You should have let him sleep (chapter 5 of ?)
Chapter five - The Dreams
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Thousand thanks to rranne who does not only make this possible but also manages to flatter my vanity by laughing at the right places.
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John stayed on his berth for the rest of the day, too weak to get up. More people came to have a look at him; the tall black one from earlier accompanied by a shorter blonde boy with bright eyes and a sensitive mouth, but John was too exhausted to keep their names in mind. He balanced on the verge of sleep most of the time, drifting off occasionally into uneasy slumber filled with black coffee mortuary ringing phones you’ve just killed a man dreams that had no shape. They weren’t proper dreams in the first place; nothing of a storyline and no images that he would be able to revoke when he resurfaced again. Merely wispy cobwebs of dreams, torn and scattered; a recurring deep voice carrying on talking nonsense, sometimes a solitary detail; and a good deal of faces he never saw before but none of them resembling the face under the fancy deerstalker hat.
His actual medical knowledge extended only to the fourth semester of medicine which was quite disappointing; now he would never know if he had made it past the dreaded pathologic physiology exam. Not like my degree would be useful these days anyway, he told himself, suspecting that a physician of twenty-third century would have to memorize more than one textbook on anatomy. Maybe they specialize.
Notwithstanding his half-educated state, he understood that his retrograde amnesia could probably be caused by the hypoxic shock he went through when the life-support functions of his chamber collapsed. He was this-close to permanent brain damage by oxygen deprivation, and could call himself lucky for not being reduced to vegetative state.
When he was awake, he tried to think about the man in that photograph, tried to imagine how his face would look when calm, or agitated, or laughing. He scrambled through his scant memories until his head ached but there was nothing - no name, no date; nothing that would indicate how he could find, let alone save, the man in this time and reality. His rescuers assured him that there was no chamber like his ever found on Earth, as far as the records went. The man was probably sniffing flowers from beneath for the better part of last three hundred years.
Next day he woke up, not remembering when he finally fell asleep, and feeling suddenly so hungry that he could eat a horse.
“Ready for a proper breakfast? They say that fresh air helps digestion,” the angel from yesterday smiled at him again. It took him five full seconds to unglue his eyes from that smile and process what she actually said. Fresh air? His brain finally caught up enough to notice that he no longer was in a cave; he was surrounded by the faintly translucent canvas walls of a field tent that trembled slightly in a morning breeze, letting in cheering sounds of birds chirping and some stream gurgling in a stony bed nearby.
“We moved you last night; we needed the cave empty for the second stage of our project. I’ll tell you more about it once you’ve eaten something. Mad science is bad on empty stomach,” she laughed and went out, leaving a tray of fruit and some baked goods on his berth.
After his feast on glucose and carbohydrates, he tried to get up. It was not so bad. Whoever designed that blasted chamber must have had thought of preventing the muscular atrophy. He stepped out of the tent and felt the sun tickling on his face. It has suddenly occurred to him that after so many years inside a cave he should be white as a worm but when he looked at his hands he found tan lines around his wrists; still visible and distinct.
Their camp consisted of several tents and some heavy looking machine John assumed was capable of flying, since it had no wheels; all of which was half-circled by limestone hills, their slopes carved by countless streams. Not far away, a cave entrance opened in the hillside; formerly an outlet of a subterranean river whose stream decided to change its course.
“Morning, Watson! Good to see you up. Careful though; no wobbly legs?” The blonde head of the vivid young man from yesterday peeped out from another tent, followed by the rest of his body, lean and nimble and vibrating with energy as he stretched his back in the sun, cracking the knuckles of his interlaced fingers.
“Morning...Um.” John tried to remember his name and failed.
“Del March. Kindergarten physicist at your service. Don’t ask me what we are doing in the middle of this breathtaking mountain scenery because it’s Vance’s fault we’re not somewhere more appropriate- Vance! Get up!” he yelled abruptly in the middle of his rather incomprehensible speech, causing John to jump and the next tent wall to shake with something more than wind. Another man emerged from it, rubbing his eyes vigorously.
“This is Vance Madison,” March waved towards him, obviously excited by their new acquaintance. “My colleague, mentor, proof-reader, best friend, and nanny. Depending on what stage of the calculations we are in.”
The man called Vance smirked at John, seeing no need to add words to this introduction, and shook his hand in a firm, warm grip. “Please, don’t get mad at Del. These terrain explorations are eating him up and I’m afraid he sees you as a gift from Heaven to distract him.”
“It’s okay. I’m used to dealing with bored geniuses with all the consequences,” John laughed and then froze; why on Earth did I just say that?
Neither scientist noticed his discomfort; as they were already deep in discussion, addressing him, but more arguing with each other.
“We should report you to the nearest Federation check-point,” Madison said.
“No!” March groaned. “They would drive us out and seal this entire area, just when we finally found a cave big enough for-”
“Have some sense, Del. Mr. Watson here must be anxious to know-”
“He’s certainly not anxious to fall prey to the archaeologists and be poked and probed at, like a precious relic.” John found himself seconding that with a nod.
“We don’t even know enough about the technology. The Fleet has access to records-”
“I won’t have military near our project,” March snarled. “I won’t be a pawn in the hands of Starfleet! You know, Vance, what happens once we let them-”
“Gentlemen,” John interposed, “as far as I am concerned, I’d go with the ‘finders keepers’ rule. At least for as long as you need to finish this project here, whatever it is. Any objections?”
March beamed at him. “Now, Watson, you’re a man after my taste.” Madison only shook his head, unconvinced, but knowing better than to provoke the temper of his younger friend.
“That’s settled, then,” John said, winking at Madison. “Now, I am anxious to hear more about this project you keep talking about.”
They told him- March in carelessly expert words, Madison more comprehensibly- about their field of physics; about the two sub-atomic particles they discovered and named them ‘snarks’ and ‘boojums’ out of a Lewis Carroll poem. “The usual scientific nomenclature is so boring!” March continued on about how their team designed a device that would emanate a wave capable of retransforming any matter into something new; something they could dictate. In the midst of their ramblings, when John started to lose even the gist of it, the Deltan angel of a mathematician finally came to his rescue, taking him to lunch.
She told him her name was Zinaina Chitirih-Ra-Payjh. She laughed in dulcet tones when he couldn’t get past the first three syllables of her family name, telling him that it would be alright to call her just Zinaida and asking him for his given name in return. It only took him hearing his name leaving those perfect lips to develop a crush he hadn’t experienced since he was fifteen- but his heart sagged considerably when he was introduced to her Deltan partner, Jedda Adzhinn-Dall; equally tall and beautiful, but with dark hair that fell way past his shoulder-blades.
Later that day, he watched them walking away to their tent; moving perfectly in sync, heads inclined towards each other, and waves of their combined pheromones rolling off them making everyone near them losing their breath for a while, when he heard a throat being cleared rather forcibly behind his back.
He spun around to find the young March watching the retreating couple with longing eyes; then he smiled at John and said wryly: “Welcome aboard.”
John smiled back, mildly embarrassed for being caught ogling. “How do you stand it, all the time? How do they stand it? I mean, they must know that we are...well.” He trailed off uncertainly.
“That we are drooling over them night and day?” March laughed. “Oh, they do know. I think they laugh at us. Not cruelly; just because humans must seem so silly and immature to them.”
“I’d bet that humans aren’t anywhere near the top on the ‘Galaxy’s finest’ list, are they?” John winced.
“Oh, don’t be an idiot,” March snorted, completely oblivious to the way John gaped at his words- there was some pink-coloured memory brushing the edges his conscious mind, almost... and then it was gone again. Damn it.
“It’s true that there are civilizations much older and finer than ours; that we can look like savages to some- why, wait ‘til you meet a Vulcan. No-one can give better down-the-nose looks than those pointy-eared bastards. But we are the founders of the Federation after all; and being human is nothing you should be ashamed of, John.”
John certainly wasn’t ashamed of being human enough to ask March if there wasn’t any chance for a drink. March grinned, immediately hooked in: “Come on, man. I got some Romulan ale; don’t tell Vance. I’ll show you savage.”
John felt that he was beginning to like this genius.
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tbc Chapter six
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Thousand thanks to rranne who does not only make this possible but also manages to flatter my vanity by laughing at the right places.
.
.
.
John stayed on his berth for the rest of the day, too weak to get up. More people came to have a look at him; the tall black one from earlier accompanied by a shorter blonde boy with bright eyes and a sensitive mouth, but John was too exhausted to keep their names in mind. He balanced on the verge of sleep most of the time, drifting off occasionally into uneasy slumber filled with black coffee mortuary ringing phones you’ve just killed a man dreams that had no shape. They weren’t proper dreams in the first place; nothing of a storyline and no images that he would be able to revoke when he resurfaced again. Merely wispy cobwebs of dreams, torn and scattered; a recurring deep voice carrying on talking nonsense, sometimes a solitary detail; and a good deal of faces he never saw before but none of them resembling the face under the fancy deerstalker hat.
His actual medical knowledge extended only to the fourth semester of medicine which was quite disappointing; now he would never know if he had made it past the dreaded pathologic physiology exam. Not like my degree would be useful these days anyway, he told himself, suspecting that a physician of twenty-third century would have to memorize more than one textbook on anatomy. Maybe they specialize.
Notwithstanding his half-educated state, he understood that his retrograde amnesia could probably be caused by the hypoxic shock he went through when the life-support functions of his chamber collapsed. He was this-close to permanent brain damage by oxygen deprivation, and could call himself lucky for not being reduced to vegetative state.
When he was awake, he tried to think about the man in that photograph, tried to imagine how his face would look when calm, or agitated, or laughing. He scrambled through his scant memories until his head ached but there was nothing - no name, no date; nothing that would indicate how he could find, let alone save, the man in this time and reality. His rescuers assured him that there was no chamber like his ever found on Earth, as far as the records went. The man was probably sniffing flowers from beneath for the better part of last three hundred years.
Next day he woke up, not remembering when he finally fell asleep, and feeling suddenly so hungry that he could eat a horse.
“Ready for a proper breakfast? They say that fresh air helps digestion,” the angel from yesterday smiled at him again. It took him five full seconds to unglue his eyes from that smile and process what she actually said. Fresh air? His brain finally caught up enough to notice that he no longer was in a cave; he was surrounded by the faintly translucent canvas walls of a field tent that trembled slightly in a morning breeze, letting in cheering sounds of birds chirping and some stream gurgling in a stony bed nearby.
“We moved you last night; we needed the cave empty for the second stage of our project. I’ll tell you more about it once you’ve eaten something. Mad science is bad on empty stomach,” she laughed and went out, leaving a tray of fruit and some baked goods on his berth.
After his feast on glucose and carbohydrates, he tried to get up. It was not so bad. Whoever designed that blasted chamber must have had thought of preventing the muscular atrophy. He stepped out of the tent and felt the sun tickling on his face. It has suddenly occurred to him that after so many years inside a cave he should be white as a worm but when he looked at his hands he found tan lines around his wrists; still visible and distinct.
Their camp consisted of several tents and some heavy looking machine John assumed was capable of flying, since it had no wheels; all of which was half-circled by limestone hills, their slopes carved by countless streams. Not far away, a cave entrance opened in the hillside; formerly an outlet of a subterranean river whose stream decided to change its course.
“Morning, Watson! Good to see you up. Careful though; no wobbly legs?” The blonde head of the vivid young man from yesterday peeped out from another tent, followed by the rest of his body, lean and nimble and vibrating with energy as he stretched his back in the sun, cracking the knuckles of his interlaced fingers.
“Morning...Um.” John tried to remember his name and failed.
“Del March. Kindergarten physicist at your service. Don’t ask me what we are doing in the middle of this breathtaking mountain scenery because it’s Vance’s fault we’re not somewhere more appropriate- Vance! Get up!” he yelled abruptly in the middle of his rather incomprehensible speech, causing John to jump and the next tent wall to shake with something more than wind. Another man emerged from it, rubbing his eyes vigorously.
“This is Vance Madison,” March waved towards him, obviously excited by their new acquaintance. “My colleague, mentor, proof-reader, best friend, and nanny. Depending on what stage of the calculations we are in.”
The man called Vance smirked at John, seeing no need to add words to this introduction, and shook his hand in a firm, warm grip. “Please, don’t get mad at Del. These terrain explorations are eating him up and I’m afraid he sees you as a gift from Heaven to distract him.”
“It’s okay. I’m used to dealing with bored geniuses with all the consequences,” John laughed and then froze; why on Earth did I just say that?
Neither scientist noticed his discomfort; as they were already deep in discussion, addressing him, but more arguing with each other.
“We should report you to the nearest Federation check-point,” Madison said.
“No!” March groaned. “They would drive us out and seal this entire area, just when we finally found a cave big enough for-”
“Have some sense, Del. Mr. Watson here must be anxious to know-”
“He’s certainly not anxious to fall prey to the archaeologists and be poked and probed at, like a precious relic.” John found himself seconding that with a nod.
“We don’t even know enough about the technology. The Fleet has access to records-”
“I won’t have military near our project,” March snarled. “I won’t be a pawn in the hands of Starfleet! You know, Vance, what happens once we let them-”
“Gentlemen,” John interposed, “as far as I am concerned, I’d go with the ‘finders keepers’ rule. At least for as long as you need to finish this project here, whatever it is. Any objections?”
March beamed at him. “Now, Watson, you’re a man after my taste.” Madison only shook his head, unconvinced, but knowing better than to provoke the temper of his younger friend.
“That’s settled, then,” John said, winking at Madison. “Now, I am anxious to hear more about this project you keep talking about.”
They told him- March in carelessly expert words, Madison more comprehensibly- about their field of physics; about the two sub-atomic particles they discovered and named them ‘snarks’ and ‘boojums’ out of a Lewis Carroll poem. “The usual scientific nomenclature is so boring!” March continued on about how their team designed a device that would emanate a wave capable of retransforming any matter into something new; something they could dictate. In the midst of their ramblings, when John started to lose even the gist of it, the Deltan angel of a mathematician finally came to his rescue, taking him to lunch.
She told him her name was Zinaina Chitirih-Ra-Payjh. She laughed in dulcet tones when he couldn’t get past the first three syllables of her family name, telling him that it would be alright to call her just Zinaida and asking him for his given name in return. It only took him hearing his name leaving those perfect lips to develop a crush he hadn’t experienced since he was fifteen- but his heart sagged considerably when he was introduced to her Deltan partner, Jedda Adzhinn-Dall; equally tall and beautiful, but with dark hair that fell way past his shoulder-blades.
Later that day, he watched them walking away to their tent; moving perfectly in sync, heads inclined towards each other, and waves of their combined pheromones rolling off them making everyone near them losing their breath for a while, when he heard a throat being cleared rather forcibly behind his back.
He spun around to find the young March watching the retreating couple with longing eyes; then he smiled at John and said wryly: “Welcome aboard.”
John smiled back, mildly embarrassed for being caught ogling. “How do you stand it, all the time? How do they stand it? I mean, they must know that we are...well.” He trailed off uncertainly.
“That we are drooling over them night and day?” March laughed. “Oh, they do know. I think they laugh at us. Not cruelly; just because humans must seem so silly and immature to them.”
“I’d bet that humans aren’t anywhere near the top on the ‘Galaxy’s finest’ list, are they?” John winced.
“Oh, don’t be an idiot,” March snorted, completely oblivious to the way John gaped at his words- there was some pink-coloured memory brushing the edges his conscious mind, almost... and then it was gone again. Damn it.
“It’s true that there are civilizations much older and finer than ours; that we can look like savages to some- why, wait ‘til you meet a Vulcan. No-one can give better down-the-nose looks than those pointy-eared bastards. But we are the founders of the Federation after all; and being human is nothing you should be ashamed of, John.”
John certainly wasn’t ashamed of being human enough to ask March if there wasn’t any chance for a drink. March grinned, immediately hooked in: “Come on, man. I got some Romulan ale; don’t tell Vance. I’ll show you savage.”
John felt that he was beginning to like this genius.
.
.
.
tbc Chapter six