The Prisoner - Carlos J. Cortes [8]
“Why do you wake them up every so often?”
Floyd didn’t answer at once. It had just occurred to him the garters were a gift to her squirrel, perhaps for the last time, and the thought left him speechless.
“We must periodically carry out repair and maintenance of organs, tissues, and cells. Chemical degradation of macro-molecules increases over time, and each patient needs conditioning and dialysis regularly. From torpor, we promote an endocrine reaction and hyperventilate the patient to increase the oxygen in his blood. And to reduce carbon dioxide concentration, we must raise the body temperature from a non-shivering stage. Shivering begins above twenty degrees Celsius. We then increase the rate of warming until the patient reaches normothermy.” Floyd bit his lip; he was lapsing into jargon. “I meant normal temperature.”
Sarah blinked and her eyes smiled. “Will he wake up?”
“Of course not!” Floyd’s voice raised a fraction. Consciousness between the stages of torpor and arousal had almost doomed hibernating technology, until scientists understood its effects. Back in the thirties, during the first clinical trials, a few of those hibernated for extended periods suffered acute mental imbalances, paranoia, and dementia. Dr. Nemecio Chavez and his team at Caltech had discovered that, before the onset of hibernation, technicians should sedate patients with a carefully metered mixture of gases to guarantee a gradual loss of consciousness. The patient would then sink into torpor with a smooth brain-wave signature. Otherwise, after arousal, the gases dissolved in the patient’s bloodstream would interfere with the chemical equation. As a result, the patient entered torpor excited, his brain signature choppy and riddled with spikes. This triggered nightmares. “During periodic arousal and return to torpor, we change the mix of gases the patient breathes to ensure he doesn’t come out of his placid slumber. The issue shouldn’t concern you, Mrs. Ward. From the beginning to the end of hibernation, your husband will be in deep, tranquil sleep.”
Sarah Ward closed her eyes and breathed deeply, as if gathering strength. Then she caressed John’s hand for an instant, just a flicker of fingers, before straightening.
Floyd peered into her eyes and felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. There was uneasiness to her expression, and something else he once saw on a little girl’s face when she couldn’t find her mom.
“Please, tell me where I should sign.”
She was giving her squirrel away.
chapter 4
17:34
Awareness didn’t return at once. At least, it didn’t feel like consciousness but rather the distant sensation of being in a long tunnel. Laurel shied away to slip back into nothingness, but beeps of increasing volume prevented her. It took her a few slow heartbeats to realize the sound was in her head.
She jerked awake. Rollers of panic pushed out from the corners of her mind. Her hands jerked to entangle in a web of slithering worms encasing her body. Cold slime, thick as snot. Her fingers drew back. The worms drew tighter, suffocating. They were everywhere. She felt them on her thighs. On her legs. On her back. The beep blaring in her head matched the erratic tattoo beating in her chest. She tried to scream, but her mouth was full of gunk.
Laurel kicked, but the worms held her fast. Darkness. She was blind; she couldn’t open her eyes. The worms gripped her feet, dug under her arms, and brushed her crotch to lift her through the slime. She fought, jerked, and kicked, but the worms held tight. Then, somewhere, a tiny light flickered. She reached for it, projected, streamed through the mass of worms to the light. She needed the light. I’m Laurel Cole, the light whispered, and I’m alive.
Shit, I’m in hibernation.
Laurel sucked in greedily with a deep motion of her stomach. Hyperventilate. I need to hyperventilate. I need to drag more air from the hose. But she came up empty until the machine delivered her next breath. She thrashed in panic.