The Missing Link

“It’s called Halar’s Disease.” The nurse in front of me read the interface on the body scan. “It’s an autoimmune disorder where your immune system attacks the healthy cells surrounding your brain stem.”

I blinked stupidly back at her. It was strange to hear words spoken out loud. While most people had the ability to use their voice, it was not the preferred method of communication. Thought was so much faster and more convenient.

What does that mean? I asked her in my head.

“I did not catch that,” the nurse spoke aloud again. She slowly enunciated each word. “You have to speak in order for me to hear you.”

“What—“ My voice sounded strange to my ears, a hoarse sound that made me stop in surprise.

“It means, your body is rejecting your neural link. It probably failed incrementally, and now is not working at all. That is why you are having trouble communicating.”

I squinted at the screen, willing the words to make sense. But no matter how much I stared, I couldn’t read what they said.

If my link wasn’t working, that meant it was not translating the symbols into words in my head. I’d thought it was something with my vision when nothing made sense anymore, but it just meant I lost the ability to read.

“Fix?” I croaked out. Surely nanobots could fix the link and make it function again.

She shook her head, “With this sort of disease, your body progressively gets worse. Even with a new neural link, your body would reject it again within days.”

My heart rate accelerated, as a terrible burning sensation travelled up my chest.

The screen in front of me started blinking several red warning messages.

“You need to calm down,” the nurse said. “Without your link, your body is not used to regulating itself.”

I couldn’t breathe. My vision narrowed as my heartbeat seemed to echo in my ears.

“C-alm…?”

She grabbed my hands in hers. “Breathe with me. In.”

She inhaled deeply, and I tried to mirror the action, though my attempt was more of a gasp.

“And out.” She slowly blew out her breath.

We sat like this for a few minutes, breathing slowly until the burn in my chest stopped and the screen no longer shouted alarms at us.

“You need to keep your body calm until you can regulate better.” I must’ve looked as worried as I felt, for she gave my hand a tight squeeze. “You will survive this. I will get you in touch with the Halar’s support group. They can teach you ancient techniques such as meditation and how to read and write. It will not be easy but you are strong.”

I desperately wanted my neural link to be working so that I could ask it what meditation was. My head was oddly silent without it. I’d lost a piece of myself, and I felt cold inside without its constant communication.

“You will also need to listen to your body. The link won’t be there to tell you when something is wrong…”

I wasn’t hearing her anymore. Nothing else was comprehending. I felt stupid and useless, betrayed by my own body. Humans used to spend years just learning things and now I was back to those dark ages before neural technology had revolutionized everything.

How long did people even live without a link? Forty years? Wasn’t that the average life span before?

I waited for my link to give me the answer but there was just deafening silence. I couldn’t remember because I never needed to know before now. What if I was only going to live another ten years?

The nurse wrote numbers on a piece of paper and handed them to me. “Do you have any devices that can make a call for you?”

I frowned, I didn’t remember. I supposed the interface in my house could make a call. I’d never had to use it before. Normally, I just reached out with my link to whoever I needed to talk to.

“Call the group when you get a chance. They will help you.”

###

I felt exposed leaving the office. Any germ on the street could hurt me. Any fall could break a bone or cause an infection. How was I supposed to function without advanced healing? How was I supposed to know something was wrong?

I waited for the sky bus, but when it arrived, I couldn’t read the destination that scrolled across the window in bright blue letters. I asked the person next to me, but he only gave me a strange look in response, so I decided to walk.

The streets bustled with others, walking to and from their destinations. I could hear the pat, pat, or click, click or clomp, clomp of their shoes against the ground, could hear their steady breathing. But otherwise it was eerily quiet. I was used to the cacophony of voices in my head. I could tune out the thoughts of those I didn’t want to hear, but this silence was louder than the noise had been. The only thing I could hear was myself, my own questions spiraling in my head, unanswered.

I took a few turns on the street before I realized I didn’t know where I was. The link always directed me. I’d ordered a car to take me to the doctor. Now I had no idea how to get back home. No way to call for help.

I turned to the nearest stranger, “Where—?” I couldn’t even finish the question. He averted his eyes and pretended he couldn’t see me, crossing to the other side of the sidewalk

I tried the next person, and they were equally horrified, actually running a few steps to get past me.

Right. I could do this, How hard could it be? I looked at the sign that illuminated the street. The symbols looked vaguely familiar. So I turned there.

A few more streets. Nothing looked familiar anymore. My heart started that crazy fast dance it had done in the doctor's office.

I wasn’t going to make it to forty. I was going to die, right here on a street where no one could understand me.

I leaned against the corner of a building near a window, though the humming display kept squeaking, “Don’t loiter. Don’t loiter.”

I ignored it. I didn’t even know what a loiter was. I knew nothing, apparently.

###

I stared blankly ahead. I didn’t even notice when someone tried to communicate with me for a whole minute before he tried speaking aloud.

“Ma’am, do you need assistance?”

I looked up for the first time in what seemed like hours, tears hot against my cheek. A Peace Officer stood before me, and my shoulders sagged with relief.

I nodded.

“Are you lost?”

Another nod.

“What do you need?”

“Home,” I blubbered. Heat flushed my cheeks at the pity I saw in his eyes. I knew I was a mess. I couldn’t help it though.

When he asked for ID and I had none, he scanned my fingertips and called me a ride.

###

I”m home! My normal greeting, though only silence answered me.

Right. Out loud.

I tentatively called out, “Ryler?”

A dish broke in the kitchen as a response.

When I entered, Nye was in his high chair, while Ryler stood near the stove. He held a spoon frozen in his hand, with shards of a broken dish at his feet.

He stared intently at me, his brow furrowing when I didn’t respond.

I hadn’t communicated with him this morning, so he didn’t know my link wasn’t working.

“I can’t hear your thoughts anymore,” I whispered, unable to meet his eye. “I’m broken—Halar’s Disease.”

His eyes widened as his link explained what my disease was into his mind.

He opened his mouth, to try speaking, but then closed it again. He didn’t know how to speak anymore than I did.

Our communication had always been open. Always sharing stories and laughing together. Growing a life. Planning a future. He didn’t know what I needed, but he could always heat it. Now, we just stared dumbly at each other, unable to find words. Unable to connect.

Paper crunched in my hand. I looked down. The numbers. The support group.

I walked up to the house’s key pad, and pressed the screen. Most of the symbols I recognized. Temperature, Lighting. One strange button looked like a banana. I’d never know what it did before, but I pressed it now. Numbers appeared on the screen and I matched them to the numbers on the paper.

A woman answered, her voice sweet and melodic.

“I—have Halar—I mean my link stopped working and I…” I trailed off. I didn’t even know what help I needed. I just knew that I needed it.

“If I gave you an address, would that mean anything to you?”

“No,” I whispered.

“It’s okay. I’ll send a car. We can help you. You’re not alone in this.”

I didn’t know I needed to hear those words. I blubbered, unable to find the words of gratitude for the strange woman on the other end of the line. I didn’t know how to connect to my family. How to read or to do my job. I was helpless as a newborn child without my link.

“C—“ My voice faltered. “Can you make me human again?”

The woman answered, “You already are human, and that will never change.”

I made a noise, somewhere between a squeak and a wail.

Her voice softened, “You don’t need a link to live. Do you know the best part of being human?”

No.

Silence.

Shit that would take getting used to. “No,” I said aloud.

“You can learn.”