~~~
Kirison coughed up a half-chewed bite of pastrami sandwich, and stared at his monitor in shock.
He opened up the attached image. Yup, that was him, more or less. Better than most criminal sketches. He needed a shave in it, worse than he remembered needing at any point. But it was him.
This was bad. This was very bad. He started to feel paranoid until he realized that they actually were out to get him. Was this room always so small? Damn, damn. What now? Run, of course.
He looked about quickly to see if anyone was watching He took a small sample of his blood, and shoved it under a microscope.
Thankfully, he saw that his ‘insurance policy’ was still valid. Quite valid. He’d be thankful to Jonathan Coll’s work about now, if it wasn’t for the fact that the nanite ban was inspired by Coll’s idiocy.
Kirison took the microscope slide, and held it over a bunsen burner’s flame for a few moments to get rid of the evidence in his blood. Alright. Alright. Now what? Now what? Leave! Alright. There was no time for anything else. Leave. Disappear.
He grabbed his jacket and his terminal, and headed for the elevator. A co-worker greeted him along the way, and Kirison nodded with a polite smile, trying not to raise suspicion. He got to the elevator, and jabbed the down button a few times. Relax, relax. Breathe.
The elevator doors opened to reveal Mr. Book, standing inside stoically, with his usual lifeless, joyless expression. Book’s eyes turned to Kirison, who was paralyzed with fear. Seated, Book was intimidating. Standing, he was a gargantuan monolith of hopelessness.
“Kirison! Are you getting on? Today?”
Kirison nodded sharply. “Ah, Sir, Sorry.” He scuttled onboard, and saw that no other buttons were lit. Book was coming to see him. He pushed the lobby button.
“How are things, Sir?”
Book huffed, and breathed a few of his usual deep, congested breaths. “Kirison. Did you see the email I forwarded to you, from the military?”
“Ah. Yes Sir, I think I did, yes, a while ago.”
Book looked at Kirison with a raised eyebrow. “I must be getting slower. I sent it right before I started heading down here.”
“Ah, well, it wasn’t that long ago.”
Book huffed again. “Looks like some ugly business.”
“Yes, Sir, it certainly does.”
“Not the kind of thing a company likes to be attached to.”
“Oh, No Sir, I expect not.”
“Especially when it involves an experimental piece of hardware walking out the door.”
The I.R. suit. Kirison fell silent. He was had.
“It would be a shame,” Book continued, “if such a talented person as this ‘Samuel’ were to lose his career, and be unable to contribute his talents to the world.“
“Sir?”
“Perhaps he has reasons for what he did. Things can go very wrong from time to time.”
Kirison stared at the lights counting down the floors. “They… they sure can, Sir.”
“Perhaps there might be a future for a person like that. I don’t know for sure, I can’t see the future.”
For a few floors, they both stared at the floor counter silently, aside from Book’s laboured breathing.
“That was a pretty good sketch.” Book coughed. “I expect that this Samuel person has one, maybe two days before the right person opens up their email box, and turns him in.”
“One, maybe two.” Kirison quietly repeated.
“I can’t see the future. But I’m sure someone as resourceful as this Samuel person would be well prepared to disappear for a time. For all we know, he might have a whole other identity lined up with certain people in organized crime.”
“Certain people.”
Book peered down at Kirison. “You know the types I mean.”
Kirison gazed at the floor. “Yes. Yes, I think I do, Sir.”
~~~
Aboard the airlimb, Cassidy’s terminal chirped to life. She reached out of her bunk and grabbed it. “Incoming call: Major Cipriana Ulrica Reichenbach”
Cassidy had to laugh a little at that. She’d never gotten a call from Cipriana before, and never imagined her full name was such a mouthful. Cassidy had called her earlier, but she was apparently on watch. She didn’t feel like leaving a detailed message, given what she wanted to discuss.
“Hey Cip.” Cassidy answered as Cipriana’s image popped up on screen. “Are you giving me my wake up calls now? I approve.”
“Hello, Cassidy. You said you had a question for me, but didn’t go into any details.” Cassidy tried to read Cipriana. It had always been a difficult task, but now it seemed impossible. Maybe she was trying too hard.
“Yeah, Cip. Actually, I had a question for your little friend.”
“My…?” Cipriana understood, and looked around to see if anyone was listening in. “Go ahead.”
Cassidy tapped a few keys to show Cipriana an image of the ‘Samuel’ sketch. “Ask him if this guy looks familiar. It might be your little friend’s daddy.”
Cipriana tilted her head. “He has no significant memories before he met Marcus. This sketch holds no meaning for him. You said it’s supposed to be his ‘daddy’? He’s a scientist dealing with nanites, then?”
Cassidy switched off the image. “That’s the running theory. I don’t have anything against your little pal, but if Samuel is able to do these kinds of things, and is content to do them to unsuspecting people...”
Cipriana stared into nowhere for a bit. Almost unconsciously, she fiddled her fingers, crossing and uncrossing. With fingers uncrossed, she looked back at Cassidy. “He agrees that this person is dangerous.”
Cassidy smirked.
“And yes,” Cipriana continued, “He does realize the irony.”
~~~~~
:::C /42
~~~~~
Kirison burst into his apartment, fighting panic. He turned on his computer, and while it loaded up he stuffed an apple into his pants’ cargo pocket. Then another. He didn’t know when he’d have the chance to eat next.
In a dark corner of his files he loaded up some things no one should have. But this was important, it was for his own well being. It’s not like he was going to use it on others. He still hadn’t done anything bad to anyone. The nanite laws were stupid. They can be used safely.
Sure, he had sent a nanite colony to infiltrate a bunch of people, but it didn’t harm them. It was god damned Horad and his goons running around with grenades and knives!
Kirison knew he was blameless. He knew it. So why was he panicking? Why? Because obviously the army didn’t see it that way. Who knows what bullshit Horad had fed them? Horad probably did his ‘Elder’ bit, and got them all on his side.
The second someone turns him in from the sketch, those bimbos from Autar were going to come crashing through the wall, and turn him to gooey paste, just like they did with Coll.
Alright, fine, Coll deserved it.
But Kirison wasn’t like that. He could take a lesson from him though. Coll’s research was amazing, and tweaked correctly, it could make a solid upgrade for his ’insurance’. Kirison had hoped not to take certain steps, but the way things were going, it felt necessary.
Soon a syringe was ready with a hundred CCs of grey science.
He stared at it. It was more than he’d injected before. It carried new orders, new protocols, and by the sheer insane number of nanites, it had strength in numbers.
He found a vein and pushed in the needle, not that the nanites would have gotten lost for long if he’d missed. The pain of the needle was secondary to the feel of metal pouring into his veins.
The earlier nanites did their job soon enough, switching off the pain to that area, and began healing the unintentional damage caused by the new arrivals.
He stared at his forearm for a bit. He tried to imagine how far the new injection had gotten. How much the nanites were being swept up by his bloodstream, and how much they were setting their own course.
<
br /> He imagined his white blood cells trying their best to stop them. Stick to germs, lil cells. These nano-boys are out of your league. Silly immune system. It seemed kind of outdated now.
He grabbed a box of mechanical pencil refills. He knew that to the nanites in him now, the box of carbon rods looked like a box of french fries. He dumped the refills into his front pockets, and stuck one in his mouth. He’d chomp off a chunk and swallow it as the day went on. Thankfully, they were essentially tasteless.
They wouldn’t be looking for building supplies at this point though. This first stage was making a backup of the contents of his brain. Make one backup first, and then gather building matter to make as many redundancies as possible, while keeping his body functioning physically.
It was odd to think that copies of his mind would soon be distributed throughout his entire body, and he told himself that as long as his original brain was doing the work, he was still human.
He set the computer to wipe everything. It was time to go. As he left his apartment and locked up, he reached for one of the apples he had stuck in his pant pocket. He changed his mind and instead stuck another pencil refill in his mouth.
~~~~~
:::C /43
~~~~~
“Hey, Brandy.” Cassidy wandered the ruins around the temple, with her terminal in her hand. The sun was beaming down on her, but somehow it felt lazy. Or maybe it was just Cassidy that felt lazy.
Brandy was multitasking a bit, working on something to the side while talking. “Cass! What’s up? I think this is the first time you’ve called me since...”
Since Brandy dumped her. “Is it? Well, more accurately, it’s the first time I called and you weren’t blocking me.” Cassidy smirked a little. She was almost nostalgic for those days now. It seemed like a lot more than the year and a half that it was. It felt like ages ago.
“That doesn’t count. So, does this mean we’re officially cool now?”
Cassidy scoffed softly. “Don’t go getting all weird on me now.”
Brandy pushed away her work, and gave Cassidy her full attention. “I’m weird, huh? You’re the one hunting criminals with a stick. Next you’ll be getting a mask.”
“I had one for a while. Kind of a gas mask thing. It didn’t go with my tank top.”
“So really, what’s up? Why’d you call? Not that I mind or anything.”
Cassidy sighed, and strolled along lazily, letting the terminal sway by her knees, unconcerned with the disorienting view it provided Brandy. The temple was still right over there. As if it didn’t have anywhere else to go. Silly thing.
“Cass? You still there?” came Brandy’s voice from the terminal. Cassidy lifted it back up to look Brandy in the face. “I called… I called because I needed to just talk to someone.”
“I’m flattered. I thought you had plenty of people to talk to over there” Sure. Who, Cipriana? Cip was great, but the program she’s sharing her skull with wasn’t invited to any heart to hearts. Or Maxine, who called a counselor on her?
“I needed to talk to someone, who..” her voice tensed up a little as she waved the terminal at the temple, the ruins, and in the direction of the camp, and the base. “Someone who isn’t knee deep in all this crap!”
“Cass! Stop it! Are you trying to give me motion sickness?”
Cassidy stood still and held the terminal up properly. “Oops.”
“Alright, alright. So we’re talking. What’s on your mind?”
Cassidy hadn’t thought that far ahead. There was a ton on her mind. Lots of different things that felt like a puzzle carved from cheesecake. They might fit, they might not. They were squishy, undefined, probably changed shape, and maybe even unrelated.
“Ehh, I dunno.”
Brandy sighed, and raised her eyebrows. “You don’t know what you want to talk about, but you want to talk?”
Cassidy shrugged “I guess.”
“Kay…” Brandy fumbled through her thoughts for a topic, when she noticed Cassidy’s pendant. “It that new? You were never big on jewelery, so I was a little surprised when you had that ring fr..” She stopped herself. It was hard to come up with a topic that didn’t lead back to Cheryl.
Cassidy gripped her pendant, and glazed over. “New….“ Her voice sounded weary and tired all of a sudden. “Parts of this pendant are over two decades old.”
“Oh, was it-“
“Y’know what?” Cassidy interrupted. “I’m gonna let ya go, okay? Thanks for being there and all, I should go.” She hung up before Brandy could dispute it, and slipped the terminal in her pocket. As she did so, her forearm bumped the holster on her hip.
After a moment, she pulled the terminal back out and turned it off. Brandy might feel the need to call back, and she was no longer in the mood for it.
That was pretty rude. Oh well. She stopped walking, and stretched upwards against the day’s growing heat. She looked out to the horizon, all around, and took a moment to breathe in the air.
There stood the temple, reaching up from the ruins. Over there, the base. And the helipad’s hill.
And over that way, in the middle of them all? You couldn’t see it from any distance, but she knew it was there. Her little camp. She wanted to go there, and lay in that tent. To look for remnants of Cheryl’s scent.
After Maxine had found her at the camp with her gun, she told Cassidy not to go there. Ordered.
Well Maxine wasn’t here now.
~~~
Kirison wasn’t expecting the numbness, but it didn’t surprise him. He had a lot of nanites in him. A lot. A mild sense of pins and needles was acceptable.
Walking down the street, he carried a roll of pennies, popping them into his mouth and swallowing them like candy. Alright, not quite like candy. You savour the taste of candy. You tolerate the taste of pennies. It wasn’t so bad though. He compared it to the taste of blood when you cut yourself and lick the blood off.
He had debated what kind of coins to get at the bank. Pennies had the benefit of being cheap for the mass, and not big enough for any major choking risk. The type of metal wasn’t important, the nanites could make use of almost anything. It would just take time to ‘digest’ them.
As he idled along, he wondered what he’d do with himself. The world was his oyster, as long as he kept off the radar. Maybe he should go back to that mobster… what was his name? Mr. Irving. Mr. Irving the skinny mobster. What then, apply for a job? As what? He had been perfectly clear before that he didn’t want anything to do with nanites.
Screw it. Kirison had enough cash on him to last for a while. Speaking of which, he was hungry. Pennies might keep the nanites in a productive mood, be he couldn't ignore his own biological needs.
He wound up at a grocery store, around ten in the evening. It was fairly busy for the hour. A sloppily dressed young man was walking out with a bag containing a lot of junk food and a couple bottles of some kind of booze. He looked a little paranoid. Probably a bit high.
Kirison was feeling paranoid as well. He headed towards the deli section. One of those little tubs of macaroni salad might be a good start. Maybe grab something spicy, too, to burn off the aftertaste of pennies.
Without warning, his right ankle snapped in half. Instead of blood, the stump was grey with nanites. Bits of bone could still be seen.
“Oh my god!” a nearby woman yelped in shock and horror.
“AH!” Think fast! “Damn thing. Artificial leg.” He scampered to pick up his foot. There was no pain. Damn stupid nanites built one of the backup brains across his ankle.
“Are… are you alright?” The woman stared on.
He replied hastily and nervously. “Oh yup, yup. No problems, this happens now and then. You get what you pay for huh? I just have to..” He dropped his macaroni salad on the nearest display, and started running as best he could out of the store.
“Excuse me!” A store employee tried to stop him at the door, but he rammed though, and kept going. Think, think, now what? He had to g
et in direct control of the nanites and get them to shape up. Without his computer, or the software he erased before he left the apartment, there was only one way to do that.
As he ran, he came up to the high young man he’d seen earlier. Kirison grabbed one of the bottles of booze out of his grocery bag, and kept going.
“Hey, you fucker! Get back here!” Aw, crap. The man was going to be difficult about it. Think fast.
Kirison turned around and held up his severed foot. “No! I need the booze more than you! Morgath the god of diaper pails demands it! If I don’t get Morgath drunk, he will send me to get more feet for the toe harvest ceremony!”
The man stood there, wide eyed.
“Toe harvest ceremony!!!” Kirison screamed, waving the booze and the foot overhead. The man flinched, and Kirison took the chance to flee. The man chose not to follow
As he ran, Kirison examined his ill gotten alcohol. Rum. Cheap rum. Horrible stuff, that man must have been bombed out of his tree. He’ll spend the rest of the night wondering about toes.
But now, Kirison needed a place to get really drunk. He followed the darkest, dirtiest alleys he could, trying to get away from people, trying to walk ‘naturally’ and not draw attention.
Break into a car? Too much chance of getting caught. He’d check into a motel if there was one nearby. He saw a dumpster in a nice dark, tight little alley, and headed for it. A homeless man lay against it on one side, holding onto some booze of his own, in a brown paper bag.
“Hey, cliché guy. I’m going to go get drunk on the other side of the dumpster. You don’t fuck with me, I won’t fuck with you, capiche?”
The homeless man took a moment to stare at the dismembered foot in Kirison’s hand, and grunted with indifference. Interesting how much braver Kirison found himself against this man, as opposed to when talking to someone like Book, or Horad. Then again, things had changed now, hadn’t they?
Not wasting any more time, Kirison settled in against the far side of the dumpster with his foot safely under his jacket. He opened the cheap rum, and started chugging. Three swallows in, he gagged and had to stop to catch his breath. It burned, it burned! Don’t stop, this is important! If he could eat goddam pencils and pennies, he could down a liter and a half of rum.
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