11
After reminding me of last night's talk, Gerhad convinces me to come along on a quick shopping trip out into the neighborhood. It's a nightmare. The almost unbearable pressure, the constant screaming of nerves as a relentless certainty that an attack is going to come from anywhere at any second stays with me the entire time. Head swimming from the exhausting effort of trying to keep track of everything around me, a constant disorienting dizziness. Hounded by this constant, vague certainty that something terrible will happen.
Instead of being impatient and annoyed with me, as I'd expected, Gerhad surprises me with her patience and support during the outing. To help me keep my mind off my anxiety, she talks to me almost continually. My ability to follow the conversation is spotty at best, but I do take one opportunity to mention the crowds on the streets last night, watching the games.
As we're weaving in and around the surprisingly light foot traffic, I remark, "I figured most people would be indoors watching the game, considering what I've heard the streets are like at night."
"Well, if they have the ability to watch it at home, they usually will," she says, visibly pleased that I'm actually conversing. "For a lot of people, these viewscreens," she gestures to the monitors mounted at intervals along the sides of the buildings, "are the only chance they'll get to watch their favorites compete. Quite a few people will even band together as fans of this team, or that paladin, in order to minimize the risks involved. It's one of the few times people in this city are willing to look out for one another. Of course, then you run the risk that fans of opposing teams or paladins will start brawling with each other." She pauses to stop in front of a small shop to peruse some minor medical supplies that the clinic is running low on.
After making a few quick purchases, she takes us back onto the sidewalk and continues, "A lot of Alita's fans are going to be rather disappointed tonight, however."
"Why's that?"
She comes to a sudden stop that catches me off-guard and looks down at me in mild surprise.
Off-handedly, she comments, "You really are pretty clueless about the game, aren't you?" She seems genuinely bewildered at the extent of my ignorance.
Having no response, I silently shrug at her.
Resuming our walk, she elaborates, "Last night was supposed to be the first of a set of three match-ups. There's usually two such matches for each of the three leagues every month. Whoever scores the highest at the end of the month, gets to go on to next month's round of games."
In an unexpected bout of clear-headedness, realization dawns on me, "But Alita's team smashed the competition so hard that they can't continue. So, Alita and her team won't be scheduled for the next two nights?"
Smiling pleasantly, she nods, "Right. So her fans won't get to see her compete, which is going to leave a lot of her more rabid fans very unhappy. And she has a lot of rabid fans. However, Ido and the team's mechanics will get to use the time to stockpile some additional parts and equipment."
I'm pleasantly surprised to find that I'm enjoying myself during our talk. For just a brief moment, my depression seems far away, and I feel almost normal. Sadly, it doesn't last, and that momentary respite is over all too quickly.
…
My focus fractures, thoughts fragment, my ability to concentrate suffers. During one particularly frustrating episode, I have to repeatedly ask Gerhad how to complete relatively simple tasks. It's embarrassing, and I'm immensely glad that Gerhad is tasked as my 'supervisor' instead of Ido, whom I am distressingly hesitant to approach with any of this. Under any other circumstances I would have needed, at most, one repeat of the instructions just to be sure I had it right. One of the more frustrating symptoms, for me at least, is this constant doubt in my own memory. I am continually convinced I misheard something, or am recalling information incorrectly.
The frustration and anger eat at me, knowing what's happening, but being powerless to fight it off. My ability to concentrate and comprehend degrade even further, as I become convinced that I am simply incapable of doing anything right. No amount of sleep is enough to banish the exhausted feeling that clings to me every minute of the day. If it weren't for the fact that I need help just to shower, I'd have stopped bothering as it becomes less and less important next to the seemingly herculean task of just keeping up with everyone else. Since I require help for so much, and Gerhad is usually the one to take up that task, she continues to remind me (very insistently if need be) to keep on top of personal hygiene.
Dull panic and gnawing guilt are a constant plague, and I begin eating less and less, to the growing concern of Ido and Gerhad. It's an uphill fight to hold myself together as I'm often on the verge of breaking down in tears for no discernible reason. After a certain point, I lose track of how bad it's gotten, until I end up overhearing Ido and Alita discussing me.
I'm sitting at the kitchen table, drinking down a pot's worth of coffee in the vain hope that the caffeine influx will somehow counter the constant weariness, and maybe restore some level of focus to a mind too scattered to think straight. Their voices drift in from where they're talking, just out of sight somewhere in the other room.
"Has he been any trouble?" I hear her ask quietly. I have to strain a little to make out what's being said.
"No," is Ido's faint reply, "quite the opposite, actually. He's becoming more passive, eating less, isolating himself more. He does anything we ask without complaint, but he's having difficulty remembering even little things, and he's struggling with tasks he had no trouble with earlier."
A short pause, then Alita comments, "He's even looking older. He's so different, almost like he's a different person. There's nothing that can snap him out of this?"
"Considering what he's told us about past experience with this, I'm reasonably certain that he was being truthful concerning his undergoing long term treatment. So I doubt there's anything that will 'snap him out of it'." In a gently admonishing tone, "There's a reason it's called 'mental illness', and not 'mental inconvenience', sweetheart." A soft exhalation, like a quiet sigh, "If he continues to decline at this rate, he could end up slipping into a suicidal state in a matter of weeks, maybe sooner. All I can do is wait and see, and hope." There's a noticeable pause. "With all your practice games and other business you have to concentrate on, maybe you should look at staying with Koyomi for now. There's no reason you should be dragged into dealing with this."
Adamantly, she replies, "You and Gerhad are already stretching yourselves thin as it is. I'm perfectly capable of dealing with everything else and helping the two of you."
I lose focus on the rest of their conversation as that venomous whisper fills my head, 'Stretched thin, overworked, dealing with so much already. And now, burdened with you. You seem to be a source of so much trouble. Isn't it time you did something to fix that?'
No response comes to mind, no push-back against the warped thoughts filling my head. My gaze falls to the coffee cup in my hand. A little reflection of me, floating on the surface of the liquid within, stares back. It's an unremarkable, worn face. Surely the absence of that face wouldn't have any significant effect on the world. In fact, wouldn't things be better for Ido's clinic if that face simply disappeared?
'Fifty-three years,' I think to myself. 'Maybe that's long enough.' A drawn out sigh, and my gaze lifts up to slowly slide about the room. A memory of Gerhad's story from a few nights ago comes to me, about Alita nearly dying to some monster. Though hard to imagine, my mind conjures images of Alita, shattered and broken, yet still finding a way to strike out at her attacker and hurt him.
There's a flicker of resistance. 'No. I can hold on for a little longer. They're trying to help, so I should try to meet them halfway, at least.'
Even so, it does occur to me that should something happen to me, Ido would get his cybernetics back. They aren't doing much good on me anyway, and there's got to be someone out there more in need of them.
My internal debate is interrupted by Gerhad lightly putting a hand on my shoulder. I look up at her vacantly.
"Ready to get back to it?" she asks encouragingly.
I nod and drain the lukewarm coffee left in my cup, before heading back into the clinic proper with her.
Throughout this ordeal, Ido and Gerhad haven't demanded perfection from me. Nor do they demand that I stop screwing up. All they seem to want is for me to do something. It hasn't mattered that I keep messing up even the simplest of tasks, or that it takes me twice as long because I have to go back over what I just did to address the many mistakes I make. They have demanded only that I stay active and engaged in the world around me as much as possible. Just as importantly, they've been patient and supportive while doing so. It may be about the only thing that is keeping me sane right now.
When the end of the day finally arrives, I turn in early, right after dinner. On some level I rationalize that if I'm less active, I'm less trouble to everyone else.
…..
The very next morning, as I'm sitting staring into my barely eaten breakfast, Ido informs me that he'd like to try something new.
"I think," he says slowly, clasping his hands on the table in front of him, "it may be time to look at some form of medication. If you're feeling up to it, I have one in mind that I've been working on. So far, it looks promising and seems like a safe bet. Would you be up to giving it a try?"
"Uh, well..." I vocalize, an attempt to kick-start my brain into working, to force speech out, "yeah, that's…" I squeeze my eyes shut, desperately fighting against a mind that keeps trying to shut down, trying to get some kind of response together. "That's probably not a bad idea," I open my eyes and look over at him, "if you really think it'll work." Beneath the tired and dull exterior, I am becoming desperate for something, anything, that might help. I no longer really care how dangerous it might be. Fortunately, Ido still seems concerned with how risky a given solution might be.
With a serious look, he shrugs lightly, "I think it has at least a chance of working."
I glance furtively over at Alita, who sits silently watching, though her expression seems vaguely encouraging. I give a half-hearted nod, "Yeah… yeah, let's try it." Thinking is like wading through hip-deep mud. I feel as if I'm getting sucked under by it. The act of just being feels like a suffocating mess.
After breakfast, with Alita accompanying us, Ido takes me into the clinic and goes over the medication he wants to try on me. Possible side effects, dosage and whatnot. None of it sounds particularly troublesome.
"You'll need daily treatments," he says while holding up the tiny bottle with this new drug in it. "It's actually derived from a drug I cooked up for Alita and her teammates to use during games. It accelerates their neural activity, helping them to form a closer link with their Motorball bodies, increasing their performance. It's also non-addictive."
I nod blankly at him, with a glance at Alita hovering nearby. I had no idea that drugs were used in such a way in the sport, and I suspect just about all the other players use something similar in order to stay competitive. In a weird turn of thought, my mind quips, 'Apparently drug use isn't just rampant in Motorball, it's practically mandatory!'
"This particular version has been modified in a way that I hope will help stabilize your brain chemistry, while also being the least likely to cause you any problems."
I notice my old field jacket hanging nearby. After he's finished explaining that it'll take a few days at least for the meds to really have any effect, I ask about it.
Gesturing towards the jacket, I listlessly mention, "Thought you had to throw my old clothes out."
Ido glances at it, "Oh, you were already halfway out of it when you were brought in, so there was no need to cut it away. Loretta did that while getting a tourniquet on your severed arm." He prepares a syringe with a minuscule amount of liquid in it and motions for me to extend my arm, "I was running some scans on it and some of your other things last night after you went to bed. I just wanted to check something out."
Extending my arm to him, I ask, "So, did you find anything new?"
He quickly gives me the shot, disposes of the needle and folds his hands over one knee, "A little bit, actually. Like your other items, it doesn't show up on my scanners, including the parts that should be clearly visible, such as the snaps and the zipper. I've noticed this is the case with anything you use regularly. Your wallet, and a few other little odds and ends that you haven't carried around with you, show no sign of this 'invisibility', for lack of a better term. Oddly enough, it's only your razor and smartphone that are still exhibiting this effect, despite you having kept them in the footlocker for so long. The only thing different about those two items are the electrical systems and electronics."
While I recognize that this is probably important information, my mind refuses to work through it, so I just nod silently.
"It's as if this effect can wear off," Alita observes, with a meaningful look at me.
I nod blankly, oblivious to her attempt to engage me in conversation.
The two of them glance at each other.
After a moment's silence, Ido remarks with a note of encouragement, "Incidentally, we do still have your boots as well. They're in the basement, cleaned and waiting for you when you need them."
My only reaction is to nod expressionlessly. Those boots could be waiting a very long time. Or hell, they may even end up with a new owner. A pity, those were an extra pair of combat boots that I'd gotten just before leaving the Air Force. They're good boots.
After that, Gerhad arrives and Ido opens the clinic. Alita bids them goodbye, then stops by me on her way out as I'm getting ready to sort some parts that Ido scavenged yesterday out of the Scrap Heap.
"Hey," she says softly.
With a confused glance around, unsure of what she could want, I quietly respond, "Yes?"
The corners of her mouth are drawn up in a smile, sincere warmth in her eyes and voice as the fingertips of one hand lightly touch my shoulder, "Hope you're feeling better soon. Hang in there, alright?"
Life had become so empty and isolating that it's a wholly unexpected gesture. There's surprise at feeling a genuine smile on my lips as I say to her, "Thanks. I will."
Then she's gone out the door, off to do whatever it is Martian cyborg Motorball players do in their spare time. It isn't until she's gone that I realize I'd had no reaction to her physical contact. Either I am that numbed by depression, or maybe I'm finally getting better about dealing with cyborgs.
…..
Later on that evening, after the clinic has closed, Ido informs me that there's going to be a little get-together. They want to discuss a possible plan for getting me through the gate. We're gathered in the living room when Koyomi comes in, followed by Alita. Quick greetings are exchanged and everyone finds a place to sit. Alita, Ido and Gerhad on the couch, and Koyomi in the chair next to me.
Her hair now done up in a neat set of thin braids that trail down her back to stop between her shoulder blades, Koyomi leans toward me in her seat, hand outstretched with a little envelope in it. "Here, this is yours."
My gaze drops to look down at the offered item. Hesitantly reaching for it, I ask, "What is it?"
With a cheerful lilt in her voice, she says, "It's your new ID. Just got it."
Dully, I look over the sealed envelope. Biting into one end, I tear the thick paper. From Koyomi's expression, I suspect she's mildly embarrassed that she didn't think to open it for me. I ignore her discomfort, minor as it is, and pour the credit-card-sized object onto my lap. Laying aside the envelope, I gather up the ID card. Visually, it's little more than a black plastic frame around a stiff but flexible transparent pane, altogether thinner than a credit card. Within the pane (either some kind of glass or plastic, I can't tell) is a holographic image of my face, some basic information and a number of symbols that are probably some sort of electronic code. All forged, and hopefully really good forgeries.
Despite the sudden onset of misgivings about carrying a forged ID, I look around at the gathering. "Thanks," I say, feeling that my thanks is far too little. "I'm not really sure who all was involved, but thank you."
"Welcome to Iron City, citizen," Koyomi intones with mock seriousness.
Though smiling at Koyomi's remark, Alita says in a more sober voice, "You'll want to keep that on you, but don't show it unless you absolutely have to."
I nod and tuck my new ID away under my thigh.
Koyomi then launches into discussing another illegal act; smuggling me out of, and back into, Iron City. "So," she says enthusiastically, "from the looks of it, we've got a couple of options. The first is also the most straightforward. The visual inspections the guards do aren't usually much more than cursory."
"Probably more for show than anything else," Alita explains with a look in my direction. "Like Ido's theorized in the past, likely instituted by some bureaucrat somewhere to make a show of something being done about the attack on the Factory."
With a nod and a rather wicked smile at Alita, Koyomi goes on, "Yep. In actuality, they usually just do what they did before, which is rely on the Centurion's scanners. Normally, those would be all they need. However," she shifts her gaze towards me, "with Jason's strange 'stealth' feature, we might be able to slip him right past. No fuss, no muss." She returns her attention towards the others, "In short, we put Jason in a box, stack some stuff on it that they won't want to bother moving, and just drive through the gate."
I blink at her, the content of her words penetrating my mental fog. My frazzled brain rattles off a quick translation, 'We'll stick weirdo here in a box, stick that box under another box, and waltz right past the six-legged, tank-like, killer robots with the heavy caliber machine guns. What could possibly go wrong?' Loudly clearing my throat to get Koyomi's attention, I ask, "Okay. So, what was the other option?"
Koyomi gestures to Alita, handing the question off to her.
Alita quickly explains, "There's a whole bunch of old tunnels under the city, a select few of which lead outside of the walls to the west. These particular tunnels are very dangerous to travel, almost impossible to find and easy to get lost in, unless you know what you're looking for. We got in contact with someone who can guide us, for a price. Sure, it's in almost the opposite direction of where we want to go, but it gets us safely outside."
"Alright, so those are our options," Ido comments thoughtfully. "As I'd suspected, simply hiding Jason as we pass through the gate should work. I'd like to do some specific tests first, however. I want to be certain that a Centurion's sensors won't be able to pick him up. If so, I'd say the simplest plan may be the best one."
"And if we have to go with the other option," Alita remarks to Ido, "Koyomi can drive you out in the van, while I carry Jason out through the tunnels. I've already set aside the money for the guide."
Adrenaline spikes as the realization hits me, of the risk these people are taking. I feel a tendril of fear at the thought of what could happen if this doesn't work. "Hold on a moment!" I say, a bit more loudly than I'd intended. The others turn to me and I continue, "Should we really do this? I mean, if there's a chance one of you could get hurt or killed doing this-"
Alita regards me with an intense look, "This isn't just about getting your cybernetics working. This trip could answer a lot of questions." Her expression becomes slightly guarded, "Don't you want to know what's going on with all this?"
"Well, yes," I answer, unsure at first. Then my eyebrows come down over my eyes as anger flares to life and my voice hardens, "But is that really a good reason to put yourselves at risk like this? The consequences seem pretty damned serious, for everyone." My depression is pushed aside, eclipsed for the moment by concern and even fear at the thought that someone here could end up seriously hurt or even killed, all because of me.
"It should be fine, Jason," Ido calmly assures me. "If you don't show up on this test, then the Centurions won't see you, either. Which means there will be no reason for them to bother us."
In a confident and determined tone, Alita says to me, "And if it turns out that we'll have to use the tunnels, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of both of us. Either way, I'll be there to deal with any trouble." Her voice takes on a harder edge, "If necessary, that includes any Centurions, now that I'm back in this body."
I blink at her, momentarily confused at what she means by, 'back in this body'. 'What other body would she be in, outside of the Motorball arena?'
Leaning back in the wheelchair, I sigh heavily. It's obvious they intend to go through with this, for which I find myself with mixed feelings. The possibility of uncovering what's happening to me provides a powerful motive to go along, to say nothing of getting to walk again.
"We appreciate you being concerned for us, but it's been decided," Alita says with a determined look. "We need to find out what's going on here. Unless you've decided that you don't want to do this?"
Meeting her gaze, I sigh wearily, "No, nothing like that." The unforgiving nature of Iron City presses in on me. "It's just, you're gonna put all this time and resources into this little venture and we may not even find anything of any value when we get out there."
"That is another risk," Ido admits. "But there's really only one way to find out. Now, let's get this test done, shall we?"
Seeing that they are far more optimistic about this endeavor than I am, I relent. Ido and Gerhad begin setting up some sort of device that I assume to be a scanning system.
"This thing's new, I take it?" I inquire, with a gesture at the object in question. It's not something I've seen around the clinic.
"I got it on loan from a colleague," Ido says while putting the last connections in place. "Unlike my medical scanners, it's closer to the kind of system used by the Centurions. Not exact, mind you, but definitely close enough for our purposes."
When completed, it's about the size of a couple of toasters put together, sitting on a stand at about head-height. I'm then instructed to position myself on a spot in front of it.
Clapping his hands together a couple times as if dusting them off, Ido explains a little further, "The systems the Centurions use are designed to search for objects, as opposed to diagnosing problems with delicate cybernetic systems or a human body. They're capable of looking into just about any part of a vehicle, to detect hidden passengers, contraband, what have you. They can penetrate quite a bit of most any known material and are accurate out to about three and a half, maybe four meters." He pulls the stand back a bit until it's about two and a half meters away from me, then slides it several centimeters closer. "They'll be about this far away," he mutters as he gives it a final adjustment to zero it in on me.
Having completed the last adjustments, he starts it up and directs our attention to one of the monitors. On it is shown a ghostly, almost x-ray-like view of the wheelchair I'm sitting in and the blurred, seemingly out of focus image of my arm implant and glasses, both of which are floating disembodied in the air in what would be their respective positions upon a human body that isn't there. Laying on the seat of the wheelchair, right where I tucked it under my thigh, is the ghostly image of my new ID.
As Ido is checking the controls on the scanner, it's Gerhad who's first to notice something's off. "Why aren't his leg implants showing up?" she asks in a puzzled voice.
Ido immediately stops what he's doing and looks at the screen. Then at me, the intensity of his gaze making him seem a little intimidating. "I'll be damned," he mutters loudly. "I can't believe I missed that." More clearly, he continues, "Every time I did checks on one of Jason's leg implants, I would have him roll up his pants leg so I could hook up the diagnostic equipment, so his implants were always exposed. It never occurred to me that..." He trails off, a look of sudden realization crossing his features. He directs an intense gaze in my direction, "Jason, you've had those clothes for a while, haven't you?"
Glancing down at my work pants and dark blue t-shirt I answer, "Yeah, ever since I was working for the Sheffield's." Realization finally dawns on me, "Wait a minute, are you telling me my pants are blocking the scanner?"
Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, he says to me, "Cloth normally doesn't affect the scan, it just wouldn't show up. I think this could indicate that the effect doesn't just fade, but it can spread to any object that you've had prolonged, physical contact with."
"The scanners are still detecting the seat of the wheelchair," Gerhad observes. She points to the image of my new ID, tucked under my thigh, "And his ID card is still visible, even though he's sitting right on it."
Ido nods slowly, "So he's not casting a sensor shadow. Which would mean that he may not be blocking the scanner's energy. At least, not in the way I'd have thought. But if that were the case..." He trails off with a mystified expression. Rubbing at his lower lip with an index finger, he quietly comments, "Damned peculiar."
"That's so weird," Koyomi quietly remarks, her voice sounding a little spooked. "It's like you're some kind of ghost," she says with a wide-eyed glance at me. Feeling particularly unsettled by what I'm seeing, I keep silent.
Alita steps towards Ido and puts a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. Asking in a quiet, concerned tone, "What does this mean for his cybernetics? Does it mean he'll never be able to use them?"
Ido releases a quick sigh, "I couldn't begin to guess. This is just-" he suddenly breaks off, and looks over at where my jacket is hanging. "I have a few ideas, however."
Thus begins a quick series of seemingly off-the-wall tests. He has me hold items while keeping my hand flat, palm up, cup my hand around small items to cover them, put's little electronic transmitters in my pockets, that sort of thing. The results are startling. Though certainly still concerned for my well-being, Ido seems more excited than I've ever seen him.
At one point, Ido has Gerhad retrieve my boots and puts them under the scanners. As with everything else I've used regularly up to now, they don't show up at all.
After maybe an hour or so, he finishes the last test (some of them having been repeated to verify results) and sits down to go over what's been learned.
Referring to notes he made on a digital pad, Ido's voice takes on the quality of a professor doing a lecture, "So, the shirt you've had with you since you've arrived at the farm. The pants are from a small shop in the city, purchased shortly after beginning work for Henry. Both are items that have been in your possession for about a year, give or take. Everything that you're wearing, excluding your glasses which were made in the clinic, aren't showing up on any imaging systems we've used. Anything you hold in your hand remains visible until about two-thirds of it, give or take, is covered up. Same as when you wrapped your shirt over something. The little transmitters I had you hold, and put in your pockets, show the same thing, with the signals they emit being blocked as well."
He curls the fingers of one hand over his chin as he stares down at the pad. "But simply putting you in between an object and the scanners doesn't block the scanner from seeing the object." The hand over his chin comes down to tap on the screen of the pad with an index finger, "You showed up clearly on thermal imaging. Tried infrared, ultraviolet, you showed up on all of that..." he trails off, as if lost in thought.
Gerhad glances over at me, "X-rays, magnetic resonance, everything else just acts like he doesn't exist."
Though there's no overt sign of threat, it's as if a cold wind passes over me, a feeling of dread. Gaze downcast, I ask aloud, "This… whatever it is… it's not dangerous, is it?" A terrible thought occurs to me, 'If I'm somehow a danger to people around me, are they going to have to get rid of me?' I can't bring myself to even entertain the thought lurking on the edges of my mind; that they'd have to kill me.
Looking up from his musings, Ido's eyebrows go up as he frowns slightly at me, "We've already established that this anomaly isn't harming you."
The dryness in my throat forces me to swallow, "I don't mean like that." Nervously, I glance around at them, somewhat wide-eyed, "I mean, if it's spreading to my clothes and stuff, is it dangerous to other people?" I notice the sudden, alarmed look from Koyomi, as she takes a half-step back from me. I find it an understandable reaction.
"You worked in close proximity to other people for quite some time," Ido says reassuringly. "You slept in the same, small room with a roommate. I haven't seen anything to indicate you're somehow a danger to others."
"Consider also," Gerhad adds, in a comforting tone of voice, "the only things this effect has transferred onto, are inanimate objects that have been in direct contact with you for quite a while."
I force myself to take a deep breath, and actually manage to relax a bit. "Yeah, guess you're right."
"Of course they are," Alita says firmly. "There's no indication that you're any kind of danger to us, or anyone else." She looks over at Ido, "Maybe you should look over that data later. We know Jason's not going to be visible to the Centurions, and that's what we needed to know for now."
With a tired sigh, Ido tosses the pad aside and rubs at his eyes, "Yes, you're right." He takes a deep breath and looks at me. "I'd still like to make a couple more checks with that scanner, just to be sure."
We all agree, and Ido makes some adjustments, altering the scan in subtle ways. It doesn't take more than a couple of minutes. Throughout it all, the results remain the same.
Finally, he completes the last scan, "There, that's every variation I can think of, and no sign of Jason." More directly to me, "You shouldn't have to stay hidden for long, just long enough for us to get through the gate each way. Do you have a problem with enclosed spaces?"
After a moment of consideration, I answer him, "A little bit." Though I've never really had too much trouble with small spaces, I decide to err on the safer side, just in case. After all, this is pretty important. Last thing we'd need is me somehow screwing everything up.
Ido nods slowly, rubbing his chin as he thinks. "Alright. Then we should probably give you a mild sedative, so you can remain in a relaxed state. While you shouldn't have to remain hidden for long, it might be best to play it safe."
I nod silently.
"Maybe a small oxygen tank, as well?" Gerhad suggests.
Ido nods, then turns to me, "Remember, keep your glasses and everything else inside a pocket or inside your jacket until we let you out. If anything is so much as slightly visible, it may be picked up by their sensors, regardless of the results of my own tests, got it?"
"Absolutely," I reply with a firm nod. I make a mental note to make sure everything I won't need is left in my footlocker before going to sleep. Just in case I forget in the morning.
When we sit down to dinner, there's more discussion over details of our little smuggling operation. While air shouldn't be a problem, Gerhad and Ido both decide to play it safe and provide a small air tank for when I'm in the steamer trunk-sized cargo container they picked out. As Alita has a practice game scheduled for tomorrow, it's decided that the day after will be when we make the trip. Once that's out of the way, talk turns to what we just saw during Ido's tests. Speculation flies, but that's all any of it is. Despite the nebulous fears that attempt to take root, I try to be optimistic.
The effort is a spectacular failure.
….
Most of the next day passes in a kind of unreality. I'm more alert, and I can even focus on tasks, but it's like it's all disconnected from me. There's a strange, insulating distance from everything around me, as if the world can't touch me. I can recognize something as being funny, or sad or even hurtful, but none of it actually impinges upon me personally. It's like watching the world go by on a video screen that I'm only half paying attention to. Even my own emotions are muted and distant.
When evening comes and Ido closes down the clinic, Alita and Koyomi arrive, exchanging pleasantries with Gerhad as she passes them on her way home. Alita, returning from her practice session, and Koyomi from a day of scavenging for parts to sell for her little salvaging operation. After some settling in, Ido and Koyomi set up the crate I'll be hidden in. Alita approaches me with a harness-like rig.
"Here," she says, holding the harness up for me to see, "we need to get this fitted to you."
After staring at it blankly for a couple seconds, I look up at her and ask, "What's that for?"
She puts a hand on her hip, "So I can carry you on my back."
Frowning deeply, I glance down at the harness and back up at her, "Uh, wanna run that by me again there, Sparky?" My pride balks at the idea of being carried piggyback, and that insulating distance between me and the world starts breaking down.
With a hint of exasperation, she replies, "We can't take your wheelchair where we're going, and I'm the only one with the strength and endurance to carry you for hours at a time. I'd also like to keep my hands free. Unless you have a better idea? I mean, I suppose I could carry you over my shoulder for the long trek through the jungle. I'm sure that wouldn't be painfully uncomfortable."
My gaze scans the harness, then wanders the room as my mind spins it's wheels trying to come up with an alternative to being carried around like a cyborg's backpack. My shoulders sag a little as I say, "Yeah, I got nothin'."
"Okay then," she says, gesturing with the harness, "let's get started."
Heaving a resigned sigh, and with some amount of grumbling, I let her get the harness on me. Once I'm in, she slips her arms through the shoulder straps and easily, if unsteadily stands.
Over her shoulder, she instructs me, "Put your arm around my neck and stop leaning back so much, you're throwing my balance off."
Biting down on a complaint, I obey, loosely slipping my arm around her neck. The feel of her body pressed against mine is unsettling, like hugging a living statue, except for where the synthetic skin covers her neck and the area around it. Synthskin aside, her cyborg physique definitely isn't like a human body. This already awkward situation is made more so in my mind by the fact that it's not altogether unpleasant to be this close to her. Her body is generating a noticeable warmth, and the sensation is surprisingly relaxing. Her hair, brushing against the side of my face when she turns her head, is silky and soft. Pushing these things from my mind, I focus on the business at hand.
After getting a feel for the rig, she sets me down and the next minute or so is spent making adjustments to how the harness fits. Once the adjustments are complete, she then puts the harness back on and stands up, walking in a small circle to let it settle.
"How's that?" Alita asks me over her shoulder.
"It's fine," I respond tensely, becoming increasingly uncomfortable with her closeness. Or more precisely, how uncomfortable I'm becoming with how pleasant I'm finding this closeness. Silently, I complain, 'Are we done yet? Can I go now?'
"You'd better be sure," she says with a cautioning tone. "You're going to be in that thing for hours."
'Right,' I think morosely, 'once we get to the part of that dirt road where I came out of the jungle, it's two hours in, two hours back.' With an effort, I relax enough to point out a couple of additional adjustments that need to be made so the harness can more evenly distribute my weight. She lets me down to make the necessary changes.
When done, she stands up with me on her back and walks around a little. Coming to a stop, she again asks over her shoulder, "Okay, how's that?"
"It's good, everything's fine," I say, pushing down the faint humiliation burning in the back of my mind. Sullenly, I ask, "So, we're done now, right?"
Making a final adjustment to the shoulder straps, she responds impatiently, "Almost. Don't be such a baby."
Struck by a sudden fit of smart-assery, I bite back, "That would be easier to do, if you weren't carrying me like one."
In response, she merely looks at me over her shoulder and smirks as she finishes adjusting the harness. At last, the ordeal is over and I'm relieved to be back in my wheelchair.
I'm seized by a flash of intense anger as I think to myself, 'Relieved to be back in a fucking wheelchair?' My muscles tense at the sudden impulse to break something comes over me, making my hand ball into a fist, and I feel my face contort in anger. I attempt to suppress it by taking a deep breath and stretching, as if tired. These sudden fits of anger that break up my depression are becoming more unexpected.
After Alita and I wrap up the harness-fitting, Ido and Koyomi go over the details of my hiding spot with me. To put it simply, I'll be placed inside the crate, on a bed of parts (cushioned with some strategically placed blankets) and wait for them to let me out.
"Well, that should about do it," Ido comments, straightening up from putting a few last touches on my hiding place. "I think it's past time for dinner." He turns to Koyomi, "Care to join us?"
"Sure," she answers brightly.
Dinner is accompanied by talk about any unforeseen problems that may need to be planned for, as well as questions about what we'll find when we get out there. Questions that Koyomi hasn't heard the answers to yet. So, once again I relate what I remember of my arrival in the jungle outside Iron City. When I'm done, Koyomi looks understandably dubious.
"No offense, or anything," she says carefully, "but I can't really wrap my head around you being some kind of time traveler from the distant past. I'm gonna have to go with Alita on this."
My eyebrows lower, "So you're going to go with this theory that I'm a hold-over from that old war?" I give Koyomi and Alita a dubious look of my own as I say, "I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around that."
Koyomi shrugs deeply, "Well, Alita's a hold-over from the Fall. And she did find her Berserker body stored quite safely in a stasis chamber."
Letting out a quiet, frustrated sigh, I have to admit, "Yeah, I guess Alita's theory does sound a hell of a lot more plausible." I'm beginning to more fully understand how crazy I sound when I lay out the story of my arrival here.
…..
By the time everyone's ready to turn in, it's rather late.
"How 'bout you stay the night?" Alita suggests to Koyomi. "You'd have to drive back here tomorrow morning, anyway. I could give you the bed, since I don't really need it."
Koyomi happily accepts her offer.
…...
The sky is just starting to lighten as I'm sitting in my wheelchair, staring out the window. I managed about two hours of sleep before nightmares woke me up again. Between that and the building anxiety over what's about to happen, as well as the new findings over my anomalous affliction, I haven't been able to sleep. So, I got dressed and have been sitting here in the darkened room, looking out at a world that remains both familiar and alien.
Memories of a past life come back to me. News stories about gangs, drug cartels, brutal violence against everyday people whose only crime was deciding to go shopping that day. To say nothing of the more 'everyday' crimes of muggings, simple assaults and murders. I have no illusions concerning day to day life in this city. Just the thought of living out the remainder of my time in this place is exhausting. No family, no friends, struggling to survive with no hope of a better future.
Thoughts focus more fully on what the people here likely have to do, both to themselves and to each other, to make it through each day. If I'm going to live here, will I have to do the same? After all, I'm not some powerful Motorball star, or a talented cyber-physician. What can I do to make a living here? Will I have to start being like everyone else, willing to screw over others just to try and survive? Divest myself of every ideal I've worked my whole life to live by? The idea of doing so almost makes me physically sick. I'm suddenly struck by a directionless anger, almost a hatred of this city and the people in it.
Hating this world, and people I imagine as monsters of a sort, fills me with an energizing strength. I am, however, well aware of how damaging that kind of strength will be in the end. With substantial effort, I push the hateful feelings aside.
I look down at the remains of my legs, and consider yet again this strange affliction that's keeping me confined to this wheelchair. It's so easy to sit here and feel sorry for myself about what's happened. Certainly there's plenty for me to feel sorry about, I think. Others in my place would probably blame God for their misfortune, but I refuse to see it that way. Much like when I signed up for military service, I volunteered to take on the risks that came with following the Son of God. I chose to put my life on the line for another.
'Every act of kindness is a risk.' From the rather insignificant risk of it not being appreciated, all the way up to the risk of far worse. That day I made deliveries with Loretta, I got some of that 'worse'. If I wasn't willing to accept these risks, then I shouldn't have ever accepted that baptism.
'There is good here, too, isn't there?' asks a voice from somewhere within.
Letting out a deep breath, I feel the anger cool. Henry, Loretta, some of the others. They're good people, and no doubt there are more good people in this city, even if few in number. Ido and his little family here seem to be an excellent example. They've done so much for me, put up with so much from me, to say nothing of what they've done for this community.
Considering that, shouldn't I be able to count them as friends? I want to, desperately, but fear brings a near-certainty that it'll all come tumbling down the moment that I do such a thing. So it remains, these are good people, but they aren't my people. No one in this world is.
'Her amnesia.' My mind makes an unexpected turn towards Alita. 'Maybe that's why she's thinking I'm some kind of pre-Fall holdover? Maybe she's hoping that if I am, whatever we find out there will shake something loose about her own past?' It seems like a possible motive, but it could also simply be just an understandable skepticism about my story.
I'm jolted from my ruminations by a light knock at the door. A glance out the window shows me that dawn's light is touching the tops of the buildings. I'm only mildly surprised at how much time has passed. "Come in," I call out.
Doctor Ido pushes the door open and steps in, turning on the overhead light. "Good morning. How are you feeling?" he asks with professional, but genuine concern.
A weary shrug, "A little tired, but otherwise fine."
He steps closer, scrutinizing me, no doubt noticing I have the same clothes from yesterday. "Did you get any sleep?"
Another shrug, "Two or three hours." My eyes have been itching and burning with that sandy feeling that comes from lack of sleep. Have I really gotten that old? Time was, it would take more than one partly-sleepless night for that to happen.
He gives a single nod. "I was about to make coffee. Figured you might like some before we do last-minute checks on everything. Then we'll have breakfast."
"Yeah," I say blankly, "that sounds good. I'll be right down."
His gaze lingers on me for half a heartbeat, his expression unreadable, then he nods and walks out towards the elevator.
I briefly consider getting into fresh clothes, but see little point to it, considering we'll be heading out into the jungle. Once I get downstairs, Ido insists on giving me my medication before coffee. Shortly after I settle down with a cup, Koyomi and Alita make their way down and settle in at the table, Koyomi grabbing a coffee and Alita some tea. Ido and the young women are quickly caught up in discussing the upcoming smuggling operation. Their attitudes towards it are a sort of cautious excitement. Koyomi even brings up the idea of giving the operation a code name. An idea that is summarily shot down by both Ido and Alita.
Meanwhile, I'm sitting quietly off to the side, blearily trying to keep up with what's being discussed. That feeling of unreality hits me again, and I withdraw a bit. A state I am quickly pulled out of as Ido directs me into the living room to help get things ready. It doesn't take long, merely consisting of making sure that everything fits the way it's supposed to. The little oxygen bottle I'll have with me will be inside my field jacket, positioned on my left side so I can just reach under my jacket and open the valve a little if needed. No breather mask will be fitted to it, because the mask would be visible if I end up needing to use it during the inspection. My glasses will be in one of the large pockets, along with my new ID, just in case it should be needed for some reason. Backpacks with some food and water are prepared and everything is ready to go. Then it's a quick breakfast. As we're cleaning up from that, Gerhad arrives.
Ido does some last-minute fussing as he puts on a broad-brimmed hat and light coat, "Alright, so I got everything sorted and laid out, including a few things you shouldn't need, just in case. There are a couple patients expected today that will require significant repairs-"
"I know," Gerhad assures him, chuckling softly, "I helped you make some of these preparations. I'll be fine, it's one day, nothing I can't handle."
"Yes, of course," Ido concedes. His features showing a trace of pride, he adds, "You're practically a cyber-surgeon in your own right. I suppose I'm more worried about what we're about to do than anything else."
"Not too late to put this off," she says to him. "I don't think Jason's necessarily wrong to be worried about what the lot of you are about to do."
Alita, now carrying her Damascus Blade at her hip, comes over and puts a reassuring hand on Gerhad's arm, "It'll be fine. This way is actually a lot safer than those subterranean tunnels. The Centurions won't even know he's in the van." She then gives the nurse a quick, one-armed hug, "With any luck, we'll be back with something useful."
There's a round of quick 'good-bye's, then everything is packed up. After that, I'm loaded into the crate before being placed inside Koyomi's van, the better to avoid any prying eyes. Or so I'm told. Considering what I know of the technology from my own time, Zalem is no doubt the equivalent of a giant surveillance drone hanging over Iron City, with what they must have available in this day and age. I decide that the precaution is well warranted.
After some light jostling, my crate stops moving and there's the sounds of metal doors being closed. Then the lid opens up to reveal the blurry visage of doctor Ido.
"Alright, you want to do it yourself, or would you like me?" Ido asks, as he holds up the small square of plastic that contains the mild sedative he'd planned to give me.
After a second's consideration, I say, "Guess you'd better do it. You got two hands after all." I can see a small portion of my surroundings, and from the look of it, Koyomi's van is more like a small panel truck. I've yet to see it from the outside.
Ido peels off the backing and the patch is applied over my carotid artery, then we sit and wait out the short time before it takes effect. As we do, I look over at Ido and say to him, "Ya know, I've been meanin' to ask something."
With a tip of his head to one side in quizzical fashion, "What's on your mind?"
"What makes those tunnels so dangerous, exactly?"
Ido takes a breath before responding, "Aside from the dangers of structural collapse, there are, well… things living down there."
After a moment to consider the implications of what he's telling me, I say flatly, "Seriously."
He nods, "While I think it's safe to say a good deal of it is rumor and exaggeration, there is more than enough truth to it. There are too many stories of more monstrous cyborgs that were either someone's experiment that got loose, or people who took augmentations too far, after becoming obsessed with more and more upgrades. Criminals who've gone into hiding after being unable to flee the city. For certain there are some truly depraved individuals that make their homes down there, and come up at night to prey on the inhabitants of the poorest areas of the city."
"I see." Although I had suspected as much, hearing it spoken out loud is chilling. For a brief moment, I consider asking about Grewishka, but decide I've pried enough.
Ido lets me know that once we're within a couple blocks of the gate, he'll close up the crate. After a short time, my eyelids are drooping and sleepiness begins falling over me. Before I know it, the time comes. Ido gives me one last reassurance before closing the lid, then there's the sound of the rear doors opening and closing as he moves to the cab to join the others. Shortly after that, I feel the van jolt into motion. Despite the stress, fear and anxiety that's taken hold of me, lack of sleep wins out and I doze off before we even get to the gate.
