by T. A. Uner
Every single day. “Yes. But with all that has been happening around here I have not had time for proper maintenance.” He hated admitting that he had to go to the hospital for his monthly “checks.” It made him feel like an automobile, but he felt his systems slowing over the past few months. Had he lost his will to live? It was possible. But now, with the Death Walker menace looming, could he take the chance of shutting down?
“May I take a look at your face…Malcolm?” Reptilius felt like chuckling, but he repressed it. When the good doctor said his name it sounded like Maal-cooom. Formal, eloquent British English.
Reptilius took off his ski mask, and let Holbourne gaze upon what he had become.
The Englishman’s eyed widened. He looked like a small boy who had learned he wasn’t Getting what he wanted for Christmas. Reptilius figured this would be the education of a lifetime for someone from the past, gazing upon technology from the future. “Make it quick, Doctor,” Reptilius grumbled.
Holbourne placed his hand on Reptilius’ cheek, or what was left of it. The fingers felt cold to the touch. It was the first time in many years anyone outside himself had touched the remnants of his face—ironically, Holbourne’s human hands felt like metal.
The scientist probed his face, and when Reptilius felt the Englishman’s fingers twitch he shot him a confused look. “Is everything alright, doctor?”
Holbourne nodded nervously. “Why yes, everything is fine, Malcolm.” He took a deep breath and continued inspecting Reptilius’ circuitry.
After an hour of poking around Reptilius’ head Holbourne took a seat. “I must say, this technology is way beyond even my credentials. Keep in mind I am a century behind your time.”
“So can you patch me up?” Reptilius asked.
Holbourne nodded. “I can try. I would need some tools: fine-tip pliers, some of that bio-circuitry you use to transmit from your visual cortex stimulator. ”
“Pliers will be difficult to acquire; and the bio-circuitry is expensive, but I know where I can get some.” He handed Holbourne a paper-thin tablet. “Here,” Reptilius said, handing it to Holbourne, “this is a database of schematics and technical manuals I acquired via the hacker network.”
Holbourne took the tablet before Reptilius explained how it was activated. “Now I have to get Giselle.”
“The Vampire?”
“I would not call that to her face, Doctor.” Reptilius donned his helm and it snapped into his shoulder harness. “In her reality she suffered an accident. They transferred her consciousness into a clone body. Little did she or her parents know that it was part of The Sect conspiracy to create a Vampire Zombie clone army from deceased humans.”
“Did she tell you this, Malcolm?”
Reptilius nodded. He wished Holbourne wouldn’t call him Malcolm, even if it was technically his name. He knew the English were known for being proper, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t get annoyed.
“Can we trust her?”
“We’ll just have to, Doctor.”
Fifteen minutes later after Reptilius and Giselle had left. Holbourne broke out into a sweat. His hands were shaking uncontrollably; he was craving a cigarette. I cannot accept how they bloody don’t have cancer sticks in this damned reality.
Malcolm had taken his crocodile pet along with him, leaving Holbourne even more desperate for something, anything that could help take the edge off. What if those Vampire Zombies came back? Did he not even give a shit if he lived or died? He did leave a large crossbow on a dresser next to the entrance (or what was left of it) but somehow Holbourne did not feel at ease. He tore through the house like a tornado, pulling open drawers and cupboards. The place already looked like that had happened so there was no need to worry. “Doesn’t this wanker keep any alcohol in this mudhole?” he exclaimed.
He finally located what looked like a green wine bottle. He licked his lips greedily and took a swig, right before he was about to swallow he spit it out and nearly vomited. A greasy smell that reminded him of motor oil. He spit out slavers of fuming mucous saliva as his tongue burned like hell.
“What was that?” he collapsed to his knees and grasped his throat. He felt like he was going to die, and in a strange world on the other side of the planet. He headed toward what looked like a kitchen and began fumbling around, trying to find something to drink, he finally saw an orange bottle with a white label that read Southern Comfort. He figured it was some sort of yank drink and drank heartily. It had a strange taste, very spicy, but Holbourne felt he could get used to it. He drank. When he finally caught a buzz he started feeling better. A stroke of luck lead him to a closet where a brown box was filled with three more bottles. Holbourne took another and drank deeply.
Thirty minutes later he vomited, heavy-headed, he swore he never felt better.
The first time he realized that he was a boozer was when he crashed his Vauxhall on his way home from work. It was a Thursday night and he had worked late. Till 11P.M. A quick stop off at the closest pub yielded four pints of bitter and two shots of tequila. Some green-headed bar wench had offered the shots for free and he wasn’t one to turn down free tequila. No-sir-reeee! He wobbled back to his car like a goose and dropped his keyless entry unit half a dozen times before he knew he was piss raging drunk. He couldn’t smell the booze on him but he felt in on him. After twenty minutes of searching he found the keyless entry a half meter from his left ankle. After sleeping some of the drink off he vomited on the floor mat and cursed. Well, at least they were all-season mats so cleaning them wouldn’t be too difficult.
After starting his car he backed out of the parking lot and swung onto A301, driving at speeds that surprisingly did not attract police attention. He passed Waterloo Station and was still feeling slightly giddy. Maybe he would stop off and have another drink somewhere. But it was dark and his mind wandered.
He thought about the new project he was working on back at MI6: some sort of new A.I. that could be used in a prototype android MI6 was developing for covert missions. They had made a decision against cloning (the whole world had) and decided to “design” their new operatives. Holbourne marveled at how realistic these birds/blokes looked. One of them – a nude female lying in Development Room 6, had even given him an erection—they were that bloody real.
He was right about to reach the roundabout and turn off onto York Road when something appeared ahead of him. He nearly vomited again as he swerved not to hit the creature but he heard a loud thump and struck his head against the windshield when his car hit the road barrier.
“What the fuck is wrong with me? Stupid fucking man!” he said fumbling to get out of the car. What he saw under it nearly gave him a heart attack. It was a young girl; she looked almost the same age as his daughter. “Dear Christ,” he said before he pissed himself. He felt the flaming stream of urine cut down the side of his left leg. He tried to see if she was breathing but it was difficult. His eyesight was blurry and the road light did not offer enough lamination from this angle. He felt his chest explode and collapsed face down in his own piss.
Dim Lights. Like two yellow eyes at the end of a long road tunnel. Then, slowly they grew into a larger circle until he was looking up at the face of a dark-skinned nurse who smelled like cinnamon. “How are you feelin’ docta?” she said. He could not tell what type of accent it was: Ghanaian? Nigerian? Angolan? “You suffah’d a heart attak’. Lucky to be alive she said patting his arm gently. “You’re family is outside, I’ll gooh get dom for ya.”
He nodded and saw that his arm was hitched to an IV unit while tiny computer screens measuring his life signs greeted him into their sterile world.
His first thought was the young girl. Who was she? Where was she from? And how could he of been so fucking stupid to run her down?
The door opened and two men in black three-piece suits walked in. They both wore red-sun glasses that matched their crimson shirts. They hovered over him like ravens and smiled. “Hello there doctor,” one of them said. He had a long
face that was almost comical, but Holbourne was in no mood to laugh. The other one had pointy ears and a high forehead. He did not smile, but was serious. “You haven’t spoken with anyone have you doctor?” Mister Serious had asked. “That would be quite unfortunate…quite unfortunate.”
The long-faced one smiled at Holbourne. “Please pardon my colleague, Doctor, his bedside manner is often ill-received. How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” Holbourne lied. How he could’ve answered the question with that reply was mind-chilling. “You haven’t mentioned the girl to anyone, have you….have you?” Serious asked.
They knew about his accident. Shit. Were these detectives from Scotland Yard? Holbourne prayed for another heart attack; and he wouldn’t mind if this one took him straight to hell.
“No,” Holbourne replied.
“That’s good Doctor…that’s good Doctor.”
“We are here to inform you that everything has been taken care of,” Longface said, “The accident scene has been purged and no knowledge of this has reached anyone.” He looked up at Serious and they both nodded.
Holbourne had a feeling these blokes weren’t from MI6, but still he had to ask: “Which branch are you two from.” Serious put his hand on Holbourne’s chest and for the first time he noticed how pale his skin was.
“No…not MI6…but we watch over important events, and your android development program has caught our attention.”
“Our attention,” Serious repeated.
“We represent an organization called the Black Arm,” Longface said. Holbourne was amazed that he could not see Longface’s eye coloration, the red sunglasses both he and Mister Serious wore did not have a dark tint. “Needless to say, Doctor, it is paramount that nothing ill happen to you, we wouldn’t want to risk England’s, or the world’s for that matter, finest cyberneticist attracting any unwanted attention.”
“But the girl…”
Serious cut him off. “Forget her…” he leaned in closer and Holbourne could smell his heavy cologne. “Forget her.”
“You must understand that a lot is at stake here doctor.” Longface straightened his tie. “The appropriate media report has been revised to state that you simply were hit by a drunk driver and left for dead. Has a realistic flow to it, don’t you think?” Serious nodded.
“Do not make us return doctor,” Serious said. “Do not make us return.”
Longface removed an envelope and handed it to Holbourne. “I almost forget to give you this.” He placed the envelope on Holbourne’s chest and he felt a shiver spread across his body. “Good day.” They both turned around and left.
Five minutes later his wife and daughter entered his room and he put on a token smile. Still wondering who the two freaky blokes were in the black suits and red shirts. He kissed his little girl and felt her tears of relief at seeing him alive wet his cheek. His wife took his hand and smiled. How could he sit here and face them. Knowing what he had done? And who was the ‘Black Arm?’
An hour later, after the friendly African nurse had escorted his family out of his room, she returned to change his bedpan. He realized he still had the unopened envelope in his hand. It felt cold, like Longface’s presence. “Can you open this for me?” he asked the nurse. She smiled and removed the card, handing it to him. Inside it read:
Get well soon Dr. Holbourne,
FROM YOUR GOOD FRIENDS AT SECT ENTERPRISES
The Plan
Arrow, moved through the swamp at a confident speed. Giselle had been quiet, but even if she’d talked the drone of the motor would’ve drowned out her words. In the distance Rex and Max’s trading post came into view. Reptilius hoped Sawtooth would not get too bored with the good doctor. He knew something was messed up with that Brit, but what?
He felt Giselle’s breath brush his artificial eyes. “I have to pee,” she yelled into his equally artificial ear. Even though he had an oxygen tube he wished he had worn his black helm.
“Can’t you hold it?” he replied. She shook her head and he slowed Arrow toward a mildew-laden, leafy estuary with a rump of land. “There! Will that work for you?”
She shot him a snide glance and he pulled up to it. Her cloned Vampire reflexes increased her spryness and she hopped over to the estuary and disappeared into the leaves. “Don’t take too long, or I might leave you,” he called out. Was it jokingly? He didn’t know. The Comical banter of his new English acquaintance perhaps had softened his heart. Hmmmmm…maybe not.
They resumed the last leg of their journey and she helped him tie the boat to the dock. He saw one of the brothers (he sometimes wondered which one he was talking to, they were twins after all) reading a news tablet he looked up at Reptilius and returned to his reading.
“Rex, I need supplies.”
The twin looked up and his eyelids flickered like tiny wings. “I’m Max, Rept. Rex is inside, he’ll take care’ ya.”
“Customer service is alive and well in the twenty-second century,” Giselle said with a grin.
Rex was behind the bar and smiled at his two customers. “You brought a friend this time Rept?”
Reptilius handed his list over and the spindly man looked at it before leaning toward Reptilius, whose artificial skin receptors registered a brief chill around him. “This stuff ain’t cheap Rept. Gonna cost you some serious coinage.”
“Can you get it or not?” Reptilius wasn’t in any mood for dicking around. “And while I’m here, let me ask you something: you or Max see anything strange around here?”
“Like what, Rept?”
Reptilius lowered his voice: “I’ve seen Death Walkers. One was a scout of some sort. We killed it before it could return to its base. The next group was more like a dozen; we repulsed them before they could overtake us.”
Rex busted out laughing. “Haven’t you heard, Rept, the last Death Walker outbreak was ages ago. Those pus-eyed bastards haven’t been seen since. You want some more whiskey for your gator?”
He’s a croc. “I’m serious. You and your brother are in danger. I’m planning on taking them on with Giselle and another man, but two extra hands would help.”
“He’s telling the truth beanpole,” Giselle said. Rex looked at her then back at Reptilius before he laughed again. “Let me go replicate this stuff for ya. How will ya be paying for this expensive purchase, Rept? North American Credits? South Eastern bucks?”
Looks like we’re on our own, he thought. “Bucks.” Rex nodded and Reptilius paid from his account.
Behind him he heard footsteps and swiveled around to see Constable Barnes. He wore his trademark ball cap and beige uniform with the Southeastern U.S. logo and Florida flag on his shoulder sleeve. A pulse shotgun was slung over his back. “How are you today, Croctus?” the constable said. He shot Giselle a cold glance. “Who’s your new lady friend?”
“She’s visiting.”
“I see; I overheard your conversation with Rex there. Care to tell me what it is you’re so scared of?”
“More like caution, constable.” He didn’t like this swamp trailer-dweller, but as long as Barnes wore the uniform of the law Reptilius would have to stem his temper. Giselle looked like she wanted to deck the Constable. Easy girl, he thought. Don’t give him a reason to arrest us.
“Get this clear through that metal head of yours, boy. I don’t want to hear anymore talk of Death Walkers. Got that?”
Reptilius remained silent. He chalked up ‘boy’ as one more reason to dislike Barnes.
Rex returned along with the items he had ordered. Reptilius felt the chill again. It returned now that Rex was in the room. Had he felt these brief chills all these years and never even noticed? And why now? Perhaps his life support systems were in worse shape than he thought. He would have Holbourne examine him again. “Here’s the stuff you needed, Rept.” Rex lowered his voice. “You really need to stop pushing the Constable like that, Rept. He’s looking for a reason to lock you up.” Barnes nodded at Rex and disappeared into the back room.
&nbs
p; Reptilius paid Rex, then, paid extra currency to his invoice as Giselle had taken two sandwiches, a bag of chips and a soda.
Outside the girl had already finished her food and was licking her fingertips. Max looked up from where he sat and eyed them lazily before returning to his tablet screen.
Onboard Arrow Reptilius gave Giselle an earpiece so they could talk without noise interruption.
“Did you notice anything strange back there?” Reptilius asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Well does your enhanced body have advanced sensory perception?”
Giselle smiled. He thought she looked beautiful when she did so. He wished there were more smiles in his reality. “Cute,” she replied. “Nope, Malcolm…nada.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call me that.” Holbourne’s habit of calling him by his old name had rubbed off on her as well.
“Why you asking me that?” She turned her head to face him. His artificial eyes were capable of side-vision without having to turn his head. It made him feel like an insect but it served its purpose.
“I have a bad feeling, that’s why. I know when something is not right. It all started right before I was brought to Tom and it’s been getting worse ever since.”
They drove on in silence for some time, only the noise of the engine to keep them company.
“Malcolm?”
His eyes registered her face from the side but he didn’t answer. I won’t encourage them by answering to that name. “Do you ever get lonely, here in the swamp?”
He wanted to laugh, but squelched it. “I have Sawtooth. He takes up much of my time.”
“No I mean friends, do you have any friends here?”
“I had Roscoe in the Army, and my friends back home in Miami, but that was long ago.”
“What about your family?”
His heart almost stopped. Family. “I wish you wouldn’t ask me such questions.”
“Just tell me about your family.” Why she wanted to know intrigued him. She started to wag her feet.