Cold Warrior

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When his mind awoke, his eyes beheld only darkness. But his mind was awake. His brain, long the realm of inchoate nightmares from which there had been no awakening, no refuge, and no surcease, processed conscious thoughts.

When he tried to open his eyes, they refused him. He could feel his lids strain and tug, attempting to separate.

He made a frightened noise deep in his throat, and tasted something plastic along one edge of his thick, dry tongue. His throat felt raw.

Then he sensed presences. Something popped out of his right ear and he heard sounds again. Beeping. A steady hum. An oscilloscope. To his mind leaped the image of an oscilloscope.

"Steady, sir," a youngish voice said.

He grunted inarticulately.

Something came out of his left ear, and the sounds were all around him. There were two of them. They were hovering on either side of the bed on which he lay.

At least, he hoped it was a bed. He could not tell. It felt more like a plush-lined coffin.

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