A lone figure sat up and scratched his head, looking around himself, but unable to see anything. He groped about wildly in his blinded bewilderment and winced when his hand grazed a long tender spot on his head. As his eyes adjusted, he looked about him and realized he had not the slightest idea where he was.
As his eyes adjusted he saw the room he was in was spacious with intensely bright white lights, high ceilings and little furniture except the bed he was in, which, like everything else around him, was all white. The room could have been considered very open and airy but for the stuffy quality it contained. The problem was the stillness of the air. This brought up the point that the room lacked windows and any sign of a door. The implications of these facts struck the room's sole occupant in a way made clear by a sudden spasm that forced him out of his bed in one leap. He circled the room for a way out, claustrophobic even in the large expanse, but found none.
Trying to calm down and be rational, looking to quell his fears with reason, he set out to remember what events had led him to the room. Remembering this might show him where it was and how to get out. Abruptly though he realized he couldn't recall the events, and worse, any of his past events at all.
Just about to throw a fit of hysterics, he was cut short by a portal opening in the wall opposite him and a person entering. Startled, he tripped back onto the bed. She was a tall and stern looking blond clothed in all white.
"Sir," she addressed the man, " I've come here in regards to concerns about your welfare. You see the-"
"I know," the man snapped, cutting her off," I've got amnesia. That's plain as this room to see by now."
"Ah . . . So I suppose you may have some questions by now about - "
"You bet I've got questions! Where are we?, What happened to me?, By who's authority am I being held here?, and just who exactly are you? oh!, and-" this time she was the one to do the cutting off.
"Calm down sir!" she chuckled some, but it just made him feel mocked." Informing you is exactly why I'm here. There is no need to try to force information out of me -- I intend to give it willingly."
"Oh, good. Well, what's the story then?"
She cleared her throat and began, "Your name is Adam Furion. You work for the International Cooperation Enforcement Agency. Three days ago you were in a high speed chase trying to apprehend a top wanted dissension criminal. The weather conditions were rather unfavorable with seventy mile per hour winds and your wing craft was blown off course into the side of a building. You fell thirty feet and received substantial damages to your body and brain. Soon after the criminal was apprehended by your partner and you were rushed here, the Citizen's Trauma Center. You received emergency medical procedures including bone replacement, lung transplant, muscle regrowth, some scar and bruise mending and finally brain surgery. You were kept unconscious and on high doses of pain medications until your body was judged well enough to tolerate what was left of the healing process on its own. From this point on you'll require a strict regular dosage of medications to keep your new lung from being rejected and to prevent you from seizing or hallucinating."
"Oh, is that all?" Adam grumbled.
"Yes. You were quite fortunate." She clearly had missed the sarcasm.
"So . . . what was it again? I'm Adam Furry and I was in a wreck with the -- International Cooperation Enforcement Agency? That does sound familiar admittedly, though I don't recall my job . . . "
"Well, yes, almost, Adam Furion. We have the information I've just given you written down for you, along with some other extra information pulled from your work files, your personal assets you arrived here with and your prescriptions, up in the lobby on the ground floor. You can pick them up as soon as you've taken your medications and you are free to leave. It's urgent that you try to get back to your normal functions as soon as possible. The people need you."
The blond turned sharply, marching off, steps echoing through the portal which sealed seamlessly behind her.
Adam looked down and noticed a little cup sitting on the bed beside him. It contained two tiny mint green pills. He picked it up and squinting at the label on the side read:
"Take two every twenty-four hours. Failure to do so may result in sever consequences. If schedule missed, seek medical attention immediately."
He frowned a bit, then gulped the two foul little mints down with a cringe in one swift movement.
"Oh! What the-! Seriously now, I have to take THESE from now till I rot? bleh . . . " He chucked the empty cup on the floor and rose out of bed, steadying himself on his feat. He had the first shock out of the way now and was armed with an identity -- now he just had to find it in him to associate that identity with his actual self. This left him very self-conscious and he noticed his back side was exposed. " Oh are you kidding me?! A fancy government hospital like this and they can't afford backs for their hospital gowns?" He approached the opposite wall and walked smack into it expecting it to open automatically. "GAH! My nose! Ack! Alright! Hey!" he started beating at the wall," Le'mme out! I'm free to leave now! The blond lady told me so! . . . Uh . . . I'm with the International Cooperation Enforcement Agency!, cooperate and let me out or suffer my wrath!"
The wall parted before him and he stepped through.
"A simple 'open please' would have been sufficient."
Adam jumped. The speaker was an old man in a white jump suit over the door operating the seal. He walked on toward an elevator at the end of a long white hall ahead of him, not stopping when he heard the man chuckle,"You've got a nice ventilation system installed in that thing!" And so the walk of shame begins, Adam thought to himself. He'd just received his name and he found he was already disgracing it.
The hall was deceptively long. With all the surfaces of the hall solid white and the bright lights making it hard to keep his eyes open for long it was hard to judge the distance and edges. He found himself bumping into the walls a few times along the two minute trek. When he'd reached the lift and pushed the up button he found himself marveling at the size of the elevator. A crowd of fifty could have fit in the cage with enough room to comfortably lay down if they so chose to. He was the only person on his floor and the place seemed so lonely and empty he was surprised that such a large capacity elevator would be required. The elevator launched rapidly and he found his answer to the size question. He found a vast multitude of tiny cubes flying by him out the elevator window, all full of beds with occupants.
For as fast as the thing went, it seemed to be taking a while. He looked up, a little nauseated, and noticed there were seventy-eight floors even before the ground floor lobby. Reaching it at last though he staggered off and sat down next to the reception desk he sighted.
"Name?" the tiny receptionist squeaked down at him.
"Adam Furrylon, 'er whatever."
"Furion?" she bent over to stare at him intently. Adam squirmed over a bit under the scrutiny or perhaps the nausea.
"Yeah, that's it."
"Oh! Why, here are your things sir." She pushed a box to the edge of her desk.
"Just toss them down here. I'm going to need a minute or two."He waved to her dismissively and she pushed the box over the edge. It spilled all over onto his head.
He laid down on his back and reached out feeling for things to pick up and examen at random from the spill. The secretary had gone back to work, but he noticed her glancing at him occasionally. He stopped and let his stomach settle and then asked, "Hey, is there a bathroom or something I can change in around here?"
"Third floor, first door on the right."
"Thanks." He glanced back at the elevator and decided against it. "Stairs?"
"I'm not staring!"
"I didn't say you were."
"But you - ”she halted midway through her thought, “Oh! Yes! Yes, to the left."
Adam Furion picked up the spilled objects, heaped them into the box, and walked off carrying the box to cover his bare side. Down the hall, up three flights of steps and back tracking to the third floor’s elevator door position he found the portal door directly to it's right, this one being clearly recognizable by an outline. He hit the switch next to it and entered.
The room was as plain and white as the rest of the building with a large sink of reinforced glass with a mirror above it. He set his box down and pulled out a light grey suit and white button down shirt that were on top. An embroidered black “I.C.E.A.” stood out on the upper left side of the jacket. He held it up and examined it in the light trying to recall it, and thought he did a bit. Putting it on, he judged how it felt and found the answer to be “awkward.” He looked himself over in the mirror, unsatisfied, but moved on.
Under the clothing were several small objects. There was a wallet containing a picture of himself receiving an award, his brown curls hanging in his eyes; he hadn't any idea what the award was for either. The brown curls, dark eyes with the classic insomniac circles, and general exact correspondence between mirror and picture told him it was him in the picture getting the award though. Under that picture was one of a man that seemed to be his partner and an I.C.E.A ID card. There was no money in his wallet. Aside from the wallet was a key card, a record book of work hours and observations, and a stiff black pair of shoes. In the button up shirt's pocket was the promised note of personal information and it sounded very much like what he’d been told:
“Your name is Adam Furion. You work for the International Cooperation Enforcement Agency heading the Search and Seizure department. Three days ago you were in a high speed chase trying to apprehend a top wanted dissension criminal. The weather conditions were rather unfavorable with seventy mile per hour winds and your wing craft was blown off course into the side of a building. You fell thirty feet and received substantial damages to your body and brain. Soon after the criminal was apprehended by your partner, James Steln, and you were rushed here, the Citizen's Trauma Center. You received emergency medical procedures including bone replacement, lung transplant, muscle regrowth, scar and bruise mending and finally brain surgery. From this point on you'll require a strict regular dosage of medications to keep your new lung from being rejected and to prevent you from seizing or hallucinating. You live in the twenty third unit of the Fifth Residency Shelter. You've been allotted one more day to recover yourself before returning to your function of employment. You will be prepared at this period's end.”
"One day and I'm supposed to go head the Search and Seizure department, huh? Grand . . . "
He put his shoes on and wiggled his feat around in them. He was lucky to have them as head of a I.C.E.A. department, but they were rather uncomfortable. With the rest of his possessions and the note in his pockets he headed out of the Citizen's Trauma Center, waving to the secretary on the way out.
In front of the building stood a lone wing craft standing tall and proud, glinting in the late after noon sunlight. A note attached to it's sail read:
“Adam, your old craft was totaled so I requisitioned this new one for you from the office. Signed, James.”
He stepped lightly onto the bright new equipment's board, marveling. It was a nice piece of work. Must be the newest model. The wings were still a crisp plane extending on his either side with it's solar panels embedded smoothly, unlike the dinged up ones that barely floated you saw usually. He inserted his key card into the center of the steering wheel in front of him, gripped tightly and said, "Home, standard mid-pace." The board lifted seemingly effortlessly and took off to his right. Had it been alive, the departure could have been described almost as “enthusiastically.”
Across the roofs of the medical district, over the governing district and the first and second habitation districts he didn't see a single thing moving below him. This may have been disturbing to see, but Adam was too absorbed in the sun, breeze, and new wing craft to be bothered by it more than to make a brief note that the city layout was vaguely familiar.
He touched down neatly on top of one of the many square concrete buildings and figured this must be it. He removed his key card and folded up his wing craft with a slow precision, savoring the practice. A small metal trap door next to him opened up when he inserted his card and he hopped down through it. The hall he landed in was poorly lit and it made reading the door numbers difficult, but luckily he was only four doors from the entrance hatch. The key card opened this again too and he shut the door behind him, relieved to be home.
The relief was disappointingly little though. Privacy was his now, but this space just didn't strike him as home. I'd better change that fast, he thought to himself, by the day after tomorrow, I've got to be back to my normal life.
The place was a dingy, poorly lit box of a room with one small window facing the side of another building and almost no furnishings. Normal, he supposed, but still not inviting. Exhaustion hit him now that he was left alone even though he'd only just woken up again after three days. Deciding to call it a day he found a small pile of cushions under the window. Sleep was what he needed now. One can't be expected to think too clearly in such a state of exhaustion. When he was rested and re-energized tomorrow, it would all make sense again then.
----------------------------
Sleep was cut off abruptly the next morning by a sharp sun glare cutting in between the two buildings and concentrating itself upon Adam's resisting eyes. He squinched them closed tighter, but it didn’t help; he was awake now and there would be no turning back again until night.
A knock at the door caught his attention. A hand had grown through a slot in it's center and was thrusting a plate of toast at him. He stretched leisurely before approaching the door. He studied the toast and the hand holding it, waiting to see how long it would stay like that. After a good five minutes without it even flinching he said, "It could use some blueberry jam."
"Fat chance with this rationing and the new dietary restrictions," the hand’s owner told him indignantly and dropped the plate before shrinking away. Adam just shrugged and picked up his toast, nibbling it while pacing the room, looking at objects to draw memories from.
There was a stain on one of the cushions he'd slept on. It was a light tan tinge on the grey. Coffee maybe? Yes, yes that was it. A chair was in the corner with a bent leg. It was in a bad spot, too close to the door. He'd probably hit it with the door one day or- wait, no! hit his foot on it! That must be it! One night he'd been wandering around in the dark unable to sleep and gotten a nasty surprise. Lots of expletives would have followed of course.
These thoughts comforted Adam some and he settled down a little into his home cube a bit more, lounging with the stained cushion on the chair with the bent leg.
When he'd finished his dry toast a hologram arrived for him. Inviting it in, the image of his partner James Steln seeped through the slot in his front door.
"Hello Adam, buddy. How are ya? All patched up now?"
"Well, I suppose so . . . The rip in my scalp is still a work in progress though."
"Great! Better then I expected. You should be ready then."
"Ready for what? A good long vacation?"
"Nope, good one though. Tomorrow you’re going to give a speech addressing progress of the I.C.E.A. to the public." Adam blanched." Oh don't worry though, we're going easy on you. There's a speech all written for you. Just read it and you'll have done your part. Well, see you tomorrow. Your speech and instructions will be slid under the door as soon as I'm gone."
"Wait! Just a second. I was wondering something."
"Yes?"
"When I got my stuff back yesterday, there was a picture of me getting some award. What was that?"
"You don't remember?!" The James image gasped. "Two years ago, Furion! It was the highest achievement of your career to date and won you the prestige you've got today, along with getting your promotion! You got The People's Merit of Service Award for crying out loud!"
"Oh . . . Oh yeah . . . It was . . . cold that day?"
"Bitterly!"
“And that award thing is supposed to be important?”
"Yes it’s important! It’s the highest award around! I wish I could have been in your shoes that day!"
"Hah! Trade you them for some blueberry jam. Those shoes you envy are giving me blisters I think. Really uncomfortable things they are . . . "
"You idiot . . . " Steln chuckled. "Well, see you later."
"Good bye."
Adam spent the remainder of his day off looking for signs of past effects around him and assigning events to them. He strained his head till it hurt, but found some answers he believed in the process. By the end of the day he recalled the whole icy day he'd received the People's Merit of Service award in so much of detail as to recall the presenter and the gist of his acceptance speech. It was something he didn’t like thinking about it now, but he had spoken it well. Speaking was a strength for him he found. His promotion was also familiar, though not quite as much.
When dinner arrived by way of another hand growing from the slot in his door it contained a carrot and half a sandwich. He took the plate and then another hand extended a glass of water.
"You wouldn't happen to have any juice instead would you?" The hand didn't seem to take that well, since it dumped the water and shrank away without a word.
After eating his dinner Adam felt thirsty and relatively unsatisfied even as he was aware these should be portions he was used to. He realized that though healthy foods, those couldn’t be enough to feed people every day. Nonetheless he was calmer and more collected then the previous night. He'd put his speech up on the chair in the corner and retired to the cushion pile again having decided he didn’t want to have to look at the speech before he had to. He checked out the window and could tell it was that time again. He'd need to get to sleep early; his speech was to be delivered far away and early in the day.
--------------------
The sun wasn't up yet when Adam rolled off his cushion pile the next morning. Yawning some he walked over to the corner chair and hit his foot on it in the darkness. Some expletives were cut short by a laugh. He took the speech off the chair and picked up his wing craft and key card, heading out. He'd had a dream last night and was mildly pleased, but also a little shaken; it had been an account of his life as I.C.E.A. staff and he had not liked what he’d seen
.
But, the day was fresh and new with plenty of promise. The light was just coming up when he mounted the roof. He confidently unpacked his contraption and hopped on. Key card in he said "All the way to Limit Square and double -- no, triple time it!"
Two hours of sun and wind, racing over empty grounds to meet the rising sun did more for his sense of self possession then the entire previous day had accomplished. He was alive up there no matter who he was.
He arrived at the square alone. The stage was set up, but nothing but emptiness and sunbeams greeted his ascension onto it. There was a stillness here, but it stood in stark contrast to the dead still of the hospital two days ago. This was a stillness alive with expectation and openness. It was waiting to let things come and happen, to be filled up with vitality.
The tension couldn't and didn't last long. People began showing up almost immediately. It was full within the hour, but he wasn't quite sure of if it was with what had been promised. The crowd was a rather dreary sight. A grey and brown mass staring up at him demanding answers. Well, he thought, they'll get them soon enough.
James greeted him after a little while and held up a timer, winking; now was the time.
Adam looked at his paper for the first time and read off it without much thought to what it said, just appreciating the power of that moment as it centered on him delivering a message. It had a somehow pleasant feeling to it. It felt familiar was what it was. Maybe his job was indeed familiar . . .
"-- So as of last fall we began to implement new telecommunication lines for keeping better informed between the Geographic Compounds. Efficiency is up by seven percent in communications now and less discrepancies are made through middle men message carrier errors. This helps you all out by --"Adam gazed out over the faces fixed upon him. Something wasn't sitting quite right with him the more he looked at them. "--The middle man factor's elimination proved that there were other areas that could be improved upon with reference to redundancies. Budgeting has been used more wisely by combining the related sections of Private Home Up Keep Inspectors with Business Building Up Keep Inspectors. The excess budget was then able to be siphoned off into some weak spots in the Global Developed Area’s Aide to Developing Areas Fund --" They weren't hearing what he said any more than he was he realized. There were people nodding and focused, but no real attention. The actions were empty." To afford feeding local Geographic Compound Number Seventeen's ever growing population, a generous allotment of bread was donated by the People's Representative Governing Head of Geographic Compound Number Eight. These heroic people of Compound Eight--" It wasn't just their actions that were empty, it was them! Why were they here when they didn't care? Thousands of them! And why didn’t they care? The more he did listen to what he was saying, the more it sounded like despite all the smiles and assurances and praises, these were very bad announcements to the lives of those addressed. He looked around the crowd anxiously for any sign of life, any kind of "why" for their being there. He swept his sight over the crowd a few times."-- There has been a rise recently in the number of arrests of saboteurs to our peace and unity which you can thank your enforcers for--" He stopped suddenly at one face in the crowd. He'd looked over it before but noticed nothing. This time, he noticed something. The woman down to his right draped in a large loose brown coat and hat was glaring at him. The hatred in her glare was subtle, just barely noticeable, but that made it appear all the more intense once it was noticed, how much must be hidden under the controlled mask." But if we are to truly live, is it not true that this is the only way we can achieve--" He stopped there, directly in the middle of his sentence. He'd forgotten to take his medication the day before and with the thought in his mind, it allowed room for no others. He dashed off the stage with out another word or indication.
He ran blindly not having any set goal of where to go, just with the idea that he needed to move. It was a good three minutes later before he realized he was on his wing craft and that the crowd hadn't budged at this peculiarity. It was another two minutes before he realized that wasn't true; one person had.
The glaring woman, he only knew it was her because she still held that same expression on her face of bound up rage, had cut him off in a small red and gold wing craft and he crashed into her and began plummeting.
--------------------
The woman must have caught him he decided noticing he was alive and that she stood beside him, still seemingly as livid as before in the bright sunlight streaming through the large windows of what appeared to be some old building wreckage.
She spoke first,"What kind of stunt do you think you're pulling?"
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me Adam. I expect more from you than this and so do you."
"Come again? I thought I did I rather good job of that speech up until......."
"Oh my.....You actually believe all that nonsense don't you?"
"What? Oh, actually, I'm afraid I really was not even aware what was in my speech before I read it. See, somebody else wrote it for me since I was in disposed. But that is common practice in these kinds of fields anyway so . . . "
"No! That’s not it. That’s not the real point. Just who do you think you are any way?"
"Hey! I happen to be head of the Search and Seizure Department with the prestigious People's Merit Award to my name -- I'd like to know who you are to insult me and make these kinds of demands!"
"It's worse than I thought . . . You think you’re exactly who they told you you are. You disappoint me you know that? What did they tell you exactly any way?" Adam looked at her blankly, lost. "Well?"
"I was in a bad wreck a few days ago. You aren't supposed to know that, but it's important you understand I need to get to my medication now before my lung rejects or my brain starts messing up."
The woman sighed deeply. "So that's it is it? Alright. you tell me what they told you when you woke up, and maybe I'll let you go."
Adam reluctantly reached into his pocket. "Here." He handed her a slip of paper."This is what they gave me at the hospital. I haven't stopped carrying it with me since."
She skimmed over it for a few seconds before bursting out laughing, then becoming very serious again. "Well, you are Adam Furion, they were straight forward with that much for evident purposes, but the rest of this is a twisted peace of work -- a dirty, twisted piece of work. You WERE in that high speed chase, and you did hit a building, but that was no accident. You smashed through a window as an attempted short cut through a building. Did you ever wonder about that top dissension criminal Steln caught? That was you. James wasn't your partner, he was your enemy. He trapped you and rushed you to that hospital alright but not as a rescue, as a punishment and an exploitation.
They've done this before. They did brain surgery alright, but that was it. It wasn't repair work, it was alteration. You don't have amnesia like they fed you, they wiped you blank so they could fill you up how they wanted and use you as their puppet with the powerful name to pull along unwitting followers, wear down the morale of other “dissenters,” and degrade you out of general spite after a long grudge. You are the stuff of near legend in the world that is left outside the invisible prisons people have built for themselves and enslaving a legend at least in their eyes would put another nail in the coffin of humanity that they so craftily kill in the name of saving. You’re speeches were renown for stirring up the last embers in dying fires of many who heard you, so of course they wanted to put you up there spewing out their venom as soon as they can. Maybe your way with words can work to the detriment of your cause as well as it does for helping it.
Heh, medication? You don't need it. I'm not letting you get it. They aren't to keep you from hallucinating, they're to keep you ignorant. Seizures and hallucinations? -- Probably a threat and used to explain away if you ever missed your medication and started to get wise”
Adam tried to pull himself together. "What are you -- That's ridiculous! I -- I've got proof! I've remembered so much of it by now. My amnesia is going away! Look!" He pulled out his wallet and the picture of the awarding ceremony and began to relate the tale.
"-- That won't be necessary. Check any record of that blasted award and you'll find you never got one. Even if they faked one the other person who did get that award that year would be able to refute the claim. People have no hard time faking pictures Adam. We both know that."
"Well . . . but . . . I recall more then that. There's a chair in my living quarters that --" She cut him off.
"Oh dear please. You always held to being above these petty little self delusions. You found it disgusting how others went through these things, inventing minor incidents that had they really happened they wouldn't have remembered any way to support their fantasy. They hear that this is their life and try so hard to remember what never happened that they make it up, filling in the holes. Besides, you don't live wherever that was so you couldn't have. In case of this sort of thing that's why I brought you here. THIS is where you live."
"That's outrageous! This place is a wreck! It's full of holes worse then you claim my story to be or your story is!"
"Not here. I figured you'd suggest that. Follow me." She took off her hat, leaving it at the foot of the stairs behind her. She had waist length hair the violent hue of blood and flames. It came as a shock against the rest of her person, her face being very plain and unnoticeable but for the expressions she placed upon it or chose not to, but matched her wing craft nicely as he recalled and then wondered at how he probably should find making such an observation odd, but didn’t.
He followed her up the stairs. She got to an old fashioned wooden door and took out a key -- an actual key, not a key card. Opening the door they crossed one destroyed room to reach another door. This one had no lock. She opened it and inside was a large open room with several beds, stores of food, books, papers, and an array of odd tools and other things -- most notably several folded wing crafts of unusual designs."Ring any bells yet?" He didn't recall the place, but was almost afraid to admit how at home he felt already. He shook his head.
"Alright," she pressed on," how about this? In the morning when they gave you toast, you wanted blueberry jam on it didn't you?" He flinched. "And you can't stand to drink water since you find the foods themselves plain enough as it is without having a flavorless drink too. Or how about that wing craft you've got with you? Enjoy it? Wing crafts are your real passion. You love to fly them leisurely, to race them, to examine them, to build them – you built all those ones over there. They're what keeps you alive, the rush of energy you get from them and the power you feel coming from them, unlike the rest of the wandering corpses around you. The aimless creatures who keep going on and even they don't know why. You saw it today speaking didn't you? Why were they all there? I don't know either." Adam had been slowly backing up as he listened until now he was pressed up against the wall.
"You're alive. THAT is what you need to remember above all else." He looked about him helplessly and reached under the pillow on the bed next to him for a bottle he found there – and realized he'd known he would. "Can you remember if not who you are, at least what you are Adam Furion?" she threw her coat off in a fit and exposed a royal blue dress, fitted, high collard, floor length, with buttons in a line down the front. In spite of all it covered physically, it mentally revealed so much. This was not the apparel of this day in this world. It seemed defiant just to exist and be on her in this world of greys and threadbare patches, of “making due” and “cutting back” of “sacrificing pleasure of some for survival of all.” It was so simple, a resistance, some satin and buttons and dye, but it showed a willingness like so few had anymore; to not just survive, but live. And not just live in some far off promised days that probably will never come, but to live every day like it mattered and was worth really making the most of, whatever that meant for that particular day. His head screamed at him looking at her there in it, as he remembered – really remembered – with a rush that dress going onto her and onto the floor and all the associations and implications that came with it of the several inhabitants of this room and their lives.
(the subject of the story for the sake of the class by the way was how giving leading questions and other things to people trying hard enough to remember things - things which may or may not exist or have ever happened - can really screw up the results and get people to make up things that never happened.)
