Read The Apostates for Free Online Page B

back to cautiousness,” a voice commanded. She began to comprehend words and the
meaning of sentences. Slowly, reason and logic crept back into her mind.
    “Hard resetting the neural implant now.
Will this cause any damage to her brain?” a man’s voice asked?
    “It shouldn’t. The neural implant should just restart its biological processes and if there is brain activity then it will begin to interface as normal, and should kick-start consciousness,” a woman’s voice answered.
    Greta could begin to feel the sensation of movement in her limbs. She approached the light that became brighter and stronger as she traveled through the space. Finally, she reached the crest of the opening and grasped at anything she could cling to.
    “She’s beginning to come around!” the man’s voice exclaimed.
    Greta opened her eyes and peered straight
up. She could make out blurred figures but could not discern detail. She let
out a gasp like she had been drowning and tasted air again.
    “Greta! Greta, can you understand what I am
saying? Do you remember me?” a man standing over her
asked excitedly.
    Greta began to remember who she was and what she had done to herself. She recalled that she had committed suicide. The thought made her hate herself. She remembered the last face she laid eyes upon before she slipped away. She remembered his voice, and the face that accompanied it. Greta shot looks around her rapidly, and locked onto one of the three faces hovering over her. She examined his facial structure and those eyes—eyes she knew well.
    “You!” she yelled hysterically. As she gasped for
air she continued to speak, “You aren’t here! You were dead! I died! We
both...shouldn’t be here...” she trailed off—shock and exhaustion ruled her.
    “Greta! We’re alive! We brought you here—we made the arrangements...to get you away from the Regime!” the man attempted to explain. He seemed to realize that it was fruitless in her current state of mind and so he trailed off while squeezing her hand.
    “You have to let her rest first. She’s in shock,” a woman stated.
    “Marco...I...What is happening here...”
Greta tried to speak, became faint, and her body went limp.
    “We need to get her on life support. We should also interface with her neural implant to
monitor traffic. Verify that she is masked from the [Virtue-net]. We can’t risk
any pings to the outside,” the woman instructed.
    As they punctured Greta’s arm for an
I.V. she slipped in and out of consciousness. She felt the sensation of
being lifted off of one bed and put on an adjacent gurney. That was the
last sensation she felt as darkness crept in.
    ⍟ ⍟ ⍟
     
    The air in the mess hall was musty and
stale. The Apostates had done the best they could to refurbish the ship and
remove the stench of a hundred years of neglect.
The room was featureless—no art to speak of. The walls were painted white and
studded with rivets at the seams where sheet metal overlapped. Support
beams crisscrossed the space. Tables that filled the room that had the
appearance of industrial minimalism—no frills. The seats were fixed in
place and attached to the tables via metal lattices that were bolted to the
floor.
    The mess hall was filled with people and
was bustling with activity. Some people were gathering food from the serving
counter and were sitting down to eat, others were finishing up and clearing
trays. Ravine sat at the head of a long table with a small group.
    “What the hell am I supposed to tell her?
Even if she regains her wits, this shit will probably drive her insane,” Ravine exclaimed with a distraught tone. He looked down at his food
and picked at it with a fork.
    “Don’t fret too much. We’ll let her rest up and get used to the idea of being alive. By then she’ll have accepted the both of you are here to stay,” Blaze-Scorch offered the consolation while glancing over Greta’s medical record.
    “I appreciate your thought, but I doubt