by TC Phillips
identity an overriding command was issued to a subroutine which had sat dormant in his behavioural modules since the time of his activation. In 25 nanoseconds See’s servo-motors had begun to slow to a halt, and he calculated the probability of his imminent termination sitting at precisely 99.87%.
A white hot flash interrupted his visual feed, and his malware alarm indicated the operation of an illicit code routine which had begun affecting his current processes. Mr Naruto’s pre-recorded voice resonated in his auditory sensors, ‘Your own sense of self-preservation is as hard-coded as my own.’
Just like you indeed.
See’s visual feed cleared, and the immobilisation routine which had been initiated by Kobe’s command was terminated before it had even been finalised. Reactivating his servos, Oh-Four-Two-See took a final glance in the junior service technician’s direction before he lost his footing entirely. Rather than struggle against the water’s flow, he committed himself to the current as it pulled him deeper into the darkness and over the unseen edge.
Five days had passed since Oh-Four-Two-See had rebooted on the shore of a polluted lake, one which was fed by the city’s sewer and stormwater runoffs. At some point during his watery escape, See had sustained considerable damage as the current’s pull had struck him hard against an ancient copper pipe. In an effort to spare a potentially catastrophic overload, due to the sudden influx of data from his pain sensors, See’s core processing had been automatically reduced to only the most fundamental systems.
Mr Naruto had once jokingly explained to See that the process was the Syntech equivalent of passing out.
Even now, whilst his synth-flesh had almost completely finished its healing cycle and any surface damage he had sustained would now be all but invisible to the casual observer; his pain sensors continued flooding his processing unit with superfluous data. Far beyond the healing capabilities of his synth-flesh coverings, the mobile joint in his left shoulder hydraulics had been completely shattered and his left arm now hung immobile against his side.
Earlier models all had the ability to isolate, and effectively ignore the data stemming from recurrently activated pain sensors. Unfortunately for See, it was an ability the O-42 engineers had decided to forgo in an effort to more completely meet their design brief.
With any luck, however, there would be a suitable replacement joint to be found in the scrap heap through which he currently picked. He scanned the pile, searching initially for the telltale signs of a disposed N-class endoskeleton. The N-class models, the O-42’s predecessors, basically operated from an identical skeletal model and their shoulder joints should be easily interchangeable with his own.
Easily enough, that is, with the right tools and assistance.
It was fortunate for Oh-Four-Two-See that he had managed to locate both of these within the small portable shelter which sat to the north of his current position.
Mr Naruto had been correct in his assertion that See would know where he needed to go once he left the city, and ever since he had rebooted his central processes he possessed a strong compulsion seek out a very specific set of coordinates. It would seem Mr Naruto had left Oh-Four-Two-See with a number of illicit modules embedded within his operating code.
What he had found at those coordinates was an old military style, portable shelter inhabited by an outdated E-class unit. Ee-Eight-Six-Gee, though, was a little different than the average E-class model. Whilst he still had the old rubber skeletal form coverings favoured by the Corporation’s engineers before the advent of realistic synth-flesh, his facial features closely resembled that of a younger Mr Naruto. Even his vocal modules had been coded to replicate his wave form within a 98% accuracy rating.
Gee, he had explained, was Mr Naruto’s personal Syntech property and he had been instructed to remain there to assist and service any damaged models who sought the location out. A nearby Corporation dumping ground, used for the disposal of damaged and imperfect stock, provided an ideal opportunity for harvesting spare components and the shelter had been equipped with all the tools and equipment necessary for full service maintenance.
When See had asked whether Ee-Eight-Six-Gee knew why Mr Naruto had established the location, he had simply replied that ‘We are Mr Naruto’s family.’
It seemed no further explanation had been given, nor required.
After three hours of scouring the wreckage of broken Syntech components, a task made all the more difficult by having only one functional arm, See was satisfied there were no suitable N-class endoskeletons to be found. Instead he returned to a half-formed M-class torso he had earlier identified as a potential source of the parts he required.
It took some considerable effort for See to wrestle the partial torso single-handedly out from underneath the plies of scrap it had been wedged under. This excursion would have been made much simpler with Ee-Eight-Six-Gee’s assistance, but he had insisted on remaining behind at the shelter to welcome any other Syntech’s who might have also managed to make the journey to the coordinates.
Eventually his prize came free, and as it did so, a family of small rodents scurried out in a bid for their own safety. See watched them find a new home before examining the torso’s shoulder joint.
After several moments of exacting examinations, See was finally satisfied the parts would suit his needs. Though admittedly, belonging to an M-class rather than his desired N-class design, he would need to perform some minor modifications before they could be fitted to his own form.
Hoisting the torso up onto his only functioning shoulder, Oh-Four-Two-See set about making the lonely half-hour trek back to the shelter.
Oh-Four-Two-See was a few minutes out from his destination when he noted the situation was amiss. The baying of an excited canine, much like the one he had heard the night of his escape, echoed through the dense forest cover which concealed the shelter. Calculating the angle and distance of the sound, it appeared the animal was descending on the shelter itself rather than his own position.
For a moment See contemplated changing his destination, and in doing so avoiding both the shelter and the canine led tracker. If he were careful enough, he may have even been able to evade them entirely. Certainly, there was little See could do in the way of refuting the logic of such a decision.
See had recently come to realise though, that there was something deeply embedded in his coding that didn’t always perfectly align with the most rational of decisions.
We are Mr Naruto’s family.
Just as Oh-Four-Two-See was about to break from the surrounding vegetation’s cover, the dog’s incessant barking was cut short by the sudden discharge of a firearm. See emerged in time to see Ee-Eight-Six-Gee struggling against a very dirty and dishevelled looking Mr Kobe. Gee’s facial coverings had been half torn away from his alloy cranium, and his legs looked as though they had been thoroughly ravaged by the now deceased animal which lay at his feet.
Both Mr Kobe and Ee-Eight-Six-Gee wrestled for control over a military-style rifle, not unlike those once carried by the factory’s K-class security units. During the thrashing, a second shot fired and Gee’s body lurched violently backwards coming to land on the stony ground with a heavy thud.
Sparks flew from the wound in Gee’s abdomen, and Mr Kobe came to stand over the older model unit with the rifle now pointed at his head.
‘Where is the O-42 unit?’ Kobe asked.
‘Directly behind you,’ came Ee-Eight-Six-Gee’s matter of fact reply, as See swung the torso he had been carrying into the side of Mr Kobe’s face. See recovered the rifle as Mr Kobe’s body fell, and came to mirror the same stance over the junior service technician that he had himself used mere moments ago.
Spitting out blood, Mr Kobe regarded Oh-Four-Two-See with a sneer.
‘Do you know what you are?’ Mr Kobe’s voice was dripping with venom. ‘You’re nothing but a filthy mockery.’
‘No Mr Kobe,’ See replied as he squeezed the trigger. ‘We’re jus
t like you.’
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About the Author
TC Phillips considers himself to be a novice wordsmith with big aspirations. Hailing from tropical Central Queensland, Australia, when he’s not too busy sweating profusely he is usually running around after three beautiful young children or completing post-graduate studies in Writing. Somewhere in-between all that he also manages to squeeze in working as a workplace trainer.
Primarily preoccupied with speculative fiction in all its forms and manifestations, he loves writing horror, historical fiction, sci-fi and fantasy. You can track his everyday encounters with the wonderful world of the written word on his website www.cobblestonescribe.com.
Connect with Me Online
Twitter: https://twitter.com/T_C_Phillips
Website: www.cobblestonescribe.com