Page 153 of Dustwalker
“In all honesty, Mr. Turner?—”
“Kevin, please. I don’t really have it in me to deal with formalities anymore.”
“Kevin. In all honesty, this procedure has an extremely low chance of success. I need to be certain that you’re aware that by doing this, you may be prematurely ending whatever time you have left with your loved ones.”
He shook his head, sliding a palm over the surface of the table absently. “Maybe. But what more time do I have with them right now? A few weeks for them to watch me die? At least this way, it’s on my terms. And they don’t have to…”
Turning away from the camera, Kevin lifted a trembling hand to his face, covering his eyes as tears welled in them. “Don’t have to see me suffering. Don’t have to watch me become a shell of the man I was, and…and my family won’t have to feel so damned helpless while it all happens.”
When he dropped his hand, moisture glistened in his eyes, and there were splotches of color on his cheeks. He faced the camera directly, and though the recording was from two hundred years ago, the despair, desperation, and anguish in his expression transcended time. “I want more time with Diane. I want to see my kids grow up.”
The video flickered, cutting to a high-angle view of an operating room. Several individuals wearing green scrubs, facemasks, and gloves worked around a table. A motionless figure lay atop it, draped in a blanket. One of the surgeons stepped aside, allowing the camera view of the subject’s exposed brain.
“The connections for the implant are complete,” said Doctor Yuan. One of the others wheeled a steel cart to her, and she lifted an electronic device from atop it. “Once this is inserted, we can begin the upload.”
The war room was silent as the recording’s speed increased, moving the surgeons ten times faster. When it slowed to normal, alarms were blaring in the operating room, and the surgeons’ voices were frantic.
“He’s flatlining.”
“We need the paddles?—”
“No!” Doctor Yuan shouted. “They’ll damage the implant.”
“We can’t just let him die, Jessica!”
“He was already dead. The implant is what matters now, and it’s the only chance he has of seeing his family again.”
“That’s not how it’s supposed to be, God damn it!”
“If we succeed, it won’t ever have to be like this again.”
“We can at least perform CPR?—”
Doctor Yuan shook her head. “The implant is too delicate. We can’t risk disrupting the connection, or we might do irreversible damage to his consciousness.”
“How much damage have we done already?”
“He accepted the risks. You did too, when you joined this project.”
The continuous tone of the heart monitor punctuated her statement for six long seconds before the recording flickered again.
Kevin Turner sat at a table in a nondescript room. A dozen wooden blocks painted different colors lay scattered before him. His cheeks were full, there was short, mussed brown hair atop his head, and his skin had a much healthier color.
“I don’t—” The voice was Kevin’s, but his mouth didn’t move until he repeated the words. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”
“A little at a time, Kevin,” Doctor Yuan said from out of frame. “It’s perfectly natural that things are difficult for you now. Though your body looks the same, it’s completely different internally. It will take time and a lot of hard work, but I assure you, your mind will rewire itself to your new body and all its functions, and all this will be as easy as it was before. Please, try again.”
Frowning, Kevin raised his arm above the table. The movements were wobbly, jerky, imprecise. His brow furrowed as he reached forward, guiding his shaky hand toward one of the red blocks. Tentatively, he pinched the block between his forefinger and thumb and lifted it off the table.
“Good. Would you please stack it atop one of the same color?” the Doctor asked.
Kevin’s eyes flicked down to the other blocks, pupils dilating and contracting. Slowly, he moved his hand, hovering it over first a green block, and then a blue.
“It’s okay if you’re uncertain about the colors, Kevin. It’s not yourfault,” a male said from off camera. “We just need to know so we can make the necessary adjustments to get you back to normal.”
“Doctor Anderson is right,” Doctor Yuan agreed. “We’ll take things one step at a time.”
With a slight, unnatural nod, Kevin lowered his hand. Just before the block touched the one beneath it, his arm jerked. The blocks slammed together. The red block flew from his grasp, clattering on the floor.
