Game Over. Play Again? (Y/N)
21 Mar 2016TheDarkLord
Leesti. I come to. Everything hurts. I’ve got a tube down my throat, which is enabling me to breathe. My arms and legs won’t move, and hurt even more when I try to make them. I open my eyes, and see that I am inside a med-tube. I’m submerged (hence the breathing tube). Outside, people scurry around, tapping away at their datapads. One of them looks up and sees me awake, taps a couple of times, then looks away. A coolness spreads through my left arm, and as the pain dies down, I pass out once more.
---
The next thing I’m aware of is being in a hospital bed. I’m on my own in the room. I can hear voices outside, and the beeping of machines monitoring my status. A nurse comes into my room, and seems surprised to see me awake.
“How’s the pain?” she asks.
I can’t make my voice work, but I smile, hoping that this conveys that it’s manageable.
“There’s a button to your right that you can press if it gets too much. Drink some water, it’ll help your voice come back. You’ve been out a while.” She looks at her datapad, taps at it, then leaves, with a light “See you later.”
I experiment with moving. Yep, everything still hurts. But I can at least move now. Slowly and gently, planning each muscle movement. My brain does seem still to be working. I look around, find the bed control and tilt myself into a seated position. A sip of water feels nice, but my throat is really sore. On my bedside table is an envelope. I try to reach for it, but that level of arm movement is too much for me, so I leave it for now. I settle my head back into the pillow, and close my eyes again.
A thought pops into my head that jars me. I open my eyes again. Yep, I’m definitely in a hospital. The thought comes back: “I have no idea why I’m here.” I explore the notion and realise that actually I can’t really remember a lot. I think I know my name. I remember being in space. On a ship. That I was piloting. I remember pain.
I close my eyes again and try to make sense of it. But sense eludes me.
---
Another nurse comes into my room. She places a syringe into my mouth and fires in a grey-brown gruel-like mixture. I have no real option but to swallow it. It’s vile, its texture makes me want to barf, and swallowing makes my throat hurt.
“It’s TBN,” she says, noting my grimace. “Total Body Nutrition. It gives you everything you need to heal, plus some pain meds.” The name badge on her lapel says that she’s called Poh. She seems nice.
A doctor comes in, and introduces herself as Dr Nerina Vakarian. She looks impossibly young for a doctor, but she’s focussed and businesslike.
“Good to see you awake,” she says. “Your rehabilitation has taken some while. We think we’ve got you fixed up now though. Had to use some pretty experimental techniques. And with you unable to be conscious for more than couple of hours at a time, it was hard to monitor the progress in your brain function. You should really be dead. It’ll be good to understand whether there is any residual damage that we need to worry about. Rest: you’re going to need it.”
She steps out. Poh is still here, tending to the machines surrounding me. She starts to speak, as if she’s uncomfortable with the silence now that I’m conscious.
“You’re in a private medical research facility orbiting Leesti. You’ve been in cryostasis for a while. Years, actually. When you were found, it didn’t seem possible to patch you up. Your treatment was paid for by someone who authorised you to be frozen until medicine was ready for you. Our instructions were to prevent your death, and to keep that letter with you.” She nods at the unopened envelope.
She completes her tasks and leaves the room.
The empty room is oppressive now after my visitors have left. I’m aware of a ringing in my ears behind the sound of the rolling newsfeed on the television. I feel that I should open the letter, but a sense of foreboding comes over me. I press the pain relief button, and as the soothing morphine courses through my veins, I go back to sleep.
---
I feel a bit better, and venture some solid food. It tastes good, and brightens my overall demeanour. Nurse Poh is back, looking at the monitors and tapping at her datapad.
“I really don’t have any idea what’s going on.” I say. “Who am I, why am I here, what happened to me. That sort of thing.”
“Memory loss is pretty common with severe injury, sir.” she replies. “According to your notes, you were found beaten almost to death. If you ask me, the people who did it probably left you thinking you were dead. Maybe there’s more information in that letter. It’s accompanied you everywhere you’ve been.”
“Everywhere I’ve been?”
“Your recovery has taken a long time. You’ve travelled a fair bit in cryostasis, through medical research facilities in a radius of more than one hundred light years. Now you’re awake, and staying awake, which is progress for you. You’ve a way to go yet.”
Again, she finishes her work and heads off to the next patient that needs her. I decide that I’d probably better read this letter, even though I already know I don’t want to. On the front is just the name, “John Jameson.” I open it and begin reading.
“John,
“I’m sorry, but I can’t do this any more. I can’t be with someone who has such disregard for his own safety, and so little understanding of how his love of danger affects those who love him.
“You were found in one of the underground tunnels, left for dead. Your logs showed that you’d been pirating from criminals! What kind of idiot does that? This isn’t even the first time! Will you never learn? Just ply the space trade in a safe way, a pacifist way, like your father before you. Or go join a war somewhere. You’ve got to stop picking fights with everyone just for shits and giggles. It’s time you grew up and started taking things – like your personal safety and the emotional well-being of those who love you – seriously.
“I’ve got a career. People expect me to behave well and to surround myself with people who do likewise. There was always a finite amount of time that I could manage with you compromising that. I had hoped you would change as we grew older together.
“I love you, but I can’t continue in this relationship. I don’t think you are going to change, even after this. And, the doctors say you may never recover. I have to try to get over you and lead a productive life. I must move on.
“I’ve sold your ship and your quarters. Hopefully that’ll be enough to pay your bills and get you going again if you recover. And I really do hope that you recover, but I can’t wait around to see whether you do.
“With love,
“Ashley”
I look at the date on the letter: August 3272. Then at the news bulletin: March 3296.
“It’s been twenty four years?” I can’t really place any of this new information, but I find myself sobbing over the loss of someone who must have been important to me. Whatever my life was before, the passage of time means that surely it must be over now. Absolutely everyone I knew will have moved on. Probably many of them will be dead.
Is it worth trying to carry on? I need to decide, and if I think it is, I need to work out what I’m going to do. There are too many thoughts, too many questions. A giant fog of sadness settles over me, and my brain shuts down my consciousness again.