Come out, his doctors told him. Come out whenever you feel inclined. The world is out here. You can come when you're ready.
It was a womblike safety. He grew stronger in it. Once he had lain in his cot, disinclined even to move, leadenlimbed and weary. He was much, much stronger; he could feel moved to rise and investigate this stranger. He grew brave again. For the first time he knew that he was getting well, and that made him braver still.
The man behind the pane moved, reached out his hand, matched it to his on the window, and his numbed nerves tingled with excitement, expecting touch, expecting the numb sensation of another hand. The universe existed beyond a sheet of plastic, all there to touch, unfelt, insulated, cut off. He was hypnotized by this revelation. He stared into dark eyes and a lean young face, of a man in a brown suit; and wondered was it he, himself, as he was outside the womb, that hands matched so perfectly, touching and not touched.
But he wore white, and it was no mirror.
Nor was it his face. He dimly remembered his own face, but it was a boy his memory saw, an old picture of himself: he could not recover the man. It was not a boy's hand that he reached out; not a boy's hand that reached back to him, independent of his willing it. A great deal had happened to him and he could not put it all together. He didn't want to. He remembered fear.
The face behind the window smiled at him, a faint, kindly smile. He gave it back, reached with his other hand to touch the face as well, barriered by cold plastic.
"Come out," a voice said from the wall. He remembered that he could. He hesitated, but the stranger kept inviting him. He saw the lips move with the sound which came from elsewhere.
And cautiously he moved to the door which was always, they said, open when he wanted it.
It did open to him. Of a sudden he must face the universe without safety. He saw the man standing there, staring back at him; and if he touched, it would be cold plastic; and if the man should frown there was no hiding.
"John Sheridan," the young man said. "I'm Michael Garibaldi. Do you remember me at all?"
Garibaldi. The name was a powerful one. It meant Babylon 5, and power. What else it had meant would not come to him, save that once they had been enemies, and were no longer. It was all wiped clean, all forgiven. John Sheridan. The man knew him. He felt personally obligated to remember this Michael but could not. It embarrassed him.
"How are you feeling?" Michael asked.
That was complicated. He tried to summarize and could not; it required associating his thoughts, and his strayed in all directions simultaneously.
"Do you wish anything?" Michael asked.
"Pudding," he said. "With fruit." That was his favorite. He had it every meal but breakfast; they gave him what he asked for.
"What about books? Would you like some books?"
He had not been offered that. "Yes,' he said, brightening with the memory that he'd loved books. "Thank you."
"Do you remember me?" Michael asked.
John shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said miserably. "We've probably met, but, you see, I don't remember things clearly. I think we must have met after I came here."
"It's natural you'd forget. They tell me you're doing very well. I've been here several times to see about you."
"I remember."
"Do you? When you get well I want you to come to my apartment for a visit sometime. My wife and I would like that."
He considered it and the universe widened, doubling, multiplying itself so that he was not sure of his footing. "Do I know here too?"
"No. But she knows about you. I've talked to her about you. She says she wants you to come."
"What's her name?"
"Lise. Lise Gwent."
He repeated it with his lips, not to let it leave him. It was a merchant king name. He had not thought of ships. Now he did. Remembered dark, and stars. He stared fixedly at Michael's face, not to lose contact with it, this point of reality in a shifting white world. He might blink and be alone again. He might wake in his room, in his bed, and not have any of this to hold onto. He clenched his mind about it with all his strength. "You'll come again," he said, "even if I forget. Please come and remind me."
"You'll remember," Michael said. "But I'll come if you don't."
John wept, which he did easily and often, the tears sliding down his face, a mere outwelling of emotion, not of grief or joy, only profound relief. A cleansing.
"Are you all right?" Michael asked. 709Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVXkaQP9UpW
"I'm tired," he said, for his legs were weak from standing, and he knew he should go back to his bed before he became dizzy. "Will you come in?"709Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxmnkNVmigp
"I have to stay in this area," Michael said. "I'll send you the books, though."709Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEEqBwTnitR
He had forgotten the books already. He nodded, pleased and embarrassed at the same time.709Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDOUF3tSAhD
"Go back," Michael said, releasing him. John turned and walked back inside.709Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNkZSQ8xHoF
The door closed. He went to his bed, dizzier than he had thought. He must walk more. Enough of lying still, if he walked he would get well faster.709Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjcNN9EGEcB
Michael. Lise. Michael. Lise.709Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTte3ywRqwt
There was a place outside which became real to him, to which for the first time he wanted to go, a place to reach for when he turned loose of this.709Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeIJ59stZuB
He looked to the window. It was empty. For a terrible, lonely moment he thought that he had imagined it all, that it was a part of the dream world which shaped itself in this whiteness, and that he had created it. But it had given him names; it had detail and substance independent of himself; it was real or he was going mad.709Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOcEI6A73X3
The books came, four cassettes to use in the player, and he held them close to his chest and rocked to and fro smiling to himself and laughing, crosslegged on his bed, for it was true. He had touched the real outside and it had touched him.709Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGkuKdffjPf
He looked about him, and it was only a room, with walls he no longer needed.709Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡG1Tp6Mt3T6
709Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡR702QG9FL4
709Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡefWqmsjEed
