Copy & Waste
A Short Story
By Stephen O'Neil
Part 7 of 9 - First Page - Previous Page - Next Page
Grigori gingerly opened his eyes, taking it slowly with a slight wince as light flooded through the slits. He looked slowly around him. He was in a partially raised position. Not quite upright but not quite laying down either. Arty’s was the only familiar face he saw. The others busied themselves in a professional manner, checking nearby machinery, packing things away, scarcely seeming to notice him, but Arty flashed him a smile. With two fingers held aloft he whispered, “That’s two out of two. We did it again my friend.”
Grigori delicately raised a hand, noting a curious sensation as he used new muscles for the first time. He stared at the hand before him. It was perfectly smooth. The skin bore no blemish. He turned that hand carefully as he raised the other, all the while being watched encouragingly by his old friend.
Grigori shifted slightly and was about to raise himself on to one elbow when Arty quickly moved closer. “Whoah! I don’t think you’re ready to get up just yet. There’s no rush. After all, you have years and years ahead of you now.”
Grigori tried to speak and all that came was a hoarse gasp. He tried again. “Mirror,” he croaked. “I’d like, a mirror.”
“We have one ready right here.”
Arty motioned to a nearby technician who nodded and moved out of view. Moments later she reappeared, wheeling a mirror mounted on a large frame. She moved it in to position over his bed, swivelling the mirror until it faced him.
It took a second for his eyes to focus on the face before him, a face which looked back at him with an expression both of trepidation and wonder. He turned his head slightly, noting the young face as he moved. He raised a hand and gently stroked the smooth skin on top of his head.
“Your hair will grow quickly,” Arty explained. “I wear a hair piece for now but I won’t need it for much longer.” He leaned down and followed Grigori’s gaze at the reflection in the mirror. With a smile he added, “I regret that we couldn’t keep your moustache, but I’m sure you can take care of that yourself.”
Grigori merely nodded numbly before looking up at Arty. “It really worked.”
“Yes. It did.”
“Thank you.”
“Yet another thing we now have in common. We’ll be the first of many. Greg. I’ve scheduled a press conference for next Friday to announce our success. I want you to be by my side. This is your success as much as anyone’s.” He shifted uncertainly, the emotion of the moment almost too much for him, “Well, the doctor here needs to do a few tests to make sure you’re all ok so, I’ll leave you with him. Once he’s done, they’ll bring you out to see everyone. In the meantime I’ll go tell them you’re ok.”
When Grigori was wheeled in to the small room, Arty had to move quickly to stop his daughter from bowling him over. She looked as though she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so after she had embraced her father, she stepped back and did both at once.
“I can’t believe it. I just can’t.” She looked at her husband Brett who nodded and tried his best to appear stalwart in spite of his own amazement.
Grigori looked downward at her swollen belly and the tears now came unchecked. He almost choked on the words he spoke, “I didn’t think I’d live long enough to be a grandfather.”
“Oh Papa. It’s, just unbelievable. You look the same age as me.”
“Well you did always wish for a brother.”
After the laughter in the room died down and Grigori had answered a few of the questions that came, Arty stepped forward. “There will be plenty of time for your father to tell you more about it later on but for now, you will have to excuse us. There are some details that need to be arranged. Things to discuss.”