Opening his eyes he found himself staring into darkness, he blinked a few times but the impenetrable black remained and in that moment he found himself unable to move. Slowly, sensation began to return to his body. He inhaled deeply and couldn’t smell anything about the room he was in and all he could hear was the soft his of an environmental processor circulating the scentless air. Beneath his neck and shoulders, then down the length of his back and arms as his nerves suddenly seemed to come alive, he could feel the soft comfortable surface he lay on—he could also feel the slightly too cool air trace the contours of his naked body.
Once he could feel his hands, he effortlessly raised one to his face and could make out the outline in the dark as his eyes adjusted. He then touched his face, physically mapping his features that felt familiar yet distant, slowly ending at his cleft chin with its rough days’ worth of stubble. After a few moments he could feel his legs and feet, so after a quick wiggle of his toes to make sure they were working, he slowly sat up then swung his legs over the side of the bed. Though his body had only just felt as it was connected to his brain, his muscles felt strong and relaxed, with everything seeming to work as it should. He cleared his throat, feeling the only hint of pain as it felt raw, as though he hadn’t had a drink in a while or had been shouting—though he couldn’t saw which.
“Computer, lights to twenty-five percent.”
In a second, the lights came on and bathed the bedroom in a soft glow. He blinked at the sudden illumination, but the discomfort passed in seconds as he looked around the room. Other than the typical furniture the single piece of artwork on the wall was generic, like what would be found in a hotel. On the dresser, he noticed a stack of neatly folded clothes with a pair of boots on the floor in front of it. There were two doors opposite one another, one likely for the bathroom and the other for the living space he guessed. Picking the one on the left side of the bed, he stood up gingerly, though his legs held strong and his balance was excellent.
As the doors parted he found he’d chosen the bathroom, where the lights automatically came on to the same level of the bedroom. Though he couldn’t recall the last time he’d showered or used the toilet, he didn’t feel as though he had to fill any of those needs, so moved to the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. Just as when he’d touched it, his face was both familiar and not at the same time—he knew it was him, but it felt as though this was the first time he was looking at himself. Other than needing a shave, nothing looked out of place. His eyes were clear, dark blond hair cropped short, and he had what looked like a long-healed scar above his right eye, which struck him as odd as a dermal regenerator would’ve cleared that up without a mark.
He looked at himself in the mirror, becoming acquainted with his face. As he looked something in the back of his mind shot through his synapses before hitting the speech centre of his brain.
“Hunter.” He blinked at himself.
“Hunter,” he echoed. “Kincaid. My name is Hunter Kincaid.”
As soon as he said his own name it felt right, it felt like him and it settled into his skin and finally made his face more familiar to him. A lopsided grin curled the corner of his lips. The smile quickly faded as nothing else came to him, nothing about who he was or whatever life he had lived before waking up on the bed in the other room.
He took a moment longer in the mirror before going back into the bedroom and pulling on the clothes and boots waiting there for him, then headed into the living room. Like the bedroom the decorations made the space look less barren but didn’t feel like anything personal to him, whilst the furnishings were pretty standard with a small seating area and a desk with a screen above it.
“Computer, where am I?”
“Guest quarters, level twenty section thirty-two,” the computer obediently told him.
“But where?”
“Jupiter Station, Sol System.”
“Jupiter Station?” Hunter asked himself. “What am I doing here?”
The computer chirped. “Please restate inquiry.”
“Computer, can you open a channel to sickbay.”
“Acknowledged.”
A moment later the mechanical feminine voice of the computer was replaced by a real woman’s voice, her tone professional yet reassuring, “This is the infirmary, how can I assist you?”
“Um, yeah, hi. I’m in crew quarters on level twenty and I have no idea how I got here.”
There was a pause. “I’m sorry?”
“I’ve just woken up here and had no clue I was on Jupiter Station, no recollection of how I got here, and, other than my name, I don’t know anything about who I am.”
* * * * *
Hunter lay on the biobed in a private room just off the main ward of the infirmary, absently drumming his fingers on his chest as he looked around the room once again for something to distract him from the gaping hole in his memory. Since medics arrived at his quarters and took him in he’d had several doctors and experts look at him, running scans, taking samples and performing tests. But in the last hour there had only been a medtech taking him some water, so he could only assume everyone else was busy going over all the data they’d collected from him. The beeping of the medical monitor above his bed told him his heartrate was steady and relaxed which, given what he was suddenly having to deal with, was reassuring.
The doors parted with a whisper and he instantly sat up as Doctor Shiravadakar, the stations chief medical officer, stepped inside quickly followed by behemoth Andorian who stood head and shoulders above the human physician. If his stature was indication enough, the crisp red tunic he wore screamed ‘security’, whilst the lieutenant commander braids around his cuff told Hunter he was in charge of the department. The unlikely pair approached the bed, the Andorian quickly sizing him up.
“Mr Kincaid, how are you doing?” Shiravadakar asked, her voice holding genuine concern.
“I’m holding up, Doctor. Do you have more tests to run?” he asked, trying to ignore the Andorian whose eyes were like laser drills boring into him.
She shook her head. “Not at this moment. We’ve completed the preliminary assessment, however it has posed more questions than answers.”
His brow furrowed. “How so?”
“You are in exceptionally good health, no pathogens or injuries as far as we can tell. There is some evidence of old injuries, likely sustained in childhood or adolescence, though nothing out of the ordinary—a fractured wrist common from falling off a hovercycle, a broken arm that could’ve been caused from falling out of a tree, and a cranial fracture I’ve seen more than one parrises squares player come into my sickbay with.” As she said that his hand went to the scar on his forehead, though no memory of how he got it came with the revelation.
“However,” she continued, “there is nothing we can detect that might explain your loss of memory. The closest our scans indicate is that you are in a dissociative fugue state, though exactly why is a mystery.”
Hunter’s scowl deepened. “‘Dissociative fugue state’?”
“It’s a condition triggered by severe trauma or stress, it prevents people from recalling their past, so as a means to survive and adapt the brain creates a new identity which is typically accompanied by unexpected travel. However, in your case our scans show no sign of any physical trauma or heightened stress levels that would explain it.”
“So, even though all I know about myself is my name, you’re saying even that might not be real?”
Shiravadakar gave him a sad smile. “I’m afraid so.”
“Can it be treated?”
“Therapy, sometimes hypnosis, and there are some medications that can help. I’ve asked Doctor Simmons to come and speak with you when you’re feeling up to it, he can advise you of all the options in more detail.”
With an appreciative smile he said, “Thank you, Doctor. Whilst it might not fill in the huge gap, at least I know why I have it.”
Before she could reply the Andorian, who’d been as still as a statue, cleared his throat. Shiravadakar gave him a scowl, before turning back to him. “Mr Kincaid, this is Lieutenant Commander ch’Vhahliq, chief of station security. He wanted to ask you a few questions if you were up to it?”
Hunter shrugged. “I was wondering when security would be here to interrogate me.”
The CMO looked at the Andorian as she addressed Hunter. “It’s not an interrogation, not in my infirmary at any rate, the lieutenant commander just needs to clear a few things up.”
“Better get it over with now, since the commander is right here.”
Shiravadakar stepped to the side and clasped her hands in front of her, whilst ch’Vhahliq stepped forward. “Mr Kincaid,” he began, with a voice so deep it seemed to originate in the soles of his feet. “I’ve been reviewing all the information you were able to provide, as well as our own station records and it has flagged a number of…inconsistencies.”
“What do you mean?”
“The quarters you awoke in were listed as vacant, the last person to stay there left three weeks ago, so we don’t know how you gained entry. Add to that no individual with your name or matching your description has been on any passenger manifest in the last month. More pressing however,” he paused, somehow seeming to look over Hunter despite not moving a muscle, “is that fact that the genetic sample that was taken doesn’t have a match in the Federation database.”
“My…what? How is that possible?”
“You tell me. I’d really like to know how someone who seemingly doesn’t exist suddenly appears on my station.”
* * * * *
END
Once he could feel his hands, he effortlessly raised one to his face and could make out the outline in the dark as his eyes adjusted. He then touched his face, physically mapping his features that felt familiar yet distant, slowly ending at his cleft chin with its rough days’ worth of stubble. After a few moments he could feel his legs and feet, so after a quick wiggle of his toes to make sure they were working, he slowly sat up then swung his legs over the side of the bed. Though his body had only just felt as it was connected to his brain, his muscles felt strong and relaxed, with everything seeming to work as it should. He cleared his throat, feeling the only hint of pain as it felt raw, as though he hadn’t had a drink in a while or had been shouting—though he couldn’t saw which.
“Computer, lights to twenty-five percent.”
In a second, the lights came on and bathed the bedroom in a soft glow. He blinked at the sudden illumination, but the discomfort passed in seconds as he looked around the room. Other than the typical furniture the single piece of artwork on the wall was generic, like what would be found in a hotel. On the dresser, he noticed a stack of neatly folded clothes with a pair of boots on the floor in front of it. There were two doors opposite one another, one likely for the bathroom and the other for the living space he guessed. Picking the one on the left side of the bed, he stood up gingerly, though his legs held strong and his balance was excellent.
As the doors parted he found he’d chosen the bathroom, where the lights automatically came on to the same level of the bedroom. Though he couldn’t recall the last time he’d showered or used the toilet, he didn’t feel as though he had to fill any of those needs, so moved to the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. Just as when he’d touched it, his face was both familiar and not at the same time—he knew it was him, but it felt as though this was the first time he was looking at himself. Other than needing a shave, nothing looked out of place. His eyes were clear, dark blond hair cropped short, and he had what looked like a long-healed scar above his right eye, which struck him as odd as a dermal regenerator would’ve cleared that up without a mark.
He looked at himself in the mirror, becoming acquainted with his face. As he looked something in the back of his mind shot through his synapses before hitting the speech centre of his brain.
“Hunter.” He blinked at himself.
“Hunter,” he echoed. “Kincaid. My name is Hunter Kincaid.”
As soon as he said his own name it felt right, it felt like him and it settled into his skin and finally made his face more familiar to him. A lopsided grin curled the corner of his lips. The smile quickly faded as nothing else came to him, nothing about who he was or whatever life he had lived before waking up on the bed in the other room.
He took a moment longer in the mirror before going back into the bedroom and pulling on the clothes and boots waiting there for him, then headed into the living room. Like the bedroom the decorations made the space look less barren but didn’t feel like anything personal to him, whilst the furnishings were pretty standard with a small seating area and a desk with a screen above it.
“Computer, where am I?”
“Guest quarters, level twenty section thirty-two,” the computer obediently told him.
“But where?”
“Jupiter Station, Sol System.”
“Jupiter Station?” Hunter asked himself. “What am I doing here?”
The computer chirped. “Please restate inquiry.”
“Computer, can you open a channel to sickbay.”
“Acknowledged.”
A moment later the mechanical feminine voice of the computer was replaced by a real woman’s voice, her tone professional yet reassuring, “This is the infirmary, how can I assist you?”
“Um, yeah, hi. I’m in crew quarters on level twenty and I have no idea how I got here.”
There was a pause. “I’m sorry?”
“I’ve just woken up here and had no clue I was on Jupiter Station, no recollection of how I got here, and, other than my name, I don’t know anything about who I am.”
* * * * *
Hunter lay on the biobed in a private room just off the main ward of the infirmary, absently drumming his fingers on his chest as he looked around the room once again for something to distract him from the gaping hole in his memory. Since medics arrived at his quarters and took him in he’d had several doctors and experts look at him, running scans, taking samples and performing tests. But in the last hour there had only been a medtech taking him some water, so he could only assume everyone else was busy going over all the data they’d collected from him. The beeping of the medical monitor above his bed told him his heartrate was steady and relaxed which, given what he was suddenly having to deal with, was reassuring.
The doors parted with a whisper and he instantly sat up as Doctor Shiravadakar, the stations chief medical officer, stepped inside quickly followed by behemoth Andorian who stood head and shoulders above the human physician. If his stature was indication enough, the crisp red tunic he wore screamed ‘security’, whilst the lieutenant commander braids around his cuff told Hunter he was in charge of the department. The unlikely pair approached the bed, the Andorian quickly sizing him up.
“Mr Kincaid, how are you doing?” Shiravadakar asked, her voice holding genuine concern.
“I’m holding up, Doctor. Do you have more tests to run?” he asked, trying to ignore the Andorian whose eyes were like laser drills boring into him.
She shook her head. “Not at this moment. We’ve completed the preliminary assessment, however it has posed more questions than answers.”
His brow furrowed. “How so?”
“You are in exceptionally good health, no pathogens or injuries as far as we can tell. There is some evidence of old injuries, likely sustained in childhood or adolescence, though nothing out of the ordinary—a fractured wrist common from falling off a hovercycle, a broken arm that could’ve been caused from falling out of a tree, and a cranial fracture I’ve seen more than one parrises squares player come into my sickbay with.” As she said that his hand went to the scar on his forehead, though no memory of how he got it came with the revelation.
“However,” she continued, “there is nothing we can detect that might explain your loss of memory. The closest our scans indicate is that you are in a dissociative fugue state, though exactly why is a mystery.”
Hunter’s scowl deepened. “‘Dissociative fugue state’?”
“It’s a condition triggered by severe trauma or stress, it prevents people from recalling their past, so as a means to survive and adapt the brain creates a new identity which is typically accompanied by unexpected travel. However, in your case our scans show no sign of any physical trauma or heightened stress levels that would explain it.”
“So, even though all I know about myself is my name, you’re saying even that might not be real?”
Shiravadakar gave him a sad smile. “I’m afraid so.”
“Can it be treated?”
“Therapy, sometimes hypnosis, and there are some medications that can help. I’ve asked Doctor Simmons to come and speak with you when you’re feeling up to it, he can advise you of all the options in more detail.”
With an appreciative smile he said, “Thank you, Doctor. Whilst it might not fill in the huge gap, at least I know why I have it.”
Before she could reply the Andorian, who’d been as still as a statue, cleared his throat. Shiravadakar gave him a scowl, before turning back to him. “Mr Kincaid, this is Lieutenant Commander ch’Vhahliq, chief of station security. He wanted to ask you a few questions if you were up to it?”
Hunter shrugged. “I was wondering when security would be here to interrogate me.”
The CMO looked at the Andorian as she addressed Hunter. “It’s not an interrogation, not in my infirmary at any rate, the lieutenant commander just needs to clear a few things up.”
“Better get it over with now, since the commander is right here.”
Shiravadakar stepped to the side and clasped her hands in front of her, whilst ch’Vhahliq stepped forward. “Mr Kincaid,” he began, with a voice so deep it seemed to originate in the soles of his feet. “I’ve been reviewing all the information you were able to provide, as well as our own station records and it has flagged a number of…inconsistencies.”
“What do you mean?”
“The quarters you awoke in were listed as vacant, the last person to stay there left three weeks ago, so we don’t know how you gained entry. Add to that no individual with your name or matching your description has been on any passenger manifest in the last month. More pressing however,” he paused, somehow seeming to look over Hunter despite not moving a muscle, “is that fact that the genetic sample that was taken doesn’t have a match in the Federation database.”
“My…what? How is that possible?”
“You tell me. I’d really like to know how someone who seemingly doesn’t exist suddenly appears on my station.”
* * * * *
END
