Gaing tried again, "It is natural to be embarrassed and hesitant about facing these sorts of thoughts. I really believe I can reassure you. For instance, there is no reason for you to fear that you cannot again establish an intimate relationship of the type you had before your injuries."
Nooj raised an eyebrow, "Do you seriously think I'm worried about that? What do you imagine I think about during these interminable days and nights? Sexual encounters? I assure you I have far more pressing concerns."
"Well, it's just that most amputees ..." Gaing began to explain.
"I am not most amputees. I am a man who died and was forced to take up the burden of living again. One who is expected to be grateful for the efforts of you meddling midgets and to follow the customary path of the recovering veteran. Forget it! I'm not your typical patient, Gaing. I'm trying with great effort to contain my anger and disgust at what was done to me without my consent and I have no intention of discussing any of my private affairs with you or any other stranger."
"I know you're different; that's why I want to help. I've put you back together twice now so I feel a proprietary interest in your survival and I want to make it as smooth as possible."
"So, in order to smooth my way back into an existence I don't want, you are planning to pry into the functioning of my sexual organs as well as the organs you replaced? Sorry, I don't get the connection. You're entitled, I suppose, to check on the proper workings of the parts you're responsible for but no further. I will not be your experimental rat any longer."
Gaing straightened up in the chair and his expression hardened. "All I want to do today is to assure you that you should have no difficulty in paying your racial birth-debt – yes, I know about that little bit of of your traditions. Your sperm count should be entirely normal. We didn't mess around with any of those parts. So your mind should be eased on the subject – when you get around to thinking about it."
"Thank you for the information. However it is of no use to me at the moment. I do not now have and am not likely to have soon a suitable partner to discharge that debt." Nooj was at his stiffest and most forbidding.
"I'm sure a hero like you will have no problems finding an acceptable companion to share his life."
Nooj laughed his bitter laugh. "Gaing, I should be grateful for your efforts both surgical and psychological. And I am fully aware that you have done your utmost to heal me in every way. However, it is only fair to remind you again that I did not want to survive that event on the mountain and as soon as I am fit, I shall continue the pursuit on which I was engaged with all the vigor I mustered before your intervention. I am not looking for a companion to share my life; I am looking for a place to lose it."
"You're not a Deathseeker." Gaing made the statement flatly and positively. "You can't be."
"Then I'm not; it's not worth the argument. But I am very tired. May I rest now?"
"Oh, of course. Forgive me." Somewhat flustered, the Al Bhed stood up and sought a graceful way to take his departure. "Now listen to the therapist and don't try to do too much."
"Her name is Gilden; she is an excellent professional. By the way, tell her I'll wait for her presence before I attempt to use the cane again."