A.R.Yngve
The MSTing of
DARC AGES
Book One
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(This pic reminds me of how much Disney's THE BLACK HOLE sucked.)
Chapter 3
It could not remember its name, or even if it really existed.
(It was a moron.)
All that it was - all that was - was a white, numb blankness suffused with an existence; an existence that perceived itself as a soundless yelp, a needle-point of being balancing on a pinhead of reality.
(Could you please be a little more vague?)
It did not move, breathe, or eat; it merely was (though it did not know what it was, having no memories or impressions to compare itself to). It did not think, it just existed.
(Gee, Paris Hilton's life is even duller than I thought!)
And suddenly, there was a difference: it did not understand it at first, having no reference-points. Then the difference became stronger, split up into separate impressions:
Sensation... Tiny stings of feeling, multiplying, defining a shape; it became aware of the fact that it had a body.
Memory... It became aware of its name: David. David Archibald. It was a he, a man.
("I HAVE THE POWWERRR! Du-du du-du, du du-du, du-du , HE-MAN!")
Emotion... David felt pain, increasing heat, rising fear. Then he realized that the heat was decreasing cold; he was freezing to death, and he could not move or see - he screamed. There was no sound, because he did not yet breathe. He was suffocating! Yet something supplied his brain with oxygen.
(Everybody now: "EMO!")
The recall rushed through David's mind now, bits and pieces of memories: His ex-wife and two children, hunching over his bed; the little girl crying as she tugged his hand.
"Please don't go away, Daddy."
He said: "I promise."
(And crossed his fingers.)
His ex-wife's eyes, looking away. What was she hiding?
(Her eyes were looking for the rest of her body?)
Another memory: Dr. Takenaka speaking to him.
("Utzukuru Sudoku Toyota Samurai! Hai! Wakarimasu ka?")
"The organic anti-freeze liquid was extracted from Antarctic fishes. It will prevent your cells from bursting during the delicate thawing processes. But the cancer... well, that's up to the future to solve. Do you believe in life after death, Mr. Archibald?"
("The cryogenics lobby strongly protests the use of the negative buzzword 'death' in the above line!")
A flashback: David seeing himself in a mirror as a small child, dressing himself up as king, with a paper crown and a red tablecloth for a mantle. The feeling of power! brought by the robes of office. The shame and littleness when his mother, so much bigger, discovered him and smiled.
(The humiliating memory would cause Vladimir Putin's pale, fish-like cheeks to blush even in his adult years.)
The cold. The cold that crushed his bones, clawed at his heart. The pain was growing unbearable. David was dying, and he understood it now. A tunnel of light opened in the darkness, and he approached it faster and faster. At the end of the tunnel he discerned a shadowy figure, stretching out its arms to welcome him...
("Carol Anne! Do not enter the liiight! Carol Aaanne!")
And the figure vanished before him. His body was jolted by a burning shock - air was pressed into his lungs and forced them to move. His heart took a first, numb beat - then another, and another. His vision went red as blood streamed through his eyes. His aching ears were suddenly attacked by a torrent of sounds, a world of noise crashing onto his heavy head.
("Shop at World Of Noise - for all your noise needs!")
David opened his eyes.
First, it was all a blur of light and shadow.
(He climbed onto the roof and adjusted the antenna.)
The light stung, so he shut his eyes for a while. The noise settled to a murmuring of wind in his ears.
(Mumble, murmur, mumble, murmur...)
Time passed. David breathed and blinked and ached.
(Emo fans across the world are so identifying with him right now...)
Gradually, the blur grew more focused: he was looking up at a dark ceiling, while surrounded by monstrous figures that hunched down over him. David could taste blood in his mouth, and feel the tubes stuck into his mouth and up his nose. The figures above him were wearing some kind of coveralls, and face masks with visors over their eyes.
(Too late, he wished he had signed up for a sensible health insurance plan.)
David tried to move his head, but the effort almost caused him to faint. With another effort, he sucked in extra air to talk.
(Yep, when it came to extra air for talking, he sucked. Big time.)
A wheezing sound escaped his throat. Someone removed the tubes from his mouth, and he tried speaking again.
"Bhhh..." he whispered, until the pain in his throat stopped him. The words he was striving for were "Bloody hell!", but they didn't come out quite right. He lay still, and let them tend to him.
One of the figures bent down close to his ear, and asked in a muffled voice: "Can... you... hear... me? Do... you... understand?"
(Actually, the muffled voice sounded more like "Cunh uh h'muh? Duh'uh'ndh'tnd?")
A foreign accent, David thought sleepily. Italian? German? Asian?
(Yorkshire? Cockney? British Royal?)
He wheezed a pained "yes".
(The mere mentioning of the rock group Yes hurt.)
"Remain... still," the voice said soothingly. "You... need... rest. Blink one for yes... or blink two for no. Do... you... understand?"
David summoned all his strength and blinked once, with one eye. There were cheers from somewhere in the room.
(And the crowd goes wild! *Ahhhh*)
He was too tired to feel happy or angry, but he was awake. And he remembered something else: The cancer! They woke me up in the future, but I'm still sick. I must tell them!
(I'm sick! Sick, I tell you! Unclean! Unclean!)
He tensed with panic as he tried to gasp a few words, then sank back exhausted. The men in coveralls surrounded him again, injecting him with something.
("Nurse! Give the patient 20 cc of Something!")
The calming voice with the heavy accent explained that they knew about his disease, and that he was already being cured.
David fell asleep, thinking: Kids, I'll see you again as I promised.
Bor Damon's team of trusted physicians and technicians were keeping David in a specially equipped, sealed chamber of the castle hospital.
("Dr. Kevorkian... Dr. Kevorkian, please come to the emergency room...")
Librian left the isolated chamber by way of the double-door and entered the observation room, where Bor had been watching the revival of the man from a window. Librian pulled off his rubber face mask, his face red and sweating.
(Yeew! Get a towel!)
Bor turned from the observation window and addressed him impatiently: "Well? Is he recovering as he should?"
The old man sighed heavily, sitting down: "Yes, my lord. His spinal cancer was no great challenge, the doctors have had cures for such ailments for centuries. What I worry about is his will to live. He is still very weak and thin, and must work up his strength. It will take all his willpower."
("He will need all his willpower to sign his will, God willing he will.")
Bor made a sly face: "That does not seem to be a problem. The fellow has spirit - he fought to speak almost as soon as he woke up." He frowned, and added: "But why is his hair so white? He is supposed to be in his prime."
(The mocking question would haunt Steve Martin for the rest of his career.)
Librian began wiping the moist off his glasses, and did not listen. A physician who was entering the observation room, pulled off his face mask.
("And underneath the mask was... Ethan Hunt of the Impossible Mission Force!")
He had overheard Bor's question and eagerly fell in: "Perhaps a side effect of the long freezing period, my lord. We have not come across such a case ever before. If you, my lord, would permit me to take the patient to my laboratory for further study..."
(They called him Dr. Toady.)
The doctor looked hopefully to the feudal lord, who restlessly moved about the small chamber in his rough hunting-clothes of leather and felt.
([Sings] "We're men in tights...")
"Your wish is denied," Bor said curtly. "You will keep silent about this for now, under penalty of death."
(The doctor foolishly replied "This won't stand!" and they hanged him in the morning.)
A stern gaze from his blue eyes silenced any objection the doctor might have made; the physician went pale and bowed obediently. The next moment, he left the room.
(Muttering, "Those blue eyes, I just can't resist them...")
Librian put his cleaned glasses back on his head and continued talking, absent-mindedly.
"Yes, he has great inner strength, my lord. But bear in mind, that he surely was not meant to sleep for nine hundred years!
(He wasn't wearing his adult diapers!)
To him, it must be as if he fell into sleep only yesterday. When he understands that the ancient world, his wondrous Golden Age is gone... then he might lose his will to live."
("Nooo! Osama Bin Laden, Kim Jong-Il, Paris Hilton and the French are gone! Life's not worth living!!")
"So what will you tell him?"
"Nothing, my lord. I will just keep him from the world, until he is strong enough to face it."
Bor Damon seemed content with this solution: "Good, good. Besides, it would look bad to show him in this haggard state - I would risk becoming the laughing-stock of the nobility. Keep him from my sight - and especially my family. I will be away hunting in the castle gardens for the rest of the day."
(The garden air was filled with the sounds of small-arms fire, exploding artillery shells and the shrieks of dying rodents.)
Bor strode out, leaving the old scholar and his new guest from the past.
("Because, Old Scholar... This Is Your Life!")
DARC AGES (c)A.R.Yngve 1995, 2000, 2004. All rights reserved. May not be copied without permission.
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