The Fractured - A Short Scifi Story Written In 24 Hours

It was two weeks since his faster-than-light-speed trip, the headaches were only getting worse. He sat in the hospital bed, the floral heady scent mingled with the harsh sting of disinfectant. Bo had seen less stock at the florist. He was a national hero, but he didn’t much feel like one, hooked up to a relay of machines. He was feeling worse. The fatigue, the disorientation, that he had expected. It was something else, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

He had volunteered for the first manned flight, him and every other sucker with a stella license. They had sent so many drones, recorded every moment. They had sent dogs, monkeys, someone even sent a bird, everything came back. One way or another. Then they picked him. Bo knew there had been a risk, a risk of not coming back, a risk of brain damage. He absently rubbed the scar behind his ear. His neuralink chip was supposed to have protected him from that. A built in backup with the ability to back up again to the cloud, instantly updating with new versions of ‘him'. Every memory he already had, every new one he formed, was on that chip, connected to his neural network. Backed up onto the massive pilot severs over in Arizona just in case. It hadn't worked for the animals, but then it never did for them.

Cold came over him as he realised, he would have no way of knowing if he did forget things. It was a cold, slinking chill, raising the hairs up his spine. Bo only knew he was fine because everyone was telling him he was fine, just in need of a bit of bedrest. His heart rate must have increased. A red light blinked on a monitor, the flashing that foreshadowed a nurse. Almost as if waiting for the cue, he heard the distant clack-clack of a coiffured lady in a bright white uniform making her way down the corridor.

He gave a lingering exhale, letting the breath slip out of him, emptying his lungs, and his mind. He paused for a moment before breathing in. He let his lungs inflate from the bottom up, rising, filling him with calm. The red light abruptly cut out, the sharp flash still imprinted on his vision. The resonating heels slowed to a halt as the petite nurse walked through the open door.

“Everything alright Bo?” she glanced to the displays for her answer.

“Yes May, I must have dozed off and forgot where I was for a moment, thought I had come to in a funeral parlor with all these flowers!”

She stepped over to the display, and touching the connection, checked the data herself.

“You didn't try and get up did you?” she asked, with a subtle hint of teasing in her stern tone.

He hadn't tried to walk since he got there, he had splashed down in the ocean, limp limbed, it was like a weakness in his bones. His head had spun and the world seemed twisted in an infinite kaleidoscope from the swirling impression of faster than light.

“No ma’am,” Bo said, a little deflated by the reminder.

His vision didn't twist the same, but if he let his eyes drift, parts still gave way in falling colour. He still struggled to recall quite how to move some limbs. He willed it with his mind, but he couldn't make it happen. It was like pushing and not getting traction. It helped when he touched the muscle, but he couldn't reach his lower legs yet. A wheelchair sat in the corner, but he had never been taken from the bed.

May, having finished interfacing, lifted her finger.

“Take it easy ok, Mr Big Hero”

He heard her disappearing back down the corridor, left, somewhere into the distance.

Bo focussed on the calm, he needed to remember, without drawing her back. He knew there was something missing, something not right, he couldn't quite reach what it was. The hot feeling rose from his stomach towards his heart. He pushed it back down with another cooling breath. Everything was not fine. He had been here for weeks. He had a few important visitors at first, he did a filmed interview, but they didn't need to ask him anything. Everything was backed up and available for them to download and read at their leisure over at the data center. They could watch his whole trip back. Like he had watched tapes before his trip, seeing only the surface layer. Another slow, calm breath.

Things had gone well, it had, technically, been a success, but based on the tone of the few people who had been to see him, that clearly wasn't the truth of the matter.

He had no way of finding anything out, and anything he did would be transmitted back to the archives. It backed up everything he experienced, the only thing his, were his thoughts. At least, that's what they had told him…

---

Bo had spent three days trying not to think anything noteworthy. At first it was impossible, his mind kept wandering to the possibilities of his position. It wasn't long before he got better at becoming engrossed in a hypothetical line of thought of little interest to anyone. Which pair of shoes. Which sandwich. Which holiday. He dove into each idea, exploring the depth of variations. He was lost in thought when a sudden shattering, sparking darkness cracked through the building. Everything cut out into black. Even the monitoring units with built in power. He felt a dimming in his mind, like thoughts slipping away.

A sudden soft white light fought back an orb of the blackness. Caught in the glancing glow, stood a hooded figure.

The person held the light up, casting the pale beam around the room. The light settled on the wheelchair, then dropped to rest on the seat, and rolled forward.

“Bo, listen to me, get in the chair, we have to go right now.”

The voice wasn't one he could place, it seemed to pull him inside like he knew it all too well. A gloved hand twisted the base of the light, and the orb expanded, casting firm shadows on the wall.

The face, broad, pretty, seemed to touch him, he felt tears fill his eyes.

“Do you remember me?” she asked.

The tears slipped down his cheeks, tripping over each other, glinting in the lamplight as he shook his head.

“I’m sorry" he whispered.

She helped him into the chair, his limp legs less cumbersome than he remembered as she swung them off the bed. He still couldn't move his legs, but he felt a single tendon twitch in his thigh as his knee bent.

She pushed the wheelchair into the corridor. He didn't remember getting to the hospital after he blacked out on the rescue team. It didn't look much like a hospital out here. Everything was crisp, clean, the corners were softened. Identical doors recessed the walls on both sides in smooth symmetry. Large glass panes like the one in his open door reflected the light back into the distance.

He glanced back at his open door. The number 1 hung above the frame, shining in the light. Looking down the passage, he saw reflective metal numbers stretching on into the abyss. Illuminated by the light of the lamp, he saw movement in the window of the door opposite his own. A face coming to the window. Fingers touching glass.

Under the knitted brows, familiar eyes squinted in the light. The puffy face was tear stained, the lips moving in silenced words as the hand pressed harder against the glass. A sickness lurched in his stomach, a wobbly sensation gushed into his numb legs as he finally recognised the man. He opened and closed his mouth, his heart in his throat, unable to make sound.

The hooded woman glanced at his awe stricken face, and shot a quick look towards the door in dismay. She tugged sharply at her hood, before dimming the light back to a soft haze. The window became a mirror in the darkness. The horror beyond, lost to his eyes, but not his mind.

She grasped the handles of the wheelchair, and pushed the whimpering fracture that best resembled her father towards the emergency escape, and her waiting get away.

I am not sure how I feel about this one, I (hopefully) gave it a bit more of a conclusive ending, although I tried to leave a little bit for you to figure out yourself. I overslept this morning and didn't have time to give it a proper read back so just crossing my fingers that I haven't missed too much.

This is my entry to @mctiller 's 24hour writing contest - it is quite a challenge to turn a story around so quickly, but it is great fun, I would highly recommend checking it out.

The prompt for this week was "A test pilot returns to Earth after the first-ever faster-than-light space flight." which was so much fun to work with! Check out all the entries under #twentyfourhourshortstory

Photo Credit by Pixabay User Typographyimages who as well as lots of graphics, has lots of images based on dna and viruses