he glass wall. And then, from which political faction have my gaolers been chosen? It’s amazing how, when you change governments, activities that were labelled as patriotic, nation-building, ground-breaking, can overnight become criminal behaviour, the work of the insane. What if one of the guards has access to my medical records? The involuntary euthanasias I’ve carried out, the experimental vaccines I’ve administered to the uninformed and unrepresented, the genetic cleansing. All ethical, by the current standards of today, were suddenly distasteful. The chattering classes always the first to line up for the cures, or the first to benefit from reduced taxes when the welfare bill is slashed, suddenly develop a conscience and myself and several other government funded medicos become their scapegoats.
The light flashes again. Because the capsule lid is open, it no longer flashes in my eyes, it traces a panel of light onto the side of the wall. I think I see a shadow move away behind the glass. It seems like the light flashed for a few seconds less this time. Have I surprised them by having the lid open? I have to act, whatever the outcome.
In the dark I turn around and my feet search for the footholds that lead down the stand to the floor. I’m aware of my nakedness as I climb down with my back to the two-way mirror. When I reach the floor, which feels like spongy rubber mat, my legs collapse beneath me. I fall into unconsciousness.
I’m dazzled by light. I’m in a soft bed, wearing a cosy tracksuit. I sit up quickly and my head starts to pound. I’m in a round room, not much bigger than a kitchen. Light bounces off every surface. I shut my eyes and lie down again and for a moment just allow myself to enjoy the feel of material comfort. Stars and spangles dance on my eyelids, like an oncoming migraine. But I realise it’s an adjustment to light. I’d become a creature of the dark. I must have been brought to this room by stretcher, or strapped to a wheelchair. I shield my eyes with a hand, open the fingers slightly and open my eyelids a crack. The room takes on a red pink glow. I stay like that a while then gradually allow more light in by making the spaces between my fingers bigger. Over on a small table is a meal; peaches, ham, avocado, cherry tomatoes. I get up gingerly, follow the wall around, leaning on it for support until I reach the table, then gratefully I drop into the chair. The food is like bursts of colour in my mouth.
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