“No, wait—” Nikomedes pleaded, but was cut short when the bowl-shaped device moved with inhuman speed and clamped itself onto his skull. Before he could tear himself free, his skull was ringed with a series of sharp, loud noises which were followed by a high-pitched whining sound and he realized it was drilling holes into his skull.
“Nikomedes Minos will suffer catastrophic neural trauma if resistance continues,” the Voice said coldly.
Nikomedes found that his emotional state was wrecked after having accepted his death in the weeks leading up to his return to the Forge of Men. But after hearing that it would be possible he might survive prior to entering the Core, his resolve had vanished like breath-fog in a blizzard as he realized that Men intended for him to undergo yet another Upload.
He struggled mightily, feeling his left wrist break with a series of pops and cracks but he did not care about the pain. He desperately wanted to leave the Forge, even if doing so meant death by the noxious fumes outside the sanctum of Men where he was now imprisoned.
The high-pitched sound of the drills turned to a series of crunching, cracking noises, after which the Voice said, “Administering paralytic compound to maximize information extraction.”
Immediately, Nikomedes arms and legs went numb and even his mouth would not respond to his mind’s commands.
“Paralytic agent administered,” the Voice said with cold satisfaction, “Upload will now commence.”
This time, when the stream of images flooded his mind, they were accompanied by every other sense—sound, tactile, smell, and even taste—as those memories flew past his consciousness.
It was beyond overwhelming but, as what seemed like an eternity passed, Nikomedes was forced to endure the experience as his desperate screams of agony echoed silently in the tiny corner of his mind where his consciousness now hid in abject terror.
Eventually the process ended, and when it finally did so Nikomedes was grateful for the cold, dark silence of death as it washed over him. After the unspeakable torment of his second Upload, death felt like the most comforting blanket he could ask for, and he gladly wrapped it around all that he could have ever been as the light of his life dimmed into nothingness.
Chapter XXVIII: A New Directive
Nikomedes’ lungs were full of thick, warm fluid which filled his mouth with a bitter, metallic taste as his eyes fluttered open only to find that same fluid stung his eyes so badly he immediately clamped them shut.
His arms struck a solid, curved surface as they lashed out mindlessly, and after only a few seconds of panic he realized he was within one of the tubes like that which King Lykurgos’ bones had rested in for three centuries.
Thrashing about frantically as he found himself unable to breath, he tried to look around but the fluid was simply too caustic. He did manage to grasp a long tube of some sort in front of him, and he quickly realized that tube was inside his mouth!
Grabbing and yanking on the tube, he tore it from his mouth and realized only after he had done so that it had gone all the way down his windpipe. The sharp, burning sensation which followed caused him to scream, but with no air in his lungs he made no sound.
Suddenly the level of the liquid around him lowered and was replaced with air as it drained out near his feet. He realized he was standing only after half of the liquid had left the tube, and as soon as the other half had drained out of the tube he managed to open his eyes and see the transparent, glass-like tube descend into the floor beneath him.
“Subject will identify himself,” he heard the Voice of Men command, and he looked around to see that he was once again in the Inner Forge. He hacked and spluttered as the foul, bitter fluid was slowly expelled from his lungs while he knelt on the cold metal floor before the tube.
He felt a sharp pinprick of pain in the base of his skull which immediately sharpened his senses, and Nikomedes found that he was now wide awake and the memories of his trip to the Core came rushing back to him.
“Subject will identify himself,” the Voice repeated, and Nikomedes looked down at his hand to see that it was no longer mangled, and the damage he had done to his wrist while trying to free his hand from its icy prison appeared to have never been done. “Comply,” the Voice said coldly, “or We must commence the recycling process.”
“I…” he began hoarsely, coughing violently after the scratchy sensation in his throat became too much to ignore. After a few horrible, dry hacks, he began again, “I am Nikomedes.”
“Error,” the Voice intoned, “self-identification incomplete. Subject will identify himself.”
Nikomedes stood to his full height, finding that his ruined leg was also fully healed and that the various aches and pains to which he had become accustomed during his young life were now strangely absent as well. “I am Nikomedes,” he repeated forcefully, “I am no longer fit to bear the Minos name, having lost the Dark Sword of Power which was granted me by Men’s beneficence.” He felt his hands ball into fists at his sides as he remembered with unerring accuracy every vivid moment of his duel with Jason Montagne, and he added, “The Minos Sword is now in the possession of Jason Montagne, who strides the River of Stars on his flying citadel, therefore I am unfit to share the blade’s name.”
“Self-identification accepted as complete,” the Voice acknowledged after a lengthy pause. “Our databanks have been updated to incorporate the reduction of ‘Nikomedes Minos’ name to ‘Nikomedes.’ Nikomedes will now accept new directives from Us.”
Nikomedes blinked stupidly. “What…what do you mean?” he asked, making no attempt to hide his confusion. “I have failed you…I have failed the god of my people, and must suffer for that failure.”
“The introduction of the unforeseen variables,” the Voice explained neutrally, “which were primarily represented by subject hereafter referred to as ‘Jason Montagne,’ reduced probability of Nikomedes’ successful completion of assigned directives from Our predicted 98.5% to 3.2%. Nikomedes attempted to execute assigned directives with adequate demonstration of organic hardware inherent to Nikomedes’ genetically-designed capabilities.” There was a short pause before the Voice unthinkably added, “The failure was not Nikomedes’; the failure was Ours.”
Nikomedes was thunderstruck. He stood with his mouth agape at hearing the equivalent of an apology from the god of his people, and it was all he could do to force himself to resume breathing after realizing he had ceased doing so upon hearing the seemingly impossible utterance.
“Nikomedes will now accept new directives from Us,” the Voice commanded, and Nikomedes fell to his knees even before it had finished repeating its previous command.
“How may I serve the Will of Men?” Nikomedes gushed reverently, his body tingling with unexpected eagerness. Not only would he not die in the Forge, but he would be granted a chance to redeem himself—and his forebears—in the eyes of his god!
“Upon examination of the information received via Nikomedes’ completed Upload—the contents of which comprise the sum total of Nikomedes’ neuro-chemically stored experience,” the Voice explained patiently, “We have concluded that Nikomedes demonstrates superior capabilities for subterfuge, tactical data recognition, raw intelligence, and social bond formation with individual organic units which ultimately prove beneficial to Nikomedes in an unusually high percentage of such interactions. We will now issue new directives which maximize these characteristics of Nikomedes in order to increase likelihood of successful directive completion. These directives will replace previous directives. Nikomedes will acknowledge comprehension.”
“I am yours to command,” Nikomedes said, swelling with pride at being praised so greatly by the god of his people. If this was a dream and his soul was merely on its way to Hades, he wished that the dream would never end. He had never felt as complete, as proud, or as purposeful as he did in that moment. It seemed that Men was genuinely willing to ignore his failure to carry out his previous directives, and he would not let that gesture of magnanimity go unrew
arded.
“Primary directive number one,” the Voice intoned, “Nikomedes will immediately return to geo-social region hereafter referred to as ‘Argos’ and await the probable return of Jason Montagne. Upon Jason Montagne’s return, Nikomedes will enter Jason Montagne’s service for the purpose of forming productive social bonds with organic communities not presently directed by, or irrevocably affiliated with, Jason Montagne. Nikomedes will acknowledge comprehension of this directive.”
He did not understand why the Voice wished him to enter into Jason Montagne’s service, but Nikomedes did understand Men’s will clearly enough that he nodded and said, “I understand; I will serve Jason Montagne.” It was a bitter pill to swallow, but he would not doubt the Will of Men after his god’s unimaginable generosity.
“Primary directive number two,” the Voice continued, apparently satisfied with his reply, “Nikomedes will form a social bond with subject hereafter referred to as ‘Adonia’ without provoking Jason Montagne into action against Nikomedes until completion of other primary directives. This bond must be made consistent with the social structures governing the positions referred to as ‘Hold Mistress’ and ‘Protector,’ but Nikomedes will not reveal that this is the purpose of this social bonding process until the completion of other primary directives. Nikomedes will acknowledge comprehension of this directive.”
Again Nikomedes nodded, though this time he was rather more concerned with how he was supposed to ingratiate himself to Lady Adonia now that he had lost the Minos Sword—a sword which now hung across her sitting Protector’s back as he second-best blade!
“Your will is my command,” Nikomedes said heavily, knowing that somehow, someway, he could accomplish even this task.
“Primary directive number three,” the Voice continued as the door leading to the Core began to open just as it had done prior to his last, hellish trip beyond it, “Nikomedes will enter the Core and retrieve the module which has caused damage to one of Our Fragment’s secondary processors.”
Nikomedes eyed the doorway warily, but after replaying the directive in his mind his eyes widened and he found himself standing in spite of his trepidation and moving toward the door. His footsteps echoed around him as he moved purposefully toward the platform in the Core’s center. The plank beneath his feet seemed to thrum, and the skin of his soles seemed alive with a faint, vaguely prickly sensation as he made his way to the giant, crystalline structure at the Core’s center.
When he arrived, he looked down at the foot-long hilt of the sword which was buried within one of the six smaller crystals attached to the base of the larger one.
“Nikomedes will remove the module from Our secondary processor,” the Voice reminded him. “Warning: thermo-electrical energy within Our primary processor’s housing exceeds human survival thresholds. Nikomedes is instructed to remove the module without touching Our primary processor with the organic material of Nikomedes’ body or the crystalline material of the module itself. Failure to comply will result in immediate, irrevocable cessation of all vital neurological functions.”
Nikomedes reached out hesitantly to the hilt of the weapon, feeling a thrill as he saw that its hilt seemed oddly familiar. He gripped it with his hands and felt its icy cold surface instantly freeze the traces of sweat on his palms. This only served to make him tighten his grip as he wrenched the weapon sideways—away from the glowing, crystal spire to which this smaller protrusion was attached—and it took every ounce of his strength to pull the blade free in a shower of sparks.
No sooner had he done so than an explosion threw him into the nearest bench-like surface—the same one he had been Uploaded at during his previous visit to the chamber—and his head struck the metal chair with enough force to fill his vision with stars.
When he was once again able to see, he looked down at the weapon beside his hand—a hand which now lacked the majority of the skin covering its palm—he saw that he had somehow broken the blade from the hilt! “No,” he said in surprise which quickly turned to despair as he repeated in anguish, “no…no…no!”
“Nikomedes has accomplished this directive,” the Voice said with obvious satisfaction as the barest spark of light appeared within the damaged crystal which had held the now-sundered blade, “repairs will now commence on our secondary processors.”
“But the sword,” he said, looking around for the broken pieces of the blade, “it is ruined!”
“Nikomedes has drawn an incorrect conclusion,” the Voice replied coolly, “this is predictable given Nikomedes’ lack of technical knowledge.”
He would not say so in the presence of his god, but Nikomedes knew that he had indeed ruined the legendary weapon—its blade was no longer present!
“The module which Nikomedes has removed from Our secondary processor is encoded with multiple safeguard mechanisms,” the Voice explained. “We calculate a 92% probability that its internal auto-regenerative capacitor will not permit immediate activation due to continuous discharge during contact with Our secondary processor. Addendum,” the Voice added after a brief pause, “modules of similar design have been documented to administer a lethal electric shock, accompanied by the introduction of a lethal quantity of radioactive waste materials into the bloodstream of organic units which contain active nano-repair units similar to those presently completing the repairs to Nikomedes’ nervous system. We advise Nikomedes to avoid attempted activation of the module until the nano-repair units have completed the directed repairs and are eliminated via organic waste disposal processes. Acknowledge comprehension of this addendum.”
Nikomedes replayed the words several times in his mind before shaking his head. “I am sorry…I do not understand,” he said with bitter disappointment in himself, hanging his head in shame.
“Sorrow is irrelevant,” the Voice said unconcernedly. “We will re-convey the information in an alternate fashion which will present fewer barriers to information exchange: Nikomedes is advised not to activate the module he removed from our secondary processor until his mental capacities are fully replenished. This will suggest with a high degree of probability that Nikomedes’ body no longer contains active nano-repair units. Acknowledge comprehension of this alternate addendum.”
Nikomedes nodded slowly as he was still uncertain of many of the words which the Voice had spoken, but deciding he understood enough of it to move past this particular phase of the conversation. “I understand…I am not to wield it until I feel fully healed, since I will die instantly if I am not ready.”
“This acknowledgment is acceptable,” the Voice acknowledged after a brief pause. “Primary directive number three has been accomplished; secondary objectives will now be given,” the god of his people instructed. “Nikomedes will, without compromising the probability of primary directive accomplishment, collect information on the following keywords and phrases, or any variants displaying significant similarity to the following: ‘Seer,’ ‘Dark Seer,’ ‘Massively Multi-parallel Entropic Network,’ ‘Multi-Anthropic Network,’ ‘Ancients,’ ‘Elders,’ ‘Core Fragment,’ ‘Data God,’ ‘Bugs,’ ‘Empire of Man,’ ‘ComStat Network,’ ‘One Line,’ and ‘non-human intelligence.’ Acknowledge comprehension of this secondary directive.”
Nikomedes nodded, “I will gather information surrounding the words: ‘Seer,’ ‘Dark Seer,’ ‘Massively Multi-parallel Entropic Network,’ ‘Multi-Anthropic Network,’ ‘Ancients,’ ‘Elders,’ ‘Core Fragment,’ ‘Data God,’ ‘Bugs,’ ‘Empire of Man,’ ‘ComStat Network,’ ‘One Line,’ and ‘non-human intelligence’.” He hesitated before adding, “But I am unfamiliar with the meaning of these words.”
“Familiarity is irrelevant,” the Voice said dismissively, and Nikomedes saw a strange, sporadic flickering begin to color the giant, crystal column at the center of the chamber. “Nikomedes will now receive the final directive.”
Nikomedes lowered his head reverently, “What would you have of me?”
“Nikomedes will execute previous directive
s until Jason Montagne is rendered unfit to direct the resources under his control,” the Voice explained, “or until Nikomedes independently predicts the probability of victory in a direct confrontation with Jason Montagne to be greater than 80%, at which time Nikomedes is to kill Jason Montagne and assume the role of Protector to Hold Mistress Adonia before returning here to receive further directives.”
Nikomedes felt his heart begin to pound in his ears as his vision sharpened and every hair on his body stood in unison. He could not believe his ears: the Voice of Men was actually commanding him to seek vengeance on Jason Montagne—it was more than he could have ever hoped for!
“Addendum,” the Voice said after the flickering within the central crystal ceased, “previous directive to avoid dissemination of information regarding the location of the Forge or the presence of our Core is reinstated. Acknowledge comprehension of these directives.”
“I will bring Jason Montagne’s head to you in thanks for entrusting me with this holy mission,” Nikomedes vowed before the god of his people, “and I will tell no one of this place’s secrets.”
“Retrieval of Jason Montagne’s intact head is preferable,” the Voice agreed. “If possible, Nikomedes is to place Jason Montagne’s head in a cryogenic storage device no later than twenty minutes after Jason Montagne’s death in order to preserve neuronal integrity and ensure the maximum possible extraction of information. This should now be accepted as a secondary objective.”
Nikomedes had no idea what a ‘cryogenic storage device’ was, but he would familiarize himself with it as quickly as possible in order to carry out Men’s will. “I understand and obey,” he promised.
“Nikomedes is directed to return to Argos,” the Voice commanded, “addendum: activation of the module retrieved from Our secondary processor is achieved by gripping the portion colloquially referred to as ‘hilt’ with the hands and applying maximum possible pressure.”
The Forge of Men Page 42