by Tasha Black
“Your new prosthetic limbs are covered with an artificial polymer of our own design,” she explained. “Something like silicone. It looks like rubber or plastic, but it is actually integrated with millions of gold microfilament electroreceptors. They’re connected to your own nerves using the carbon nanotube technology patented by Med Pros. It’s something new I’ve been working on. If we got it right, it should give you the ability not only to move your limbs, but to actually feel with them.”
She looked at the floor.
“So what’s the problem?” asked West.
“It’s just that this particular tech has never actually been tested before,” she said. “I hope you’re okay with that. We couldn’t really ask you about it.”
She looked at him expectantly.
“Well,” West said. “That depends. Do they work?”
“They’re active,” Mallory said, unable to hide her enthusiasm. “Try to move your arm.”
West studied the plastic thing. Or silicone poly-whatever. His own right arm seethed with pain. He could swear it was still there. But it seemed to have nothing to do with the mannequin limb beside him.
He tried to lift the arm. Nothing happened.
“Envision it, West,” Cordelia whispered. “Picture it in your mind.”
He pictured the arm reaching up to scratch his stubbly chest.
The alien thing beside him shifted, and then flopped onto his torso.
His chest felt the weight and the texture of the smooth artificial skin. No, not smooth, not completely. Up close, he could see the network of tiny gold filaments woven across the surface.
The corresponding sensation of warmth didn’t come. The thing was like a dead lizard.
Everyone was laughing, so he smiled.
“Fantastic,” Dr. Chowdhary said. “How about the legs?”
He pictured tapping his right foot against the bed.
Nothing.
He envisioned his own foot, tapping once.
Still nothing.
He took a breath and pictured the artificial right foot tapping.
The left foot wiggled slightly.
“That’s great. Very promising,” Dr. Chowdhary said. He could hear the surprise in her voice.
“I was trying to move my right foot,” he told her.
“Damage was more extensive down there,” Dr. Chowdhary explained. “All of your nerves were basically rewired. Unfortunately, it’s not like they are labeled or color coded. There will be crossed signals. You’re going to have to teach your brain all over again. It’s going to take some time.”
Everyone was nodding hopefully. The only still head in the room was Cordelia’s. Her blue eyes brimmed with tears.
“You will be going home in a few days,” Dr. Chowdhary continued.
“I can’t go home. Not like this,” he protested.
“We have a 24 hour nurse and physical therapist set up. You will be getting the best care,” she assured him.
“I don’t want to go home. It will be a circus. I want to be somewhere off the radar. Cord, can you book us into somewhere no one has ever heard of?” he asked.
“Us?” she asked.
“I’ll need you with me,” he told her.
Her eyes lit up for a moment, then darkened.
“You know I can’t leave my sister,” she said.
“Fine,” he said decisively. “I’ll stay with you guys.”
“Um—” she began, but he didn’t wait for her to finish her protest. His mind was made up.
“Mallory, can you make it look like I’m on a little vacation?”
“Sure, I can set up a proxy server, make it look like all of your internet access and calls are coming from wherever you want,” Mallory said smugly.
“Good girl,” he replied. “Check me in to some fancy European spa. Whichever one has the best privacy policies.”
“For how long?” she asked.
“However long it’s going to take to get me back on my feet. Six weeks?” he offered.
“More like six months,” Dr. Chowdhary intoned. “Maybe.”
“That doesn’t work for me,” West said. “We’re going to need to accelerate the timetable. I’ve got work to do.”
“I don’t know if that’s even possible,” Mallory replied, wide-eyed.
“Dalton,” he said, turning to his friend. “I’m going to need you to grab my essentials and get them set up at Cord’s place.”
“Yes, sir,” Dalton smiled.
“And for God’s sake, somebody bring me some coffee.”
26
Dalton took a deep breath of the sweet air, and then smiled at himself.
Cobble Slope was hardly the English countryside. But after the cold glass and steel of Glacier City proper, the suburban neighborhood felt like paradise. Residents clearly meant to accentuate that feeling. Trees were planted in every nook and corner between the brownstones, and flowers filled the corridor of land that separated the sidewalk from the curb.
Cobble Slope was one of those places where he’d always pictured settling down one day. He’d have a wife and a child or two and they’d walk this Sesame Street neighborhood, waving to the locals, coming home from the Cobble Slope market with fresh vegetables and baguettes in a paper bag.
But that was before.
Dalton pushed the dream aside and focused on Cordelia’s house. It was located in the middle of the block, and differed from the other brownstones in that it had three mailboxes out front instead of one.
Dalton knew Cordelia’s dad wasn’t in the picture. And with her mom home taking care of the sister, he figured they were renting out two floors of the house for an income - they were lucky to be able to do it.
It was probably time for West to give Cordelia a raise. She deserved it. He could buy every house on this block without blinking an eye. Cordelia’s mortgage would be nothing to pay off, but he knew, as did West, how outraged she would be at the perceived charity.
As he got closer to the house, Dalton heard Cordelia’s voice. She must have been out on the steps, talking on the phone. He tried his best not to eavesdrop, but his sensitive ears picked up snippets of the conversation regardless.
“—well you have to send another nurse… What am I supposed to do? I know, I know, believe me, I know. Thank you,” she finished, as Dalton stepped onto the walk.
“Lost another one?” he asked.
“Yes, she said, the exasperation clear in her voice. “This is the fifth one in the last two months. They’re telling me they don’t have anyone else.”
“He can be a handful,” Dalton said carefully.
“He can be a giant baby,” she said plainly. “His progress is way ahead of where the doctors expected, but he just won’t be happy with that. He wants to be back at one hundred percent, like before, and he won’t accept the fact that it will take time, and he won’t even entertain the notion that he may never truly be where he was before.”
“That sounds like our West,” he nodded.
“He made this last one cry. It’s not like it’s easy to find a replacement. We had to get the legal team on board to draft the NDAs. But if he keeps breaking them down at this rate, one of them is going to let on that he’s still in Glacier City, and then it’s all going to hit the fan.”
“I don’t know how you do it,” he told her truthfully.
“To be honest with you, I don’t know how much longer I can keep it up. You might not have noticed, but I don’t really have the same amount of space West is used to. There’s no option to just retreat to the east wing for some privacy. And he hasn’t left his room in days. I need to get him outside.”
“I might be able to help.” Dalton said, handing her the bag he’d carried. “I brought some clothes.”
“He has plenty of clothes,” she said.
“No, these are mine. The might be a little big, but they should fit. And most importantly,” Dalton explained, with a twinkle in his eye, “Westley Worthington wouldn’t be caught
dead in them.”
27
Soft afternoon light poured through the two large windows of the Cross family living room, leaving a familiar pattern on the oak floor. Every afternoon West thought if he saw the sun creep across those planks one more time he would finally lose his mind.
So far, no dice.
When the warm rays touched the marble surround of the ancient fireplace, West grabbed his cane and hoisted himself up again.
He was determined to walk again.
Not the shuffling, cringing gait he had nearly mastered, but the smooth commanding walk that used to define his personal energy. Or at least a compromise that didn’t include falling on his face every couple of steps.
His mind insisted his old limbs still existed - still itched, still burned with pain. He closed his eyes to try to untangle the sensation of the phantoms from the very real prosthetics that had replaced them. If he focused, he could compartmentalize the feelings.
Opening his eyes, he sent a deliberate message to his new right foot to take a step.
It moved forward, dragging reluctantly. A fresh jolt of pain from a leg that no longer existed raced up his spine as the foot rested again.
Refusing to acknowledge the existence of the flowering figment of agony, he sent the same message immediately to his left foot, which always performed better than the right.
He made the mistake of assuming it would move, and leaned forward.
The foot obstinately dragged along too late and he found himself in a pile on the ground. Again.
“God damn it!” he shouted, throwing his cane across the room.
It clattered gently to the floor. Cordelia’s stupid house wasn’t even big enough for a fucking cane to pick up any speed.
Before he thought about picking himself up, he looked at the clock on the mantel.
Stubbornly, it proclaimed that it wasn’t time for another pain pill yet.
But he hurt so much.
Why was it hurting more instead of less? Wasn’t he supposed to be getting better?
And it really ought to be the healing areas where the prosthetics had been attached that were hurting. Not the limbs themselves.
The low hum of rubber wheels on the wood floor told him that Jessica had arrived.
“Hey,” he said, without making eye contact.
“I heard you yelling and throwing stuff,” she said, turning the chair so that he couldn’t avoid her face.
“This isn’t working,” he replied coldly.
“Have you considered not being such a giant baby?”
That took him by surprise. He looked up at her in spite of himself.
Jessica had watched his rehab intently in the beginning. After one or two sessions, though, she’d retreated to her room during his marathons. He didn’t blame her, it had to be a boring thing for a teenager to watch. But she had no idea how impossible it was.
“It’s too hard, Jess. I can’t do it.”
He could hear the petulance in his own voice, but he was too frustrated to be ashamed.
With Jess, he had to hold back the venom he unleashed on the nurses and sometimes on Cordelia.
“It’s not all about you, you know,” Jessica’s blue eyes flashed as she spoke, just like her sister. “Did you ever think that maybe you being able to walk again is small potatoes compared to how many people could benefit from the tech you’re piloting right now?”
Suddenly, he was reminded all over again of her predicament. Living with the family made him quickly forget that Jess was anyone but herself, a teenager with a dry sense of humor and a massive comic book collection.
Jessica was hopelessly stuck in that chair, but she took it with such grace.
“I… I’m sorry, Jess,” he told her sincerely.
He could tell by the curve at the corners of her mouth that she was pleased, though she was too cool to respond sincerely.
“Was that an apology from the great Westley Worthington?” she said with twinkling eyes. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”
“Thanks,” he said, running his hand through his hair.
“But seriously, are you that afraid of a little hard work?” she asked him.
Oh boy, this again.
“It’s not that, Jess,” he told her. “You may find this hard to believe, but I’m no stranger to hard work.”
“You’re right, I do find that hard to believe,” she said plainly, arching one delicate eyebrow.
“You’re probably too young to remember this,” he said, leaning back against the sofa behind him. “But a few years back, the papers ran a story about how I got arrested for getting drunk and punching a cop at Carnival in Rio de Janeiro during finals week my junior year of college. And they had a field day when I didn’t go back to school the following year.”
“I hope you weren’t in law school, because you are terrible at pleading a case,” Jess snapped good-naturedly. “How does your dropping out of school tell me you have a great work ethic?”
“That’s just it. I didn’t drop out. I’d carried a double course load the year before, so that I could graduate early. I did it so I could make it to Brazil that spring for the Mundials.”
“The what now?”
“Mundials,” he explained. “It’s like the world cup of Jiu Jitsu.”
“That seems like an awful lot of trouble just to watch some karate tournament,” she said dubiously.
“Jiu Jitsu,” he corrected her. “And I didn’t watch. I competed. I was the first American to ever win my division. That’s how I earned my black belt.”
“Wow,” she said. “So why did you let the papers print those stories about you? Isn’t that slander or something?”
“Libel, technically,” he said. “But I don’t really care. People are going to believe what they want to believe. Sometimes it’s easier to just let them.”
“Even when they make up stories about drunken cop punching?” she asked.
“Actually, that part was true.” He smiled fondly. “The victory celebration got a little out of hand.”
“So what’s the big deal, then?” she asked. “If you could do all that, you can do this, right?”
“That’s the problem. I don’t know if I can do this. When I was pushing for those other things, I knew I’d get them eventually. I’m not so sure about this. No one has ever done it before. The doctors all say I’m doing well, but I can see it in their eyes, they don’t believe I’ll ever make a full recovery. Even your sister, and…” he broke off.
“And the thought of being stuck in a chair for the rest of your life terrifies you,” she stated.
He nodded slowly. There was no point lying, it was bad enough being a coward.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be…”
“Such a dick?” she asked, fixing him in her cold blue gaze for a moment.
He held his breath, waiting for her to start yelling at him, or worse yet, crying.
Instead, she laughed.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m not offended. My life isn’t easy.”
“I don’t know how you do it,” he murmured. “And those kids at the benefit. I just never realized.”
“It’s easier for most people not to think about it too much,” she said.
“I guess I never did,” he admitted.
“But that’s exactly why you have to man up and do this,” she told him with a wry smile. “All of us poor crippled kids have a lot riding on you.”
“No pressure,” he joked weakly.
“Wait until you find out you have to travel through time to stop the robot uprising,” she said, lifting an eyebrow.
“You’re a pretty funny kid,” he told her.
“I’m also a hell of a dancer,” she teased. “You just have to supply me with some legs if you want to see.”
“I’m going to hold you to that,” he said.
“It’s a date,” she smiled.
The sound of the front door closing and staccato footsteps in the front hall
interrupted their moment.
“West!” Cordelia’s voice rang from the doorway.
“Down here,” he said, a little afraid of her commanding tone.
Cordelia marched in.
West still got that feeling whenever she came in the room. Like the lights were suddenly a little brighter.
There was color in her cheeks, which suited her. She stopped short when she saw him on the floor. But her breasts kept moving under her jean jacket for a fascinating moment.
At least some part of West was still behaving like before. If only he weren’t a hideous half-man.
He turned his head slightly so he could see all of her with his left eye.
She dropped a bag in his lap.
“I don’t want to hear any more excuses.” she said. “It’s time for us to go for a walk.”
“Funny,” he said, tilting his head to shoot a wink at Jessica. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
28
Cordelia felt like she was in a dream world.
After days of pacing the house, she was outside.
After weeks of calling for help every few minutes, West didn’t seem to need any help.
As a matter of fact, he had tucked his cane under his arm. And his frustrating determination to walk with his former posture was paying off.
She tried to play it cool, but it was hard to contain her excitement.
West held himself tall and moved with a hint of his old confidence, though their pace was a crawl.
But that was hardly a bad thing.
How many times had she dashed down this street to the subway station without taking it in?
How long since she had learned to roller skate here, and known every crack in every sidewalk block?
At West’s walking pace, everything seemed new.
A soft breeze rustled the lilac that was trained to wind up the neighbor’s handrail. Cordelia lifted her nose to take in the heavenly scent.
The old lamp posts that lined the block had been painted a crisp black after the harsh winter - they practically shone. Were they black before? She couldn’t even remember.
The fresh air had tempted the neighborhood into opening its windows. Happy sounds of cooking, and babies crying, and radios playing floated through the sycamore branches and down to the sidewalk where a tall handsome man with an eye patch walked slowly beside a sensible blonde girl pushing an empty wheelchair.
