by E. R. Jess
“Colonel,” First Sergeant Cavel called to him, “Here's another.”
Another soldier waved to him from the upper level and made a downward motion with his fist.
Morgan knelt to the body nearest him. The man had been crushed by the artificial gravity. His bones were pulled through his skin and into the flooring. Morgan sifted through the remains, finding only a broken gun. He stood and inspected the Outernet version of the station. He saw ghost images of the dead men, images that were caught on the remaining operative Outernet cameras. The images were faulty, revealing only diaphanous figures flittering about. Morgan watched as a ghost ran in front of him and flew into the air. Morgan began to give chase, bounding up the stairs in time to see another ghost image, a woman. The two of them went to a service elevator and flew away. Morgan recorded everything in his portable mainframe.
“Colonel,” his wire, Dien, called out, “These men have tracking tags, looks like Free City heavies. Sending you the stream now.”
Morgan reviewed the information sent over his eyepiece display. He used his hands to pull the files in front of him, superimposing the tags over the ghost images, seeing which ones went together. Morgan ordered, “Sergeant Dien, I want the ID's of these two,” And Morgan pointed to the two ghosts that escaped, “I want faces, names would be even better.”
Dien nodded, motioned in the air, and began programming on the Outernet.
“DNA,” a soldier said, motioning to the entrance to the tram station tunnel, “Looks like a good sample.”
Morgan replied with a question, “Not from the bodies?”
“No, sir. Female, Caucasian. Engineered, sir, this one was genetically enhanced,” His second in command, Major Kellen, said enthusiastically.
Morgan went over, inspecting the sample; a single hair. He asked, “Who?”
Kellen logged onto the UCG and looked for a DNA match. It was usually a lengthy process, but that time the results came instantly. “Alessa Baret. She was conformed as a child, a UPC citizen, sir.”
Colonel Morgan rubbed his chin. He shook his head and asked, “Could it be an old sample? This place is a mess.”
“No, sir. This is fresh, she was either with these men or immediately preceded or followed them here. Also, she has a locked file. High-level interest on this one.”
Morgan looked at the ghostly Outernet playback on his viewer. He looked at the foggy image near where the strand of hair was found. He studied the image, walking around it. “Conformed,” He said.
“Ex-conformed, sir. Not easy to break the mental conditioning,” Kellen said.
Morgan walked to the middle of the tracks and looked up and down the tunnel. “This is a shortcut, is it not? This tunnel cuts through some serious jungle. This woman and a friend came through here, were chased, and got out through there,” Morgan said, pointing up, “The faulty anti-gravity worked in their favor?”
Dien answered from the third level, “Could be she hacked them. She was a wire. She's good, like better than me good. She's the reason these old vector cameras are working.”
Morgan looked around one last time. “Now who are the men?”
First Sergeant Cavel answered, “Colonel, if I had to guess, these men are militia trying to make an impression. No implants besides tags. Probably looking to get picked as LCS.”
Dien snorted, “That didn't work out well.”
“We finally found something worth our time, Sergeant, some actual sedition at work. But stay alert, don't miss the details. This whole things has a black level feel to it.” Morgan said as he started to leave, “Let's move out. We have ghosts to hunt.”
Chapter 5: Why We Don't Fight
The Outernet sparked to life behind Revan's eyes. He found himself at Nanotextiles' default portal, a series of old-fashioned city streets arranged in an easy-to-navigate grid. Advertisements flashed everywhere, so much so that they all turned into one blurry cacophony of light and sound. Revan reeled in his chair in his apartment. His new cerebral modem was overwhelming his senses. He fought through it.
He started with something simple. Revan moved his avatar, a shadowy, basic human shape, to his mail. It was empty. He then went to the UPC news channel. He entered the building representing the media wing of the City-State, and was transported to another hub, one displaying thousands of news stories within a sphere of alternating sized screens. One caught his eye and he navigated to it.
A raid on a convoy in the Free City was the big news for the week. Outcasts from various anarchist groups attacked a supply route shipping equipment to an amnesty camp. UPC's amnesty policy was to be implemented soon; an initiative to reintegrate everyone in the Free City back into society. Camps were being set up to conform the people of the Free City to prepare them for their new lives. Revan felt a tinge of anger. He wasn't sure why, he just didn't like the idea of the uneducated and homeless people outside of the City-State's walls being let in.
The raid was reported as unsuccessful. No UCM personnel harmed, many outcasts dead or captured. The report stressed the need for the amnesty, that without UPC to guide them, the Free City would tear itself apart.
Revan logged off the Outernet. It was late at night and he had to be at work early, but he got dressed left the apartment. He took a tram to the government sector in the heart of the City-State. He watched the city slide by, half awake, half in dream. He ran off the tram to the Urban Citizen Monitors building, the Imperium. He walked up to the entrance, marked with a statuary garden. Revan's steps became laborious. He had to stop and remind himself to breathe. Revan looked up into the face of the tower, an elongated trapezoid pushing into the heart of the sky. He began getting flashes in his mind. Revan panicked. His old self was resurfacing. Revan tried to push it down. He turned on his heels and tried to leave. An LCS officer approached him.
“Citizen, are you authorized to be here?” the man asked from behind his helmet.
Revan answered before the officer finished his question, “I'm leaving.”
“Let me see your code,” he demanded.
Revan pursed his lips, then impatiently pulled down his collar to reveal the silver bar code on his neck.
The officer looked at it, and with his augmented reality equipment, identified Revan and found his file. The officer first saw a glaring 'Re-educated' label over the top of Revan's documents. He said, “Come with me.”
Revan stood firm and said calmly, “Officer, I'm having a glitch in my new cerebral modem. I'll be on my way.”
The LCS officer motioned to Revan's right, to guide him into the building.
Revan's pulse quickened. He saw another LCS heading their way. He thought of running, but it would have been a short chase. Instead, Revan logged on to the Outernet and sent himself an email.
The officer grabbed his arm and Revan put up his hands. He spat on the ground and bit his lip. He yelled at the police, “You're going to have to do a better job this time. If I was in charge, I'd order you to put a bullet in my head right now,” Revan was dragged away, his body aching and his heart racing, like he was rejecting his new personality, “I can't be saved.”
0
Another morning at the pacifist's hospital camp brought a sense of normality. The group was settling in. Dernen had been bringing the children to an old pump room and was using it as a school. He had several people scavenging and bartering and had compiled a good amount of supplies. Eight had taken to guard duty, walking the perimeter of the overpasses looking for any trouble. Alessa stayed out of sight most of the time. She spoke little and walked off for hours.
Sam ministered to Kagan quite well. He was still deep in a coma, but his infections were under control. Sam and most everyone there knew that Kagan would never leave that place even if he did wake up, but she continued to heal him.
Eight finally went to visit Kagan. He knocked lightly and entered. When he saw Kagan on the table he shuddered. Eight could usually sense Kagan's memories from several meters away, but when he approached, he felt nothi
ng. Eight had his ability for so long that he equated the sensation of reading memory with life. Since Kagan was emanating no memories, Eight was looking at a dead man. He approached and put his hands on Kagan's good arm. He closed his eyes and tried to delve him. Eight pushed his will through the air and into Kagan's mind. He swam around in a dark mire looking for a spark, a flame. Nothing. Eight tried again. There were no memories there. They were either in hiding or lost. He slumped into a chair, face in hands. Kagan, he thought to him, where the hell are you?
The next day brought bad news. One of the rusters spotted a surveillance drone. He said it was an aerial vector camera. The ruster shot it down. When Eight heard, he ordered everyone to get ready to move. Alessa was nowhere to be found.
Sam, Eight and Dernen stood over Kagan. They had the sinking feeling that it was a funeral, that they presiding over Kagan's body for the last time. Dernen put his hand on Sam's shoulder. “We've built a wagon that could carry him. It would be slow going and we'd have to either stay on smooth pavement or precede the cart with sheets of wood. We can get him out of here,” Dernen said with no little despair in his voice.
Sam shook her head, “I think we all know that it won't work. Not much is holding him together. He has a foot in the grave. His wounds are held together with wire and staples. We couldn't move him across the room, much less a kilometer from here.”
Eight's fist hit the wall.
Dernen sighed. He said, “We need Alessa. We can't decide anything without her.”
“There's no decision,” Eight exclaimed, “We've known what we had to do all this time, we just couldn't do it. We have to leave him.”
“Find her, then,” Sam said sadly.
Dernen nodded and went out the door. Eight looked into the face of his dying friend and shouted, “I fucking told you so. I told you to ignore the meeting, I said 'leave now'.”
“Stop,” Sam told him.
“We can't leave him here. They'll find him, they'll conform him, they'll heal him and make his last moments on earth worse than we could imagine,” Eight argued, “Is he even alive? Is he suffering? Why aren't we taking one of those men's guns and ending him right now?”
Sam yelled, “Stop! Just get the hell out of here.”
Eight went outside. Vorn stood by the door.
“Is he?” Vorn swallowed hard. His face was covered in sweat and he seemed like he was ready to fall over. He had an old vehicle parked in the distance, a massive beast with six wheels and a large bay in the back.
Eight rubbed his face hard, trembling wildly. “No, not yet,” he said as best he could.
Vorn motioned hurriedly to his men, who wheeled over a tall machine. Vorn handed Eight a small electronic device. It was a flat hemisphere about half the size of his palm. “This is an implant. It's something new. We got it in the raid,” Vorn said.
Eight took it and looked at Vorn, “What's going on?”
Vorn opened the shack door and led his men in with boxes of equipment. He took Eight's shoulders and smiled as he said, “You're broken down.”
Eight called out for Jenna. She came over to inspect the device.
Jenna got out her handheld and tried to navigate to the device's wireless connection. It was heavily encrypted and very sophisticated. “All I can tell from this is that it's a conforming implant, they put this in the brain and it speeds up the conforming process.”
“How does that help us?” Eight asked Vorn, frustrated.
Vorn replied, “It's more than that. With this new conforming technology, your mind isn't only rewired, but your body. With the assistance of this automated medical unit, your doctor can install the implant. We can get him on his feet in no time. I'm telling you, this thing was made to accelerate healing at an incredible speed.”
Eight shook his head, “No, that's impossible. And even if it wasn't, Kagan's mind would be wiped.”
“Not with your help,” Sam said, approaching from inside, “You could hold his memories for him. You could delve Kagan while the implant is being installed. You could store his memories for him and then reintegrate them into his mind after he's been conformed.”
Eight looked stunned, he stared down at the device. “I've never done anything like that before. I don't know if I could keep all of those memories in order. A lifetime of memories is a lot. If I missed one, if I got it wrong... and he would need to be conscious. You have to wake him up. I can't read anything in him now. Christ, what if I lose half his memories?”
Alessa and Dernen joined them. Alessa's eyes were red and swollen. She said, “Then you can get them back. Like you're doing for me. I was conformed and you've been able to bring back so much. You can do this.”
Eight looked at Alessa and contemplated telling her something. He kept quiet instead. Eight clutched the conforming implant. He looked at all the faces that had gathered around him. The camp was already alive with the news. “Then we finally do have a choice,” he said quietly. He handed the implant to Sam.
Eight breathed in deeply. He nodded to Sam. She injected Kagan with a stimulant, causing Kagan to wake up. He was groggy, barely responsive, and nodding in and out. Eight saw a flash of memory from him. It was enough to make Eight sigh in relief. “I need time, please keep him awake,” Eight said.
Sam complied and sat quietly by Kagan's side. She held Kagan's wrist in her fingers, making his pulse the only thing in her mind.
Eight began to delve. He accessed blocks of Kagan's memory and put them in his own mind. He recorded every sense, every emotion. Everything that made Kagan who he was.
The surgery got underway. Jenna and Vorn helped Sam prepare the medical machine. Its sole function was to implant the conforming devices, and the three of them learned it inside and out to make sure there would be no problems. The shack door remained closed for hours as people gathered around.
And I Will Take Sickness Away from the Midst of You
They were on the move again. Kagan, though still in a coma, was deemed well enough to transport. Vorn arranged his vehicle, a six-wheeled behemoth, so that Kagan could be carried safely. Vorn dismissed his men and said he would be traveling with the pacifists as long as they needed it. They traveled to the outskirts of Port Brunswick to a secluded set of industrial greenhouses. Kagan opened his eyes on the second day.
He survived the attempt on his life with the assistance of newer medical technologies, specifically, the Antikythera program and implant. The new operating system that UPC was to use to control peoples minds and heal their bodies in preparation for amnesty. It wiped the brain and increased the body's natural healing. Sam had placed the implant behind his right eye after mending his bullet wounds as best she could. Eight sat over him, his eyes closed, as if he was in deep meditation.
Kagan awoke within days and swore that he saw the faces over him as he lay in mind slumber with his eyes closed. He opened them again and found himself in his own memories. Memories as crisp and clear as the day he'd lived them.
Sabbath, his son, played carelessly around the rusted hulk of a street tank that dominated the whole of a short alley. The little boy had his mouth open constantly in preparedness to let loose a completely silly laugh. Kagan ran up and scolded him in a half-hearted way. Nothing could happen to him. Everything was all right. Kagan felt the same reckless childhood abandon towards life that his child did, and it was the most relieving thing in the world. The Antikythera program kept him in a half-awake state for a long while. Eight fed his memories back to him, but he didn't know that the program was shuffling and rearranging some of those memories. The program cued up pleasant memories for Kagan to relive in order to keep him feeling safe and content. He knew it could not have been real. It was a drug that would addict him hopelessly. It was bliss.
Kagan sent his son to play in a patch of grassy sand in the sun. “Sabbath,’” he said hoarsely, “No need to stay in the shadows. We're safe here.”
“Dad, it’s nice out, come play.”
“In a minute, go enjoy your
self,” Kagan was smiling from ear to ear, he remembered playing there when he was young. And it was so. Kagan was his son's age and he was playing with friends in a mud puddle. He jumped off a short wall and into the puddle, landing hard on his side.
Pain jumped down his arm. Kagan shot awake and mouthed a soundless yell. Sam rushed to his side to tend to him. Kagan was swimming in a pool made out of an old tanker truck. He was seventeen. He reveled in the cool water and dove to the bottom.
“No, Eight, there was nothing else. Just staring into space with my mother.” But Kagan was talking to a wall. It was only a few years ago and he was helping a young woman to her feet. She had fallen after being pushed down by an Urban Assault officer. They were deep in the middle of the purge. Kagan, gun in hand, the city alight with red fire, found Alessa dazed and lost. He held her hand and led her away from the war. A whisper cut through the chaos. A tiny voice spoke slowly.
There was a presence. Suddenly to be sure, although gradual in its own way. There was no stopping this thing, this entity. It was now a part of him, listening to his memories. It was a person out of the corner of his eye he couldn't catch.
Eight fell asleep and didn't wake up for eighteen hours. He delved and recorded as many as Kagan's memories as he could, each sound, touch and taste. It was incredibly intimate, he saw Kagan's first lover, his first fight. In order for Eight to record the memories, he had to relive them. Eight had to put himself in Kagan's shoes and relive every memory of his lifetime and do so as accurately as possible. Through the fog of recollection, the watercolor and myopic view of what he could see and feel, Eight disassembled Kagan's life brick by brick and put it back together in his own mind. When the Antikythera program finished its job wiping Kagan's brain like a blackboard, Eight went back in and fed Kagan his own memories. It was like telling him his own life story. Eight knew Kagan better than he knew himself by the time the process was over, still retaining everything of Kagan's past. No more secrets, no more mystery. Everything was there, and he gave it back to Kagan as best he could. Kagan's early childhood was a problem; not enough pieces to assemble the puzzle, but that was common. The memory of Kagan losing his wife was difficult to live through and difficult to transfer back. Eight had to not only transport Kagan's past, but he had to do so in chronological order and in different levels of priority. His wife's death was a defining moment of his life, but Eight had to keep the event suppressed, lest Kagan have to relive the moment constantly. Eight had to do this to make sure Kagan's personality, which had been shaped by time and experience, came back intact. It was too much work for one man. Eight wasn't qualified to rewrite a human's mind; he wished he had a team of psychologists studying Kagan's psyche for years. What was left at the end of the day was a less than perfect version of Kagan, the best could Eight could do. Eight didn't know if Kagan would ever truly be himself. The conforming program continued to heal his body. Eight slept uneasily for days, fearing the man that would thank him wasn't his friend, but some mockery that Eight built.