[Like the last chapter, I was unable to get any outside feedback before posting it. Again, please feel free to leave any constructive feedback you may have. Is anything unclear, confusing, seemingly out of place? That sort of thing. And a 'thank you' to those who've made it this far and left the reviews, it's meant a lot. Just sorry I can't figure out how to respond directly.]
9
The next day, Koyomi is able to get some free time from work to come meet with Ido and Gerhad in order to discuss this problem of getting me safely through the gate. She walks into the clinic with a smile and a cheerful greeting. Considering the nature of what's being discussed, Ido has closed the place for now, so it's just the four of us. Koyomi herself is a young woman of asian descent who looks to be in her early twenties. Her hair is gathered into a curtain of braids around her head, reminiscent of old Egyptian-type hairstyles portrayed in movies like Cleopatra, with colored ribbons woven into a few of the braids. Upon our first meeting, her cheerful demeanor sets my teeth on edge, and I find myself taking an immediate dislike to the young woman. I know it's just irritability brought on by my illness, so I do my best to keep it to myself.
Alita is unable to attend due to a scheduled practice session with her Second League team. It's a last-minute practice to finish calibrating new parts and iron out some modifications for the team before tomorrow's scheduled game. This leads me to ask how often Alita's going to be practicing and for how long. Which turns into a bit of a discussion on Motorball. While I'm no great fan of either sport, turns out that Motorball is handled in a fashion that's surprisingly similar to the Nascar races of my time.
According to Ido's explanations, each team is allowed to schedule four or so practice rounds of a couple hours each, during the daylight hours on days between their scheduled matches. This allows them to go through team tactics, replenish supplies for the next match, familiarize themselves with new equipment or modifications, as well as get to know any new track layouts the officials may decide on for a given match. The track is somewhat modular, allowing for it to change how it twists and turns within the confines of the arena and adjust the location of obstacles in some areas.
Maintenance costs seem to be among the main considerations for limiting practice sessions. The track requires constant upkeep and repairs considering the fairly steady beating it suffers as heavily armored, and armed, cyborgs battle each other throughout it's length. This brings up the cost of maintaining the player's motorball bodies.
As Ido puts it, "Especially in First League, and Second League to a somewhat lesser degree, the parts used for the paladin bodies can get prohibitively expensive due to the much higher quality that's needed in order to remain competitive. This has lead to a rise in black market demands for jacked parts."
'Oh, now there's some good news!' I think irately to myself, 'Even if I do get walking again, I'll have to dodge people trying to rip my limbs off again, to sell on the black market.' This thought further fouls my mood.
Of the regular matches, there are usually two for each of the three leagues during the course of a month. This doesn't count any grudge matches that may pop up between players, or even whole teams. Nor does it count the semi-regular try-out matches that occur as new players try to make their way into the game, hoping for a shot at fame and fortune in this poverty-riddled city.
After the short discussion on Motorball, we settle in around the kitchen table and Ido turns attention to the matter at hand.
"So, anyway," Ido says, "about the reason for asking you here."
"Right," Koyomi responds, her cheery attitude becoming only a little more serious, "Alita told me that you need some identification for your new patient. If you don't mind, I'm kinda wondering," she shifts her gaze in my direction, "why not go through the regular channels? Alita didn't seem too keen on saying much at the time." Her eyes shoot a tell-tale glance upward, in the general direction of Zalem.
"The problem we're having," Ido says, "is a little difficult to explain." He shoots a glance in my direction, "I suppose it might be easier to show you what we're dealing with."
Despite the fatigue dulling my thinking, this raises alarms. "You sure about that?" I ask Ido quietly.
Perhaps it's just paranoia, but betrayal still seems entirely too likely. To say nothing of the possibility of some sort of influence from these powerful enemies that Alita's apparently angered. What if one of those enemies got their hooks into this young woman?
Koyomi quirks an eyebrow at me, but is otherwise seemingly unperturbed, "What, you don't trust me?"
I shift in my seat, feeling rather awkward. I drop my gaze to my coffee cup, "No offense, but I just have some doubts about this whole thing." I want to say more, but it seems wiser not to.
"Well, we need to get you through that gate," Ido tells me. "Koyomi's done quite a bit to help us, we trust her."
We look at each other for a moment, then I glance around at the others before heaving a sigh and shaking my head, "Alright, fine."
Ido directs us all to the operating theater. When we get there, he and Gerhad get me up onto the operating table, adjusting it so that I can sit comfortably.
As the imaging system is set up, Ido asks Koyomi, "Are you familiar with what happened to Jason, here?"
"Yeah," she says, stepping up to stand next to Gerhad. Directly to me, "Quite a few people saw the way you stood up to that addict. That was really something." Her lips curve up in a smile, "Even been some that're calling you a hero for what you did."
A sudden swell of anger comes over me. "Yeah, real fuckin' heroic," I say heatedly through gritted teeth. I immediately regret the anger, as I see the crestfallen expression on Koyomi's face.
"That's enough," Ido says firmly.
Gerhad gives me an admonishing look, but says nothing.
I avoid any eye contact, embarrassed and unsettled at how easily, how quickly the anger came on. The storming emotions momentarily lock my voice up, but I manage to push past it.
"Sorry," I say to Koyomi. "Didn't mean to snap at you." With out warning, I'm on the verge of tears for no discernible reason, but I manage to push the feeling down. I've screwed up again. For just a moment, it's as if I might spiral out of control, but I manage to barely hold on.
Koyomi frowns and her gaze sinks to the floor, before looking back up at me, "You know, Ido's probably one of, if not the best cyber-surgeon in the city. He's sure to get you fixed up. I mean, he managed to get Alita back together good as new, and she was once in worse shape than you are."
I stare down at the foot of the operating table for a couple heartbeats, getting myself back under control. Looking back over at Koyomi, I say in a much calmer voice, "Alita? I've seen her fight, there's no way-"
Finishing up at the console under the monitor bank, Ido turns to me, "It's true. It was several months ago, before she was involved in Motorball. We almost lost her."
My eyebrows descend over my eyes as I look around at the three of them, simply unable to comprehend what I'm hearing. I look slightly askance at Ido, "Not to make light of what you're sayin' or anything, but I've seen her pick apart guys four, even five times her size. The hell did she do, go toe-to-toe with Mecha-Godzilla?" I look around at them for an answer and see only blank stares.
Ido and Gerhad merely shrug at each other, while Koyomi gives me a puzzled look and asks, "Mecha-what?"
I roll my eyes and give a quick sigh, "Never mind." Anger and frustration come on again, and I strive to remain calm. Muscles tensing up, jaw clenched, I try to stretch a little in the hopes it'll help calm me down. 'Why the hell am I getting so mad over this?' It almost feels like I want to both explode and break down. It's unsettling and a little frightening.
After a couple seconds silence, Ido looks over at Gerhad, "Could I have a moment alone with my patient?"
"Certainly, doctor," she says, before shepherding Koyomi out of the OR.
Once they're gone, Ido takes a seat on a wheeled stool. He gives me a considering look before quietly asking, "Are you going to be alright?"
'Why can't I be like normal people?' I ask myself. Aloud, I say, "I'm fine, sorry. I-" nothing more comes out except a frustrated sigh. What's the point in even saying anything. I want so desperately for there to be a point in saying something. "I'm not even sure why that made me so angry. How 'bout we just get back to it." I sigh and push my glasses up as I put my hand over my eyes, gently rubbing at them as I'm overcome with weariness.
"Oh, you're clearly not 'fine'," Ido says in a patient voice, "and I don't blame you for being angry. I tell you what, why don't we sit down and talk later, when things are a little less hectic? It looks like you could use it."
Settling my glasses back into place, I look over at him and wearily respond, "Yeah, sure." The anger begins to quickly dissipate.
He nods and summons the others back in. Then he inputs a command into the keyboard and backs up a little to give Koyomi a clear view of the monitors.
With a vaguely sweeping gesture at the monitor bank, Ido says, "This is what we're dealing with."
Koyomi peers at the one monitor set up for this test for several seconds before turning her attention to Gerhad and Ido, "Um, okay. Your diagnostic is just showing those weird, blurry blobs there." She points to three spots on the screen, spread out along the edge of what should be an image of me. "What, exactly, am I supposed to be looking at?"
Ido seems to do a double-take, looking more closely at the image. I've never seen a fully zoomed-out scan on a single monitor, so it takes me a moment to recognize what I'm looking at; the external portion of my implants are blurry and indistinct, though still visible on the imaging scan. I'm almost certain that in earlier tests they were far more clearly defined, even if my own body wasn't really visible at all.
Gerhad's the first to comment, asking in a mystified voice, "Is it my imagination, or are those less distinct than before?"
Ido quickly brings up a side-by-side comparison with an earlier image that must be part of my medical file. The earlier image shows my implants in clearer detail. "Up until today there's been some minor changes, but this… this is new."
"Doc," Koyomi asks in a curious voice, "what's going on?"
I was just about to ask that same question, though with a touch more alarm.
Ido stops and takes a deep breath, then let's it out and says to her, "Jason here, is exhibiting an unusual phenomenon that seems to be making it impossible for my imaging systems to get a clear read on him. Even the optical implant and artificial bones I put in his residual limbs won't show up. Only the external implants will appear on the scan. Diagnostic equipment hooked up to the implants-" Ido stands stock still for a moment, as if something's just occurred to him, then looks over at Gerhad.
Without a word, Gerhad retrieves a hand-held diagnostic system and gives it to Ido, who then quickly hooks it up to my arm implant.
"Hm," is all he says as he fiddles with the controls. Looking up from the device, "There's a measurable degradation in signal strength, but it's not as much as I expected based on those images."
Gerhad gestures to the monitor, "The scans look to be about forty percent diminished. These diagnostic readings aren't quite that badly reduced."
Ido nods slowly, brow furrowed, "It seems to be mostly affecting the imaging scans. This is… incredibly puzzling."
Eyebrows raised, eyes a little wide, Koyomi looks at me and hesitantly asks, "So, are you invisible to the doc's scanners or something?"
Still a little bewildered by this new development, I merely shrug at her. I try to ignore the faint feeling of panic creeping up in the back of my mind.
Ido nods, "It would appear to be something like that, yes."
Looking at me and Ido, eyes still wide with excitement, "That is so freaky-cool."
"This is why we aren't going through legal channels," Gerhad cautions. "If the Factory were to find out about Jason… well, we'd rather avoid that."
Koyomi's cheerful demeanor disappears as she remarks, "If the Factory found out about this, then Nova might." A stricken look briefly crosses her face.
I look around at the others, alarms going off in my head, "Okay, that's the second time I've heard that name since I've been here, and both times it was not said in a friendly manner. Who the hell's this 'Nova'?"
Everyone looks at each other for a moment, then Ido says to me, "Nova is the de facto leader of Zalem. He has eyes all over this city, and controls almost every aspect of it. He's probably the most powerful person in the known world."
"He's also the reason a lot of people died recently," Koyomi adds in, pain and anger faintly noticeable in her voice. "The man's a monster." I get the distinct impression she might have known some of those people who died.
"And this guy is after Alita?" I glance around at the group, feeling decidedly out of place.
Ido seems momentarily uncertain. "As of this moment, we're not completely sure what he's after. He seems to have backed off for now. Maybe he's somehow testing her, or waiting to see if she can actually get to him. He's incredibly arrogant."
So there's a madman up there in that floating city, playing God with people's lives? And Alita managed to piss this guy off? My mind drags itself out of the mire, putting pieces of information together.
I ask Ido, "So, was that Vector fellow one of Nova's puppets?"
"Yes," Ido says, looking particularly serious, "but that's not something we need to worry about for now." He then directs his attention to Koyomi and gets back to the original subject, leaving me to consider this news. "Is there any way you might be able to get Jason an ID with this in mind?"
Koyomi looks at me thoughtfully for a moment, then back over at Ido, "Well, I know someone who can get it done, but without an accurate bioscan..." she shrugs helplessly, "I just dunno how useful it'd be." She looks over at me, "I mean, how were you even able to get through the gate in the first place?"
As I fumble for an answer, Ido steps in, "For the most part, the gate guards are usually swamped with people going into and out of the city, who aren't on Factory business. So, they don't normally bother with everyone in a vehicle that is on official business. Jason has been through the gate only a few times, so it's possible that his not showing up on scans when he's very obviously there, could have been written off as a sensor anomaly. It's entirely possible that one more trip through, sitting out in the open like he had been, and he'd have probably either been killed on the spot, or..." a shrug of his hands, "who knows."
The young woman gives me an appraising look, "So basically, you got lucky."
"Looks like it," is all I can say to that.
Koyomi returns her attention to Ido, "Oh, just so I'm clear, Alita asked if I'd be willing to drive you guys out to some place in the Badlands once all this is taken care of. Is that still something you'll need?"
"Yes," Ido replies, "We think there might be something out there that could provide a solution to getting Jason's cyberware working. At this point, it's the only lead we seem to have."
With a somewhat mystified expression, Koyomi stares at the monitor, "Wow, this is a real mystery, huh? And you've really got no idea what's causing this?"
Ido puts his hands on his hips as he looks from me to the monitor, "No, I've never seen this before and I have no idea why this is occurring, nor what it even is. Now this new development..." he shrugs, making a vague gesture at the monitor, "It defies any explanation I could come up with. All I can do right now is hope we can find something to provide a solution."
Koyomi sucks in her lower lip as she continues staring at the monitor, then lets it go. "Hm. Ya know, if we could get a hold of a vehicle that's on official Factory business, we could probably smuggle Jason in and out of the gate, no problem. And if he's not showing up on scans, that opens up some options." She looks over at me thoughtfully.
"Just be sure to let us know if you think the risks are even looking too high," Ido cautions her. "We don't need to be pushing our luck here."
Koyomi gets a mischievous look in her eyes, "I think I can work something out. I know some people who've manage to practically work miracles, for the right price. I'm guessin' you'd like to do this as soon as possible?"
"Yes, the sooner the better," he replies with a nod. "Try to keep in mind, however, that we aren't on an unlimited budget."
She returns the nod cheerfully, "Okay then. I'll see what I can come up with. Got a lot of work to do in the mean time, so maybe we could meet up again after Alita's game tomorrow and hammer out some details?
Ido nods, "That sounds fine."
"Well, I'd better get back to work. I'll see you all later." And she leaves with a wave and a smile.
Once she's gone, Ido and Gerhad get down to the business of giving my cyberware another going over. More tests, which all come back generally positive as far as the workings of the implants. However, this new development leaves them just as stumped as when they first discovered this phenomenon.
"It's almost as if the implants have somehow faded," Ido posits.
Previous diagnostics showed such minimal changes that it didn't appear as anything worth noting, but now Ido and Gerhad run numerous comparisons with previous readings. For whatever reason, today showed a significant change.
After I express concern over what this change in my implants could mean health-wise, Ido puts me through an exam, which turns up nothing out of the ordinary. No melting flesh or liquifying organs, no cerebrospinal fluids leaking out of my ears or nose. Despite the numerous nightmare scenarios from old sci-fi movies running through my mind, and aside from some age-related problems, I'm physically fine.
Once all of that is taken care of, Ido reopens the clinic, letting me know, "We've got a pretty full waiting room, so I'll be busy for a bit. You going to be alright for now?"
I shrug tiredly at him and nod. I am then left to entertain myself for a couple hours, and seeing as Ido wants me within line of sight, I keep to the living room area. At first I try reading, but I'm unable to focus on the words. I end up just staring at the page, seeing nothing. The excitement surrounding the strange phenomena afflicting me had served to keep me engaged in what's been going on, but now that I'm left alone, it all fades away. Fatigue and lethargy drag at me with growing force.
Gerhad and Ido both come by to check on me a couple of times between dealing with patients. I manage to smile and answer their inquiries with a shrug and a "I'm fine." There's no need for them to concern themselves. I'm not going anywhere and I'm not doing anything. Concerns over what's happening to me fade away as it all becomes distant. Like an old machine left abandoned out in some field to rust, I sit there, staying out of everyone's way.
The voice of my depression is not silent, however, 'Of what possible good are you, to anyone? You can't shower or even go to the bathroom on your own. You can't even feed yourself without someone there to assist you.' A vaguely sick feeling comes over me as the emptiness grows. 'Maybe I'll end up fading away completely.' It's getting harder and harder to see a reason to keep going. It all feels like a farce, a waste of time. It becomes too much to even keep my eyes open and I end up dozing off.
I snap awake, momentarily disoriented. A glance around shows that it's early afternoon or thereabouts, so I haven't been out long. Standing next to me, a subdued smile on his face, is doctor Ido. He's carrying a small bottle that's half-full of a straw-colored liquid in one hand and a couple of glasses in the other.
"Looks like things will be slow for a while," he says to me, gesturing with the glasses. "Let's go have that talk."
Silently, I nod and follow him into the kitchen, pausing only to toss the book onto the couch. He takes a seat at the table and I pull up to the empty spot that's been kept clear for me.
Placing the two glasses in front of him, he looks over at me, asking, "You don't have any problems with alcohol, do you?"
Eyeing the bottle, I shake my head, "Nope." I adjust my gaze to focus on him, "Hope you don't mind my asking but, should you be drinking right now?"
He unstops the bottle and pours out about a shot's worth into each glass, "Normally I wouldn't, but such a small amount isn't going to bother me. I haven't touched this stuff in years, however I figured this might be a good time to break it out, considering." He closes up the bottle and sets it on the kitchen countertop behind him, then places a glass in front of me.
I look down at the glass without touching it, "Considering what?"
"Considering what's been happening, lately," he responds quietly, features set in a serious look. At my quizzical expression, he goes on, "With you, in particular. I've seen that look on your face before; lost, angry, in pain. I used to see it in the mirror fairly often." He raises his glass, "Go ahead, drink." Then he takes a sip.
Bringing the glass up to my lips, I sniff it. It smells familiar. As soon as I take a sip, I have to resist the urge to down it in one go. As it is, I empty about half of what little there is, the taste reminiscent of Jack Daniel's honey whiskey. As the warmth of the drink starts to suffuse my body, I can feel myself begin to relax. It's an incredibly good feeling, and I glance towards the bottle on the shelf, before forcing myself to look away. From previous experience, I already know how fleeting and ultimately damaging that source of comfort can be.
Ido retrieves something from a clip at his waist and places it on the table, closer to me. It's a small rectangle of clear glass or plastic, a little larger than a poker card, with an engraved metal band on one of the narrow ends that acts as a stand to hold it upright on the table. Within the clear material is a holographic image of a blonde-haired girl in a wheelchair similar to the one I'm in.
I flick my gaze from the image up to Ido, "Your daughter?"
He nods, "Having seen pictures of your family, I thought I might share one of mine. That was my daughter, Alita." Looking down at the little image, he takes a small sip from his glass.
I follow suit out of a sense of politeness. "So," I say delicately, "a three-hundred year old cyborg that you rescued from the Scrap Heap, you named after your daughter?"
He nods, "When she couldn't remember her own name, I gave her Alita's." A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, "She seems to like it well enough, she's kept it." A heavy sigh escapes him as he stares down sadly at the hologram, "I also gave her the body I was building for my daughter."
'So that was her first body, prior to the Berserker. Wonder what happened to it.' I nod silently and wait for him to continue.
Seeming to shake himself out of whatever memories he was momentarily lost in, Ido takes another sip and leans back, refocusing on me, "Everything I built here was to provide mine and my wife Chiren's child with a better future. Then one of my own patients, who developed a bad drug problem that I ignored, broke in one night and killed that child. In less time than it took to pour this drink, every reason I'd had for all of this," he gestures with his glass at the clinic around us, "was taken from me."
He stares down into his glass, but doesn't drink. "I was nearly consumed by the pain, anger and grief. I became a hunter-warrior in order to take down her murderer. I had to, not just because he'd killed my little girl, but because he'd been a patient of mine. I felt responsible for what he'd turned into. After he was gone, there was always another monster out there that I felt somehow responsible for. I spent years like that, running this clinic by day to help out those in need and by night, hunting down dangerous killers. After losing my daughter, after Chiren left me, all I really had was this clinic and what purpose I could find in it."
Beyond the wave of sympathetic pain for the man and his loss, is a feeling of disorientation at learning that he's also a hunter-warrior. 'Is everyone around here a bounty hunter?' I'm struck by the momentary vision of a black-garbed trio of Gerhad, Ido and Alita stalking the streets, hunting down some evil-doer. 'The family that slays together, stays together.'
He pauses, as if to collect himself, "If it hadn't been for Gerhad's help, I might have lost myself completely to despair and grief years ago. You seem like a good man, Jason. I'd rather not see you go through all that." His voice becomes quiet but earnest, "I know this isn't easy, we all do, but don't give up hope just yet."
I sit there for a few heartbeats, staring down at the glass of whiskey. His words bring on a certain annoyance. 'Don't give up hope? Really?' I think to myself almost angrily. I already know not to give up. I wouldn't still be breathing if I'd given up. What is it with people thinking that someone suffering from depression just needs a good talking to and everything'll be fine? What'll happen when it just keeps getting worse, as it so often has in the past?
The almost-anger swiftly turns white-hot, hot enough to make me blank out for a second. 'When it's a physical injury, everyone's all well-wishes and concern, willing to give you what you need to heal up and get back on your feet. When it's mental problems though,' For just a second, a memory of my father flashes before me and the anger almost becomes rage, 'then it's 'you're just being overly dramatic, and 'no son of mine is going to have that kind of weakness', and 'you just need to get over it'.' To which, over the years, my response has become a very adamant, very cold, 'Maybe you just need to go fuck yourself.' People just can't be counted on for some things. Ever. It's a lesson I never forgot.
My vision locks onto the picture of Ido's late daughter, standing upright on the table between us. 'Should I really be writing him off like this? I mean, he's sitting here making a real effort, which is more than a lot of people have done.' It dawns on me that part of where all this anger is coming from is what I'm expecting to happen. 'Well then,' I think to myself, 'he wants to talk, let's talk.'
I down the contents of my little glass in one gulp and set it down next to the picture of Ido's daughter. "Don't give up hope, huh?" I say in a low voice, looking up at him. "I sincerely appreciate everything you've done for me, I really do. You saved my life, you took me in and gave me a place to stay. But, that's all been under the assumption that I'll get fixed up, and then I'll be able to take care of myself." I can feel the anger start to twist my expression into a glare, "What happens when you find out I can't be fixed, Hm? What then?"
He looks back at me evenly, "Well, I'm not willing to accept that."
Sighing heavily, I rub at my eyes, 'And how long before that changes, I wonder?' I look back up at him, my expression stone-faced, "Been a number of times I've been suicidal in my life. Even came pretty damned close to doing it on more than one occasion, before I was finally able to get things under control." I pause to gather myself before going on, "Growing up, my father was the strongest man I'd ever known. Never backed down from anything. Raised me and my brother to always be willing to do the right thing, to always stand up for people who couldn't stand up for themselves. Taught us how to be self-sufficient." I glance off to the side, "Well, when he wasn't stinkin' drunk, at least." Dad had always been a completely different person when he was drunk, not unlike a lot of people, I suppose.
I refocus on Ido, "One day, some years ago, while Mom was off shopping, he got a call from the VA. He was an army veteran, himself. It was his doctor, letting him know he'd been diagnosed with cancer. It must've been shortly after that, that he got out one of his little .22 caliber pistols, sat in his favorite chair, and put a round through his skull." I pause again, looking down at the table as my index finger traces out a deep scratch in the surface. "I never knew it growing up, but he was terrified of cancer. I'm the one that was always struggling with suicide, but he's the one that goes and does something that."
Ido nods, but remains silent. For a moment he looks skeptical, but the look quickly passes. Likely still in doubt about my past, not that I blame him. There are times I find myself starting to doubt my past, these days.
Taking a deep breath, I lean back in the wheelchair and look him in the eyes, "I guess if there's a point to my rambling, it's that I'm well aware of the whole 'don't give up hope' thing. Spent most of my life not giving up. Even when I didn't see a reason in going on. Suppose I'm just stubborn like that."
There's a moment of silence, then Ido grabs the bottle from behind him and pours another shot's worth into my glass. After putting the bottle back, he slides my glass closer to me. With a mental shrug, I pick it up and take a sip. Ido follows suite.
When he sets his glass down, he says to me, "I'm afraid that, in the absence of anything else, this little 'motivational speech' is all I can provide." He gestures expansively with his hands, "I wish I had something more, but I don't even have proper medications for you, and even if I did I would be very hesitant to prescribe them considering how little I know about treating psychological illnesses. Chances are, I'd probably make things worse."
I nod, gaze downcast, as I acknowledge his admission. I'm relieved to hear him say as much, since it likely means he's more understanding of what I'm dealing with than I gave him credit for.
"I can promise you that I'll do what ever is within my power to get you back on your feet, as long as you're willing to abide by the rules of living under my roof. Alright?"
'Good lord, I think that means he's saying I can stay here for… however long.' Feeling a little choked up, I swallow it down and nod, "I think I can do that." 'God, I hope I can do that. Please don't let me do something to screw this up.'
He returns the nods, "Alright then."
After that, we sit in silence for a short time sipping our drinks.
Ido gives me a scrutinizing look, "You mentioned previous suicidal episodes. Would you mind my asking how long ago was your last one?"
By this point the alcohol has banished a surprising amount of my anxiety, leaving me feeling more relaxed, even a bit talkative. I squint slightly as I think it over, "Uh, about twenty years ago or so."
He nods, "Ah, so it's been a while, then." There's a sense of relief from him.
I nod absently.
"You know, I'm surprised you're so willing to openly talk about it. Most people would rather change the subject, never mind admitting to such a thing."
Setting my glass down after another sip, I look up at him, "Well, I've become accustomed to speaking to medical professionals about it. And, at this point in my life," I give a mild shrug, "I've accepted that it's always going to be with me and there ain't nothin' I can do about that. Only thing I can do is just deal with it as best I'm able. If other people got a problem with me having to deal with chronic depression and occasional suicidal episodes, then," I give another small shrug letting my voice harden, "fuck 'em. I'm the one that's gotta live with it, not them."
He frowns slightly and nods, before asking, "Have you had it your whole life?"
"Early teens is when it started showing up. Didn't really know what it was till my early twenties, around about the time I finally got to see a psychiatrist about it."
Ido glances down into his nearly empty glass and looks like he's about to say something when he suddenly looks up, focusing on something behind me.
I turn to see what's up, figuring it's Gerhad come to speak with him about something. Instead, it's Alita, apparently back from practice. She's standing there with one hand on the door frame and the other in a front pants pocket. Something about the way she's standing makes me suspect she might have been listening in for a bit.
When Ido directs his attention to her, she steps into the kitchen and gestures behind her, "Gerhad would like some assistance with a couple of patients, if you have the chance."
He nods, setting his glass down and retrieving the hologram of his daughter as he gets up, "Well, seems we'll have to pick this up another time."
"Sure," I say with an off-handed shrug. "Quick question, though," I say staring into my glass before looking up at him. When he waits for me to continue, I ask, "You're seriously going to go to all this trouble with trying to get me through the gate, possibly even spending a considerable sum of money, just on the off chance that you can get me walking again?" I keep a steady gaze on him.
"Yes," he answers simply. "Granted, at this point there's also finding an answer to this strange phenomenon, but if this can help me to better help you? I think it's a chance worth taking."
I have to look down to hide the trembling of my lower lip, only this time it's tears of joy that threaten to come on. 'They're really going to do this!' I'm unable to completely hide the tremor in my voice when I say, "Well then, really wish I could do more than say 'thanks'." I'd already wanted to find some way to repay him for the help he's given me, but my articulation drops as my emotions rise.
He gives a brief, quiet chuckle and leans down to pat me on the shoulder, "As long as I'm not giving up on this, I'll settle for you doing the same. Everything else, we can deal with as it comes."
I inhale deeply and nod, unable to say anything further past a throat closed up by emotion. As he walks past me out of the kitchen, I exhale slowly, blinking back the tears. I find myself feeling so much better. It's an almost euphoric feeling compared to the state I was in earlier. A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth and I'm about to take another sip of whiskey when I'm surprised by Alita's voice nearby. I had thought she'd left with Ido.
"Looks like you're doing better," she comments lightly.
Finally able to speak clearly, I quietly say, "Yeah, looks like." I take a quick sip before setting my glass down. "I'm guessin' Ido thinks I still need watching?" I'd actually forgotten that I was effectively on suicide watch.
She moves to sit in the chair Ido just vacated. "Only for the rest of today, I think," she says, gracefully sliding into place. "I'd heard him say he was thinking of making this the last day for it." She gently pushes Ido's abandoned glass off to the side with a silvery-gray index finger.
Nodding, I let out a slow breath, and stare down at the tabletop. She leans back in her chair, hands folded in her lap, looking vaguely bored.
Feelings of guilt edge up on me at the thought that I'm keeping her from going off and doing something, anything, else. Perhaps it's the uplifted mood, or the alcohol (minimal though it is) or some combination thereof, but I'm hit with an impulse to do something that I probably wouldn't have otherwise. Engaging a dangerous cyborg in casual conversation.
"So," I say, injecting a slight playful tone into the words, "how was practice?" When she perks up at my attempt at conversation, and doesn't look like she's going to be annoyed with me, I ask lightly, "Did the other kids behave themselves, or did you have to break someone?"
I'm rewarded with a faint smile as she answers, "Practice went just fine. It was mostly just calibrating parts for use as replacements during tomorrow's game. Time consuming, but easy enough to deal with." She tips her head slightly to one side, "Loretta told me you don't much care for Motorball."
I shrug noncommittally, "Well, I figure as long as you're stuck here watching me, I probably oughta do something more interesting than sit and stare at the walls. And the only thing I know you have an interest in is Motorball, so..." I shrug more deeply.
"I appreciate that, but you're not obligated to entertain me." Her expression becomes more serious without losing the warmth, "I know you're not really comfortable with me, but I do understand that you're having a tough time with this."
I nod in understanding. "Yeah, well," my mood becomes more somber, "as far as entertaining you, I owe you guys quite a bit. Being better company than I have been the past couple of weeks is probably the least I could do."
Her expression further softens, "It's appreciated, but unnecessary." A smile spreads across her lips, "So, are you really interested in hearing me talk about Motorball?"
Taking a second or two to think about it, I tell her, "Well, since I am sitting here with an up and coming Motorball champion, I suppose I should learn something about the game." Feigning a thoughtful look, I gaze off out the window, "After all, if Loretta found out I'd squandered the opportunity, she'd never let me live it down."
Alita assumes a deadpan expression as she nods knowingly. "And you certainly wouldn't want that."
Raising my eyebrows in a look of supreme concern, I lean back, "Oh, no! Definitely not, very bad."
The faint smile returns as she folds her hands on the table, and leans on her elbows. "Okay then. What's your first question?"
Dropping the humor, I get to the point, "I overheard some days back, that Ido is your Tuner. While the name seems to provide some clue, what exactly does a Tuner do?"
Her eyebrows go up, her expression changing to one of mild startlement, likely at such a basic question. "Uh, Loretta never explained any of that?"
"Honestly," I shrug, while wearing a faint, rueful smile, "she might have. When she really got going about the sport, I tended to sorta… zone out."
"Ah," her features settle into a 'say no more' expression. "Well, the Tuner is responsible for the general fitness of the team. He also comes up with new weapons or modifications. Ido even built me my Motorball body."
While Ido performing such a feat doesn't surprise me in the least, I try to look politely impressed, "Really? Like, entirely from scratch?"
She nods, "Yep, from the ground up. He wanted to make sure everything down to the basic support structure was just right." A look of fondness comes over her, "He even managed to reverse-engineer the plasma emitters in this Berserker body," she gestures to indicate herself, and the body she's currently occupying, "and added the copies to the Motorball body. I have to be careful using those during a game, though. The Motorball body's not really able to handle the stress of using them for long."
I nod politely while internally marveling at just how much like a normal person she is, then the content of her words hits me. I blink, "Hold up a sec, you have plasma weapons?" She nods and I think back to a scene from one of her games that Loretta had insisted on showing me, "I thought that was from the sword. That's incredible." I ponder that for a heartbeat or two while she sits there, a trace of amusement on her face. I look at her slightly askance, "You can't shoot lasers out of your eyes, can you?"
Her look of amusement intensifies, "No, no lasers, and certainly not from my eyes. As for the sword, it's also Martian tech, and it can conduct the plasma my bodies generate. It's called a Damascus blade."
"Huh," is my considered response to that. I'm too busy taking in all this 'advanced energy weapons' stuff to be more articulate. It amazes me that even now, I'm still discovering such incredible things about this world. Might have discovered even more if I hadn't been hiding on that farm. Or I might have died horribly when the Factory found out I'm some kind of freak. I briefly consider the significance of her sword being named after the ancient Syrian capital that produced some of the finest steel weapons on Earth, then wonder why Martians wouldn't name it after something on Mars.
Looking down at her hands, she remarks in a more sudbued voice, "This body's even composed of really advanced nano-tech, the most advanced on the planet. It can self-repair, it's stronger, faster..."
I'm about to voice my amazement at the 'self-repairing nano-tech' part, when I see the expression on her face. A distant sort of pain is visible, and I realize we're somehow touching on something that maybe doesn't need to be touched on.
As I watch her expression become mixed with anger, and her hands begin curling into fists, I hesitantly say to her, "Ya know, I'm sorry."
She looks up at me, the pain and anger falling away, "What? Why would you be sorry?"
I shrug, leaning my head a bit to one side, "Well, I just realized that you're sittin' here stuck baby-sittin' me, and all I seem to be doing is bothering you about a bunch of stuff when you could be off doing damn near anything else." I swallow dryly, praying I'm not about to make the situation worse, "Maybe I should just sit here, keep my mouth shut and leave you alone."
Her brows come down and together, and she straightens up in her chair. A tone of regret in her voice, she says, "No, no that's alright." She wipes her hands over her face and up through her hair, briefly pulling it tight against her scalp before laying her hands back on the table.
It's suddenly clear to me that she's carrying a lot of emotional weight. Somehow, this is surprising and I realize I should be more considerate of that. I knew she'd lost someone she cared about. Did I let my mental image of her blind me to what that sort of loss does to a person? I guess, seeing her the way I did, it never occurred to me that she'd even feel that kind of pain.
"Well," I begin slowly, "maybe we could talk about something else, then." I keep my expression devoid of expectation, trying to make it clear without saying anything that it's whatever she wants, a new subject or just silence.
She considers it for a few moments. "Why don't you tell me a little more about your time in the military?"
Knowing they're skepticism about my past, I'm surprised she'd ask about that, but I decide 'What the hell.' "Alright, if ya want," I say with a dismissive shrug.
After some consideration, I decide to start with my first posting, at a Royal Air Force base in England that was being leased to the United States Air Force. After a while of telling her about how the brass on base was so wrapped up in political bullshit that morale among the enlisted had suffered and fallen to near-rock bottom, I stumble across an old story, one of my more prominent memories.
"So, yeah. I'm an A1C, an Airman First Class, and I'm in the shop workin' away at this diesel heater that's crapped out. The part of the deadline I'm workin' in is next to the dispatcher's office, so I can hear their radio chatter as they send out those little bobtail tow trucks to deliver equipment, or take stuff back in for repairs and servicing.
"Anyway, I'm sittin' there diagnosing this damned heater unit and suddenly I stop and look over towards the open door to the dispatch. A couple other guys near me do the same, 'cause we hear come over the radio, clear as day, someone call out, 'I am fuuuucked up!'"
Alita gives me a puzzled look, "Okay, were they calling for help or something?"
I shake my head, "Not from the sound of it, no. Just that one comment, sang it out loud and clear, didn't identify themselves or nothin'." I shrug, "Well, there's nothing more, so me and everyone around me gets back to work. I figure it's just someone got bored and decided to pop loose for the helluvit. It happens sometimes."
"Probably more so with morale at such a low point?"
I nod firmly, "Oh yeah, and discipline can suffer, too. You can get people doin' stupid stuff, but it's usually nothing too serious." Pausing to take a quick breath, I continue, "Anyway, I'm workin' away again and about a half hour later that same guy comes over the radio and says just a little louder, 'I am fuuucked up!' Me and this other guy not far away look at each other, wonderin' 'what the hell is this?' I just scratch my head and shrug it off, still not thinkin' too much about it. But this time I did catch the definite slurring of speech. Whoever it was, was drunk!"
With a touch of a grin, Alita looks at me, eyes widened slightly in surprise, "What? Some soldier is out there drunk, on duty?"
Grinning a bit myself, I shrug my one arm, "As best I could figure, someone partied a little too hard the previous night and got really hammered. Then they come in the next day still smashed outta their gourd." I'm pleased to see that she's now paying rapt attention, "So, yeah, there's some jackass out there who's likely on the flight line, among expensive military aircraft, drivin' around a bobtail, drunk off his ass." Skeptical about my past or not, she's clearly enjoying the story. It doesn't immediately hit me, but I'm getting lost in the retelling, and I've been getting more animated as the story goes on, "So anyway, this goes on another couple times over the next couple of hours."
"This one, lone soldier out there, saying that same thing every so often."
I give an emphatic nod, "Yep! Only the next time it happens is after the shop supervisor comes back from being away on other business most of the day, so he hears it."
Her eyebrows go up slightly as she asks, "The supervisor's an officer?"
"NCO, actually, Non-Commissioned Officer. Tech Sergeant, if memory serves," I explain, though I'm pretty sure the ranking doesn't really mean anything to her.
"Okay," she nods.
Trying to suppress the mirth I feel at the memory, I go on, "Anyway, the supervisor's standing at a bench, head down over some paperwork just three meters from the door. All of a sudden he hears, loud and clear over the radio, 'I am fuuuucked up!' His head snaps up and zeros right in on the door to that dispatch office. His face goes red and he gets this furious look, then storms into the office. Next thing I hear is the supervisor on the radio," I mime talking into a CB mic, "'Who is this? Identify yourself immediately!' The guy on the other end just sings back, 'I ain't that fucked up.'"
I pause to let her react, and for a split second she just stares at me, expressionless. Just as I'm starting to think the story flopped, a smile quickly spreads across her lips and she throws her head back, laughing out loud. Her peals of laughter set me off and we're both laughing, though it fades all too quickly. Soon, she clears away the last of the laughter with a deep breath, still smiling.
Focusing her gaze on me, she inquires, "So, then what?"
With a half-smile, I shrug at her, "Then nothing. That was the last word outta whoever that was. Never did find out who they were." Her smile fades, but doesn't completely disappear and I'm glad to see that she's in a better mood. I'm also glad to find that my own mood has improved greatly, at least for the moment.
I drain the remains of my drink and set the glass aside, in preparation to ask her something, when Ido returns.
As he walks in, the laughter and the fact that he's running a clinic right in the next room, comes to mind. My playful mood immediately falls away. "Oh, I wasn't too loud, was I?" I ask contritely, sincerely worried that I might have disrupted the clinic's operations somehow.
"No, you're fine," he assures me, "I just had a free moment, so I wanted to check in right quick." He gives me an appraising look before informing me, "Considering how you seem to be doing now, I'm thinking we can take you off watch." Turning his focus to Alita, "Which means there's no need for you to stay." He gives her a fatherly smile, "And thank you for the help."
She returns his smile, "It was my pleasure."
"Well, I need to get back," he nods to the two of us, and heads off.
Looking after him, I comment, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was surprised to hear laughter."
"Maybe. Considering how you've been less-than-cheerful, and I've been a bit moody, perhaps. There's also the fact that things haven't gone as well as they could most days. Thing's haven't really been bad, or anything. They just haven't been all that great." Her expression becomes momentarily pensive, "I think having you here has been good for him."
I raise an eyebrow at her in surprise, "Really? How so?"
"He often seems at his best when he's taking care of patients. Not to belittle what's happened to you, but you've been providing him with some real challenges. It's given him something more to focus on, and maybe helped put some of what's happened behind him, I think."
I almost ask about whether she's managed to do the same, but feel that would be overstepping my bounds. Instead, I ask her, "So, you're really okay with my being here, then?"
She fixes me with a piercing gaze, "If I wasn't, you would know." Her expression switches to faintly puzzled, "Have you been worried that I'm not, this whole time?"
"Well," my gaze flits around as I search for a decent response, "I've actually been worried that I'm going to do something, or something's gonna happen that'll get me kicked outta here and onto the street." I gesture with the stump of my arm, "And as you might imagine, that would go pretty badly for me."
"Well, you can stop worrying," she says firmly. "We wouldn't do something like that. Not unless you betrayed us, somehow."
'Just stop worrying.' Unfortunately, that's just not how that works. The illness twists things, just a little bit. What is said, reassurances given, get warped just enough that I'm no longer certain I heard what I thought I did. Darker thoughts begin to creep in; 'I think I'm still welcome here, but am I really? There's no way they could really want someone like me around.' Little doubts pile up, slowly on some days, quickly on others, until they're a mountain. Self-destruction can get mixed into that, bringing on a warped need to push things. Force them to throw me out, because somehow I'm undeserving of their kindness. Or maybe, in some twisted way, I want to be right about them not really caring to begin with.
It's so hard to put into words, that I'm unable to voice it aloud. So, I just sigh and nod agreeably, then change the subject. "I was gonna ask you, why did you want to hear about my time in the military? Or any of my past, for that matter?"
"I just had to hear you recall some of those memories. I needed to hear the details, see how you reacted as you told them. See how real they might seem to you, try to tell if they might be some kind of..." she pauses as if searching for the right word.
"Delusion?" I offer, and she nods. "Okay, any specific reason?"
"I just don't find that story about you coming here in some anomaly all that plausible," she says delicately.
I nod and shrug, "Yeah, I know. Understandable." Gently prompting her, "So..."
Seeming almost hesitant, she says, "So, I've been thinking, maybe there's another explanation."
"Ah, this should be interesting," I say with a slight, teasing smile.
She smirks back at me, then launches into this explanation. "We know there are stasis devices out there, right?"
"Right."
"And the United Republics of Mars had some pretty wild technology. Well, before the Fall, anyway."
"From what I've seen," I nod towards her, "and you're wearing, yes."
Raising an eyebrow at me, she smirks again, but goes on, "So, what if you were being kept in some kind of stasis chamber, to be woken up at some future date? Maybe as a sort of covert agent? Maybe that's why you won't show up on scans, you were treated with some kind of experimental stealth technology?"
I feel my eyebrows climb as I look at her dubiously. "Mhm."
She leans forward, resting both elbows on the table, gesturing slightly with one hand, "Think about it. Towards the end of the war, both sides had to be getting more and more desperate for some kind of advantage. Wouldn't it make sense that they'd have started throwing all kinds of things onto the battlefield, hoping for any kind of advantage they could get?"
I gaze at her calmly, "Uh huh. And what about my memories?"
A slight, dismissive shrug of one shoulder, "Could have been part of some program to put you under cover. Maybe you were supposed to be implanted with a specific set of memories, but things got scrambled after so long in storage? Or maybe something got damaged?" She gives me an expectant look, waiting for me to react.
I give it a few seconds as I mull it over. "Okay, so… you think I'm some kind of pre-Fall Martian, like you? Only I was a secret agent?"
She makes a shrugging gesture with one arm, "Well, we know Mars had stasis tech. I suppose if Earth had something similar, then maybe you could be an Earth agent."
Staring down at the table, I toy with the notion of just dismissing her theory outright, then I seriously consider it. The way she puts it, it does seem more plausible than my randomly getting caught up in a time-hopping anomaly, I think. Still, it just doesn't feel right.
Taking my gaze off the table, I look over at her, "Well, I admit it does sound more likely. I don't know, though." I shrug at her, not wanting to voice further doubts.
With a loud sigh, she sits back in the chair and crosses one leg over the other, "At any rate, whether true or not, I suppose we're just going to have to wait until we get out there to find out what's really going on." Something in her tone almost makes it sound like a challenge. Sort of a, 'so we can find out who's right' sort of thing.
I settle back in my wheelchair, "That, I can certainly agree with."
Over the course of the rest of the day, I do give her theory more thought. After all, as World War Two wore on, the Axis and the Allies started coming up with all kinds of crazy schemes to try and get an advantage over the other side. Plus, there's a certain allure to the idea that I might also be a Martian of some kind. I mean, how cool would that be? Too bad I'm not that interesting.
