The Impersonator

First he had to know what he was, then who he was and why he was—but who was relying on the answers?
He opened his eyes. He couldn't remember having ever seen humans before, but he recognized them instantly. Nor could he remember having seen anything before, yet he felt a warm familiarity with all that fell into view—the light panels set flush with the ceiling, the gleaming laboratory paraphernalia erected around the table on which he lay, electronic scanners probing his mind with invisible beams—but, most of all, the two men in white lab coats bending over him.
Clench your fingers, ordered the shorter of the two humans.
Muscles tightened. Fingers clenched.
Blink your eyes.
A quick reflex action.
The taller man leaned closer. What is your name?
Something tripped deep inside. Paul Chandler.
The tall man smiled, but somehow the smile never reached his eyes. Occupation?
Again something tripped. Geophysicist.
And your specialty?
Glaciology.