All We See or Seem (3 page)

****

Aaron was dressed and sitting in the bedside armchair when a firm knock sounded on his door. “Come in.”

The door opened, and the doctor entered confidently.

“Oh good. I see you're up and around.”

“Yes, sir. I seem to have my strength back today.”

“Good, good. You slept well, then?”

“Like a baby.”

The doctor allowed a smile to play on his lips. “Glad to hear it. Any pain or discomfort?”

“Other than cutting myself shaving? No, sir.”

“Well, that can be tricky even when you're in the best of shape. Any dreams? Nightmares?”

“No, sir. None at all.”

“Hmm… Often times after a trauma like you have experienced, the subconscious will manifest its stress in nightmares and flashbacks. It's what we call post-traumatic stress. Completely normal for someone in your situation, but not something you want to mess around with. If you begin to experience anything like that, we'll need to know immediately, in order to deal with it right away.

“In fact, I'd like you to record all your dreams, waking or sleeping, in this journal for the next month or so, in order to allow us to note any sudden changes.”

Aaron took the journal the doctor offered.
A diary. Sure. I
'
ll get right on that.
He laid it on the little table beside him.
And I have the perfect place to file that too.

“Exactly what kind of trauma have I been through, doctor? I mean, I know I was in an accident. I remember most of what happened right up until I lost consciousness, but I don't seem to have any physical injuries. My body is strong, though I would think there would be some signs of atrophy just from being confined to a hospital bed for so long. I haven't found any scars that would indicate surgery, so I'm just wondering what happened to me?”

“Mmm. Yes, intuitive observations, captain. We have been discussing your case for so long, I guess I forgot you hadn't heard the prognosis.

“The truth is you suffered a brain injury from a sonic impact. You also sustained a few other internal injuries, all of which we were able to correct without an invasive procedure. We used a regenerative agent to speed your recovery, and of course our physical therapist uses the most advanced techniques, which, even though you were comatose for a large portion of the time, were able to maintain your muscle tone.” The doctor looked at Aaron's chart for a moment, as if studying it for the first time.

“Could the brain injury cause a left-handed man to become right-handed?”

The doctor's head jerked up suddenly, but just as quickly he replaced the look of shock with one of feigned interest. “Hmm. This could be a possible side effect. The region of your brain associated with fine muscle control on the left side of your body may be having to re-open certain nerve routes. There is probably still some swelling as well.

“It is interesting, however, that your brain has already made an adjustment by switching so readily to the other hand. Could be your natural compensation; could be the regenerative agent. Could just be a memory lapse. Are you certain you were left-handed to begin with?”

“At this point, no, sir. Just a feeling I had. Of course, the cut on my face kind of proves I'm not left-handed, doesn't it? Least it did for me. At any rate, that should be something recorded in my personnel file, I would think.”

“I'll check that for you, if you'd like. I don't think it's too much to worry about. The brain is a complex organ. After all these years of studying it, even I cannot claim to comprehend all its mysterious ways.

“Your chart indicates stable vitals. You're able to eat well. I don't see why we wouldn't be able to discharge you tomorrow. I still want to schedule several follow-ups to keep an eye on your recovery. This afternoon we'll finish up some benchmark testing, and if all goes well, you can be released into your parents' care tomorrow morning.” The doctor wrote a quick note in Aaron's chart and excused himself, promising to return in the morning with the test results and discharge papers.

He might not remember if he was left-handed or right-handed, but Aaron had been in military intelligence long enough, and he did still understand how to read the messages embedded in certain body language. The doctor was hiding something. Something critical. Ordinarily, the secrets of a civilian didn't interest him, but this had something to do with him and possibly his accident, so the red flags were flying.

“Knock-knock!” Aaron recognized the voice as his mother's, though he hadn't seen her since his deployment early last year.

“Mom! Come on in!” He rose from the chair to embrace her, but she stopped him.

“No, honey, don't get up. Just sit down and relax. I'll come to you.”

Her voice was cheery, but Aaron could detect a hint of worry there. No doubt his accident and long hospital internment had taken its toll on her more than anyone else. She seemed thin and fragile, more so than he remembered her.

“You look good, Aaron. They must know what they're doing here. I mean just last week—” She put her hand up to her mouth as her words stuck in her throat. The emotion was evident even in her eyes.

“It's okay, Mom. I'm okay,” Aaron stood and, in spite of her protests, went to her and wrapped his arms around her. “It's good to see you, Mom. I'm glad you came.” She accepted his embrace for a moment then stepped back, taking both his hands in hers, and examined him.

“I think you're taller, Aaron. They really do good work here, don't they? I mean I can't even tell you'd had a scar there! It's amazing!” She ran her fingers over his right cheek. “I mean, you came in because of, well you know… but they are so thorough, they even fixed your old childhood scars! It's perfect. I'm amazed!”

“That's technology for you, I guess,” Aaron replied. He looked up toward the door then as if something was missing. “Hey, where's Dad?”

“Oh, he's coming right behind me. He saw someone in the hallway to talk to. You know how he is.” She was still studying his face. “Wow. I just can't get over the difference that makes in your face. I mean you were always a handsome boy, but wow! Now? Look out, ladies!”

“Mom!” Aaron blushed and looked away from her. He hadn't even noticed the scar was missing until just now when she brought it to his attention. Add one more odd coincidence to his growing list. That scar had been a part of his face since he was seven. How could he have missed that?

“Hello. I'm looking for Major Jennings's room. Is this the right place?” A rich baritone interrupted Aaron's thoughts.

“Dad!” His father locked Aaron's hand within his own in a hearty handshake then pounded him on the back in a fatherly gesture.

“Robert — be careful!”

“Oh, Cary, he can take it. The doctor said he's as good as new.”

“Still… I wish you'd take it easy.”

Robert turned to Aaron and rolled his eyes slightly. Aaron hid his secret amusement. “It's okay, Mom. I don't have any pain at all… really. So, Dad, how's life? Still tearing it up in D.C.?”

“Yes, sir. You know me! Taking butts and kicking names. But how about you? Big promotion, I hear.”

“What? Where'd you hear that?”

“Robert! You're not supposed to say anything yet!” Aaron's mother scolded. “Honestly, I don't know how the government trusts you with any secrets! You're terrible!”

“Oops. Guess I let the cat out of the bag.” He winked at Aaron playfully. “Well, since everything is out in the open anyway, congratulations, major!” He offered a salute.

Aaron stood and returned his father's salute. “Major, huh?”

“Well, they decided your particular talents would be better utilized stateside and in charge of an internal intelligence project… And just so you know, although I sure didn't stand in the way, the recommendation came from your C.O.”

“Wow. I'm absolutely speechless!” And he was.

“Congratulations, Aaron. I'm so proud of you, honey.” His mom put her arm around him and squeezed. Aaron could see tears welling up in her eyes.

“Oh, don't mind her, son. She's just thrilled you're going to be stationed close to home for a change!” He laughed and nudged his wife lightheartedly with his elbow. She furrowed her brow in mock disdain and elbowed him right back.

There was a quick knock at the door, and the nurse stepped inside and held it open. “I'm sorry, but it's time for the captain's benchmark testing.”

“You're kicking us out, eh?” Robert raised an eyebrow at her menacingly.

“Oh, no, sir. You're welcome to stay, of course. I didn't mean to s-s—” the nurse stuttered, helplessly trying to back-pedal. “It's just the tests usually take awhile, and I—”

“Robert, stop scaring the poor girl! I can't take you anywhere! Don't mind him, he's just teasing. We have to leave anyway… busy afternoon.” She smiled to reassure the nurse then tendered another well-placed elbow in her husband's ribs before turning to her son. “We'll be back in the morning, honey. Can't wait to get you home! We'll have a welcome home bash and invite some old friends.”

“Sounds great, Mom. See ya in the morning.”

She patted him on the cheek and took her husband's arm. They walked out together.

“So, benchmarks, huh? Sounds riveting,” Aaron moved to the wheelchair the nurse offered and sat down.

 

From inside the capsule, Aaron could hear the technician flipping switches and prepping the machines. Through the earpiece, her voice reverberated in his head.

“Just relax, Captain Jennings. This won't hurt at all. I'm going to give you a series of instructions. Please try to hold the suggested images in your mind until I tell you to stop. This is to test the activity in the different lobes of your brain. Basically to make sure everything is firing correctly. Ready?”

“Yes, ma'am.” Aaron's voice echoed around him in the enclosed space. He closed his eyes and relaxed his body on the padding of the molded bed.

“First, I want you to hold the image of your mother's face in your mind. Got it?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Hold it for a minute.”

Mom's face hung in his memory, smiling but with a hint of sadness in her eyes. It was the way she'd looked when he'd shipped out the last time, trying to pretend for his sake.

“Whoa. Mom's a soft spot, huh? A little more amygdala action than I was expecting on that one. Want a copy of this test for a Mother's Day gift, captain?”

Aaron laughed, but it was unsettling how she could read his emotional response just by looking at a brain scan.

“Ready for number two?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, this time I want you to recall in your mind something you have memorized, like a favorite line from Shakespeare, lyrics to a song, the twenty-third Psalm… anything like that will work. Just keep reciting it in your mind,” the technician instructed, then paused to let him think of something. “Got one?”

His favorite poem. He'd had it memorized since eighth grade. “Yes, Ma'am. Poe.”

“Okay. Begin reciting in your thoughts.”

Take this kiss upon the brow!

And, in parting from you now,

Thus much let me avow
—

You are not wrong, who deem

That my days have been a dream;

Yet if hope has flown away

In a night, or in a day,

In a vision, or in none,

Is it therefore the less gone?

All that we see or seem

Is but a dream within a dream.

“Perfect. Next up, math facts. Start with addition.”

Aaron thought through the twos and the sevens, his personal favorites. Then he did eights and threes in the multiplication tables. He was glad the technician interrupted him right before he moved on to division — he'd never liked it much.

“All right, we'll pull you out of there and switch to the node scanners. We have just a couple more tests to do, and you'll be all set.”

Aaron was relieved to be out of the scrutiny of the tube. He knew the tests were necessary because of his injury, but the idea of another person being inside his head disturbed him on multiple levels. He relaxed in the reclining chair he had moved to while the technician began the process of attaching the electrodes to his scalp.

She ran him through a few standard brain wave tests, then asked him several questions about his childhood and had him do a logic puzzle while she kept an eye on the monitor and keyed in notes periodically. She was pleasant enough, but there was a certain reserve in her manner as she questioned him. Chances are, it was just due to the clinical nature of her job. She was testing his brain, after all, he reasoned.

“Hmm… one of my electrodes has stopped communicating properly. I'll need to replace it. You sit tight here, and I'll go grab another one.” She walked briskly into the adjacent office.

Aaron shifted in his seat slightly, but the movement caused the faulty electrode to twist and reverse polarity. It was a freak accident, and the surge was only momentary, but Aaron jolted and sat straight up in his chair. His exclamation of surprise brought the technician out promptly.

“What happened?”

“I don't know. I moved. I felt a shock.” His heart was beating wildly.

“Let's get you out of these.” She immediately palmed the switch to power down the current and hastily began removing the electrodes from

Aaron's head, neck, and chest, talking rapidly as she worked.

“Does it hurt? Are you seeing any spots or flashes? I'm so sorry. This has never happened before. Are you sure you're okay? I'm so sorry, captain.” Her voice was thick with concern, and it was clear to Aaron the technician was quite fearful about the incident, so he did his best to put her at ease.

“I'm fine. Just a little jolt. No big deal. It's fine.”

She kept flitting around as if disoriented by the occurrence. Genuinely confused and disturbed by it. Aaron wanted to calm her, let her know it was okay — at the very least get her to stop moving so frantically around him. He reached out suddenly and took her hand in his. She stopped abruptly and glanced into his eyes. Her look of sheer terror dissipated in that moment, but the tenderness that replaced it jolted some shadow of a memory embedded deep in Aaron's mind with a sudden flash. His consciousness couldn't grasp its origin, but it made his mind reel. As if sensing his uneasiness, the technician gently retracted her hand and fixed her gaze on the office door.

“I'm sorry, captain… I'm sure you're tired. I'll call an orderly to take you back to your room.”

“Yes. That… that would be good,” Aaron muttered and looked away. Evidently, the technician wanted to forget the incident. Since there was no damage, he was inclined to oblige her. No doubt it could cost her livelihood — even if it wasn't her fault. Besides, he wanted to sort his thoughts privately, to understand what was going on in his own head, without a lot of questions and the feeling of being under a microscope — everybody looking at him like a science project gone wrong.

If he could just make it through this day — tomorrow he would go home.