Story #38 - Airing Out

Airing Out

It wasn’t the lack of air that concerned him – more so the fact that something, something was in the room with him.

He knew it was impossible, a stark and simple fact which made his predicament all the more frightening. He had come in at the behest of his superiors, though if the truth were to out it would be apparent that he had volunteered.

For the good of the program, he’d said, telling them he was only too happy to endure their experiments in oxygen deprivation in high saturation environments. Of course, because of the nature of the experiment, they’d knocked him out, dragged him into the room without any warning and left him there wearing only his program-issue underpants.

Still, this was not his main concern.

He’d suffered any number of indignities at the hands of the program, all in the pursuit of a common goal. A manned mission to Mars would take more than just grit and determination; more than just the “best of the best” the industry had to offer. It would also take rigorous and consistent testing to ensure that any potential problems were noted and anticipated for. Of course, one of these problems was a sudden air burst in the cabin, leaving the crew de-oxygenized for a lengthy period of time.

The room they’d placed him in was 001 or 002, though from the inside he couldn’t be sure which. It was low and round, barely tall enough to accommodate his modest five and a half feet and made entirely of a sheet of pressed titanium. From the inside no door, handle or window was evident and the only light was a recessed, low-glow source in the middle of the room, patched behind a slightly thinner coating of metal.

Slumped against the wall in what he knew was the farthest point from the door he could see the entire room, every whistle-clean joint and smooth wall curve. Nothing could hide in this room; nothing could avoid his wandering eyes.

And yet…

He knew they would be monitoring him through a myriad of cameras – infrared, UV and even microwave – to make sure they had the best impression of what was happening to him. They couldn’t get inside his head, though, so he was supposed to talk.

Right.

“Time: unknown,” he started, voice cracking. How long had he been under?

“Dehydrated, preceded by long non-conscious period,” he said, sucking in a deep breath. “Guessing by the burning in my lungs, I’d say 45% oxygen requirement or less, making this unpleasant but bearable.”

There was a hissing as more air was removed from the chamber, and he smiled. Clearly, they were paying attention and despite the pain he felt, he knew that they would want to get the best burn from him they could.

A form skittered through the dim light to his left and he turned his head sharply. Its body was indistinct, but he’d have sworn he saw more than the number of allowable arms and legs, and in a construction that was completely alien. He took a deep breath. There could be nothing in here with him. Nothing.

Unless…

No. The eggheads were good, but they weren’t that damn good. There’s no way that they’d come up with an invisible oxygen monster in the time since he’d last been in the lab. He wouldn’t put it past them, but there’s no way they’d have done it that quickly.

He stood, stooping over slightly to avoid the ceiling and shuffled forward. They would want him to move around, to see how exertion would affect him over the course of an hour, a day – however long they chose to keep him in here. A cough escaped as he moved – they’d obviously spiked the remaining air with something else – and he couldn’t help but smile. They were thorough, at least.

The thing touched him, and he spun, yelping.

There was nothing there.

He was sure – there had been a sense of pressure, of force on his right shoulder before he’d turned. More than a human hand would cause and enough to distinguish that whatever touched him had a larger number of fingers than any species he was aware of.

This was going beyond the physical; the eggheads had put him in the room with some kind of whack-job monster to what – see if he could fight it off? He felt his tension rise sharply.

He smiled. Of course. There was nothing here – probably just a psychotropic collection of drugs those idiots had jammed into the air. It wasn’t enough for them to O2 deprive him; they wanted to see how he’d react if they tried to make him crazy.

Standing directly under the light in the room’s center, he closed his eyes and spread his arms. The program was quite thorough in teaching its recruits a vast array of meditation and calming techniques, and he’d always been good at making stress disappear.

Without sight the room became vast, a deep pit he couldn’t hope to understand, and his focus seemed to disappear into it, his relaxation swallowed whole. All around, he could feel the pacing of the beast as it circled him, waiting for the mistake that would give it opportunity, give it the chance to strike.

He opened his mouth again to continue his report and the thing leapt. It wasn’t so much a sensation of pain but a filling, an uncomfortable feeling of pressure in all of the wrong places. A…darkness…he couldn’t place, couldn’t name.

He…it…they were fine.

They were better than fine, actually.

They could feel the air returning to – the new part checked with the old owner – the lungs. The lungs were suddenly free and full of life again

The door creaked open, a crack splitting the perfect titanium seal, and two white-coated techs poked their heads in.

“Jimmy?” One asked in a light voice. “You OK in here? We’ve been getting some odd readings, so we’re calling this one early.”

They moved forward, clapping the younger of the men on the back. “I’m fine. Great. That was a rough one, but you boys should make sure we all get that training. We’re going to need it.”

Slipping into the hallway, they marveled at the limited sensations of their new body. Others would join them soon enough.

- D