He wore a slick black suit that covered his torso, leaving his arms and legs free. An electrical lead was attached directly to his chest, and a microprobe had been slipped through the material and into his chest just before they’d lifted him. Even though Hammond assured him as she slipped the probe in that the wire was so thin he couldn’t possibly feel it, Dalton was very aware that something had gone into his heart, a distinctly uncomfortable feeling. The last thing he considered himself capable of doing, encumbered as he was, was conducting a mission. Of course, he still didn’t know the mission they were being prepared for, but it wasn’t the first time in his career he’d received training without knowing exactly what it was to be used for.
Dalton took steady, deep breaths through the mouthpiece as he was lowered further into the isolation tank. He knew that a few members of the team were gathered around, watching, as he was first to experience being inside. The others were still being fitted.
The solution came around his waist, up his chest, then he was all the way in. The worst feeling so far, other than the microprobe into the heart, was the feeling of the embryonic fluid seeping into the TACPAD, pressing up against his face. Dalton also didn’t like the fact that he could see nothing. He felt neutral buoyancy, something he was used to from his scuba training.
“All right?” Dr. Hammond’s voice was loud and clear in his ears.
Dalton gave a thumbs-up. It was extremely hard to move in the solution. Dalton was surprised at the viscosity of the liquid. He wasn’t able to speak with the lung tube stuck down his throat. It was irritating, but the hardest part had been when Hammond had put it in, getting past his gag reflex with one practiced push. Dalton had been on the other end of that technique several times in his army career during his medical training.
“Okay, we’re going to do several things, all at the same time. Just relax. Let us do it all right now.”
Dalton concentrated on his breathing. He felt a buzzing inside his head. A light flickered in his eyes. He didn’t know if it was the cyberlink pad over his eyes or the thermocouple projecting directly into his brain. The light became a white dot.
“Follow the dot,” Hammond said.
The dot moved slowly to the left.
“Don’t move your head,” Hammond warned.
Dalton moved his eyes and they followed the dot. Or was his brain following it? he wondered. His eyes were covered, so they couldn’t be…. The dot was moving the other way and Dalton had to stop his wondering and follow it.
This went on for a while, how long Dalton couldn’t know, but he gradually became aware that he was cold. The buzzing in his head was still there, but he was hardly noticing it; it had become the norm.
“You’re doing good.” Hammond’s voice was more distant. “Give me a thumbs-up if you hear me clearly.”
Dalton was shocked to find that he couldn’t feel his hand. He couldn’t feel any part of his body. He made the mental effort anyway. He tried to feel his eyelids, to determine whether they were open or not, but there was no way he could tell.
“At this point,” Hammond said, “your peripheral nervous system is just about shut down, so you shouldn’t be able to feel your extremities. You’re doing fine. We’re doing the last part of the physical aspect now, taking over for your central nervous system. Relax. Relax.”
Dalton felt a twinge in the tube in his throat. His chest spasmed as liquid slithered into his lungs.
“Relax.”
Dalton was drowning, his lungs filling.
“The dot, follow the dot.”
There was a flash of brightness. Then the dot reappeared, now moving in a circle.
Dalton felt as if his chest were being crushed. He tried to expel the liquid coming in, the dot forgotten.
“Relax.”
Dalton wanted to tell her to shut the hell up as he concentrated on accepting the foreign substance pouring into his lungs. He focused on the knowledge that he wasn’t drowning, that this liquid was sustaining his life. The body didn’t buy it. He was drowning.
“You’re all right. That’s done,” Hammond said. “The machine is breathing for you.”
Dalton halted the panic with a firm mental slam on the runaway emotion. He was breathing. He couldn’t feel his lungs but he accepted that he was getting the oxygen he needed. He’d actually passed out several times in scuba school, drowned, so he knew what it was like to go under without oxygen.
“The dot. Look at the dot.”
Dalton went back to following the dot. He felt very small, as if his entire being had closed in around the core of him, the “I” that rattled around inside his skull.
“The dot, find and stay with the dot. It will be your connection with Sybyl, along with my voice.”
Dalton was startled out of his lethargy. During winter warfare training, he’d seen men, tough soldiers, curl up into small balls inside their snow caves and totally withdraw from the outside world. Just wanting to fall asleep and then slip into frozen death.
Dalton focused on the dot.
“All right,” Hammond said. “You’re in good shape. We’re doing your breathing for you. We’ve got your heart regulated and beating in the correct rhythm. Everything is fine.”
Yeah, right, Dalton thought. He noted that her voice was growing fainter, as if she were very far away.
"Your senses are shutting down. Soon you will no longer be consciously processing information from your normal senses."
Dalton had to strain to hear her.
"You’ll be hearing me on Sybyl’s link next. Just give me…"The voice faded out. A deep, profound silence ensued.
Dalton felt himself start to drift away, and he snapped to.
There was a buzz, then silence. Then a clicking sound that really caught Dalton’s attention.
He felt a stab of pain above his left eye. The pain grew stronger, almost to the point where he couldn’t take it anymore, then it disappeared, to come back just as strong.
The dot was still there, but Dalton didn’t care. He went back further inside his memories, to a dark hole. Dank, dripping, concrete walls. The surface pitted. Dalton knew every little divot, every scratch in those walls. The four low corners, each one of significance to him. The ceiling too low for him to stand up, only four feet high.
He could reach his arms out and touch wall to wall. Exactly square. He’d measure it by using his thumbs. Sixty-three thumb widths wide each way. He had spent a long time considering how whoever had built this thing could have been so exact in their measurements, because when he was taken out, he could see the entire building that was his prison and how poorly constructed it was. The Hanoi Hilton the media had called it, but those who spent years of their lives inside had had other names for the hellhole.
“Sergeant Major Dalton.”
The voice was raspy, echoing, intruding. The pain that had been so distant was back, although not quite as sharp.
“Sergeant Major Dalton.”
Dalton tried to answer.
“Sergeant Major Dalton.” There was a change to the tone and timbre of the voice.
Dalton didn’t know how to speak. He had no throat. No mouth.
“Sergeant Major Dalton.” The voice was smoother now, almost human.
Dalton tried to figure it out, how to answer with no voice of his own.
“Sergeant Major Dalton.” It was recognizable as a human voice now. A woman’s, but there was a timbre to it that was unnatural.
“Sergeant Major Dalton. This is Dr. Hammond. I’m talking to you through Sybyl now. Through the computer directly into your brain. You have to focus your mind to answer. This may take a while, as we have to adjust your program link to your brain.”