by Leah Sanders
****
“Come on, Gem, open the door!” It was Teo and Tavon. They’d been to the door three times in the last fifteen minutes. “Gem, you know you can’t afford another infraction. Come on, let us in — we brought oranges! — Gem?”
Inside, Gem covered her head with a pillow and rolled onto her stomach with a groan. She wasn’t ready to face them yet — wasn’t ready even to address the prospect of life. Nothing mattered any more.
“Gem, listen — if it’s not us, you know they’ll be here in ten minutes — Gem? You know what? No. We’re coming in.” Teo had raised his voice to be heard inside the room, but then his voice lowered somewhat as he addressed Tavon, “I’ll get Aria. She has room clearance on this floor.”
Even with the pillow over her head, she could hear every word. They’re right. It’s them or a visit to the clinic. Grudgingly, she rolled out of the bed and pulled the blanket around her shoulders then shuffled drearily to the door. She opened it with the push of a button, and the light from the hallway came flooding in. Tavon jumped when he heard the door. He had been standing with his back to her, but when he turned, Gem’s breath caught in her throat. For a split second she thought it was Gryff. He was back! For a split second, her entire being rejoiced at the sight of him. She reached out to touch him, to make sure he was real, but stopped short when he spoke.
“Gemini. You look horrible.”
Gem’s hand jerked back as if she’d been burned. It wasn’t Gryff. She’d never realized before how much they looked alike — same wavy, dark hair, same vibrant emerald eyes.
“Hey, come on.” Tavon stepped forward and took her by the shoulders to give her a playful shake. “We have to get you ready — schedule’s to keep, sweetie.” He was playing to lighten the mood, but his every expression and movement just reminded her of what she had lost.
“Gem! Hey, you’re up! Great!” Teo had returned with Aria. His excitement may have been a little over the top.
“How you doing, honey?” Aria stepped between Tavon and Gem. She slipped her arm around Gem’s shoulders and guided her back into her room. “You guys go to breakfast. I got this,” instructed Aria, then she closed the door.
Back inside the room, Gem had already slumped onto her bed. “No,” Aria insisted. “You can’t do this, Gemini. Listen, if you start with this mess, you’ll draw attention. You know how they react when we deviate from expectations. I know it’s hard. But you have to pull yourself together now. Live for the schedule, hon. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about. It’s the only way.”
Gem knew she was right, but it was hard to care right now.
When she didn’t move right away, Aria took matters into her own hands. Going to the closet to retrieve Gem’s uniform, she began barking orders. “Get up. Take off your pajamas. Put this on.”
Gem responded immediately to Aria’s tone, like a trained animal. Aria handed Gem her uniform. Gem robotically slipped it on and fastened the buttons. Meanwhile Aria had begun to brush her hair and weave it into a tight braid.
“You’re going to eat breakfast, and you’re going to morning calisthenics… I’m going to get you through this — We couldn’t have done anything about Gryff. He was called. But you are salvageable — Let’s go.”
The whole process had taken less than three minutes. Before she knew it, they had made their way to the commissary, but Gem honestly couldn’t recall how she’d gotten there.
Breakfast was spent in silence, as always. It left far too much room for reflection, which for Gem meant torturing herself with memories of Gryff. She willed herself to eat, but it was perfunctory, robotic. Her mind was reeling, trying to fill the blaring void she felt somewhere in the pit of her stomach, but on the outside she showed no signs of inner turmoil. In spite of her emptiness and lack of motivation, Gem knew it wouldn’t do to offer observable evidence to any of the EROMI staff. They wouldn’t understand at all.
The rest of the day, Gem went through the motions as if on autopilot. Her daily schedule kept her busy enough: there were mealtimes, exercise sessions, community work assignments, language acquisition, brief recreational periods — Aria stayed near her all day and distracted her when she needed it. When Aria left Gem at her room that evening after dinner, she crumpled into her bunk, exhausted. That’s when the tears came again, though she had very few left.
****
“Gem!”
“Gryff? Where are you?”
“I’m here. Right here... I’ve missed you.” His arms engulfed her, and she sank into him, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” His hand smoothed her hair in a comforting gesture. Gem buried her face in his broad chest and sobbed convulsively.
“Please don’t leave me again, Gryff. I can’t handle it.”
“You’re going to make it, Gem. Just keep going. I have to go now, Gem. Don’t forget me.” She clung tighter to him, but he began to fade from her grasp and dissipate into mist.
“Gryff! Don’t go! Don’t leave me!”
“NO!” Gem’s audible scream sliced through her haze and brought her abruptly to consciousness. The pillow was drenched with her tears, and she lay there paralyzed by the fresh abandonment she felt. In her mind, she replayed the sensation of Gryff’s arms around her. The comfort she had derived from his touch. His closeness. It was new to her, but it had felt so familiar and natural.
While he was still here, they rarely touched. Honestly, it never occurred to them to do so. The expectations were so strict about that kind of thing. The dream had been a vision of what might have been, and suddenly she ached for what never was — and what never would be — Gryff’s touch.
****
“We have detected an abnormality.”
“Are you referring to Stem-6418C?”
“Yes. The female appears to be exhibiting symptoms of depression.”
“I’ve been reading the reports. Have you determined the origin?”
“Nothing certain. We may need to enlist a mole to investigate the problem. We’ve observed no trauma, no abuse, no deviation from the common expectations — other than minor naturalistic infractions.”
“Hmm… wait. Look here, according to the chart notes on this prototype, this female has undergone IVF. Pregnancy? I think we can safely say it’s hormonal, doctor.”
“Ordinarily I would agree with you. But in this case, the behavior began too early in the process. At this point the female doesn’t even realize she’s pregnant, and the distress began manifesting the day after the procedure. This is unprecedented, doctor.”
“Is there no truth to the saying ‘Every pregnancy is different’, doctor? No... you don’t need to answer — What do we have that is safe for a pregnancy?”
“Doctor, this degree of emotional disturbance is something we haven’t seen in the stem prototypes before. I suggest we obs—”
“They are stems, doctor. Not humans. Medicate her and move on. These are not true emotions. They are responses to stimuli, like with any other organism.”
“I think if we study them, we may fi—”
“I DON’T THINK YOU UNDERSTAND THE IMPLICATIONS OF WHAT YOU ARE SAYING, DOCTOR!”
“But if they are experiencing emotions—”
“If they are experiencing emotions, they are no longer product! If they are experiencing emotions, they are no longer merely organ replacement sources! If they are experiencing emotions, doctor, they are human! And then... and then…”
“And then what we are doing is murder.”
“Now we understand one another, Izanagi. Medicate the Stem.”
Chapter Four
“Good morning, Captain Jennings! How are you feeling today? You’re getting your color back, it looks like.” The orderly placed the breakfast tray on the side table and moved to the window to open the curtains. The sun came streaming into the room, chasing away the darkness.
Aaron maneuvered his bed into a more upright position and pulled the side table into place
across his lap. “I could eat a horse!”
The orderly chuckled. “That’s a good sign — you’re getting your appetite back.” Aaron dug into his breakfast without a second thought, while the orderly straightened the room. When he glanced back at Aaron, he laughed again. “And then some, looks like. Better take it easy, captain. It’s been awhile since your stomach has had to deal with solids.”
Aaron could only grunt in reply. His mouth was full.
It took no time at all to finish off what was offered, and he probably would have proceeded to lick the dishes clean, but the orderly took the tray away too quickly.
“I’ll go ahead and get this out of your way before you start in on gnawing the silverware. If you’re feeling up to it, you can shower. I put fresh towels and some clothes in the bathroom. You do have some visitors scheduled for this afternoon, so you might want to shave that scruff and make yourself presentable. No rush yet. Your doctor will be in before lunch. Your parents will be in after that. Can I get you anything in the meantime?”
“Hmmm… razor? Shaving cream?”
“On the bathroom counter. Anything else?”
“Negative. I’m all set.”
“Awesome. I’ll check on ya later then… sir.” He added the last part with a grin and sauntered out of the room, leaving Aaron alone to plan his morning.
Aaron swung his legs over the side of the bed and positioned himself to stand. It would be the first time since the accident that he had attempted to do so without assistance, so he decided to take it slowly, though he did not feel weak anymore. Holding tightly onto the lowered bed rail to steady himself, he tested out his legs then lifted himself into a standing position.
So far, so good.
The next stage was to traverse the six feet to the bathroom. Hesitantly, he let go of the bedrail and took his first free steps. His legs felt inordinately strong, and he was able to make his destination easily — as if there had never been any injury — as if he hadn’t been lying in a hospital bed for two or three months recovering from… What were his injuries anyway? No one had told him anything yet. But if they were profound enough to land him stateside in a hospital for — how long? — there had to be some evidence in his body of what had happened to him, didn’t there?
He looked in the mirror.
What he saw there was a picture of health. A face he recognized as his own in all respects, but even as he gazed into the misty jade of his own eyes, something gnawed at his subconscious — a brief sliver of a memory — something in his own reflection whispering to him a truth he couldn’t quite grasp.
Abruptly, he pushed the uneasy feeling aside. Head injury maybe, he reasoned. He turned his attention to the task at hand: three or four days’ worth of growth on his face, which definitely had to go before Mom and Dad arrived. Hopefully, he remembered how to do this.
Aaron splashed some warm water on his face and grabbed the shaving cream. The thick, cool foam expanded into a blob in his palm. Briskly he smeared it around on his cheeks, chin, and upper lip, then rinsed his hands, took the razor from its place on the counter, and pulled it in smooth, steady upward strokes along his neck, leaving trails of clean, copper skin.
Strange. Had he always been right-handed?
He stopped mid-stroke and switched the razor to his left hand. It felt natural there, like his hand was remembering something, but when he attempted to guide the blade over his cheek, his hand became uncoordinated and uncertain. The result was a sudden sting, followed by a slow trickle of blood. Aaron jerked the razor away from the pain and stared in the mirror at the dark crimson trail. He must’ve been mistaken — it had to be a brain injury, the only viable explanation. The thought scared him. If that were true, what was the extent of the damage? Would it affect his career? His future? Carefully taking the razor back into his right hand, he finished the job then stepped into the shower.
****
Aaron was dressed and sitting in the bedside armchair when a firm knock sounded on his door. “Come in.”
The door opened, and the doctor entered confidently.
“Oh good. I see you’re up and around.”
“Yes, sir. I seem to have my strength back today.”
“Good, good. You slept well, then?”
“Like a baby.”
The doctor allowed a smile to play on his lips. “Glad to hear it. Any pain or discomfort?”
“Other than cutting myself shaving? No, sir.”
“Well, that can be tricky even when you’re in the best of shape. Any dreams? Nightmares?”
“No, sir. None at all.”
“Hmm… Often times after a trauma like you have experienced, the subconscious will manifest its stress in nightmares and flashbacks. It’s what we call post-traumatic stress. Completely normal for someone in your situation, but not something you want to mess around with. If you begin to experience anything like that, we’ll need to know immediately, in order to deal with it right away.
“In fact, I’d like you to record all your dreams, waking or sleeping, in this journal for the next month or so, in order to allow us to note any sudden changes.”
Aaron took the journal the doctor offered. A diary. Sure. I’ll get right on that. He laid it on the little table beside him. And I have the perfect place to file that too.
“Exactly what kind of trauma have I been through, doctor? I mean, I know I was in an accident. I remember most of what happened right up until I lost consciousness, but I don’t seem to have any physical injuries. My body is strong, though I would think there would be some signs of atrophy just from being confined to a hospital bed for so long. I haven’t found any scars that would indicate surgery, so I’m just wondering what happened to me?”
“Mmm. Yes, intuitive observations, captain. We have been discussing your case for so long, I guess I forgot you hadn’t heard the prognosis.
“The truth is you suffered a brain injury from a sonic impact. You also sustained a few other internal injuries, all of which we were able to correct without an invasive procedure. We used a regenerative agent to speed your recovery, and of course our physical therapist uses the most advanced techniques, which, even though you were comatose for a large portion of the time, were able to maintain your muscle tone.” The doctor looked at Aaron’s chart for a moment, as if studying it for the first time.
“Could the brain injury cause a left-handed man to become right-handed?”
The doctor’s head jerked up suddenly, but just as quickly he replaced the look of shock with one of feigned interest. “Hmm. This could be a possible side effect. The region of your brain associated with fine muscle control on the left side of your body may be having to re-open certain nerve routes. There is probably still some swelling as well.
“It is interesting, however, that your brain has already made an adjustment by switching so readily to the other hand. Could be your natural compensation; could be the regenerative agent. Could just be a memory lapse. Are you certain you were left-handed to begin with?”
“At this point, no, sir. Just a feeling I had. Of course, the cut on my face kind of proves I’m not left-handed, doesn’t it? Least it did for me. At any rate, that should be something recorded in my personnel file, I would think.”
“I’ll check that for you, if you’d like. I don’t think it’s too much to worry about. The brain is a complex organ. After all these years of studying it, even I cannot claim to comprehend all its mysterious ways.
“Your chart indicates stable vitals. You’re able to eat well. I don’t see why we wouldn’t be able to discharge you tomorrow. I still want to schedule several follow-ups to keep an eye on your recovery. This afternoon we’ll finish up some benchmark testing, and if all goes well, you can be released into your parents’ care tomorrow morning.” The doctor wrote a quick note in Aaron’s chart and excused himself, promising to return in the morning with the test results and discharge papers.
He might not remember if he was left-handed or right-handed, but Aaron h
ad been in military intelligence long enough, and he did still understand how to read the messages embedded in certain body language. The doctor was hiding something. Something critical. Ordinarily, the secrets of a civilian didn’t interest him, but this had something to do with him and possibly his accident, so the red flags were flying.
“Knock-knock!” Aaron recognized the voice as his mother’s, though he hadn’t seen her since his deployment early last year.
“Mom! Come on in!” He rose from the chair to embrace her, but she stopped him.
“No, honey, don’t get up. Just sit down and relax. I’ll come to you.”
Her voice was cheery, but Aaron could detect a hint of worry there. No doubt his accident and long hospital internment had taken its toll on her more than anyone else. She seemed thin and fragile, more so than he remembered her.
“You look good, Aaron. They must know what they’re doing here. I mean just last week—” She put her hand up to her mouth as her words stuck in her throat. The emotion was evident even in her eyes.
“It’s okay, Mom. I’m okay,” Aaron stood and, in spite of her protests, went to her and wrapped his arms around her. “It’s good to see you, Mom. I’m glad you came.” She accepted his embrace for a moment then stepped back, taking both his hands in hers, and examined him.
“I think you’re taller, Aaron. They really do good work here, don’t they? I mean I can’t even tell you’d had a scar there! It’s amazing!” She ran her fingers over his right cheek. “I mean, you came in because of, well you know… but they are so thorough, they even fixed your old childhood scars! It’s perfect. I’m amazed!”
“That’s technology for you, I guess,” Aaron replied. He looked up toward the door then as if something was missing. “Hey, where’s Dad?”
“Oh, he’s coming right behind me. He saw someone in the hallway to talk to. You know how he is.” She was still studying his face. “Wow. I just can’t get over the difference that makes in your face. I mean you were always a handsome boy, but wow! Now? Look out, ladies!”
