tongue, so another vision hits me like a rocket.
Captain Dirks was three kilometers away two hours ago. He should be here soon, but it's been slow going. There are too many hills. His legs are getting tired. I wish I knew if he'd get here in time to save me, but she only sees the past. I don't understand why fortune teller models are programmed that way, but maybe it's to prevent war. That would make sense, I guess.
Then, she's gone and I'm back in the real world, thinking at least I got a moment away from the pain.
When Jeff drags me to my feet and slams me onto the operating table, I'm just north of consciousness. When he pushes my face against the cold steel and tightens the crude leather restraints on my legs, I'm somewhere south of it. She sees everything in the past, though, and she jumps forward now that I'm too weak to resist.
I can see everything, but there's a two or three second lag between transmissions even in this special circumstance, so I'm reacting to everything too late. Jeff ties my left hand down and I'm resisting it two seconds later. He jabs the scalpel into my stomach, and even though I feel the pain in real time, I don't see it until she shows it to me. She's no help.
I think she's doing it on purpose. Punishing me for being such a great lay that I could fuck a woman like her to death. Literally blow her mind. Wouldn't you want revenge for that?
Are all ghosts so mean-spirited?
Jeff opens me up without anesthesia, without an IV, without pain medication of any kind. That must be a good thing, because the pain is so blinding that I'm wreathed in darkness for a while. He keeps working though, probably muttering something like, "Fuckmother kill. That I'll him." He's off the deep end. Someone cut his cord.
Meanwhile, he's trying to cut mine. I think he's forgotten all about Captain Dirks and the rescue mission. Guys like us aren't supposed to be so unstable, that's why they left us here instead of a couple of real army Joes. It had almost nothing to do with oxygen and food and water, and everything to do with our propensity to ignore the deeper questions of life and death. We still feel pain, though.
Right now, I'm probably feeling more of it than you'd ever feel in ten lifetimes. The curse is that we feel it but sometimes it's so much that our systems are overloaded and we can't react. Can you believe that? Some people work their entire lives to be like that. Not numb, but calm in the face of a knife severing tendons, wires, motors, processors, hearts, and identities.
Jeff's cutting my cord, but not gently. He wants to shut me off but a lobotomy isn't enough.
"Jeff, please," I say, but I'm buried beneath that other consciousness now. He's re-routed my mental processes and I'm wallowing in the pit of my stomach even as it's naked to the world.
But she's come forward, she's stronger than ever, so I know Dirks was at the door to our sanctuary seventeen seconds ago.
What the hell is taking him so long?
And what is Jeff doing with the broom and the archaeological paint brush over by the old mining equipment?
Five seconds ago, he was bending over me with a crazed grin. Three seconds ago, he kissed my dead, open mouth with too much tongue.
And before I know what's happening, she's kissing him back with my hand behind his head.
"My God, Jeff," she says. She's (I'm) starting to cry. "God I've missed you so much."
"Mutual affection," Jeff says.
He helps her to her feet.
And I'm somewhere buried inside all of this.
At least I know that Dirks started opening the door three seconds ago. He's gasping in a purplish black wind, but he's never looked so relieved in his life. Salvation is right around the corner for us.
But something's wrong.
For just a moment as he falls into the makeshift surgical room, I see things through his eyes.
Jeff's sparking all over the place. He's grinning and seizuring as his system starts to fry, but he's still holding her hand and she's got her arm around his waist in
Captain Dirks was three kilometers away two hours ago. He should be here soon, but it's been slow going. There are too many hills. His legs are getting tired. I wish I knew if he'd get here in time to save me, but she only sees the past. I don't understand why fortune teller models are programmed that way, but maybe it's to prevent war. That would make sense, I guess.
Then, she's gone and I'm back in the real world, thinking at least I got a moment away from the pain.
When Jeff drags me to my feet and slams me onto the operating table, I'm just north of consciousness. When he pushes my face against the cold steel and tightens the crude leather restraints on my legs, I'm somewhere south of it. She sees everything in the past, though, and she jumps forward now that I'm too weak to resist.
I can see everything, but there's a two or three second lag between transmissions even in this special circumstance, so I'm reacting to everything too late. Jeff ties my left hand down and I'm resisting it two seconds later. He jabs the scalpel into my stomach, and even though I feel the pain in real time, I don't see it until she shows it to me. She's no help.
I think she's doing it on purpose. Punishing me for being such a great lay that I could fuck a woman like her to death. Literally blow her mind. Wouldn't you want revenge for that?
Are all ghosts so mean-spirited?
Jeff opens me up without anesthesia, without an IV, without pain medication of any kind. That must be a good thing, because the pain is so blinding that I'm wreathed in darkness for a while. He keeps working though, probably muttering something like, "Fuckmother kill. That I'll him." He's off the deep end. Someone cut his cord.
Meanwhile, he's trying to cut mine. I think he's forgotten all about Captain Dirks and the rescue mission. Guys like us aren't supposed to be so unstable, that's why they left us here instead of a couple of real army Joes. It had almost nothing to do with oxygen and food and water, and everything to do with our propensity to ignore the deeper questions of life and death. We still feel pain, though.
Right now, I'm probably feeling more of it than you'd ever feel in ten lifetimes. The curse is that we feel it but sometimes it's so much that our systems are overloaded and we can't react. Can you believe that? Some people work their entire lives to be like that. Not numb, but calm in the face of a knife severing tendons, wires, motors, processors, hearts, and identities.
Jeff's cutting my cord, but not gently. He wants to shut me off but a lobotomy isn't enough.
"Jeff, please," I say, but I'm buried beneath that other consciousness now. He's re-routed my mental processes and I'm wallowing in the pit of my stomach even as it's naked to the world.
But she's come forward, she's stronger than ever, so I know Dirks was at the door to our sanctuary seventeen seconds ago.
What the hell is taking him so long?
And what is Jeff doing with the broom and the archaeological paint brush over by the old mining equipment?
Five seconds ago, he was bending over me with a crazed grin. Three seconds ago, he kissed my dead, open mouth with too much tongue.
And before I know what's happening, she's kissing him back with my hand behind his head.
"My God, Jeff," she says. She's (I'm) starting to cry. "God I've missed you so much."
"Mutual affection," Jeff says.
He helps her to her feet.
And I'm somewhere buried inside all of this.
At least I know that Dirks started opening the door three seconds ago. He's gasping in a purplish black wind, but he's never looked so relieved in his life. Salvation is right around the corner for us.
But something's wrong.
For just a moment as he falls into the makeshift surgical room, I see things through his eyes.
Jeff's sparking all over the place. He's grinning and seizuring as his system starts to fry, but he's still holding her hand and she's got her arm around his waist in
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