[Not entirely sure I'm all that happy with this chapter, but for now this seems as good as I can get it. Here's hoping it holds up. In the meantime, as before, please let me know if anything looks like it needs fixing.]
10
The city is filled with blood-soaked machines, rampaging through the streets, hunting me down. All the while I'm dragging myself along, trying to avoid the mechanical hunters as I search frantically for my lost limbs. The street splits apart around me, sundered from below by gore-slick tentacles of steel cables. They wrap around me and begin pulling me under the ruptured ground, where grinding metal teeth wait to tear into what's left of me...
...
A sharp intake of air, as I throw myself over, scrambling to escape. For a heart-stopping second, I'm in freefall. Then a sudden, sharp impact hits me in the back, knocking the breath out of me as the back of my head slams into something hard. With a cough, I look around. I'm lying on my back on the floor, next to my bed, on the side opposite the door. The adrenaline rush quickly fades as I slowly lift myself up to lean on my elbow. Out of reflex, I try to wipe away the tiredness from my eyes with my left hand, only to feel the metallic touch of the implant on the end of my residual arm.
The shock of feeling it against my face lifts me further into wakefulness, as I quietly gasp and flinch away from it. Scooting myself into a sitting position against the wall, I survey my situation. I'm sitting in my shorts on the floor and the room is cloaked in darkness, with the streetlights outside providing only very dim illumination. Bad eyesight doesn't help matters. Weariness hits me again, seeing as I'm going to have to crawl around to the other side of the bed in order to use the moveable set of steps I've been provided with.
'Climbing back into bed would be so much easier if I could just stand up,' I think to myself. Far from the first time, I wonder if I'll ever stop wishing I had my legs back. It's a warm night, and there's a temptation to fall asleep right where I'm at. That temptation is banished by a sudden, nightmare image of swarms of rats materializing out of the shadows to eat me alive. With a heavy, tired sigh, I fall over onto my side and begin the seemingly arduous journey of crawling over to the other side of the bed in the dark. This task is made a little easier as I've become more accustomed to using my residual arm to help pull me along, the protective cap Ido put over the end of all my limb implants keeping any of the delicate fittings from getting dirty or damaged.
Just as I get around to the foot of the bed, there's a knock at the door and Alita's voice asking, "Jason? Are you alright?"
I come to a sudden stop, thinking, 'Ah, hell! Please tell me I didn't just wake up the whole damned house because of one of my stupid nightmares.' Aloud, I call out quietly, "Yeah, I'm- I'm okay." I let my head hang, lightly banging my forehead on the floor, quietly muttering, "Be better once I get back into fucking bed..."
From the other side of the door, she softly inquires, "I heard a pretty loud thump, do you need any help?"
Lifting my head up, I respond, "Well, uh..." my vision takes in the darkened room, "if you could just reach in and flip the lightswitch, please?"
Instead of merely cracking the door open and reaching in a hand to turn on the light, the door opens up and she steps halfway in, turning on the light as she does. "Jason? What happened?"
As the room brightens painfully, I squint up to see her looking down at me from the doorway. A sigh of exasperation escapes as I let my head fall back to the floor. Into the floorboards, I sarcastically bid her, "By all means, do come in." As I'm lying half-naked on the floor, a state I was hoping to avoid having an audience for, I think to myself in annoyance, 'Is it just kids today in general? Or is it something about Martians?'
"Since you insist," she responds sassily, in seeming irritation at my tone. "It sounded like you needed some help and since you weren't really giving me a straight answer... " There's a pause while I lever myself into a sitting position, and she asks more softly, "Was it another nightmare?"
Having gotten myself into a sitting position against the foot of the bed, I nod, "Yeah. Did I wake everyone up, or just you?"
She glances down the hall, "Just me. Ido's room is farther away and it wasn't that loud."
I sigh in irritation at myself, "God, I am so sorry. I know you've got a game today-"
"It's tonight," she interrupts firmly, stepping fully into the room. "Plenty of time for me to get some more rest, before then."
When she gets closer, I can see her a bit more clearly. It's odd seeing her wearing a very girly pair of shorts and a crop top, leaving much of her silvery-gray body exposed. A decidedly non-killing-machine look.
She picks up my shirt off the floor and tosses it to me. "I'd give you some help up, but the last time I laid a hand on you, you kinda freaked out," she says, a note of hurt in her voice.
"Yeah," I mutter, putting the shirt on. Looking up at her, the hurt in her voice compelling me to once again apologize, "I'm really sorry about that, too. I hadn't-" I just shake my head as I struggle to find the words, and the silence stretches. As much as I've tried to push it out of my head, I feel myself tense up in expectation of violence when she's around, and I'm pretty sure she's noticed it by now. Thinking back on it, ever since I got here, she's been trying to help Ido and Gerhad take care of me. I think the first time I've really treated her like I would anyone else, was when we got to talking yesterday. But I can feel myself slipping back, retreating to what some part of me considers a safe distance from her.
"Here," she swiftly and gracefully makes her way over to the nightstand, turns on the little lamp on it, grabs something off the nightstand and heads back to the door. Turning off the overhead light, she turns back to me and leans down to hand me my glasses. In what sounds like a rather resigned tone, "You have a good night."
An inner voice rebukes my silence, 'Was it just Ido who accepted you into his home when you had nowhere else to go?' Just as she's about to step out and close the door behind her, I speak up, "Henry ever happen to tell you how the two of us met?" I'm not sure what it is I'll say, or if she'll want to hear it, or if it'll even mean anything to her, but I'm compelled to say something.
She stops and turns halfway back toward me, holding the door open. "No," she responds with a light shake of her head. At this distance, I'm unable to see the expression on her face, but I can hear the interest in her voice.
I take a deep breath as I put my glasses on, "Well, if you got a moment, there's something I feel I should tell you." I give her a questioning look, figuring I misread that interest.
Without hesitation, "Sure, go ahead."
Instead of relief, my anxiety bumps up as fear that I'm just wasting her time grips me. Regardless, I forge on, "It was a little over a year ago. I had run out of food and water, but I'd watched from the jungle's edge and seen people working his farm, so I was going to try and see if I could get some food in exchange for work."
Reentering the room, she makes her way over to the side of me that still has peripheral vision, and kneels on the floor next to the bed. I can't help notice that this puts her at eye level with me, as well as being an arm's length away. Resting one arm on the mattress, she leans against the side of it, settling in so that she's sitting sideways to me.
I'm hit with a vision of her striking out, a knife-hand strike through the side of my skull, the image of which sends a skittering tension through me. I close my eyes and pull in a deep breath. Fear nearly makes me falter, but I manage to push my way past it. "The first time I saw him, was when he was running three real bad troublemakers off his property. I was walking down the main road that runs by his place when these three guys go hauling ass off out of that long driveway and high-tail it in the direction of Iron City."
Focusing on the memory helps. "Hot on their heels was this bear of a man with a shovel in each hand." I glance over at her, "The most noticeable thing to me, at the time, was that this man had cybernetic arms." I grin slightly at the memory, and she smiles faintly in response. "I'd never encountered a cyborg before, and I thought that was one of the most incredible things I'd ever seen, right beside that big space elevator out there," I nod towards the window and the massive space elevator outside holding Zalem up.
I shift a little to get more comfortable. "When those three trouble-makers were gone down the road a ways, he points one of those shovels at me and yells out, 'You lookin' for work? I got an opening.' " I have to take another deep breath and slowly let it out to try and combat the growing anxiety. "Scared the hell outta me, thinkin' I was about to be next! When I realized he was offerin' me a job, I followed him up the driveway and was hired on the spot, no questions asked."
A pause to collect my thoughts. "When I first met Henry, I was a little afraid of him, but not because he was a cyborg. Because he'd just kicked the shit out of three guys, and he was still visibly angry and I wasn't sure what I'd just walked into." Looking down at the floor I'm sitting on, I have to swallow the lump in my throat, "When Henry and the girls showed up here to drop off my stuff, I shook his hand just like I had any number of times before."
I glance over at her and shrug helplessly, "Just like that, I was suddenly afraid of him, and the rational part of me knew there was no reason for it." Feeling my eyes getting misty, I wipe at them with the short sleeve of the t-shirt. "The man's never done anything to me that I needed to be afraid of him for." I stare down at the floor, feeling numbed by the admission, mouth pressed into a thin line. "I've known the Sheffield's for over a year. Now it's like I can't be around Henry without feeling uneasy about what he might do."
Softly, almost a little sadly, she says, "And not knowing me that well..." 'It's easier to feel uneasy around a stranger', seems like the logical conclusion to her statement.
I nod, not wanting to make mention of the fact that before meeting her, I saw her as not much more than just another brutal monster to begin with. A note of self-loathing slips into my voice, "Guess maybe I'm just that broken now."
She watches me silently for a moment. "Or," her voice is matter-of-fact, "maybe you shouldn't be so hard on yourself. You've been wounded, badly. I think you just need to give yourself a little more time to heal." Her tone becomes gentler, "Sometimes, what doesn't kill you, can make you stronger. Maybe, when you heal from this, you'll be stronger for it." Straightening up, she places her hands on top of her thighs, now sitting seiza-style like a martial artist. Her gaze locks onto mine, "With no augmentations, you survived something you weren't really built for. That man should have killed you, but you're still here. I'd call that a victory of sorts in itself."
Hearing her say that, putting it like that, somehow sends the tension draining from me. I slump back against the bed, feeling far more at ease now. As the anxiety flees, I let out a long sigh.
"What?"
I look up at her, meeting her eyes with a faint smile, "I'm just relieved."
"Oh? Why?"
The smile fades, and hesitantly, I answer, "I was half-expecting you to be..." I shrug helplessly, "not quite so understanding, no offense."
"None taken." She glances over her shoulder, towards the window, "In a place like this, it's too easy to expect the worst from people."
"Well, in any case," I tell her with all sincerity, "thank you."
With a single nod, and a soft sigh, she gracefully regains her feet, "So, you need any help getting back into bed?"
After a quick look around, I decide I'm definitely not getting anymore sleep. "No, I think I should be okay. Ido and Gerhad have been telling me that I should really be doing as much as I can on my own, try to keep my body in some kind of shape, help me regain my independence, that sort of thing. Especially since there's no telling how long I'm going to be like this."
"Would you like something to help you sleep, then?"
I respond with a dismissive gesture of my residual arm, "No, that's alright. I was figurin' I'd head into the study, do some reading. Thinkin' I'll avoid sleep for now. Thank you, though."
"You have a good night, then." She flashes a quick smile and heads out the door.
"You too," I quietly call after her.
After she's gone, I sit and stare off into space for a bit. "Huh," I mutter to myself, "that went rather well, I think." Saying it aloud helps to banish the anxiety that tries to convince me that I've said and done only wrong, that I've somehow succeeded only in driving a wedge between me and the people here. A single firm nod, then I go about getting myself dressed. After struggling into a clean set of clothes, I slide the little steps over to the front of the wheelchair and climb into it.
Then it's a quick stop at the bathroom, something to which I'm finally becoming accustomed to dealing with on my own in my current condition, and finally into the study. Once there, I browse the book shelves, looking for something that'll help me pass the time. This is somewhat hampered by the discovery that many of these volumes aren't even in english, the only language I know. 'Thinkin' maybe I should do something about that.' As spanish and portuguese are the two more prominant languages besides english that I've noticed, it might be time to see about learning one of them.
I come across an old, worn copy of a collection of Rudyard Kipling's poems, an unexpected find. Not really recognizing anything else on the shelves, I settle in at the desk and begin reading by the light of the small desk lamp. Somewhere after a poem called 'The Power of the Dog', I find myself asleep.
...
I awaken with a gasp from half-remembered horrors, heart pounding. With a gulp, I try to slow my breathing. Light-headedness comes over me and I feel that familiar, terrible buzzing in the back of my skull. Vision gray's out and my stomach starts a slow roll, nausea invading my senses, a rushing sound in my ears. I sit there, slumped in my wheelchair, vaguely aware of sunlight coming in through the window, gripped by nameless, senseless terror. 'No logical reason for it,' I repeat over and over to myself, not that it does a damned bit of good. Coming out of a nightmare, right into a panic attack. Hell of a way to start the day.
Fortunately, it doesn't seem to last that long, and my heartbeat begins to slow. Vision quickly clears up. Finally able to breath freely, I pull in a long breath and sit there for a moment, staring out the window at the sun peaking over the buildings. Somewhat to my embarrassment, I find myself on the verge of tears again. With a shake of my head, I set my glasses aside and wipe my hand down my face, as if that'll wipe away these irrational emotions. Just as I'm putting my glasses back on, Ido enters the room behind me.
"Ah, there you are. How are you feeling?" he asks, making his way over.
I turn the 'chair to more easily look up at him. "Tired," is my weary response.
Brow furrowed, he asks, "Nightmares still keeping you up?"
I nod silently.
Grunting softly, he crosses his arms over his chest, giving me an appraising look. "Are they getting any worse?"
I glance down at the now-closed book on the desk, "I'm not really sure. I think they're staying about the same."
"Hm. Well, you let me know if anything changes." He gestures towards the doorway, "If you're up for it, I've got breakfast ready."
Having a real appetite for the first time in a while, I gladly accept his offer and follow him down to the kitchen. After silently giving thanks, it occurs to me that I've got to do something to try and further fight this deepening depression. Being proactive can be the hardest thing in the world, when such a growing part of me see's the world as being a better place if I weren't in it. What's the point of improving my life, if my being alive is the problem? This dystopian hell-hole and a rather dim view of the world certainly doesn't help matters.
Over the years, cynicism has grown at the way people treat each other, occasionally boiling over into outright hatred. Not the best of attitudes, especially for someone who espouses to follow in the footsteps of the Son of God. 'Love others as you would love yourself' is all too often far easier said than done. As much as I dislike admitting it, it's gotten easier and easier to simply write people off as either untrustworthy or dangerous, and shrug them off as 'too much trouble to be worth it'.
But that's not how it's supposed to be, not how I'm supposed to be. I made a vow to be a living example that would try to make the world, or at least my little corner of it, a better place. Instead, I've turned my back on the world in many ways. More failures to add to the ever-growing mountain of them. I slowly stop eating and glare at my breakfast, my appetite diminishing as I sink further into depression and self-recriminations, when Ido throws me a lifeline.
"Jason?"
Pulled from my ruminations, I smooth out my features from this nearly habitual scowl as I look up at him, "Yes?" Belatedly, I realize he's been trying to get my attention.
"I was just saying that I think we should see about giving you some things to help out with around here." He raises an eyebrow at me, his expression becoming slightly worried. "I think it would be good for you to have something to keep you occupied, and it certainly couldn't hurt to have someone on hand to help handle some of the little day to day matters."
I'm momentarily distracted from answering when I hear Gerhad call out to let Ido know she's arrived, then I turn my attention back to him. With some amount of sarcasm, I ask him a little irately, "In need of a talking doorstop?"
Frowning slightly, he patiently answers, "No, I was thinking we could find some tasks for you to work at that would be within your capabilities." When I don't immediately respond, he adds, "It's apparent that you need something to do besides sitting around. You need some kind of purpose."
I scowl down at my breakfast, distantly wondering why I suddenly feel so irritated with him. After all, I know he's right.
Gerhad enters the kitchen with a cheerful, "Good morning."
Ido returns her greeting, and I manage a 'good morning' as well, despite my mood driving me to withdraw.
To Ido, she asks, "Do I have time for a quick cup of coffee?"
He gestures to the small coffee pot on the stove, "Help yourself. I was just informing our patient that I'm going to start a work therapy program for him."
For an instant, the anger makes my teeth grind. Then I let out a slow breath, relaxing, "So, what is it you're going to have me doing around here?" I'm not expecting much beyond them having me do useless busywork.
Ido gives me my answer after breakfast, by having me do what little dishes there are. Despite my earlier attitude, once I'm faced with even so minor a task, I put my best effort into it. It actually does feel good to have something to do that's not sitting around uselessly in this damned wheelchair. 'Whatever you do, do it to the best of your ability,' or so the good book says.
Doing the dishes ends up being a long, drawn out affair, made nerve-wracking by the fear that I'm just going to end up breaking things. It is also more frustrating than I'd have initially imagined, constantly wanting to grab up an item with a hand that's no longer there. More than once I'm hit with the urge to violently throw something. However, I take it slowly and carefully and soon I'm finished, without breaking a thing. A lot of deep, relaxing breathing is involved.
Afterwards, I'm instructed to help Gerhad with stocking supplies, a task that turns out to be much easier. Setting a box of items on my lap allows me to easily go through the shelves I can reach and restock where needed. By the time Alita comes down for breakfast a couple hours later, I find myself feeling quite a bit better. Being able to actually help out has, in fact, helped to lift my spirits. Feeling useful, and having little time to think about much of anything beyond the task at hand, allows me an unexpected and welcome freedom from the creeping despair that's been slowly engulfing my day to day life.
As the day wears on and I work alongside Gerhad, and Ido to some extent, I even find myself starting to feel a sense of belonging. I still can't bring myself to believe that such feelings will bring anything but hurt, so I endeavor to distance myself from them with a polite but professional attitude.
During a lull in patient traffic, Ido runs a quick test of my cyberware, and discovers something a little worrying; The resolution of my implants on the imaging scanners is down to about half of what it should be. Additionally, his diagnostic tools are no longer providing any kind of usable readings. As it's having no discernable effect on my physical health, and unable to do anything about these things for now, Ido decides it may be best to leave it alone for the time being. I can see no reason to argue.
By the end of the day, as Ido closes up the clinic, I'm feeling more 'normal' than I have in a while. Although it had been less pleasant during the middle of the day when more patients, many of them extensively augmented, had come through. Anxiety would, at times, cause me piercing headaches and some nausea. Fortunately, Ido and Gerhad are understanding enough that I'm able to take a break or two to clear my head.
Gerhad even goes so far as to sit down with me for a few minutes after we overhear a couple of patients in the waiting room talking about the attack I suffered. Despite my best efforts, I'm overcome by a full-blown panic attack after overhearing them joking about the way I screamed and begged while that psychopath tore me apart. Things I have no memory of, thankfully. It takes almost fifteen minutes for the shakes to stop. Obviously, despite Koyomi's claims, most people don't see what I tried to do as anything more than a profoundly stupid move by someone who is at the very least, mentally deficient. Some part of me is inclined to agree with them.
After closing time comes, and I'm helping Gerhad put things away, a question occurs to me.
Stacking the last errant surgical tray, I turn to her, "I was wondering something. What, exactly, are we going to be doing tonight?"
As she's making a quick note on a little datapad, "Well, you and I are going to be staying here, while Ido takes care of Alita and her team. I'll be watching the game on that big monitor over there," she gestures behind her with the writing stylus in the general direction of a fairly good-sized monitor that's been set up on a low table in front of the couch. "You are free to do just about anything you like." She turns to me with a half-smile, "Were you worried you'd have to go to tonight's game?"
A trace of guilt makes me look away as I shrug, "I admit, I had some concerns about that, yeah." Remembering that she's quite a fan of the sport, I look back up at her, "I am sorry you'll be stuck here instead of out watching the game in person." There is some relief is mixed with the guilt.
"Well, you don't have to be," she reassures me. "Ido and I are both a little worried about how you might react to that kind of environment, right now."
Those last two words catch my attention, "So, eventually, then?"
"Well, if we can't get you put together before the next game, there is that possibility." She shrugs faintly and tips her head slightly to one side, "You don't think we're going to leave you here alone, do you? What happens if you need help?"
A quiet sigh escapes me, "Yeah, guess I hadn't thought of that."
Whether forced to face the screaming mobs in that damned stadium or forced to stay here, it seems like I have no control over my own life. Despite trying to shake off the feeling, it still clings to me when Ido makes a last check on things about fifteen minutes later, having changed into more casual clothes.
"Alright, that looks to be about it," he announces as he gets into a light jacket.
Gerhad reaches out a hand to briefly straighten the jacket front as he settles it on, "You're going to have to hurry if you're going to get there in time to help them set up the Pit."
He nods impatiently, "I've already called the taxi." Looking at Gerhad and I as he picks up a pack of what look like tools and parts, "We'll be back later tonight, then. Wish us luck." More directly to me, his tone a mix of admonishing and teasing, "Don't give Gerhad too much trouble. I've given her permission to sedate you if she has to."
I raise an eyebrow at him as I snap my best formal salute, attempting to feign a good mood that I don't feel.
With a nod, and pack in hand, he heads out into the evening.
After watching Ido get into the taxi, a small three-wheeled electric-car-looking thing, Gerhad lets me know she's heading upstairs real quick. I acknowledge her with an absent nod, and roll over to the rather decorative glass door after she walks away. Looking out into the darkening city, I wonder, not for the first time, what makes me worth the kindness I've recieved when so many others out there are going without. My mind begins spiraling into darker thoughts, though I try to pull away from them. Trying to pull free from that morass is like fighting against the currents of a raging river.
My attempts to free myself are bolstered by Gerhad returning from upstairs.
"You're not thinking about making a run for it, are you?" she asks with obvious humor.
I turn around to find her wearing a pair of tight-fitting pants and a purple jersey with silver trim and Alita's name and number ninety-nine on it. It's almost shocking to see her out of her scrubs. "No, nothing like that," I respond with far less humor or enthusiasm, "I was just..." I glance towards the world outside those doors and decide to change the subject. "It occurs to me, that I've been in this clinic for two weeks now."
"Oh?" she asks, crossing her arms over her chest, "Finally feeling antsy to get out for a bit?"
Another glance at the darkening world outside, "Possibly but, certainly not tonight. It's just that..."
She uncrosses her arms and drops her hands to clasp them in front of her, waiting paitently for me to formulate an answer.
Shaking my head slowly, I finally continue, "I guess it would be more accurate to say, yes and no. I would really like to get out of here for a bit, but I also don't." I shrug helplessly, "Not sure if that makes any sense or not."
She nods, "It does. After what happened to you, the world may seem a good deal more..." she seems hesitant to finish the thought.
"Frightening," I finish for her.
"Something like that, yes," she says with a knowing expression. "But, you can't hide in here forever, can you?"
My brows lower slightly as I chafe at the implication that I might try to, "Of course not." Never mind that a part of me would desperately like to. And never mind that my anxiety-saturated fear response means that I've always found the world a normally frightening place. I can't imagine seeing it otherwise. This city even more so, especially now. It's been only by the grace of God that I've managed to find the will to overcome that constant fear. The thought that some day I'll give in to that fear, become the coward a part of me has always believed myself to be, is a terror all it's own.
"Well, we can see about getting you a trip outside tomorrow, maybe?" She watches me with a sort of patient hopefullness.
The temptation to put off a trip back out into the world for as long as possible, or better yet forget it entirely, fills me. But I know better. All these years have taught me that I need to face this, however much I don't want to. With a rather more resigned tone than intended, I answer flatly, "Sure, why not."
Gerhad gives me a sympathetic smile, "Alright then." She gestures towards the kitchen, "I was about to make some snacks before the game starts. Want to give me an assist? I'd think you're probably hungry as well."
A last apprehension-filled glance out at the darkening streets, "Yeah, sure. Doesn't sound like a bad idea."
After spending the time before game putting together some snacks, I decide to accept Gerhad's offer of joining her in the living room to watch the game. I figure I should at least sit through a bit of it, seeing as it's such an important part of the lives of the people here.
Gerhad settles into place on the couch while I park myself at the end closest to her, and by coincidence, the snacks that I helped her prepare. It's not quite a Superbowl Sunday setup, but it's a pretty good spread.
Having never watched any of what passes for television here, I'm surprised at the multitude of advertisements that precede the game's broadcast. Ads for various parts, lubricants, metal and plastic treatments, things to keep the various bits of a cyborg's body running smoothly under the worst of conditions. Or so the adverts claim. There are a few other commercials thrown in as well, but I barely pay much attention to any of it. Then the announcer comes on, and a bird's eye view of the track (likely taken from the top of that big observation tower in the middle of the stadium) appears on screen.
There's the expected rundown of who's who and a listing of the three Second League match-ups scheduled for tonight. Chief among them, Alita's Factory-mandated team of seven (not counting the three reserves) versus an opposing team that I am, unsurprisingly, unfamiliar with. The opposing team has only five members on the track as both teams take to the starting line.
Seeing the discrepancy, I ask Gerhad about it, "So, why does the other team have almost half as many players?"
Keeping her eyes glued to the screen, she responds, "In the last match, our girl wrecked most of the other team so badly that they're down to two primary teammembers and all three of their reserves."
A pause as the array of lights on the side of the starting line count down to green. Then a launcher fires the motorball onto the track and both teams rocket away. Gerhad gives out a quick cheer for Alita's team, and I hear her cheering distantly echoed from the small crowds outside watching on the large overhead monitors scattered along the streets.
"Sounds like these other guys should have quit while they were ahead," I quip. 'Good lord, Alita demolished them that badly all by herself? I knew she was a wrecking machine, but damn.' Peripherally, the thought hits me, 'While she was smashing her opposition, Ido and Gerhad had been busy trying to keep me alive.' Just as a wave of guilt is about to wash over me, I give my head a violent shake, trying to push it away.
"Oh, you got that right," Gerhad enthusiastically agrees, still keeping her eyes fixed on the monitor. "They got run into the ground so badly that they burned through all their stockpile of replacements. Even after two weeks they must not have been able to scrape together the money, or the parts needed to rebuild the other teammembers in time."
That's something I hadn't considered, the economic angle. Grind a team, or player, down so hard that they're forced out just from lack of resources. Parts are expensive, and if a team burns through too much of their budget, then no more parts. No wonder there's a black market for affordable cybernetics. Not that it was of much apparent help to Alita's current opposition.
Gerhad hurriedly continues as the action begins unfolding on the track, "They must be either extremely desperate to hold onto their spot, or just trying to go down swinging. After this loss, they probably won't be able to recover."
Which I take to mean, they'll be forced to retire from Motorball, or Second League at least. Some of my ignorance of the game is cleared up as Gerhad provides a quick commentary on some of the details surrounding this fast-paced game. For instance, a Motorball match is composed of two Contests, each with ten laps. After the first Contest, there's a short, half-hour break. Without nearly as much of the pageantry involved with football and it's half-time shows, the game doesn't last all that long. For the most part however, I sit quietly and watch as the woefully outmanned and outmatched team opposing Alita's, alternately tries getting control of the motorball or striking at her teammates individually in an apparent attempt at evening the odds. It's notable that they attempt to stay as far from Alita and her Damascus Blade as possible.
The crowds, and the announcer, make their displeasure at this apparent cowardice well known. Jeers from the crowds and mocking announcements attempt to egg the opposition on to engage Alita's team more fully. For the time being, however, they refuse to take the bait, much to the audible disappointment of the crowds on the screen and the one's faintly visible outside the clinic. Gerhad, on the other hand, is much more upbeat about the turn of events.
"This should be an easy win!" she exclaims excitedly. "Those guys don't dare get near her after what she did to them in the last match."
When she glances in my direction, I merely nod politely. Even with the relatively slower pace of an outmatched team attempting to chip away at Alita's team, the game is still blindingly fast, exciting and adrenaline-inducing. Just sitting here watching it, I can feel my heartrate tick up. But even so, I can't seem to really get into it. All I see are people ripping each other apart for the entertainment of a blood-thirsty crowd.
The normally soft-spoken Gerhad, as well as the crowds outside the clinic and in the stadium, are all enthralled by the action. Even electrified by it. And here I am, sitting silently while I watch what I see as little more than a barbaric bloodsport. It's a stark reminder of how out of place I am.
That voice again, out of the shadows in my mind, 'Why are you even here?' A feeling of isolation begins descending over me, and I decide to try and do something to help stave it off.
Turning to Gerhad, I say quietly, "Mind if I ask a question?"
Only taking her eyes off the screen in quick glances, Gerhad answers, "Sure, hun. What is it?"
My hesitance seems to go unnoticed by Gerhad as I work up the courage to ask, "Ido was telling me that he gave his daughter's cyborg body to Alita, after finding her."
Gerhad takes her attention off the screen to look at me more fully. "That's right," she answers.
"Well," a mental stumble nearly derails my train of thought, "I was just curious, what happened to it?" A part of me cringes inwardly, fully prepared for her to blow up at me for asking such a question.
Instead, she leans back in the couch, still watching the monitor screen, but this time wearing a thoughtful look. On the screen, one of Alita's larger teammates manages to get hold of one of the opposing team and begins grinding his faceplate into the track surface, sending sparks everywhere. I hear some distant cheers from the monitor and crowds outside, but Gerhad remains pensive. When she looks over at me again, I decide I've let my curiosity lead me into making a mistake.
"Uh, you know what, forget it," I say, ducking my head. "I shouldn't have asked-"
In a reassuring voice, she tells me, "It's alright. Do you remember that string of murders that were happening around here some months ago?"
"Yes. Everyone on the farm was a little freaked out about it."
She nods knowingly, "There was a monster by the name of Grewishka behind them. He was harvesting body parts for his master."
'Master?' I feel my eyebrows come down and together as I manage to draw the seemingly obvious conclusion, "This Nova guy, again?"
Another nod, "The first time Alita fought Grewishka, he had ambushed Dyson while he was out looking for the killer. Grewishka would have killed him if Alita hadn't chased him off. It was a little after that that a local boy, Hugo, showed her that old Martian shipwreck. When she got back from there with that Berserker, she decided to be a little more proactive. She became a hunter-warrior and went to the local hangout, the Kansas bar. Once there, she tried to rally them to help hunt Grewishka down, put a stop to him."
A frown pulls at the corners of my mouth as a scowl begins to form. "Lemme guess, that bunch of mercenaries didn't want nothin' to do with that?"
"That's right," her expression hardening just a bit. "Gewishka showed up again, this time larger and stronger. The two of them fought in the sublevels under the bar. People died, Alita lost. Badly. Grewishka tore her apart." Her eyes mist up, and she has to pause to take a deep breath.
Closing my eyes, I give my head a shake, trying to sort out tangling thoughts, "Hold up a sec. If this happened after she got back from that shipwreck, wasn't she wearing her Berserker body? Why-"
"Ido refused to put her cyber-core into it. He had his reasons," she quickly adds in a no-nonsense tone. "Let's just leave it at that."
Most likely meaning, Ido was afraid of what she might do with all that power. I silently nod my understanding, and she continues.
Her eyes get a distant look, "Grewishka had torn her in half, and severed her right arm. Even then, with little more than half a torso and one arm, she kept fighting him." Her eyes refocus and she looks directly at me, " By the time Ido, Hugo and some others managed to chase off that monster, she'd broken off her remaining hand in one of Grewishka's eyes, partly blinding him. When Ido got back here with what was left of her-" she quietly clears her throat and for an instant, it almost seems like she chokes up. "It took almost two days to get her into that Berserker body." She smiles distantly, "Once we did though, it was as if she was really herself, for the first time since Ido had brought her out of the Scrap Heap."
My eyes are drawn to the monitor. On the screen, Alita passes the motorball to one of her teammates by throwing it practically through one of the opposing team who makes an attempt to intercept it. The impact sends her hapless target tumbling to the ground where he spins and rolls. Meanwhile the 'ball had bounced off him at such an angle that it flies right into one of her teammate's hands.
It's difficult to imagine that the swift, graceful, fierce fighter I see on that screen, who seems to cut through her opponents with such ease, could have ever been in such a position. 'Torn apart, no possible hope in winning, but still managing to strike out and maim her enemy.' A stunning realization, to think that she could have been so seemingly helpless and still find a way to hurt an overpowering enemy trying to kill her. It becomes evident that her fighting ability is backed by a powerful fighting spirit.
'Compared to a useless old man who's only real talent in a fight seems to be screaming and bleeding on the ground,' hisses that vicious voice out of my mind's shadows. A mind that finds no logical recourse but to agree with that assessment. Something I'd learned from a couple combat veterans a while back, floats through my head, 'What can people with no professional combat training do really well on a battlefield? Die, usually in large numbers.' It's a strange, random thought, but somehow it encompasses a certain truth. I don't matter. I may be among people who've done some incredible things, but I am in no way capable of such things, myself.
Hesitant curiosity prompts me say, "You mentioned someone named Hugo. Is he...?" I'm unsure how to appropriately finish that question.
Gerhad peers at me for a moment before answering, "Alita became very close to him in the short time they knew each other. When he died, she was devastated."
Quickly picking up on the fact that she'll say nothing more on the subject, I nod mutely. After that, I sit quietly and watch the remainder of the game, not really seeing it. The world becomes a distant echo as I wind up lost in my own thoughts. An uncomfortably familiar emptiness slowly filling me, numbing me. A venomous train of thought infiltrates my mind, riding the heels of previous thoughts, undermining my defenses. 'In the home of a reknowned cyber-surgeon, a talented nurse, and a powerful Martian cyborg warrior. What in all the universe is an irrelevant little insect like you doing here?"
A muted sort of anger begins overtaking my thoughts. 'I really am irrelevant. So, what makes me worth keeping around?' The answer seems quite obvious; nothing. The anger isn't directed outward, but inward. It is anger at myself. 'Why are you even taking up space in these people's home?' Sly, wicked whisperings fill my head, 'You're a blight on these people's lives.'
After an indeterminate time, Gerhad reaches over and touches my shoulder. I look over at her, vaguely surprised by the contact.
"You alright?" she asks with a half-smile. Her expression seems faintly worried.
My eyes flicker to the monitor screen and back to her. "Uh, yeah," I respond with a shrug, "Why?"
A light shrug of one shoulder, "It's just, you've been so quiet. You know, you don't have to stick around here if you're bored."
With seemingly glacial slowness, my mind considers that. It finally penetrates my awareness that everyone else has been cheering and hollering. Everyone else is enjoying the show, while I'm just sitting here silently. Currently, on the monitor, Alita is in the Pit getting looked over by Ido and another mechanic.
"Oh, no, it's not that," I equivocate. "I'm just tired is all."
Her mouth presses into a line as she considers me for a moment. "Maybe you should head up and lay down then?"
Her offer is considered, but only briefly. "Nah, that's okay," I respond with a shake of my head. Nodding towards the small array of snacks on various plates, "I helped you make all this, figure I should stick around and help clean it up."
After a moment, she relents with a nod, "I appreciate that." Flashing me a faint smile, she returns her attention to the game.
I try to follow her example, attempting to shake off this darkening mood. My mind refuses to focus, instead wandering into voids where even thinking becomes an almost exhausting chore. Depression, draining the life out of me.
Soon enough, the game is over and the track is cleared for the next scheduled match of the evening. Alita's team takes the win easily, despite the opposition's last-minute attempt to either score a few points of their own, or just wreck as many of Alita's teammates as possible on the way down. From the looks of it, they manage to take nearly half of Alita's team out of the race, making an impressive showing of themselves. Not that it really changes the outcome of the game.
Afterwards, a cheerful Gerhad begins cleaning up and I manage to pull myself together enough to provide some assistance. I shuttle all the dishes into the kitchen, where she washes and I try to help by rinsing each item, since that only requires one hand to quickly accomplish.
Putting away the last dish and wiping up a bit of water off the countertop, I turn to Gerhad, "Guess that's that. I think I'm gonna turn in."
"Alright," she says with mild concern. "Thank you for the help. You sure you won't stay up a while? We like to do a little celebration after Alita's wins. Nothing fancy, but you're welcome to join us."
"No, that's alright. But, if you would, pass on my congratulations for me?"
"Sure thing, hun," she says, giving me a friendly pat on the shoulder. "You go get some rest."
I head off up to my room and crawl onto bed without turning the lights on. I don't bother with getting undressed. It feels like gravity has increased well above normal, and it takes all my energy just to get out of the wheelchair. After a few minutes, I remember to take my glasses off and set them aside. Then I lay there in the dark, trying to bring back that feeling from earlier, of being a normal person.
After a while, the sounds of talking, and even a little bit of laughter from downstairs drift through the partly open bedroom door that I hadn't bothered closing. Alita and Ido, finally arriving back home. A part of me is drawn to the idea of accepting Gerhad's earlier offer, and going down to join them. I'm paralyzed by the certainty that my intrusion would be unwanted. Sure, I might feel a little better, but my presence would certainly just drag everyone else down.
Isolation makes time seem to slow to a crawl. I lay in the dark, listening to the sounds of a family celebrating a little milestone in their life. Despite my efforts to push it away, memories of Vanessa and the kids drift through my mind. For the thousandth time, I wonder what they would be doing right now. I begin remembering holidays, birthdays, regular days that just stand out. With these memories comes the intense heartache of losing the loved ones I shared them with, once again washing over me.
