Chapter 18: SM03-Tau, Day 0

Lorraine Dubois woke, fuzzy-brained, to unfamiliar surroundings. She had no memory of this place; the last she recalled was yet another feeble attempt by her doctors to stir her out of her lethargy with a field trip to the French countryside.

She was lying in what looked more like a hotel room than her usual hospital or sanatorium, and she seemed to be wearing pajamas, rather than a hospital gown. The pajamas, and the walls, were in an odd pastel green and blue rose print.

Her right shoulder itched, as it often did when she awoke, and reflexively, she lifted the stump of her left arm in a futile attempt to scratch it. To her utter shock, the 'stump' actually had an elbow, and a forearm, and had a hand attached. And they all worked, as the fingers scratched at an itch she'd had ever since the accident.

Afraid to move, lest she awaken from this dream, or cause it to turn into a nightmare, she lay still, heart racing and chest heaving, until a scream from outside the room broke the silence. Before she could think, she was on her feet and moving towards the door, searching for the source of that scream, desperate to help, and to perhaps earn this wonderful reward.

She was a bit unsteady on her feet, as if she'd had to relearn to walk. Considering it was the first time in more than a year she'd felt anything below her waist, and that she was walking on legs that had mysteriously regrown just as her left arm had, that wasn't surprising. She reached the archway through which she'd heard the scream, and looked left and right, searching for the source.

To her left was a long hallway, which seemed to open into a larger room. To her right a tallish man was exiting a room much like hers, if somewhat larger, looking intent, and obviously seeking the same thing she was. He was slightly dazed, as though he'd just been awakened, but his eyes still took in everything around him, as if checking for threats even as he searched for the source of the scream.

Before Lorraine could speak to him, or he to her, the scream was repeated. They both turned, he to his left, she to her right, towards the room next to Lorraine's. The door was closed, but they could clearly hear sobbing behind it.

The man moved swiftly to the door, and when it did not open, pressed a panel beside it. When that didn't work, he looked at it again, touched it in a different place, and spoke, in English. "Please, what's wrong? Let us in, so we can help!" he said, speaking towards the panel, which must have a microphone of some kind.

Lorraine stepped up behind him, but didn't say anything. He spoke again, in angry tones, "Hey, assholes, open the door so we can help her." She hadn't known the gender of the screamer, but the man had either had slightly better hearing, or was making a possibly unwarranted assumption. "Now, assholes, before I kick it down."

The door slid open, and the man strode in, glancing over his shoulder briefly at Lorraine as if to encourage her to join him. As he stepped into the room, the anger left his face, as he visibly controlled himself so as to avoid further upsetting whoever was within.

A slender blonde woman lay on a bed, in pajamas identical to those worn by Lorraine and the young man. She was hugging her abdomen, and alternately moaning and crying, and speaking in German. The young man turned and gestured Lorraine closer; as she approached, she could make out the young woman's words. "My baby, what's happened to my baby?" she said, in a Bavarian accent. The young man looked at Lorraine as she felt the blood leave her face; she grew faint, and would have stumbled if the young man hadn't caught her.

Steve Miller wasn't having a good day. He'd been awakened in a strange hotel room, wearing odd clothing, by the scream of what sounded like a young woman. His brain was fuzzy, he was frightened, and now the woman he wanted to help spoke a language he didn't, and the woman who he'd hoped would join him in helping was about to pass out on him.

"Are you all right?" he asked the raven-haired beauty, as he guided her to a seat on the bed next to the sobbing woman.

"Yes, I think so," she replied in heavily accented English. She was French, or at least a French speaker, judging by her accent. "Before I woke here, I was missing this arm (she raised her left) and both legs. I missed the arm the most, because I had also injured my back, and could not feel the legs, even if they were not gone. I woke whole, and felt great joy, and it is now as ash in my mouth, for this woman has lost a baby, and what is what I gained, when measured against that loss?"

"You speak her language, then?", Steve asked. "I thought I recognized German, but I don't speak it. Do you remember anything of how you came to be here? My last memory is of sitting beside a roadway, at a table, looking at a map."

"Yes, I have my native French, and good German, and some English. I am Swiss. My name is Lorraine Dubois. I have no memory of how I came to be here."

"Please forgive me, I should have introduced myself. I'm Steve Miller; please call me Steve; my friends do, and I hope we can become friends."

"You may call me Lorraine, and friend. You have a good bearing, for one so young."

Steve raised his eyebrow at her. "Young? I'm forty-five, young lady, and rarely told I'm young. Those to whom forty-five seems young seem never to compliment someone on their youth."

It was Lorraine's turn to raise a brow. "You deny your youth, and assert mine? Perhaps you are addled after all. It was my thirty-ninth birthday when I lost my husband, my legs, and my arm to that drunken bastard, and that was a year ago and more." As Lorraine had calmed, her English had improved as well; her accent wasn't nearly so opaque now.

Steve's skin crawled, then he controlled himself, and spoke. "They you have regained your youth as well as your limbs; I would place your age at twenty, at most, and perhaps younger. From your words, I have also lost years of age."

Steve had half-forgotten the woman lying on the bed; her sobs had quieted when they sat down beside her, and she suddenly spoke to them, in a questioning tone. He still didn't speak German, so he sat quietly as Lorraine and the young woman conversed briefly. Lorraine lay down beside the woman, and drew her into her arms. She then looked at Steve, and said. "Her name is Anna Heim. She lost her husband about three months ago, in a work accident. She was four months with child at the time, and until she woke here, the pregnancy was normal. Now her baby is gone, and her heart is broken again. I fear for her sanity."

Steve grew angry again at the woman's plight. Controlling his rage, he said calmly, "You can do more for her than I can. Stay with her, please, and I'll see if I can find anyone who can tell us anything about what's happening." He left unvoiced his conviction that anyone who could restore youth, and missing body parts, had damned well better be able to find a baby they'd mislaid. If they couldn't, or wouldn't, there was going to be hell to pay. Knowing full well Anna couldn't understand him, Steve stroked her shoulder anyway, and said, "I'm going to see what I can find out. Please rest; we'll do everything we can to help you." He stood, turned away, and walked to the door, which had closed behind them. It opened at his approach, and he walked out. Behind him, he heard Lorraine speaking to the woman in low tones, perhaps translating his comment, or perhaps uttering reassurances of her own.

Steve left the room, and walked down the hallway. He entered a large room, with eight or nine women standing around talking to each other, or clustered around a pair of seated women on a couch on the far side of the room.

As he approached, the conversations slowed and stopped. He'd noticed several languages being spoken, including English. On that basis, he spoke to the crowd at large.

"I'm Steve Miller. Does anyone here know anything about how we came to be here?" There was a chorus of 'No's, along with a quick set of translations that led to a second round of "Non" and "Nein" and one lonely "Nyet."

One of the "No"s came from a dusky-skinned young woman who'd been examining a young fair-skinned woman with flashing red hair, and a strangely vacant look about her eyes. She turned from her examination, and stood; she walked over to Steve and gazed up into his face.

"I am Priya Surrivasa. I am a resident at the University of London Hospital. I trust you can explain that screaming woman that we heard? Erica saw you and the other woman enter her room, but the door would not open for her when she approached. She was not prepared to curse at it, but we wonder how you managed to get results, when we have been ignored?"