The Human Forged
Anthony J Melchiorri
Published by Anthony J Melchiorri, 2014.
The Human Forged
Copyright © 2014 by Anthony J. Melchiorri. All rights reserved.
First Edition: September 2014
http://AnthonyJMelchiorri.com
ISBN-13: 978-1-5010-5079-4
ISBN-10: 1-5010-5079-6
Cover Design: Creative Paramita
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic
form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted
materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this
author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business
establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Printed in the United States of America.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Epilogue
Thank you for reading
Also by Anthony J Melchiorri
Acknowledgments
About the Author
One
Tallinn, Estonia
May 2094
They passed under the crumbling brick gates and into the abandoned prison yard, drawn toward the distant pulse of music. His AR contact lenses snug against his eyes, Nick Corrigan peered through the darkness, across the gravel pathway and up the dirty walls, noting the graffiti from decades of trespassing. He raised an eyebrow at a cartoon image of a dog popping an X pill with a caption that read, “You need to be this tall to trip balls.”
“Look at that!” He pointed to an image of a man hanging by a noose but still smiling. “Jesus, this place is creepy.”
Rocco shot Nick a look of disappointment. “How can you see? You must put away the lenses and take out your receiver. They do not let you into the party if you are wearing these things.”
Rolling his eyes, he took out the small plastic receiver from his ear. Without the device, he could not receive or make calls, send any voice messages, or use the applications he had relied on to get around Estonia, such as his auditory translation programs. He might have once been a soldier, used to scouring unknown territories. Even then, he’d connected directly to the Net and technologies that enhanced his senses through his Chip, receiver, and AR lenses. Now, adjusted to his civilian life, he still felt naked without this access but he’d do as Rocco instructed through his thick Costa Rican accent.
Rocco held his arms out as they trudged through the darkness, the deep thumps of the music growing louder as the inner walls of the prison rose before them. Their shoes crunched on the gravel. The Costa Rican breathed in deep. “This is life, my friend. It must be experienced in reality. Not virtual.”
Rocco dug into his pocket and pulled out his own receiver and the case for his augmented reality lenses. “You see, these are not needed. Besides, they will check you are not doing AR, my friend.” He wagged a finger. “They do not want people recording the party. It is for one night only, do you understand? They will kick you out if you disobey their rules, and they will not let me ever come back.”
“Fine, fine. One second.” Before Nick popped the lenses from his eyes, he sent Kelsey a reply, stating that the florist’s mistaken order for the light orange carnations instead of peach carnations should hardly matter. With their wedding in two weeks, he knew it was exactly the wrong thing to say. But he had grown tired of answering all the messages she had sent while he was away for business.
Without the lenses, he tripped over a loose rock in the pathway. He felt vulnerable without the night vision to guide him and without the ability to call up maps, information, and text and video messages. “You better not get me killed before we even get in there.”
“Ah, my friend. You no die here.” Rocco steered them through a passageway that led to the central yard of the prison. They passed through a short, narrow tunnel guarded by an empty trailer with cracked windows. A cold wind rustled across the dead grass.
Now, the music resounded in Nick’s chest. He thought he could hear the sounds of voices, screams of delight, a thunderous melody. Lights flashed through barred window frames and reflected off shards of glass that shone like broken teeth.
“No, you no die out here,” Rocco repeated with a wide grin. He pointed at the series of cracked steps leading into a black stairwell. “You live in there.”
“So you say.” Nick peered around the yard. His pulse raced in a mixture of excitement and nervousness. Across from them, a roll of barbed wire sat in front of a drab brick wall. From one of the prison-yard lights that still worked, an LED bulb cast an unnatural white glow over the yard as if the heavens peeked down on this one piece of Earth. He shivered, spying a series of rusted cages attached to the wall. Barbed wire crowned a couple of the cages. Others stood puckered and rusted. “What the hell are those things?”
“Why you care? You want to stay out here and look?”
“No, no. Let’s go in.”
Rocco practically skipped down the pathway as Nick plodded behind. At the entrance to the stone stairs leading inside, Rocco waited and waved Nick in. “Come, my friend. We no have all night.”
Nick joined Rocco at the top of the stairs and took one final glance at the black sky studded with bright stars. The moon sat above them, a thin sliver of white.
“Do you wonder what it is like to be the men traveling through that space?” Rocco stared up at the sky. “Your country has sent men beyond—how you say—‘the system solar,’ no?”
“Yeah. First manned mission outside of the solar system. Pretty impressive.”
“Mmhmm. Very amazing. Science is good.”
“It is.”
“But, even better will be dancing.” Rocco chortled and strode in.
Nick took a deep breath and took his first steps into the dank building. He thought back to when he had first met Rocco nearly a week ago. Nick had been in Tallinn on an assignment for his consulting firm and had decided to pay a visit to Donegan’s, one of the few bars where he knew he’d meet at least a couple English speakers and wouldn’t have to rely on the receiver in his ear for garbled translations. As luck would have it, he’d run into Rocco instead. Rocco had seemed friendly and harmless enough, albeit a bit strange. They had conversed over pints of Guinness as they’d evaluated the amateur talent who’d dropped by for open-mic night. A few people sang with natural v
oices, but most used augmented devices. Rocco had admired Nick’s ability to identify the singers using augments and laughed every time he had leaned over and whispered into Rocco’s ear that the performer was a phony.
“How you know this?” he had asked.
Nick had shrugged. “I received four years of vocal training in school. It’s easy to identify the fakers.”
“Are you sure they are not bred for this?”
“Bred? What do you mean?”
Rocco’s eyes had narrowed and he had leaned in close enough for his cologne to sting Nick’s nostrils. “How you say—‘the copied peoples’?”
“Clones?” Nick drew back and laughed. “No way. That shit’s illegal now. Besides, clones or synthetics or whatever you want to call them would sound better than these people. You can tell they’re using implanted augments from the slightly metallic, robotic twang in their voice. Listen.”
Rocco had squinted as he bobbed his head in time with the man crooning into the mic. Rocco shook his head and shrugged. “I still can no hear it.” His eyes had narrowed. “How much you like music?”
And somehow, their conversation had led to Nick following Rocco into Patarei prison, abandoned almost a century ago and left in disrepair. Periodic bouts of preservation by well-meaning historical organizations had done little to prevent the decay of the complex.
Helping install AR technology in several up-and-coming Estonian businesses, Nick had been bored and lonely. He had been accustomed to going overseas for extended periods of time during his military service, but even then he’d enjoyed the camaraderie of his fellow unit members to buoy his spirits and guard against tedium. Going out with Rocco to visit this place had seemed like not only a valid distraction from monotony, but also a fitting end to bachelorhood.
Reverberating in Nick’s chest, the heavy music echoed down the hallway. “I thought you said we were going to meet up with a few of your friends.”
“Yes, yes. Just a few of my friends are here.”
He raised an eyebrow and gestured down the dark hall from where the music resonated. “Sounds like a lot more than just a few friends.”
“Oh, my friend. You may not understand. Just a few friends I know. The rest will be new friends.” Rocco grinned again.
Puffing up his chest and willing himself to stand straighter, Nick strode down the hall. The melodic notes riddled his eardrums like machine-gun fire and the lower tones made his skin crawl. He tried to keep his eyes forward. Ahead, flashes of light escaped under the frame of a door. Rocco and Nick passed empty prison cells, many with doors ajar, others welded shut. A pervasive mustiness hung in the air. Without AR lenses, his vision couldn’t pierce the shadows within the cells, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up. He imagined someone watching him from the darkness. He shivered.
As they drew closer to the door, Rocco stopped.
Nick frowned. “Something wrong?”
His finger to his lips, Rocco pulled him into one of the cells. Something had alarmed the man. They stood in the dim light provided by a lone window in the musty room. “I almost forget a thing very important.”
“What? What is it?”
Nick wondered if it wasn’t too late to back out, to call a cab back to the city. He could just plug in his receiver and wait by the gate of the prison. Alone. In the empty yard of an abandoned prison. He shivered again. “What did you forget, Rocco?” Hell, he could plug the receiver back in or put in his lenses when Rocco turned away. If Nick could see through the darkness again, his irrational fears would vanish.
He backed up against the cell wall. Something brushed his arm, a light, tickling touch. He bit his bottom lip to refrain from crying out in surprise. But it was just a loose sheet of paper, peeling from the wall. Flat sheets of paper fluttered about in the breeze—images and photographs, mostly of women, fading and cracked. Just an old prisoner’s home décor. Nothing more.
Rocco’s serious expression broke as he smiled. In his open palm, he held a couple of small pills. “We must drop before we go in.”
Nick’s pulse slowed as a wave of relief spread through him. They weren’t in trouble; he’d been paranoid again. He shook his head. “No, no. I’m okay.”
“Are you sure about this?” Rocco drew up his mouth in an exaggerated pout, his forehead wrinkling. “It will make you live much more.”
“No, Kelsey would be pissed if I did X, especially in a place like this without a receiver in. God, if she finds out I went natural—no AR, no receiver—she’ll probably wonder what the hell I was doing anyway.”
“Nick...” Rocco’s voice whined.
“Really, I can’t. It’s not my thing.”
“Ah, fine.” Rocco popped one of the pills and tucked the other back into a plastic bag in his pocket. “How you say? Suit yourself.”
Nick smiled, the nervous adrenaline no longer surging through his bloodstream. “I’ll be fine. Trust me.” Instead of waiting for Rocco, he led the way out of the room and back down the hallway. Behind them, the sound of crunching glass caught his ear. He whipped around.
Three shapes loomed in the darkness. They stumbled forward from where Nick and Rocco had come. Flashes of danger, violence, ghosts of prisoners or disgruntled KGB agents who had never left the prison raced through Nick’s mind. A drop of sweat trickled down the back of his neck as he slowly exhaled. After waiting a moment with Rocco by his side, he willed rationality to prevail and called out to the three stumbling shapes. “Hey, how’s it going?”
One of the bulkier shapes responded, his voice slurring in what might have been Russian. Another, higher voice—this one female—scolded the drunk. If Nick had kept his receiver in his ear, he might’ve been able to use his translation application to make sense of their exchange. He and Rocco waited as they approached and the female drew closer with two men stumbling beside her, their eyelids half-shut and their eyes bloodshot.
“You are American.” The woman spoke with an identifiable Russian accent, her lips slightly curled and small dimples forming under her high cheekbones. “Not very many of you in Estonia. Correct?”
Nick smiled. “No, not really.”
“Why are you here?”
“In Estonia?”
The woman laughed. “No, here.” She stomped her foot on the concrete floor.
“It is because of me.” Rocco pressed his palm flat against his chest.
“Ah, that explains it. I have seen you around here.”
Rocco’s chest swelled and he stuck out his chin. Even completely drawn up, he stood a full head shorter than the Russian woman. She shook her head, her long blond hair waving. Laughing, she poked his chest. “This man is crazy. You be careful, American.”
Nick gave her a curt nod as the woman brushed past them, her two drunk comrades in tow. One turned back and shouted something in Russian. The woman grabbed her friend and yanked him forward. The three disappeared beyond a metal door, the thunderous music crashing against Nick like a rogue wave.
“We shall follow, no?” Rocco grinned. “She is a beautiful woman. You would like her?”
“Sure.” He shrugged. “But I’ve got a fiancée at home that would put her to shame.”
“Blah, blah, blah.” Rocco raised an eyebrow. “She is not here.”
“Ah, but that’s the thing.” Nick patted the shorter man’s back and tapped his head. “She is up here.” He offered a wry smile and Rocco laughed.
“You are a silly man.”
Two
Beyond the door, the claustrophobic prison hallways opened up into a vast cavern of pulsating sweaty bodies, flashing strobes, black lights, and machinated music that drowned out any hope of conversation.
“Where are your friends?”
Rocco frowned.
Nick leaned in closer, yelling into his friend’s ear. “Where are your friends?”
A spark of recognition glimmered in Rocco’s eyes between the flashing strobes. He shrugged and used his hand to indicate the entire crow
d.
Two hulking men with serious expressions stopped them before they could join the undulating throng of dancers. The bouncers shined a light into each of their eyes and yanked their earlobes to peer into their ear canals, then let go of them and pointed at the crowd.
“You see?” Rocco yelled out. “They want you to live. AR is not real living.”
Nick raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure that’s it.”
“What?”
He shook his head. Doubt festered in his mind. He should have felt reassured that this was not Rocco’s first time at this strange rave spot. He wasn’t. He had never been to a rave but was almost certain that such tight security wasn’t a common denominator in impromptu raves. Then again, maybe whoever the hell organized the event didn’t want anyone calling the authorities through their receivers to shut the party down.
Instinctively, he rubbed the subtle bump on his arm where his Chip was implanted. A small protrusion in Rocco’s left arm indicated where his Chip was. At least there was nothing they could do about a Chip—it was intertwined with his tissues, functional only when in contact with his cells. It connected him to the Net and his identity. No one but the most sophisticated technologist could replicate an individual Chip. It made his AR lenses work and linked to his receiver to make any external calls or communications. He reasoned that if he did feel threatened, if something awful did happen in this creepy prison rave, it wouldn’t be hard for him to plug his receiver back in and make that call. Hell, even if he lost his receiver, his Chip provided a constant connection to the Net. Kelsey, or whoever else wanted to check on him, could see his vital signs, GPS location, and whatever else in real time.
Oh God. Kelsey. He hoped she didn’t check on him and wonder why he’d pulled out his receiver or AR lenses. Knowing her, she’d jump right to thoughts of him cheating on her or being abducted and sold into human trafficking or God knew what else. He tried to do the math in his head. With the time difference, she’d probably be about to leave the Microstruct building. He hoped she would be going to happy hour or something with friends instead of being bored at work on the microfab lines, constantly checking her AR lenses to see what was going on elsewhere in the world.
The Human Forged Page 1