Aw the challenge. Where am I? I could just open my eyes but that’s too easy. I should be able to remember such a simple thing. Martin had played this game before; especially when the answers were obvious in his youth.
It was as a child he played this wakening game, whenever his senses sent an error signal of some sort. When he was young it was a matter of “who, where and when”. Before opening his eyes he would go through a mental checklist and try to fill in all the blanks, as if to make awakening a seamless event. It would be years before the cares of this life would lengthen the list.
“Mr. Trask . . . . Martin?”
That hurt. Who the heck is violating my inner-sanctum? With his eyes still closed, his mind struggled for clarity and he reverted to his checklist. Deep down he had the gut feeling that things were about to get complicated. A benign awakening was not likely.
After a while the awakenings all blend together. His mental timeline was a mess. He usually returned to the same place, but each time the same place was changed. In his mind he couldn’t match beginnings with endings nor could he clearly see the importance of the distinction.
His perception was that he could exit the loop and face the music or enter another cycle into the past in hopes of gaining a better jumping off point.
But, behind his eyelids he could see that the lighting is wrong, way too bright and from coming the wrong direction. An irreverent echo of voices broke the solitude. The echo of strange sounds bounced off hard walls in the distance. Sounds of people doing routine stuff but he couldn’t quite hear what they are saying.
Before he moved a muscle he tried to gather the sensations that were available. I’m warm and comfortable. I have a very slight headache, maybe sinus. The bed is a little too firm for my liking. He tasted the air with the slightest breath. An odor, reminiscent of a time past but he couldn’t quite place it; paint stripper or something like that.
I don’t feel a hangover so why can’t I place myself? Why can’t I just accept the risk of awakening cold turkey?
“Martin . . . . Mr. Trask. Are you awake?”
Another instant analysis. A husky. . . No wholesome young voice, careful and somewhat reassuring.
My cover is blown; all that effort was a waste.
I can tell by the tone in her voice that she isn’t going away. Maybe it’s time to jump out of hiding.
He still hadn’t filled in the blanks in fact added a few new ones. I just don’t remember going to sleep. I just can’t place where I am. Well, here I go, the best I can hope for is planet earth. It is time to attack.
“What . . . why who?” he whined. “Who are you and can’t you see I’m dead.”
“Busted!” came the retort.
Slowly he cracked opened his left eye, the one farthest from the voice, trying to prolong the mystery. It didn’t help, still no clue; and she was still out of sight.
“What are you doing in my bedroom?”
He detected a slight giggle. “You lose again. It’s my bedroom, stranger.” she chortled.
Again, he tried to take command. “Who are you?”
“Oh, sorry. My name is Kennedy. I’m freckled, fat, single and redheaded. I work for Biocyb. I was brought in to monitor your progress.”
Hmm! Maybe I shouldn’t have claimed that I was dead. What progress needed monitoring? Freckled and redhead that works. Fat and single that could be scary! Hmm.
His ‘where’ blank was beginning to fill in; This must be a hospital. Hospital? What the hell would I be doing in a hospital?
“Did I fall off my perch? Did I break anything important?”
“No nothing like that. Doctor Grant said you might be a bit disoriented. Just take your time. And no you’re not injured or sick. You just got a little rewired.”
Oh no! I’m a baggless vacuum cleaner! “Rewired? Was it covered in the warranty? What was wrong with my old wires?”
“Nappy time is over.” She sidestepped his attempt at further humor. “It’s going to require both eyes this time. Let’s make it snappy! Doctor Grant wants to talk to you in his office. You’ve got fifteen minutes, troop!”
At that he snapped both eyes open with his best snap and took a deep breath and shivered a long stretch. Just in time to catch the parting glance of a white smocked, freckled, tall, lanky, redhead. I suppose she is married.
“There now, isn’t that much better?” she added, “Be sure to finish with your juice. The juice has a little foreign matter in it. It’ll make you good look’n. Let me know when you finish your primping. I’ll be across the hall.”
“Wait! Wait! Give me a clue. What . . .?”
“You’re not authorized” she retorted then she smiled and continued, “You really don’t have a clue do you?”
“Nope.”
“Do you remember who you are?”
“ Rah, . . .nope . . . I suppose Martin Trask might be a good guess.”
“Yes, and you’re a mercenary contractor, to put it politely, same as me, and we have just completed an ANGL implant on you. That’s angel without an ‘E’. It will be needed for your second mission. Give it a little time; it’ll all come back to you. Hop to, soldier!” With a quick, clean swish of her lab coat she turned and vanished into the corridor.
* * * * *
Chapter 7 – Post-Op
A table, a chair, a bowl of fruit and a violin; what else does a man need to be happy?
Albert Einstein