“Does he need to be tied up still?” Dan asked, and I shook my head urgently. Being tied up wasn’t my idea of a good time.
The doc smiled kindly. “I think it’s for the best, for now. Don’t worry, Julius, we’ll have you up and about soon enough.”
Dan protested, but stopped when the doc threatened to send him out of the room. He took my hand instead.
My nose itched. I tried to ignore it, but it got worse and worse, until it was all I could think of, the flaming lance of itch that strobed at the tip of my nostril. Furiously, I wrinkled my face, rattled at my restraints. The doc absentmindedly noticed my gyrations and delicately scratched my nose with a gloved finger. The relief was fantastic. I just hoped my nuts didn’t start itching anytime soon.
Finally, the doctor pulled up a chair and did something that caused the head of the bed to raise up so that I could look him in the eye.
“Well, now,” he said, stroking his chin. “Julius, you’ve got a problem. Your friend here tells me your systems have been offline for more than a month. It sure would’ve been better if you’d come in to see me when it started up.
“But you didn’t, and things got worse.” He nodded up at Jiminy Cricket’s recriminations: Go ahead, see your doc! “It’s good advice, son, but what’s done is done. You were restored from a backup about eight weeks ago, I see. Without more tests, I can’t be sure, but my theory is that the brain-machine interface they installed at that time had a material defect. It’s been deteriorating ever since, misfiring and rebooting. The shut-downs are a protective mechanism, meant to keep it from introducing the kind of seizure you experienced this afternoon. When the interface senses malfunction, it shuts itself down and boots a diagnostic mode, attempts to fix itself and come back online.
“Well, that’s fine for minor problems, but in cases like this, it’s bad news. The interface has been deteriorating steadily, and it’s only a matter of time before it does some serious damage.”
“Waaagh?” I asked. I meant to say, All right, but what’s wrong with my mouth?
The doc put a finger to my lips. “Don’t try. The interface has locked up, and it’s taken some of your voluntary nervous processes with it. In time, it’ll probably shut down, but for now, there’s no point. That’s why we’ve got you strapped down—you were thrashing pretty hard when they brought you in, and we didn’t want you to hurt yourself.”