The New World

Great Desert

The hotel alarm clock roused Mens from his slumber. It was 6 a.m. His headaches had disappeared, but his internal clock was only appearing to him with intense effort.

Flickering, he got up and headed for the bathroom. His reflection in the mirror worried him: his complexion was ashen, the red rims of his eyelids accentuating a sickly impression.

He showered, dressed and quickly left the hotel for the railway station.

In the departure lounge, he daydreamed, glancing distractedly at the screens that were broadcasting various news items on a loop. Weather reports appeared with their usual views of cloud masses moving across the continents.

Suddenly, what he saw awakened him from his torpor. The satellite images of the west coast were replaced for a few seconds by a still image of the Force clutching the mouth of a puma in his delicate hands. Convinced he was the prey of hallucinations, he looked around; his neighbors seemed unperturbed.

Thoughtful, he boarded his train. The journey gave him a chance to get some sleep.

In the cab from the railway station to Wamash headquarters, a dull anxiety nagged at him. Why wasn't the network responding to his attempts to connect by thought? He couldn't access his morning newspaper, usually whispered in his mind. Finally, he convinced himself that the numerous drugs he had abused in the previous days were the cause of these deficiencies. And the headache kept tormenting him.

The cab left him under the colonnades and he quickly headed for the entrance to the building. Just as he was about to pass through the gate, which was supposed to unlock itself thanks to the impulses of his implant, he almost did a somersault: this time, the gate had remained blocked. Under the somewhat ironic gaze of the guards in their gatehouse, he recovered with great difficulty by holding on to the parallel uprights of the gate, stepped back and headed for the gatehouse.

"What's going on?", he asked one of the guards.

"Something's wrong, come and see for yourself."

Mens approached. The guard turned the screen so he could read through the glass. A message blinked: Login unavailable.

"What does this mean?", he asked.

"I'm sorry, you're unknown to the system. I can't let you in."

" Come on, I've been working here for ten years", he protested.

He nervously reached into his pockets and pulled out a photo ID card.

The guard stared at him suspiciously.

"Brother Inspector, it's probably just a fault with your communicator. I'll have to take you to the infirmary, where they'll examine you."

A man-at-arms came to fetch him. They entered the building and reached the infirmary, where he was asked to sit down. During the seemingly interminable wait, he wondered what was going on. Was he being treated like a stranger at the Wamash? Doctor Hidelmann received him in an emergency cubicle, seated him in an armchair and fitted him with a helmet bristling with wires. After a brief examination, he removed everything and invited him into his office to deliver his diagnosis.

"Your implant shows intermittent abnormal behavior. But we have only limited resources here, so it's impossible for us to examine you further. If the case persists, you should go to the Cure Center for a more precise diagnosis. In the meantime, I'd advise you to get some rest. This may just be a case of temporary fatigue."

"I can't stop at the moment, I'm on such an important case."

"It's always the same", sighed the doctor.