Mister Carson

Darkness reigned until the man forced his heavy eyelids open. At first he thought he could not see, or it was simply too dark. Gradually though, his eyes adjusted and the gloom around him lessened.

The room was a small square. Certainly large enough for one person, but by no means spacious. The walls were made of smooth dark metal. The man himself was seated in a metallic chair, lighter in colour than the walls, dull silver. It was not an uncomfortable chair, but he felt like he had been sitting there for weeks. Standing took an effort, but his muscles would thank him later for the stretch.

The right half of the wall facing the front of the chair had a segment resembling a door that he knew would not open at his whim. To the left of the room was a low, thin, metallic bed, or bench, also light in colour, attached to the inside of an alcove. It was covered with a suitably thin mattress and blankets. In the back right corner was a toilet. The man touched the seat and was surprised to find it mild. In fact, the air around him was balanced, neither hot nor cold. This place was being regulated.

He sat back on the chair, wondering if they would come to him. He felt rather fatigued; he only wished he knew why. He assumed they knew he had woken. He placed his arms comfortably on the armrests and stretched his back. "Hello," he tested, then louder.

There was no sign of cameras or voice recorders, but his memory was so vague and incomplete at this time that he knew neither the year nor where he was.

Maybe undetectable observation devices were in use.

The door slid open with a faint whirr and someone entered. The man heard the footsteps, almost rhythmic on the metallic floor. He opened his eyes. The newcomer stood in front of the closed door. He was clad in brown pants and a buttoned-up white coat, and was neither tall nor short. Close-shaven brown hair and a wide hairless face completed the effect of a middle-aged man with an air of great aptitude in his field.

He turned his hands so his palms were facing outwards, a friendly gesture to accompany his warm smile. "Welcome, Mister Carson." His speech was slow and precise.

"Where . . . where am I?"

The smile broadened. "Safe and sound. No need for worry."

"I'm not worried," Carson replied flatly. "I'm just not sure what's happened to me."

The smile slid away. "I expect you'll find your quarters satisfactory."

With that, the scientist, if that was what he was, left the room.

"Wait!" It fell on deaf ears.

Carson could only assume the door was programmed to open for the one man alone. He stood up and paced around. Mister Carson. Not much of a name, but it was a start. And the first step in recapturing his life.

* * *

It might have been a day, or two or three. Carson's exhaustion got the better of him and he slept most of the time. Not that there was much else to do. Three times a day a small basic meal was served, through a panel on the wall to the right of the door. A flat attachment slid out with the tray. It appeared to be weight activated, for once the meal was lifted the attachment disappeared and the panel closed. The panel itself was undetectable by touch and to the naked eye.