1
2984
R. Vincent Riccio
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 R. Vincent Riccio
ISBN 9781605857435
** Science Fiction - Fantasy Series **
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“Few men are willing to brave the disapproval of their fellows, the censure of their colleagues, the wrath of their society. Moral courage is a rarer commodity than bravery in battle or great intelligence. Yet it is the one essential, vital quality for those who seek to change a world that yields most painfully to change.”
-Robert F. Kennedy
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Chapter -1-
LOG
It is the beginning. Again. I am not sure, exactly, where to begin. Currently, I can remember - little - of who I am. The dimmest of past memories - flash through my mind in blurred vignettes - all is confusion. Present impressions are - becoming somewhat stronger. What I now sense - is not my past, not a memory, perhaps a dream. I am experiencing my present life - through the wrong end of a telescope. I am not sure - what has happened to me. It seems as if - I have been dead - and then am back to life.
I wrench my mind painfully to scavenge up the oldest memories lodged there. I must start there. I see darkness, a blackness - from long ago - and now it is here again - in the present. Within it there is - beauty - blinding incandescence - meaningless blurs of indescribable motion. I cannot put words to what I behold, nor articulate the meaning.
I am beginning to be able to sense my body. It seems to be whole. Sensory input to my brain is weak. I recall my mind thinking randomly, in a vacuum, for a long, long time. And then a cascade of chaotic, painful sensation - meaning nothing. Eventually - over so long a time - did these many elements begin to coalesce into organization. And, now, again, I am there. The feeling is strong - that I have returned from the dead, or an out-of-body experience. I have been shattered. Once more. And yet the pieces of me seem to be intact - at least, loosely held together. Unexplainable.
Sellene. The name flashes in my mind - along with a perfect, ethereal image - a face - her classical, opalescent beauty swarms over me. I comprehend this from the present - and from long ago. Cannot articulate further. Her visage forms in my mind’s eye. I am not sure precisely who she is. But she is there, before me, looming, important, striking, helping - much more. Waves of agony upset and overcome me. I am becoming lost once more. Too many disjointed elements in my head. Painful. I am unable to fathom - my circumstances. The notion that I am a changling sifts through the neurons within my brain, as dust through a cobweb. I do not fully comprehend the meaning of that either. Possibly I am dying. I am unsure. Can think no longer upon this. My mind - loses - consciousness.
** end report **
It is now the second entry of this log I am dictating to the computer. Not certain how much time passed - since the first. I am beginning, on occasion, to put some things together. But the total picture remains unclear and nonsensical. I was able to get up stiffly from my bed and walk haltingly around. Weak. Dizzying. I managed to make my way to the bathroom and wash my face with cold water. Bracing. I stared into the mirror at myself, vaguely recognizing the face which stared back at me. Light skin, close cropped ash blonde hair, pale blue eyes, fairly youthful features - I did not look like I was dying, but I was drawn and peaked. It does not explain the wretchedness and pain I feel. I had just enough energy to make it to the kitchen and down a nutrient shake, then back to bed. My portable computer is there - here - next to me - where I can reach it easily, so it is not too much of an imposition on me. I speak into it, and it writes the words into my log.
Everything which surrounds me is strange, and yet not completely strange. Nothing of my existence, or the world around me, makes sense - or is completely familiar. Not people, not memories, not myself - nothing. All is disorganized and disjointed within me. I do not gel with my environment somehow. It is critical that I put things together. I sense the drive within me, by genetics or conditioning. I am compelled to mesh the fabric of my existence together - to find answers. I know in some fashion that my life is bound to this purpose.
There was a time - it comes to me - when I possessed an eidetic memory, and yet now I am able to remember nothing of my earliest life. A peculiar dichotomy. This sense is overwhelming. I can forget nothing, and yet I have forgotten everything.
Thus do I create this log, to ensure that my future will recall my past: every impression, every thought, every feeling, intelligent or not. Later, when my reasoning power is more adept, I should glean more complete understanding, discern some truths.
I am in a hospital. This realization has sprung into my mind. There I have been - a long time - seemingly interminably. But wait. I am not. That is my past. My recent past. I am no longer there, not exactly - I have left it. This fact reveals little to me. I must return to that medical establishment.
I am tired. I must become better at this. The drive is strong.
** end report **
Once more I am awake. That in itself is hopeful. I am perhaps dying less, recovering more. My body is not completely under my control. My stomach is nauseous - I can feel that. Some of my muscles are still twitching and cramping - painful. I swallow a handful of pills Sellene left for me; they are supposed to help.
Further recollections come to me. It would seem that I have had a relapse of a previous affliction, although I am not quite sure what it is. At least this adds some sense to the phenomenon, and the peculiar memories, and shadows of memories, that run through my head. Doctors have told me that such relapses will bother me intermittently, recurring at indeterminate periods, but gradually the affliction will diminish over a few years, as my recovery continues, and I become completely healthy and whole again.
It is now two days since my first entry. I must keep an accurate log. I have pain and vertigo when I attempt deep thought. Often the suffering extends to my entire body, producing a simulacrum of total biological depression, which becomes agonizing. That is what has happened to me this time. Despite the frequent pain, the drive within me to cope is powerful and unrelenting. A struggle against the blackness. I shall put my body in order, the mind will follow.
My nervous system is still shaky, queasy, and disharmonious - unreliable. I have to forget about it, hoping it will settle down. I can hardly stand, and cannot walk more than a few feet at a time before needing to stop and rest. My legs tend to collapse beneath the weight of my body, which I was told is unusually heavy. No sense to that.
I must get back to the beginning. My primary recollections begin with this most feminine of women. Sellene. She was there - when first I awoke, in the hospital - following my accident. That’s it - my accident. And then again, as I left, two years later - she was there once more. She is somehow a focal point in my functioning - and also dysfunctioning. A cause as well as a cure - a bizarre phenomenon - an enigma within a puzzle. I can yet add little more to that. A scientist must record these things in minute detail.
I am a scientist. I have been a scientist. That comes to me, although - nothing more. It is painful to try to remember.
I have forced my mind to think harder, deeper, despite the pain. She was with me when I - relapsed. She has helped to cause it. Somehow there was - too much input. Perhaps too soon. This engendered too much output - for me. I have not functioned adequately. I need more time.
I cannot see her for some time. I would get worse. I am not sure why. Again the thought persists - that this cure is worse than the disease. Strange I should think that in a world which has no disease. Some sense of reality is beginning to come back to me. Genetic engineering and eugenic medical science eradicated most illnesses centuries ago; and yet, now, I recall, genetic engineering is outlawed. Another peculiarity.
Tomorrow, I feel, shall be more organized. That is my first priority - get to tomorrow. One cannot effect accomplishments without organization. I am feeling a bit better now, but it is still too much of an effort to think for long periods - or move very far. Today is - Wednesday - the computer tells me. Perhaps by Saturday - a few more days, at my current rate of recovery - I will be well enough to comport myself with some normalcy, and will be able to discourse with others. Possibly I can speak to Sellene. She is also hurt by this. I recall her distress, and anguish - after so much euphoria. Things will have to wait until the weekend, when hopefully I will be well enough to sort this out.
It was last Friday - that was the night of my - “relapse” - when everything - culminated. Exploded. I am weakening again. Muscles and nerves are shaky. Stomach ill. Must rest again - return later.
** end report **
It is another day. I slept well last night. I’m now able to drink fluids. I swallowed some more high nutrient liquid, only moderately upset the alimentary canal. It provided more strength. I am able to walk short distances without collapse. Also swallowed some more of the pills Sellene provided for me; not sure what all of them are for, but they do seem to help. She is my Nurse-guide - and also more than that. It makes her the cure, but also the cause for my dysfunctional relapse.
My life continues to be one of revival. I am still uncertain what that entails.
Back again to the beginning, which must be the lynchpin for everything I know and everything I am.
Sellene is part of the very first perception I have. Large, golden eyes staring soulfully, wonderingly, at my face. Her light, auburn hair cascading down softly around her flawless, lightly tanned complexion to her shoulders. The gentle touch of delicate hands snuggling the covers up over my chest, and a youthful smile coming to her lips after she checked the drips. She noticed that I was aware of her. I heeded all this as I lay motionless and emotionless in my bed - although it made no sense at the time. The memory persisted, and, as my mind improved, I made sense of the impressions.
I remember being conscious of my breathing, and that was all I knew about my body or its condition. There was motion inside me, possibly the heartbeat, the throb of blood pressure. I existed like that a long time, but I have no idea of the time factor. Doctors have been vague; it seems they didn’t know themselves. That is, apparently, part of their job, their education: vagueness; caution; professional pessimism.
Eventually there were flashes of pain in my head, familiar, but not familiar, both at the same time. Sight and sound came in bewildering fashion - a chaos of colors and noise. Without learned organization, the senses’ convergence upon awareness is so much confused torment: flashes of variant light, the dissonance of disassociated sound. No meaning, no relevancy. I lost consciousness many times. I couldn't think, couldn't remember who or what I was - if I was. Consciousness itself had no significance. As if I were being born, or created. Existence exploded upon me in a bruising and excruciating fashion.
I remember dreams, or what appear to be dreams. I could not distinguish real from imagined, awake from asleep; I didn't know which was the real world. Perhaps I still don't. Then again, perhaps it makes no difference.
The dreams, the random thoughts, the barrage of elements assailing my mind, caused by sight and sound entering consciousness, this is all part of my first recollection. It's a gestalt, one big pot of sensorial stew. Slowly, over a period of months, from the hospital reports, I began to understand, to remember bits and pieces of the existing world. But never enough. Even now, so much unfamiliar, so much of the world operating under mandates of illogic: rules whose single purpose is order, yet they do nothing but breed a subtle chaos. I cannot explain the conundrum; it is even stranger that I should find one.
Sellene was a Nurse of some kind. She was a soft vision and pleasing sound, organized, symmetrical: a youthfully beautiful, angelic face staring back at me, speaking in pleasant and soft tones - noises which I could not understand, but felt soothing to my nervous system. I caught the most gossamer whiff of a fragrance I naturally could not identify, but which was distinctly hers. Then she was gone - all of her. But the memory persisted, the recollection of her, of all I sensed when she was present; in those earliest of times, her essence was strong, and I clung to it as the most authentic proof of my reality.
After that, colors began to form more coherent patterns, light became organized. I recognized symmetry and structure. There were fewer variants.
I remember Doctor Tillis, Franklin Tillis, from the earliest days. He appeared after Sellene. A comparatively shortish man with a permanent smile built into his broad face, poking, prodding, testing me, smiling all the time. It irritated me somehow: the fixed smile. He seemed to be different than my image of the proper male, which was another oddity. People should not be different, particularly those in important positions. That was too sophisticated a concept to dwell upon. I dropped it. Until now.
During the months following those primary recollections, there were only blurbs and dashes of memory. There was another woman, or girl; nearly impossible for me to guess age in people. She attended me in those days after the disorganized beginnings.
Keri Banner. An attractive blonde, a pleasing woman with deep blue eyes and a charming voice, slightly older than Sellene, I had come to know, although she doesn’t much look it - but is more experienced. She coached me with speaking and hearing, using myriad devices and extraordinary patience. I learned sign language when I couldn't speak. I was taught vocabulary by her, sound identification, given thinking and discrimination tests, which I quickly learned.
After ten months I was able to speak, hear, and think with regularity and coordination. I could get up and walk around, use the physical therapy machines. At that point I began to recover rapidly. Thinking and sensation were becoming more focused. But there was still so much of what surrounded me that was unfamiliar. I must rest.
** end report **
Thursday evening. I am back to my log after this morning’s session, for I must put everything I can recollect into my log as quickly as possible, while I remember it.
I recall from my earliest days at the hospital looking through the green-tinted, polarized windows at the crisscrossing lines of alloy steel which surrounded and intersected the city; they filled the lower sky, with some sort of vehicles jetting past on many of them. They were silvery, rail-hugging worms that took off and stopped abruptly, as fast as they moved, in glistening blurs, seeming to defy the laws of motion and inertia. I remembered no such thing in my life, although the things are ubiquitous, part of the intrinsic fabric of civilization.
I was instructed - again, apparently - that this was the everyday Monobus, M-bus, or most simply, the “M,” whose glass and steel webbing laced the country and the world, wove it together and tied it close, in a tight, interconnecting web. Within the cities, I now see it as spectacular: M-rails, occasionally on as many as twenty levels, weaving in, out and around each other, touching the gigantic skyscraper buildings above, below, and in between. Underground, over ground, above ground, the M was everywhere: the dominant mode of transportation. There was no remembrance of such a thing in my brain, as I stared out at them through my hospital windows.
I explained my concern for this lack to Keri Banner. At first she was concerned by it, but later informed me that memory of it would return. She had walked over to confer with Dr. Tillis, who smiled at me, nodding his head at Keri several times, continuing to smile while talking and nodding, all at the same time. I seem to remember that vividly now.
She returned to me, looked into what I later discovered to be my continually blank, expressionless face, and then asked if I remembered the question I had asked her. I said yes I did, and restated, “What are those ugly, wiry things strung all over the outside of the buildings?”
After chiding me for a such question, which she indicated was “mal-Adaptive” - a phrase I did not yet recognize - she asked me if I could remember any monorails. I thought hard, and found that I had only a vague recollection of the concept, but nothing of this expansiveness.
Keri explained that the Monobus was simply a modification of its oldest type, invented over a thousand years ago: more sophisticated, versatile, common, and much faster. The M’s had replaced the “M.P.P.T.” - which I also did not remember. She translated this as “Multi-Purpose Public Transport.” This had grown into a herculean Monorail Train company, government owned and operated, and which had completely replaced the ancient personal motor vehicles as they had replaced horses and buggies. Both items existed now merely as collectors items, or in museums.
I asked her how they were able to move, since I saw no mechanism for motion. She informed me they all moved by electricity - sophisticated motors in the monorail hookup. I could look it up in the computer history banks later on for all the details she expected an analytical mind like mine would desire.
She asked, did I remember anything about ancient motor cars or automobiles? Strangely, I mentioned, I did, but, again, only vaguely. I told her that. This caused her to look somber and uncharacteristically thoughtful for a few seconds, then she automatically cheered herself and stated that this, too, would change in my mind given time.
I recollect sometime during the early discovery days I asked her what had happened to the other girl, the pleasant young one with the big, golden eyes. This also brought a momentary look of consternation which she quickly cleared and answered that there was no other female but her, my memory must have misconstrued her in my brain. She had cared for me from the first. No one else but she and a team of specialized Doctors had ever seen me. I accepted that, and Keri was satisfied that I did. Within me, the notion that I had indeed seen the other girl remained, but I could not attach any great importance to her presence or absence; yet, somehow, I clung to it as a precious memory.
Later I asked Tillis. He proved to be less obfuscating, eventually explaining that they did not wish to inform me of the other girl in order to discourage greater confusion, and they also wanted a bond to occur between Keri and I as an enhancing mechanism of education. That seemed to make sense on the surface, but I could not escape from the feeling that there was something more to this big-eyed girl than had been explained. Whatever the truth was, I was unable to grasp it, nor did I find any relevance to the young Nurse's existence at all, other than my perception of it.
Subsequently I came to know this other young Nurse, who became assigned to me as a medical care provider and guide into full Adaptation, someone who’s job it would be to reorient me to the world and proper behavior and custom. I asked her about this situation, what were her recollections of me from those early days. She said she knew nothing of me, but it was probably so if Dr. Tillis stated it. During those days she had been studying hard as a Student and had made many rounds in the hospitals; perhaps we had seen each other and, in her maze of duties, paid little attention, and, of course, with all of her other studies, she would hardly be expected to remember it.
Although I accepted her explanation - for I could not imagine her being deceptive - this provided me with logical problems, in that I was the sickest and lamest of all people ever to grace the halls of the vaunted hospital, and had uncharacteristically been there for many months recuperating. That would necessarily appear to be a singular attraction; still, I attached no particular significance to this either.
Bewildering. All the elements of my world were unfamiliar and confusing, foreign down the to least important of them. It was unsettling to one such as I who had, apparently, been educated in the methods of scientific discovery and analysis.
One further note. I found all people disconcertingly - similar, and attractive. They were difficult to distinguish, one from the other. Except for Tillis and a few others - perhaps I should include Sellene here, since she is a stunning example of female pulchritude, beyond the average standard of attractiveness mandated by society. I was unable to tell young from old, “beautiful” from “ugly” - although there is no true ugly - not any longer. The Eugenics programs of the mid third millennium had taken care of that. Individuals did not seem to have readily recognizable differences, certainly not in my ostensibly meager estimation.
There is a homogeneous standard that is characteristic of, and even officially prescribed by, government which somehow troubles me. It was now accepted, Keri informed me, that human beings were exceptionally sexual creatures, of all the other animals. I wasn’t sure about that, since I did recall that simple unicellular organisms and insects were extremely sexual; they had to be in order to survive their short life spans - but perhaps I evade the point. Thinking, Keri told me, had given this characteristic to mankind, and it had taken millennia for us to adapt to it. Once the Eugenics sciences began their administrations, around 2400, and for the next 200 years, many characteristics of human beings were modified, including the body’s immunity to illness. The average age of a human being was now over 100, and individuals were youthfully attractive and healthy until their final days. Sexual capacities and physical characteristics were also modified to increase sensitivity and enjoyment of sex; she told me this was something I would discover for myself once I left the hospital, and I was fully healthy again. The reason for this was personal health, relief from stress and tension, the beneficial release of endorphins and other hormones which promoted a healthy homeostasis in the individual, and, hence, society - the truly important thing. In the past, sexual frustrations had caused much illness and crime; it no longer did. A good deal of diverse, sexual interaction was reputed to be the healthiest and most stress free condition for human beings.
Any sense of “ugliness” had been scientifically rendered nonexistent, thanks to the eugenics programs; there were only different forms of beauty. I wasn’t sure about that either, since even a person like me, for all my insensitivities, could perceive the differences in beauty amongst people; but perhaps that was only me. And there were no truly “ugly” people that I had ever seen. Another genetic engineering benefit was that all the hair, everywhere on a person’s body, was virtually invisible - micro-fine except for that on a person’s head; no more shaving of any body part. Science had tried to eliminate hair altogether, but, as mammals, it was impossible; genetics science was able to change its character to being virtually invisible.
All this dovetailed with the Code, a theoretical and pragmatic masterpiece of human social and political engineering, I was told, which corrected all the errors of previous generations, and brought humanity together as sexual beings who lived to enjoy each other’s company, presence, and intimacy. I found that a strangely fascinating concept. I am not sure why. I would learn more about that eventually, when I left the hospital.
I found this “sameness” now mandated by the Code odd, since reason would dictate that strength and effectiveness would come from diversity of approach and talent rather than homogeneity. I find life itself strange in general, which is a feeling that is stranger still. I wonder if I have always had such a feeling, illogical as it would be - if I have always questioned the world around me. I am, after all, a product of all this; and yet, I feel alien in my own society, amongst my own people. My affliction must have been extraordinary. Tillis and other Doctors have explained these intellectual troubles to be a facet of my condition and therapeutic recovery. It must be so, yet it unsettles me nonetheless.
** end report **
It is late Thursday night, now nearly a week since my relapse last Friday. I slept a little more after my last entry, then had another protein shake. My reasoning processes and memory are becoming more stable, although I still feel somewhat weakened. I believe at this moment I am not far from the optimal functioning I realized before the relapse occurred. I've taken more nutrients and many little pills. It now seems to me that the young Nurse, Sellene, is somehow a catalyst in both my recovery and my relapse. I have been using the term “relapse” which is correct only to a degree, for technically it would be impossible to “relapse” into the state I originally found myself at the hospital, caused by the great explosive accident which left me in a condition of mangled bones, muscles, and nerves. Yet the state of general disorientation and neuro-muscular dysfunction is common to both situations: the original accident, and my recent “relapse” much later.
I had made great progress in resurrecting a healthy state of emotionality, thinking, and sensation, with only occasional “relapse” effects, then, suddenly, I had this major, crippling condition and was ill again. The Doctors had warned me of this contingency often. I should not have been as confidant of my cure - at least my complete cure - at this early stage of my post-accident development. I had absently missed some of the medication doses I was supposed to take. Had the Medicals known, they would have jetted me back to the hospital for this mal-Adaptive behavior and recommended more testing, prodding, and poking - things I had come to hate, if only intellectually. I am told scientists make poor subjects.
There is a set of knowledge in my memory, despite what I have obviously lost, which is my own understanding of the world, and that vision is absolutely clear. These impressions are vivid, detailed, and distinct. Nothing clouds them. But there are portions of the world which seem out of synch with that vision, causing me to feel, at times, like an outsider. The good doctor says that this feeling is normal after the severe and prolonged trauma I have suffered. I must remain optimistic that in time I will be completely healed and such feelings will dissolve into health.
** end report **
I’ve just gone over this report. I seem so much a different person now. Stronger. Perhaps in a few more days the world will once again seem sane to me. With all I recall, the recollection I have of my surroundings is minimal, in some areas nonexistent. I believe it will be valuable to me from both historical and health standpoints to recount everything which comes to me and place those recollections into this log. They should be valuable in understanding the course of my affliction and its recovery. There is always the possibility that this crippling “winking out” of my neurological system, which was the major portion of my relapse, might occur again. This record may be the only help I would ever have. Sellene seems disposed to help; it is my hope that she actually can. Certainly she is professionally inclined. Despite any other feelings she may have, I believe she will always be so.
I am unable to explain the whole of my existence. I possess virtually no recollections of my origin - birth, childhood, all that. I had to look that up in the historical data banks to find who I was. I recall that now. Had I not seen the results of my own physical examinations, I would have believed I was an android or cyborg, created by some ambitious biochemical engineer. This does not appear to be the case, as we have never constructed anything that sophisticated. Then, of course, there is the government’s intervention and subsequent outlawing of artificial life forms. Clones could be allowed in cases of the extreme, but they would be decided by a government panel on the matter, then Doctors and scientists would act accordingly; otherwise, cloning was outlawed. Thus, it is unlikely I am a clone of someone.
We do have many computers, but it is illegal to make them in any way anthropomorphic. I am not sure why this is the case, but when I asked I was told that this, too, was mal-Adaptive research, and therefore taboo; then, too, it is part of the Code. This would give adequate credibility to the concept that I cannot be any type of android or artificial cybernetic organism.
Worse than the lack of my memory is the fact that I cannot easily attain the coveted state of Adaptation, as society and the Code requires. I have been told that I’m a borderline mal-Adaptive, conditionally allowed to live in the outside world, un-reconditioned and given legal Dispensation by virtue of my excellent work, much in need by the government. It appears that I am thus a misfit above and beyond the accident or affliction I have been told that I had. Certainly something put me in the hospital for two years. It must have been quiet an accident.
Since I have no particular rebellious inclinations, I am at a loss to explain any of my continued differences. I do not understand how I have managed to remain in a mal-Adaptive state, despite the fact that I have a true desire to be properly integrated into society; yet I do not wish to sacrifice my personal integrity, that which I believe myself to be. That is who I am. The physicians have said it is due to the accident and recovery process: a great deal of damage, a great deal to repair. I suppose that must be the case. Still, it feels unnatural.
I remember nothing of any past conditioning which would lead me astray of current mandated standards; and current social conditioning is powerful and effective. This must be considered an oddity.
Too short a life. Too short a memory. I can only hope that which I now have will persist and not be lost at some future date. Part of my duties will have to be to examine the reasons for my current state, and what measures to take.
I need to rest again before continuing
** end report **
Friday morning has come. It is now an entire week since my major relapse. I am more rested now and am feeling much stronger and healthier. My mind is clearer and more stable than ever before. Each day that passes now seems to double my previous health. Again I am forced to focus on my earliest impressions, to make sense of everything.
I had memories of being alone when I was in the hospital, completely alone, the only being in existence. To my mind at that time, my perceptions of the world filtered into my brain through many muddled sensations, bits and pieces of things which are part of a life different than my current one. That was how I initially experienced the outside world. Again, no specifics, only this fuzzy confluence of dream concepts.
Then suddenly I became connected, part of the people, one of them, and yet still separated. Sellene was there, in front of me, part of the first impressions I ever had. And she was there again, recently, at my relapse. Within the stirrings of my half-conscious mind, I could not be sure that initial image was real, or merely an angelic vision. One can never give full credence to perceptions during such a state.
The next thing that comes to mind, later on, is Keri Banner. Invaluable help. After my awakening, she worked with me quite beyond the therapeutic demands and necessities of her job; I am not sure why - perhaps a special type of medical dedication that Sociotherapists have. Keri is cool and efficient, beautiful and pleasant, as she should be - an exemplary model of human perfection and Adaptation in every way. Why she took this extra time with me, and utilized that precious energy which should have been spent in relaxation, enjoyment, sexual intimacies, and inner peace, I cannot explain; but she did. It might have been the once-in-a-lifetime chance to work with someone with my singular set of problems - a scientific conundrum, a man who should have been dead, but somehow lived, and needed special treatment.
Keri is a First Grade Sociotherapist (SFG) at Park Hospital. She is particularly facile in speech therapy, which led to her referral by the hospital Staff to my case. She generally works with young children, but has had some small experience with the odd accident victim. I was exceptionally odd. Considering that she took me from comparative birth to adulthood within ten months in spite of my own sketchy remembrances, it's nearly miraculous.
The daily routine of Rehab Therapy was agonizing, in its own fashion, made worse because of my physical ailments. Thankfully I felt no physical pain in the very beginning. Speaking, watching, listening, moving, coordinating, getting strength into an emaciated, under-muscled body - all eventually were very painful events back then. I'm not sure how I was able to put up with the rigors of it myself, let alone Keri. Her patience is stellar. Yet, that is her job, and she is extraordinarily well-Adapted; fortuitous for her. One such as me, propitiously enough, cannot adversely influence her.
Still, the thoughts of the other face always persisted in my mind, an exceptionally pleasing and provocative face with full, rosy lips, large golden eyes which peered at me with interest, perhaps even awe - and rich, thick, light auburn hair draped gracefully down over delicate shoulders. It stood out there - in my mind - and would not desert me. Keri had said it was a dream, or a random illusion caused by neural damage. I thought it certainly could have been either one, except for Tillis' later explanation. I’m still not sure why he told me.
Keri began to take on a mother image, although she is certainly not old enough for the role. I depended on her for nearly everything - moving, eating, thinking, sorting out the world, even using the sanitary facilities, which embarrasses me now.
“You've had a very bad accident, David,” she would say. “You must realize your recovery will be very slow. You simply can't expect miracles overnight! You are very fortunate - very fortunate. Now, let's give the Adaptation test another try.” And she would ask me questions, give me tasks to do, papers to fill out, diagrams to identify, puzzles to make, sentences to understand. Always I would flunk. Until the end.
I was able to get the gist of what she wanted, more accurately, what was expected of me, and I delivered it to her, whether it was my real thought or not. Possibly that was all Adaptation was: performing to the standard. It might be that factuality never mattered, only what others thought was reality - there is a certain amount of twisted logic to that.
I learned from Keri that my lifelong profession was in biochemistry and genetics, fields in which I was proficient and creative. Very well and good; it would enable me to understand better what was happening to me, and the character of humanity in general. So far it has not precisely been a boon.
The time came when my physical and mental tasks became adept enough. I performed ably, if only in the 70th percentile on the Government Standard Battery of Fitness and Adaptation tests, but everyone seemed satisfied with that, and Keri was most proud of her redesigned adult child, with the exception of my occasional “nonproductive” questions and thoughts.
I continue to see Keri at the Center, with the occasional interjection of several of the Doctors. And then there are my routine physicals and evaluations by Dr. Franklin Tillis; occasionally there are a few others. Everyone runs together. They all look alike to me, certainly most of them. I have reasoned that the affliction which plagues me after the accident accounts for this lack of ability to discriminate well between people. Even Sellene is reminiscent of Keri - if a more perfected version - despite the fact that Keri, I found out later, is about fifteen years older. Actually, this is characteristic of all the women that I have seen - similar, very attractive, excellent healthy figures, all a benefit of the eugenics cleansing of half a millennium ago - now outlawed, incredibly enough.
Tillis is a bit if an eccentric one; ostensibly, to my assessment, he is slightly more different looking than the others, at least more recognizable. No doubt it is only my impression, my failed faculties. He is renowned to be a most brilliant and Adapted person.
In those earlier days of rehabilitation I came to find Keri an enjoyable, pleasant, and attractive woman, with her smooth, tan skin and perfect features, just as I found all other women. This shouldn't be disturbing, but somehow - and I do not know the precise mechanism - it is. Nerve damage can be a horrible thing. Human beings that are comely and sexual until near 100 years old - after which they fail rather quickly - seem strange to me. I’m not quite sure why - other than my accident. Once people begin their rapid downward decline to the end of their lives, they are put into geriatric homes where they are cared for until they depart, and then are processed for their final few years or months of life. I think I find that not particularly comforting; perhaps they don’t either. Regardless, “processing” eases them quickly, pleasantly, and uneventfully to their final resting place. I am not certain how well one rests in a crematorium, where one is heated to a biodegradable ash. Then again, there are no truly agreeable alternatives. No matter what science does to advance our health, death is always inevitable; even if it takes us hundreds, or possibly thousands, of years to get there. The best we can hope for is a long, healthy life, before its inevitable end. After all, our galaxy, and the entire universe itself, must end some day.
I find that I cannot be accepting of death. It is a powerful feeling within me. Death itself is an obscenity, an affront to life; I cannot imagine not always having thought so. Unfortunately, people have gotten used to this obscenity, and thus do not worry about it until it comes imminently upon them. Then they, and all who are close to them, are saddened; there is no logic to the process. I suppose that is why humanity invented religions millennia ago, to comfort their souls in their desperate need for immortality. Life, ironically enough, employs an unending struggle for healthy survival, and it has been to that end I have devoted myself and my science. Perhaps it is why government enables me to exist and do my work, since even government, with all its flaws, recognizes the need for survival and improvement, while at the same time hoping we do not become immortal overnight. Government, after all, is merely a collection of human beings trying to ascertain the proper rules and paths for a productive and happy life.
Once I was able to walk about with relative ease during my later hospital stay, I spent time with Keri outside the Center, where she carefully introduced me to the world at large. I found it to be a very congenial and well ordered place, as are its people - at least, what I saw of it. There are no children wandering about outside. I asked Keri about that, and she told me they were all housed in the schools and Child Institutional Centers, where they were placed between birth and school age, depending on the parents’ wishes. After five years old, they were professionally cared for and raised in the Centers, with parents visiting as they chose until their education was complete and they were able to be on their own, a productive, Adapted member of society.
I am pleased that our civilization is as such. It has come a long way to helping mankind live a happy, healthy, and prosperous life; but there are also many things about it and in it which trouble me - clearly, nerve damage affliction. We took several excursions by the Monobus to the outskirts of the city, where there were fewer people and less confusion for me, but came quickly back; I tired easily. We visited some museums and parks, all very pleasant, then made greater expeditions throughout the vast city. With this familiarity re-impressed upon my mind, I was finally ready to be released to resume a normal life.
** end report **
Chapter -2-
It had been nearly two years that David Killan had mystifyingly found himself a patient at the Park Hospital, following an unusually messy and near-fatal accident - the beginning of this whole ordeal. He found himself anxious to leave after the painful treatments and months of agonizing rehabilitation which followed. Here he was, now, on the day of his conditional discharge, being led into a large, octagonal, tan-bricked room with a twenty foot ceiling. He looked about, noticing the walls were painted in abstract pastel designs and colors interwoven delicately to convey an illusion of three-dimensionality.
Lighting was indirect, no fixtures or windows being evident, although upon close inspection it could be seen that the ceiling was in fact translucent, and the bright light from the outside was diffusing softly through it. Swirls of pale color moved in marbled configurations within the ceiling, continually changing shape and hue. David found it dizzying to view, although he felt himself compelled to look at it.
When he glanced back down again he became aware of Dr. Franklin Tillis, Medical Director of the Hospital and chief architect of the advanced and risky techniques that had been employed in his physiological reconstruction, standing directly in front of him. Two other men in house white coverall uniforms that matched Tillis' attended the Director. There was also Sellene Rannard. David instantly recognized her face, but gave no indication, since he immediately assumed the consternation any reaction by him would generate.
She was dressed in what Killan had come to know as “Day-clothes,” an expression used to describe garb other than the work attire provided by the various companies for which each person worked. Work attire identified employees, their position, and occupation, which made for easy recognition. Day-clothes were also distinguished from the Formal or Dress attire one wore during certain ceremonious events, which included formal dating; the differences were most noticeable on females, allowing them the sexually compelling beauty that the Code required. Killan supposed that, as he was a heterosexual, he didn’t notice the same type allure in males.
The reconstituted patient had never seen a woman dressed in Day-clothes close up before, and was constrained to stare interestedly for some time. The clingy peach colored outfit which fell to well above her knees was extremely revealing of an exquisite female figure beneath. Even the attractive Keri Banner had worn the house whites, and was therefore not sexually distracting. The combination of Sellene's ethereal visage and fragile beauty produced in him the first pangs of general neurological distress he was to become accustomed to - what would be known as his “relapse attacks.” He bore it inconspicuously and made no mention of its presence, although he did close his eyes momentarily to endure the brief vertigo and headache. As a scientist, he had learned, even now, that patience was a virtue in the art of discovery.
Keri Banner sensed something change within her patient and held onto him more tightly. Within a couple of minutes David recovered and removed Keri's tight grip on his upper arm. Again he stared at the young Nurse, noting her large golden brown eyes and the smooth, delicately sculptured face. He was certain he had seen it before.
Dr. Tillis was saying something to him. His eidetic memory could not recall the early portion of the dialogue; he hadn’t recorded it.
“David!” Keri jostled him, giving a forced whisper. “Dr. Tillis is speaking to you. Please pay attention.”
-“I am,” he returned in a weak reply.
The patient turned to look at the men who had entered, casting his eyes briefly downward. Their shoes were white with silent, pink soles, three pairs, and then there came the shimmering creme nakedness of female ankles at the end of long, shapely feminine legs, which ended in delicate feet, all belonging to Sellene Rannard. Each dainty foot was crossed with scanty, clear bands attached to an equally clear frame of minutely thin pillars, three in front, three longer ones in back, the triad connected in a semicircular base, all of which allowed some three inches of space between the wearer and the floor. The footwear, if seen from a distance, gave the illusion of walking on air in fashionably nude feet. This close, one could notice that there were near transparent “bones” which held and elevated each perfectly sculptured foot attractively.
Keri noticed David's stare and once gain gave him a gentle nudge. He looked away from Sellene's attractive legs and footwear and to the face of Dr. Tillis, smiling characteristically. Tillis merely gazed back at the younger man, not asking the obvious questions. He had stopped talking for the moment.
“I didn't hear you, Dr. Tillis, I'm sorry,” David apologized dutifully.
“Understandable,” came his kindly reply.
Keri chose to speak in the silence which ensued. “David, it is now time that your Adaptation therapy become Outpatient. Dr. Tillis is releasing you to Outpatient three times per week. Do you understand what this means?”
The young man nodded at her, quickly turning to Tillis, whose rounded face looked pregnant with speech.
“Killan!” It was to be his normal manner of address. “Your recovery over the past year has been unexpectedly auspicious for you - considering the extent of your accident. I am releasing you to our Outpatient Adaptation program for three times weekly without further complication. Your physical recovery has gone quite as far as it can within these hallowed walls, I am quite certain. Both your physiological and psychological recovery will be measurably enhanced by interaction with outside socialization. I hope you do not become too fascinated with such trivialities as woman's Dia's,” he referred to Sellene's footwear, pausing for a moment. “Hopefully such minor distractions, as understandably pleasant as they may be, will not consume too much of your time, nor interfere with your work.” The physician expressed himself without affect, certainly none that the patient was able to detect at the time.
“Miss Rannard, of whom you already seem to have become aware, has been a Student Nurse with this Institution for two and a half years now. She is nearly fully trained. Rather than complete the balance of her instruction here at the Hospital, she will be moving to a new program of externalized training while she reports within the resident research facility at Park Medical Research Center, where you will ultimately be working. It's an adjunct of the Hospital, but you will again come to know all this as you become integrated into society.”
Tillis began walking about the gigantic room as he spoke. All the others followed. He stopped at one of the 3-D walls and gazed upon it for some moments as if it were an abstract work of art in which there was some hidden meaning. Killan looked, too, finding nothing but moving, meaningless colors.
“You were an attendant in excellent standing at that establishment prior to your accident, as we have recounted to you. Facility with these earlier memories will come in time, Killan - in time. Don't push your recovery or expect too much from your weakened and depleted memory reservoir. As your nerves continue to regenerate, it is most probable that you will have periods of haziness, disorientation, and dizziness, perhaps even leading to a momentary blackout - only temporary, only temporary. Keep on your medication and you will get through, and after a time you will regain normal health and effect complete Adaptation, as government prescribes.
“Due to Miss Rannard's record here and willingness to enter the research lab, we've worked out a schedule whereby she will be a type of, ah, paramedical technical guide for your complete recovery. Specially appointed for your situation, yes. Let me add that we don't usually operate in this unorthodox manner. Your case is a unique and fascinating one, deserving of this added measure. All by itself, your situation is important enough to require this increased level of scrutiny. Then, too, your work has been outstanding. All that, you will come to know in time. Miss Rannard will report to my office on your case weekly, giving her able estimation of your progress. In most cases a phone call will do. Nothing complicated or clandestine.” He looked away from the wall to Sellene, who returned two quick, small, perfunctory nods, then he faced the patient once more.
“Killan, we've never had a patient in this center for two years. Usually if we can't whip them together in a few weeks, they're processed. That is to say, deceased. We are not quite sure yet how all these extraordinary measures will set with you, but so far, it does not seem to have affected you inordinately. In this case, your current general lack of emotion from nervous system damage has been beneficial. Do you comprehend what I'm saying?”
The young man flinched, not sure precisely why.
“You've been a patient for nearly two years and you are alive, well, and continuing to improve daily - in what has come to be known as a rather unique fashion.” The Doctor looked to Keri Banner and mulled something over in his mind. The smile faded momentarily, morphing into transitory thoughtfulness.
“You are,” he continued, “much to the dismay and discomfort of many of my colleagues, a special medical case for that reason alone. In addition, reports, notably from Miss Banner, demonstrate your present recall ability, since the accident, to be 87% total. Do you understand this?”
Killan stared a moment, then gave a small nod.
Tillis stared back at him for several moments, seemingly looking for something within the patient, then continued on. “This is unusually high, Killan, unusually high. 87% total recall, and 100% persistency! Considering your previous malaise, that is astounding in itself, and one of the major factors which constitute your unfortunate low Adaptation levels. It will continue to provide you with some problems, but, we'll discuss more of that later. We have no analogue precisely like this; phenomena such as these simply do not occur. Genetics has told us that there is no known mechanism for this occurrence within present human encoding. It must therefore be some type of mutated quantum leap, which has lain dormant within you until recently. Perhaps the accident facilitated it, or even caused it by some unknown biochemical process - we just don’t know. But it is there, you must be aware of it, and learn how to become Adaptive nonetheless. There is certainly no societal process which would enable such a characteristic, or encourage it in any way. Which makes you, from many aspects, an anomaly. Such a condition normally tends toward complete mal-Adaptation, and can be discomforting and possibly even dangerous, but both our testing and your previous life has not displayed any sufficiently perilous sociological tendencies to concern us. Most of your mal-Adaptive inclinations are confined to your superb work, and, as excellent as it has been, there is no desire to reprogram you. Be aware that government will be looking over your shoulders, however - as they have been - at least until you have normally phased back into your life. Which we expect you will do within the next several months.
“You do have to realize, now, my boy, that this characteristic of yours, remembering nearly everything perfectly well, is indeed an uncomfortable feature of your personality for most people, and has no true practical purpose. It places a great deal of stress on everyone to have you remembering every tiny detail, every word that is said, and tends to make others feel inadequate and less than perfect - a mal-Adaptive state. You’ll have to watch yourself and learn some temperance in this regard, particularly outside of your work environment. It is quite essential that you not disturb the perfectly Adapted state of inner peace, calm, and contentment that all citizens are required to have. It is why The Uniform Standard of Average was instituted many years ago, and has brought us many decades of peace and prosperity. It is improper to strain the psyche, or unduly upset a person’s emotional constitution. You are intelligent enough to understand this, and to keep your singular curiosity and scientific exactitude confined solely to your work. Outside of your research endeavors at the laboratory, you will be expected to behave in a normally Adaptive fashion. The testing Miss Banner has done with you has shown you are quite able to accomplish this, and it is why we are able to let you go to Outpatient at this time.” He looked piercingly into Killan's eyes at the finish, enforcing his words’ significance. The again smile faded briefly.
“Remember what I have told you today - of course, I know that you will - but remember the importance I stress.” He backed off, and the smile returned to its original strength. “Remember, too, that you will tend to affect others mal-Adaptively with that perfect memory, even in the Lab, so try to be judicious about its employment - which is to say, don't make flagrant use it, if you can at all help it.” He paused again for a moment, “Although, I’m afraid it will be very difficult not to use such a talent - do try!”
Tillis took a deep breath and expelled it slowly while he stared at Sellene for a long while. Then all began to walk again.
“Miss Rannard has been well briefed on you, but cannot be expected to show the patience of a far more experienced and older Keri Banner. She will develop it in time, her credentials are excellent. However, you are not the ideal person to train on for this quality - yet there are other characteristics which suit her most ably to this task and we believe offset that consideration and thus require her employment here.”
Killan thought about that statement and its inherent illogic, that someone less capable would be given the task, but he ignored it. Obviously, Keri would be needed here, in the hospital, performing the bulk of the therapy work, and would be available if he needed her.
“I want no more scientific data on you,” Tillis continued. “We have enough, more will only add confusion to the existing facts we already have. I want human information now. Miss Rannard will provide this to us until you are completely well and have effected a high level of Adaptation. Our major concern at this juncture, in addition to your physical health of course, is that you reach the same Adaptive level you had, ah, attained previous to your accident. More direct scientific scrutiny would only make you more of a medical peculiarity than you are now, and increase any minor mal-Adaptivity. We don’t wish to do that, or lose what brilliance you have in your research work. Besides which, it is the consensus of the Staff that we not make you - or the Hospital itself - any further conspicuous. The, ah, Government is notoriously pessimistic regarding Borderline Adaptives.”
Tillis stopped again to look over a wall from floor to ceiling; he spoke without turning. “Please remember that, after a fashion, you will be a constant thorn in Miss Rannard's side, salt in an ever-open wound, certainly in the short term.” His voice was a monotony here. “This will have the effect of lowering her own exemplary Adaptation level, at least for brief intervals. Due to her inner strength and extraordinary Adaptation scores, she will promptly recover, but you will always be testing her. She does understand this, as much as it Is possible to do so without the actual experience, and has been well prepared for such a situation. Continue to bear in mind, particularly for the next few months, that you can be quite a disturbing and uncomfortable factor for the others you meet. In the unlikely event you prove to be too much for Miss Rannard, she would be replaced before you could do her any significant damage. We certainly do not anticipate this eventuality, but I do want you to understand completely the situation you are being thrust into. You're comprehending all this, are you not?”
Killan nodded, not sure at all that he comprehended.