Flesh Blood Steel

by David Jones

  “Exactly.” Anya’s pupils grew wider, her breath quickened ever so slightly. The girl liked technology.

  “What’s it feel like?” Anya’s brother asked.

  She swatted him on the stomach.

  “What? I’ve always wanted to ask one of these things that.”

  Jake stared at his previously injured arm. The skin showing through his burned jacket appeared pink and new. “It feels incredible, but it’s making me hungry.”

  “Go get some food.” Anya swatted her brother a second time.

  “I’m supposed to be guarding him.”

  Anya held out her hands indicating Jake and the room at large. “Well, you’ve done a bang up job so far. Why don’t you take a break from all this hero work, hand me the rifle, and go get us something to eat?”

  He gave her a baleful look, but then handed over the rifle and left.

  “What’s your brother’s name?”

  “How did you know—never mind. It’s Calvin.” Anya propped Calvin’s rifle in the corner nearest the door.

  “You don’t think you’re going to need that?”

  Anya quirked an eyebrow at Jake. “We both know that if I need it, I’m probably already dead.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” Jake said. “I just want answers.”

  “Alright, start asking. But one at a time. I don’t’ think as fast as a cybrid.”

  “Who did this to me?” Jake gestured toward his head then the rest of his body. Though he felt no particular difference, he had to admit his hands and arms looked older than he remembered.

  “You were made a cybrid by a company called Cymobius. You work for them.”

  “They turned me into a cybrid so I could work for them?”

  “Sort of. It’s more complicated than that, I really don’t know all the details.”

  “But this job—I have to be a cybrid to do it?”

  Anya nodded.

  “And what, exactly, is the job?”

  Anya shrugged one shoulder, her gaze fixed on Jake. “You’re an assassin.”

  Chapter 4

  Recover

  Jake slumped against the wall. “That’s not possible.”

  “Aren’t you wondering why no one came rushing up here when you broke that?” Anya gestured at the hospital bed.

  “Why didn’t they?”

  “Because they left the building. They’re afraid of you—what you can do.”

  “But there were eight of them.”

  “Exactly,” Anya said.

  Jake leaned against the wall, shaking his head. “Then why did you stay?”

  “I told them I could handle you. You’re my mission.”

  Jake wiped a hand across his face—his chin and cheeks itched—and it came away covered with dark whiskers. “What’s happening to me?”

  “I told you. You’re growing younger, your body’s changing to match your mental image of yourself.”

  Though he had dreamed of growing a beard since he was twelve, the whiskers on his face felt foreign, alien even. He rubbed harder, suddenly desperate to rid himself of them all at once. Stubby hairs cascaded onto the carpet in a semicircle about his feet.

  “This is insane.” Jake stared at the whiskers on his palms. Part of him didn’t want to believe a word Anya said. But how could he deny what he was seeing?

  “I know.” Anya’s expression softened. She squeezed her lips tight, a sign of sympathy. “I’m sure all this is overwhelming. Give it time and I promise things will start to make sense.”

  Jake dusted his hands off on his slacks, though whiskers clung to him. The pesky things clumped between his fingers and under his nails, itching.

  “Feelings coming back in my hands,” he said as much to himself as Anya. He had worried he might not be able to feel anything ever again.

  “Good,” she said, watching him closely, her interest in his condition resurfacing.

  What was it with this girl? Jake felt like some prize specimen under her microscope. “A minute ago you said that I’m your mission. What did you mean by that?”

  Anya grew still, her face as calm as he had seen it. He got the distinct feeling she was about to lie to him, except her body language and the micro-movements of muscles around her lips and eyes said she was being truthful.

  “A lot has changed in thirteen years. America isn’t what it used to be, and neither is the world.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “You didn’t wreck your car today. What happened to you was no accident. Someone tried to kill you.”

  Jake straightened up, his eyes focused on Anya’s face. No micro fissures, no tiny dip of her head, or even a telltale increase in the pulse at her neck. She was not lying.

  “Who?” he asked, his voice cold as glacial ice.

  She shrugged. “You’re a killer. It’s not like you lack for enemies.”

  “Don’t call me that,” Jake said.

  “The minute we saw your car, saw who was in it, I knew we could save you. I convinced Moore that I could keep you under control, and he gave me permission to bring you back here.”

  Calvin reappeared in the doorway loaded down with homemade sandwiches in plastic bags and three cold sodas. “I raided someone’s fridge.”

  Jake’s stomach and throat tightened with a yearning hunger he had never felt before. He still had no clear picture of where he was or who had kidnapped him, but curiosity fled in the face of that all-encompassing need. His hands shook as he snatched the first sandwich Calvin offered him. He ate it in four enormous bites then held out his palm for another. His mother’s voice inside his head chided him for rudeness. She had taught him better. But the hunger knew nothing of politeness. He devoured the second sandwich just as quick as the first and only then did he feel even partially sated.

  “Are you some kind of cybrid expert?” he asked Anya after slurping down his soda. He uniformly resisted the urge to take Calvin’s.

  “Around here I am,” Anya said. “I’ve never been to college for it—too poor and no corporate education board is likely to front me the money when they’ve got loads of richer, whiter candidates. But, yeah, I like computers, especially cybrids. They’re—you’re—fascinating.”

  “I’m a computer.” Just saying the words made Jake’s arms break out in gooseflesh. “How much of me is...robotic?”

  “Hard to say really.” Based on the way her eyes brightened, Anya shared none of Jake’s revulsion at the idea. “Most of your bones were infused with interlayered steel alloy and nanotube materials. Your major organs were all replaced with genetically modified duplicates. Same goes for your musculature, ligaments, tendons, that sort of thing. Large portions of your brain were left intact, but of course your cybrid is wired through all your wetware so it’s tough to distinguish between original gray matter what your nanites added later on.”

  Jake swallowed. He recalled the first time he realized on an intellectual level that his body was full of blood. At five, the idea had creeped him out so much he spent the day in his room nestled under a pile of blankets.

  This was a thousand times worse. At least blood was natural. The changes Anya described had been perpetrated on Jake by another person. And, without any memory of the last thirteen years, it felt nonconsensual. Had he signed forms to allow such procedures? Had he wanted this, or was it forced upon him for some reason?

  Jake shook his head. He didn’t want to think about that just now, and he doubted Anya even knew the answers. Instead, he turned his attention to a subject she might know something about. “How was I attacked?”

  “Probably a drone-fired missile,” Anya said with a shrug as if that were an everyday occurrence.

  Jake’s eyes went wide. “There are armed drones flying around New York?”

  Anya nodded. “Of course.”

  “That’s insane. Weren’t you afraid that whoever did it would see you pulling me out of the wreck?”

  “A little, but it was worth it.” Anya turned to Ca
lvin. “Go guard the door.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m trying to talk here and I don’t want you eavesdropping. Is that clear enough?”

  Calvin pulled a face, but he did as she asked.

  Jake felt better for having eaten. His body was no longer screaming for calories. “So what now? What do you want with me?”

  Anya glanced over her shoulder. Calvin stood with his back to the door, still munching a sandwich, his rifle back on his shoulder.

  “I wanted to study you—learn more about how the cybrid works. Moore waffles between wanting to recruit you, and putting a bullet through your head. He’s compromised on letting me learn as much as I can while you’re here.”

  Jake screwed the cap back on his empty soda bottle. He glanced around for a recycling bin or garbage can, but saw none.

  Anya took it from him and tossed it over one shoulder onto the floor. “This isn’t our place. We’re just here until you’re ready to move.”

  “I’m not going anywhere until I get some straight answers from you.”

  “You think I’m lying.”

  “I don’t know,” Jake said. “You don’t look like you’re lying.”

  “Your cybrid can sniff out lies with a high percentage of accuracy, especially after you’ve spoken to someone for a few minutes. So, you know I’m telling the truth.”

  “Then tell me this. Who am I now? The last I remember, I was sixteen. Now you tell me I’m nearly thirty.” Jake held up his hands. “This isn’t me. So who is it?”

  “I told you, I don’t know much about you personally. No one does. You’re known as Harris. You’re ex-military. Army I think. I’ve heard rumors you fought in the ISIL-European war, but I can’t confirm that. You’ve been active with Cymobius for at least five years.”

  “Assassinating people?”

  “Among other things.”

  A rock formed in Jake’s gut. He couldn’t imagine a situation that would make him kill anyone. “You’re saying there’s a company out there, like Wal-Mart, and they’re in the business of executing people? And I’m what, a stock boy for them?”

  “Cymobius isn’t like Wal-Mart. They’re not that big; they don’t control that much of the world. They’re a contracting company. And not all of their jobs call for killing. They’re like spies for hire, and you’re one of the spies.”

  Jake filed Anya’s Wal-Mart comment away for later consideration. “That’s not me. I don’t remember joining the army or working for this company, and I have never killed anyone in my life.”

  “Stay calm, please,” Anya said.

  Jake had taken hold of the bed’s rail with both hands and was slowly bending it outward without realizing it. He let go a long breath and relaxed his grip.

  “Better.” Anya nodded her approval then gestured at Jake’s head. “Your cybrid is more complicated than I expected. I don’t know why you lost your memories. It must have happened in the attack. But what frightens me more is that I disabled your strength enhancements, or so I thought, but they’re obviously still in effect.”

  Jake looked at the bent bed rail. He didn’t feel any stronger, but then what would stronger feel like anyway? His arms had a little more definition than he remembered, but he wasn’t some kind of muscle-bound titan. Still, he couldn’t argue with the results.

  “So who are you?” he asked. “All of you, I mean. I thought at first you were some kind of gang, but I get the feeling it’s bigger than that.”

  “That’s even more complicated,” Anya said. “We’re part of an organization called Dissolution. We’re rebels. I guess you could say we’re revolutionaries.”

  “Against?”

  “Against companies like yours. Corporations run this world, they’ve got their hands in every government on the planet. It’s been that way for decades, even during your time, but it got worse during the war. These huge companies seized more of the world’s wealth and resources than ever before. They replaced legitimate government officials all over the globe with bought-and-paid-for bureaucrats. We’re trying to fight that, to wrest control of our countries back into the hands of the common people.”

  Jake glanced about the room, taking in the filthy space, the cramped quarters. “With eight people?”

  A brief look of pique crossed Anya’s face. “There’s more than eight of us, we’re just a tiny part of a much larger movement. We have cells all over the planet.” She looked as if she would say more, but clamped her mouth shut.

  “And you want me to join you?”

  Anya remained quiet for a long moment, her eyes tracking back and forth across Jake’s face as if reading something written there. At last, she nodded. “Yes.”

  Jake considered the wires that had been attached to his head. They ran to a sleek tablet on a nightstand next to the bed. The image of them protruding from his skull turned his stomach. “Were you trying to program me to follow you? Is that why you had me hooked to that thing?”

  “Cybrids don’t work that way,” Anya said. “I couldn’t program you to do anything.”

  “But you had me wired up to that tablet.” Jake ran a hand through his hair, trying to feel the hidden socket he had seen in the mirror, but his scalp was smooth.

  “Only so I could get a look at your programming. I wasn’t rewriting your code.”

  “How do I know you aren’t lying?”

  “Trust your cybrid. What’s it tell you?”

  “That you’re being honest.”

  Anya nodded. “I wish I knew more to tell you.”

  “So what now?”

  “Now you agree to come with us and promise not to harm any of our people.” Anya looked earnest. Jake had to give her that much. Did that mean he could trust her? Maybe. But if even half of what she was saying was true he might be better off escaping. He wanted nothing to do with rebels and less with giant corporations that put computers in their employees’ brains.

  “What happens if I refuse?” he asked.

  “Cal and I walk away. You can do as you like after that. Go back to Cymobius, maybe they can figure out what’s wrong with your memory. But you should know, they aren’t going to let you walk away from your job. They own you, Harris.”

  Jake rubbed his cheek. The stubble was gone. “I just want to go home.” Home brought back a memory. “You said you’d tell me what happened to my mom. Do you know where she is?”

  A sliver of emotion flashed across Anya’s face—a tiny twitch in her left cheek, a minute widening of the eyes, the barest purse of her lips.

  Before she could speak, Jake knew the answer. “She’s dead.”

  “I’m sorry.” Anya looked sincere.

  Jake’s throat tightened and his sinuses stung with the approach of tears. He had made his mom breakfast, she had called into work so they could play hooky and celebrate her birthday. She couldn’t be gone. He had just seen her not an hour ago. And yet, if Anya told the truth, that morning lay thirteen years in the past.

  “Did she die in the car crash?” He asked, his voice raw.

  Anya cocked her head, one eyebrow quirked. “You mean today?“

  “No, my mother and I had a wreck thirteen years ago. It’s my last memory. Is that what killed her?”

  Anya shook her head. “I honestly don’t know.”

  “Could I used your computer to—”

  Gunfire erupted somewhere nearby. It was definitely outside the building, probably on the street judging by the sound.

  Calvin sprinted across the hall and into the adjacent apartment. He cursed loudly and came back. “There’s a shock team down there. They’ve got Moore and the others pinned down.”

  A sudden boom shook the building followed by the sound of breaking glass and small arms fire. A second boom, this one inside the building, sent plaster dust raining down from the ceiling.

  “Someone’s coming up the stairs,” Jake said, the sound of thumping boots distant, but perfectly audible to his enhanced ears.

  “Get behind me!�
� Calvin unslung his rifle to aim it at the open doorway.

  Anya and Jake did as he commanded, crouching behind the hospital bed.

  Seven people entered the apartment building’s long hallway. Jake knew this by the sound of their boots. He also knew they were pausing at open doorways to give one another silent hand gestures. The gestures might have been silent, but the way they balanced as they waved their hands spoke through the noise of their footfalls and the creak of boards beneath their feet. The sound likewise told Jake that the group’s two leaders were women.

  The first woman reached the apartment where Jake was being held and froze just out of sight. She was scenting the air—Jake heard her deep, nasal inhale—and listening intently.

  If she was like Jake, and he had a deep suspicion such was the case, she could hear Calvin’s panting breaths and the soft creak as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other in fearful anticipation. She may have heard Anya swallowing every five and a half seconds like clockwork, and she surely smelled the acrid stench of Calvin’s rifle. But Jake doubted she heard him at all. He held his breath, and unless she could hear hearts, she had no idea he was in this room.

  “Harris, are you conscious?” asked the woman.

  Jake stiffened in surprise. So much for his intuition. He looked at Anya. She nodded—say something.

  “I’m fine,” he said.

  “How many of them are in there with you?”

  “Two. But they’re no threat.”

  “Is she a cybrid?” Calvin whispered. His forehead was slick with sweat.

  Jake nodded.

  Calvin swallowed and let go a long, exasperated breath. Then he nodded, placed his rifle on the floor, lowered himself to his knees, and put his hands on the back of his head.

  Anya did likewise.

  “We’re coming in,” the woman said.

  She slid through the open doorway like smoke, crouching, an automatic pistol gripped in both hands. She moved like a prima ballerina if such were ever trained to kill, her limbs more lithe and graceful than any human Jake had ever seen. She wore a black combat suit, form-fitting and obviously padded to absorb damage. A matte-black helmet covered her head with an attached face mask which she wore flipped down, some sort of computer display flashing before her eyes. A name tag affixed high on her shoulder with Velcro read: Oliver. A similar one on the opposite shoulder read: Cymobius Inc.