Worldwired
“No one touched her there; she couldn't feel Richard or Alan, Patty or Jen, Charlie or Leslie. She couldn't feel herself, or the Benefactors, or even the Montreal. It was perfectly silent, and perfectly safe, and perfectly warm. And perfectly alone. Carver Mallory, she thought, naming a boy she's heard talked about but had never met. I've wound up like Carver Mallory, crippled and locked in my own head. She reached out and found nothing. The last sensation she remembered was the pressure on her opened hand as Papa slid the wire into her chip, and then falling, and then the dark. She wondered if this was what it had been like for Leslie and Charlie, adrift in space. She wondered if she would ever find her way home. At least it was warm, warm and quiet . . . But she was bored. And time went by. She became aware of sensation. None of the ones she'd been expecting—not the softness of sheets or the smell of antiseptic or the hum of a ventilator, and not the prick of a needle in the crook of her arm.
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