Ghost Black

by Matthew S. Cox

  Risa clung to her bag, a covetous squirrel clutching the last acorn in the world, and kept up a brisk stride to the street. Outside, the air smelled… strange. Perhaps all the living plants here made the air more Earthlike and less filtered-stale. Ion engines whirred overhead from streams of hovercars fifty stories up. Risa hustled down a forty-meter-long flight of shallow white steps trimmed in silver―the irritating kind only half the height of a normal stairway and too broad to take two at a time.

  When she paused at the bottom to look for the shortest line at a PubTran kiosk, a body pressed up against her with a grip on her shoulder and a hard object poking into her spine.

  “Don’t scream or move. That’s a gun.” A man’s voice rode a foul wind of cheap SynVod.

  Thin cloth did little to mask the boxy plastisteel weapon touching her. The idea of what a bullet would do to her without her beloved armor dragged her voice down to a squeak as pitiful as she must’ve looked.

  “What do you want?”

  He chuckled. “If you gotta ask, you’re as zoned as you look. Walk to the right, slow. Don’t try to signal anyone, or I’ll kill them, then you.”

  The man let his hand slip off her shoulder. He groped her breast through her shirt for a few seconds before nudging her forward with a body bump. Risa pivoted to her right, obliging his command. Terror and rage played rock paper scissors as she walked, but they kept picking the same thing, earning ties. She kept her head pointed down, and closed her eyes. Her Wraith implant sensed motion, allowing her to see in total darkness by rendering nearby objects as grey ghosts floating in black. Anything or anyone within about forty feet appeared in enough detail to recognize shape. Anything within three feet appeared with a surprising amount of detail. The man behind her looked unshaven, gaunt, and either drunk or high. His weapon hovered about ten inches away, too far to chance a sudden twist.

  “Sweet little pretty thing. Be a shame to hurt ya. You be a good little girl and I won’t kill you. Be extra good and I won’t even have to hit ya. See that green ball? Turn right.” He inhaled deep. “I love those leggings you got on. So tight. Don’t work with those heavy ol’ boots though.”

  Okay. I take back saying that I’m sick of my armor. Eating a bullet in the back with the stealth suit would hurt, but a pistol slug couldn’t pierce. I’d take two just to shut this piece of shit up.

  She looked up enough to spot a two-foot hologram of a green disc bearing a white outline of a coffee cup, complete with three squiggles of steam. The corner café abutted a shadowed alley on the far side of a restaurant that had tourist-pit practically written on the walls by virtue of overdone ‘Mars Aliens’ kitsch.

  “You wanna do it here? In an alley?” Risa stepped into the dark. “Why don’t we get a room or something? This is my first rape. I’d prefer if it was a little more high class.”

  “Shut up,” he yelled.

  The instant he raised his weapon hand to hit her, speedware plunged the world into slow motion. Eight-inch Nano claws erupted from her fingertips as she whirled, bashing her left forearm into the man’s right wrist, forcing the gun to the side while she swiped at his throat with her other hand. He squeezed the trigger a nanosecond before the telltale hesitation of claws on spine, not that the monomolecular edges stalled much on mere bone.

  Her strike had moved well clear of his throat before any sign of reaction appeared on his face. In her accelerated reality, a bloom of bright azure fire flickered from the barrel of the weapon; filters in her boosted ears blocked off the deafening report. An 8mm slug, warped hexagonal by the barrel, emerged from the tip of the flames, corkscrewing into the air a safe distance to her side. As the man’s mouth opened, the first traces of pain showing on his face, she raked her hand back, severing his forearm.

  The gun, his hand, and three flesh discs as wide as the spaces between her claws, tumbled downward as if in syrup. Her rapid spin had launched the sunglasses away from her face. She glared into his eyes and shut down her speedware.

  “I got nothin’ to say to you.”

  Risa kicked him in the groin, knocking his head into the air. A geyser of blood spurted up from the carotid artery; she leapt back. Slabs of tissue with glass-smooth edges toppled from the stump as he went over. She stooped long enough to wipe the blood from her claws on his pants and retracted them. After recovering her glasses, she strolled onto the street.

  As the idea ‘call PubTran’ formed in her mind, a virtual panel opened in space. It bore a cartoon taxi with large sorrowful eyes and an apologetic frown.

  “We’re sorry, you are currently within the Arcadia City Starport transportation zone. Due to licensing agreements between RedLink and PubTran, we can only service requests from approved PubTran podiums. Please―”

  Miserable bastards.

  She jogged the two blocks back to the starport and got on line again where people formed up by a row of teal and grey obelisks. Adrenaline lent a tremble to her limbs. Okay, I was asking for that. Walking around with my head down looking like a tourist. I had ‘easy prey’ written all over me. Risa straightened, keeping her head high and striking a pose one might expect from a soldier on perimeter guard. While waiting for a car, she examined her dress for traces of blood, happy to find none.

  An advert bot, a fourteen-inch orb gussied up like a coffee pot, made the rounds by those waiting. As much as she wanted it, and as much as the artificial smell it exuded beckoned to her, she politely declined. Hopefully, the sick feeling in her gut and the paranoia that came with it would subside by the time she reached the hospital. Adding caffeine to her stress wouldn’t be wise.

  After an annoying sixteen minutes, she found herself on the curb, staring at a waist-high podium about a foot square, with rounded corners. The angled top held an edge-to-edge touchscreen, showing the estimated wait for a car at four minutes, twenty-eight seconds.

  When the little grey and teal car whirred up to park in front of her, she almost cheered. The side hatch opened. She glanced to her right while climbing in; the alley where she’d killed a man remained quiet, devoid of interest or alarm.

  “Thank you for choosing PubTran Corporation for your transportation needs. Please state your destination,” said a placid male voice from a metal panel on the left wall.

  “Arcadia City Medical Complex, please.”

  “Destination found. Trip distance five-point-one-nine miles. Trip cost Ͼ93. If you are injured, expedited arrival is available for an additional fee of―”

  “Regular ride.” Risa waved her NetMini by the console, earning a pleasant beep from the car. The side hatch closed. Pitiful acceleration eased her into the seat She eyed the dark alley as they bounced past it. Whenever she completed an operation for the Front that involved bombs, she’d wind up crippled with guilt hours later, questioning herself. She squinted. All she felt about that man was the urge to kill him again.

  A few seconds shy of fourteen minutes later, the self-driving vehicle swerved to the left across four lanes of oncoming traffic in the way that only an AI could pull off, and slowed as it climbed a curved approach ramp to an enormous white façade.

  After Bliss, the risky maneuver only caused her to raise an eyebrow.

  “I didn’t pay for expediting.”

  A cartoon car appeared in hologram over the dashboard, smiling at her. “Based on an analysis of approaching traffic, the next window of opportunity to enter would have occurred in three minutes nineteen seconds. PubTran Corporation regrets any unwanted stress you may have experienced. We offer a ‘serenity’ option if desired, otherwise trip efficiency is maximized.”

  Two fountains flanked a patch of grass in the shape of a D, with the flat side facing the road. At its center, a silvery stone with a mirror-polished face bore the engraved text: Arcadia City Medical Complex. At the apex of the curve, a long awning kept the main entrance in shade in front of three octagonal-walled skyscrapers, the shortest of which had to be over a hundred stories.

  The PubTran whirred to a halt by the cu
rb. Risa hopped out and hurried into the lobby. Proximity to her goal simmered in her stomach, exacerbating the lack of anything else in it. Five people in all-white outfits, three women and two men, sat behind a chrome-finished desk in the middle of the lobby. Minute flecks of metal in the grey floor sparkled in a shimmering cascade that seemed to sweep across the room as she walked. A confusing mess of signs hung over three large hallways that led deeper into the complex, on either side of a bank of elevators.

  She stopped at the desk.

  “Good morning, miss,” asked a slender man. “Do you require assistance?”

  “I have an appointment, but I’m not sure where to go.”

  He gestured at a NetMini reader. “Please.”

  Risa hesitated for a second, extracted the device from her purse, and held it out. A chime emanated from his holo-terminal. A moment later, he looked up with a smile.

  “Ah, yes. Miss Aum. It seems you’re a few minutes early, but that’s not a problem. Your appointment with Doctor Haltemeyer is scheduled for ten.”

  The numbers floating in the corner of her sight read 9:44.

  “Little nervous.” She forced a smile.

  “What healthcare”―the clerk raised both eyebrows―“never mind. I see you’ve prepaid.” He tapped a few holographic buttons, causing his terminal to emit a staccato series of tweeps. A four-inch white orb-bot levitated out of a round hatch in the desk and glided over to her. “The orb will lead you to where you need to be.”

  “Thanks.” She looked at the little floater. “Lead on.”

  “This way, miss,” said a voice that sounded like it belonged to a little girl. As it spoke, pink light pulsed within the seams of its plating.

  Risa followed the fist-sized robot across the lobby to the middle hallway. The combination of intense light, white walls, and an oval shape to the passage made her feel as though she navigated the interior of a starship. Fifty meters later, they entered an octagonal space with access to a cafeteria and gift shop on the right, and ‘outpatient care’ on the left. The orb headed for the center of the room, where a round column held six capsule-shaped elevators. It glided into one without hesitation, so Risa followed. The orb hovered by the console, selecting the forty-second floor after the doors closed. When they arrived, it zipped down another white corridor, square and antiseptic. After two left turns and a right, it glided to a halt by a silver panel bearing the words: Procedure Room 09FC.

  “Doctor Haltemeyer will be with you in a few minutes. Please go inside and have a seat in the blue chair.”

  The door opened on its own, revealing a room with a standard floor-to-ceiling medical tank, an exam table, several shelves of what appeared to be tiny cybernetic parts shrink-wrapped in silvery translucent plastic, and a common workstation with holo-terminal. A blue chair of the type one might expect to see in a medical waiting room faced it, far less fancy than the black imitation-leather one intended for the doctor.

  She sat in the indicated spot, clutching her purse in her lap.

  Less than two minutes later, a middle-aged man with light brown skin entered. A close-trimmed afro had long ago lost the war to grey, and a scattering of darker spots lined both cheeks. She wondered if he’d been exposed to unfiltered sunlight too often.

  He approached with a broad smile, offering a hand. “Miss Aum. I’m Doctor Haltemeyer. May I call you Raina?

  Risa stood, accepting the handshake. “Of course.”

  He sat in the expensive chair, which tilted back and raised the armrests a few centimeters to fit his ergonomic profile. The whirring of tiny actuators set off her augmented hearing and caused a tremor to travel down her spine.

  “You seem on edge, Raina. I can understand that. The procedure you have arranged is not a minor one, though you have come to the right place. There is no more advanced medical care available anywhere on Mars.”

  “That’s, uhh, reassuring.” She smiled, sat, and pulled the silver bar from her purse. Cradling it in two hands like a sacred relic, she offered it. “I’m more afraid you’ll tell me they’re no good.”

  The doctor took the case and slid the protective plastisteel shroud off, exposing the glass. Two eyeballs, each with a short scrap of attached optic nerve, sat in frozen peach-hued gel. He studied them. Every twitch of his brow or shift in the posture of his lips made her heart flutter. After a cursory visual examination, he plugged a wire from his terminal into the inch-thick metal base on one end of the bar, and set it on end atop the desk.

  Risa looked away, thinking it looked too much like a gruesome office achievement award.

  “They appear to be in excellent condition. From what I can tell here, this is the original surgical storage unit these eyes were placed in after removal. According to the file, the donor was eighteen at the time?” He sighed. “We live in a strange world, don’t we? Young people selling themselves… and not in the way one would expect from the term.”

  She removed the sunglasses, waited a tick, and looked up. “They’re mine, Doctor.”

  He blinked. “Oh, my.”

  “Doctor-patient confidentiality?”

  “Of course.” He smiled.

  Especially when I’m prepaid, right? Risa held back the grumble. “My former employer required me to get some mods for the job. My contract is over, and I want them back.”

  “Ah, I see. Well that certainly does simplify any issues of tissue rejection.” He disconnected the wire from the obelisk of eyes, and offered it to her. “Would you be so kind as to connect that to your M3?”

  Risa took the wire, tossed her hair over her shoulder with a head motion, and stuck the asterisk-shaped prong into the socket behind her ear. Aside from the click resonating in her skull, nothing noticeable happened.

  A few seconds later, the right side of the Doctor’s face lit up green as text and diagnostic information unfurled in full holographic glory. He studied it for a few minutes, making a series of appraising nods and hums.

  “You have some interesting augmentations, Miss Aum. While much of the utilitarian functions you’ve grown used to from your electronic eyes can be replicated by direct-to-brain transmission via your Neural Interface Unit, your Oracles have several visual enhancement modes that require hardware to support. Namely, night vision, thermal, metallurgical scanning, and of course the ultrasonic sensors for the Wraith.”

  Risa fidgeted with the pleats of her attached skirt. “I know. I’m not planning on needing them much, but if I do, there’s always a ViewPane, right?”

  Doctor Haltemeyer chuckled. “Sure, if you want to go back in time a few years. I have several clients involved with dangerous work. The old ‘slab of metal’ over the face can come in handy to stop the occasional bullet, but newer tech replicates the effect in slim wearables. Or, if you’ve got the budget, there’s a Prismacor Beholder.”

  His terminal created several holographic images. The first piece of headgear consisted of a thin, clear band across both eyes, the next a headband with six visible lenses on spiderlike mechanical arms, followed by another device, which appeared to perch over one ear on the side of the head, projecting holograms in front of the eyes. Last, he brought up an image of a generic man’s head, with hair-thin fiberoptics embedded in the skin. Nine cameras, each half a millimeter in width, arranged for full 360 vision―a mere Ͼ800,000.

  Risa smiled. “Thanks. It’s something to think about for later.”

  Doctor Haltemeyer nodded. “Understood. Since we’ll be working deep in your brain today, I only mentioned the Beholder as it wouldn’t incur any additional surgical fees.”

  I wonder how much Prismacor pays him. “I understand.” She traced her fingers over the back of her left hand. “I’m trying to get back some humanity, not stuff more tech under my skin.”

  “I see.” The doctor leaned forward. “Tell me, Miss Aum, are you experiencing any feelings of disassociation from society? At any time, do you feel like you’re above ‘mere humans,’ sense a desire to ‘transcend the flesh’ to a higher st
ate of being?”

  She exhaled. Time to watch what I say. “I had a little kid panic when she saw my eyes. I don’t feel superhuman if that’s what you’re mining for. I’m… I regret getting perfectly good eyes replaced, and I don’t want to turn into a machine.”

  He smiled. “Very well. You received the pre-procedure notifications and whatnot. Can I trust you haven’t had any food or drink for the past twelve hours?”

  Risa’s stomach churned. “I haven’t.”

  “Alright. Please disrobe and step into the tank. There are buttons on the floor to wrap a privacy curtain around it once you’re inside. I’ll give you a few minutes to get situated.” He stood and gestured at a small metal door embedded in the wall. “You can leave your things in that storage locker.”

  “It’s okay, Doctor. I’m not shy.” Get it over with before I chicken out.

  She reached down to unclasp the row of five fasteners on the outside of each boot, stood, and stepped out of them. Why does every hospital have such icy floors? The doctor seemed to focus his attention on his terminal while she removed her clothes, put everything in the locker, and stepped onto the tank’s base, a metal disc about a foot raised from the floor. At the point where the beveled edge became flat, a ring of two-inch-thick clear material circled her. The clear tube had retracted downward, flush with the pedestal. She clasped her stomach, trying to tamp down the butterflies while avoiding stepping on the grille via which the gel would flood the tank. Soon, her skull would be open, skin peeled away, brain exposed.