Left-Handed Engineers From MARZ
Inside the mind of Reginald
Reg stood at his desk in the office he didn't like much. He flipped through
papers and was aware of the lights humming above him and the computer running
in front of him and Zephyr in Zephyr's space and someone else close to his
own space.
The nearby person spoke. Then Zephyr spoke. Then the person spoke, and
it gradually became apparent that they were talking about him.
"...don't know everything, but I can try," said Zephyr.
The other person said something about Reg and... chairs. Or something.
"Oh... don't think he... answer that... look... and I can choose one for
him," said Zephyr.
"Don't put that there!" said Zephyr. "...in his space."
The other person moved away from Reg and spoke.
"...not stupid," said Zephyr. "He just doesn't think in those terms."
They're talking about me, Reg pointed out to the other voice, and they're
not being very nice.
Huh. Let's take our papers and go downstairs by ourself. Take those
papers there but leave the other ones for Zephyr. The other voice guided
him out of the office and down the stairwell and into the workshop. Reg
clipped the spec sheets to the wall where he could refer to them and regarded
his two works-in-progress.
No mean people down here, the other voice said with bitter satisfaction.
Reg thought maybe he felt bitter too. He knew people talked about him a
lot. People often asked Zephyr all sorts of things about him. What made
it worse was that sometimes, Zephyr would get annoyed. Reg could tell when
that happened because Zephyr's heart sped up and his energy output increased.
Reg didn't like when that happened... and... sometimes he didn't like the
answers Zephyr gave.
We could tell him, the other voice suggested.
Zephyr was very upset, ever since the weekend when those people came to
their house. Reg wanted to try to help Zephyr wind down to a more healthy
speed, but so far his efforts hadn't made a lot of difference. Even just
before Zephyr fell asleep, he emanated so much stress. Reg thought the stress
was affecting him, too. How could it not? It was always there. It was
evidenced by the way his synapses increasingly fired in wayward fashion,
like bursts of pain.
We need to center ourself, the other voice said. It's unbalancing
our metabolism. Our own energy is becoming more difficult to control. Sit.
Reg wondered about the circuit board he had to finish today.
The projects will wait. We'll work more efficiently with better balance.
Reg sat in a chair by the bench and closed his eyes. The other voice eased
the energy flow away from his senses and his consciousness center. Reg's
pulse and breathing slowed and his nervous system halved its current.
Deep in his cerebellum, recalibration began. At first it produced a sensation
like spinning, falling, and soon was accompanied by swirls of dark blue and
grey. The colors increased in variety and intensity, fluctuating in hue and
depth, appearing substantial and empty in chaotic patterns. Then the smells
started - sour, sweet, old, open, dry, alive. There was also noise, but
what it sounded like was unclear... at first, Reg could only be aware of
the absence of the humming of the dozen or so electrical devices that surrounded
him. Warmly silent... and metallic, like chimes. Like a symphony played
on an old phonograph on the other side of a deep forest... like the songs
of shellfish and atoms and expanses in space. It all splashed over him in
waves as he fell and rolled and tumbled. He felt the balance setting in
again and was astonished that he hadn't noticed how much it had faded. It
felt so delicious that he spread his mind out to envelop as much of it as
he could.
****
Zephyr sat alone in his office with the Angels game playing quietly on the
radio, Connor's notes at his left hand and Reg's notes at his right. He
had to compare the documents to make sure there were no discrepancies, and
he swore it was like comparing Pidgin shorthand to Vulcan binary. Someday,
his obituary should read, "Among Mr. DeCastle's crowning achievements was
his success in translating Flynncode into Ertzcode."
"Hey, Zeph?" Marsh asked suddenly, poking his head in the door.
Zephyr jumped. "Gah. Try sneaking up on me a little more loudly next time."
"Sorry. I just thought you should come see this."
"See what?" Zephyr grumbled, hoping it wasn't another one of Shauna's annoying
health articles.
"Um." Marsh bit his lip nervously. "Reg is acting strangely. We thought
you should make sure he's okay."
Zephyr leapt up (not quite as quickly as his heart did, but not behind by
much) and followed Marsh into the hall. The elevator was at the lower floor,
so they opted for the stairs. Marsh opened the stairwell door to reveal Shauna
and Mariluz standing in front of Reg's workstation. Reg sat motionless in
a chair in the corner.
"He's out, Zephyr," Mariluz whispered when she saw him. "Out like a stone."
"Looks like a petit mal seizure," Shauna added.
Zephyr resisted the urge to belt Shauna. "For the last time, Reg does
not have epilepsy! Okay? Don't you ladies have some work to do upstairs?"
"Go," Marsh told them helpfully.
Zephyr managed to avoid doing Marsh bodily harm, too. His temper was really
getting out of control, but that was only because of all the stress he'd been
under. Starting with his mother. But Marsh had been buckling under his
own stress, and had every right to remain here... besides, he was Marsh.
He and Zephyr may have been equals now, but Zephyr still thought of Marsh
as the boss.
"You can go back to work, too," Zephyr told him. "I can handle this."
He wished he was as sure of that as he sounded. Reg phased out habitually,
but Mariluz was right... he looked really gone this time. He seemed far beyond
unresponsive; well into lifeless.
Zephyr approached Reg. "Hey, Reg. Hey man. Can you hear me?" He touched
Reg on the arm...
...and Reg practically flew into the air. Then he crumpled against the
bench. Marsh came running as Zephyr heard himself shout.
****
A sudden jolt shot through Reg's body, firing all of his synapses simultaneously
and causing a burst of excrutiating, universal pain.
What was that? the other voice demanded. All energy was supposed
to be diverted down here! Why was everything reactivated?
Reg wasn't sure, and tried to overcome the blanket of confusion. He discovered
that his eyes worked again, so he opened them. Zephyr's face filled his vision,
and it was crooked. His arms worked, too, he realized as one of them was
pulled on. It hurt to be pulled like that. Certain places along his left
side hurt, too. The bench pressed against those places.
He allowed his will to return throughout his body and sat up. Zephyr and
Marsh fussed over him. A cup of water appeared in his face. He didn't want
water, but he remembered what Zephyr said about staying hydrated and took
it. As his consciousness increased, he again became aware of the flow of
electricity in the wiring around them, of the heartbeats of Zephyr and Marsh,
and all of the familiar sounds and smells of the workshop.
Zephyr was asking him if he was okay. "Yes," he said. That seemed to have
the desired effect of calming Zephyr down, and calming Marsh down as well.
Reg wondered whether there had been enough time for the other voice to reestablish
balance.
Nearly back to normal, it informed. I can finish while you work.
"I will work now," Reg told Zephyr. He put the empty cup in Zephyr's hand
and started to stand up.
"No!" said Zephyr. "You might be sick."
Reg was surprised. "Not sick. Work."
"But... are you sure?"
Zephyr's energy was running far too high again. Reg wanted him to get back
to normal. It was time for everything to get back to normal. Reg considered
for a moment how to communicate to Zephyr that it was time to be calm, and
finally settled on one method. He took Zephyr by the arms and kissed him.
"Mmmph," said Zephyr. "Uh. Okay. He's okay, Marsh."
Marsh's energy output had increased as well. But he had turned to face
his workstation. At least Marsh understood that it was time to work.
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