Chapter 6
Patient
Krystal sat in Meesha's office, waiting nervously for the purple vixen to enter and usher her to Alex's room. It had been about twenty minutes since she was cleared by the security staff to enter the facility. Now she sat, her lap being warmed by the food containers stacked there. The door to the office opened and Meesha entered. She was dressed similarly to Krystal; a gray scrub outfit but it differed in its disheveled state brought on by long hours on duty. She could tell that she was tired too, her gait was a little wobbly and her eyes had that all too familiar glazed fatigued look that set in when one drew near to the end of their shift.
"Yup, she was pooped alright," Krystal thought as the purple vixen fell into her office chair like a sack of bones.
"Five more hours and I'm home free," she said, rubbing her head.
Krystal could almost see the outline of the goose egg swelling under the purple fur of her skull.
"Still sore Meesha? you should really lay down with an ice pack," Krystal suggested.
"Yes I have a few days leave after this shift," Meesha said, wincing as she shifted her hand to the back of her neck.
"Feels like there's a fist full of gravel in my neck," she complained.
In response to this, Krystal slid a notepad across Meesha's desk. "Put your address on that, you've earned yourself a dozen bags of flow salt delivered free of charge."
Meesha's fatigue-layered face twisted in a contented smile at this. "Please, make it lavender scented as well."
She then withdrew a datapad, its blue light washed over her face; the shadows cast exaggerated her tired expression.
She began typing. "How's that bruise on your stomach?" she said, gesturing vaguely at Krystal.
She then whistled appraisingly when Krystal lifted her shirt revealing the purple fruit-shaped bruise.
"It looks worse than it is, but I won't be doing sit-ups for a while that's for sure," she admitted.
"I'm sure you'll recover in time before your figure starts to wane," Meesha joked.
Her voice suddenly became more concerned. "You're nervous aren't you?"
Krystal shrugged her ears shifting downwards until they pointed in opposite directions. "A little, I guess our blunder on the beach is still fresh in my mind,'' she said.
Meesha shrugged noncommittally at this. "Well, I'd be lying if I said I hadn't been mulling over what we could've done better, or if there were more tactful alternatives."
Her face became doubtful, eyes becoming farseeing in self-reflection.
She shook her head and her expression became more assured. "I wouldn't dwell on it even if it was messy, we achieved the best possible outcome …. we were handed a shit sandwich plain and simple. And I wouldn't worry about this visit, he's been calm and cooperative, he's not gonna bite. I told him about what happened and he was very apologetic, other than that he's pretty quiet, he follows every instruction I or the staff give him without complaint."
Krystal bit her lip in thought.
"Sounds like a farcry from who we met on the beach," she said.
Meesha nodded in agreement "Yes, he definitely keeps his manners and remembers his please and thank yous". "Still there's a lot that I'm still scratching my head at."
She suddenly stood up from her desk and leaned against the window looking out at the cityscape below.
"I keep running it over and over in my head and I can't come up with an explanation."
Krystal frowned at this. She knew what the other woman meant; so far all the clues around Alex's arrival were mismatched pieces. It gave no clear narrative. She was just as stumped. This wasn't a breadcrumb trail, more like a breadcrumb circle.
"Maybe he can enlighten us. I don't know why he would be cagey with the truth," Krystal suggested.
Meesha then turned and gave her a familiar look; one she always gave before delivering bad news.
"I think we might have a fly in the ointment, you see I already tried talking to the patient … uh … .Alex."
She turned looking back out the window, and Krystal could see the ghostly reflection of Meesha's face.
"Did he seem evasive …. was he hiding something?" Krystal asked, she didn't like how hesitant Meesha was being.
The purple vixen sighed, the hot air creating fog on the glass like a bad omen. "No…I think he might have amnesia brought on from the seizures he endured." "I tried asking the basics; what's your name, where you're from, and so forth…..nothing….. the only reason why he's certain of his name is because it was attached to his clothing."
Krystal's shoulders slumped. "It's not permanent, is it?….. I didn't see any wounds or evidence of head trauma, maybe time is all we need."
"True, but we're left with not that many options," Meesha said, tapping the side of her head with a forefinger. "We can't even touch his mind to sense if he's faking, or even to help him recover his memory."
Meesha sat back down at her desk, her fingers splayed on the wooden surface, she looked like a chess player; a move away from checkmate.
"Was there anything aboard the life pod? …. personal belongings ….. maps ….. identification," Krystal gently prompted.
The troubled expression on Meesha's face only deepened, her voice suddenly became more confiding. "No …. nothing, no form of identification, papers, journal, zero flight data recorded in the pod's console, there's not even a serial number or manufacturer logo on the vessel itself, nothing to help run a trace. We did a thorough inventory of his clothing ….. nothing in the pockets but sand and lint. The only thing we did find was a small blaster pistol in the pod."
She shrugged, nothing left to say.
An idea suddenly occurred to Krystal. "Have you contacted the Shroud? Maybe they could investigate further and trace where the pod came from," she said.
The Cerinian Realm was for the most part an isolated star system from the greater known galaxy, its security maintained by the Shroud which served as a sort of monitor and mediator for all things foreign that entered the Realm.
Meesha leaned back in her chair, at the same time Krystal felt a curious shift through her telepathy; as though a steel vault had suddenly slammed shut in Meesha's mind.
"No, I doubt they'd be much help either …. that pod warped directly into the planet's atmosphere, it didn't drift there all by its lonesome ….. no way to trace it back to its origin," Meesha said.
She was withholding something that much was certain, but Krystal decided tactfully to let it go. More than likely Meesha was simply tired, wanting to evade a prolonged interaction with the nosey bureaucrats.
"What should we do then," Krystal said, changing the subject.
Meesha leaned back in her chair looking at the ceiling. "I'm no good at this sort of thing, talking to aliens, making small talk," she admitted.
"You're the one who took initiative and risk when you went after him alone," she then indicated the stacked food containers atop Krystal's crossed legs.
"I know that second meal box isn't for me … so go on then, break some bread or whatever is in there, get to know him … if there's anyone he'd open up to … it's you."
She reached under her desk retrieving a few random books stored there.
"And give these to him as well, maybe some gentle mental exercise will kick start his memory."
She then went back to typing on her datapad; the conversation was over.
"Thanks, Meesha, I'll take it from here", she said, retrieving the gifts, then walking confidently out of the room.
"Just take it slow, and when you smile don't bare your fangs," Meesha joked as the door shut.
Leaving the other woman in peace, she walked along seemingly endless rows of patient rooms until she came to Alex's. Each door featured a side panel that displayed a digital cartoonish avatar of a Cerinian patient. Aside from adding an element of light humor to the sometimes somber space, it served to show the current health status of the occupant hooked to the medical bed. Currently, the disembodied canine head was sporting a nightcap, its head framed by a beige pillow, indicating that the patient was asleep. She looked at the other adjacent doors most of them had the same icon; a row of late risers for sure.
She pulled the key card attached to her breast pouch and swiped it across the lit panel, the avatar was suddenly eclipsed by a green hue as the door granted her access. The two-inch steel door opened, rising upward with a gentle exhale. The vixen stepped stealthily inside, the door shutting as she stepped across the threshold. The room was dimly lit by the calming blue hue from the surrounding medical monitors and other apparatus that surrounded Alex's bed. The man himself was asleep under the covers laying on his side facing her. His back was to the window of his room, the blinds were closed but the faded amber light of day framed the outline of his sleeping form, she faintly saw the rise and fall of his midsection as he slept.
Her acute hearing picked up the glacial rhythm of his unconscious breathing. Beneath the tranquil respirations, she could faintly hear the "thump thump thump" of his heartbeat. Even with the monitors giving an accurate reading, she nonetheless listened and counted as she always did with patients; her ears never lied. His pulse was low but strong, forty beats per minute; an average deep sleeper. She tried again to reach out to the dreaming mind. The telepathic tendril wrapped around Alex's mind the way a caregiving hand wraps a silk ribbon around a present, except when she pulled it taught it made a knot tying in on itself. He was alive, that much was certain, but still her inability to feel his mind gnawed at her.
Alex continued to sleep; indifferent to her feeble attempts to probe his mind. She reached out and typed a command in the control panel adjacent to the door. The window blinds slowly retracted, pouring honey-hued daylight into the space at the same time the ring of wind chimes began to emanate from the corners of the room; it was the same wake-up protocol she had used countless times to rouse patients. Alex began to wake, stirring under the blankets like some two-armed pupa. His dark hair was disheveled, contrasting against his fair skin like oily black paint on parchment. He shifted to his back as the hospital bed shifted to a reclined position.
He yawned blinking away sleep gunk. "Good morning Meesha…hopefully you slept as well as I did."
He hadn't yet turned to see that it wasn't her.
"You can go ahead and change the I.V. It's getting better each time you-," he trailed off when he turned to look at her.
For a long moment they simply stared at each other, the gentle melody of metal wind chimes gradually fading.
The blinds clicked fully open at the same time Alex said, "You're not Meesha…..or the other nurse; too tall."
His voice was watery and calm, like a children's book reader. His eyes scanned her up and down and fell on the pistol strapped to her thigh. A brief look of suspicion flitted across his face at the same time he shifted to a sitting position, legs dangling an inch from the floor. The sheets had receded around his waist revealing well-defined muscles atop that same smooth skin. She could see the white medical dressing wrapped around his abdomen, a hint of blood shown above the wound there like faded paint. Before she could speak his face brightened in recognition. He smiled at her, a sad tired, smile, but a smile nonetheless.
"It's you ….. you're the woman I saw from the water," he said like she was a mythical figure.
She smiled at him, trying in vain to not flash her fangs.
"I'm Healer Tarkania, but you can call me Krystal … do you remember me bringing you here?, we stitched you up and gave you blood," she said.
He nodded slowly pulling the sheets around him. "I remember the cold, It was horrible ….. like knowing you'll never be warm again," he said, shivering a little at the memory.
There was that feeling again.
"Not a monster, just a person … a patient in need of care," she thought.
"Cryo terror huh ….. yeah that's an apt name for it…. everytime I think about it I can't help but grab the nearest blanket." He swaddled himself in the blankets until only his head protruded emphasizing the point.
She gently laid him back on the bed pulling his arm to the side preparing to remove the I.V.
"Have you ever experienced something like that?" he asked earnestly.
She shook her head. "No nothing like what you experienced ….. and you're the first patient I've treated with that severe of a case."
She pulled up a chair alongside Alex's bed. With a practice hand, she withdrew the needle from Alex's arm while simultaneously applying a bandage to the little pin-prick of blood. She lightly pressed it in place, her other hand held his forearm; the touch lingering as she felt the unique texture of his skin. It wasn't just soft, but almost completely frictionless, warranting a firm grip when she removed the needle and applied the bandage. Her hand glided across his silk-like skin with uncanny ease. She could see the veins in his arms, blue roots that networked up and down his arm and neck.
She withdrew her hand before it became too awkward. Her gaze transitioned from his arm to his face; it was downcast in shame.
"Healer Tarkania," he began in that same watery voice.
"Krystal….just call me Krystal," she said, like it was no big deal. She had a pretty good idea of what he was about to say.
"The other Healer … uh Meesha …. she told me what happened on the beach …. and," his eyes met hers, an apologetic frown underlining it.
"I didn't mean for any of it to happen, I hope I didn't hurt anyone too badly …. I'm really sorry."
She could tell he meant it, the way his eyes furtively roamed her body looking for signs of injury, his eyes fell again on the blaster in her holster. He looked away, suddenly regarding his hands as though the evidence of his previous violence was etched in the palms.
"He thinks he hurt me … and I've come armed, probably thinks I'm afraid of him," she thought.
She reached out tentatively and took his hand, that same warm buttery smoothness greeted her fingertips, it was all the more tangible in the way the hand gripped hers back in greeting. Three days before that same hand had nearly broken her fingers and wrist, now it simply held hers gently, it reminded her of the many statesmen who offered their hand in dance during previous balls hosted at her family manor. Some she had taken, some politely declined, the rudely brazen she swatted away.
"Why Lady Tarkania you look ravishing tonight, would you humble this fool with your hand in dance," those high-status suitors would often say.
This trail of thought gifted a humorous fantasy of her and Alex sedately dancing in the ballroom of her home. She was dressed in a black night dress with gold trim while her patient was dressed in his medical pajamas, one arm around her waist and the other gripping her back. His I.V. was attached to his arm tethering him to the saline bag, the rolling medical pole moving along with their slow waltz; a tall skinny inanimate chaperone. A sudden gale of laughter escaped her lips.
"Uuhhh what's so funny?" Alex said, the sudden intrusion of his voice shaking the dream bubble till it popped.
She was still holding his hand and her free hand patted his wrist playfully, again his teeth flashed that sad tired smile.
"Nothing…just a funny mundane thought."
She held up his hand and shook it pointedly.
"You seem pretty harmless to me," she said, rolling her eyes and ears in amusement.
Alex only nodded, he seemed less tense in her presence.
"Alright …. what's on the to-do list today," he said.
Krystal's eyes flicked to the side and upward as she always did when consulting her mental checklist.
"Well we can start with changing the dressing on your abdomen, I want to see how your stitches are holding up, then check your blood pressure, if it checks out, we can maybe take you off the I.V.," she said.
Alex nodded, ever the compliant patient.
"Sure I wouldn't mind its absence", he admitted.
"Not something I can guarantee … but," she indicated the bag on the floor adjacent to her desk terminal.
"My mom cooked me some breakfast and she made a box for you, she figured you're as good a critic as any," she said with an encouraging grin.
"Wow … that's really sweet of her, I'll eat anything as long as it's warm and there's plenty of it," he said happily.
"Alright we'll start with the dressing then, just lay back and I'll make this quick," she said retrieving a pair of scissors while pulling down the bed sheets revealing once again, the faded red of the soiled gaws strips. She had quickly snapped on a pair of white gloves before running them along Alex's side seeking the start of her cut. The scissors made a stuttering rasp sound as she quickly cut through strips and tape. She pulled the strip off laying it aside on the medical tray adjacent to her chair, then she took a proper look at his wound.
The once three-inch gash was stitched and scabbed over the skin around it bruised and slightly burned. She had first mistaken it for a blaster wound based on the scorch marks on his clothing as well as the blaster impacts on the life pod. It was clear that Alex had been in a firefight of some kind. This theory held until she found shrapnel while rooting around in the wound. She along with Meesha had revised their prognosis; he had been in a shootout of some kind, during which a calamity, maybe a stray blaster bolt had caused an explosion injuring him. The cryo sleep had ultimately saved his life, halting the blood loss in its tracks. If the freezing hadn't occurred in the first place they would have found Alex in a kettle of his own blood inside the life pod.
She studied the strips measuring the drainage of blood with a critical eye then back at the wound. Her patient was healing fast, well beyond the mend. The color had returned to his face as well, no longer looking like the pale ghost they had deposited in the operating room. The only remaining symptom was the tiredness noticeable in his sluggishness and the cadence of his speech, however he seemed aware and lucid; the elevator in his head was reaching every floor. Still she pondered the healing factor of his species.
She must've looked confused, because Alex had shifted his eyes from her to the wound looking worried.
"Something wrong with the stitches?" Alex said.
She shook her head giving him a reassuring smile.
"No it's fine, it's healing up quite nicely …. I will though need you to sit up so I can rebandage you."
He did as instructed, and she began to wrap the fresh strip around his waist.
"So how are you feeling overall?" she said.
"Each day It hurts less," his eyelids drooped slightly.
"I can manage short strolls to and from the bathroom, Meesha was kind enough to toss me in the bathtub yesterday…I just feel really tired no matter how much I rest," he said.
She finished wrapping the dressing around his waist and began to carefully tape it into place.
"You lost over two-thirds of your blood, you're stable enough to where we can feed and water you while your body replenishes it, the fatigue will diminish overtime."
He nodded, carefully laying back drawing the sheets over his waist. She then wrapped a pressure cuff around his arm and waited. The screen to the left of her patient's bed gave a reassuring reading that was 90/70; little low but expected under the circumstances. Alex was perfectly healthy, well into recovery, and no longer needed an I.V. , he had earned the sacred privilege of eating solids again.
"No more I.V.?" Alex said, his expression hopeful.
She shook her head and waggled the I.V. tube as though it was a repulsive serpent.
"No more pinches and needles for you," she said, tossing the tube in the trash.
He breathed a sigh of relief and eyed the food containers again, trying in vain to hide the hungry expression. It made her feel guilty making him wait.
She quickly retrieved a food tray and clicked it into place, it spanned halfway across the bed like a crooked arm rest. Alex began drumming the plastic edge with his finger tips excitedly.
She turned to retrieve the two food containers, setting one in front of Alex.
"You can handle a fork and spoon?" she said.
Alex nodded then looked at her slightly embarrassed. "I feel terribly pampered, I don't have to wear a bib do I?"
She gave him a mock serious look. "Only if you plan on making a mess….and think nothing of it you're getting the same treatment everyone else is," she said, her tail lashing the air behind her.
"Really, does she make food for all the patients?" Alex said, humor cracking through his fatigued face.
"Only the strange ones", she then banged the food container on the tray along with a pair of plastic utensils and a tall glass of orange juice, she opened the food box, and stepped back as the warm food mist drifted out.
"Eat," she emphasized the curt command with a finger snap.
Alex wasted no time and began to eat. She ate adjacent to him at her desk, pretending to work at her terminal, when in actuality she was studying her patient closely. For a man who single handedly fought against six Cerinian warriors, he didn't look like much threat wise. Aside from the unfamiliarity of his species, he was very unassuming, very vulnerable in his injured and half exhausted state. He was hungry too, she could tell he wanted to wolf down the feast in front of him, instead he ate slowly and contemplatively, tasting and chewing his eyes squinted contentedly. He was keeping his table manners for her sake.
She playfully tossed a napkin at him and he caught it, flashing her a grateful expression.
"It's delicious Krystal thank you…..thank you", he said, his voice muffled by food despite his efforts.
She acknowledged him with a smile and a flick of her tail; it looked like a dismissive wave. When she was certain that his attention was firmly on his breakfast, she resumed her furtive scrutiny of him. She could make out the faint white of his teeth as he ate. They were like undotted rows of dice crowned with rounded edges, unlike the long sharp ends of her own teeth. She looked at his red tipped ears then the curious triangle of his nose. She suddenly had an inappropriate urge to reach out and squeeze the tip between two fingers.
"Don't you dare….I can already see you pinching your fingers ... .don't do it Krystal," a foreboding child-like voice said in her head.
She ate just as slowly as Alex savoring the buttery taste of the mash potatoes. He seemed to be enjoying the food himself growling contentedly as he ate, she made a mental note to bring two containers next visit. He didn't look to be starving, he wasn't too skinny or emaciated, maybe this particular species was more food intensive when it came to healing. She compared his features with her limited knowledge of other species, giving up pretty quickly. She had never seen a being so familiar in its mannerisms, yet so alien in appearance.
To her he was a figure made of soft clay whose features were carved and shaped by mysterious hands rather than a planet where nature birthed such a being.
"If not a planet…..what sort of hands made you Alex?" she thought.
"This really is a beautiful world," Alex said looking out the window where just below the sun was glowing red orange above the horizon. The view was partially eclipsed by palm trees that swayed like drowsy dancers. In the foreground we're the clumps of surrounding buildings, their limestone exteriors shining in the sunlight like bleached bones of giant whales.
"I'm very lucky….I could of ended up stranded in a place to be killed and picked clean, but here I am in your care, being fed," he said.
He looked at her and smiled, he really did have a nice set of white teeth and she liked the way his pale blue eyes shined when he looked at her. She briefly wondered if the innocent vulnerable demeanor was all an act to lower her guard. It was a suspicion that wasn't completely unfounded. He had appeared similarly non-threatening just before attacking her and Meesha. He had been under the influence of cryo terror psychosis, but still it didn't explain the fluidity or skill he showed when in combat. He had plenty of escape opportunities now. She was armed and well within reach. If he wanted he could pounce on her, take her sidearm and shoot his way out of the facility. More importantly she had the access key that would override much of the hospital's restricted floors and escape routes. But if he really did have amnesia such a deception would not be productive if he didn't know where to escape to.
"So Alex…. man from the stars are you really just an innocent passerby?" she silently wondered.
If she was a betting woman, she wagered that the man was a warrior of some kind, and a damn good one at that. Maybe he belonged to a larger group and was separated as a result of the theorized attack. If they were all similarly skilled as him, they would've been quite a force to be reckoned with.
He was now staring out the window watching the various floating pedestrian ships fly by sleepily.
"I'm different aren't I?" He suddenly said, not looking at her.
"Sorry I didn't mean to stare," she admitted sheepishly.
"You weren't … the other healers stare but most do a double take when they see me, like I've grown a third eye," he regarded her with one blue eye, lip bent in a lopsided grin.
"I definitely feel outnumbered here…..out of place," he said in between bites.
He fell into silence then looked back out the window resuming eating.
They ate in silence for a time.
It was only until she heard Alex begin to scrape his fork against the bottom of his food box, that she breached the subject of his memory.
"Meesha tells me you've been having difficulties with your memory," she said tentatively.
Alex merely nodded and for a long moment he ran a finger along the rim of his glass of orange juice. He plucked a drop of water sweat from the glass and began to rub the moisture between thumb and forefinger. His eyes darted to look at her then rebounded nervously to the drink. He took a long pull of the juice, letting out a long sigh before speaking.
"It's been difficult…I simply can't recall much before the crash," his wetted throat sounding bone dry.
"I try and try to pull at it but….. the only thing I'm certain of is my name…..it was on my clothing."
"All I can remember vividly is the cold….cold and the pain in my side…..when I was in the snow…..I saw…heard," he suddenly stopped himself taking another long drink that emptied the glass.
She used the excuse of refilling his beverage to give him a momentary reprieve. She went to the dispenser at the opposite end of the room. When she had replaced the orange liquid, she could see that a pale shade had creeped into Alex's complexion.
"Take your time," she said simply.
She could hear his heartbeat begin to pound faster, that gentle thump thump was starting to reverberate like the flutter of wings.
"Even though I can't remember, the more I try the stronger the compulsion…..it hurts when I pull the pieces together," he said.
"Do you remember anything before the crash?" she asked.
"No," he said.
"The ship you were on, anything distinctive, it's shape, size, or color?"
He shook his head.
"Any other ship passengers, someone you might have known?"
He shook his head, beginning to rub his temples in thought.
"The ones who attacked you….anything… anything at all?"
Sweat had begun to form on his brow.
"What about the cryo terror…..what exactly did you see, anything that might explain-?"
She suddenly trailed off as he shot her a look. His gaze had suddenly become intense and stoic, not at all friendly.
"No…..I felt…..strange, like I couldn't control myself…..but no, I saw nothing, not a damn thing," he said, his eyes locked on hers.
She studied his face closely trying to discern the truth from lies. Despite the unfamiliarity of his species, she could somewhat distinguish his emotions; the curve of his brow, the way he smiled nervously, the subtle shifts in his speech. He was still an enigma to her. That was the downside of being a telepath she mused, you're so used to reading people's emotions and thoughts that your ability to decipher expressions begins to diminish. It made liars not very commonplace.
He had looked away from her and took a long drink of the citrus again, he and the glass seemed to have the same amount of sweat.
He let out a long fluttering sigh.
"Here I am, a mystery to myself," he said, laying back in his bed. He looked profoundly unhappy with his predicament.
"I'm sorry Krystal I wish I had answers to give you, my mind is less than forthcoming at the moment."
He was still looking out the window, he looked lost to her then, abandoned. She was warranted in her suspicions of him, but she doubted he was faking. It was possible that he could lie and fake memory loss, but what he couldn't fake was the panicked racing of his heart beat and the beads of sweat forming on his forehead; no actor was this competent. He was telling the truth.
"I can offer you treatment. We have a few remedies for cases of amnesia," she said.
Alex had turned to face her then, his expression hopeful. "What kind of treatment?" he said hesitantly.
"My people are mental-precognitives, or more simply put we're telepaths," she said.
Alex simply stared back scratching his ear in confusion. "You're saying you can read minds." His eyes narrowed as a realization came to him. "But you and I speak the same language so it must be mild …. impression based …. otherwise speaking wouldn't be preferable."
"You're very much correct," she said, impressed by the astute observation; he might've looked and sounded sluggish but his mental faculties were very much intact.
He bit his lip in thought. "So what am I thinking now?" he said.
She merely shook her head. "That's just it …. I can't feel your mind, it's like a blank canvas, when we found you in the pod we thought you were dead because we couldn't feel anything when we tried to reach you."
Alex made a confused sound at this. "But I can think and feel … maybe it has something to do with the memory loss," he was softly pounding his fist against his head as though trying to discern the hollowness of his own skull.
"It might be," she admitted, a hint of suspicion had creeped into her voice.
Alex gave no notice of this, he took another sip of the orange juice, he rotated the glass slowly in thought.
"It's not anything that I've been doing consciously …. maybe it's because I'm ya know ….. different," he gestured vaguely at himself.
There was a colonel of truth to that, Krystal thought to herself. Her experience however with the various races and species of the Cerinian Realm chipped away at this suggestion. Her time as a combat medic had taken her to various worlds both familiar and alien, hospitable and desolate. Every world she had set foot on echoed with the emotions and premonitions of the minds around her the way wind carried pollen and mist. All living things had minds of which produced continuous thought, it had become expected like the laws of gravity.
Here before her was life that challenged such preconceptions. Was the being before really alive or some kind of manufactured entity, so advanced it mimicked life masterfully. No this ominous speculation was simply born of her own ignorance she concluded. She was confident that she could cure his amnesia but it would be difficult, unorthodox.
"There are a few tests that we can try, gentle mental therapy for starters," she said.
She then took Alex's empty food container and replaced it with the stack of books Meesha gave her.
"You can start by reading these, if you're going to be a guest on my planet you might as well brush up on our culture."
Alex carefully picked up the first book on top of the stack stroking the leather of the spine before opening it. It was a simple encyclopedia of Cerinian culture, but a whopping five hundred pages per volume. The whole stack was the entire volume, a total of five books that detailed the founding of the Cerinian civilization to its present day.
With his free hand he turned the stack to see the golden embossed titles on the spines of the corresponding novels.
"Wow, this is enough reading to keep me busy for weeks," he said.
He looked at her, a little worried.
"This therapy isn't going to involve homework and writing is it?"
Krystal humored him with a smirk.
"No, no homework, this is something to go at your own pace but I might drop a random pop quiz from time to time," she said.
A thought suddenly occurred to her and she reached into her pocket for her father's letter.
"There's actually something I've been meaning to ask you, but I don't know how to go about it."
She handed him the envelope with the wax seal of the Tarkanian clan crest. He took it turning it this way and that eyes squinting as he ran a thumb on the gray waxed seal.
"What is this?" he said.
"Just open and read it …. humor me if you will," she said, giving him a big toothy grin.
He shrugged, then opened the letter. His eyes began swaying left to right as he read then stopped. His eyes darted to the top of the paper and widened suddenly in surprise.
"From mister Tarkania, your Father," he looked at her confused.
"Your Father wrote this?"
Her smile hadn't wavered.
"Just read it."
He did so slowly, his pale blue irises scanning left to right. When he was finished he carefully folded the letter then reread it again.
"He sounds pretty eager to meet me, like I'm some kind of celebrity," he chuckled amused.
He finally folded up the letter and slid it back in the envelope tapping the edge on the food tray in thought.
"A biologist huh, maybe he can make sense as to what I am," he then looked around the room, as though the eager scientist was hiding waiting for a queue to make his entrance.
"If he wants to visit …. I can't see the harm in that, although I doubt he'd find me interesting."
Krystal merely shook her head.
"Not a request Alex, it's an invitation."
Alex merely looked dully back at her.
"An invitation?"
"To my family's manor … to visit," she said pointedly.
Alex then read the letter then nodded exaggeratedly, as one did when caught being an ignoramus.
"You live in a manor, like a mansion?" He looked surprised.
She gave a mock offended look.
"Do I look wealthy, or was penniless pauper a more accurate impression?" she teased.
He began to stammer an apology, but she ceased this with a finger wag.
"It's just a visit. He'll want to examine you, ask you some questions, and if you are willing, have you on an examination table," she said.
He gave her a nervous look.
"He's not going to dissect me … is he?" he said.
"Thank god I didn't bring him along he would've made Alex fear for his kidneys," she thought amusedly.
"No …. nothing that ominous, my father is just a fanatic when it comes to all things extraterrestrial."
"You'll just have to let him pitter patter a bit at first, but he'll mellow out….probably."
Alex nodded, then looked at himself; a little self-conscious.
"I uh … don't really have much for dress wear, there's only white pajamas in the closet here, hopefully it won't miff your folks too much," he said.
She favored him with a reassuring smile.
"We'll bend the dress code just for you, I'll sweeten the deal with dinner as well, my mother's treat," She stood up then.
"In the meantime we'll keep you here until I can get you signed out for a visit to my place won't be long, probably a week or less."
Alex nodded, he began rubbing his eyes, the fatigue seemingly creeping back post meal. She went to the door and opened it with her keycard.
Just as she took a step out of the room.
"Krystal"
She looked over her shoulder at him.
"Thanks for saving my life," he said.
She merely gave him a slight head bow and walked out the door. She walked down the hallway to the culture lab to collect Alex's blood and tissue samples. The rest of her shift she would randomly rub her thumb and forefinger together, trying to imagine and imitate the unique touch of his skin.
Trying and failing.
•••
He watched her go, her tail swaying behind her as she left the room, like a wave goodbye. He liked her. She was kind, inquisitive, and beautiful. He was in the cold, the snow when he first saw her. When he saw her face, he was certain she was an angel of some kind, come to take him, to separate him from his corporeal form. She had taken the cold away and poured warmth into his body, before he fell unconscious he knew he was in caring hands. Seeing her now dressed in her uniform dispelled this peculiar rapturous fantasy. She was different, even if he couldn't remember he knew it instinctively; he was far, far away from greater known space. This was further supported by how she and the other nurses and medical staff regarded him, the way they stared and scrutinized him furtively. He didn't mind, he was just happy to be away from the cold, in this soft warm bed.
These people truly we're kind. It made him feel guilty and regretful. He hadn't meant to attack her and the other men that had tried to help him, then again it wasn't them that he saw in the cold.
"Why out of all things I still remember that," he thought.
He had awoken in snow, flakes falling all around him like ashes. He seemed to be in the epicenter of a city of some kind, towering skyscrapers, apartment complexes, paved streets framed by light poles and pedestrian signs, all in similar states of disrepair. He had begun to walk then, but he had already known that he wouldn't find anything different, this kind of destruction was both infinitely far reaching and permanent. It was a world that had died long ago. The further he went the more the cold had begun to creep into his body. Life and warmth were completely absent, in its place was a chill that cut deep and threatened to extinguish your very soul leaving you a hollow husk.
But there had been beings here, creatures that slept in the nooks and crannies of this frosted concrete jungle. They hibernated only to awaken when fresh prey made itself known. They had come for him then, twisted and brittle stick like bodies buried under centuries old ice and snow roused themselves and began amassing moving towards him. They were close enough that he could see the ragged remains of their clothing, denoting their previous professions and social status, but no longer were they segregated by the dictates of such, now they jammed their emaciated bodies together with an eager pressing confederacy that was born from one goal; extinction of life itself.
Their faces were gaunt, drawn frostbitten skin that creaked and crinkled as their jaws hinged open and closed. This was not the teeth chattering of one's that felt the chill, but the grating of sharpened teeth bared. He turned to run but had only collided into a solid mass of the same things that had slinked behind him. He fought as best he could, punching, kicking, stomping their brittle bodies as they came at him. It was no good, their numbers were simply inexhaustible. He cried out in pain as they tore into him, ripping off whole gobbits of muscle and fat from his body. They had encircled him then, they're faces ringing his vision as he looked skyward. All he could feel was the blood pouring from his side and the cold, god it was awful.
And then suddenly it was all gone. The snow had been replaced with sand, the sounds of chilled wind replaced with the crashing of ocean waves. He felt a warm hand on his cheek, he had seen her then.
"Stop thinking about it," he scolded himself. He banished it from his mind.
The mental itch had returned, the need to remember. He ignored it, drawing the blankets around himself as he shifted to his side looking once again outside at the passing ships.
"Maybe if I count them I'll drift off to sleep," he thought.
He watched them drift and maneuver in orderly groups, like schools of fish. Actually, come to think of it, their designs were very much marine-like, their dark obsidian hulls flanked with fin-like wings. The cockpits glowed blue like bioluminescent eyes and the end propulsion was tapered like the tail end of a whale. He began counting, he got to twenty when he felt it again that persistent voice.
"You need to get out of here, you're putting them all in danger … you're putting her! in danger," it said frantically.
It unnerved him, unlike the other part of his subconscious that prodded him to remember, this felt less instinctive and more rational. But surely the danger had passed, he was in a secure facility that was guarded twenty-four seven and judging by the way his caretakers glanced at the corners of his room, he was being watched as well. He was as safe as one could be, it didn't negate that feeling of being in someone's crosshairs. Maybe it was just a mix of the exhaustion and stress that was the root cause.
"Then why did you sneak away the fork when she wasn't looking?" the voice in his head said.
He had performed the sleight of hand when she moved to take his food box away. He had wrapped the utensil in a napkin and slid it back into his palm as he passed it to her, then hid it under his pillow concealing the action by shifting his posture in bed. He performed this deception so quickly and instinctively he had no time to ponder why he did it. He snaked a hand under his pillow making sure the fork was safely tucked away. He hoped it was just paranoia, and in a few days he would throw the damn thing away.
"You're wounded and easy prey Alex, you need every tool you can get your hands on."
"What I need is rest and a day of not hearing it," he grumbled to himself.
Maybe he should ask for sleep meds, warm milk even.
"Sleepy prey … is easy prey," the voice mocked.
He wanted to shout and lash out, instead he took a few deep breaths, imagining the urgent voices being buried under mental soil each exhalation until only the gentle hum of the medical machinery could be heard. He then scanned the room left to right until his gaze settled on the bathroom door.
"Maybe all I need is some warm water splashed on my face … might ease the tension somewhat."
Mindful of the stitches in his side he swung his legs over the bed. He winced a little at the cold kiss of the sterile floor as his feet touched it. With one hand still on the bed he tested his balance gradually putting his full weight on his legs. The ever present fatigue was still there and his muscles felt sore but his legs felt sure and strong, at least enough to make it to the sink and mirror. He took his time, even though he was no longer tethered to the I.V. bag, he tentatively put one foot in front of the other. Eventually he made it to the bathroom and pushed the door ajar, his nose wrinkled as the sterile air more concentrated in the confined space sucker punched him.
He flicked the light on, the room was plain and unremarkable, just a simple tub and toilet across from the sink and mirror. He ran warm water and retrieved a white washcloth neatly folded at the edge of the sink counter. He thoroughly soaked it, then wringed the water out. He pressed the steaming cloth to his face for a count of ten, then draped it across the faucet. He blew fog on the glass pretending to draw vague shapes in case they had cameras present in this space as well, he used the action to gauge the strength of the glass.
It felt too dense, maybe some kind of acrylic glued to the wall he theorized. That ruled out the possibility of a handy makeshift knife. His reflection stared back at him, looking maddeningly gloomy. He simply stared back unsure, as though at any moment the doppelgänger would suddenly animate, and clue him in as to what the fuck was going on, who he was, and how he got here. The pale blue eyes and impassive face only imitated; a reflection's sole purpose. Sighing he again retrieved the still steaming washcloth this time massaging the sore muscles in his neck.
He stopped as he felt his thumb graze a curious bumpy texture where his back met his neck. There was something there, not a blemish or goose flesh. He closed his eyes, running his fingers slowly across the bumps. They felt small like the rounded ends of pens, almost like touching braille. He turned his body trying to make out their shapes in the reflection. He could see now that there were indeed curious tiny black dots arranged in clusters that spanned the back of his neck. Each cluster of dots seemed to form a random letter or number into almost a code of some kind. He once again blew air creating fog on the makeshift glass. He began to carefully recreate the sequence, while twisting his torso from side to side. When he was finished he squinted at the letters and numbers he smudged into the glass.
A13X0001
"A serial number … what's that doing tattooed on my neck?" he thought.
For a long moment he simply stared at it, again wishing for some divine intervention to make sense of the cipher. Nothing, no revelation or epiphany made itself known. He sighed again and began erasing it one character at a time. Something made him stop halfway. He looked again at what was left.
A13X.
He felt gooseflesh suddenly rise at the back of his neck.
He wrote the first half again, then again, then again, each time more frantically.
"It can't be," he breathed to himself.
With one hand he covered that second half of the code on his neck once again reading it in the mirror.
A13X.
"A13X, my name is….." he leaned forward and wrote it one last time, the correct way.
When he was finished, he was now looking at his own name.
ALEX, the smudge read.
He simply stared at it, wondering for the thousandth time that day,
"Who am I?"