Ryan in UnWonderland (The Whales of Time Book 1) by Craig Robertson

Author:Craig Robertson [Robertson, Craig]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Imagine-It Publishing
Published: 2024-03-12T00:00:00+00:00

FOURTEEN

Like an on/off switch, my fugue-like state vanished. I opened my eyes. In an icy panic, I scanned the room. I was lying on my bed aboard my vortex. I was alone. Outside, I heard some noise. It was generated by a few people going about their daily business. I sat up, still disoriented and deeply shaken.

I'd been lounging. Yes. I'd spoken with Doc about my mental detachment issues, he'd run more tests and I was fine. Then I came to my quarters to chillax. Then ... then I saw the ultimate ecstasy and the unmatched terror. No, I didn't see those things. I experienced them. I was them.

No, no. I wasn't those polar opposites. I was one with a creature who was living both extremes.

Oh, my goodness. I ... I flopped back onto my mattress. Such joy and such suffering. I couldn't accept ... no, I couldn't comprehend those extremes. What that poor beast suffered was immeasurable, unjustifiable. And the damn thing cried out to me for help. It didn't cry out for help generically. No, it cried out to me. How was that even possible? Maybe it was just another of my hallucinations? Yes, that was it. Another dream made like sausage. Strange shit shoved into a grinder then extruded into an unwelcome reality.

No, this wasn't a waking nightmare. This ... this had been ... different. It was real.

My body trembled involuntarily. In all my days, I'd never felt so specifically called upon while, at the same time, so utterly inadequate to respond.

Ho, boy. Here we go again. Jon Ryan saves the day. Jon Ryan risks everything, probably gets his ass killed again, and maybe he succeeds, maybe this time he's the goat. I have seen this movie before. I already read the book. I've already worn out the commemorative tee shirt—twice. If I ...

Someone was pounding on my door. Why? Oh, I guess because I'd closed and locked it. Silly me, wanting lounge time. No, no, some tormented creature in deep space and some halfwit aboard my ship both needed me more than I needed downtime. Frikking, frakkin, flabbercollactin. I mean, how is it I'm so important? Little old me? There have to be loads of people smarter, braver, and infinitely more qualified to help than Jon Ryan. Hello? Bueller? Bueller?

There. I felt better. Got some of that off my broad chest. The knocking continued, but now it was more of a pounding.

"Brev, open my door, please."

It slid open. Doc was there. He was just completing what I am sure he thought was to be another slamming of his fist against the now vanished door. But instead, he came lurching in, fist first, barely able to kept from falling. In spite of my foul mood, it was pretty sweet to see him Buster Keaton like that.

"Doc, why don't you come in already," I greeted him as he was recovering from his stunt.

He straightened up, dusted his white lab coat—a semi-permanent feature, I should add—and frowned deeply at me.

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