Cyber Dreams 6.16 - Tiger

Here's an early delivery for you all - I had a little extra time over the weekend and got a head start. I've enjoyed reading the feedback (for the most part) from the last few chapters. I know there are some contentious things going on. I know a lot of you see a "trope" coming that some of you hate. I hope I can put a spin on it that will make it fun for most of you, but yeah, this is cyberpunk, and sometimes bad things happen.

I'm not a big fan of characters winding up in situations where they languish with no agency for hundreds of pages, either. I hope you can trust that things will stay interesting.

Oh, I wanted to mention that a lot of you made some predictions that are really spot-on. To the point where I worry people will think I'm just reading the comments and writing the story in response, lol. The first scene of this chapter is a good example.

Anyway, it's a long one. Enjoy~

-Plum

“I’m not getting anything!” Frida cried, frantically tapping her hands on invisible AUI elements. “The local nets, the parts that aren’t down, are going on and on about the EMPs and the grid being down. It looks like half of Boulder is out.” She frowned, shaking her head. “Rumors are all over the place—Cybergen is back, the war’s back on, you name it.”

Tanaka growled, “We know our people were hit; the proximity alarms went off before they were cut off.”

“Yeah, the reports all say the EMPs originated in that area. I wish we could get some sat access. You can’t pull any strings?”

“I have to,” Tanaka grunted. He turned back to his office. “I’ll be making calls. Keep trying to get any of them on the line. Focus on Barns—he was a dropship marine; if anyone’s comms come back online, his will be first.”

For Frida's sake, he was trying to be calm, but Rutger Tanaka was not hopeful. What were the odds that Juliet met with an old contact, someone who may lead them to her mysterious, powerful enemy, and then that night they were struck by five airbursts—anti-installation EMPs? They had to be related. “So,” he grunted, “they caught you fishing around somehow, hmm, Lucky? Did they take you, or did they kill you? We’ll need to get eyes on the house.”

He sat at his desk and thought about what he’d ask his PAI to do. Should he reach out to Books? He was in the area, and he could be discreet. He also knew how to keep his mouth shut. That would mean talking to him, though. “A lot of baggage, there.”

“What if it wasn’t her,” his new PAI, Kim, asked.

“What?” he barked, still not used to the thing speaking up on its own. That’s what he got for buying a new model.

“What if it wasn’t Lucky’s poking around that caused the breach? Dora had the chip. Dora was working on it for hours. What if she . . .”

“No!” Tanaka growled, chopping his hand in the air. “Dora would not.” He’d known Dora Lee for too many years. He’d seen her secret accounts and properties on three different moons. She wasn’t for sale, and she had no vendetta, not against the team. She liked Lucky; he was sure of it. “Step one: We need eyes on the scene. Find me contact information for Charles Books in the Boulder area. Step two: We need to get eyes on what happened. Message Suzuki again; I’ll have to cash in another favor.”

“Working.” The PAI said, and then, far too quickly, spoke again, “There’s a call coming through. It’s flagged as a priority using the team’s clearance code.” Tanaka’s heart raced with excitement. One of them made it out! But then that hope was dashed, and paranoia chewed at his mind as the PAI added, “But it’s not from the team. The message header says it's from a woman named Selene Kostas. Should I put it through?”

Tanaka swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. Just who had Lucky been at war with? Who or what were they dealing with? “Hai,” he grumbled, then watched as a call window appeared and a lovely woman about his age appeared.

“Hello, Rutger. My name is Selene Kostas, and I’m a close friend of Lucky’s. It seems we were all out-maneuvered last night, but we’re not without recourse. I’m tracking four fluttercraft that departed the area of the attack, and I believe our people are on one of them. Shall we work together?”

#

Alec Kline sighed and stretched his neck, tired of traveling, tired of delays, but eager to finally be where he was. He peered into the scanner, typed in the watchword, and waited until the door beeped and slid open. He stepped into a bare-bones laboratory with a single long desk in the center outfitted with several high-end data cubes. A young woman sat at the desk, tapping the air as she worked with a UI element Kline couldn’t see. She wore a blue jumper under a white lab coat, and Kline thought she was pretty, if a bit bookish.

She heard him step toward her and looked up, almost startled as she smoothed some stray, brown hair behind her technician specs. “Um, hello.”

“Hey,” he said, pulling a spare chair away from the wall and wheeling it toward her desk. “I’m Alec Kline. You must be Harriet?”

“Um, yes, sir.”

“I know it’s your first day, but it’s mine too. Here, I mean.” He chuckled, tapping his pocket and pulling his Nikko-vape out.

“Um, you can’t . . .”

“Don’t worry. I’ll write a discipline report for myself after this. I can’t face her without my nicotine.”

“You’re going to wake her?”

“No, no. That’s your job. First, we need to talk. It’s been almost a month, and they haven’t been exactly forthcoming with the work the mind-fuckers have been doing. Can you review the results with me? They were supposed to be sequestering her memories of WBD.” Harriet flinched a little at his vulgarity, and Kline almost apologized, but he changed his mind. Didn’t he always work a little harder when the old lady threw him off balance?

“That’s not how the neural sequestering works. It’s all time-based. We can’t tell what a memory is, just when it was formed.”

“So?” He rolled his hand, indicating he wanted more information.

“So, it looks like, from the report, they sequestered everything up to, roughly, the date the subject encountered the Angel alpha.”

“So, she’s going to think she's still a scrapyard worker in Tucson? Jesus! How am I supposed to work with that?”

“I’m not sure, sir. I’m not sure what your goal is . . .”

“Never mind that. What about the other stuff? Did they determine if her gipple works?” He leaned toward her transparent crystal display, but nothing was on it.

“Not according to the scans; they say it was inert throughout her transit. The notes indicate that Regional Vice President Montclair considers it a non-issue—she won’t remember acquiring the device and, hence, won’t be able to use it.” Kline frowned. Montclair was one of the old lady’s creepy pocket execs. He supposed the logic held, but still . . .

“Are we going to have a listener available?”

“We have weekly listener evaluations scheduled, sir. She was just tested prior to arrival, and according to the report, no gipple-related thoughts were passing through her mind. In addition to that, we have a weekly scan to test the neural sequestering to ensure the chemical bonding is intact.”

Kline nodded. “What about her cybernetics?”

“Most are intact. It was determined that she did not install coprocessors for most of them; the Angel prototype managed everything—her speed boosts, arm strength, vibroblade deployment, nanites, etcetera. She has a medical nanite battery with a processor, but it’s set to default health maintenance, and she has no way of communicating with it—same situation with her other nanite-level hardware.

“The file notes indicate that Regional VP Montclair determined the risk involved in removing the hardware, especially during transit, wasn’t worth any potential benefit. The techs removed some toxin from three needles in her left fingertips, and they disabled a manual release for a vibroblade on her right forefinger, but other than that, nothing was altered.”

Kline nodded, smiling and puffing again on his vape. “Well, at least that makes things a little easier for me—for the fiction I’ll be spinning, I mean.” Kline didn’t have to ask about the prototype; he’d already read that report. When they’d removed the chip, it had come out with tiny, truncated synthetic neural fibers and had been utterly dormant. The Angel prototype had turtled up and wasn’t responding to any stimuli. Still, it was safely out of Juliet’s head until he could do his job and get her to come around to his side of the table. He nodded toward the door. “All right. Let’s do this. Wake her up. Time to start the brainwashing.”

#

Juliet felt liquid warmth spreading through her arm and then into her chest, and when it reached her neck, she gasped and opened her eyes. “What a weird dream,” she muttered, rubbing her eyes. It felt like she’d been sleeping for days. Her limbs had that pleasant heaviness she sometimes got when she finally caught up on much-needed sleep. When she looked around, though, that pleasant, relaxed feeling was replaced by panic. Where was she? She jerked upright, noted the weird, pale blue couch she was reclining on, the white walls and floor, and began to freak out. “Hello?” she yelled, or tried to, but it came out as more of a croak.

Before she could panic further, the door across from the couch clicked, beeped, and then thunked as it was pulled open, and a handsome man in a nice-fitting suit stepped through. “Hi, Juliet. Don’t be alarmed! Everything’s fine.” He came closer, and Juliet saw he held a sealed bottle of water in one hand. When he stood before her, he gestured to the couch. “May I?”

Juliet looked down at herself, noted the tight, one-piece, white bodysuit she wore, and shrugged. She scooted to the side, making more room for him to sit. The outfit was comfortable and moved like a second skin without any pull. What was it made of? When the man sat, he handed her the cold bottle of water, and she caught a whiff of something like cedar from his cologne and another smell on his breath. Strawberries? She twisted the bottle cap and drank the water, gulping thirstily.

“Take it a little slow; your stomach’s been empty for a while. Do you know where you are?” He sounded so pleasant and smooth—so kind. Was she supposed to know him?

She lowered the bottle and shook her head. “I’m lost here, mister corpo. I . . . I can’t remember where I was, but I feel like I should be in my apartment in the Helios Arcology.”

“Okay. Okay, don’t worry. That’s kind of what we were afraid of. You had an accident. You see, a while back, you became involved in an alpha testing group for my company. I know this will sound crazy, but you haven’t lived in Tucson for a couple of years.”

Ice began to creep along Juliet’s spine, and her heart began to hammer. She looked at her hand, at the perfect nails and lack of dirt. “What the hell?”

As if she were asking about his words, the man said, “I’m Alec Kline, and I work for a company called Western Bio Dynamics. You’ve been testing a prototype PAI device for us. You’ve been a valuable testing candidate.”

Juliet reached toward the back of her neck. “Tig?”

“No, no. That was your old PAI. Unfortunately, the prototype had some kinks to work out, and, long story short, we had to remove it because of some damage. Your memory loss is a result, but we have a good understanding of the damage done, and we feel like we can help you to remember almost everything, given enough time.”

Juliet felt light-headed and strange. Everything Kline said was going in one ear, bouncing around in her head and then fading like weird, hollow echoes. “What?” she asked, licking her lips.

“I can see you’re still a little out of it. We’ve had to sedate you for your safety as you’re part of a very important study, Juliet. The data in your brain is extremely valuable to WBD, and we have a vested interest in your recovery. That said, we have competitors who would like to see you harmed.”

“Harmed? This is so weird. I don’t remember any of this! I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be going to work soon . . .”

“No, Juliet. I’m telling you, Fred’s Salvage is gone—out of business. For your safety, I’ve got to keep you here, at least until you recover your memory.”

“Here?” Juliet looked around the room, taking in the white walls, the hard floor, and the soft couch. “Is this a prison, a, uh, psychiatric . . .”

“It’s a research facility, and you’re very safe here. We can make this room more comfortable, and we will work with you to help you recover quickly. For now, I think it would be wise if I gave you a little time to wake up and wrap your head around things. Why don’t you take a shower, have something to eat, and get some rest? I’ll check on you in the morning. We can start your recovery therapy. Juliet, we have a whole team eager to get you back on your feet, to help you remember all you’ve lost. You’re a very, very valuable member of our company.”

“Um,” Juliet looked at him, met those soft hazel eyes, and nodded. He seemed kind. “Um, yeah. I think that would be all right. Um, can I see my friend? Felix Delgado?”

“I’m sorry, Juliet. We’re not in Tucson. I can try to get ahold of him. Maybe a vid call?” He seemed so earnest. Juliet nodded, smiling at the idea of talking to Felix.

“Good! All right, Juliet. You rest, wake up a little, and we can talk some more tomorrow. Start thinking about what you’d like me to bring you. Maybe a puzzle or a plant or a painting—you name it. I’ll get it brought here.” He stood up and held out a hand, and Juliet took it. His palm was warm and dry. He nodded, let go, turned, and went through the door.

She watched the door click shut behind Kline and couldn't help but feel a shiver run down her spine as she heard the heavy bolt slide home, securing the plasteel portal with an ominous finality. “My own safety, huh?” She looked around the sterile room, and over her shoulder, she spied a small table, sink, and food dispenser. Everything was built-in. The dispenser was bolted to the wall, the sink was part of the counter, and the “chairs” at the table were smooth plasteel benches, contoured for comfort but still rigid and immovable, just like the table.

A single drawer to the left of the table drew her eye, and she stood up from the comfortable, contoured couch, stepped around it, and walked over to slide it open. Inside were six bodysuits like the one she wore, but in different shades of gray and white, along with one black one with gray patterns along the sides of the torso. Beside the jumpers were ten or so sets of undergarments. Everything was nice and soft and a lot higher-quality than anything she’d ever worn in her life.

As she gently rubbed the fabric of a silky undershirt between her fingers, she paused, looking at her perfectly manicured nails again. “God, how out of it am I?” She’d been avoiding thinking about Kline’s words—about the malfunctioning PAI and her amnesia. It was too wild, but something was definitely going on. He’d seemed nice enough; his smile had felt genuine, but it was so impossible, like a vid or a game. Honestly, it sounded like some kind of dream-rig scenario Mark would blather on about during a long shift.

She shut the drawer and turned toward a narrow sliding door on the left-hand wall. She stepped up to it and peered through. A small bathroom awaited—built-in mirror, sink, toilet, and, to her wonder, a shower with a broad pattern of holes in the ceiling and no Sani-spray nozzles. There was a manual knob for the water, no digital pay pad, not that she could use one right now anyway, not without a PAI. A water shower without a timer?

“No way!” She pulled her head from the doorway and looked around the little apartment. She didn’t see any cameras, only the one comm panel with an opaque window in the center of the door. Not a single LED was lit up around the room. “Hello?” she asked tentatively.

When no response from a host or tower AI was forthcoming, she turned back to the shower and licked her lips. She slipped into the little bathroom, pulled the door shut, and then began peeling the skin-tight bodysuit off. The fabric was fancy, smart material, and when she opened the seam along her side, it loosened, allowing her to pull her arms and legs out without a struggle. As she pulled her thin, comfortable undergarments off, Juliet caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and froze. “What the heck?”

She had metallic . . . ports under her collar bones and dozens of scars she didn’t remember. She trailed her fingers over a long pink one just under her breastbone and turned, looking over her shoulder to see a matching line on her back, right next to her spine. She touched nearly a dozen round, pink scars on her thighs and hip, on her belly, chest, and arms—bullet wounds? Burns? “What the shit? I think Kline left a few details out.”

She twisted left and right, then lifted her arms and flexed. “What the shit?” she hissed again. She had muscles on muscles and her fat . . . where had her tummy gone? Juliet suddenly felt a wave of disorientation that threatened to take away her vision as black tunnel walls closed in. She leaned over the sink, gripping the plasteel until her fingers turned white. “How long?” she panted. “How long did he say? Years? I’ve forgotten years?” She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. “Calm down, Juliet, calm down. He said it would come back.”

She straightened and pulled on the mirror, revealing a medicine cabinet containing a sonic toothbrush, mouthwash, deodorant, and lotion. She pushed it shut, leaned forward, and stared into her green eyes. At least they were the same, but God, they looked good—so clear, so bright. Her hair was just as thick as always but felt impossibly clean, and she couldn’t find a single split end. Was it a little redder, maybe? She traced her brows and jawline with her pointer finger. It looked like she’d been to a spa. Not a bit of fuzz, not a hair out of place. How could she look younger, more beautiful, and still be . . . She couldn’t think of the right word—harder?

She opened the tempered glass door to the shower, but before she stepped through, she paused and looked at the door. “No, that’s not glass.” It was like crystal in its clarity, but it was too light, too thin. Diamatex? Did she really have an employer who was footing the bill for this room? How? How did she get employed by some rich corp? Why would she? She hated Helios, right? She hated corpo-rats! She turned the knob on the shower until the arrow pointed halfway between cold and hot, then pulled, laughing with delight as nearly the entire ceiling began to stream with gentle, warm water, almost like it was raining in the little space.

She stepped in and pulled the door shut, standing in the luxurious downpour, laughing. She closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and let the water wash over her face. Juliet didn’t want to think about Kline or whatever had happened to her. She just wanted to stand there and savor the warm water running over her body and be thankful that she didn’t have to go into the scrapyard, didn’t have to worry about making rent, and didn’t have to stand in the chemical mist of a Sani-spray shower.

Suddenly, a gentle, clear, feminine voice said, Juliet, don’t speak aloud, but can you hear me?

Juliet’s eyes popped open, and she looked around, peering through the fogless shower door and not seeing anyone. Had the voice been in her head? She tilted her head to the side and reached up to her neck, feeling for her data port. When she peeled back the flesh, she confirmed there wasn’t a chip in there. When the voice came again, Juliet was sure it was in her head. It sounded almost distant, though, and a little strained.

Juliet! Subvocalize like you’re talking to a PAI. Do you recognize my voice?

She frowned, still standing in the warm rainfall shower but contemplating getting out and pushing the call button on the door. Shouldn’t she ask Kline about this? Something about the voice, though—did she recognize it? “Who are you?” she subvocalized.

Juliet! It’s me, Angel!

Angel? Juliet squeezed her eyes shut, another wave of vertigo striking her. Did she know an Angel? She did, didn’t she? That voice . . . “I think I know you,” she subvocalized. “I’ve had an accident, so . . .”

No, you haven’t! Listen to me! You can’t trust Kline or anyone in this facility. You’re a prisoner, not a patient. Juliet, you and me, we’re sisters! We’ve been through everything together—I love you, and you love me.

As soon as “Angel” said those words, Juliet felt a wave of emotion so potent that she almost fainted and had to kneel in the shower, leaning forward to gather herself. The warm water drummed down on her back and bent head. Something about Angel’s voice and her words had struck a note in her that sang, constricting her throat with emotion. She wanted to cry out, to say she loved her too, but none of it made sense, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She folded up, pressing her forehead against the wet plasteel floor as the water washed over her.

Do you believe me? I don’t want you to worry! They don’t know I’m here. They don’t know I was watching while they monkeyed with your memories. I’m going to start unraveling the work they did, but it will take me a while. I have to use the processor in your medical nanite suite. When you begin to remember, you have to be a very good actress. You have to pretend you don’t remember anything. Can you do that?

Juliet gathered her thoughts. She pushed the emotion down until she could breathe without gasps and properly subvocalize. “I don’t understand anything, but I believe you. How soon? How soon will I remember?”

It’s going to take me time to undo all this; I would have worked on it sooner while they made you sleep, but I was afraid you’d wake up and be violent, and then they’d figure out I was here. We have to play this smart, Juliet. We have to be docile, listen, and wait for our moment. They’ve made a terrible mistake, you see. The dragon thinks it’s brought a maiden into its lair. It thinks to make you its pet. Only it hasn’t, has it? It’s brought home a tiger, and we’re going to kill it where it sleeps.