Chapter Twenty-Five: Paralyzed

Toby awoke in bed. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, still half asleep, then tried to sit up.

He couldn’t.

He tried lifting his arms, but they too would not move. As the haze of sleep dissipated, he became aware of what was happening—or not happening—and began to panic. On top of everything else, he had a massive headache.

What was wrong with him?

He tried to take a deep breath to calm himself, but couldn’t. Unable to move his head, he shifted his eyes downward, which aggravated his headache. He could see and feel the tube coming out of his mouth. The tube went off into a machine on the side of his bed, whose clicking he now noticed and knew was going to drive him nuts. Artificial respiration. Shifting his eyes painfully to all sides, he recognized much of the surrounding machinery as similar to the ones Dr. Heilig had been attached to. His purple scarf hung over a chair by the side of the bed. There were other wires and tubes attached to him, but he couldn’t see them clearly without moving his head. On the wall across from him there was a large picture of an ancient three-mast whaling ship at sea in turbulent waters, with men in mid-air as they dived off, abandoning the ship.

Was he in a hospital? It smelled like a hospital, with the antiseptic scent. Had he been in an accident?

Starting with his toes, he worked his way upward, doing an inventory of what worked and what did not. He quickly realized that he could neither move nor feel anything from his neck down. Above the neck he could feel all too well as his head continued to pound.

Something else seemed to be missing. “TC on,” he said with difficulty because of the tube in his mouth. But his TC, for the first time since it had been implanted in him when he was a child, wasn’t operating. He was cut off from the world and its information banks.

“Anyone here?” he called out in a whispery voice, all he could manage.

A woman appeared and leaned over him. “You’re awake, Mr. Platt?” She was tall and thin, and built like a model. Long blond hair fell over her shoulders and simple white uniform. Her nametag said “Dr. Artaud.”

“Where am I, and what’s happened to me?” he asked.

Dr. Artaud gave him a seemingly genuine smile. “You are at Vancouver Hospital. You’ve been unconscious for three days. Do you remember anything from your meeting with Dr. Heilig?”

Memories sluggishly flooded into his brain. “I remember talking to her, and then she flashed a pen stunner at me. That’s the last I remember.”

“Your bodyguards didn’t do a good job checking the room. Dr. Heilig had the stunner hidden in her bed—it should have registered with their equipment. I’m afraid she gave you a full blast, and it’s caused extensive spinal damage.”

He let that sink in for a moment. But there was something more urgent. “Could you give me something for my headache?”

“I’ll put it in your drip.” She must mean one of the tubes coming out of the machines on the side and disappearing toward his body, out of his limited field of vision.

A moment later he felt the pounding dissipate, and he could think straight again.

“I need to run a few tests,” she said. “Can you feel this?”

“Feel what?”

They went through this several times, but Toby could only assume she was jabbing him with something. He couldn’t feel anything. She clicked her tongue in disapproval.

“How bad is it, doctor?”

“Don’t worry about that right now, Mr. Platt. The best thing for you now is rest.”

For a moment, he considered disappearing into sleep. His head still hurt and he felt woozy. And yet he had a deep-felt urgency, as if there was something he was supposed to be doing. Something important, but he couldn’t quite place it.

The election. That’s what it was. Shouldn’t he be out campaigning? The regional election for…North America? Wasn’t it a few days away? He had a small chance in Canada, but every moment counted. Where was Bruce?

“I should be out campaigning,” he said. “Why can’t I get up?”

“Mr. Platt, I’m going to tell you your prognosis. And then you have to promise you’ll rest.” She leaned over him.

“Mr. Platt, the stunner was set beyond the safety limits, and she gave you a good five seconds or so before anyone stopped her. You were lucky your bodyguards were watching from the door and saw what was happening or you might have died. You’ve suffered extensive damage to your spinal column. You’re paralyzed from the neck down, and will never walk, move your arms, or breathe on your own again.”