Billy Hinman was still sleeping.
By the time I’d come back with my carryout duck and salad, I realized how truly exhausted I was. Rowan, who as always declined my offer to share dinner, excused himself, and Billy and I were alone.
I did notice Parker standing in the hallway directly across from my door with his arms folded over his chest, watching silently—was he glaring?—as Rowan said good night. And not thirty seconds after Rowan had gone, there came a delicate knocking on my door. I waved my hand across it at eye level so the door’s wicket screen would light up, and I saw Parker’s face there, outside in the hall.
“What do you want?” I said.
“May I turn down your bed for you, Cager?”
“No.”
“May I help you put on your pajamas?”
“Oh. What do you prefer to wear when you go to bed?”
“Go away.”
“Would you like me to sleep with you?”
“Absolutely not. You’re a cog.”
“Do you sleep with your friend?”
“Good night, Parker.”
“Cager?”
I sighed. “What?”
“I have an erection.”
I turned off the screen.
I pulled a chair over to the edge of my bed and ate. To be honest, the canard à l’orange et salade de chicorée frisée were remarkable, but then again it could have had something to do with my state of near starvation.
I felt terrible, but Dr. Geneva had assured me I was out of the woods and was now over the worst part of the withdrawals, and that I should feel back to normal within the coming day.
I never for one moment in my life knew what normal was supposed to feel like.
“Nobody has ever died from Woz withdrawal, Cager,” Dr. Geneva had told me. “It’s a medically documented fact. But do you know what human beings have died of?” And that was when Dr. Geneva went into a lengthy lecture about all the ways human beings have died throughout history, including a particularly disgusting form of execution involving hungry insects, called scaphism; as well as being smothered by hats and cloaks, which is something that happened to a guy named Draco, in ancient Greece. But when Dr. Geneva asked me if I knew who Draco was, I cleverly lied and told him yes, because I didn’t want to hear everything the unrestrained ass knew about Greece. It took a good hour, I estimated.
To listen to Dr. Geneva talk about death, that is, as opposed to being smothered by outerwear in ancient Athens, which probably only took minutes, depending on the weight of the cloaks and if they were real wool as opposed to acrylic; or scaphism, which apparently took many days.
“So, in conclusion,” the massive windbag had told me, “nobody can die from Woz withdrawal. Now, overdoses—those are proven to be causally related to death. You are doing a good deed for your future, young man. A good deed, indeed! Now, strip yourself naked, take off all your clothes, and stand here so I can give you a medical examination! You are my first human patient!”
What an incredible tool.
And Parker was definitely enthusiastic about the request to remove all my clothing, which I did on my own.
Whatever. Cogs.
I put my food away, undressed, and got into bed.
On Earth, it was Christmas Day, and the twenty-ninth and thirtieth wars were well under way.