Turbulence on Cloud 9
DEPRECIATION
Her eyelids as heavy as a broken garage door, Runa came to haltingly, like a newborn fawn trying to stand, blinking slowly, until the haze began to lift. Gradually, her world came into focus, revealing glaring fluorescent overhead lights, a bed railing, and... a heart monitor? She was in a hospital. She tried to sit up, but couldn’t move her arms or legs. Her neck tensed, aching as she tried to take in her surroundings.
A pleasant-faced, matronly woman appeared in Runa’s field of vision, hovering just over her.
“Oh, good, we’re awake!” the nurse exclaimed cheerfully, as Runa’s pupils dilated to the flashing of a pen light, verifying the older woman’s assessment. “Now watch my finger,” the sweet-sounding lady instructed, moving her index to the edge of Runa’s line of sight and back.
Runa complied, her head trying to follow as the woman’s pointer reached her periphery.
“No, no, no!,” Runa’s caretaker corrected quickly, with a touch of alarm. “Just your eyes, hon. Don’t try to move your neck just yet.”
Runa instinctively blinked once, understanding, and complied.
“Okay, then!,” the attendant declared, obviously pleased. “That’s very good!,” she beamed at Runa, jotting some notes on the chart at the end of the bed. “My name is D’Amica, and I will be your day shift nurse,” she continued, straightening the bed sheets, fussing a bit about the pillows, putting another behind Runa to prop her up a bit. “Raylene will be with you in the evenings, and Dr. Newell is your primary physician while you’re here. He’ll be in shortly to update you on your status.”
Runa had so many questions. She tried to find her voice, but her throat was so dry, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Her breath tasted like she’d been sucking on a sofa cushion stuffed with moldy twigs for the last eight days. Just how long had she been under, anyway? She tried to wet her lips, but just getting them to part was a struggle.
“Don’t try to talk yet, honey,” D’Amica advised, sitting on the edge of Runa’s bed, pulling a rolling tray over. “Your muscles are still adjusting to the transition, and that includes your vocal chords,” she told her patient, emptying the contents of a hospital kit onto the small tray table. “Plus, they will need some priming before you can use them,” D’Amica winked at Runa.
The kindly woman put on a pair of latex gloves from the kit, inserted a syringe into the hypodermic fitting of a liquid bottle, then flipped the bottle upside down, and pulled the pump to full. Runa watched with growing intensity as her nurse turned the syringe toward her, reaching for her wrist. She could feel the IV attached to her hand, but couldn’t move her fingers.
“Don’t worry, sweetie,” D’Amica reassured Runa, catching her eye. “It’s just a little pickmeup to help give you the energy you’re going to need. We can’t give it to you until you come out of dormancy, because what a body needs most after transmittal is intermission.”
Runa’s brow furrowed. D’Amica brightened.
“Well, would ya look at that! You’re already regaining some greater muscle control!,” she cooed, moistening her thumb and straightening a few errant hairs in Runa’s eyebrows. It struck Runa to wonder about the hygienics of this action, but D’Amica felt so much like a surrogate grandmother, it just somehow seemed okay.
“Intermission is a just fancy word for a kind of recovery period,” the nurse continued. “...It’s an induced rest, designed to let the body be settled while the brain reconnects the synapses. And we can’t have this little proprietary booster competing with that,” she said as she tapped the syringe.
D’Amica inserted a long, winding tube into a large bottle of water, and rested the other end gently between Runa’s lips, taping the edge of the tube to Runa’s cheek just outside her mouth. Then she refilled the syringe, and emptied the remaining contents into a receiving notch in the bottle. The fluid in the syringe was as colorless as the water. Runa could feel the liquid on her lips, but could not smell it. She tongued the edge of the straw, but it had no taste.
D’Amica snapped off the gloves, and began gathering up the rest of the kit - mostly packaging for the items she’d used. She collected it all in a bag, and sealed the bag, then held Runa’s hand and leaned towards her, connecting directly at eye level.
“As soon as you feel you have enough energy, you’re going to want to try to suck down as much of that as you can manage to take in,” D’Amica recommended. “It will help you find your strength. When it’s gone, I will bring you more, and then we’ll see about maybe finding you something with some taste to enjoy, okay?” she smiled warmly, patting Runa’s hand. Then she got up to leave.
Runa suddenly became frantic. She blinked twice. No. Don’t understand. Twice again. Again. And again. Blink, blink. Blink, blink. Blink, blink. Blink, blink.
“Oh, honey,” D’Amica clucked sympathetically. “I know you have lots of questions. Trust me, dear, I promise, none of this news to you. It was all in the disclosure packet. You’re just having a hard time processing right now... Your brain is all fuzzy.” The kindly nurse pursed her lips and frowned, stroking a stray eyelash from Runa’s PJs. “Just rest your eyes, sweetheart, and give it a little time. It will all start to come back to you in a bit, and Dr. Newell will be here to give you a report before you know it.” And with a bustle of starched cotton, the congenial, attentive nurse D’Amica was gone from Runa’s sight.
Runa closed her eyes. It felt good to relax them. They were strained, sore. There wasn’t anything interesting to look at in the twenty or so square feet she could see, anyway. She felt something nagging her, gnawing at the back of her subconscious. There was something she needed to think of, she was sure of it... something... unfinished? Remember... something... she told herself, as she drifted off into a quiet dreamland.
The sound of her door, and the sense of a presence in the room woke her a short while later. Runa couldn’t tell quite how much time had passed since Nurse D’Amica was gone, but it seemed to her she’d just dozed off only moments ago. Time gets so distorted when one is inert, though, so it was impossible to know for sure. That little bit of rest had apparently done her some good, though - or perhaps it was that go-juice they’d given her? -as she was able to move her head, with some difficulty. The strain was still there, but the ache was gone, at least. She suckled more at the water from the straw in her lips.
“All rightey, then, let’s see here...,” the man in the lab coat mumbled, looking over his clipboard before addressing his patient. “It says your name is... Runa?,” he peered over his glasses at her. She nodded, slightly.
“Oh, good, your motor functionality is coming along nicely, then,” he grinned, acknowledging the nod. “I bet you’d like to be done napping now, wouldn’t you?”
Runa managed a weak smile.
“The nurses usually should have had you sitting up by the time I come around,” the Doctor reported, flipping pages in her chart. “But it looks like you haven’t finished your roborant yet,” he frowned, checking the bottle on her table. “Well, I think I can probably manage this,” he mused, wryly. “Let’s get you situated, shall we?”
The man in the lab coat operated the mechanism to raise Runa’s bed to an upright position, and adjusted the straw taped to her mouth so she could more easily drink from it while sitting. Runa began drawing deeper, longer sips immediately. She was so parched.
“I am Dr. Newell,” he announced, pulling up a chair to sit next to her. “I’m in charge of your after care for the duration of your stay with us, and I’ll be your followup contact once you are discharged.”
The Doctor seemed cordial enough. Mid 50s, probably - only slightly graying. About average height, with just the barest hint of a developing belly. Still fairly handsome, for his age bracket, Runa thought.
“I’m sure you’re wondering how all this works, and I’m here to help walk you through the process,” Newell informed her, crossing his legs and getting comfortable in the chair. “This first meeting is a basic status report, not just for you, to let you know how the procedure went, but for us, to get a handle on how you’re adjusting so far.”
Runa blinked once. She was eager to understand both aspects of this report.
“For a little while, our visits will seem a tad one-sided, until you’ve got a better handle on communicating again,” Newell nodded at her, with a reassuring pat on her knee. “For now, I’ll keep the information I need from you to a minimum, and we’ll use the signals.”
Runa felt compelled by an overwhelming urge to express herself in a more complex manner than one or two blinks.
“Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhuh,” she gasped, feeling as if she’d just released all the air in her lungs. “Hhhhhhhhhhoooww ssssssooon,” she spluttered - sounding like an infected snake being stepped on by a drunken cow, followed immediately by a violent coughing fit.
Dr. Newell hurriedly leaned forward to grab the bottle on her rolling tray. Quickly pulling the straw out, and the cap off, he untaped the tube from her cheek, and fed her the charged water directly from the bottle, which she eagerly gulped down.
“Apparently, sooner than we’d imagined,” he remarked, with a raised eyebrow at her. “But probably not quite as soon as you’d like,” the Doctor explained, with a mild look of reproach. “You’re going to want to get a lot more liquids in your system before you try anything like that again,” Newell cautioned, a touch firmly, before continuing. “In general, we’d like to see you taking solid food before we have you up and moving about,” he added, flipping through his notes. “...and then we’ll put you through a series of standard tests to confirm you’re meeting basic performance requirements before we let you go.”
Runa sighed.
“Now, don’t be like that, Runa,” Newell urged. “You’ve got to relax, and let us take care of you. I know you want to jump out of this bed and rush out that door and have your old life back right now, but you just can’t do everything you used to do anymore. Not yet, anyway,” he chided. “You need to be able to accept, things are never going to be like they were before. It’s a whole new life that awaits you out there, and we are here to show you how to adjust to that life.”
Runa turned away. She was sure he was right, but it wasn’t easy to hear. The Doctor sensed her frustration, and reached for her hand.
“But don’t worry, we’ll get you there,” he encouraged, his tone rich with compassion. “You may very well be on solid food as early as tonight or tomorrow morning,” Newell told her, shaking her fingers, which had involuntarily closed into a loose fist.
Runa’s eyes brightened, her smile returning, a little wider this time.
“But it will probably take you at least a week or more to pass the physical tests that will allow us to release you,” he disclosed.
Runa nodded again, blinking once.
“I’m encouraged by the fact that you’re already familiar with your name,” Newell added. “I’m assuming that means you’re beginning to regain your primary memories, and that’s the first, most important step, in the recovery process.”
Runa thought about what she couldn’t remember. Of course she knew her name, why wouldn’t she? But what was it she had forgotten, again? She tried to think... How did she get here? How long had it been since... she stopped... wait... since... since what? She felt dizzy. Her head hurt. Doctor Newell scribbled some notes in his clipboard.
“Some patients take several days just to figure out who they are, and why they’re here,” he confessed. “It’s a rough road, in those cases, and for a while, it can be touch and go.” The Doctor shook his head and sighed, looking down at the floor. “...I’ll be honest, not everyone in that situation makes it,” he scowled, his face darkening momentarily. Then he turned back to Runa, and lit up again. “But you’re apparently one of the smarter ones. I believe this is going to be an easy transition for you, and we’ll have you out of here in no time.”
Runa beamed at that news. Newell stuck his pen back in the clipboard, and stood up to leave.
“I would normally spend some time with you now, to figure out what else you remember,” he said, adjusting the clipboard to his side. “But I think I’m going to give you a little longer while with your thoughts, and come back after you’ve had a chance to absorb this better.” The Doctor placed the half empty water bottle in his patient’s palm. “So much of this depends on you, you know, and what’s going on up there,” Newell tapped on Runa’s forehead. “So use what you got,” he said, maneuvering her hand into a position that allowed her to squeeze.
Runa could feel her grip returning as she enclosed her fingers around the bottle. The Doctor also picked up a corded device attached to her bed with an alarm button at its center, and showed it to her.
“The nurses will be in and out, checking on you every so often, but this will call them, if you should need them sooner,” he said, placing the device within her reach. “You just need to understand, Runa, this is a marathon, not a sprint.” Dr. Newell reached the door, and stopped, looking back at her with his hand on the handle. “I know I’m repeating myself, when I restate the procedural regulations we spent so long reviewing, but in your case, it bears repeating. Two months is a long time in the cloud. I have to say, I’m pretty impressed with your progress.”
Runa blinked twice. Two months??? She began blinking again, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 blinks, more, until she regressed into a series of rapid, uncontrolled blinks. TWO MONTHS. She felt nauseous. The Doctor had turned his attention to the window, failing to notice her distress as he watched the clouds roll by while he spoke.
“A total reboot doesn’t happen automatically,” he told the clouds. “It’s not as easy as flipping a switch. It takes a total commitment from everyone involved, and no one works harder than the patient,” Newell droned, on automatic pilot. “We ALL WORK TOGETHER to bring good things BACK to life, Runa!” he said, shaking his finger in the air and quoting the company motto as he turned on his heel and was out the door.
She was going to vomit. Runa mustered every ounce of strength she had to lift the water bottle to her mouth, turned it bottoms up, drank it dry, and grabbed the alarm button, pecking at it repeatedly. A moment later, a flurry of skirts, D’Amica was at her side again, clucking and cooing. Runa’s water had fallen from her hand, and the nurse quickly obtained another from a kit in the cabinet, preparing the straw to be fitted, but Runa surprised her and grabbed it from her hand, downing every last drop in seconds flat.
“TWO-OO MONTHS,” Runa spat out forcefully, this time coming across merely like an angry bullfrog.
D’Amica seemed alarmed, but tried to calm her patient. Runa threw the water bottle across the room at the supportive, considerate nurse, who might have been hit, if she hadn’t moved with surprisingly quick reflexes. Undeterred by the outburst, and concerned for the young woman’s welfare, the warmhearted D’Amica rushed to the bedside, tenderly taking up Runa’s hands in her own, and firmly holding them steady.
“Reboot??,” Runa cried out, in almost full voice, hot tears welling up behind her eyes. “REBOOT?!!,” she yelled, her throat scraping, her voice cracking, before breaking down into hysterical sobbing, the kindly Nurse D’Amica holding her head and rocking her. D’Amica had seen this sort of thing before. She understood the emotional trauma transition could bring on.
Memories flooded back to Runa. This was never supposed to be a reboot. They had ordered an upgrade. That’s what they’d paid for. When they’d found out she had a malignant carcinoma, it was only a matter of time before it would spread to unmanageable, and often quicker than you’d prepared for, so they’d have to act fast if they were going to retain enough viability. She was just a generation too early to have had her embryonic stem cells set aside at birth, so an upgrade without congenital material would have been out of their reach, if her father-in-law hadn’t just passed a few months prior, leaving them enough to cover the costs. She’d been willing to accept treatments, saying they should keep that money set aside for other possible needs in their future, and take their chances with the new medicinal trials rumored to be showing signs of curative properties, but her husband wouldn’t hear of it. He was sure his Dad would have wanted his progeny to have the most assured guarantee of a long and healthy life for their primary caregiver, because no child should grow up without a mother. And this was exactly the kind of situation that constitutes reaching into the emergency fund.
When Runa regained her composure, after getting over the initial shock, D’Amica explained they had indeed ordered an upgrade, but there’d been a problem with the deposit. It turned out the financial institution her father-in-law had invested the bulk of their inheritance in - comprising the majority of his life’s savings - had been involved in shady dealings, and had gone under. An investigation was pending, and a class action lawsuit had been filed, but it could be generations before any of the swindled victims would see a greatly reduced partial recovery of their losses. But by then it had been too late to turn back. Runa’s consciousness had already been uploaded to the cloud. The GE Corporeal Regeneration Dispensary was a non-profit organization, and still in an evolutionary stage of development. The specialists there - the best on the planet in their field - were sympathetic to Runa’s case, but there was simply not enough funding on hand to complete the procedure.
If not for her husband’s persistence in finding the funding, through any means possible, from harvesting some of their nest egg, picking up quick turnaround side construction projects, borrowing from family and friends, and chasing down charitable donations...
Her husband. Athan! How could she have forgotten him? How could she have forgotten her children?? Runa began crying again, softly this time, when she realized her own flesh and blood had been part of the gray haziness on the edge of her subconscious, trying to push forward into her mind. She thought about how anxious she’d been when she’d first awakened. What had she been in such a hurry to do, if not to get back to them?
D’Amica assured Runa that after 2 months of consciousness in the initial stages of digital degradation, it was a wonder she even knew her own name, much less anything about her former life. The nurse was certain she must be sort of a medical miracle, or have the world’s most potent brain. Runa smiled. The emotional psyche is the most critical element of sentience, and from it, love is more powerful than even the latest advances in medicine. Even if her consciousness had faded into oblivion, she’d have still found her way back to her family.
Once she felt like she had a handle on what had happened, with D’Amica answering all her questions, Runa thought to inquire about her new - er, used - body.
It turned out, a significant portion of the delay in moving forward with the download procedure had been in procuring a suitable “chassis,” as they called the reboots. Like any other transplant surgery, there’s always a danger of a rejection between the body and the downloaded consciousness. Part of the requirements necessary for the brain to adjust effectively is to make sure the chassis resembles the original well enough to not cause any immediate damage from the mental shock of seeing a completely different face in the mirror. This is easier done when planned for in advance. In Runa’s situation, they’d had to wait for a suitable compatible chassis to become available, but it’s imperative to the transference to get it done right the first time. Otherwise, the risks could potentially involve a total personal meltdown: the brain’s subconscious refusal to accept the new identity, leading to split personalities, psychosis/psychopathy, occasionally a permanent catatonic state, and sometimes, even death.
The chassis donated to the institution and infused with Runa’s consciousness, as it happened, was a standard human female, 25 years in age, Caucasian, with dark brown hair, hazel eyes, 5’7”, 165 lbs.
Huh. White. Guess she’d finally get a chance to find out what all the fuss was about. Runa was born in Italy, which is close enough to pass for white, and she often did, in the American Cooperatives, but there were still places in the third world sections of the Coops where people noted her olive complexion with indifference, at best. The skin tone was apparently relatively similar, only with a slightly pinker undercarriage. She’d have to start using a new foundation. She chuckled to herself. Athan would be excited to have married a genuine blueblood! She was fairly certain he’d be pretty pleased about the proportions on these few extra pounds, too, noting in looking over the profile in her dossier, that the new chassis was considerably curvier than she had been. She’d have to get used to moving around with the 2 extra inches of height, but she’d always wanted to be taller. The facial features, though, were otherwise eerily similar, looking at the pictures, and reminded her of pictures of herself when she was in college.
The most amazing part, though, was the 20 year age difference. Runa had been 45 when she’d been diagnosed. Ha! Now Athan was robbing the cradle! But, 20 extra years... Wow. 20 more years with her children. 20 more years to parent them, to help them parent their own children, once they made her a grandmother. 20 more years with her husband... Oh, Dear! They’d have to save up and get Athan rebooted, too!
Runa shook free of her daydream. There’d be time for that. Time, yes. And plenty of it.
There were no mirrors in the room. D’Amica explained that it’s part of the process to acclimate the brain to the physical motion of the chassis before asking the mind to adjust emotionally to a new look for the overall identity of the psyche. That was still the most dangerous hurdle ahead of them, but her nurse felt confident Runa had what it takes to overcome it. Until then, Runa would be shown pictures of the face and body of her new chassis, and study them until she knew them, well... like the back of her hand. This would help with the transition.
“What about my body?” Runa asked, trembling, still somewhat shaken.
The information provided to her did not include any detail on what happened to the consciousness that was in this chassis before her. She assumed the young woman who’d donated it had been in a similar situation, and had gone on to an upgrade or a reboot of her own, but Runa really did not want to think about it, and though no one called it a faux pas, Runa got the impression maybe it was impolite to ask. The thought of her body being gone forever, though, of the hips that had borne her children, of the bosom that had nursed them, the hands that had cared for them... that was a loss she would have to get used to, and spend some time mourning. The data packet was also absent on detail related to the outcome of her original body. She learned pursuing this line of investigation, especially within the adjustment period, is generally discouraged, if not prohibited, depending on the non-disclosure agreements involved in each case, as it could be detrimental to recovery. Given her unusual circumstances, though, D’Amica didn’t mind bending policy slightly to oblige her.
The cooperative nurse informed Runa that Athan had donated her body to cancer research, and if the trials were successful in ridding it of any cell corruption, then it would be donated back to the Dispensary. More importantly, to a different branch of the Dispensary in another Coops district. This was to avoid the possibility of having Runa or any of her family accidentally run into her old body, as the mental and emotional fallout for any of them could be psychologically devastating. D’Amica told her that Athan had specifically directed for her healed body to be donated to a third world Coops sector, and helped set up a scholarship program in which it would be given at no cost to a single mother with no other options to otherwise continue raising her children.
Runa become emotional at this news. The thought of her body - infused with the love of her family, from every ounce of caring she’d poured into every cell of it, over 20+ years of looking after those closest to her - out there, somewhere, the last remaining hope for a desperate mother with children in need, to be used to tend to them as she had to her own, was as perfect a fate as she ever could have imagined for it. She smiled at her husband’s generosity, fighting back tears. Oh how she loved that man. She thought of his rugged, handsome face, and imagined the look in his eyes when he got to “check her out” for the first time, all over again. And her children... she closed her eyes and tried to remember the feel of their soft skin, the smell of their hair. She could hardly wait to see them again.
With renewed determination, Runa set about steeling her mind to making the fastest reboot recovery the Dispensary had every known. Charged water, solid food, hypersleep, somersaults... whatever it takes. She was getting out of there, and soon. Her family had been waiting for her, and it was about time she got back to them.
LJ Idol | Friends & Rivals • Week 7 - Topic: LIQUIDATED DAMAGES
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Her eyelids as heavy as a broken garage door, Runa came to haltingly, like a newborn fawn trying to stand, blinking slowly, until the haze began to lift. Gradually, her world came into focus, revealing glaring fluorescent overhead lights, a bed railing, and... a heart monitor? She was in a hospital. She tried to sit up, but couldn’t move her arms or legs. Her neck tensed, aching as she tried to take in her surroundings.
A pleasant-faced, matronly woman appeared in Runa’s field of vision, hovering just over her.
“Oh, good, we’re awake!” the nurse exclaimed cheerfully, as Runa’s pupils dilated to the flashing of a pen light, verifying the older woman’s assessment. “Now watch my finger,” the sweet-sounding lady instructed, moving her index to the edge of Runa’s line of sight and back.
Runa complied, her head trying to follow as the woman’s pointer reached her periphery.
“No, no, no!,” Runa’s caretaker corrected quickly, with a touch of alarm. “Just your eyes, hon. Don’t try to move your neck just yet.”
Runa instinctively blinked once, understanding, and complied.
“Okay, then!,” the attendant declared, obviously pleased. “That’s very good!,” she beamed at Runa, jotting some notes on the chart at the end of the bed. “My name is D’Amica, and I will be your day shift nurse,” she continued, straightening the bed sheets, fussing a bit about the pillows, putting another behind Runa to prop her up a bit. “Raylene will be with you in the evenings, and Dr. Newell is your primary physician while you’re here. He’ll be in shortly to update you on your status.”
Runa had so many questions. She tried to find her voice, but her throat was so dry, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Her breath tasted like she’d been sucking on a sofa cushion stuffed with moldy twigs for the last eight days. Just how long had she been under, anyway? She tried to wet her lips, but just getting them to part was a struggle.
“Don’t try to talk yet, honey,” D’Amica advised, sitting on the edge of Runa’s bed, pulling a rolling tray over. “Your muscles are still adjusting to the transition, and that includes your vocal chords,” she told her patient, emptying the contents of a hospital kit onto the small tray table. “Plus, they will need some priming before you can use them,” D’Amica winked at Runa.
The kindly woman put on a pair of latex gloves from the kit, inserted a syringe into the hypodermic fitting of a liquid bottle, then flipped the bottle upside down, and pulled the pump to full. Runa watched with growing intensity as her nurse turned the syringe toward her, reaching for her wrist. She could feel the IV attached to her hand, but couldn’t move her fingers.
“Don’t worry, sweetie,” D’Amica reassured Runa, catching her eye. “It’s just a little pickmeup to help give you the energy you’re going to need. We can’t give it to you until you come out of dormancy, because what a body needs most after transmittal is intermission.”
Runa’s brow furrowed. D’Amica brightened.
“Well, would ya look at that! You’re already regaining some greater muscle control!,” she cooed, moistening her thumb and straightening a few errant hairs in Runa’s eyebrows. It struck Runa to wonder about the hygienics of this action, but D’Amica felt so much like a surrogate grandmother, it just somehow seemed okay.
“Intermission is a just fancy word for a kind of recovery period,” the nurse continued. “...It’s an induced rest, designed to let the body be settled while the brain reconnects the synapses. And we can’t have this little proprietary booster competing with that,” she said as she tapped the syringe.
D’Amica inserted a long, winding tube into a large bottle of water, and rested the other end gently between Runa’s lips, taping the edge of the tube to Runa’s cheek just outside her mouth. Then she refilled the syringe, and emptied the remaining contents into a receiving notch in the bottle. The fluid in the syringe was as colorless as the water. Runa could feel the liquid on her lips, but could not smell it. She tongued the edge of the straw, but it had no taste.
D’Amica snapped off the gloves, and began gathering up the rest of the kit - mostly packaging for the items she’d used. She collected it all in a bag, and sealed the bag, then held Runa’s hand and leaned towards her, connecting directly at eye level.
“As soon as you feel you have enough energy, you’re going to want to try to suck down as much of that as you can manage to take in,” D’Amica recommended. “It will help you find your strength. When it’s gone, I will bring you more, and then we’ll see about maybe finding you something with some taste to enjoy, okay?” she smiled warmly, patting Runa’s hand. Then she got up to leave.
Runa suddenly became frantic. She blinked twice. No. Don’t understand. Twice again. Again. And again. Blink, blink. Blink, blink. Blink, blink. Blink, blink.
“Oh, honey,” D’Amica clucked sympathetically. “I know you have lots of questions. Trust me, dear, I promise, none of this news to you. It was all in the disclosure packet. You’re just having a hard time processing right now... Your brain is all fuzzy.” The kindly nurse pursed her lips and frowned, stroking a stray eyelash from Runa’s PJs. “Just rest your eyes, sweetheart, and give it a little time. It will all start to come back to you in a bit, and Dr. Newell will be here to give you a report before you know it.” And with a bustle of starched cotton, the congenial, attentive nurse D’Amica was gone from Runa’s sight.
Runa closed her eyes. It felt good to relax them. They were strained, sore. There wasn’t anything interesting to look at in the twenty or so square feet she could see, anyway. She felt something nagging her, gnawing at the back of her subconscious. There was something she needed to think of, she was sure of it... something... unfinished? Remember... something... she told herself, as she drifted off into a quiet dreamland.
The sound of her door, and the sense of a presence in the room woke her a short while later. Runa couldn’t tell quite how much time had passed since Nurse D’Amica was gone, but it seemed to her she’d just dozed off only moments ago. Time gets so distorted when one is inert, though, so it was impossible to know for sure. That little bit of rest had apparently done her some good, though - or perhaps it was that go-juice they’d given her? -as she was able to move her head, with some difficulty. The strain was still there, but the ache was gone, at least. She suckled more at the water from the straw in her lips.
“All rightey, then, let’s see here...,” the man in the lab coat mumbled, looking over his clipboard before addressing his patient. “It says your name is... Runa?,” he peered over his glasses at her. She nodded, slightly.
“Oh, good, your motor functionality is coming along nicely, then,” he grinned, acknowledging the nod. “I bet you’d like to be done napping now, wouldn’t you?”
Runa managed a weak smile.
“The nurses usually should have had you sitting up by the time I come around,” the Doctor reported, flipping pages in her chart. “But it looks like you haven’t finished your roborant yet,” he frowned, checking the bottle on her table. “Well, I think I can probably manage this,” he mused, wryly. “Let’s get you situated, shall we?”
The man in the lab coat operated the mechanism to raise Runa’s bed to an upright position, and adjusted the straw taped to her mouth so she could more easily drink from it while sitting. Runa began drawing deeper, longer sips immediately. She was so parched.
“I am Dr. Newell,” he announced, pulling up a chair to sit next to her. “I’m in charge of your after care for the duration of your stay with us, and I’ll be your followup contact once you are discharged.”
The Doctor seemed cordial enough. Mid 50s, probably - only slightly graying. About average height, with just the barest hint of a developing belly. Still fairly handsome, for his age bracket, Runa thought.
“I’m sure you’re wondering how all this works, and I’m here to help walk you through the process,” Newell informed her, crossing his legs and getting comfortable in the chair. “This first meeting is a basic status report, not just for you, to let you know how the procedure went, but for us, to get a handle on how you’re adjusting so far.”
Runa blinked once. She was eager to understand both aspects of this report.
“For a little while, our visits will seem a tad one-sided, until you’ve got a better handle on communicating again,” Newell nodded at her, with a reassuring pat on her knee. “For now, I’ll keep the information I need from you to a minimum, and we’ll use the signals.”
Runa felt compelled by an overwhelming urge to express herself in a more complex manner than one or two blinks.
“Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhuh,” she gasped, feeling as if she’d just released all the air in her lungs. “Hhhhhhhhhhoooww ssssssooon,” she spluttered - sounding like an infected snake being stepped on by a drunken cow, followed immediately by a violent coughing fit.
Dr. Newell hurriedly leaned forward to grab the bottle on her rolling tray. Quickly pulling the straw out, and the cap off, he untaped the tube from her cheek, and fed her the charged water directly from the bottle, which she eagerly gulped down.
“Apparently, sooner than we’d imagined,” he remarked, with a raised eyebrow at her. “But probably not quite as soon as you’d like,” the Doctor explained, with a mild look of reproach. “You’re going to want to get a lot more liquids in your system before you try anything like that again,” Newell cautioned, a touch firmly, before continuing. “In general, we’d like to see you taking solid food before we have you up and moving about,” he added, flipping through his notes. “...and then we’ll put you through a series of standard tests to confirm you’re meeting basic performance requirements before we let you go.”
Runa sighed.
“Now, don’t be like that, Runa,” Newell urged. “You’ve got to relax, and let us take care of you. I know you want to jump out of this bed and rush out that door and have your old life back right now, but you just can’t do everything you used to do anymore. Not yet, anyway,” he chided. “You need to be able to accept, things are never going to be like they were before. It’s a whole new life that awaits you out there, and we are here to show you how to adjust to that life.”
Runa turned away. She was sure he was right, but it wasn’t easy to hear. The Doctor sensed her frustration, and reached for her hand.
“But don’t worry, we’ll get you there,” he encouraged, his tone rich with compassion. “You may very well be on solid food as early as tonight or tomorrow morning,” Newell told her, shaking her fingers, which had involuntarily closed into a loose fist.
Runa’s eyes brightened, her smile returning, a little wider this time.
“But it will probably take you at least a week or more to pass the physical tests that will allow us to release you,” he disclosed.
Runa nodded again, blinking once.
“I’m encouraged by the fact that you’re already familiar with your name,” Newell added. “I’m assuming that means you’re beginning to regain your primary memories, and that’s the first, most important step, in the recovery process.”
Runa thought about what she couldn’t remember. Of course she knew her name, why wouldn’t she? But what was it she had forgotten, again? She tried to think... How did she get here? How long had it been since... she stopped... wait... since... since what? She felt dizzy. Her head hurt. Doctor Newell scribbled some notes in his clipboard.
“Some patients take several days just to figure out who they are, and why they’re here,” he confessed. “It’s a rough road, in those cases, and for a while, it can be touch and go.” The Doctor shook his head and sighed, looking down at the floor. “...I’ll be honest, not everyone in that situation makes it,” he scowled, his face darkening momentarily. Then he turned back to Runa, and lit up again. “But you’re apparently one of the smarter ones. I believe this is going to be an easy transition for you, and we’ll have you out of here in no time.”
Runa beamed at that news. Newell stuck his pen back in the clipboard, and stood up to leave.
“I would normally spend some time with you now, to figure out what else you remember,” he said, adjusting the clipboard to his side. “But I think I’m going to give you a little longer while with your thoughts, and come back after you’ve had a chance to absorb this better.” The Doctor placed the half empty water bottle in his patient’s palm. “So much of this depends on you, you know, and what’s going on up there,” Newell tapped on Runa’s forehead. “So use what you got,” he said, maneuvering her hand into a position that allowed her to squeeze.
Runa could feel her grip returning as she enclosed her fingers around the bottle. The Doctor also picked up a corded device attached to her bed with an alarm button at its center, and showed it to her.
“The nurses will be in and out, checking on you every so often, but this will call them, if you should need them sooner,” he said, placing the device within her reach. “You just need to understand, Runa, this is a marathon, not a sprint.” Dr. Newell reached the door, and stopped, looking back at her with his hand on the handle. “I know I’m repeating myself, when I restate the procedural regulations we spent so long reviewing, but in your case, it bears repeating. Two months is a long time in the cloud. I have to say, I’m pretty impressed with your progress.”
Runa blinked twice. Two months??? She began blinking again, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 blinks, more, until she regressed into a series of rapid, uncontrolled blinks. TWO MONTHS. She felt nauseous. The Doctor had turned his attention to the window, failing to notice her distress as he watched the clouds roll by while he spoke.
“A total reboot doesn’t happen automatically,” he told the clouds. “It’s not as easy as flipping a switch. It takes a total commitment from everyone involved, and no one works harder than the patient,” Newell droned, on automatic pilot. “We ALL WORK TOGETHER to bring good things BACK to life, Runa!” he said, shaking his finger in the air and quoting the company motto as he turned on his heel and was out the door.
She was going to vomit. Runa mustered every ounce of strength she had to lift the water bottle to her mouth, turned it bottoms up, drank it dry, and grabbed the alarm button, pecking at it repeatedly. A moment later, a flurry of skirts, D’Amica was at her side again, clucking and cooing. Runa’s water had fallen from her hand, and the nurse quickly obtained another from a kit in the cabinet, preparing the straw to be fitted, but Runa surprised her and grabbed it from her hand, downing every last drop in seconds flat.
“TWO-OO MONTHS,” Runa spat out forcefully, this time coming across merely like an angry bullfrog.
D’Amica seemed alarmed, but tried to calm her patient. Runa threw the water bottle across the room at the supportive, considerate nurse, who might have been hit, if she hadn’t moved with surprisingly quick reflexes. Undeterred by the outburst, and concerned for the young woman’s welfare, the warmhearted D’Amica rushed to the bedside, tenderly taking up Runa’s hands in her own, and firmly holding them steady.
“Reboot??,” Runa cried out, in almost full voice, hot tears welling up behind her eyes. “REBOOT?!!,” she yelled, her throat scraping, her voice cracking, before breaking down into hysterical sobbing, the kindly Nurse D’Amica holding her head and rocking her. D’Amica had seen this sort of thing before. She understood the emotional trauma transition could bring on.
Memories flooded back to Runa. This was never supposed to be a reboot. They had ordered an upgrade. That’s what they’d paid for. When they’d found out she had a malignant carcinoma, it was only a matter of time before it would spread to unmanageable, and often quicker than you’d prepared for, so they’d have to act fast if they were going to retain enough viability. She was just a generation too early to have had her embryonic stem cells set aside at birth, so an upgrade without congenital material would have been out of their reach, if her father-in-law hadn’t just passed a few months prior, leaving them enough to cover the costs. She’d been willing to accept treatments, saying they should keep that money set aside for other possible needs in their future, and take their chances with the new medicinal trials rumored to be showing signs of curative properties, but her husband wouldn’t hear of it. He was sure his Dad would have wanted his progeny to have the most assured guarantee of a long and healthy life for their primary caregiver, because no child should grow up without a mother. And this was exactly the kind of situation that constitutes reaching into the emergency fund.
When Runa regained her composure, after getting over the initial shock, D’Amica explained they had indeed ordered an upgrade, but there’d been a problem with the deposit. It turned out the financial institution her father-in-law had invested the bulk of their inheritance in - comprising the majority of his life’s savings - had been involved in shady dealings, and had gone under. An investigation was pending, and a class action lawsuit had been filed, but it could be generations before any of the swindled victims would see a greatly reduced partial recovery of their losses. But by then it had been too late to turn back. Runa’s consciousness had already been uploaded to the cloud. The GE Corporeal Regeneration Dispensary was a non-profit organization, and still in an evolutionary stage of development. The specialists there - the best on the planet in their field - were sympathetic to Runa’s case, but there was simply not enough funding on hand to complete the procedure.
If not for her husband’s persistence in finding the funding, through any means possible, from harvesting some of their nest egg, picking up quick turnaround side construction projects, borrowing from family and friends, and chasing down charitable donations...
Her husband. Athan! How could she have forgotten him? How could she have forgotten her children?? Runa began crying again, softly this time, when she realized her own flesh and blood had been part of the gray haziness on the edge of her subconscious, trying to push forward into her mind. She thought about how anxious she’d been when she’d first awakened. What had she been in such a hurry to do, if not to get back to them?
D’Amica assured Runa that after 2 months of consciousness in the initial stages of digital degradation, it was a wonder she even knew her own name, much less anything about her former life. The nurse was certain she must be sort of a medical miracle, or have the world’s most potent brain. Runa smiled. The emotional psyche is the most critical element of sentience, and from it, love is more powerful than even the latest advances in medicine. Even if her consciousness had faded into oblivion, she’d have still found her way back to her family.
Once she felt like she had a handle on what had happened, with D’Amica answering all her questions, Runa thought to inquire about her new - er, used - body.
It turned out, a significant portion of the delay in moving forward with the download procedure had been in procuring a suitable “chassis,” as they called the reboots. Like any other transplant surgery, there’s always a danger of a rejection between the body and the downloaded consciousness. Part of the requirements necessary for the brain to adjust effectively is to make sure the chassis resembles the original well enough to not cause any immediate damage from the mental shock of seeing a completely different face in the mirror. This is easier done when planned for in advance. In Runa’s situation, they’d had to wait for a suitable compatible chassis to become available, but it’s imperative to the transference to get it done right the first time. Otherwise, the risks could potentially involve a total personal meltdown: the brain’s subconscious refusal to accept the new identity, leading to split personalities, psychosis/psychopathy, occasionally a permanent catatonic state, and sometimes, even death.
The chassis donated to the institution and infused with Runa’s consciousness, as it happened, was a standard human female, 25 years in age, Caucasian, with dark brown hair, hazel eyes, 5’7”, 165 lbs.
Huh. White. Guess she’d finally get a chance to find out what all the fuss was about. Runa was born in Italy, which is close enough to pass for white, and she often did, in the American Cooperatives, but there were still places in the third world sections of the Coops where people noted her olive complexion with indifference, at best. The skin tone was apparently relatively similar, only with a slightly pinker undercarriage. She’d have to start using a new foundation. She chuckled to herself. Athan would be excited to have married a genuine blueblood! She was fairly certain he’d be pretty pleased about the proportions on these few extra pounds, too, noting in looking over the profile in her dossier, that the new chassis was considerably curvier than she had been. She’d have to get used to moving around with the 2 extra inches of height, but she’d always wanted to be taller. The facial features, though, were otherwise eerily similar, looking at the pictures, and reminded her of pictures of herself when she was in college.
The most amazing part, though, was the 20 year age difference. Runa had been 45 when she’d been diagnosed. Ha! Now Athan was robbing the cradle! But, 20 extra years... Wow. 20 more years with her children. 20 more years to parent them, to help them parent their own children, once they made her a grandmother. 20 more years with her husband... Oh, Dear! They’d have to save up and get Athan rebooted, too!
Runa shook free of her daydream. There’d be time for that. Time, yes. And plenty of it.
There were no mirrors in the room. D’Amica explained that it’s part of the process to acclimate the brain to the physical motion of the chassis before asking the mind to adjust emotionally to a new look for the overall identity of the psyche. That was still the most dangerous hurdle ahead of them, but her nurse felt confident Runa had what it takes to overcome it. Until then, Runa would be shown pictures of the face and body of her new chassis, and study them until she knew them, well... like the back of her hand. This would help with the transition.
“What about my body?” Runa asked, trembling, still somewhat shaken.
The information provided to her did not include any detail on what happened to the consciousness that was in this chassis before her. She assumed the young woman who’d donated it had been in a similar situation, and had gone on to an upgrade or a reboot of her own, but Runa really did not want to think about it, and though no one called it a faux pas, Runa got the impression maybe it was impolite to ask. The thought of her body being gone forever, though, of the hips that had borne her children, of the bosom that had nursed them, the hands that had cared for them... that was a loss she would have to get used to, and spend some time mourning. The data packet was also absent on detail related to the outcome of her original body. She learned pursuing this line of investigation, especially within the adjustment period, is generally discouraged, if not prohibited, depending on the non-disclosure agreements involved in each case, as it could be detrimental to recovery. Given her unusual circumstances, though, D’Amica didn’t mind bending policy slightly to oblige her.
The cooperative nurse informed Runa that Athan had donated her body to cancer research, and if the trials were successful in ridding it of any cell corruption, then it would be donated back to the Dispensary. More importantly, to a different branch of the Dispensary in another Coops district. This was to avoid the possibility of having Runa or any of her family accidentally run into her old body, as the mental and emotional fallout for any of them could be psychologically devastating. D’Amica told her that Athan had specifically directed for her healed body to be donated to a third world Coops sector, and helped set up a scholarship program in which it would be given at no cost to a single mother with no other options to otherwise continue raising her children.
Runa become emotional at this news. The thought of her body - infused with the love of her family, from every ounce of caring she’d poured into every cell of it, over 20+ years of looking after those closest to her - out there, somewhere, the last remaining hope for a desperate mother with children in need, to be used to tend to them as she had to her own, was as perfect a fate as she ever could have imagined for it. She smiled at her husband’s generosity, fighting back tears. Oh how she loved that man. She thought of his rugged, handsome face, and imagined the look in his eyes when he got to “check her out” for the first time, all over again. And her children... she closed her eyes and tried to remember the feel of their soft skin, the smell of their hair. She could hardly wait to see them again.
With renewed determination, Runa set about steeling her mind to making the fastest reboot recovery the Dispensary had every known. Charged water, solid food, hypersleep, somersaults... whatever it takes. She was getting out of there, and soon. Her family had been waiting for her, and it was about time she got back to them.
LJ Idol | Friends & Rivals • Week 7 - Topic: LIQUIDATED DAMAGES
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