Cyber Dreams 4.54 - Epilogue Part One

Happy Friday, everyone! Enjoy today's chapter. Epilogue Part Two will be delivered on Monday, then I'm taking a 1-week break from Cyber Dreams. :)

Love to hear your feedback! If you think I messed up the SOA card, let me know. 

-Plum

Juliet checked the proximity sensors to see that the Lady Hawk was following the flight path she and Angel had laid out. She saw the little interceptor was keeping a close, almost perfect position off the starboard side of the Wing. Angel had created a new daemon, a more robust one than Fido, that was more like a limited AI for all intents and purposes. She’d downloaded “him” into a data deck Juliet had purchased, and they’d plugged that into one of the robotic mechs from the secret cargo space. Now that mech was flying the Lady and doing a pretty darn good job of it. “Your pilot program seems to be doing just fine.”

“You mean Maverick?” Angel had named the new entity after some pilot in an ancient dog-fighting movie.

“Uh, yeah, Maverick.”

“Well, it’s a good thing Callisto doesn’t require a pilot’s license to depart. I suppose I could fake one for him as I’ve been doing for you, but it adds another level of risk.”

“I know, I know. I need to take the assessment. As for Maverick, we can get someone from the Kowashi to meet us and bring the Lady into port.” Juliet thought for a minute, then asked, “You have the assessment, right? Maybe I’ll take it while I recover.” With the current positions of Jupiter and Earth, if she and Angel maintained a comfortable 1G of acceleration, they had almost nine days of travel ahead of them, and she’d decided to make use of some of the Cybergen implants Troy had given her. With Angel operating the autosurgeon and a mech to assist, there wasn’t much they couldn’t manage.

“You have to connect to a secure testing server, so we’ll have to wait until the delay between us and Luna is minimal. It should be doable during the last day of transit.”

“Sounds like a plan then.” Juliet checked the nav systems one more time, then pulled herself out of the acceleration couch. She walked through the ship’s clean, soft-white corridors to the lift and then down to the med level, as she’d been calling the bottom level, where the two med bays sat waiting for patients.

While she walked, Angel went over their plan again, “So, day one, today, we’ll install the Cybergen medical nanites. They should help speed up your recovery. Day two, we’ll do the big operations: lungs and full body speed enhancement.”

“And the uh, nose . . .”

“Olfactory implant. Yes, I didn’t mention that or the auditory implant upgrade because they’re trivial in comparison to the other two.”

“Are you sure the lungs are the right move?” Juliet was nervous about the operation. It felt like a big deal; she wasn’t just adding something new to herself, as in the case of the nanite suite, but she was having a major organ, well, two of them, removed. “We’re sure the autosurgeon can handle it?”

“The autosurgical suites on this ship are more robust than the robotic surgeons found in a typical chop doc shop. They’re equipped with extracorporeal membrane oxygenation systems, so we’ll keep you nice and oxygenated during the extraction and implantation. As for whether I think it’s a good idea, we’ve been over that! These lungs will . . .”

“Right, yeah, I remember. You don’t have to go over it all again.” When Angel had read the manifest in the secret cargo hold, she’d spent a long time trying to convince Juliet to replace not only her lungs but several of her organs. Juliet had been against the idea at first, still was a little against it, but she’d finally relented, agreeing to try things out with the lungs, mainly because of the benefits Angel had described—they’d far outperform her natural ones when it came to exertion that included intense physical activity and—and this was the clincher—high G situations. Of course, there were plenty of other cool benefits; she’d be able to function in low-oxygen environments and could go without breathing for up to half an hour thanks to the dense layer of “molecular oxygen sponges” inside the synthetic organs. “I’m just a little creeped out by the filters.”

“The ports are small, and you’ll hardly notice them with the synth-flesh covers.” Angel had already told her as much—if Juliet wanted the lungs to be able to filter toxins from the air she breathed, including things like anti-personnel gasses, she’d have to accept that she’d have a couple of thumbnail-sized ports where the flexible filters could be removed for cleaning. “They’re only for toxins, mind you. Your new nanites will clean and dispose of Impurities in the air. You should only have to clean the filters very occasionally.”

Juliet entered the med bay and opened the compartment that hid the access panel for the secret cargo hold. “Show me a picture of what the ports look like again, will you?” An image appeared on her AUI of a woman’s chest. She had a small, circular stainless disk under each clavicle. “Eh, they don’t look bad. I probably don’t even care if we put synth-flesh over them.” She stepped into the secret hold and walked over to the cabinet containing the Cybergen implants.

“I wish you’d reconsider the heart as well . . .”

“Angel, I know you’re trying to improve me, like, make me tougher and harder to kill and all that, but let’s go one step at a time, yeah? I feel like I’ve already agreed to about ten steps.” She opened the refrigerated cabinet and began scanning the many plastic, hermetically sealed boxes. She didn’t have to look long before Angel highlighted the boxes she needed. She reached up, grabbed one of them, and read it to herself, “Cybergen Auditory Implant, Model 47. Huh.”

“Huh?”

“Well, it’s not very creative. I expected something like ‘Indigo Hummingbird Thunderclap, blah, blah.’ You get the idea.”

“Well, Cybergen was one of the original manufacturers who became known for augmentative, not simply replacement, implants and prosthetics. They were pioneers in the cybernetic industry, recognized as the top in their field. They didn’t do much marketing, hence the somewhat lackluster naming conventions.”

Juliet pulled the rest of the boxes down, reading them off, one by one, “Cybergen Enhanced Pulmonary Implant, Model 17. Cybergen Nanomedical Repair Matrix, Model 9. Cybergen Advanced Olfactory Sensor Array, Model 23B. And,” she grunted, lifting down the last case, much larger than the others, “Cybergen Kinetic Response Amplifier, Model 3C.” She turned the case over, looking at the plain, nondescript labeling. “This won’t make me jittery like Don, will it? This stuff is pretty old, Angel.”

“This ‘stuff’ is old, but it’s far more sophisticated than whatever Don had done in his back-alley wire-job.”

Juliet snorted at Angel’s description. “Tell me how you really feel.”

Of course, Angel took her literally. “Well, this unit has many components, the most invasive being the neural interface, which won’t be necessary; I’ll handle your increased synaptic speed just as I have been for you up to this point. The other major components are muscle and tendon augmentation materials, which are elegantly installed alongside your existing natural tissue. We’re essentially incorporating some artificial fibers and nanomaterials to enhance your natural capabilities. The biobatteries are also quite something, far smaller and with greater capacity than the ones in modern cybernetics. I wonder how or why that technology was lost when Cybergen was dismantled.”

“Well, didn’t their entire manufacturing infrastructure get nuked?”

“Yes, their cybernetics facilities were destroyed alongside their artificial humanoid manufacturing plants.” Juliet gathered the boxes up in a stack and, peering around the side of her burden, walked up the steps to the med bay. She’d heard the term Angel had used, artificial humanoid, but only in snippets during lectures about the Cybergen-Takamoto AI war, and it was all vague to her.

“What was the deal with that? The um, artificial humanoids? They weren’t synths?”

“Cybergen’s artificial humanoids were the precursors for modern synthetic beings. Originally, they were essentially developing bodies for their true AIs. During the war, they ramped up the manufacturing process and began implanting the bodies with their soldier AI chips. That was at the height of the conflict and when things began to turn in a direction that seemed to be accelerating rapidly toward the destruction of life as humanity might recognize it.”

While Angel spoke, Juliet walked back down into the secret cargo hold. She stood in the doorway for a minute, staring at Athena’s portable server, softly humming as the cooling system did its constant work to keep her from melting the substrate of her artificial mind. “That’s when some of the other AIs withdrew and began protesting the war, while others secretly helped end it?” She was guessing at the second part; everyone said Athena had refused to take part in the war, that she hid herself away, but from what Juliet had seen, she felt like Athena had done more, that she’d been working with people in hiding, trying to bring down the two megacorps and their mad lust for domination.

“I believe so.”

“Can she hear us?” Juliet stepped toward the console, resting a hand on the silver case, secure in its dock.

“I believe so. She’s connected to the systems in this room. I still haven’t had a response to any of my queries.”

“That’s all right. I bet she’s just getting to know us a little. She’s thinking about things and waiting for the right moment.” Juliet gently tapped the silver metal with her fingertips, then returned to the med bay, closing up the secret room. She laid out the boxes on a stainless rolling cart and pushed it next to the autosurgeon. “Where’s your mech?”

“I’m piloting it here now. I’d had it stationed in front of the airlock. Are you ready? You can get undressed and climb onto the table. Today’s procedure should be relatively short. I anticipate it taking less than an hour to change out your medical nanite systems.”

“I guess so.” Juliet felt like she should be excited about the upgrades, but she kept battling with herself about it—part of her wanted to be stronger, faster, and more formidable. Part of her felt weird about constantly altering herself, moving further and further away from the girl who’d grown up in Tucson, the girl who’d been a talented welder, a nut about fast cars, and who didn’t worry about anything much beyond the coming weekend and how she was going to make rent. She snorted at that thought; worrying about rent and working long hours in the scrapyard hadn't been fun. Still, she’d liked herself and been confident about her convictions.

She was finding that despite all of her new skills, knowledge, and worldliness, she doubted herself more than ever. Of course, when she brought it up with Ming, the AI shrink thought she was just reeling from the too-recent loss of Nick and that she was romanticizing the past, forgetting about all of the negatives—rose-colored glasses and all that. She had to admit there was some truth to that. Things had not been too rosy back then, not when she’d been in the thick of it. “I’m just being a chicken 'cause that autodoc is going to be cutting me to pieces.”

“I will most certainly not allow this autosurgeon to cut you into pieces!”

“Hah! Sorry for the hyperbole.” Juliet stripped down to her underwear and climbed up on the cushioned surface of the surgical table. “Hey! It’s warm!”

“I told you it was high-end! It’s designed with comfort in mind.”

“Wait ‘til I tell Ladia there are autosurgeons nicer than hers.”

“While you wait for me to prep your surgery, I thought you’d be interested in seeing your updated SOA card. All of your jobs with Nick and the one Larry filled out for you before he assumed his new identity have come in.”

“Sure, why don’t . . .” Juliet cut herself off with a laugh as the card popped up on her AUI:

“Oh, well, thanks for putting my old scores in parentheses.” Juliet examined the numbers, and her brain started to melt before she’d gotten through half of them. “I don’t even remember what all the plus numbers mean.”

“Each tier, A, B, C, etcetera, requires a certain number of positive ranks to increase. Here’s a table.” Angel created a small table in her AUI that read:

“But not my overall score? How can I have been D forty?"

“Oh, operator rating is always on a scale of one to a hundred. Your overall rating is now C-13, and it will remain C until you get to C-100.”

“This is great, I guess. It’s fun to see how I’ve advanced, but it’s also a lot of bullshit. Larry gave me a rating for ‘infiltration and espionage,’ but I didn’t get any of that from my work at Grave? That’s stupid.”

“Well, we didn’t leverage that. Remember, we were surprised to get any sort of rating at all from Rachel Dowdell. Knowing what we know now, we should have negotiated with Dowdell to ensure you got the proper ratings on your SOA card. You also didn’t get a rating for that from Voronov, and I’ll accept responsibility for that oversight—I wrote the contract. I’ll do better in the future.”

“Oh, relax. I’m not mad or anything. Honestly, does it even matter? Everything we’ve learned, the connections we’ve made, the ships, my upgrades . . .” Juliet trailed off, trying to find the right words. “I guess I’m just saying I’m not worried about getting work. My SOA card could say F on everything, and I still wouldn’t be worried.”

“Well, that may be, but keep in mind that you don’t know what the future may hold. Having a respectable SOA card could open many doors down the road.” While Angel spoke, the door slid open, and one of the shiny, chrome mechs stomped into the room, walking up to stand beside the autosurgeon bed.

“Okay, I’ll concede your point, Angel. Now, tell me, are you going to need that hunk of metal to operate on me?”

“Not today, but when we do your full-body speed augmentation, I’ll use the mech to position your body on the table.”

“My body? I’m still in here!”

“Oh, I mean you! Sorry, Juliet!”

Juliet chuckled, but the exchange made her wonder—how much of ‘her’ was her body? Was it at all? If she slowly changed out every part of herself with cybernetics, would she still be Juliet? She liked to think so, but was that just some kind of evolutionary quirk? To Angel, Juliet wasn’t her body. Was she right? So, what, then, was she? She’d always enjoyed those sorts of questions, and she supposed Angel might have just missed the nuance of the word or the concept of the difference between moving her body around and moving “Juliet” around, but she also wondered at Angel’s perception of her. Their interactions occurred in Juliet’s head. Angel didn’t look at her, not unless Juliet looked in a mirror . . .

Angel interrupted her musing. “Are you ready to begin?”

“Yeah, sorry, just getting lost thinking about weird stuff. Okay, Doctor Angel, please be gentle.” Juliet felt something cold in her arm, and she’d just glanced down to see that Angel had already inserted an IV needle without her noticing when she saw the black walls of unconsciousness closing in. Then she was out and dreaming of racing down an open highway, wind blowing through her hair.

#

Sir Rodric Barrington sat on the edge of his bare plastic cot, his feet on the cold concrete, staring at the scratches on the opposite wall. He twitched his toes. They were cold, and he wasn’t used to any part of him being less than perfectly comfortable. They’d issued him some disposable printed slippers when he first got admitted, but on his second day, he’d torn them to shreds in a fit of frustrated rage. Now, the guards ignored him when he asked for new ones.

“One, two . . .” he trailed off, afraid his neighbor across the hall would hear him. He reached out with one shaky hand to trace the scratches, trying to figure out if they meant something. He’d tried counting them, tried converting the different groupings into letters of the alphabet, but he couldn’t make sense of them. Maybe they were just what they looked like—random scratches left by the last madman to inhabit his cage. He shivered and rubbed his upper arms briskly, trying to stimulate some blood flow. Why was it necessary to keep the prison so chilly? He’d tried to ask one of the guards but been shoved and struck for making the noise.

Rodric lifted the hem of his blue, printed tunic and looked at the pink rash spreading over his flaccid belly. He sorely missed his hypoallergenic Rose Carrington signature undergarments. A distant wail broke him out of his self-pity for a moment. As the sound echoed and faded, snatches of mad gibberish came to him from the cell across the corridor. Rodric shivered as he remembered his glimpse into that hellish space on his first day. He’d seen a large, pustule-riddled man furiously pleasuring himself in broad daylight.

For some reason, the memory made him look at his toilet, sitting openly in the corner of the tiny cell. He supposed the connection was clear enough—private things made public. Rodric had a bashful bladder, and he’d been struggling to urinate to the point that he was starting to refuse fluids. He tried; he’d stand over the toilet for minutes that bled into hours, trying to piss, but no matter how badly he had to go, as soon as it began to splatter into the water, his gut would clench up, and his mind would begin to race, wondering what the freaks around him were thinking as they heard his urine splashing into the water.

Of course, Rodric had demanded a private cell, one with an actual closing door, not open bars. Of course, he’d been ignored. His attorney had changed his contact info. His friends had forsaken him. His daughter and wife were lying about him. His other children, the three who’d taken his calls, were ineffectual, and that was entirely his fault. Hadn’t he spent the last few decades ignoring them? Hadn’t he cut them all out of the business, sending them their allowances to pursue whatever stupid projects or piddling careers they fancied? The others, the socialites and layabouts, were of no help.

Rodric shivered and scratched at his rash, shifting on the bed. His bladder was full again, and he knew he’d have to keep holding it. If only he still had his PAI! Ravina could block out the sounds, even fill his vision with a peaceful glade, complete with a crashing waterfall. He’d be able to go then! They’d taken her, though, and left him dumb and hobbled. No, he’d have to wait until the guards came to take the inmates to lunch. Rodric was fed in his cell; too many inmates wanted to kill him, apparently. Yes, lunch was the best window. Noise would fill the echoing hallways, and he’d know his neighbors were out—it was the only time he could relax enough to piss in peace. “Goddamn you, Dennis.”

“Goddamn you, Dennis!” the lunatic across the hall screeched, his high-pitched manic voice echoing up and down the cell block.

“Shut up!” Rodric barked, and that’s when others took up the chant. Echoes rang up and down the concrete hallway.

“Goddamn you, Dennis!”

“Shut up!”

“Goddamn!”

“Dennis, Dennis, Dennis!”

“Shut up!”

“Goddamn you, Dennis!”

Rodric clapped his palms over his ears and flopped onto his side, rocking back and forth on his cot's hard, cold plastic. To drown out the cries of the mad fools around him, he began to hum a tune, something he’d heard when he was a kid, something that had stuck in his mind—a song from school, a fight song the band played. As he remembered those days, the camaraderie, the rivalry, the excitement he’d had about the future, tears began to stream down his cheeks, and his humming turned into something more like a wail.