Phased
With an effort, he forced himself to draw on a new set of mental connections, ones he'd been building for the past four months. Each time it was an effort to find them, hidden away under the now-active part of his mind, the part that was not really familiar, not really him. A new word came to mind, one not connected to the familiar image of the carrot in front of him, but to its specific characteristics.
“Potato,” he said aloud, and a small bell chimed. “It's a potato,” he said again for good measure. Though the bell had sounded and he'd been proven right, it did nothing for the feeling of dissonance inside of him, the feeling that something was terribly awry. Julian was learning to cope with his unwanted passenger, but wished he didn't have to – he just wanted to go back to his home, back to work, back to being normal.
Ten more objects were presented and he identified each one correctly. A large green fruit with dark and light stripes was correctly called a watermelon, though he knew it had to be a grape. The picture of a building with a smiling family in front of it was a house, not a car, and a furry animal with a long tail and whiskers was a house cat, not an elephant. Despite the relative ease of the test, Julian found himself exhausted as it came to a conclusion.
“Exit to your right,” Doctor Tallow's voice came over the lab speakers. “I will meet you in the break room.”
Julian's stomach rumbled to remind him that food was still a necessity, even if his palate had changed significantly since being brought to the Center. It still rankled that those at his work turned him over to Tallow and the others, but he knew they really had no choice. An Peace Enforcer could not afford to make mistakes about what he saw and how it was contextualized – people could die as a result. Still, they could have at least given him some warning instead of springing it on him like some kind of goddamned surprise or intervention. One minute, he'd been sitting as his desk finishing up some knitting, and the next he'd been danced out the door and into a waiting balloon.
He frowned. Paperwork. Pulled. Van. Those were the words he really wanted, or at least the ones that others would understand. It was hard to believe that everyone around him had such a difficult time with simple concepts, but he was in the minority – the rest of the world told him he was wrong, and Julian had no choice but to agree.
“I'm sorry.” That was the voice of the passenger he'd picked up two months ago, the sound in his head he'd assumed was an inner muse suddenly come to life. The voice had been quick to explain it was some kind of alien life-form, and though Julian still wasn't sure he hadn’t just gone off the deep end, the voice seemed to know a great deal about things beyond the pay-grade of an Enforcer. His passenger also apologized for interfering with Julian's ability to comprehend the world – something to do with an overlapping of neurons and slight incompatibility with the human form. Whatever the case, it was his passenger's fault that Julian had to learn object recognition all over again, but he wasn't so stupid as to tell the good doctors helping him about the voice he was carrying around. As it stood, he had a good chance of getting back to work with a minimum of fuss and a healthy payday from the Enforcement branch for his new-found disability, but if he blabbed about his ride-along he'd never leave the white-walled facility of Dr. Tallow and his cpmpatriots.
“You're doing really well, Julian,” the voice said as he strode into the cafeteria. “I just wish I was more help.”
“You're doing great, Julian!” Tallow's voice echoed the sentiment when Julian reached the small lunch-table. “I'm confident I'll have you out of here by the end of the week. Fine work on my part!”
Julian smiled with no feeling. Like most doctors, Tallow was convinced of his own brilliance, but that posed no problem so long as it meant open doors and a return to normal life.
“Soon,” the voice said. “Soon.”
***
It had taken the better part of three months for the other Enforcers to start trusting Julian again, but once they saw he handled himself just like he always had, they began to relax.
“Check one, come in,” he said into his mic, and a hissing response came in reply. All units were in position, and none had spotted any threat to the ambassador.
Julian scanned the crowd, forcing himself to see past what his mind immediately called up when he saw each face. Enemies! It called out. Everywhere! He willed himself to look at their posture, examine their hands and scan their faces rather than rely on snap judgments. In some ways it made him better, more alert, but it was frustrating to distrust every piece of information his mind collected.
A car door slammed behind him and he turned, looking for the ambassador.
“Perfect,” said the voice in his head, and he felt a sense of retreat, of loss. A large man was coming down the carpeted aisle toward him, hands in his pockets and frame covered in a tailored black suit.
“Friend!” His mind screamed, and Julian reached for his pistol.
Shots rang out, the others on his squad came running; it was too late. Julian laughed as they cuffed him and threw him to the ground. Couldn't they see? Didn't they know? He'd saved them, saved the ambassador. He was a hero.
- D
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