A Fisher of Men

Thankfully after receiving my much-needed history lesson from Bobbi, things started to change completely for me.

From then on, I received daily drop-ins from Bobbi herself, or from new faces: sometimes psychologists checking on my mental reintegration, sometimes excited interns, ‘just to get me used to being around others’.

I was starting to notice how physically attractive most people were. They were all very hardy and healthy-looking, and looked like they could go hiking in the mountains at a moment’s notice. Well, who knows what terrors there might be lurking in the wilderness these post-apocalyptic days.

Bobbi had said about genetic engineering. Didn’t people feel bad about maybe being ‘fake’ or concerned about the artificial taking priority over the natural? My curiosity just grew and grew about 2118 life. I tried not to be overly cynical or suspicious. Could this really be a ‘Bright Shiny New World’ as Bobbi had suggested?

Even Dr Fisher eventually came to see me. He was surprisingly enthusiastic.

“I think you’re doing amazing, young man. You’re on very low dosages of tranquilisers and sedatives now, certainly compared to before, at least. We are monitoring you closely still, as you know. We see you upset about things sometimes – that’s natural – but your nervous system is coping well. That means you are being successfully reintegrated. Our systems project that ‘full’ recovery as we define it is now 87.9 percent certain – I’ve no idea how they came to that figure exactly. But it’s a high number. We can start really planning your next steps in detail.”

He kept apologising about how things had gone for me at times since reawakening and stressed that they were having to reevaluate their approach as they went, to make things “Optimal as possible for me”. He then added that they would begin counselling for me “when it was best” and that this would be done with my full cooperation. “We’re exceptionally good at that these days, I think you’ll probably have got an idea about how the psyche has become crucial to our society. Pretty much any elementary school child can give quality counselling, it’s that ingrained in us from birth.”

I had mixed feelings about that. Growing up, I guess I probably shared the very stereotypical Irish notion that counselling and therapy was what you did only if there was something badly wrong with you, like having an aversion to potatoes or the colour green! I still couldn’t really remember much about my past, so maybe there was something messed up with me beyond my cryogenic experiences. Or about how I got in a coma in the first place. I didn’t feel that was the case, though.

Still so many questions – but I was happy to play along with everyone for the time being. I wanted out. So, I wouldn’t risk rocking the nervous system boat.

I felt our meeting was coming to an end. I formally offered Dr Fisher a handshake – he ignored it and embraced me instead, which really surprised me. I felt his stubble against my cheek (I was curiously absent of all stubble myself, still) and his strong arms holding me tightly. “I think – a month. Probably around a month and we can get you walking outside. Is that okay? We can start building up to that.”

A month! Then I could see for myself! I felt a flash of excitement, an eagerness to explore. I had cabin fever, and then some.

But. I had to ask him. I had to roll the dice.

“Bl – Blue? Where is she?”

His brow furrowed with obvious disapproval. “Working. She’s absolutely fine.”

“I want to see her, I really do.”

“That can happen. If it’s in your best interests.”

Annoyance came, disguised with humour. “This might sound ungrateful Dr Fisher but when do I get to decide what my best interests are? I am a 111-year-old man, after all!”

He paused and looked thoughtful. “I totally take your point. And clearly, Blue is important to you at this early stage in your new life. But we must be professional on our end. So, to answer your question: when we can see your recovery is unshakable. Probably.”

Probably?

I eyed him suspiciously, waiting for an inevitable disclaimer. Why does everything they say always come with conditions and qualifiers?

He looked at me sternly. “Our society is kind but has strong values. We know who we are in general, and our value priorities are clear – we avoid the weakness of pulling in too many different directions. You are, in essence and from no fault of your own, an alien. Our job is to get you to a stage where you, empowered and healed as best as possible, can thrive in this world, making empowering choices that do not adversely affect anyone else. We have that duty of care towards you, which weighs heavily on us, especially as our inspiration charged us with it many years ago – even before my own birth. As medical professionals, we all take inspiration from Sochiro Kazikawa – we even swear an oath to him right from the start of our training.”

I nodded, heeding his words.

“But we have a duty of care to that guard in the corner, the cleaners out on the street – everyone we meet. Me. Bobbi. Blue. Especially Blue. We can’t make exceptions. That’s when the poison starts creeping in, everywhere.”

I had no idea yet what he meant by that.

He swallowed and went on. “You’re quite famous, to put it mildly. You’ll find that out soon enough! But, no matter what our gifts and talents are, and the value of the contributions we make, we are all the same deep down, underneath it all. All worthy of love and care. Something your era could never fully grasp, as your generations seemed to place price tags on everything and everybody. We don’t dare make that same mistake again – humanity learned that the hard way – so don’t ever try to make us share that folly, if you are still cursed with it.”

His voice lowered and was heavy with seriousness. “If we don’t listen to you, we’re nothing but tyrants. But if you don’t trust us and listen back…” He shrugged. “You’re choosing your own private hell, and the crazy luck you’ve had so far in just surviving might not last forever.”

I froze. He went on, looking me right in the eye.

“Remember this well – the only thing you are guaranteed from birth is responsibility. And –”

He cleared his throat. “True love waits. That’s how you know it’s true love, not an infatuation.”

Sometimes…you just know.

“Trust all of us, even the ones whom you connect with less easily. We’ve all got our part to play, and you have yours, too. Goodbye for now, young man. You’ll be in my prayers. As always.”

***

I was alone for the rest of the day, listening to the random music play.

I couldn’t help but feel disturbed by Dr Fisher’s words. So they’re saying they know me better than I do? Well, perhaps they do. I didn’t like the powerlessness that made me feel, and I resolved to get to know myself better.

If all my memories were back – could I cope?

What else had he said? "True love waits?" I didn’t care. I wanted to see – her. To be near – her. Infatuation? Maybe.

No, no it’s not infatuation. So much easier if it was.

I wouldn’t torture myself thinking about – you know – anymore. I had no say in the matter. Control the controllables, and all that. Who had first said that to me?

So frustrating. Annoying. Maybe this was why humans had invented alcohol. I bet that this lot would use it to make vinegar – they probably enjoyed drinking that instead!

I laughed and imagined bars full of psychologists drinking Apple Cider Vinegar, giving each other therapy. And me walking in, the primitive savage that I was, asking for a pint of lager. The barman/bardroid spitting at me, “Alkyhol? Stranger, we don’t like your 21st century genocidal type around here!” Then, accompanying calls from the patrons, such as “What an unpleasant fellow, him and his limiting infatuations, still in the oral phase I see, I see, I see.”

I was laughing mockingly. The guard by the door perked up, smiled at me, and resumed reading his tablet. Clearly me acting insane was considered par for the course. Was it reintegration? Or extreme cabin fever? I didn’t care.

I asked him, “Hey, got any vinegar?”

***

The last thing I remembered that night was, as I drifted off:

The lyrical refrain from a song that seemed to remind me of someone whom I’d once known.

“Every time you go, away from me

A little piece of me leaves, with you.”

And then I fell into a troubled sleep, with my first nightmare since ‘defrosting’.

I awoke with a scream. Someone took my hand.

Sat close to me, Blue looked down at me with concerned eyes.