Chasing the Cure and Other Stories

Chasing the Cure

Winner of the SciFi Holiday Contest -- June/July 2020. 

General prompt: Innovation

Story specific prompt: "By putting forward the hands of the clock you shall not advance the hour." -- Victor Hugo

***

I remember the first time I woke up, it felt like I was drowning. I remember finding it amusing, a different sensation that provided relief from the persistent drone of agony. Then, the fluids drained and I saw my body reflected off the glass of my chamber. They had used a special type of fluid for me, but I couldn't help but feel that they had gotten it wrong. My itches started again; the phantom bugs making their rounds. I scanned my waking mind for memories of my medicine. It did little to soothe the torment, but knowing where it was helped my return to an unforgiving lucidity.

It took a while for all forty of us to wake. The ship's A.I. pilot gave us the same briefing it did a ship's year ago, right there in orbit. A medical liaison from Earth, now fifty years ahead of us, will contact us in designated rooms and brief us on the situation down below. She'll have our file so she'll know why we went on this trip in the first place. The most important piece of information she will give us is whether or not we have to go for another one. I have my doubts that any of my fellow passengers would want to know any more than that. I think many of them, like me, wouldn't hesitate to use all three allowed trips to achieve their singular goal.

"Good Afternoon, Mr. Chan. I'm Dr. Janet Arbaury, Medical Director of the Cure Chaser Program. How was your trip around the black hole?"

I had my mental defenses up when I saw the lady on the screen, and for a while, I lowered it. She was wearing a gray turtleneck and had her auburn hair tied in a neat ponytail. I did not see a doctor's coat or a stethoscope draped around her neck. That was a positive in my book; too many of those wielding a tool for the heart had told me that I had problems with my head. No doubt I wanted to be hopeful; it would be pointless being on this ship otherwise.

"I'm afraid there's still no cure, Mr. Chan," the smile she had worn was gone faster than she had donned it. "There just hasn't been enough research interest in your condition."

"Even after fifty years?"

I wasn't sure why I tried to hide the disappointment in my voice, but it was hard to do with borderline despair in the mix. Dr. Arbaury turned her gaze downward for a moment, the blue in her eyes showing a tinge of darkness.

"You must understand, Mr. Chan, that when you left, not many doctors took your condition seriously. The lack of clear physical signs and the reports of non-existent insects made it difficult to believe it was anything more than just delusions. Even right now, only about sixty percent of researchers acknowledge its authenticity."

"Oh, so more people think it's real now?" I could feel my own eyes widening-up.

"Yes. The consensus at this point is that it's some type of genetic skin disorder. There are people looking into this, though not many. Do you know of any relatives with similar symptoms?"

I looked away from the screen, showing my palm to demand a pause. It was so irritating, having to hear this again.

"Before I got on this ship, Dr. Montgomery from Princeton told me that very same thing and that he would look into it, " I said as I jammed a finger at the web-cam. "Has he really done nothing?!"

There was a display shelf above where Dr. Arbaury was sitting, showing all her certificates and awards behind a glass cover. It seemed to be facing a window, the view outside projected onto it as a faint reflection. I could see some kind of megastructure, large shadowy shapes stacked on more large shadowy shapes. I wondered if she had chosen this scene as her backdrop, to serve as a reminder to calling patients who think they can shout their way into getting what they want. Aside from that first look downwards, she had not broken eye contact with her web-cam.