by Mason Adgett
All this gave the nano-molecules enough time to repeat “Act now!” twice more – the second one looked like this: “@ct N0w” – and I thought all the yelling in my head showed a tremendous lack of understanding of human psychology as all it served to do was set me on a pretty dangerous edge considering the circumstances.
But when I did move I moved quickly. Keeping my head as still as possible I reached up with both hands and grabbed whatever it was that was messing with my brain. It turned out to be Kantsky’s hand, which surprised me a little. I had expected a surgical bot. I held on tightly anyway, crushing his fingers with my right hand and grabbing on tightly to his wrist with my left.
During this the nano-bots answered my greatest fear: “Worry not! We have created a barrier to protect your central neural unit. @ct! Act N0w! We will help you!” In my head appeared the image of my skull being reformed, each fragment stitched precisely back into place.
Kantsky reacted quickly, fighting my control, but my two hands overpowered his one and I was able to keep my grip tight as I spun off the table even when I felt a burning pain in my hand. I saw immediately he had a blade in his free hand and he attempted another slice at my arm. I yanked hard and he ended up slashing through his own jacket, yelping in pain. We wrestled for a second or two, his long, thin surgeon’s blade between us.
“Hold him, 309,” the nano-molecules said. “We will operate the NSD12v2.” The machine behind Kantsky – a shiny, reflective globe with two tentacle arms and three tripod-like legs – came to life, wrapping one tentacle around his neck and reaching for his arm with another that sported a powerful-looking vise at the end. The look of shock on Kantsky’s face was enough to make me smile. He let go of me and dropped the scalpel, grabbing the tentacle arm with both hands.
“What have you done?” he demanded, and started to say something else before he was choked to silence.
“You must run!” the voices in my ear said with their typical urgency. “We will quarantine 497 from the system.”
“What does that mean?” I said aloud. Maybe they could decipher my thoughts but I liked clarity in my communications. “Are you going to imprison him? Or kill him?” Kantsky’s brows came down in a puzzled scowl. “I hope they do kill you,” I said to him, and by the redness of his face it looked like they were going to strangle him to death.
“497 will be quarantined and restored to balance. You must run!”
What I really wanted to do was pick up the scalpel Kantsky had dropped and slit his throat but I think the nano-molecules must have taken control of me at that moment because instead I turned and ran. Normally I would have needed to take a moment to orient myself – I had no idea where I was – but in this case I seemed to know everything I needed right away. It was obvious the nano-molecules had control as I maneuvered deftly through my unfamiliar surroundings, taking note of what I saw more than making decisions about where to go. I was in an operating room similar to the one I had been taken to initially but larger. Here there were multiple operating tables – four in fact – but the other three were empty.
The tinkly piano music still played in the background. I thought briefly how it jarred with the violent, frenetic scene unfolding. Immediately it changed to my favorite punk-trance tune, an aggressive track I realized immediately had already been playing in the back of my mind and I felt a paranoid disquiet as I realized how deeply I had been violated, mind and body. The music seemed to be playing from every corner of the room – speakers must have been hidden throughout the walls – and it followed me through the door. The lyrics to the song certainly fit how I felt – “You can’t make me take it.” I found myself singing along. “Try to put it in and I will break it.” The fact I couldn’t tell if I was singing along because I chose to or because I merely thought about doing it and the nano-molecules made it happen made it even creepier. I would have shivered had I been in control of myself.
“We mean you no harm!” the nano-molecules informed me. “We have decoded your worry. We attempt to reassure you. We @re y0ur fr!ends!”
I was not, needless to say, reassured.
Outside the operating room was a small area with three elevators and a window. It was the first look I had at the outside universe since I had been captured but I didn’t stop to admire the view. I didn’t recognize what I was looking at but the bulk of it was the kind of bright star-field that indicated we were in deep space with a metal contraption off to the side that was probably a portion of a space station.
The elevator on the right opened on its own. Inside was a chair-bot, not the torture kind I had been offered so far but a comfy, plush thing that simply couldn’t have been KrossTek.
I sat in it and at the same time the nano-molecules said, “S!t!” as though I had a choice in the matter. The elevator doors closed and I watched the digital display as it started to move. This elevator looked more like the ones I was used to with a touch panel, a 3V display, and a digital map. I touched the panel with two fingers, zooming the map out until I could get a sense of our location. Best I could make out we were ascending through the center of some sort of tower. It took only ten or fifteen seconds to arrive at the top.
“Where are we going?” I asked aloud.
“Escape.” An image of space appeared in my head, then a yellow planet – pretty sure it was Asitot – and I got the sense we were rushing towards it. “You must communicate the existence of 497. He !s @ gre@t d@nger!”
“Yeah, no kidding,” I said.
The elevator opened and the chair-bot wheeled ridiculously fast through several short halls causing me to grip the armrests tightly and hold on like a rollercoaster. Then we came out into our final destination and despite my innate paranoia I couldn’t help feeling relief. The chair had taken me to what looked like Kantsky’s garage. I had a choice of six luxury flyers. Even better, two of them I was familiar with – the Tondai Revelation and the Burling Ace. Lewis had owned each briefly – he had gone through a couple vehicles a year even before the success of his show – and before he had Mike I was one of his regular drivers. Of course all the flyers would be keyed to Kantsky’s biometrics but I imagined with the help of my “friends” that would be no problem.
I chose the Revelation – it had a slightly higher top speed – and hopped into the pilot’s seat. I didn’t have to download my preferred HUD, it was already installed and loaded up for me. Invasive as it was I suppose having nano-molecules in your brain did have its advantages. In the top right of the display the SPS showed a 3D map and the directory name of my location – “Pyramus Substation 4AWM” – a generic address with no accompanying description. But I could fill that in myself: “Mad Doctor’s Space Lab.” I marked it in my memory for later. I pressed the launch sequence and we were ejected from the airlock.
The Revelation showed only a 45% charge. Probably not quite enough to make it to Asitot – the SPS said I’d get about 90% there unless I took it slow and relied on a few inertia breaks. So I turned instead toward Pyramus, Asitot’s moon. I knew no one on Pyramus, and the moon was not politically affiliated with Asitot. In fact, as I had tried briefly to explain to India at our first meeting, the two were practically enemies, diametrically opposed religiously and philosophically the last twenty years. I knew almost nothing about Pyramus, but I assumed as the victim of an intergalactic crime I would be able to seek assistance with behavior enforcement. With that in mind, I pressed the comm button on the display and pulled up the local directory. It was only as I was clicking on the nearest Pyramus docking station that I realized the display was in guvian. Again, an advantage to having a brain full of nano-molecules. The translation was seamless – I might as well have been reading anglish. The normal cell interface, useful as it was, paled in comparison.
I dialed and waited for two or three seconds as the display said “CONNECTING…”
Then a voice came over the comm, flooding me with relief: “Pyramus Docking, we have received your location. Standby.”
The nan
o-molecules buzzed in my ear: “You must tell him of 497!” Sure, I thought. I had no doubt they’d do it themselves if I didn’t.
“We cannot!” they insisted. “We cannot interfere with the choices of independent units, especially balancing units such as 309.”
I would have asked what a balancing unit was but the voice on the comm returned. “We have received your vehicle’s identification information. You are operating an unregistered vehicle. State your identity.”
I did, including my citizenship status and SN. I tried to immediately follow it with an explanation of my presence, but I was interrupted.
“Standby.” So I waited, and a moment later, he said, “We have your records, 309.”
At the sound of the number my skin crawled. It was Kantsky – the voice was different but who else would use those digits against me? But the nano-molecules immediately reassured me: the station operator had said my actual name. The nano-molecules had translated it as they were programmed to do, with the digits Kantsky used to identify me in his system.
“Quit calling me that,” I mumbled. “It bothers me.”
Meanwhile, the station operator went on: “Your conviso has not been authorized for Pyramus. Do not approach unless you can provide an authorized transit identification.”
“Help,” I said into the comm. “I have been kidnapped.”
“There is no help for you,” the voice on the comm returned, and my breath went out of me like a punch in the gut. It was Kantsky this time – confirmed by the sense of dread I sensed from the nano-molecules. I shivered. My stomach clenched tight as a wave of nausea rushed over me.
“No,” I said and I pushed the throttle to full, still pointed in the direction of Pyramus.
“Yes,” Kantsky replied. “I have regained control over my devices. As soon as I am in range I will regain control of your body as well.”
“Never, 497,” I said and heard him laugh. A blip appeared on the radar screen, a small speed craft zipping in behind me. I had no idea how close he had to get to regain influence over the nano-bots – but as soon as I had the thought the nano-molecules fed me all the necessary information.
“497 is 7.2 seconds from control.”
No time at all. If only the Revelation had some sort of weaponry. An EMP would be nice, I thought. Something like that might even have disabled the nano-molecules, so Kantsky couldn’t take control.
“We are able to self-destruct!” The nano-molecules said – with 3 seconds left. “G00dbye, 309!”
And I felt better. More myself. The change was immediate but not all to the good. Previously I had moved with an assurance not my own, my actions automatic and immediate. I hadn’t realized it at the time. Flying the Revelation suddenly took attention, and I lost a few seconds orienting myself as Kantsy closed in. His voice came again over the comm:
“I see you have disabled my control system. Not enough, 309, not enough.” A moment later the display system blanked out, returning the next instant with a red overlay written in guvian that I assumed meant I no longer had control of the vehicle.
Kantsky had hacked the Revelation. Of course. The desperate sense of helplessness I felt at that moment is the reason hackers deserve the death penalty. The flyer turned on its own, reversing course, and I stabbed at the comm button in desperation. “Pyramus Docking, are you there? Pyramus Docking, please respond.”
“Pyramus Docking, please respond!” came Kantsky’s voice, mocking me. “They can’t hear you, 309. It’s just you and me. You realize that now, don’t you?”
I searched desperately for a solution. Maybe there was some way to disable the flyer? I thought if I could get access to the battery array I could maybe disable the power connection but I didn’t know the Revelation well enough to know where the access panel was located. I checked behind the rear passenger seats – a common location – but found nothing save for a charging port. I did find a panel on the side of the cargo hold that probably opened to the engine but I couldn’t figure out how to open it. It had a touch panel but it must have been disabled or keyed to Kantsky because when I touched it nothing happened.
I tried then the only thing I could think of – to once again gather my den and try to psychically manipulate the environment in the manner of the Den-Den. I imagined a bright overhead panel filling the flyer with my light then pictured the Revelation stopping its flight, powering down like the chair had before, crashing its navigation software.
I thought for a second it might be working. I heard a sudden high-pitched whine in my left ear like the air pressure had changed. But the Revelation continued its flight. I concentrated harder and the whine moved from my left ear to my right ear. The Revelation did not stop.
“Almost there,” said Kantsky over the comm. His voice set me over the edge. I changed the vision of my den. Now I pictured Kantsky – his leering, arrogant snarl – and imagined his head in my hand as I slowly squeezed, my fist in my vision overly large, huge and powerful, his head a tiny walnut ready to crack. “What are you doing?” said Kantsky and I could hear an edge of fear in his voice. Pain? It must be working, I thought, and squeezed and concentrated, concentrated and squeezed. I imagined the sound of his skull snapping under the pressure. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to enjoy this brief imaginary revenge. “Enough!” Kantsky said.
The display flashed a brief message: “Warning: Cabin Pressure Change. Please attach backup breathing apparatus.”
Dammit, I thought. If there was a backup breathing apparatus I had no time to find it. I was seized with sudden vertigo, overcome with dizziness, and I passed out. As I did the edges of reality perforated with red static, making me think for a moment my eyes were bleeding.
I didn’t dream. It seemed to me that I woke the very next instant but when I did I was no longer in the Revelation. I was instead lying on a robo-cot as it wheeled its way back through the hall. My heart pounded like I had been running and my eyes flickered wildly, trying to make sense of the dots of red that still tickled the edges of my vision. Kantsky walked ahead of the cot, his back to me. I was not restrained, I realized, and he clearly did not know I was conscious.
I hesitated only long enough to gain some control over my state of mind. Then I quickly sat up in the cot, grabbed his throat from behind with both hands and squeezed. He tried to pull away. I stood up and caught one of his legs with my own, knocking us both to the ground. Kantsky was beneath me and I heard his forehead crack against the floor. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to strangle him or pound his head against the floor again so I did both. It was maybe the first moment of true savagery in my life and I don’t think I was even aware of it. I hated Kantsky so much, so deeply and thoroughly in that moment that I could not stop even after he stopped moving. I choked, I pounded, until I was one hundred percent sure Kantsky was dead.
In my rage I forgot about India completely. I didn’t worry about how I was going to find her or how I would get back to Earth. I thought with my bloody hands instead, at least until everything split in half, and I found myself being pulled somehow violently away from myself.
It hurt.
····11····
For a moment I saw myself from above like an overhead view in a Galactic Empires game or before when Kantsky had shown me India with the historical stereovision goggles. Then I blinked and suddenly I was looking at the worried face of Charles, close-up, then I blinked again and I was choking Kantsky, my hands clutched around his skinny neck like I was hanging from a safety line. The way things changed every time I blinked reminded me of the gobo eye sim only instead of switching filters I was switching scenes. My next blink I was back with Charles and I knew immediately somehow that that’s where I really was but it took me nine or ten more blinks and two more camera angles on Kantsky before I stabilized.
Finally: Blink blink blink, Charles Charles Charles.
I wanted to cry in relief.
Charles held me up by the forearms, squeezing hard enough it would probably bruise, repeat
ing my name a few times until he could tell he had my focus.
“I got you,” he said. “Don’t worry, I got you.”
“I killed him,” I said. “He’s dead.”
Charles brow furrowed and he tried to adopt a gentle, soothing look that really didn’t fit with his face.
“I don’t think you killed anyone,” he finally said.
“Kantsky,” I said. But I was already doubting it.
“I don’t know who this ‘Kantsky’ is,” Charles said, his consoling tone even more awkward than the face, then: “If you mean the kidnapper his name is Erik Boldt. He’s a gobo who apparently thinks he’s a human and we got him.”
This was too much for me to process at that moment – it washed over me like so much sound – and I just looked at Charles without saying anything, just making quiet little blubbering sounds since I happened to be crying. Charles smiled at me, let go of my arms and patted me gently on one shoulder. “We got India too. We found her first and she’s fine.” He pointed above me and I looked up to where it seemed a thousand slender wires descended from the ceiling. “He had her in one of these too, but he’s got a pretty big facility here. It took us a while to find you.”
“Were these in my head?” I said, indicating the wires. “Oh my God,” I said, “these were in my head?” I reached up to feel the back of my head, expecting to find a terrible flap of skin, the hole in my skull cut by Kantsky. Instead I felt my hair, matted and damp with sweat but otherwise unharmed.