Automata

Chapter 8

When Oliver awoke, he instantly felt his chest swell with pride. He had done it! He pushed himself up into a sitting position on the table. Stabs of pain shot up his arm from his wrist, so he put all the weight on his other arm. He sat on the table for almost an hour, the minutes ticking on and on as he tried to prompt himself to move, but he couldn't summon the strength to do it.

But even as his body was stiff, his mind was active. He was so elated with his success! "Everything's gone perfectly," he thought to himself while ignoring a gnawing pain deep in his abdomen. He thought of how impressed the university board would be, and how every man in London would praise him for his bravery and ingenuity. He would have to write down all his experiences and findings before any of it slipped from his memory. No one would be able to deny the facts. This science really works.

His mind began wandering, and he envisioned in his mind's eye his automatons spreading across the far reaches of the American west and East Indies, their metal bodies marching across continents and bringing prosperity wherever they passed. He saw them in all medical facilities in the far corners of the world, doing what doctors could not. And he saw future generations of schoolchildren looking at portraits of him and hailing him as one of the greatest scientists of the century. He heard history speak his name, and it was music to his ears.

Finally, Oliver was able to spur his muscles to move, and he slowly turned his torso to look around the shop. And proceeded to eject his stomach over the side of the table onto the floor. He hacked until it seemed like there could be nothing at all left inside his body. He wiped his mouth and gasped for breath. His throat burned, and there were black clouds spotting his vision. For a few minutes, he returned to his neutral, unmoving state, his body urging him to prevent any more pain. Slowly, without him realizing, exhaustion once again overcame him.

When Oliver woke up, he could see that it was early afternoon, though it struck him that he did not know how many days he had been unconscious. The air in the workshop felt cold and thick with humidity, creating an atmosphere of nausea when paired with the smell of dried blood and rotting organs. Oliver held back a gag as he lifted his head to see the sorry state of his environment. The table surrounding him was badly stained with blood, and the floor was covered in vomit. The automatons still stood, though they had a ghostly appearance as if they had been abandoned long ago. Seeing the state of everything, Oliver decided that it must have been only twelve hours or so after the operation.

Suddenly, a realization struck Oliver and he frantically looked down to where one winding key was extending from his chest, and two more from his lower abdomen and the side of his waist. With a shaky hand, he wound each of them as tightly as they would go and released them. He felt relief wash over him. He could not believe that he had almost forgotten about them. They were keeping him alive, after all.

Oliver sat up and cringed as he felt some of his incisions open slightly and leak out blood. He smiled through the pain, though. Every instant that he was alive just validated him. He had been right. He began whistling to himself to distract from a sickening, incessant ticking feeling that he felt deep in the pit of his stomach. He started out with a slow and solemn melody at first, but eventually grew to a more up beat, elated tune. He smiled as he looked around the shop in a new light, seeing the unmoving automatons not as haunting gravemarkers, but as statues commemorating the greatness that had been accomplished there. Though in reality it was quite cramped, the workshop had never felt bigger.

Oliver felt a gnawing in his stomach and knew that he likely needed to eat something soon. He lifted his arm, but his body cried out in intense protest to any movement. He realized that he probably should have put more consideration into what he would do after the surgery. He had just felt so spurred on after his argument with Lester that he had not put much consideration into the consequences of beginning the operation immediately.