Chapter Ten
Strange Times
“Michael, dammit! I am Michael Karl Pine!” He rolled his eyes . . . he was pretty sure the left one was moving, but damn it was fuzzy and not dependably coordinating with his right eye.
“I’m worse than anyone at using my old name. But by the time the arm comes off, I want to be used to it again.”
Gustav nodded. “Yeah. And you’re a couple weeks ahead of me. Well, I guess it never occurred to me that miracles took time, and effort. But Holy God, thank you for sending me to my nephew Gogi!”
Michael nodded. “Yeah. Hadn’t realized that was how miracles worked. And the sense of humor. I mean, the ocular falling off into my spaghetti?”
Gustav grinned. “Yeah. Looking forward to it, myself. I already can’t see anything but fog, and maybe some darker blurs.”
“Mine’s not much better than that. Sam says it’ll be fine in another month.”
“He tells me to stop complaining and have a beer.”
Michael grinned. “Yeah, the universal prescription, around here.” He pulled out his pirate’s eye patch, and put it on. “Absolutely necessary for reading . . . and the news is getting . . . interesting.”
The Plague, by then, was well known to be a poison in the city water supply system. Serebryanyy, one of Solzhenitsyn’s other T3s, had been hit earlier in the year.
But the 300? That was a direct hit at the seat of ultimate power.
And as more information slowly oozed out—amid rumors that the Government of Solzhenitsyn was censoring the news—it became clear that a large number of the 300 might have been killed.
And a lot of people shifted out of the large cities on Solzhenitsyn, and Boreal was one of the common destinations.
Gogi’s little resort Inn quickly became the home of twelve old women and their twenty-two grandchildren. Or great grandchildren, grand nieces and nephews . . . A few governesses and tutors.
All packed into the east wing.
Gogi boggled a little . . . then bought a “build it yourself” pavilion they set up in the woods between the clinic and the Inn and turned it over to the kid minders as a school. All lessons canned. And the trail to the picnic look-out got a lot of wear and tear.
He added Diana to the group and helped a lot himself.
Nine . . . Michael, dammit, helped where he could stay out of sight. He’d stopped shaving his head and with a long-sleeved shirt and work gloves could pass pretty well, around the old hotel.
Much humor and betting, as to just where the last Cyborgs’ oculars would fall off—one in soup, one at night, and Gustav while eating ice cream.
They applied Scar Reduction Impressions around their eyes, and started looking ordinary, unremarkable, as their vision recovered . . . Sam said they’d had to regrow all new lenses.
The clinic had several busy weeks as the fully automated surgical unit, with Sam nitpicking the personalization and details, removed the cybernetic arms, both power accumulators, and the cyborg plates.
But they all recovered well, and got back to work on the Waterfall Tourist Trap.
Trying hard to use their names, not numbers.
Up at the waterfall, he didn’t have to be so careful about being seen. Cabins went up the woods, for them, not for sale. Their stores opened, and they moved out of the old Inn.
As the north wing of the Inn gradually emptied of former Cyborgs, it got a quick overhaul and was taken over by new families fleeing the threat of the plague.
Gogi built a second pavilion, added bathrooms . . .
Then Gogi started a house construction project. Well scattered, around the north side of the Inn and down to the highway, each with their own water well. The houses sold as fast as they finished them. And Gogi sold land for a store across from the clinic . . .
As the Plague panic eased . . . very few people left. The middle generations moved in and reclaimed their children. Bought houses, and the Inn started looking like an old folks home . . .
By the end of the year they were talking about forming an official town . . .
The Hidden Waterfall was getting regular business, not that they needed much income, but the former Cyborgs were cheerfully paying their way, and if they admitted that they’d never be able to repay Gogi, at least they weren’t an ongoing burden.
Gogi laughed at them. “The money was from a court settlement for what happened to Gustav and his sister. I used it to find Gustav, and in the meantime experimented on all of you. And . . . sheesh. I need to sit down and catch up on my paperwork. I may have made so much money on house sales—built with your labor—that I’m repaid. Dang. What a strange idea . . .”
With travel restrictions lifted (again) Gogi headed for Home, and the Annual Vogel Family Trust Meeting.
Gustav growled, but stayed home.
Everyone else told Gogi to come back safely. Preferably with women.