Inversion - 6

Chapter 6

On Monday morning, Laurel woke still exhausted. Sunlight filtered through his bedroom curtains, casting familiar shadows across furniture that seemed somehow more solid, more present than usual. Mornings like this one, when a long-term problem had been solved, were strangely empty instead of being satisfying. Now he would need to find a new problem to pursue. He would be at loose ends for months, it could be, before he would have a new idea to consume him.

The campus coffee shop called out to him. After months of subsisting on vending machine fodder and whatever Maya brought him, the prospect of real food felt like a luxury that was now worth pursuing. Besides, a celebration was in order. He dressed carefully, noting with satisfaction that his clothes fit exactly as before. There were no mysterious changes in height or weight that might indicate rematerialization errors.

The crisp morning air portended winter, and Laurel found himself walking more slowly than usual, savoring the chill. Every step was a small miracle – muscles and nerves and consciousness working in perfect harmony despite having been disassembled and rebuilt less than sixty hours ago.

The coffee shop was already full. Undergrads hunched over textbooks, animated conversations about classes, sports, relationships, and the endless drama of academic life. Laurel ordered his usual – dark roast, no cream, and a chocolate croissant that looked especially appealing behind the glass counter.

He found a corner table with a view of the mountains, their peaks as sugar loaves that caught the morning light like scattered diamonds. The coffee was excellent, rich and complex with none of the harsh bitterness that was the signature of the lab’s ancient machine. The croissant was flaky perfection, butter and chocolate melding in just the right way.

Twenty minutes later, he was scrunched over, his stomach spasming with the most violent cramps he’d ever had experienced. The nausea came next, a churning that seemed to rise from somewhere deeper than his gut. Laurel barely made it to the restroom before his breakfast returned in a series of convulsive heaves that left him dizzy and weak-kneed against the graffitied wall.

Strange. He’d never had such a reaction to any of these things. Could he have suddenly developed lactose intolerance? Food poisoning was always possible, of course, although he would not have expected it to show up so quickly.

He made his way back to his office feeling shaky but still functional. The incident was embarrassing but probably insignificant. He didn’t think it could have been a delayed reaction from the experiment. Maya would be worried if she found out, but there was no point in alarming her over what was probably just a temporary digestive tract rebellion.

Lunch was far worse. A sandwich from the faculty dining room triggered even greater nausea, an even more explosive rejection of anything his stomach’s contents. This time, Laurel noticed something odd: his vomit looked completely undigested, as if his body had simply refused to process what he ate at all.

He made it through his afternoon classes by avoiding solid food entirely and only drinking water. A sinking feeling had crept up that something might have gone wrong with the teleportation after all. The nausea persisted as a constant background presence, with occasional heaving spasms that made concentration difficult.

By evening, he was weak from hunger. Perhaps rematerialization errors took time to manifest, or maybe his digestive system had been imperfectly rebuilt in ways that prevented normal function? He had refused Maya’s suggestions that the test animals be monitored for several days before their autopsies. He’d been in such a hurry. Now it was looking like something important might have been missed after all.

The campus medical center seemed like a reasonable precaution. Dr. Mukherjee, long used to the common hypochondria of pampered faculty, examined him with brisk efficiency. All the vital signs were normal.

“Your symptoms suggest gastritis or food poisoning,” she said, reviewing lab results. “Probably something you ate was disagreeing with your system. I’ll prescribe something for the nausea. You should keep to a bland diet for the next few days.”

The medication provided no relief whatever, and Laurel noticed that he couldn’t keep it down long enough for it to even start to work. Every attempt to consume anything – solid food, juice, broth, even the prescribed pills – resulted in immediate rejection by his rebellious digestive system. Only water stayed down.

By Tuesday evening, he was genuinely frightened. Forty-eight hours without food was starting to really show. He felt weak, dizzy, and completely unable to concentrate on work. Something was seriously wrong.