Post by Mako Pelagia on Jul 8, 2015 18:25:38 GMT
The Universe is a cold place. That is the first and last thing that she remembered. Floating out in space without a protective suit, aimlessly – hopelessly drifting through the debris of her damaged capsule. Cold. Space is so cold. Without any protection, her body's heat escaped and she began to freeze. Entropy is a bitch. Fortunately, she passed out before the really nasty stuff happened. Bubbles had already begun to form in her blood. The pain was something unimaginable. Having your body torn to shreds by a Gallente slug is almost preferable.
Then she woke up. Again, the cold was the first thing she could feel. The first but not the last. The pain was gone, but so was the memory of it. In fact, most of her memory was completely gone. She was somewhere on a cold steel floor, curled up in a foetal position, in a pool of the non-Newtonian fluids that keep clones safe for transport to medical facilities. It was cold, and so was the floor. But at least she wasn't suffocating.
She got on her knees. Her arms were trembling, but she managed to get into a sitting position. Baby steps. She could get a better look at the room now without half of it being floor. It was fairly austere, dominated by the cloning vat, and apart from a mirror, a locker, and a few monitors that tracked her physical condition – more good news: clean bill of health – there wasn't much inside the room. No decorations or any person touch of any kind – just the logo of the Caldari State and the Science & Trade institute. She recognised the logos but felt nothing in relation to them. Selective memory loss, or selective memory implantation? There was no limit to what could be done with clones these days.
The questions flooding her mind were too many to handle, but the biggest one was: why could she remember corporate logos and not her identity? She couldn't even recall what her face looked like, try as she might. Eventually, and with great effort, the woman – or the clone of a woman who died in space – got to her legs and unsteadily wobbled to the mirror. Just as she had suspected, the person staring back was a complete stranger. Her hand rested on the reflective surface as if trying to test it to see if there wasn't really someone standing in front of her. Smearing it with cloning-vat liquid, she traced the contour of the face that was supposed to be hers but that was completely unfamiliar.
Who am I? She wanted to say but the words caught in her throat and she nearly choked on them. The cough that came with the effort burned her lungs, as more fluid escaped. One hand still resting on the mirror, she tried to hold herself up, and her legs shook from the effort. The transparent greenish fluid formed a second puddle at her feet. A bit of it trickled down from her mouth. She wiped it away, but it was useless, she was still covered in the stuff.
Who am I?
“Mako Pelagia.” The answer came from the door. A man wearing a lab coat on top of a jumpsuit with the STI's logo appeared from the dark corridor beyond. He stood there, a cigarette in his mouth and a datapad in his hand from which he read: “Graduate of the Science and Trade Institute – with honours, I might add. Specialised in Astrogation.” He closed the folder and the datapad in his hand buzzed once and turned off. “It's not much, but that is who you are. Your records were deleted. Completely, there's not a trace left. And your clone's memory – as you've no doubt surmised, has also been wiped clean, the information replaced with skillsofts and infodata, mostly from your previous education. Now, I understand you must have a lot of questions, Ms. Pelagia - ”
“Cigarette.” Though it took some effort, she managed to get the word out, stressing each syllable in the effort. She did not turn to look at the man, instead focusing her gaze on the figure in the smeared mirror. It was beginning to resemble an old painting rather than a picture of who she was, but that was a face she had to get familiar with again. Still leaning against the wall with her right hand, she held her left out towards the man in the door, her middle and index finger spread, ready to receive the cigarette she had asked for.
[To be continued...]
Then she woke up. Again, the cold was the first thing she could feel. The first but not the last. The pain was gone, but so was the memory of it. In fact, most of her memory was completely gone. She was somewhere on a cold steel floor, curled up in a foetal position, in a pool of the non-Newtonian fluids that keep clones safe for transport to medical facilities. It was cold, and so was the floor. But at least she wasn't suffocating.
She got on her knees. Her arms were trembling, but she managed to get into a sitting position. Baby steps. She could get a better look at the room now without half of it being floor. It was fairly austere, dominated by the cloning vat, and apart from a mirror, a locker, and a few monitors that tracked her physical condition – more good news: clean bill of health – there wasn't much inside the room. No decorations or any person touch of any kind – just the logo of the Caldari State and the Science & Trade institute. She recognised the logos but felt nothing in relation to them. Selective memory loss, or selective memory implantation? There was no limit to what could be done with clones these days.
The questions flooding her mind were too many to handle, but the biggest one was: why could she remember corporate logos and not her identity? She couldn't even recall what her face looked like, try as she might. Eventually, and with great effort, the woman – or the clone of a woman who died in space – got to her legs and unsteadily wobbled to the mirror. Just as she had suspected, the person staring back was a complete stranger. Her hand rested on the reflective surface as if trying to test it to see if there wasn't really someone standing in front of her. Smearing it with cloning-vat liquid, she traced the contour of the face that was supposed to be hers but that was completely unfamiliar.
Who am I? She wanted to say but the words caught in her throat and she nearly choked on them. The cough that came with the effort burned her lungs, as more fluid escaped. One hand still resting on the mirror, she tried to hold herself up, and her legs shook from the effort. The transparent greenish fluid formed a second puddle at her feet. A bit of it trickled down from her mouth. She wiped it away, but it was useless, she was still covered in the stuff.
Who am I?
“Mako Pelagia.” The answer came from the door. A man wearing a lab coat on top of a jumpsuit with the STI's logo appeared from the dark corridor beyond. He stood there, a cigarette in his mouth and a datapad in his hand from which he read: “Graduate of the Science and Trade Institute – with honours, I might add. Specialised in Astrogation.” He closed the folder and the datapad in his hand buzzed once and turned off. “It's not much, but that is who you are. Your records were deleted. Completely, there's not a trace left. And your clone's memory – as you've no doubt surmised, has also been wiped clean, the information replaced with skillsofts and infodata, mostly from your previous education. Now, I understand you must have a lot of questions, Ms. Pelagia - ”
“Cigarette.” Though it took some effort, she managed to get the word out, stressing each syllable in the effort. She did not turn to look at the man, instead focusing her gaze on the figure in the smeared mirror. It was beginning to resemble an old painting rather than a picture of who she was, but that was a face she had to get familiar with again. Still leaning against the wall with her right hand, she held her left out towards the man in the door, her middle and index finger spread, ready to receive the cigarette she had asked for.
[To be continued...]
