Warborg - Star Panther

by Olson, Ry

  “No. All I know is we’re damn lucky to have him.”

  “Too true.” Briton nodded then smiled. “Dismissed Major.”

  Martin stood and saluted. “Thank you Sir.” I think?

  17: Dust to Dust

  Martin was still pondering all the changes as he entered his virtual yacht. He stopped, gawking at his surroundings, his custom program had arrived. It was everything he had dreamed of, and more.

  “It’s beautiful, Martin.”

  Martin spun around as Maria shooed Prowler off her lap and stood up. “Maria?”

  Maria studied Martin. “I’m sorry, I let myself in as soon as Reese told me you were released.”

  That was a couple hours ago. Martin thought with a mental grimace. “No need to be sorry, that’s why I gave you access.” He studied her face. “God, it’s good to see you. I should have contacted you the instant Doc let me go. I’m sooo sorry girl. I just didn’t think.”

  “It’s ok, Martin. Reese said everyone and their brother was waiting in line to talk to you. I understand.”

  You understand, but you don’t like it. Martin you damn fool. “Still, it wasn’t right and I’m sorry,” Martin sighed.

  She forced a sad smile. “Your yacht is beautiful. Is it everything you . . .” Her face crumpled into tears and she flung herself at Martin. “I need to feel you, I need to know you’re real, not just some damn illusion. I need you.” She wailed as she tried to grab Martin and their two forms passed through each other. “NOOOO.” She collapsed on the deck behind him crying hysterically.

  After a stunned heartbeat Martin turned and looked down on the girl. “Maria! Look at me!”

  She glared up at him, her face streaked with tears and snot running from her nose. “Go away! You’re dead . . . you’re fucking dead.” She pounded the carpeted deck with her fist. “You’re just another fucking illusion in a fucking imaginary world. Go away! Leave me alone . . .”

  Martin fought back the haze of panic and stopped himself as he started to reach for Maria. No you fool, you’ll only make it worse! He visualized a vidphone. “SWAIN!!”

  “Yes, Martin,” Swain appeared almost instantly.

  “It’s Maria, Doc.” Martin positioned the vidphone so Swain could see the girl.

  “What the . . . “ Swain swung around and started typing so fast and hard it sounded like machine gun fire through the vidphone. “Oh Jesus, her container’s in feedback runaway . . . what the hell happened?”

  Martin calmed himself down. “She was here when I got here, and was really shook up. Then she tried to grab me and . . . and phased right through.”

  “Oh hell’s bells. Martin, you’re in a new container so the existing level two interface between you two is gone. Everything will be fine, but right now the container you’re in isn’t calibrated near enough to even try to initiate a level two.” Swain’s face hardened. “But she’s in trouble, get out of there Martin.” He softened. “It’s going to be ok, but you being there is causing more harm than good. Go to Charlie’s or something. It’s all right, I’ll keep you posted.” Swain gave Martin a sad nod of encouragement.

  Martin returned the nod with a weak, trusting smile then vanished from the yacht.

  “Maria . . . Maria, it’s Doctor Swain.” He silently watched the sobbing girl curled up on the floor, it hurt just to look. “C’mon Maria, it’s Doc. Talk to me. Dammit Maria, look at me! . . . Go home Maria! Go home!” There was no response. Dammit to hell! Cyborgs! The men you can push until they get pissed off enough they concentrate on you, but the women . . . sometimes they have to have a physical contact to re-focus.

  Swain scooted his chair to another console and glanced around before typing in a password known only to him and sticking his finger in a DNA reader attached to the keyboard. After the console accepted him he typed Maria’s name and ID into the next screen. A bunch of data rolled down the screen including a short list of all level two interfaces her container maintained. Swain sighed and bowed his head with gritted teeth. There were a few odd ones she had disassociated from, but mainly it was a who’s who of dead warborgs with only two active links. Martin, with an alert next to it and one other. Oh, holy shit! Like I have a choice. He rubbed his temples. Now how in the hell do I handle this? He thought tapping in an ID on a vidphone. With a sigh he turned to a second vidphone and tapped Martin’s ID to get the access code to the yacht.

  . . .

  Commander Briton gave Martin’s home a cursory glance as he appeared aboard the yacht. Incredible, was his only thought as he braced himself for the unexpected and knelt next to the catatonic girl. “Maria.” He reached out and gently shook her shoulder.

  She rebounded to her feet at his touch and spun to face him as he stood. “You . . . you bastard. You’ve killed them all!” She lunged at him.

  He grabbed her shoulders to hold her back, wincing as her fingernails raked his arms. “Maria, snap out of it! Martin’s fine.”

  “No he’s not! You killed him just like you killed all the others, you lying bastard,” she hissed and kicked him.

  “Ouch!” In desperation Briton shook the girl. “Maria, listen to me, Martin’s in a new bucket. Do hear me? Martin’s in a new container.”

  She stopped struggling and looked into Briton’s eyes. “What?”

  “Martin’s fine Maria, they just had to put him in a new container, he’s only partially calibrated.” He let go of her and took a step back. “He just can’t initiate a level two yet, girl.”

  She self consciously wiped the mess from her face with her sleeve and stared at Briton. Tears started to form again in her eyes, but Briton could tell they were tears of sadness. “I thought Martin was dead . . . just like the others.” She stepped up to him, wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his shoulder. “All the others are dead, Tim.” She silently wept.

  “I know, Maria.” He rested his cheek on top of her head and felt her tears soak into his shirt. “I know,” he whispered as a single tear rolled from his eye.

  . . .

  Martin looked over the glum crowd at Charlie’s Place. But today Charlie’s Place was misnomer, all of the cyborgs were standing on a simple platform open to space. There was little conversation as they gathered. As a bio he had seen cyborg funerals and like most bio’s couldn’t understand the emotion. When a biological person died their remains were normally sent home, but most families didn’t want the remains of cyborg, usually just the brain with a short tail of stem, returned. Today was no exception, five cyborgs had died and only one’s remains were sent home. The rest were to be given a cyborg’s final rites.

  A very quiet, withdrawn, Maria stood next to him occasionally dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. He didn’t know what all happened the day before, but things seemed to be back to a semblance of normal. The only bio present was Doctor Swain looking sadly out from a vidphone panel that seemed to be suspended in midair. At the prescribed time Commander Briton mounted a small riser on the edge of the platform.

  Briton solemnly gazed over the group for a moment then started the service. “Today, is a sad day for our little community, for today we have to return four of our friends to the endless bounds of space. All space is full of dust, and from this dust comes our worlds . . . and our life’s beginnings. And it is only right that once our short time is ended here, that to dust we return . . .

  Martin listened in sadness as Briton gave his short eulogy and stared into the inky blackness with a lump coming and going in his throat. Then one at a time as Commander Briton read off the name of the deceased cyborg their canister was ejected from the ship. After it traveled a few thousand meters it was obliterated with a single pulse from one of the base’s defensive batteries leaving a cloud of ionized particles that dissipated almost instantly to nothing. The last cyborg read off was Brian and Martin wiped his eyes with his sleeve as the canister was flung into space. But there was no obliterating pulse. Martin like all the others stared questioningly after the canister.

&nb
sp; Briton waited several moments beyond when the canister should have been vaporized then spoke. “Throughout history there have been a few men that were recognized as leaders by their peers. They have been called Chieftains, Warriors and Headsmen. But universally in all societies it was known that their spirit was too strong, too powerful to be treated as normal men. Brian was one such man.” He turned to face in the direction where Brian’s canister had vanished. “May your last instant in this world be a beacon of hope for all mankind . . . go with God, Brian Stith.”

  Martin was stunned as each of the three heavy battle cruisers in the fleet fired both of their heavy tactical coherent energy weapons at the same instant. Any of the six pulses would have savaged a ship the size of their fighter base. And for an immeasurable speck in time, Brian’s container was the hottest, brightest object in the universe.

  Briton turned back to the awed crowd. “Thank you.” He stepped off the riser.

  18: A New Beginning

  Swain leaned back in his chair, he looked up from the canister spec sheet he was studying to contemplate Martin’s container sitting off in a corner. Martin, just what have you gotten yourself into now? He went back to studying the rift of papers. “This isn’t a container, it’s a . . . I don’t even know what to call it,” he muttered to himself. He tossed the papers into a loose pile on a console. “Martin, old friend, we really need to talk,” he sighed in the direction of the silent container.

  . . .

  Martin was trying to decide whether to contact Maria or not when his vidphone buzzed, she had been so quiet and reserved since her ordeal. “Morgan here.” Doc’s face lit up the screen. “What’s up Doc?”

  Swain sighed. “Like I haven’t heard that line about a million times.”

  Martin sensed Swain wasn’t in a happy frame of mind and decided to cool it. “Sorry, what’s on you mind.”

  “We need to talk directly Martin.”

  Martin aborted all his simulations and brought the canister sensor systems online. In a snap he was in the laboratory with Swain. “I’m here Doc, is everything ok?”

  Swain spun his chair around from the vidphone to face Martin’s canister. “Yes, everything’s fine, we just need to talk privately.”

  Martin rolled the trundle holding his canister up to Doc. “What’s on your mind?” He asked quietly.

  “Two things really. One you’ve been a tinman long enough I need to tell you a few things about your new society, and two, your new container is here. If you can call that thing a container.”

  “Take your time Doc, I’m all ears.”

  Swain leaned back and settled in to his chair. “How old do you think I am?”

  Martin studied Swain’s face for a moment, he’d never really given it much thought. “Fifty, fifty five.”

  Swain smiled for a second. “I turned sixty three last week.”

  “I never would have guessed.”

  “Thanks. But the fact is I’m growing older. But you cyborgs aren’t. Martin, nobody knows how long a cyborg can live. Without the toxins developed in an aging body the brain just seems to keep rolling along. No cyborg has ever died due to natural causes.”

  Martin paused trying to read his friends face. “I’ve heard that. But what’s this all about, Doc?”

  “Everything . . . and nothing.” Swain seemed to wilt a little. “Martin, I feel guilty about a few things that have happened, and the episode with Maria really brought it to a head.” Swain stopped.

  “Go ahead, I’m listening Doc.” Martin quietly reassured the soft spoken scientist.

  “I know you are, you always have. You may be a cyborg old friend, but you’re still the most human person I’ve ever met.” Swain hesitated. “First there’s Brian. Martin, he put on a good face but he was miserable as a cyborg.” Swain’s face pinched up, but he pressed on. “Brian was one of those unlucky few who could never achieve a level two interface.”

  “Oh God,” Martin sighed.

  “I know, what a nightmare his life must have been. Knowing he was doomed to forever living in a glass house with no chance of ever feeling the touch of another human again. So I suspect you were right, he attacked that Koth with no intention of living through it. He just wanted to be sure his death made a difference.”

  The mental images of Brian’s laughing face mixed with the hard bitten warrior flowed through Martin’s mind for a moment. “It did . . . I don’t think we know just how much yet.”

  Swain nodded sadly. “He will be missed.” Swain blew out a sigh. “Then there’s the Maria situation.”

  Martin could tell from the look in Swain’s eyes this one was a tough nut for him to crack. “It’s ok Doc. Let it go.”

  Swain gathered himself and heaved an introspective sigh with a smile. “How do I say something about that girl without giving the wrong impression? You know she is a healthy, mature, normal gal . . .”

  Martin started laughing. “Ahh, Doc, if you’re trying to tell me she’s kind of a randy little scamp don’t bother, I sort’a figured that out on our first level two link.”

  Swain turned beet red. “Ahh, no, well, damn . . . I guess that’s part of it, yes.”

  Martin, felt an evil streak swell up . . . besides he had to snap his friend out of his doldrums, and had a little piece of intuition. “You have a list of all the current container level two links, don’t you? So you sent a pinch hitter aboard MY yacht to finish the job.”

  “Yes, no, oh geez.” Swain broke down into roaring laughter. “Damn you Martin, You make it sound so . . . so earthy.”

  Martin wasn’t about to let up and hissed. “Earthy, you mean down right nasty don’t you? Sheesh, you send some gigolo into MY home to seduce MY girlfriend and I’m supposed to act like it’s Avon calling?”

  Swain was almost doubled up from the pain of laughing so hard as he mentally tried to equate the ramrod straight and somewhat stodgy Commander Briton to a gigolo. “Stop, damn you. Let me catch my breath.” Swain shook himself out. “You’re right, I do have a listing of all level two's. It’s included among some the most secure pieces of data I maintain. No one, and I mean no one, ever sees it but me. But it brings up a couple of points, and frankly, I need your thoughts on one of them.”

  Martin nodded then realized Swain couldn’t see him and said, “shoot.”

  “First, every cyborg has a sponsor, or maybe a mentor would be a better description. Like Maria was to you. Do you feel secure enough in your new environment to be a sponsor?”

  “Well, sure. I guess.” Martin mused.

  “Good.” Swain became more relaxed and started feeling like his old self again. “I try to match up the existing cyborg to the candidate. Sometimes I feel a little guilty about that, take Maria for example. She’s a sweet kid the younger guys really take to, keeps their minds off of what’s happening to them. But she gets attached to one now and again, that’s no slight on you Martin, and unfortunately the type of personality that has a mutual attraction with her usually wants’ to become a warborg.” He sadly shook his head. “Until I looked over her list I didn’t realize how many intimate friends she had lost. It was really a sad group, Martin. The point being she only had two active level two links left, and your’s was broken, leaving one. Ironically he was her original sponsor and probably the only one she hadn’t been intimately involved with.” Swain smiled and mused, “It’s really none of your, or my business for that matter, but they formed the link so he could teach her ballroom dancing. And no I’m not going to tell you who it is. That’s their business and if she wants to tell you she will.”

  “I can respect that.” Martin thought for a second. “Maria is my only link.”

  “I know,” Swain looked a little guilty. “After her episode I did a little research, almost all of you only have one or two. The gals tend to have a few more, which stands to reason since they are out numbered almost three to one. And that’s the question I have for you, as a cyborg. Would I be interfering too much by asking that all of you maintain at
least six level two links?”

  Martin mulled it over for a few seconds. “I don’t think there would be a problem as long as everyone knew it was in case of some emergency. Maria is a case in point where the situation could arise. But I don’t know how you’d make them understand that what happened to her could happen to any of us.”

  “Hmmm, give it some thought. Maria’s melt down wasn’t unique, but it is quite rare. There are a few other more mundane situations when it would be really good to have a second set of hands available. Maybe ask around a little bit? ” Swain straightened up in his chair and patted the spec sheets for Martin’s new container. “Now about this. Martin, just what in the hell have you gotten yourself into this time?”

  “What? Oh, you mean my new bucket.”

  “Bucket! Martin, I don’t even know what to call this thing. It’s like no container I’ve ever seen, or heard of for that matter. I assume you’ve seen the specs.”

  “Yeah, ain’t she cool.”

  “Arrghh,” Swain sputtered. “You guys and your toys are going to be the death of me yet!”

  “Ahh, just remember . . . the one who dies with the most toys wins.”

  “Not funny, Martin.” Swain grumped. “One of these toys IS going to get you killed someday.” Then he leaned back and smiled. “But I have to admit, this one is veerry nice. You know this thing is nothing but a miniature space ship.”

  “Yep, complete with wheels, thrusters, a simple pulse FTL drive and an ion cannon . . . well more of a popgun.”

  “Oh, well, we can’t forget that.” Swain rolled his eyes. “Just seems like a lot of hardware in case you have to eject.”

  Martin laughed. “No Doc, I can come and go from the main ship at will in this little guy.”