Under a Glass Moon

Under a Glass Moon

Justin Kemppainen

Copyright 2012 by Justin Kemppainen

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Other books by Justin Kemppainen:

-The Legend of Ivan-

-Uprising (The Fall of Haven)-

-Exodus (The Fall of Haven)-

-A Fickle Fate-

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Chapter 1: Tell Me

A pinpoint of light in utter darkness. A fleeting thought, gone before it could be grasped. Images and dreams from an eternity of sleep, fading and forgotten.

Sensations of cold. Pain. Brightness.

Sounds and smells. Machinery.

Voices. Meaningless words.

Organ function normal. Heart rate and blood pressure...

Cold like fire burning across a plane of flesh, new and untouched by the elements. A desire, a need to cry out, but iron bands resist, pushing air in. Out. In.

Out.

It choked him, an invader, a contraption providing air yet strangling breath. He convulsed against it, writhing.

Jesus, he’s waking up. Get the respirator out!

Sliding and scraping out of his chest, the intruder departed, leaving behind sweet relief. He drew his own breath, relaxed and unforced, and released it again.

He coughed, weak muscles clenching together. Voices spoke nearby, low but harsh. He heard but did not comprehend, the noise as meaningful as the permeating hum around him or the beating of his own heart.

Is this your first day on the job?

No, no, of course not. The new procedure is-

By God, this has to be the sloppiest awakening I have ever heard of. New procedure or not, I cannot help but wonder how someone like you managed to fool everyone into-

Part of his mind began to recognize certain features and functions. The words took shape, the voices held emotion and meaning. He recognized an argument between two people, two men. Somehow, tone provided a distinction of age between them.

Yet none of it meant a thing.

Listen here! the younger man spoke, voice rising. "Theses changes have altered the awakening timetable. The fact that you’ve decided to audit us today, on one of the first applications..."

Sounds blurred away again, a prickling sensation rushing across the man’s entire form. The coldness continued, and he began to shiver.

Time passed, thoughtless notions swimming by his hazy mind. Voices returned, their words yet to hold meaning.

"...expect someone granted your position to be a bit more prepared, especially on such an important day. Do you have any idea who you’re awakening there?"

"Of course I know who he is. Even if I could possibly have avoided the three dozen memos your office cranked out each day, I know very well how important he is, especially right now."

Sounding offended, the older man replied, Yet you and your team work with such lazy irreverence. I can’t help but-

"Oh shut up. Shut up and let me do my job. Prepare as many formal complaints as you wish and flush them out the nearest airlock for as much as I or anyone else will care. This is my department, and I have full authority to have security forcefully remove even an under-Minister such as yourself. If you wish to remain in this room, stand at the back and keep silent."

Why, you impudent little child-

"I never understand why Ministry idiots like yourself always seem to forget how meaningless the appearance of age is. While I don’t hold a candle to our important friend here, I assure you I’ve been around much longer than you."

Still none of the dispute made any sense to his muddled thoughts. He felt himself moving, sliding along. Something strong lifted him up, setting him upon a freezing cold surface. He shivered and listened further.

"How dare you speak to me in such a manner! The First Minister himself will hear of this ridiculous-"

A hiss and a whirring noise issued around him. The shouting continued outside, muffled by some barrier. The noise of machinery continued, and then...

Weightless, he floated away from the cold surface. Relief coursed through his tired, weak muscles. He went limp, drifting back toward the oblivion of sleep. Only the muffled yelling nagged him away from it, an irritating buzz of unpleasant thoughts.

Rushing wind drowned out the remaining sounds and smashed any hope of peaceful rest. A new sensation of terrible cold blasted into his body as a pungent mist sprayed into the chamber. The man’s eyes flew open, blinded by a bright whiteness and stinging with the mist pressing in all around. Squeezing them back shut, he cried out, only to cough and sputter at the bitterness reviling his sense of taste.

This continued for an unknown time. His body shivered against the cold wind and moisture. He held his mouth and eyes shut, huddled and frightened.

All at once, the noise and wind cut off. A softer, yellow glow replaced the sterile white, and warmth suffused his limbs. Fluttering, his eyes slowly opened.

The softer light still painfully drilled into his weak sense of sight, but images began to take shape. The cold in his body receded, replaced by warmth and well-being.

Still feeling weightless, he tried moving. His legs stretched outward, feet touching a barrier of glass. Unfurling his arms, he felt exhausted, every muscle protesting at the slightest motion.

He reached out, ignoring the strain, and ran his hand across the curved glass. It surrounded him, beyond it a white room with objects and people.

They watched him.

Chills of unease swept through the man, and he realized he wore nothing, not a stitch. Instincts he didn’t understand moved him to curl up, to cover himself, and he felt a flush rise through his body.

A sense of heaviness shrouded around him, lowering him to the platform. He tried to rest his feet on the ground, but his knees buckled against the weight of his body. He pressed a hand against the glass, using it to support himself. Weariness pounded at him, air dragging in and out of his lungs.

Why do I feel so tired? a thought drifted by. Its presence surprised him, the words foreign yet their meaning entirely clear. More notions pieced themselves together, including language and...

His muscles tensed, feeling imprisoned within the glass chamber. Adrenaline coursed into his sluggish body, preparing him to fight, to run if opportunity presented itself.

He jumped at a crackling noise in his prison. A voice echoed inside, and he winced at the loud volume.

Doctor, we’re going to retract the glass now, so please step back. Your muscles will be quite weak, so you ought to sit down.

Blinking, the man peered at the blurry faces through the thick glass. One fellow in a white coat hunched over a table, finger pressing something. He spoke again. Doctor, please?

Inside the chamber, the man stepped back, wavering on unsteady legs. His muscles trembled with the simple exertion of standing, something he thought should be easy but didn’t know why. Taking the man’s advice, though wary of dispensing trust, he slid to a seated position. Tucking his knees in, he eyed the fellow who spoke.

With a depressurizing hiss, the cylinder of glass departed into the floor. The cool lab air circulated around his uncovered flesh, but the gentle heat from the overhead lamps kept the man from shivering. His eyes hurt, and his sight remained blurry and indistinct. He continued to watch the person who had spoken to him.

Sorry, Doctor. I understand this procedure is something you’re not used to. While you were in your cycle, a few changes have been made to speed up rebirths and awakenings, and we’re just getting used to the new methods.

The man merely stared, not speaking or providing any expression.

Oh, I’m sorry, the speaker stepped forward, offering an object, you’ll be needing these.

Still sitting in the center of a sterile white room, which his thoughts identified as holding medical purpose, the man reached down and took them. Glasses, his mind told him, and instinct provided to him their utility.

Unfolding the pair, he slipped them on, instantly clearing up his muddy vision.

Good? the other man asked, peering up at him. With all the other screw-ups today, I wouldn’t be surprised if we brought the wrong prescription. I can’t imagine how; we tagged it yesterday when starting your procedure, but I suppose you know how these things go.

The man looked about the room, which held a circular shape. The pedestal he sat upon lay in the center, surrounded by workstations and machinery. Several other individuals in white coats were seated behind monitors. Every so often, they glanced in his direction, but all appeared to be working and focused except for a few. Larger individuals with serious expressions and clad in dark uniforms were posted around the room.

Guards? his mind wondered. Their posture, manner, and objects they carried - he assumed them to be weapons - cemented this notion. However, like most everything else, he didn’t know how or why he knew it.

Again, we’re sorry about the trouble, doctor. He turned back, seeing the youngish man favoring him with an earnest expression. I know you’ve been through worse with these rebirths, and I’m sure you’ll be more than eager to examine the changes once you get back into the swing of things.

Confused thoughts and few notions regarding what the fellow spoke of tumbled about his head, so he just gave a nod. A square nametag identified the man as Devon Marsh, Senior Rebirth Technician. Mid to late thirties, nothing about the fellow seemed familiar or remarkable.

All right, well, you know the drill. I’ll test a few basic motor functions, and afterwards we’ll bring a wheelchair and a robe for you. Your muscles aren’t quite ready for regular use, but one of the newer methods allows for a quicker recovery. The man called Devon Marsh gave a thin smile.

Follow the penlight without moving your head... Up and down, side to side, his eye movement functioned without trouble. They felt sore and strained, but so did the rest of his body.

Marsh tested his neck muscles, having him look in all directions. Arms, legs, finger and toe movements, reflexes, and other pieces of examination. All seemed to check out, and the man being tested conducted each instruction without complaint. Though he still felt a bit nervous, there seemed to be no hostility in his direction.

All right, how does your throat feel? Good?

The man gave a nod.

Here. Marsh handed him a small square card. Read this for me please.

He looked down at the card, all words laid out and familiar. Apple. Mission. Zero. Gregory. Space. Effortless. Canary. Question. His voice sounded out weary but clear. Unfortunately, he didn’t recognize it.

Good enough, Marsh said, taking back the card. Language comprehension and speech check out, so we’re almost done. You know... he paused, I have to say it’s going to be great working with you again, Doctor. Your insights here to the program have been truly missed. I had my own awakening about five years ago, and... well, even though everything has been mostly stable, I can tell it just hasn’t been the same without you.

You... the man on the platform spoke. You’re Devon Marsh. He pointed to the name tag. I don’t... I don’t remember...

It’s okay. Marsh nodded. Take it slow; your recollection might be a bit hazy right now. You and I have been colleagues off and on for many years. It’ll come back. He smiled. You should be used to this by now, what with your sixth cycle.

Sixth?

Oh yes, Marsh replied. Heck of a milestone, if you ask me, or anyone else for that matter. Everyone’s very excited have you back. We’ve only worked together a few times, but to awaken the creator of all of this... He smiled, gesturing around him with both hands. It’s a real honor, sir. I just know, with all that’s been happening in the last few years... having you back is going to be amazing.

The man in the center of the room nodded, a sense of fear and dread pooling in his stomach. I have... I have a question.

Sure, Marsh replied. Anything.

You seem... Speaking felt quite strange, but somehow he knew the words without fail. You seem to know quite a bit about me.

Marsh gave a nod. Oh yes. I doubt there’s more than a dozen people around this place who don’t.

Okay, good... The man swallowed hard. Uh, then my question is... who am I?

******

Devon Marsh, senior rebirth specialist, stepped into a VIP lounge adjacent to the awakening chamber. The location had been specifically set up for this occasion. For obvious reasons, they weren’t allowed a video feed to watch any of the awakening procedures themselves, but various important Ministry members and other officials waited to hear the news.

As the door closed behind him, Marsh’s mouth sat slightly agape, and stunned surprise filled his thoughts. He remembers nothing. How can he remember nothing?

He’d left Van Hoffryn behind in the awakening chamber, the man staring off into nothing with a blank expression. A wheelchair and robe had been brought for him, and Marsh assured the good doctor that he’d be well taken care of. He didn’t know if the man had believed it.

It’s just as well. How can I be reassuring when I’m almost as clueless as he is?

"Dr. Marsh; what in the hell did you do?" The under-Minister, an often irritable man named Amos Harrow, asked in a very accusing tone.

Indeed, the final hours of the awakening had been troublesome, but nothing truly serious had occurred. The worst of the problems in Marsh’s mind was actually the under-Minister. He and Harrow had argued during the latter stages of the awakening procedure, and eventually the angered fellow had been banished to the waiting area.

Hiccups aside, Marsh found it to be a solid run of the new procedure. There were a few bumps, but what did everyone expect?

The prior method involved a week’s worth in muscle rebuilding and nerve conductivity examination and rejuvenation, as well as various other tests. Thanks to advancements, newer drugs and techniques had cut down the time significantly.

It also added a rush to the proceedings. It took only a matter of days now, but much of the automation of the previous methods had been lost. Dozens of various doctors and specialists now needed to rush back and forth to accomplish all of the necessary tasks.

Terrified doubts clouded his thoughts. He went over every second of the awakening in his mind, trying to find some moment where the procedure, aside from minor issues, went wrong. Two seconds of gagging on an air tube wouldn’t wipe his memory. None of the problems today would have caused anything remotely like that. One particular notion worried him most of all: this had been the fastest regrowth cycle by a wide margin, and complications became a mild risk under these circumstances. They wouldn’t be able to determine anything without considerable testing, but he worried the decision to hasten the entire process had caused serious trouble.

The waiting room had a handful of approved under-Ministers and various others. All of them stared at him, their faces burning with the obvious questions.

I... he replied, slowly shaking his head. I don’t know. I don’t understand. He hardly paid attention to the angry fellow, focusing on the other people. With the exception of Harrow, all appeared very taken aback.

It seems quite clear to me, Harrow said, his voice rising. Dr. Marsh has made a very serious mistake, and now the most famous and important man on this entire station, the man who pioneered the technology to manage this very task, has absolutely no memory! By God, I hope they deport you to the surface for this incompetence. I hope-

Under-Minister, please, Devon interrupted. This is a very serious situation, not improved by your ignorant rambling.

Ignorant rambling! Harrow shouted. "By God, the sheer nerve of-"

Amos, another individual in the room spoke up, and Marsh gave silent thanks. Pipe down and let the doctor speak.

Marsh cleared his throat. Obviously we’ll launch a full investigation immediately, but everything we’ve monitored thus far suggests this should have been a routine awakening.

Why does he have no memory? someone asked.

The doctor sighed, shaking his head. "I don’t