GALATEA 2044: A Novel of the Near Future: An Emergent AI Technothriller by Magnusholm R

Author:Magnusholm, R [Magnusholm, R]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HappySnail Media
Published: 2018-04-12T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 30

A Wounded Fugitive

Carter’s sleep was fretful and interrupted by nightmares. Rachel lay by his side, her hand cold and dead in his. At other times, he sensed more than felt her cooling his brow with a wet towel. By the morning, his shivering was out of control, and his mouth had turned parched and sour.

He tried to sit up, but the motel’s bedroom whirled like a merry-go-round and he fell back into his sweat-soaked bed.

Later, he became vaguely aware of Rachel plunging a hypodermic needle into his burning arm. She kept repeating something in her soothing voice, but he couldn’t comprehend any of the words, the clatter of his teeth drowning any other sound.

The mattress he lay upon turned to hard ice and his blanket to soft snow. And then he floated in the frigid void between howling stars. It was so cold. Oh, so cold.

A middle-aged Japanese woman with a pale face and a stethoscope materialized in the room, conversing with Rachel in hushed tones. They changed his bandages, probed the skin, listened to his lungs and gave him more injections.

Once more he descended below the surface. In his dream, he choked on the acrid stink of burning plastic and human flesh. Ann stared at him with mute accusation, her golden tresses a gory mess sizzling in the flames. Half of her face was missing. They had died in his bombed van. Barry, Rachel, France — everything had been conjured by his fading brain. He screamed and screamed and screamed.

When Carter woke up, cold and clammy all over, he found a drip attached to his left arm. He tried to speak, but his mouth was so dry his tongue wouldn’t move.

He tried to get up but collapsed against his pillows, unconscious.

He came round, sensing he was in a moving vehicle. Rachel and the Japanese woman leaned over him. The gaunt man from the embassy, Ozawa, gave him an OK sign. The drip bag suspended from the van’s roof swung back and forth like a hypnotist’s pocket watch.

Colors swirled around the edge of his vision and he was gone.

***

When Carter opened his eyes next, he found himself strapped to a narrow berth in a low windowless chamber with upholstered ceiling and walls. The wall above him curved inward as if he were inside a giant tube.

LED lights cast a dim bluish glow from the corners of the room. His wounded ribs burning, he craned his neck and spotted a door behind him.

The air smelled dry and aseptic — a hospital odor. But Carter fancied he detected a hint of burned jet fuel. The needle in his arm was held in place by a tan-colored adhesive bandage. An intravenous drip-bag dangled under the ceiling. From the outside, there came a constant roar and hiss of huge engines.

Airplanes taking off?

Where was he and what was he doing here? It seemed he’d been gravely injured and was in a hospital, but he couldn’t understand the lack of windows and why the medical facility had to be combined with an airport.

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