The Girl Who Chases the Wind

Chapter 2: Examples

It took me a moment to realize what he was asking me. Now, I’ve been offered to try some pretty weird things for articles. The most memorable instances would have to be the restaurant where sounds beyond human hearing altered the flavors of food (not fun for my inner ear) and the tour of algae-based microbreweries (not fun for waking up the next morning).

But being offered to “try” a substance which would absorb the information inside my body and replace it with itself…that had to be up there as well.

I made sure I heard him correctly.

He elaborated, “It’s incredibly safe in small quantities. I’ve been trying to get more doctors all over the world to at least try the pure version with their patients. It doesn’t even take that much training. Alas, few have taken me up on my offer.”

Guiding me by the arm, Dr. Feldon led me into another room more like a typical doctor’s examination room.

I set my feet and told him, “I really should pass…”

He gave a laugh, before saying, “I assure you I won’t bill your health insurance. Now don’t worry, I’ll walk through everything one step at a time. I’ll have you sign a lot of stuff saying you can sue me broke if anything goes wrong.”

The papers didn’t do much to reassure me, especially with Dr. Feldon’s gleeful expression. I had to ask, “Is this for all the reporters who’ve been mean?’

He gave a full belly laugh and rubbed my hand. “Oh, you’re already better than any of those…individuals…no no, this is a gift. Truly. This is what I’m good at. Now, do you have any particular ailments like a...compressed nerve, back pain, anything in particular you’d like to fix?”

I had a lengthy list of complaints which usually never made it to the level of a doctor visit. But I did often get soreness along my upper back which no special chairs or pleasant massages could quite get rid of. Sitting for work and relaxation didn’t help either. I mentioned this.

Dr. Feldon clasped his hands. “A common source of pain along with the sciatic nerve. Now, if I were treating you in a comprehensive fashion for a significant nerve disorder, I would have to consider how nerves from separate ends of the body are interconnected. Even if you fix the nerves at the site of pain, you can still get echoes of it from other nerves. But since this is just a little test, we’re only going to do a little. You might feel some lessened back pain. I will also need to use some Cellular D as fill-in at the site of the procedure.”

“Cellular D?”

He waved his hands, as though acknowledging and conducting an invisible orchestra. “What I call it. You might know it as Patch-Up or some variety of technical names. It basically heals wounds. The D is for dermal."

I nodded to that. Patch-Up was a wound care product, used by the military and high-end hospitals. I had to wonder if that was a patent Feldon still owned. If so, then that could go a ways to explaining his ranch.

I asked him as I began signing the paperwork for the nerve procedure. He was quiet for a moment and then answered, “I never owned the patent myself. I used to share some licensing since Memetic Crystalline was used to make it and other products.” His words sounded with the disharmony of regret. I preferred to believe it was for the countless who bled out because high-end Patch-Up was either too expensive or in too limited supply for your average emergency room.

And I was going to receive a pure gob of it in whatever hole Dr. Feldon was about to make in me. He even set up some mirrors so I could see the entire process for myself. I could’ve just pointed one of my cameras at my back, shut my eyes, and checked it later.

I still had a camera aimed at me though. This would likely be at the top of the article media. A reporter going under the knife. I would get some decent hits for that, at least.

I also knew that I had to man up and watch it. Dr. Feldon let his chuckles slip away and took on a calm, professional tone. Fortunately, I barely needed to lower my shirt for the procedure.

The injector itself had a special, swift anesthetic probe like a licking anteater. Soon, my neck was cool and numb. I watched the probe slide in with a long, slow breath. The container was opaque, fortunately, so I didn’t have to see the quantity of Memetic Crystalline slip in through my tissues.

As Feldon explained, the control chip in the injector forced the Crystalline to only seek out and replace the nerves in my body. Within a few, cubic inches of neck, they were now being replaced with a synthetic, crystal-like nanostructure. Bits of my body were being eaten and the thing digesting them was becoming part of my body.

I wouldn’t have frowned on anyone who voided their bowels or bladder at that moment.

So, what did I expect? Something. Maybe the frozen, throbbing tingle of a still-archaic shot to the mouth at a dentist's office? At least the sensation of a pin prick. I blamed the topical anesthetic, but that numbness wasn’t as strong as before.

Dr. Feldon assured me this was fine, saying, “Your crystalline nerves are waking up.”

For the next part, he just tapped on the injector keypad while explaining, “I am fixing any compressed or otherwise damaged nerves. Easy as that.”

My neck did feel a little better and even a little muscle spasm down in my leg went away. It could’ve been entirely psychosomatic, but I was still impressed. He put away the injector to reveal a small hole in the back of my neck. It oozed slightly but didn’t hurt.

Then, I watched as he took a scalpel from a tray table and sliced a larger hole in the same spot. I was about to yell out before he smeared a muddy paste in the wound.

In the span of a frantic breath, I watched the injector wound and the scalpel wound seal up in my skin tone without scar or sign anything had been cut. That was absurdly fast, even for something like Patch-Up.

Finally indulging in a little chuckle, Feldon told me, “Finished.”

I resisted cursing. “You could’ve told me you were going to do that.”

Bowing his head, Feldon turned up his hands and explained, “A little indulgence to theatricality. But this shows you the new nerves begin with a control setting. Any extreme sensation is immediately shut off. With a control chip, the level of pain feedback can be moderated. Very useful, depending on the patient.”

He picked up the scalpel again and I bent out of the way. He apologized and informed me, “Just this last thing.” I didn’t lean back, but I didn’t try to avoid his scalpel as he sliced the same spot one last time. I felt a faint tickle but nothing more as the skin parted bloodlessly. Another breath later, it had knit back together and looked the same as before.

All I could say was a quiet, “What…” Not even the best Patch-Up product could do that.

Finally leaving his tools behind, Dr. Feldon clasped his hands and explained, “You have…for about the next hour or so….probably the most useless superpower. An inverted Achilles ability, if you will. You feel no pain from your new nerves and you heal any wound in that small area. After an hour, the Cellular D loses its regenerative ability and becomes normal tissue. As well, if you’re outside the range of the control chip, you will have normal pain reception in your back. Hopefully, my corrections mean you will feel less pain normally but, as I said, this was just an example…not a treatment.” He then moved over to rinse and dry his hands.

I caressed the back of my neck. It felt absolutely, perfectly normal. Not even a seam to show where the cuts were made. Nothing. Just normal flesh.

Dr. Feldon, tossing a paper towel away, said, “Remarkable, isn’t it? What mankind has been able to do. But such a shame I cannot make it available to everyone who needs it. Alas…but I do what I can. Come along, I still have so many more miracles to show you.”

I churned with questions to fling at Feldon like darts. His ‘Cellular D’, especially if his comment about an hour of swift regeneration was correct, should’ve had companies and governments beating down the door of his ranch. I could envision a soldier slathered in the stuff turned into a real, unkillable superhero. Or an army of them marching across a battlefield. And if both sides had it…

My questions receded and I was left to contemplate quietly.

For the next branch of the tour, we were finally in the main part of the clinic. Staff, many wearing blue, flowing lab coats with normal clothes underneath, passed between rooms. Occasionally, someone stopped to talk to Dr. Feldon. They only gave me a quick glance.

With permission given by the patients first, I was allowed to see the range of conditions the ranch treated. Some of the minor cases involved forms of clinical depression.

For one case, I met an older woman with short, graying blond hair who seemed outwardly normal. She was kind and rather quiet. Married with three children. I watched Dr. Feldon as he interacted with her. He kept a light demeanor. He asked her about her day. I had to step out for one part where they went over a journal she kept as part of her treatment. It reassured me a bit that, while the clinic seemed to have cure-alls, they didn’t rely solely on them.

I learned that mood disorders were particularly challenging to treat, even with the benefit of Memetic Crystalline to move, alter, and repair nerves.

Softly, Dr. Feldon told me, “We can work to know everything about the body and how it all goes together but there’s always more. Always ever the little things.”

I did indeed see some miracles along the way. I saw a case of Bell’s palsy vanish in a patient over the course of a single treatment with deep tissue MC and I watched amputated fingers restored. It was all quite a sight for one morning.

Flipping back over my notebook, I realized my handwriting had deteriorated even more than usual. Frantic and scratchy, I’d resorted to quick notes. I hadn’t gotten much else on my cameras but it was only the first day and hunger was beginning to creep up. For later, Feldon promised me a coma patient along with other surprises.

I inquired about the lack of cars in the parking lot.

Feldon explained, “Many of our patients arrive via the helipad from other facilities and others are carpooled in for the day because of the long drive from town. If anyone needs to stay more than a day…like yourself, there are some small residences behind the ranch. There are even more in the woods not far from here.”

I raised an eyebrow at his mention of woods. The rest of the area appeared dry and desolate. He chuckled and assured me, “They are quite splendid. A transplanted reminder of the forests of old where I grew up.”

With the first part of the tour winding down, Feldon led me to the cafeteria, which adjoined a small, luscious garden area with patio seating. It looked pretty standard for a medical cafeteria, except for the fact that the menu was spread across an entire wall and item substitutions seemed to be encouraged. Probably for those with special diets, I figured.

Before we parted ways, Dr. Feldon gave me a time and place to meet up later for my afternoon tour. So far as lunch, I settled on a BBQ chicken sandwich and some chips. I scanned the crowd. Mostly staff in their blue lab coats with a few others in scrubs. The rest were dressed in regular street clothes. I assumed these were patients or family members. Then, there were the two girls in the corner.

I recognized the one closest to the wall. It was the green-haired sprinter. She wore the same, pale tracksuit from earlier. She splayed across the length of the booth with her legs crossed. Her dark purple sneakers looked nearly black aside from dried mud in tan streaks.

The girl facing away from me was slightly taller than her. Still, she seemed young as well. Her slim hands cradled a spoon as it hovered over a bowl of chocolate cake drowned in strawberry ice cream. She was dressed in a silken gown with flourishes of painterly yellow flowers against a background of lavender which shifted to pink around her dangling legs, which kicked yellow sandals against the table’s support beam. Most striking of all was her hair.

It was longer than the other girl’s and an unearthly shade of red which had me grappling for the right description. It wasn’t a nearly-metallic pink tone of magenta. And it wasn’t as though someone had just taken a red marker to her head. Yet still, it was stark against the plain, mellow shades of the room. And I had the sense it wasn’t dyed.

I’d seen plenty of extreme dye jobs (long story about a short article which never got published anyway). Hair like that would’ve shown some trace of manipulation or fakery. No, that was her real hair.

I was staring, and it didn’t take long for the green-haired girl to bend forward and give me a stern stink eye. I could’ve looked away and acted embarrassed, but I was too curious.