“Our ancestors did not anticipate how the Long Dark between stars would change us. Resources were finite, but time stretched on for lifetimes. We did the only thing we could, diving inward and creating a bridge between the unlimited digital world and the confiningly finite real.”
Lady Anna Blake, lecture at the Ivory Tower’s Vista University
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I wake up exhausted. My mouth is dry and my head is pounding. Strangely my back feels great.
I had thrown out my back years ago and the pain never really went away anymore. Drinking helped, but it made other things worse. Probably why I feel like shit. I cracked my eyes open, little bits of eye crust flaking off onto my face. I wince as some night sweat makes its way into my right eye. Rubbing my right eye while blinking the sleep crud out of my left I try to take a look around my room.
As I focus on my surroundings the first thing that strikes me is the smell. A strange mix of fruity and citrus, an almost sticky-sweet odor. As I shift my body weight I half fall off ?a dentist chair? Some kind of reclining chair on a swivel anchored to the floor.
This is not my bedroom. Did I get blackout drunk and decide to get a tattoo?
“Finally waking up kid? Gave me quite a scare passing out like that.”
The unknown voice comes from behind me. I spin around, succeeding at completely falling onto the floor this time. My body feels all sorts of wrong. The floor is smooth and cold, which feels nice at the moment. I hold onto it while I wait for the room to stop spinning.
As I’m contemplating the ceiling, off white tiles stained by smoke, a man’s face pokes into my vision. He’s bald with wraparound glasses perched on his forehead. Tan skin with the start of wrinkles at the corners of his worried green eyes. Black and gold hexagon tattoos down the sides of his thick neck. Maybe this is a tattoo parlor.
“You there kid? I try to keep the floors clean enough to eat off of, but I don’t recall them being that comfortable.”
The way his mouth moves as he talks looks wrong, like I’m watching a IRL dub. Before I can wander off into thought again I try to answer him.
“I’m not a kid, but I think I’m mostly here. Can you give me a hand up, I think I’ve had too much to drink.” I reply
He offers me a calloused hand. I take it and he effortlessly pulls me up. Doc does not skip arm day. Giving him a quick once over I add, or leg day and probably not core workouts either. The guy is jacked. He’s not at extreme bodybuilder levels, more like someone that does a lot of manual labor.
Things still feel off so I brace myself on the chair, before sliding back into it.
“Um, I don’t remember coming in here, where am I?” Talking is easier than moving. I’ve always felt more eloquent when drinking. It might even be true. Why did he call me kid? Is this a hispanic thing? Anyone younger than him is a kid? I would have guessed we were close to the same age, mid 30s. Maybe he’s older than he looks?
“Short term memory loss. Not a great sign but not that unusual after your first wetware. You’re in a safe place, my clinic, The Stitch in Time. Give me a sec k… young man. Need to grab the cognitive test.”
Short term memory loss isn’t so bad. Wetware is an odd name from alcohol, but I have heard of wet bars so maybe that's the connection. I’ve gotten better at dealing with blackouts. Practice makes perfect as they say. Blackouts don’t have to mean you don’t remember anything. Blackouts mean that your mind stopped making, what are they called, story memories. This happened then that happened etc. Sometimes when your brain stops recording on one track it keeps recording on the others and you can piece together the missing track with some effort. Making a new story given the things you do remember. I try to focus on how I feel about the doc. He feels familiar, not like a close friend but maybe like a distant uncle. Someone I can trust even if we don’t know each other that well. I know he is a doctor, not a tattoo artist or a dentist or whatever. It’s weird having feelings about someone who’s name I can’t remember, but sometimes that’s how it goes with memory impairment.
The doc doesn’t take long grabbing his test. It’s only when he walks back into view that I realize I didn’t hear his footsteps coming or going. Either he walks like a cat or my hearing is going in and out.
“Ok Flash, I’m going to ask you some questions, answer as best as you can but if you don’t know that’s ok too.”
“That’s not my name.” The response comes out almost before I’ve processed what the doc said. My name isn’t Flash, it’s … What is my name?
“Hum, no offense ki… young man but that is the name you wrote on the forms and it’s the name you’re currently sending out to the net. What do you think your name is?” Doc’s tone is gentile but the worry in his eyes might have just increased.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“I, my name is … not Flash. Flash is a nickname not a real name. Something a pulp action hero is called or maybe an athlete.” What is my name? How can I not remember my name? I’ve never forgotten my name before. How can I remember that I’ve never forgotten my name before but not remember my name? Was I in an accident? Is that why I’m in a doctor’s clinic? I feel my head, looking for bandages but my hair and scalp feel normal. No cuts or stitches. The same short haircut I remember getting at the creche.
“Well, what would you like me to call you then.”
I need a name. I try to relax, let my mind free associate. Something is there but it’s not a name, it’s a designation. ‘Trial Participant Delta Alpha Victor One Delta’. Trial Participant David? David feels familiar, but not right. Maybe Dave, Davie, Davito… Dave. Dave feels the best. Good enough.
“Call me Dave, and since we’re kinda doing introductions, what should I call you. I think I know you but I don’t remember your name.”
“Then let me introduce myself. I’m Doug Popadopoulos, but everyone just calls me Papa Doc. This is my clinic. You came in an hour ago with your girlfriend to get your first wetware installed. It looked like a standard skill module but you had a bad reaction and passed out during the installation. My equipment is telling me that the wetware installation went fine, but your response and memory loss is something I would like to examine. Now, if you are feeling up to it, how about we go through this cognitive test.”
I still feel out of it, and Doc seems to know what he’s doing. Might as well go with the flow.
“Ok Papa Doc.”
The test was so simple, but also so confusing. It felt like I knew the answers only after the questions were asked. Like I could only reach the information once I was reminded it existed. Sometimes I felt conflicted, as if one question had multiple answers but the different answers weren’t compatible.
The date, for instance. I knew it was 1,117 PF, or one thousand one hundred and seven years after the first piloted drones landed on Aphrodite, the planet I lived on. But I also knew that the date was 2030 CE, the two thousand and thirtieth year of the common era. I knew that the planet I lived on was Earth, and that Earth was the only planet any humans lived on. I knew that I was born in 99, but 1099 and 1999 both felt correct.
I knew that I was a citizen of the Semper Noctis Meritocracy, and that we used the metric system, but I also knew that I grew up learning the Imperial system of measurements and that by inference I was a citizen of the Imperium. Imperium of Earth? Imperium of Man sounds familiar. Kind of a sexist name though. The Imperium of Humanity was right there.
I was sure that I lived in a city, but I did not remember the name of the city. Names in general were hit and miss. Historic figures, major organizations, and planets all came easily, but my friends, my family, and even where my home was were confusing or just not there.
Papa Doc’s face had become harder to read as the test went on. I think he was trying to put on a good face for me, but I found his earlier openness more comforting.
“Well David, that’s the last question. I can tell you that you seem to be suffering from dissociative amnesia, possibly as a side effect from installing your first wetware but you seemed to be remembering more things as the test went on so there is hope that this is temporary.”
Papa Doc looked off and to my left, as if reading something I couldn’t see. “This is a known but unlikely side effect of wetware installations, less than one case in a million. If symptoms persist we can try a recompile from your core memories, but you don’t have your core integrated yet so that would have to wait until after your integration.”
Doc focuses back on me “Do you have any questions you would like to ask me, about your condition or anything else?”
I mostly understand what he’s saying. Some of the words take a moment to parse. My core is the seed of my transhuman enhancements. It gives me wireless access to lots of different technology. My core hasn’t been fully integrated and won’t be until I turn 19, the earliest a core can be integrated. Integration has something to do with gaining full access, but either I never knew the details or they are some of the memories I’ve lost. Wetware is a skill or a group of connected skills that can be installed into a core.
“What happens now?” I ask
“Now you go home. Your girlfriend is still waiting outside, but just to be sure let me send you a map to your listed home address. Go home, try not to stress about your memory problems and live your life. Familiar activities can help you recover. Your memories probably aren’t gone, but the connections between your memories and the rest of your mind are damaged. If you kept a diary, read it. If you have pics from your life and of people you know, look through them. If there are things you did every day, find out what they are and do them. I can’t tell you what will work best, but I can tell you that partial recovery is likely and a full recovery is possible.”
“That’s it? I don’t get a refund or anything for the mental trauma?”
“Sorry kid, next time read the wavers. You asked me to install an unlisted corporate training wetware, not something provided by Socrates. I followed all the protocols and documented the procedure. Whatever went wrong, it wasn’t my work. Take it up with your corp.” Papa Doc at least had the courtesy to look disappointed in me rather than satisfied that he had covered his ass.
Before I could respond a floating blue box expanded from the corner of my vision.
A Stitch in Time has sent you an annotated map of the Hive. Would you like to
Access the map now Save the map for later Delete Message
I knew what this was but I still found myself momentarily confused, touching my face looking for smart glasses. How can something as normal as a message from Socraties be amazing? How could I ever take something so amazing for granted? The two dissonant feelings warred in my mind until I pushed them away, accepting the option to access the map Doc sent me.
I was greeted with an online map street view of a walking route through twisting tunnels of neon lights. Tabbing forward it was easy to see my destination, GSC 138, good old Government Sponsored Creche 138. I could follow this.
While I had been distracted with the map app Doc had ushered me to his waiting room and was talking to a girl. She was shorter than me, with pale skin. Shoulder length dirty blond hair. A neon pink lock half conceals one of her eyes as she fails to even attempt eye contact with Doc. More cute than pretty. I search my feelings. I doubt that Doc’s description of her as my girlfriend is true. She felt more like a sibling: an annoying younger sister.
Doc handed her something as I tune in to the end of his conversation with her. “...and I need you to give this to the Lady in charge of your creche. It’s important that she knows about David’s situation so that he has the best chance to recover. Can you do that?”
She nods, and as her eyes briefly come up she sees me and her entire body shifts. No longer closed off and subdued she rushed up to me gripping my left hand in both of hers'.
“Flash, do you really not remember anything? That’s horrible! I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t remember anything. But the doctor says you will get better? Do you remember me Flash?”
The torrent of questions pulls up a reaction before I can even think about it.
“I’m fine Olive, you don’t need to worry about me.”
I think I’m more surprised by my response than either of them. Olive’s look of concern rapidly shifts again.
“Olivia! I’m not little Olive any more. I call you Flash even though last year you were calling yourself Max Powers! Least you can do is return the courtesy.” she pouts.
I guess I am remembering. I smile at Olive’s, er Olivia’s reaction. I don’t remember calling myself Max, and Flash still feels wrong but I definitely remember teasing little Olive about her new name until she switched to Olivia. Maybe this is temporary and everything will be ok.