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Breakdown

Jeff glanced down, eyes stinging from sweat and wind.

His muscles ached, arms straining as he fought for sensation in his numbed grip. It was a small gap, if only he could breach it. Nearby a bracket branched from the wall. Desperate for an anchor hold he stretched, feet and hand scrabbling for purchase on the smooth masonry walls.

The rusty metal took his weight; protested; gave a heart wrenching squeal.

He watched, detached, as the bracket fastenings broke; then he fell, thousands of feet, to his death.

 

"Nooooo....."

Screaming, Jeff sat up. The violent move snapping the ties that held him and filling the room with pungent ozone sparks. The image died.

Shaking he removed the Suit; peeling the plastic from his sweat coated flesh. He trembled from shock and unaccustomed exercise. Other plasta-sealed figures. His wife and, he vaguely recalled, his daughters. Two? How many did he have? Nearby monitors, fastened with umbilical cables, registered their pleasures and pains.

Household sensors detected his movements. Ancient mechanisms, stiff from unuse, powered the lights on. Jeff blinked rapidly in the ochre glow. His eyes, now pale blue and bleached by the harsh screen radiation, were too unaccustomed to it. Eyes watering he turned morosely to his Suit, finally remembering which switch turned the machine off. The sporadic sparking died.

The Suit was a wreck.

Still shaky he sat amidst the tatters. So that was a bad Trip!

Wiping his forehead with a rag, he stood. Thirst sent him, walking ungainly, into the adjoining room; a bare cube furnished with a simple chair and a small hatch on the wall opposite the door.

It was strange without the Suit.

Making his way to the hatch he fiddled with the buttons, attempting to decipher the patterns beside them.

What were they?

Words?

On the third attempt he found a suitable combination and a passable Cola float was levered into the tiny alcove, the hatch opened. Taking the plastic mug, he sat on the chair, retrieving a peculiar bracelet from beside it. The hard metal corners scratched his skin and forced crystals of crimson blood to the surface. Recognition surfaced in his mind.

The tiny screen flickered into life.

"72/E3FRE/7/ND/25.4 active," the membranous voice buzzed. "Please provide identification."

"FREND," Jeff muttered automatically, softly slipping the P.A.C onto his wrist.

The screen flickered at his words and the delicate sensors tightened the alloy strap to a perfect fit.

"Jeff! Long time no see. How was the Trip?" FREND's patronising joviality irritated him. "What made you step into reality?"

"It wasn't so I could hear your lisp," Jeff grated, picking out FREND's sensitive point.

"Uh oh. Bad Trip, huh?"

"Just got a headache," Jeff grunted. "Okay."

"No problem, I'll call the analgesics."

FREND's screen flickered briefly and another plastic cup appeared in the alcove, it fizzed slightly.

Grudgingly Jeff collected the cup, then returned eagerly to the chair, his muscles unused to long distance walking. The drink was good.

He yawned.

Suddenly he felt very tired.

Moaning, he held his head as threads of consciousness registered the hammering thuds which plagued his brain. Slowly the ache lessened and he opened his eyes. The glare was searing.

He was on the chair, twisted into awkward half shapes that pulled and stretched his back and legs. Ignoring the pain he straightened out; carefully lifting his legs to the floor.

Standing, the act itself producing a nauseous spin, he stumbled to the food processor. Uncertainly he hacked at the controls producing a large glass of sparkling water.

"Christ, what's wrong?" he asked.

"Apologies are required," FREND admitted guiltily. "I overestimated the required amount of medication. You nearly overdosed."

"Overdosed? You mean you nearly killed me!"

"It was an error," FREND added again. "I won't repeat it. Can we stay friends?"

"Next time," Jeff complained bitterly, "let me know what you're doing. Maybe I can stop it happening."

"Affirmative," FREND acknowledged sarcastically. "Further medical treatment will only be given on request."

Jeff ignored FREND's remark, instead he looked at his hand and body. His skin pale and sagging. He remembered his children.

"How long have I been in the Suit?" he asked, puzzled.

"Thirty point three five years," FREND smirked. "Doren's been in her Suit for Thirty three point eight two. She's had eleven children, nine of them yours, all Suit inseminated."

"Nine children?" Jeff puzzled. "But surely I'm not that..."