Gravity Rises (S3)

SP: Part Fifteen

(Art by Hannahbanana2604)

WINTER 1993

Percy Pleasure had a front-row ticket to his own death.

It started in 1990, when his arms and shoulders started twitching at random times. Things started slipping from his hands, and it took more effort to write a simple letter.

Percy was frustrated, but largely unconcerned. But he was married to a doctor — and Eleanor knew that something must be wrong. She took him to the hospital where she was working in Baker City, Oregon, and set up appointments with her colleagues to find out what was happening and if it was worrisome.

They quickly ruled out a tumor. Good, Percy thought — then nothing was wrong. He was simply getting old. He was only forty-seven years old — he hadn't expected to think of himself as "old" until he was at least sixty — but his body was already showing the signs of age.

Ellie didn't buy this explanation. She was adamant that the doctors keep looking. A tumor was only one possibility, she said, and Percy was still struggling — his speech sometimes got a slur to it when he wasn't paying attention, and he was losing his grip on things with more frequency. So, for the rest of the year, doctors worked to discover what was going on. And, at the beginning of 1991, they had a diagnosis.

Percy had amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. Lou Gehrig's disease. His body would run down; his muscles would degenerate and become useless; eventually, he wouldn't even have the strength to breathe.

How much longer did he have to live? was Percy's first question. The doctors weren't sure. Perhaps three years, perhaps five, perhaps fifteen. ALS was largely unpredictable, and there was nothing they could do to stop it. They gave him medication that would slow it down — but the medication had its own unpleasant side effects, and it didn't seem to slow anything down. Percy soon found it hard to speak without tripping over his words, and his gait became that of a shambling old man. He couldn't run the Order in this state — not when it exhausted him just to walk down the entrance stairs. He had to pass on the torch and choose a new leader of the Order.

Traditionally, the office would pass to his son, Patrick. But Lord Cipher would have none of that: Patrick was weak, he said — and, as much as it hurt him to do so, Percy couldn't help but agree. So who could he appoint instead? Eleanor?

No, said Cipher. Lincoln.

At first, Percy wasn't sure; but the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. Lincoln was highly loyal to Cipher, and installing him as the leader of the Order would only increase that loyalty. His amnesia made him a good candidate, as Cipher was one of the first people he'd met after losing his memory. Finally, if Cipher could have one of his own Symbols on his side — even leading his cult — then he would bypass any potential problems from the Cipher Wheel.

So, with shambling step and slurred voice, Percy called his final meeting as the Order leader. He officially appointed Lincoln as his replacement. This was at the end of 1991, less than a year after Percy's diagnosis.

Patrick was angry. Percy didn't have the energy to deal with him. Eleanor stepped between them and tried to mollify her son, though she was also angry — not at Percy for appointing Lincoln, but at Patrick for being unworthy to step into his father's shoes. This anger, combined with the stress of caring for Percy in his weakened state, took a toll on Ellie. Yet she stayed faithful, and Percy couldn't ask for a better companion.

It wasn't long before Percy could no longer get down the stairs to visit Lincoln. Then he couldn't walk at all. The year of 1992 was a downward spiral in which Percy watched his own body refuse to respond to his mental commands.