418

Chapter 3: The Wedding-2

Her eyes widened as I struggled, and she pulled back completely out of my sight.

Andrea wasn’t prepared for that. Why had they not sedated the staff? It was always weird to see them when they were offline, they always looked frantic. And the howling sound that it was making…it sounded like it had brain damage. Those sounds did not sound like speech. Andrea was pretty sure she would hear those bestial, horrible, ignorant sounds in her sleep. It made her heart race, good thing it couldn’t get up—though she could see it trying—as there was no telling how dangerous it could be. She may not have been a medical tech, but there was no doubt this was a damaged unit.

The med-tech started to read off the prognosis. “There has been a fracture to the cheek. However, it is superficial, and aside from cosmetic damage there is likely not any structural damage to the skull.” Andrea felt a wave of something wash over her, the idea of structural damage to the skull made her feel unwell. The med-tech continued, “We have sutured the cheek to prevent further damage and to staunch blood loss.” Again, Andrea felt a little unwell. “There does not appear to be any damage to the cerebral interface. However, the cerebral interface will have to be checked for full functionality. Cursory examination does not reveal any issues. There is swelling around the cerebral interface, which must subside before an in-depth examination can be executed.”

Andrea let the med-tech finish, its gaze following her as she moved away from the body lying on the table though it never focused on her. It didn’t matter what the examination said. Something was wrong with that bit of programming because whatever was laying on the bed was clearly malfunctioning; no examination was going to fix that.

She was certain her report would include the acronym RFR: Recommended For Retirement. They would pay the policyholder, and everyone would move on. Everyone, that is, except her. She was pretty sure she was going to remember that frantic look, the straining eye that seemed to be knocked silly and the tormented, muted animal-like screams. This should have been Bolt’s job.

She nodded to the med-tech. “Thank you,” and the staff stopped talking and listened for instruction. “I think I’ve seen enough.”

It didn’t take long for Andrea to write her report. She basically just chose all the negative tick boxes, put in comments like, “subject is N/S,” or, “FUBAR,” as the prospective outlook of medical treatment. Her recommendation was, “retirement with pro-rated reimbursement of lost labor for the policyholder, based on remaining projected operational lifespan.” And that was about it. It would be done. Usually, managers didn’t mind getting the lump sum payout. All she had to do was affix her signature to the bottom of the form and press submit—Bolt’s job would be done—and he would probably get a five-star rating. Even though he hadn’t even left his office, he was probably playing games on his mobile while she was out there doing his work.

How was this fair? “Hrumph!” she flopped herself back into her chair, arms crossed and put on her best pout. “Rrrr,” she growled to herself. Even though the shouts were not what they could have been—they could have been worse—it was his job; he’d take the credit and not have to share any of the risk. He was going to get the promotion and likely someone, maybe one of his college buddies, would slide into his place once he was promoted up.

A half an hour later, Bolt’s messenger alerted him that Andrea must be back from the clinic. “Hey Bolt, do you have a moment? I wanted to run my report past you?”

Bolt smiled. He liked it when Andrea “ran things past him.” Even though he had only been her boss for a year, it made him feel comfortable that she relied on him. This was why he had sent her, because it allowed him to do more things with less time. That always looked good on the yearly review. “Of course, what’s up?”

Bolt watched the animated ellipses as Andrea typed her message. “I wanted you to review my report before I file it.”

Smiling, Bolt replied, “Sure, send it over.”

An attachment appeared in the messenger window. Bolt clicked to download and replied, “Thanks, I’ll give it a once over when I have a chance, I’m busy today, it could take a while.”

“Perfect.” She smiled and rocked back in her chair.

It wasn’t like she had said anything wrong. In fact, if you looked at the reports that were created by the med-techs, nothing in her report looked out of order. While it was her job, or really, it was Bolt’s job, to personally review the damage for insurance purposes, the initial reviews were created by the programming and observations from the med-tech’s. Andrea managed to rationalize, Given, a large enough expenditure of money and other resources, it would be possible that this staff might recover. It was good enough logic for her.

The fact that she believed 418 would never recover would not occur to anyone unless they actually went to the clinic and saw for themselves. She had carefully rewritten her report, removing any reference to brain damage, making it look as if it were generated by a med-tech. Likely, it wasn’t going to be a problem. Likely, it wouldn’t make a bit of difference. But maybe, since she knew Bolt was going to sign off on it and submit it as his own, it may just come back to be something that maybe, just maybe, might help her crack the glass ceiling.

How long have I laid there? I have no idea. I couldn’t get online, I couldn’t move, but I could think. Thinking and not being able to move is a most exquisite hell. I lay there. Aside from the woman who had come to peek at me, I got infrequent visits from med-techs, but the med-techs, like the woman, didn’t speak to me. I didn’t know what was wrong with me, but I had, given time—with the pain in my head settling down—been able to untangle events and figure it out.

I had been in an exception involving a car. I didn’t think that kind of thing was possible. I had always just got into cars and let them take me where I was going. Hop in and arrive. I never had to think about what was going on outside the car. I had always just moved; safe in my personal bubble. Why should I ever think about it? But now it occurred to me that if I was safe in my bubble, surely, there would be dozens, if not hundreds of other such bubbles. However, the car ride was always smooth. I seemed to float down the street and I could enjoy my own life while I went to or from work. It didn’t seem possible I could break my cheek. Such a hard blow to the head; nope, still couldn’t figure out how the car had managed to punch me.

By far, the worst thing was I couldn’t go online. I’m sure you can understand, what is life without internet? You might as well just be laying somewhere dying. Huh, I made a joke. I tried to laugh, but now my chest hurt, a lot, one great big bruise. It wasn’t a good joke. I couldn’t go online because I couldn’t move. My head was immobilized, my hands were stuck in place by my sides and I couldn’t tap my activation button.

All I could do was stare up at the ceiling and try to count how many times the light that I could see somewhere over my feet flickered. I had managed to get both my eyes open. My left eye had a purple haze around it. I didn’t try to use it. The only thing I could see was cement, pipes and one flickering light. The light was starting to make the top of my head feel numb and I tried not to look at it.

The face had been good; now as I lay there, I realized it had been beautiful. She was radiant. I wanted her to come back. Not so I could ask what had happened, but because she was lovely, and if there was something that lovely out there, I couldn’t possibly be dead. This couldn’t be where you go after retirement. You didn’t just lay there looking up, unable to move. I wanted her to come back.

I think I could remember clearly: she had brown eyes, dark brown framed in porcelain set off by her flawless skin of rich ebony, smooth and firm. Her hair was dark, almost black, thick and styled in waves and curls, not a strand out of place. She must have had perfect dark cherry lips, but my glimpse of her had been so brief, so ethereal and fleeting. I tried to remember everything. There was warmth to her, something real. Then I tried not to think of the face she made when I attempted to speak to her. I must have had something in my throat, and if I’d have known she would react like that, I would have stayed silent. I could have gazed upon her for just a moment more. Frequently, I tried to re-summon her in my mind. If she would only come back.

The funny thing about laying there, not being able to get online, was that my wife couldn’t tell I was thinking of this other woman this way. I mean, if I had been online, I would have been able to interact with her, and she might have discovered I was into someone else. But then again, I could just ask my wife if she would change her hair. Belinda usually liked to portray herself as a tall Asian woman. It was the way she looked when we met, I’ll not forget that. She was sitting at a cafe along the Seine, a long leg dangling out from under the table. My eye caught her shoe dangling off her toe, the sheer black nylon running all the way up to where her hair—just as shiny and more silky—hung down to touch her lap.

It’s a funny thing: I’d never been particularly drawn to Paris. I’d always felt it was an overhyped city. A lot of old stuff I wasn’t particularly interested in. But there I found myself, wandering down a pathway, below street level along the banks of a river. It was a lovely spring afternoon; the sun was starting to begin its descent. I could smell flowers in bloom, perfume, my heart started to beat, hard, like I’d just taken a snort. It felt like I was being drawn to her. There she was, sitting in a cafe that seemed to be tucked under a bridge and cut into the wall below the street. I don’t remember walking over, I just seemed to be pulled, I was sitting at her table, which didn’t seem like me at all. But there I was, talking with her and she was talking back to me. It was as if it was meant to be.

I blinked up at the ceiling, absolutely nothing going on. I tried to turn my head, raise my arm, anything to activate myself, get back online. Nothing. My teeth were starting to hurt. Did they always do that? It’s not like I used them.

The romance was quick. I had to have Belinda, she was too much, and every time I was around her, I felt a dizzy buzz, and I didn’t have to pay anything to get it! Oh sure, we went out for dinner, and I did get to pay for that, but I was going to eat anyway, and spending is what money is for. But she was free and seemed to like me, not like the girls at Madam She’s. Those girls were friendly, but when it was over, it was over.