Epic Tales from Beautiful Minds: An Ooorah Anthology

#TeamFirstContact - Part Four: Pseudo-Purgatorio - @Reverentia

An hour later, given the all-clear by the doctors, the cleaners swept in and peeled all but one of the support patches from his body, leaving only the small master patch in the centre of his forehead, and set to work. The console at the far end of the room softly beeped to the rhythm of Quinn's heartbeat. They tapped the control panel glowing on the side of the operating table on which he lay, and the solid steel surface switched to a wire grid. They pulled the water nozzle from its housing and set to work, spraying and soaping and scrubbing until his whole body glowed pink and smelled pinker.

Boss came in toward the end to inspect the progress. With silent steps and hands clasped behind him, he circled the table on which Quinn was drip-drying, still unconscious and naked.

"Mmm," Boss groaned.

"Sir?" Facilitator9 said.

"Hmph," he suggested again.

"If there is something else we ought to do, sir—" Facilitator9 continued.

"No, it's quite alright. He is the selected Actant. Too bad we had to react so quickly to retrieve him."

"Well, usually they don't try to commit suicide until after they meet us."

"True, true." Boss paused, assessing Quinn. He reached out and pulled Quinn's top lip up with two fingers, exposing his teeth. "Mmm. Not bad for a Medieval man, I must say. The Norseman in the next block has it far worse. Nothing a few tooth modifications mightn't fix, I daresay. Now give him a shave, would you?" he said, letting go of the lip and thumbing the stubble. He stepped back from Quinn and wiped his fingers on his tunic, then turned and left the room.

The shaver buzzed as the first cleaner took care of the stubble, then paused, looking up and down the length of Quinn.

"Just how much did he expect shaved?" the cleaner asked, indicating Quinn's body with the shaver.

"A tunic will be fine now. Put that away and get him dressed."

Quinn opened his eyes, and instantly the cleaner stood still, shaver still wrapped in her long grey fingers. At first nothing changed; then in an instant, the rhythm of the beeping doubled. At first he held his breath, and then he could hardly catch up to his racing breath.

The cleaner motioned for Facilitator9 to come.

"It's alright, Quinn," he said.

Quinn did not move; his only response was a still-faster beeping of the heart monitor.

"I am not the devil," Facilitator9 said helpfully.

Quinn's eyes darted from the doctor to the cleaner, then back to the doctor.

"Why..." Quinn began in Occitan, "why do I understand you, unless you are the devil playing tricks?"

"Do you expect you are in hell?" Facilitator9 replied in his neutral Eighthalese. Quinn looked around wildly, muscles tensing in his body. "Do you see any fire? Screaming of tortured souls?"

Facilitator9 folded his arms across his chest. He indicated to the cleaner to get the tunic and bring it.

"I am dead. I remember falling to the floor." Quinn said.

"Well, no, you're not dead, but it was not for lack of trying," Facilitator9 said. "You mustn't attempt the ridiculous again. If you actually do get to Hell, then I cannot save you. Yet, you are no longer in Bordeaux, it is true."

"Where am I then, if you please?"

Facilitator9 indicated to the cleaner to come forward to the tunic.