Chapter 9
The Prison Ward
When Inaction Man awoke he knew something was missing. His clothes, obviously; and his methylated spirit supply, understandably; and his broken bicycle, lamentably. But something far more important had been stolen from him – time. He wasn’t sure exactly how much time had been taken, or even who had taken it or for what purpose, but he was sure that time had been removed from his life.
On the positive side, he was reasonably certain that he was still alive; and as long as he was alive, there was hope for the human race.
“The world revolves around me,” he told the world, “and since I live, its revolutions may continue. L’etat c’est moi,” said the sun king. The world didn’t listen, or if it did so, it made no reply.
Inaction Man lifted his bed sheets and studied how the world had changed. His body had been repaired. His bruises healed, his bones uncracked. Who had done this to him? And what had they done with the stolen time? And where was Symbol?
He surveyed his new environment carefully. He appeared to be lying horizontally in a bed with clean white sheets. It was the first time in years he had woken up in a bed, and although it was a great deal more comfortable than waking up in the streets or under a bush, it terrified him. Sleeping in a bed, as every child knows, means that something could be lurking underneath you, in the space between bed and floor. The most dangerous space of all, beloved by ghouls and spectres. Inaction Man had spent years sleeping outside to eliminated this hazardous space from his life. He leaned out of the bed to check the bed-floor space and assured himself that it was goblin free.
As he put his head back on its pillow he let out a loud sigh of loss. No Symbol, no vision juice, no urine soaked protective clothing. And above all else, at least spatially, no sky. Inaction Man needed to see the sky when he woke up. He kept away from anything with a roof on it as a matter of general principle. A roof is a prison waiting to happen, he felt. Roofs separate us from the heavens. Hell, Inaction Man believed, was a roof stretching on forever and ever.
How could he win back the sky and all his other lost treasures? The first step would be to escape from his bed, and then from his ward and then from whatever building contained it.
His bed was one of many other beds, all laid out in a row, and each one contained a sleeping human. Or something that appeared to be human. How could he be sure that each prostrate form was not a changeling assassin?
A good way to test if a sleeping thing is actually human is to hold the nose of the creature closed. If they open their mouth to breathe, they must be human. Otherwise they are either from the dark side or dead, or possibly both. Inaction Man had got himself into trouble on numerous occasions by using this method to test the humanity of suspicious characters; and in remembering the anger of his test subjects, he judged it prudent to suspend any possible experiments until he knew more about his current location.
There were windows in front of the bed that looked out on a large garden. Inaction Man was used to being on the outside of windows looking in. He had forgotten that the inverse relationship was considered normal. He wondered if it were possible to do both at the same time, to be both outside looking in and inside looking out. The thought disturbed him, like everything else in this new home. He stayed still and hoped that no-one would see him. He was Inaction Man, and must remain as inactive as possible.
After about an hour, a man in a white coat approached him, holding a clipboard and a pen. He was in his early forties and his face wore a world-weary expression, in spite of, or perhaps because of the forced smile. It was a face that had seen too much and had long since stopped liking what it saw.
He spoke to Inaction Man patiently, if rather patronisingly, and his voice was melodic and soothing. Inaction Man felt reasonably certain he was a real human and not a shape changer.
“I’m Doctor Robert,” the man in the white coat began. “I’m going to ask you some questions, alright? Firstly, please tell me who you are.”
“I am Inaction Man, defender of the Earth against the Dark Lord Lagus and his demon armies.”
“I see… and do you have any other name?”
“I was once known as David, before my conversion to superhero. But it was all a long time ago, this mortal life. David had to die for Inaction Man to be born.”
“And did David have any family?”
“No. He was alone.”
“And does Inaction Man have any friends or family?” the doctor asked. “Anyone we might be able to call to let them know you’re safe and sound?”
“Only Symbol. Do you know you what has become of my trusted assistant?”
“Your assistant? No, I don’t know. How might we locate Symbol?” the doctor asked.
“A symbol isn’t hard to find if you know what you’re looking for. My Symbol’s most distinguishing feature is her broken front wheel, an ever static reminder of the inappropriacy of action. And of course you will know the warrior by her rusty frame, symbolising the savagery of time. Have you seen my Symbol, Doctor? Perhaps she is in the waiting room.”
“No, she isn’t here, I’m afraid,” the doctor said absent-mindedly, as he scribbled notes on Inaction Man’s chart.
“Then send for her at once, good medic. Seek Symbol out in Place Monge. She may still be resting on the bench near the fountain where I left her. Dispatch your best men at once. It is imperative that Symbol is returned to me without delay. It is mission critical. Go forth!” Inaction Man demanded, raising his voice.
“Please be calm, sir.”
“Calm! How can I be calm when Symbol lies alone and defenceless? I must save my broken bicycle!” said Inaction Man.
He threw back the sheets and was about to leave his bed.
“Please stay where you are, sir!”
“Unhand me, jailor!”
The doctor tried to detain Inaction Man, but he was so determined to get up that the he couldn’t hold our hero down. He pushed the doctor to the ground and ran toward the door. The doctor called for assistance from security, who forcibly detained Inaction Man. They dragged him back to the bed, his feet unable to gain any traction on the sterile polished floor. After a great deal of thrashing about on the bed, the doctor managed to give Inaction Man an injection to make him sleep.
“Time thief! I defy you! Do you really think you can imprison me in slumbered forgetfulness? I spit on your chemical oblivion. I will never sleep!” Inaction Man said, just before he fell asleep.
“Transfer this patient to the psychiatric ward at once,” Doctor Robert told two burly nurse’s aids, who had replaced the security guards at Inaction Man’s bedside.
More time was stolen from the defender of the Earth.
Inaction Man woke up a second time. He was in a different bed in a different room, but this one was much smaller and had bars on the windows, and he was the only occupant. The room reeked of pain and despair. Its walls, soaked in bitter memories, bled continuously.
After a quantity of time Inaction Man could not properly determine, owing to the drugs he had been administered, a woman called A. Nurse spoke to him and brought him to another doctor, called Doctor O’ Brien.
The new doctor pestered Inaction Man with a great deal of irrelevant questions concerning his former life, but he wouldn’t answer any of Inaction Man’s questions or give him any information concerning the health or location of Symbol. He refused point blank to rescue Symbol from Place Monge. This enraged our hero and he stood up and pointed his index finger in the doctor’s face, determined to channel all of his psychic force into making the doctor change his mind and bending him to his will.
“You shall rue the day you refused me, churlish bone merchant. I am Inaction Man, defender of the Earth, and I tell you one last time to heed my instructions and return the Symbol to my side. Issue the orders, Doctor.”
“Increase this patient’s anti-psychotics, Nurse Driscall. Bring him up to 600 mg per day of chlorpromazine.”
The Inaction Man Page 9
