FicWad

Chapter Fifteen

When the morning came and the usual early bustling in the wards began, Nooj had almost forgotten the embarrassment of his dream-induced accident in his joy at his ability to manipulate the machina. It was only when the usual team was preparing him for his bath that he remembered and felt the confusion he had anticipated. The Healer peeked in to cast the analgesic spell which would permit him to be moved without excessive pain and passed on to the next room. The orderly, with an armload of linens, pushing a wheeled table of bathing supplies, cheerily began his duties. The bath was the part of the day Nooj hated worst. He loathed the touch of strange hands on his body, the necessary intrusions into his private places. Most of all, he resented the helpless infantilism symbolized by it all. This particular morning's ritual was both mitigated by his euphoria over his mastery of the machina and worsened by the event which had preceded that victory.

"Ah, so you had a visitor last night. Anybody I know?" the man smiled as he deftly stripped off the soiled bedclothes and slid a waterproof sheet beneath his patient. "Good to know the original equipment still works as advertised." He was just nattering as he briskly washed his patient's body and patted it dry. "Here, let's just slip into this fresh shirt and I'll put on clean linen and you're set for the day."

Nooj cursed himself for his worries. He should have realized persons who did this sort of work encountered such manifestations of humanity as a matter of course and would think no more about them than the stray blood stain or urine spill. Excessive self-consciousness had always been his Achilles heel for which the enforced familiarity of hospital care was the punishment. He relaxed, feeling the effect of the spell dispelling most of the normal fog of pain, and began exercising his left hand. He was still feeling the dual response but was able to distinguish between them now. It took an effort of will to set aside the convincing sensory evidence that the flesh hand was aflame, however his driving desire to escape the oppressive care of this place was such that he could prevail over this obstacle as well as any others.

Thus when Aquelev made his first visit of the day, he was greeted in an uncommonly cheerful manner.

"Look!" Nooj did not bother with the normal greeting, "I can do it." He twitched the sheet back and shaped the machina hand into a fist, then straightened it again. "It moves."

The Healer bent over the bed, "Do it again," he ordered. "You've got it!" He looked at Nooj with shining eyes. "That's smooth; you can start on the arm today, I'll bet. Wait 'til Palange sees this. How did you do it?"

Nooj laughed, "Slow down. I'll tell you. I woke last night and noticed the fingers were bent and tried to move them and it all came together. I don't even have to concentrate any more. I just will them to move and they do. And - I've already started on the arm ... and the leg. Watch."

Both pairs of eyes focused intently as Nooj bent the elbow slightly and then flexed the knee, dragging the still immobile foot into a ludicrously tilted position on the bed. He laboriously re-straightened the joints and let himself fall back against the pillows, breathing heavily from his exertions.

"See? All I need now is practice. The hand can grip, I'm sure. Put something in the fingers."

Aquelev carefully placed his own hand within the clasp of the prosthetic one. "Try to squeeze my fingers."

"I hope I don't break them." Nooj made an uncertain joke as he closed the metal rods against the flesh and bone within their reach. Slowly the phalanges wrapped around the human hand until the two were firmly closed together.

"Perfect!" Aquelev shouted. "How are you judging pressure? It's just right. Like a real hand. With the padded glove, it'll be perfect. I told you it would work!" Without thinking, Aquelev clapped Nooj on the shoulder. "Oh! Sorry! Here." He cast a quick spell to numb the pain he had caused and sat down suddenly. "I just can't believe you've done it so fast. It's a miracle! You're a wonder!"

"I'm using my eyes to see how far to press." Nooj grinned, for a moment looking like the boy he might have been had his life been different. He gently released his friend's hand. "Why do I need Palange anymore? I know how to do it now and I work better on my own."

"Not a good idea. He knows the ins and outs of these devices. He invented them, you know. Now that you're on your way, he can suggest short cuts. Don't try to be so independent, Nooj. All of us need a little help sometimes. You're too damn proud. How's the pain? Kalek gave me some literature on 'phantom pain' and I think I can tailor some of my spells to suppress it directly. Want me to try?"

Nooj shook his head, "Not now. You might interfere with my understanding of the triggers in these ... things." He gestured toward the implants. "Let me get walking first and then we'll see what else needs to be done. ... Aquelev, can you send for Palange now and let me get started on the exercises? Get the orderlies to help me into the chair?"

The Al Bhed was astonished. This was the first time he had heard Nooj ask for help. He broke into a wide grin, "Wait a minute. You haven't had breakfast yet and I don't know where Palange is at this hour. I know you're excited but let's take it by the book. Let me elevate the head of the bed and we'll do some experimenting while we wait for your food."

"I'm not interested in food. I want out of this prison. Yes, raise my head; I want to locate the wrist controls and get on with this." Nooj restrained himself from an angry outburst, reminding himself his best chance for freedom was co-operation.

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At first, it was like building a citadel from sugar cubes. Progress would be made and then, for no obvious reason, everything would shift and all the painstaking work would vanish, leaving the effort to be made again. In spite of his resolutions, Nooj became frustrated and bad tempered. He swore at the implanted limbs using language of great inventiveness and vigor.

"It is not helpful to reflect on the parentage of myself and my fellow engineers, " Palange stiffly remarked after one particularly non-productive session. "I assure you none of us was motivated by hatred of you personally when we designed the interface for these implements."

Nooj threw himself back into his chair and snarled. The arm had stuck at a ridiculous angle and it had taken him considerable time and much effort before he had been able to return it to its resting position. To complete the fiasco, the glass he had been lifting with his hand had shattered when the fingers closed too tightly and he had not yet been able to unclench his grip on the shards.

Aquelev, ever the diplomat, tried to defuse the atmosphere. "We've got the new gloves in. Nooj, you're going to like them; they're very realistic -" He almost ducked when both the other men glared at him with murderous eyes.

"Look, Palange, I can't rely on these things so what use are they? What if something like the hand happens when I am ..." Nooj broke off awkwardly, not willing to complete his thought to the Al Bhed.

"When you're having it on with a woman?" The therapist responded. "You'll hurt her, I guess. Let me take a closer look at the hand." He strapped on his magnifiers and pressing the rods out flat on the side table began probing with one of the instruments from his kit. "Here it is - this cable slid off its guide and the whole set snapped shut." He gingerly tugged the fine wire back into place. Try it again."

Nooj closed his hand about the spool Palange placed between his fingers. "How are you going to stop that from happening again?"

"We'll make the flanges of the guide higher." He spoke into his recording device, using his own language. "They'll be ready tomorrow and I'll replace them then. Now let me see why the arm stuck like that." Pulling the magnifiers back into place, he began poking at the shoulder.

"How do you feel? Do you hurt?"

Nooj rounded on Aquelev like a tethered bear. "Of course I hurt! I always hurt! It's nothing I can't handle but stop asking those damned stupid questions."

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At length the sessions became less grueling and the results began to reflect the effort put into them. Finally, the day came when Nooj would take his first steps. He was wheeled from his room to the formal therapy suite where a special area was set aside for such rehabilitation. He had become proficient at using his left hand and arm and bending the left knee. Now it was time to put all his skills together and walk. Since the hip on the damaged side was intact, no difficulty was expected in that area so the exercise would focus on the flexing of the knee and ankle.

There was a general air of nervousness in the room as the patient was assisted from his chair by the strong hands of the two orderlies assigned to him. They positioned him at the beginning of the practice track and helped him grip the bars which ran on either side of the padded path. Nooj stood there for a long moment, balanced on his own feet for the first time in months, collecting himself for the effort before him. It was the first time he had actually placed weight on the machina leg and the pressure against the not yet calloused stump of his thigh was excruciating. He could feel the pins which secured the sheath and braced the prosthesis like a precarious scaffold. Ignoring the pain and the shakiness, he locked his elbows and leaned forward, swinging the left leg from the hip. It was a clumsy lurch, but he was able to shift his weight to the prosthesis and bring his remaining leg up to join it. The first step had been made.

Palange watched critically, "This time, bend the knee first and try to use the ankle to point the foot before you put it back down."

Nooj tried to follow the instructions and began to stumble, only just catching himself before he fell. He frowned in irritation and slowly drew his body back into alignment for the next try. This time, he moved with more caution and, using exaggerated motions, did as he had been bade. The knee lifted and straightened again and the heel followed the ball of the foot to the floor instead of striking at the same time. He heard the light sound of hands clapping and smiled faintly, shaking the sweat from his forehead.

Unnoticed in a corner of the room, Kalek gnawed at his trembling finger-tips. He had begun composing the article to be presented to his peers detailing how he had gone about tying the artificial intelligence built into the prostheses to the neural impulses of their user and was praying the experiment would be a success. He had not been able to bring himself to attend the earlier sessions because of his dread of failure and fear of his loss of prestige as the initiator of the technique.

At the center of this universe of varying expectations, the patient himself prepared to continue his walk. He lifted his head, wrinkled his nose to resettle his spectacles in place and gazed at the blank wall opposite. Then with halting clumsy lunges, he took step after step until he collapsed into the arms of the attendants waiting for him at the end.

"When do I graduate to a cane?" He demanded. "I want to see something besides these rooms and halls. I need openness, space."

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That night he lay sleepless in spite of his exhaustion. He had won most of his demands. He could try the use of a cane on the morrow and would be permitted to venture into the small park in the center of the hospital complex as soon as he had proved his competence on uneven ground. Palange had even almost promised him the freedom of the city before long. Aquelev had suggested an outing in his wheeled chair, just for the novelty of the venture and had been voted down by the other two doctors; still he had tried. Nooj smiled bleakly into the dimness of the room. The Healer worked so hard to be the mediator amongst them all.

Nooj wondered why they didn't want him to be seen as a cripple. Professional pride? He reached with his right hand and fingered the new cover he had been given for his left shoulder. When he had returned to his room after the walking therapy, a fresh set of Al Bhed engineers was waiting with this - a flexible soft integument to visually blend his own flesh with the upper part of the machina arm. They had exactly matched his skin tone and even he had to admit it made him look less like a badly assembled automaton and more human. Now both sites of implantation were concealed, one by the new shoulder piece, the other by the sheath which extended up to his hip. He intended to start wearing the padded glove on his left hand and that should continue the move to enable him to merge into the masses unnoticed.

He let his hand drift down to his torso and felt under his fingers the strangely smooth slickness of the edges of the wounds Sin had left. Candle wax, melted and hardened again, was the message that texture conveyed. He knew in the light of day, the skin was vividly scarlet, rivaling his Crusader uniform in brilliance of color. They had told him surgery could mitigate the appearance but not repair it. With a hiss of disgust, he refused to even consider more tinkering with his body. Garments would cover the scars; he was no exhibitionist.

He tried again to compose his mind to sleep but the questions and worries kept jostling for place at the forefront of his thoughts. It was good to know he could walk, albeit clumsily. He knew he would improve but would it be enough to regain him his place in the Crusaders? That was the problem. His superiors had given him to the Al Bhed for their experimental animal; would the Al Bhed release him and would the Army take him if they did? There were far too many variables in the situation for Nooj to be able to make a reasonable prediction. If he was permitted to return to the Crusaders, then he would pick up his career at the point it had been interrupted and continue as a Warrior - and a Deathseeker. If the Army rejected him, there were always mercenary units eager for warm bodies to whom they would owe nothing save cash for services. He could hunt Death as efficiently from within such ranks. With the attitude of most such units tolerant of eccentricity, he could even find Nepetu and take the Queen Coeurl along with him when he joined. ... If he was freed to join any military force. The claim the Al Bhed, in particular Kalek, had placed upon him was one he must reject. When he became ambulatory enough, he could simply walk away and let them try to hold him. He lifted the machina arm and lowered it then bent the artificial knee just to convince himself he was not totally trapped in the cage of the prostheses.

The thought of Nepetu lead inexorably to the memory of Kaith. He permitted himself to revisit those times with her, their laughter, their shared confidences, their love ...

Aware of what had happened earlier, Nooj reined in his recollections. He thought himself safe because he was awake but there was no sense in creating a situation in which the only possible outcomes were discomfort or embarrassment. His mood took a sudden downward plunge. Was this to be his fate from now on? Would he be confined to dreams with humiliating results or a celibacy which allowed no exceptions? What woman would want to see or touch this body? What woman would let herself be touched by these cold, unfeeling limbs? Aquelev had attempted to assure him women were so compassionate as to ignore such things, but Nooj did not believe that. He did not want to be tolerated because he was a hero, he wanted to be desired because he was a man. He tossed restlessly back and forth until he heard the nurse approaching and closed his eyes, feigning sleep.

When she had passed on her rounds and he was alone again, he turned his thoughts to his own internal concerns. He felt the compulsion to test his purposes. Since the time he had chosen to try to embrace the idea of living, he had been aware of an uncomfortable confusion in his mind. Death had been his destination from the time of his first encounter with Sin. For some reason he had abandoned the search during the time before their second meeting. Thinking back now, he could not piece together the trail of reasoning which had led him to do so. It all seemed fragmentary and unreal in his memory. At the time, he had convinced himself it was worth the trial. No matter how hard he tried to recreate that feeling here in the quiet dimness, he found it impossible. What had possessed him? Why had he thought he could could live when it was so clearly not his destiny? Nooj gazed up at the barely discernible ceiling and wondered at his credulity. He was the Undying, the Deathseeker, why had he thought he might force himself to be something else? He called before his mental eye the face of Death as he had seen her in his dreams and was immediately seized with a rush of emotion unlike any other he had ever felt. He was consumed with a desire so devastating it left all others belittled and destroyed. Shocked by the sheer intensity of his hunger, he let himself be buffeted and shaken by the longing for Death. It was not the loss of his limbs which so affected him, nor yet the uncertainty of his future pathway. This was the most overwhelming want he had ever felt. The lust for women and the wish for glory were nothing in comparison. The darkness of the embrace Death offered was the greatest comfort he could hope for, the final refuge and the home he had lost so long ago.

When he finally willed himself to emerge from the cathedral of his longing, he was confirmed in his decision and strengthened in his purpose. No more the half-sure boyish braggadocio, no more the not quite frightened not quite certain vision of Nothingness. Now he was clear-eyed and strong in his intent. This time he assured himself he would not fail. He knew now that he must face his Nemesis again and this time it would be the final confrontation.

He forced his muscles to relax and stretched one more time then composed himself to sleep. He did not dream.