Cyborg Corps

by J N Chaney

  The tech waved his concern away. “I’m used to it. You cyborgs get damaged all the time. Anyway, fixing you is what I get paid to do.”

  Cyborgs, Warren thought, still not used to the word. Question was, just how much of him was human? He thought about the surgery he’d witnessed. The artificial stuff coming out of the other soldier’s stomach. No blood, but plenty of wires, metal, and other artificial bits. He wondered if there was anything left of his humanity, or if he was nothing more than a robot.

  6

  Warren couldn’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if he’d headed toward the infirmary before his HUD had ordered him to. Would the war computer have zapped him? Maybe it would have ignored him, like it did when he didn’t have anything in particular to do? It felt like he was constantly staring down the barrel of a gun.

  The closer he got to the medical sector, the more crowded the passageway became. There were a lot of people heading into and out of several hatches on the other side. Warren paused to take a peek inside one. It was another infirmary—a real one that treated real people, complete with white linen and the heavy stench of antiseptic. It wasn’t where he was headed. He didn’t belong there anymore.

  No need to dwell, he thought, and turned to walk through the entry his HUD directed him toward.

  Hendrose met him, took the tablet from the man who’d escorted him there, and grunted a few times as he swiped and tapped the device. After a moment, the man kneeled to get a closer look. “It could be worse. But not much without having to replace both legs. Yeah, I think you’ll need some new skin—maybe a few other components, but I won’t know for sure until I get in there and take a look.”

  Warren shrugged. “It’s not like I have a lot to do, doc.”

  Hendrose smiled. “Hopefully it won’t be much. I’ve been assigned an assistant. He’s been through his Occupational Specialty training, but real hands-on work would really help polish his skills.”

  “That’s fine, doc,” Warren said, and he climbed onto the table the tech motioned toward. Lukov had acted like revealing his memory loss was a bad thing. And it might be, but how was Warren supposed to know how to act?

  He decided that being himself would have to do. Based on his interactions with Lukov, the cyborgs had personalities, so Warren didn’t have to act emotionless. It made sense that his cyborg self would still carry his personality traits. At least he hoped so.

  “This is Seaman Sharp,” Hendrose said, unaware of Warren’s inner turmoil. “He’s about three months out of training, but he’s smart.”

  Warren gave the man a nod. “Good to meet you.”

  “Normally something like this would take about an hour,” Hendrose said. “But since I’ll be letting him do most of the work, it might take twice or even three times as long. I could always order you to let my assistant do it, or even paralyze you so you can’t resist, but I don’t think that would be fair. Rumor is, you saved the Ruthless all by yourself.”

  “That’s what I hear, doc. Take your time. I’m in no hurry.”

  “He saved the ship?” Seaman Sharp asked. “What happened?”

  “Missile hit,” Warren reported. “Knocked one of ours loose in the magazine, which fell, busted a pipe of NS-188 missile fuel, and managed to crush the one for fire suppression at the same time. I pinched the fuel, tore the other one loose, put the fire out. It was nothing.”

  “Nice,” Sharp said. “Cyborgs always get to do the cool stuff.”

  “Look here,” Hendrose said to Sharp. “See how his relay matrix is scorched here and here? If we don’t swap this one out for a new one, eventually this thing will overheat. He’ll have trouble controlling his legs. We don’t want that to happen in combat, or there will be a lot more than one little component to replace.”

  “What about these cable assemblies?” Sharp asked.

  “Yeah, those should be replaced, too. They look fine, but everything around them is damaged. Without removing them for inspection, we can’t really know for sure. Better safe than sorry.”

  “Right,” said Sharp. “They feel pain, right?”

  “Don’t talk about him like he’s not here,” Hendrose scolded. “Ask him yourself.”

  The seaman’s cheeks reddened as he looked Warren in the eye. “Do cyborgs feel pain?”

  “Yeah—in a way, I guess,” Warren said as he struggled to explain the difference. “It feels the same as before, but not as intense. I think I would’ve died from shock or bled out if this had happened to me before.”

  As soon as the words were out Warren realized his mistake.

  “You remember before?” Sharp said, turning to the senior tech for confirmation. “How much of before can they remember?”

  “No,” Hendrose said. “Of course he doesn’t remember from before. They learn about their past—sometimes even their training, but their specific histories are just as much a mystery to them as it is to us. That was a long time ago and all their old memories were wiped. He meant from what he’s been told, he doesn’t feel things like we do, not that he remembers. Right?”

  Hendrose angled his head so only Warren could see the intense expression on his face.

  “Right,” Warren agreed. The tech was coaching him on what to say. Something was going on—a mystery he’d investigate later.

  “So, what can you tell me about this component?” Hendrose asked Sharp, bringing the discussion back to their task.

  The junior tech studied something for a moment. “I think it could be saved,” he said. “Maybe just go through the relays one at a time. We could test them in the T-41, figure out which ones are burned, and replace the rest.”

  “I agree, but how long would the repairs take?” Hendrose asked.

  “I don’t know, maybe four hours?”

  Hendrose smiled. “Very good, but do you think that’s prudent when we could replace it in just an hour? That way we can repair the salvageable components and use them as back up replacements?”

  “I’m guessing the second option,” Sharp said with a small laugh.

  “You’re brilliant,” Hendrose joked. “Go get me one from his locker.” As soon as the tech walked away, Hendrose turned to Warren with a worried expression.

  “Don’t ever tell anyone you remember anything from before,” he hissed. “Never, ever tell anyone, not even me.”

  “But—“ Warren started to say.

  The technician shook his head sharply and continued in low tones. “I’ve put far too much work into you for you to blow it now. Stop talking about things you shouldn’t have access to. It was a mistake. I was trying to restore an old backup.”

  Warren noticed Sharp heading back with a replacement arm and pasted a calm, serene expression on his face, even though he was feeling neither. Something had just happened between him and the tech. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to ruin it because it meant there were answers for his current predicament.

  “Attention on deck!” the junior tech barked.

  Warren nearly erupted from the table, but Hendrose pushed his head back down.

  An officer in a fancy white uniform with gold piping, ribbons, and a captain’s hat walked into the room. “As you were, gentlemen. Is this the cyborg known as Warren Prescott?”

  “Yes, Captain Bligh,” Hendrose said, stepping out of the way to let the older man approach.

  Based on the man’s uniform, it was clear he was the captain of this ship. Judging by the number of wrinkles and the size of his nose and ears, he was no spring chicken. Far from feeble, he looked like he had plenty of ass kicking left in him.

  The officer looked pleased, until he glanced at Warren’s legs. Mild distaste washed over his face for a moment before he replaced it with a stoic expression.

  “Son, I’m here to offer you my personal thanks and appreciation for saving the crew of the GRS Ruthless and the ship itself,” the captain said. “Had you not extinguished the fire, we all would have perished. You’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty. You’re a cr
edit to the First Cyborg Corps.”

  The captain offered his hand to shake Warren’s, which the cyborg accepted. “My pleasure, sir.”

  “I wish there was something else I could do to thank you, but you know how things are. We each have our place in the Republic Navy, and I’m thankful you performed your duty. Job well done.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Warren said.

  “Attention on deck!” Sharp shouted as the captain left the room. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard the captain say anything nice to anyone, ever,” the junior sailor whispered. “You’ll get a promotion out of this one. Maybe a ribbon, too.”

  “They don’t have ranks,” Hendrose said. “Nor do they get any kind of formal recognition. Now tell me more about this leg.”

  The senior technician watched Warren’s face carefully as his subordinate tech examined the cyborg’s leg. Sharp began rattling off the names of components, their condition, and what it would take to replace each of them.

  Warren tuned them out as his mind wandered. No rank. No promotions. No recognition. Lukov had said as much, but Hendrose had just erased any lingering doubt. All he possessed was a constant threat of being zapped, a daily nutrition bar, and someone to repair him.

  Warren barely noticed when the junior tech accidentally crossed a couple of wires and caused his leg to twitch. Another component burned out and a warning message appeared on his HUD. A few seconds later, another message replaced it.

  GET IT TOGETHER OR HE WILL NOTICE!

  Warren read the message and glanced at Hendrose, who was tapping commands into a tablet.

  COMPLAIN ABOUT SOMETHING.

  CYBORGS COMPLAIN A LOT.

  Warren had to think fast. “Think you can manage not to break anything else while you’re down there? Especially since you’re so close to my lump?”

  “Huh?” Sharp said, glancing at the cyborg’s crotch. “I don’t think—“

  Warren faked a laugh. Sharp turned crimson again, but joined him.

  “Is that part of your cyborg training?” Sharp asked. “Or is picking on your techs natural?”

  “Cyborg training,” Warren said. “And I’ll have you know, I was the top of my class.”

  “Lovely,” Sharp groaned.

  Hendrose nodded and smiled, obviously pleased with Warren’s back and forth.

  A few minutes later, the burned-out component was replaced, and the damage warning disappeared.

  “Good,” Hendrose said after inspecting the work. “Now comes the fun part—repairing his skin. Go ahead and get the supplies.”

  The two men watched him open a cabinet and start looking for parts on the other side of the room before either spoke.

  “What part of me is still human?” Warren whispered.

  “Your brain and spine,” Hendrose replied, checking over his shoulder to make sure they were still alone.

  “What does it mean to be reset?”

  “It means the computer loads your memories into a spare unit, basically another brain and spine, after it’s loaded into a new housing. Or, it could mean your current brain is overwritten.”

  “And what does it mean to be deleted?”

  “It means all the backups the Navy has of you are removed from memory. If the cyborg is dead, he’ll never be brought back. If not, it’s his last shot. They’re never told when their backups are deleted, though.”

  They stopped talking when Sharp turned around, arms full of components, and started walking back. When he laid them on the table, Hendrose gave them a cursory glance and nodded his approval before stepping out of the way.

  Two other techs came in, followed by a cyborg who was having trouble walking. It looked like both his legs had been damaged and he was hamming it up by pretending to be an old man. Warren’s HUD informed him it was Craig. Apparently, he hadn’t been deleted after the total loss of his last body.

  “How does this come out?” Sharp asked, pointing to something out of Warren’s line of sight.

  “Oh, that one’s tricky,” Hendrose replied. “First you have to take this off, then this. Twist that and it’ll slide out. Don’t worry if you forget the order. You won’t break anything—it just won’t fit, and worst-case scenario you’ll have to take some other stuff out to get it right.”

  “Roger that,” Sharp said as he went back to work.

  Warren stared at the ceiling and did his best to look like he was working hard at being patient. What he was really doing was exploring his HUD. He’d seen a wireframe of his body and was trying to get it back. After a minute of struggling, he made it appear.

  Gotcha! he thought as he accessed the HUD control interface.

  He began to delve into his internal systems and verified he had a brain and a spinal cord. Everything else, however, seemed to be artificial, just as the tech had told him. When he took a closer look at his brain, he discovered something interesting. There was a restricted area he wasn’t allowed to inspect near his brainstem.

  Hendrose did a double take at his tablet and shook his head slightly. Warren ignored him and spun the wireframe diagram around to see if there were any clues as to what was being hidden. He had a guess but wanted to know for sure.

  DON’T. THAT’S YOUR COMPULSION CHIP.

  Warren frowned at the tech.

  LATER. I PROMISE.

  Warren relaxed a bit and willed his HUD to clear. Whatever he and Hendrose had been up to in the missing part of his memory, it appeared to be illegal, which was fine by him. He felt betrayed. He’d been lied to. There was a good chance his brain and spine had been removed from his body on that first operating table. He’d signed the contract without reading it through first. Apparently, it had given the government the legal right to do everything that happened afterward.

  What Hendrose had to do with it, Warren wasn’t sure. He’d get his answers, but it didn’t have to be right away.

  Hendrose set the tablet down and demonstrated to the junior tech how to remove the damaged portions of Warren’s skin to replace with the new. He maneuvered a cutting tool around, moving his hands at odd angles in some sort of choreographed repair routine. Warren watched as a narrow column of white smoke rose into the air.

  “Then you reattach it with this,” Hendrose said, handing the junior tech another tool. “Try not to screw it up or we’ll have to cut out a bigger portion and do it again.”

  An hour later, the skin was replaced and dyed to match the rest of his body. Once the techs performed a final function check, he was allowed to stand. Hendrose nodded, and Sharp looked pleased with his work. Warren was less than thrilled. He felt like a damn pincushion.

  “All better, hero?” asked a heavily accented voice.

  Lukov stood just inside the infirmary. The other man had a few small burns on his body armor, but otherwise appeared to be fine.

  “Is that what they’re saying?” asked Warren.

  “It is,” Lukov replied. “There is no secret aboard Ruthless. Everyone knows everything.” He turned and stared at Seaman Sharp like he knew some juicy detail about the sailor.

  Sharp suddenly seemed to remember something important he had to do somewhere else.

  “You are well?” asked Lukov, coming closer. “Repaired. Fit as the fiddle, as they say?”

  “I’m all better,” Warren said, demonstrating so by getting to his feet. “I need to get dressed. Let’s go.”

  Lukov raised one of his eyebrows and followed him from the room.

  7

  Alone in the locker room, Lukov waited until Warren was dressed before he spoke. “You are quiet. Something wrong?”

  “Yes and no,” replied Warren. “I’m all repaired, but up until I saw electronics yanked out of my body, it felt more like a dream than reality. A really bad dream. I guess I felt like there might still be a chance.”

  “A chance? Opportunity? I don’t understand. For what?”

  “That I wasn’t a cyborg. That I still had some privacy. I don’t even have privacy in my own mind—not if people ca
n put stuff in there and make messages appear in front of my eyes. Can they read my mind?”

  Lukov shrugged. “This is not something that is known to us. Some cyborgs speculate, but none believe. If so, the Republic would have cause for many worry and concern. Many think evil thoughts about turning the officers inside to outside. Maybe playing jump the rope with intestines, yes? Strangle with bare hands. It would be easy. We are strong.”

  Warren chewed on that for a second. “That makes sense. If they could read our minds, anyone thinking about killing a superior would be caught immediately.”

  “Exactly,” Lukov said, nodding. “If that was the case, they would order not to think of killing officers. They would be afraid, even when compulsion chip prevent attack. Would not allow us to fight other cyborgs. We can. It does happen, but always reset after. Would prevent from fighting to save the monies to repair the parts and pieces. When cyborg fight, it is brutal. Pieces do land here and there and all of the places. Glorious sight.”

  Warren was quiet for a few more seconds as he thought about what he wanted to ask next. “It seems the key to all of this is the compulsion chip.”

  “Yes. Evil invention. Much brilliance, but still evil. No compulsion chip means no cyborg.”

  “I had no idea,” said Warren. “Yeah—brilliant but evil. Genius, really. This is all new to me, but at the same time feels familiar.”

  “I see.” Lukov eyed him curiously. “I was not aware you forgot. It is not something I have heard before, but it could happen. You should never touch your compulsion chip. It is forbidden. Others have tried. It cannot be made to tamper with. The war computer, she does not forgive. You will be reset or deleted. Do not try this.”

  “Have you tried?” asked Warren.

  Lukov opened his mouth, then closed it. “I do not know,” he admitted. “Who is to say? Maybe yes. Maybe no. If they did reset, I would not remember.”