Shadowland

Chapter 04 - Puzzle - Part 02

As Cariane watched, numb and afraid, the walker lurched through a massive gate into a hangar partly filled with many such similar craft. She walked in a trance, guided by the medic's hand on her arm, as the rest of the tank's crew disembarked down a gangway that unfolded from the side. Along with the crews of several other walking tanks and a large number of machines, all bristling with advanced weapons, which stalked through the hangar independant of any human control, Cariane allowed herself to be herded to a doorway where two people in rigid black plated armour and mirror-visored helmets scanned each person who passed with long black wands before waving them through. Once inside, she was marched through a series of seemingly identical grey corridors lined with doors. Eventually one of them, marked by a symbol of two snakes, slid open into the wall and Cariane was guided gently through. The room was brilliant white, lit by harsh glowing panels on the ceiling, and contained rows of narrow beds with arcane equipment sitting next to them, several already occupied by people sporting horrific burns and sucking wounds no doubt incurred in the battle that had just been won. Several more people in white jumpsuits bustled between them with syringes, gel packs and more equipment. The medic brought Cariane to one of the beds and sat her down on it.

A woman with coppery skin and braided dark hair came by, a lab coat draped over her white jumpsuit with the same symbol of stick and snakes on its breast. She consulted quietly with the medic for a couple of minutes, then waved another glowing wand around Cariane's head and chest and consulted the small grey tablet it was connected to. "Minor electrical burns and some head and spinal trauma," she said in clipped, emotionless tones. "No indicators for amnesia, but it sometimes happens in cases like this. It should be rectified with time and familiar routines. Can you work?"

"I don't know," Cariane muttered, staring wide-eyed at the moaning and weeping injured around her. "None of this makes any sense. Work? Like in the fighting again? Please don't make me go back to that! I hate fighting!"

The doctor sighed sharply. "No need for that," she said. "I'm recommending that she be removed from all military duties until fully recovered. In the meantime, send her to level-one technical training and see if she gets the hang of it. Process memory should see her through. She needs normalcy more than anything." She nodded silently, then hustled off to the next patient.

The medic handed her a small card, a glowing tablet with a screen on it. "This will show you the way to your quarters," she said. "I have to stay here and help the wounded. Use the terminal in your apartment if you need anything; the menu system should be easy enough to figure out. Try to get some rest; you're going to have a killer hangover tomorrow. Take these for the pain." She handed Cariane a small transparent box containing several white pills, then left to take care of someone who had started to scream.

Cariane left the Medical Centre and drifted through the hallways, following the glowing track traced through the sprawling tangle on the map she held in her hand. She passed several people, of varying builds and skin tones but all with the same androgynous haircuts and slim-lined jumpsuits in various shades of grey and brown. Most nodded to her companionably, not like friends but like people who lived together in a small space and had to get along. The city was huge, and it took Cariane considerable time and several elevator rides before she found a door labelled by a number and a name -- "Cariane West 1992086". Bracing herself, hoping desperately for familiarity, she pressed a button beside the door, waited for it to slide open, and strode through.

The apartment was small, spare, and devoid of any kind of decoration. The walls were a soothing shade of beige. An open archway to the left led to a nook with a table and a cupboard; to the right was another door which, on investigation, led to a cramped bedroom and washroom facilities. Straight ahead was a small padded chair seated in front of a screen with a keyboard which was set into the wall. She was sure she had seen none of it before, though none of it was particularly surprising.

She walked into the bedroom, and looked at herself in the mirror set into the wall. She was tall, very tall for a woman, and rail-thin, her cheekbones sharp and her body almost completely bereft of curvature. She wasn't sure how to feel about that. Her skin was pale, her eyes a light icy blue, and her hair a very light blonde, cut in a quite severe hairstyle. Her jumpsuit was a light tan, with a few shiny pips on the collar, and fit her like a glove. She didn't recognize herself. She tried to conjure up an image of her own face or body and failed; only the stranger staring at her in the mirror remained.

There was a sharp squeak from the direction of the bed. Cariane turned sharply, and saw a small form wriggling between the pillow and the mattress. It was a large brown ferret, its sinuous body curling into a ball on the bed, its face white with a band of black running around the circumference; the foreleg on the animal's right side and the hind leg on the left were both mechanical implants, twitching just as natural legs would, and a flexible segmented rod ran up the length of its spine. It chirped eagerly at her, and she flopped onto the bed on her belly, her nose almost touching its face, and reached out to gingerly pet it with one hand.

"Who are you?" she cooed gently at the animal. "Are you mine? What's your name?" The ferret scampered down the length of the bed and curled gently against her ribcage, its warm body trembling against her. She wrapped her arms around it, tears flowing from her eyes at this small kindness of fate in a world that seemed insane. "Oh, you're a good girl," she whispered. Lethargy rolled over her, and she spiraled down into a deep, dreamless sleep.