Page 6 of Experimental Voyage
Over the next five days,I dealt with test after test. While Waldren’s team evaluated my health, probability of survival, and otherwise prepared me for the series of operations that would either kill me or restore my hearing, the mercy ship planned its departure. On the sixth day, I wrote a letter to my parents that Olivier would deliver, acknowledged I understood the risks associated with my impending surgeries, and followed my pre-op directions to the letter, erring on the side of caution.
In the late afternoon the same day, I underwent sedation with the understanding one of three things might happen: I might die, I might live but remain deaf, or I would have restored hearing.
Technology had advanced in such a way where most disabilities, including deafness and blindness, could be conquered through operations. The crystal in my skull changed everything.
For the first time in at least a hundred years, there was a medical mystery. Some people had accidentally been caught in blasts involving evolvulite, but they’d had the shards removed or they were deemed low risk. For those patients, life went on as normal. They avoided situations that might result in resonance,which involved dodging trips into space and picking their home world with care.
After the number of operations and times sedated, I’d grown accustomed to my tendency to pick up where I’d left off. However, something had changed. Rather than snap to full consciousness, I lingered in a disorienting numbness, something I’d experienced few times prior. Training only went so far, and for those who might need it, coping with the consequences of stasis involved undergoing the procedure at least twice. In the paperwork I’d signed, I’d been aware I might be put into stasis as one of many post-op tests. I’d accepted the risk, especially as I rated higher than average in my responses to revival.
My heart and bodily fluids resumed normal operations at approximately twenty percent faster, with my hearing, sense of taste, and sense of touch reviving five percent faster.
What my time in stasis meant for me, I wasn’t sure—and until I revived completely, I wouldn’t begin to guess.
I’d survived, unless the afterlife was a disappointing continuation of life, outside of the body rather than within it. Only time would tell if I’d be trapped in silence forever, or if I’d be able to adjust to a new way of hearing.
While a struggle, I forced myself to be patient. Nothing I did would change the outcome.
And so I waited.
THREE
Assumptions got me into trouble, always.
Something hummed nearby,soft and soothing in its regularity. I suspected it belonged to a machine meant to keep the room an appropriate temperature based on my personal biology during revival. Some people fevered, some suffered through chills, and those who performed frequent revivals had equipment capable of addressing such complications.
A light breeze played over my bare skin, indicating I maintained my temperature, another good sign I would emerge from stasis without significant distress. The relief over detecting some sound and recognizing it washed through me, and I basked in its glory.
Before the accident, such tones would have fallen into the nuisance category.
No longer. After months of silence, the humble hum consumed my attention, distracting from the other issues I should have dealt with, including attempting to open my eyes. I assumed I resided in a medical ward on some ship. Anywhere else would have had more noise.
On Schwana Major, hospitals monitored vitals with beeping machines and other tones, and the staff tended to use those cues to help them determine if a patient required assistance. They would turn the volume down or off in some circumstances, but the times I’d visited before the crash, they’d always been on.
I hadn’t done much digging into the why of it. My general inclination to make assumptions often got me in trouble.
Once I got back on my feet, a process that could range between a few hours to several weeks, due to a variety of potential complications associated with restored hearing and altered biology, I’d make a point of changing my way of thinking.
Assumptions got me into trouble, always.
I opened my eyes to behold a feathered muzzle loaded with sharp, pointy teeth. In the few seconds it took me to process the existence of something large and predatory in my space, my brain opted to be of use for once, identifying the green plumage, nose and nostrils, and the elongated face leading up to a crest as belonging to a Veloc.
The identification of the being helped a little.
Veloc liked humans—and not just for dinner.
I blinked, and the muzzle remained close, tilting this way and that. After a few moments, I realized the Veloc concentrated on something nearby on the edge of the hospital bed. As the predator paid me no mind, I opted to do the basic checks, determining I would be irritated by the IV catheter installed on my right arm given ten minutes and any reminder of its presence. While not truly uncomfortable, I disliked the sensation and would be doing my best to ignore it until set free from the contraption making sure my body kept functioning appropriately.
As they had not contained my left arm, my fingers moved on command, and the predator remained in my space, I decided itseemed fair to discover for myself if the feathers on the Veloc’s muzzle were as soft and plush as they appeared.
One day, I would die due to petting something I shouldn’t. I’d find out in the next few moments if today would be that day.
Appearances did not deceive, and the downy feathers and fur of the Veloc pleased me enough I settled into the serious business of stroking the entire length of the Veloc’s nose before exploring the equally soft chin.
The Veloc blew air, and after a moment, let out a throaty chuckle. “This is the first time a patient has decided I am a pet. How interesting.”
From voice alone, I guessed the Veloc was male.
I wanted to cry, but I wouldn’t—not until I could be alone to cope with my relief. As the Veloc hadn’t removed my hand yet, I continued my petting activities. “Their loss,” I replied, pleased I managed to get the words out, although my voice proved to be hoarse and raspy. I suspected my time being deaf contributed to that, as I had been hesitant to say anything upon learning I had zero ability to regulate my volume without the ability to hear. “Veloc species summaries need to be updated. You’re soft enough to be worth risking death to pet.”
