Prime

Stevens produced a box of cigars. He held the box before him like a trophy he was about to bestow upon Miss Cela Corporation. I suddenly felt self-conscious, looking down at my feet, and then off to where Gale appeared at the far side of the hanger. He must have heard about the cigars. As he approached, I scratched at the neck of my armour. It wasn’t the same Baydon tech I had worn before; this armour felt like a second skin – almost too comfortable.

“This is a significant occasion, CYG7,” Stevens nearly shouted, and I raised an eyebrow. There were only a handful of people in the hanger; they were dismantling the huge corporate national flag that hung nearly the length of the hanger. The size of it in comparison to the workers was almost overwhelming, much like Baydon Industries itself. Spanning from the Prince Edward facility to Vancouver Island, it formed the government of one of the largest corporate nations in the world. The country, formally known only as Annex C, and previously Canada, was the birth nation of Christiaan Baydon, founder of Baydon Industries.

Being briefed by the CEO used to be an honour, even though I was usually briefed by holovid. Standing in front of Stevens, the new CEO of Baydon Industries, made me clench my jaw.

“I have been through reintegration before –

“Sure,” Stevens smiled, opening the box of cigars. Gale had approached us, and I caught him rolling his eyes behind Stevens’ back. Stevens held the box out to me; I hesitated. What exactly was he celebrating? It couldn’t be my reintegration. I forced myself to take a deep breath and took a cigar.

“What is the occasion?” Gale muttered, helping himself to a cigar; Stevens stopped him by handing him the entire box.

“Where is everybody?” I recognized the hanger as a cyg test facility, but I had never seen so few people in it. Most of the equipment was gone; the space dwarfed us.

“Vancouver,” Gale answered. “That’s where we’ll be going after this –

“We?” I was confused. Stevens had given me the impression I was going someplace alone. “You’re coming with me?”

Gale gave me a curt nod.

“I told you I had an opportunity for you, Seven,” Stevens replied, dropping the CYG from my name and opening his arms wide. At first I thought he might do something as repulsive as hug me, but logic dictated it was unlikely to happen. Instead, Stevens took a step back, and I realized he was motioning at the hanger around us. “Today, you have unlocked potential. The modifications I have made –

“What modifications?” Gale interrupted, his brows furrowed together.

Stevens smiled again; I felt my mouth form a thin line.

“I’m sure you don’t feel any different, Seven. The virus was designed to modify the nano-bots function and power –

I had noticed Gale’s face turn several shades of red while Stevens spoke, until –

“Virus?” Gale nearly shouted. While I noticed the hanger was now empty except for the three of us, the word Stevens used had not been lost on me. I was vaguely aware of Baydon Industries researching and trying to develop modifying viruses for nano-technology – viruses meant to change the characteristics and behaviors of the nano-bots, presumably to make a cyg stronger or faster. Viruses that could cause the nano-bots to re-arrange DNA and morph the cyg into new and better things – or so it was attempted. I had never heard of a successful trial.

“That’s right,” Stevens was still smiling – beaming, in fact. “We have been developing this during your time in stasis. You were the perfect test subject. Not only is there a perfect symmetry between your DNA and the nano-bots, but both have now accepted the CYG-PR virus.”

Nobody spoke for several seconds, until Gale finally sputtered, his face a dangerous shade of purple.

“Prime?” he managed. “Are you saying you infected her with Prime?”

“Not infected,” Stevens snapped. “Perfected. She is now Prime.” He turned to me, and I caught a sudden spark of desperation in his eye. “Seven was your prototype number. Now you are Prime - the single most significant achievement of this corporation.” Stevens made a swift motion with his hand, preventing Gale from speaking further. “You’re being naïve, man. Do you think the whole world is like Toronto Island? Or Vancouver Island? We’re protected here; it’s chaos out there – we’re on the brink of the fucking dark ages and before you stands the only beacon of light we have. If anybody can break the silence, it’s Baydon Industries. But we need Donnell, and to get Donnell we need Prime.

“When’s the last time you spoke to your wife?” Stevens changed the subject.

“You know damn well I haven’t!” Gale shouted, but something on his face told me that Stevens had hit a nerve.

“Wait,” I said, before Stevens could continue. “Dark ages? How bad is it? What is happening?”

Stevens sighed, and Gale never took his eyes off of him. I suddenly felt very tired.

“I told you before,” Stevens ran a hand through his thinning white hair. “The whole world is dark. No communication of any kind, save god-damn smoke signals – two tin cans and a string. We’re using Morse code, for god’s sake! We don’t know how it happened. It seemed to spread from Montreal and in less than a week the whole world was… dark.” He spread his hands before him, at loss for a better word.

“But you can direct link to me,” I stated, referring to Steven’s earlier visit while I was in stasis.

“Direct, and nano-link. If Baydon Industries has a chance at cracking this, we need both you and Donnell. Like I said, outside of the corporation safety zones, it’s like the world stopped completely. There’s a lot of anger and frustration in the world right now. People don’t understand and don’t know how to handle what is happening. Mass destruction of holocommunication providers, retail outlets – looting mostly. People frustrated that their toys aren’t working and try to find solutions themselves. It’s a nightmare, but to top it off, governments and corporations are running blind. Word travels as fast as the person carrying it. If we can crack nano-communication –

“I think you’re making an awful lot of assumptions,” Gale said without expression. “Donnell won’t help us. And besides, it’s worse than that. Much worse.”

“He has to,” Stevens ignored him. “This is his company, his legacy –

“He killed fifteen children and his own wife to stop this legacy,” Gale shouted so forcefully I thought he might keel over.

Stevens looked away and I felt myself pale. When I dream, it is always of Donnell turning away from the airlock door, what was left of his torn arm hanging limply at his side. “Not on my watch,” he muttered over and over again between sobs. “Never again on my watch.”

“He was sick,” I finally murmured.

“Sick my ass!” Gale shouted. “He murdered –

“Enough!” I shouted, surprised as my voice ripped through the hanger like a shockwave. We stood like wilted reeds, and I felt as though my knees might give; I knew they wouldn’t, but the sensation flooded my brain. Gale let out a terrible sigh and I closed my eyes. “You said it was worse?”

Gale didn’t speak and when I looked at him, he kept his eyes on the floor.

“We should show her,” Stevens started, but Gale shouted him down.

“You show her!” he spat. “You show her what you’re about to throw her into!”

Stevens opened his mouth, but reconsidered.

“Meet me at observation tower six,” Gale muttered, shoving the box of cigars back at Stevens. “You better make sure I have those clearance codes in twenty minutes, Stevens,” he barked before turning on his heel and stalking out of the hanger.

Stevens refused to meet my eye as I waited for him to speak. When he finally did, he handed me the box of cigars. I sighed.

“Meet me back here in one hour. I’ll explain everything about Prime to you then.” Stevens turned to leave as well, leaving me standing alone in the hanger. I turned to follow Gale up to observation tower six, pausing long enough to drop the box of cigars – a rude, dismissive gesture, but the box felt cheap and ridiculous in my hand.  I wanted to throw it.

I had nothing to celebrate, and something told me what Gale had to show me was not good at all. It was hard to imagine what Steven’s idea of Armageddon was; Gale, however, I trusted. While the hand at my throat twisted, I felt a second hand snake down my chest and clench my stomach.

The observation tower was a short tram ride from the Toronto Island complex. The inland was cut off from ground and lake traffic, but the tram took me to an underground elevator directly beneath the tower.

When I emerged on the mid-deck of observation tower six, Gale was leaning on the far rail, looking down approximately 1000 feet toward the expanse of Toronto Island complex. The clouds made the waters of Lake Ontario almost black, like a tar lapping at the shores. Around us, crumpling, twentieth centuries architecture was dwarfed by the sleek mega-structures of Baydon Industries. Further out, the landscape of the residential areas rose and fell like a wave crashing against the inner city.

“What can you see?” I shouted to Gale across the strong gusts of wind; the wind roared past my ears and I saw Gale point. I pinpointed on reading his lips: “…see groups of them mostly by the shore lines. It’s hard to see on a day like this. They just stand there, black as the water. On a sunny day they almost shine; aqua-like.”

My eyes followed to where he was pointing and I zoomed in on what I had missed before. Groups of men were standing in the shallow waters of Lake Ontario’s shores; they were surrounding Toronto Island. Few came inland, but those that did were moving – walking. They were unclothed, dark and featureless. I couldn’t see a ‘normal’ person in sight.

“Where is everybody?” My eyes returned to focus on Gale’s face. He was still looking below.

“Evacuated. Fled.” His murmur was lost in the wind, but I continued to read his lips. “They’re non-violent, as far as we can tell,” Gale pointed to a group of the creatures that were closer inland. They moved slowly, but didn’t shuffle or appear disoriented. “Scary as hell when they just started walking up on the shores though.”

Gale was looking at me when my eyes snapped to his. “Thousands of them,” he continued, never looking away. “Stevens doesn’t even mention them, but there they are. Everywhere. Walked up every shore of every damn major body of water across the globe. He’s worried about making holovid calls.” Gale’s eyes had widened and he threw his hands up. “I haven’t seen or spoken to my wife in fifteen weeks. I don’t know if she is ok. I don’t know if she evacuated, and Stevens wants to send us out so that he can play king of the empire when this is all over.” Gale let go of the railing with one hand, running it through his thick white hair.

“What have people been doing?” I asked. I had been in stasis for so long, I found that I continually had to remind myself that I once again was part of reality. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the reality I remembered. The number of featureless ‘men’ I had counted below now reached the high thousands.

“What do you expect?” Gale grumbled, though I had no answer. “Those of us with any intelligence left for someplace ‘safer’, whatever that means. Those who stayed behind tried to eke some normalcy out of the chaos, but entire lives have changed. Some people went crazy, killed themselves or killed others. Other people loot and destroy property, while others still try to provide safe haven for those who couldn’t get out of the city. The last group worries me. My wife would be in the last group.”

I closed my eyes before saying, “She’s a good person.” I placed a hand on Gale’s shoulder. “People recognize that and will protect her, especially if she’s trying to help others.”

“I suspect that you’re about as naïve as I am,” Gale chuckled. “There’s a fine line between being strong enough to help others when you need help yourself, and just being a plain old sucker.”

I was silent as I stared at Gale. I have never heard him talk about his wife that way. She was always a paragon in his eyes; ready to drop everything in order to set something straight. Gale thought she had finally crossed a line – one where helping others would ultimately be detrimental to her.  Finally, I spoke. “You think she is being taken advantage of?”

Gale nodded slightly; then, shook his head, giving me a confused look. “I fear the worst,” he finally muttered. “People change when under pressure or in complete chaos. Nothing is predictable. I fear the worst,” he repeated.”

“Has anyone tried to talk to these –?

“We’ve tried.” He knew what I was thinking.
“We think they are responsible for whatever is blocking communication. Can’t prove it. They don’t speak - if they do, we don’t understand them, and they don’t seem to care for being understood. If you attack one, it dissolves.”

While Gale spoke, my eyes drifted back and zoomed in on a group of the creatures again. I opened and closed my mouth as if to say something, but I wasn’t quite sure what I was seeing.

“They’re water?” I finally spoke, still looking down at the creatures.

“I doubt it,” Gale sighed, “but all tests conclude otherwise. If there is something in the water, it’s dissipating before we can get samples. When people learned they can’t attack these things, and won’t be attacked by them, people started leaving. It was clear that soon it would be hard to move with so many bodies about… Do you hear that?”

I raised an eyebrow and enhanced my hearing, blocking out the sound of the wind.

“It’s worse on the ground,” Gale explained. “A electric hum – or something very similar.”

I couldn’t pinpoint what Gale was speaking of; I did hear something. I concentrated for several seconds on the sound, and while it wasn’t a hum, it was pulsing. “There’s a pattern,” I frowned. “What does it mean? What does this mean?” I gestured below where the small groups of figures were slowly moving back towards the water.

Gale stepped away from the railing and shrugged. He looked as though he was wincing. “I don’t know, Jack,” he finally answered, sighing. “But I have a horrible feeling...” his voice trailed off as he seemed to reconsider. “I have this horrible feeling,” he repeated, this time chuckling, though there was no mirth on his face.

“Me too,” I muttered, thinking about my unorthodox reintegration; about Stevens and Prime; about Gale and the fact that he hasn’t seen or spoken to his wife; about Donnell, and about the choked shores of Toronto Island. I felt as though the invisible hand was tearing at my throat.

“Me too…”

Breathe

I awoke at the sensation of my eyelids burning. Blinding lights caused my eyes to struggle open – a sensation like my eyeballs were being peeled made them water, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe.

I knew I was alive again.

Instinct made me try to bolt upright, but I found that I couldn’t move anything below my neck. As my eyes adjusted, I saw a small curtain was blocking the rest of my body from view. Against better judgment, I looked up again and the bright lights blew holes in my vision. Then –

Donnell!

My chest burned as a ragged breath ripped through my throat and into my lungs. I struggled to cough, but lacked both the strength and freedom of movement.

I struggled to take another breath. I felt a cool sensation on the side of my face, and then on the other, gently guiding my head back down on the table I was laying on.

“It’s ok, now, Jackie, don’t move,” a rough, familiar voice sounded above my head. I tried to find the speaker, but was only blinded once again by the lights. “You’re not supposed to be awake, girl – you’re only half assembled.”

I smiled, even though my breathing was far from normal. Only one man called me Jackie. “Dr. Gale,” I croaked, but was overcome with the urge to cough again.

“Don’t talk, now,” Gale murmured, removing his hands from the sides of my face and moving around so that I could see him. “Your lungs just formed; you’re lucky you didn’t wake sooner.” He smiled, and lines creased his leathery face. Thick white hair framed his face – it had once been cut military short, perhaps a couple of months ago; now it matched his equally thick, white eyebrows, which hung above deep set blue eyes and a large nose.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again, Jackie,” he sighed. He didn’t speak again for some time, until - “I hope you know what you’re doing with Stevens. I know you don’t have a choice, but…” He didn’t finish, but disappeared behind the curtain that separated my vision from the rest of my body.

“How,” I started, gagged, and then tried again. “How are you?” I hadn’t seen Gale in fifteen years, apparently. Donnell had worked under Dr. Keenan Gale early in his career, and when Donnell began working on the CYG project, Gale followed to work on Donnell’s team. I had known Gale for as long as I had known Donnell.

“That’s sweet of you to ask,” Gale returned to view. “But I told you to shut up. You’ll make the things skip a beat or something, like back when we were ripping our own holovids. Do it too fast or jostle the writer – no movie.”

I smiled at Gale’s reference to the nano-bots as “the things”, a strange habit for a man who had helped create the creatures as they were today.

It seemed like hours before Gale spoke again. By this time I could feel my chest, arms and abdomen – Gale had given me permission to move my arms and hands.

“I hate to do this to you, now” Gale sighed, appearing at my side again, “I’ve got to ask you some questions.”

It was my turn to sigh. How many reintegrations had I gone through? As many times as the last breath hissed past my lips; as many times as the light never lit my way beyond; but more times than I thought: this death is my last…

“I won’t start until you’re ready,” Gale insisted, but behind his words we both knew I was going nowhere until the questions were answered. The real question was, did I care?

What if Donnell is really alive?

“Do what you gotta do,” I muttered, closing my eyes. I heard Gale shift beside me. “Wait… Can I smoke?”

It was a dumb question, and I heard Gale chuckle. “The official answer? Hell no.” I could almost see him smirk. “But, I am the only other person in here, and I’ve had iron lungs for about nine years now. Won’t be hurting anybody.”

“Cancer?”

“Emphysema. Sometimes I still cough out of habit. Funny thing though – I got pelted with one of those disposable vid-comms on my walk to work the other day. Got called a cyg-lover. At first I thought it was my lungs, but how would anyone know about that? Stupid and naïve of me, I think. I’ve been in this business my whole life – did I think I’d be a hero?”

“That’s rough,” I muttered. “Not strange though. Why bring it up?”

I heard Gale sigh again. He had lit a cigarette and handed it to me. I knew better than to ask him where he got it.

“Because the guy wasn’t alone. A couple of others actually called me a cyg. It’s getting more dangerous to work here - to be augmented –

I took a drag of my cigarette and immediately started coughing. Maybe this time I could be a non-smoker? I felt the grip of anxiety firmly on my throat at the thought.

When I stabilized, Gale continued. “Most personnel have been moved away from headquarters. It’s shutting down at the end of the year. We thought we would ride this storm out. Donnell was dead and you were incapacitated indefinitely – but attacks persisted. We shut down our entire military division for nine years and the attacks died off; things are starting to pick up again. If word got out about the two of you…”

“Donnell is really alive?” Part of me still didn’t believe it. The hand around my throat tightened. Whatever Steven’s needed me for, I wouldn’t put it past him lying to get it.

Gale didn’t answer, so I changed the subject. His silence was answer enough for me.

“People don’t like the augmented. Why should they? The un-augmented hold no survival advantage. Cygs are dangerous.”

“They are still human,” Gale insisted.

I shrugged as best I could, exhaling a gust of tobacco smoke through my nose. “I guess the jury’s still out on that one. You gonna ask me those questions?”

I closed my eyes and heard Gale shift again. Maybe he had been hoping this conversation had disappeared.

“Ok now,” he began, his voice suddenly monotonous, “I need to establish your core memory functions - what is your full birth name?”

I didn’t hesitate because I didn’t know the answer. There was a reason no one ever said my first name – not unless he wanted a fight. Still, I grit my teeth and answered: “Minion Jack.”

“At what age did you enter the CYG program?”

“You want, like –

“Approximate age,” Gale said gruffly, hinting that we’d get through this sooner if I just played nice.

“Twelve,” I replied.

“Who was your master programmer? This is the person who is ultimately responsible for your performance during your time at Baydon Industries.”

“You.”

“You have to say my name,” Gale said without any inflection.

“Dr. Keenan Gale.”

“Who was your field programmer? This is the person who is responsible for your performance in the field and would be connected to you via nano-link, if not physically present during your missions.”

This time I didn’t hesitate at all. “Dr. Baastian Donnell,” I said, matching Gale’s now monotone voice. I was programmed to utter that name on instinct – a failsafe that had saved me from this very experience more than once.

“Alright, there are a couple more questions, but I’m satisfied there has been no memory damage.” I fought back a smirk. Gale had deviated from the script quite a bit. “Just one more I have to ask though: How many times did you get fitted with a restraining device?”

“Officially?” I asked, confused. That wasn’t an answer I really had. “Twice? But I am only aware of once, at my trial.”

Gale didn’t answer right away, but slowly nodded his head.

“What was the first time?” I asked? I always knew it was very early in my development; there always seemed to be air of despair over the incident, and no one spoke of it. I had scoured the networks for a couple of months trying to find some clue as to what happened, but nothing ever appeared. I was told the official story, which was that I had malfunctioned and needed to be restrained until I was functional again. I always felt that I had no choice but to accept that answer. Not even Donnell would tell me.

“You know what I know, Jack,” Gale murmured. “Don’t beat a dead horse, you’ll just attract more flies.”

I handed Gale the butt of my cigarette for him to dispose of, but I didn’t speak again. As sensation flooded to my brain, I could feel the nano-bots knitting the rest of my body together. It wouldn’t be long until I was tested physically, and then set upon Steven’s task.

I thought of Donnell – about what I would find. Was Donnell the same? Would he be angry? He had been so angry and afraid in the last years of his life – or what had been his life. Was he alive now? With nano-scripts executing and maintaining most of my body functions, was I really alive?

“You should get some rest,” Gale murmured. “You remember the physical regime. There will be new things to show you too.”

I nodded and closed my eyes, feeling a weak sensation in my toes. I had almost forgotten about Steven’s end of the bargain. I had to admit that I was slightly curious as to what he had that would be so compelling to me. Compelling enough to be sent out into an unfriendly, communication-less world by myself.

To find a dead man.  

Alive

Alive

I had a visitor.

The thought made it seem as if my skin crawled and my heart pounded. It had been several months since my trial and incarceration. The fact that my sentence was handed down and carried out by a corporation did nothing to stop the severity of my punishment. In fact, some might say it was worse.

I can’t say how long I’ve been here, or how many visitors I’ve had. My guess would be years, and I likely only had one or two visits. As days stretched to weeks and months, I filled my waking hours with whatever news I could glean from the networks, and reading Donnell’s research and dissertations more times than I could count. When I could no longer stand even that, I would run for hours on an endless track, or sit chain smoking as I stared off into the featureless distance. While I lacked a physical cell, there was only so much I was able to control within my own mind. The virtual prison seemed to offer endless space, but more often than not, my brain lacked the permission to use it. I couldn’t even conjure up tea to offer to my virtual guest. But cigarettes – illegal in most places in the world, were at my fingertips. I don’t know why I indulged. The acrid smoke still singed the back of my throat and hissed back out of my lungs like a tar-soaked rag, even in my mind.

It was during one of Donnell’s recorded lectures that my networks connection was lost. After possibly years of uninterrupted access to the networks, suddenly I was in the dark. Donnell’s voice faded and the images of students around me disappeared, leaving me alone in a cloud of tobacco smoke. In the silence, I could hear the electric currents in my own mind, whining incessantly at an urgent pitch. 

I quickly brought myself back to what had been designed as my “safe-spot”; the default design in which I was first placed when incarcerated. I had a bed and a desk, a reading chair and a bookshelf that would contain whatever I was looking for. There was a hint of something in the air, but no matter how much of the virtual air I breathed in, I couldn’t comprehend what the smell was. Not tobacco; still, the scent hung in the air like a safety blanket, keeping me warm in a place where heat did not exist. Such things were unnecessary, but my brain recognized and appreciated such comforts.

At first I felt alone – a strange sensation considering that in the physical world I was likely just a brain and spinal column hanging in a storage warehouse among thousands of others. I spent much of my time staring at the blank holomonitor on my desk where I had imagined Donnell’s lectures were being delivered only to me. The silence and inactivity of the holomonitor began to choke me with anxiety, as if an invisible hand, wrapping itself around my neck, had replaced the image and sound.

But today, I had a visitor.

His image materialized as I sat in my reading chair. I made to rub my hand through my hair only to find that here, I had none. Not from lack of trying - hair was obviously not something I had permissions to.

“CYG7.” The tall, lanky man with graying hair barely nodded in greeting. He pronounced my model and series number as if it were my name. “It’s been some time,” he muttered – a sore attempt at starting a conversation. It didn’t help that Dr. Hal Stevens was the last person I’d ever want to see. 

“The weather’s probably nice too,” I murmured.

“How have you been?” He looked at me down the narrow bridge of his nose, upon which sat a small pair of half-glasses.

I was taken aback by the question and I narrowed my eyes. “I’m sure you know, Dr. Stevens.” I suddenly sat up in my chair, crossed my legs and placed an elbow on the armrest. “That reminds me, I read a while ago – gosh, must be months now since the networks ran out –

“I –

“I read that you’re now president and CEO of Baydon Industries,” I finished. Dr. Stevens lowered his eyes.

“Do you know why I am here?” He looked up at me then. I didn’t respond. I couldn’t imagine why he was there. The last time I had seen Stevens was the day I was sentenced by Baydon Industries for the attempted escape and subsequent death of Dr. Baastian Donnell. I remember Steven’s smirk from that day. I long ago decided it was directed at me.

“May I sit down?” Stevens gestured to the chair at my desk.

I raised my hands in indifference. “Whatever,” I muttered.

Stevens frowned – only for a second – before grabbing the back of my desk chair and seating himself across from me. He wasn’t used to being addressed that way by a cyg - or at least not Baydon CYGs.

“Do you know why I am here?” Stevens repeated.

“What the hell makes you think I’d know?” I spat. I was suddenly very tired of visiting.

“I may have an opportunity for you,” Stevens said, attempting to look me in the eyes but failing. “A chance for you to get out of here…”

“Opportunity?” I didn’t say anything else for some time, but I’m sure my stare conveyed what I thought of his suggestion.

“One I’m sure you will find interesting. Unfortunately, you are unique in that the nano-technology you possess makes you an invaluable military asset. An invaluable asset to Baydon.”

“There’s nothing different about my technology. Millions of soldiers and cygs possess the same tech. What bullshit are you selling, man?”

Stevens put his hands up and sat further back in his chair. I felt a slight surge of adrenaline knowing that I made him uncomfortable.

“Yes, you may use the same tech, but you possess something far more…shall we say, intriguing. It’s not as if we can make others. You must understand that you are indeed unique - the only human to successfully integrate the nano-technology into your own DNA. I can help you unlock this capability, but you must agree to help me in return.”  Stevens paused, bit his upper lip and then looked me straight in the eye. “Help us.”

“You want me to help you?” I snorted before I even received an answer. “I’ll stay here thanks.” I sat back down. “Or you can shut me down. That’s fine too. Just get out of my face.”

“Jack,” Stevens started.

“Jack fuck!” I shouted, not quite sure what it was supposed to mean. “Where do you get off calling me that?”

“It’s your name –

“My name is CYG7, asshole!”

“Your behaviour warrants close monitoring and possible adjustment,” Stevens threatened, but I laughed, placing my right ankle over my left knee.

The smile suddenly dropped from my face. “Best get to it then.”

Stevens sighed as he stood. “You disappoint me, CYG7. Your potential is limitless.”

“Kinda like your bullshit, eh Doc?” I stood too, jabbing a finger in Steven’s direction.

 “Let me put it this way, Doc,” I cleared my throat; “I don’t like you.” When Stevens failed to maintain eye-contact, I brought my face close to his. “You put me in here. I’m here because I’m pretty sure you drove Donnell to –

Stevens straightened himself up, a full head taller than me.

“Donnell was my friend,” he hissed. “Do you think he existed only for you? Do you even understand what he did?” His voice rose, and he shouted the last word. I felt my lips form a thin line. If I actually possessed a circulation system, I would have paled.

“Besides,” Stevens continued. His eyes held mine now, and it was my turn to feel uncomfortable. “This is about Donnell. We need you to extract him.”

“Me?”

Donnell?

“Much has happened since you’ve been here,” Stevens began.

“How long?” Extract Donnell from where?

Stevens cleared his throat. “Fifteen years.”

His grave.

I exhaled a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“The networks are down, I’m sure you’ve noticed,” Stevens began to speak again. “It’s worse. All modes of communication are blocked. Some kind of signal – it can’t be cracked; it keeps changing. No peer to peer, no radio, no satellite – both audio and visual. The only thing that seems to work is direct link –

I cringed, but Stevens ignored me and continued, “and nano-link.” He sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair and finally looking at the ground. “There are only two known people in the world who have successfully linked through nano-link. Yourself, and Donnell.”

Still, I remained silent.

“While we have an almost endless supply of cygs at our disposal –

I looked up sharply. Stevens coughed.

“In our service,” he continued, “but there is no way we can communicate with them, nor they with each other. You are our only option now for extraction.”

“Extraction from what?” I finally asked. I had taken my seat again, resting my elbow on the armrest and closing my eyes.

“After you unsuccessfully tried to break Donnell free from prison, his brain and brain stem were successfully harvested and transferred to a Baydon facility in British Columbia. It’s been a long process, but we’ve successfully been able to clone a new body and reintegrate his brainstem with nano-technology. He’s alive.”

I heard an awful, mocking shriek within my head; an image of a patchwork Donnell made me start suddenly in my chair.

“He was shot in the head,” I murmured, but Stevens shook his head.

“Maybe so, but I don’t think you understand to what extent Donnell was actually augmented. He possessed the same Diamnite brain casing as you do. Requirement of his insurance policy you see…” Stevens let his voice trail off when he saw my face.

After a few moments, “You turned him into me?” I whispered. My fingertips began tingling and I felt light headed.

“Slightly less sophisticated,” Stevens said, looking down the bridge of his nose. “His body still rejects some of the more complicated, and subsequently powerful, implants. He –

“Why do you need him? Why did you do this? Why am I here?”

Stephens put his hands up in front of him. “You have to understand. After his trial – even yours, public opinion about Donnell would have lead to catastrophic results if it be known he were alive. Or that we still had him. Bringing you two together is the only way we can directly study nano-communication effectively. We’ve been in the dark for three years now. This is our only option.”

I closed my eyes again. “I think you should leave.”

“I don’t think you understand,” Stevens started, “This is what he was working on before he got sick. He wanted this.”

“I think you should leave now.”

“You will be restrained and programmed if necessary,” Stevens said, and when I looked up, I thought I saw a mixture of apprehension and regret on his face. I had only ever been fitted with a restraining device twice in my existence with Baydon Industries. The first time I didn’t remember, but the second time I remember the sensation of the skin on my face being pulled too tight. The second time I was restrained I was on trial.  “There is absolutely nothing you can do. Asking you was a formality, I’m sorry. We will discuss your potential at a later time.”

He didn’t wait for a reply before he cut the connection. I sat alone in my chair for some time, my eyes never leaving the chair Stevens occupied. After several cigarettes I stood, waving away the harmless cloud of smoke.

Peace

Peace

I let the body slide from my shoulder and it hit the ground with a thud. “Here,” I muttered, breathing hard. I felt no exertion, but fear held a firm grip of my throat. “Take his vest and weapon. If we get separated, or –

“He’s still alive.”

I stared at the man in front of me, pressing my lips together. The air smelled of singed hair and plastic – a smell I determined was coming from me. After a moment I turned, sniffed and shrugged – a gesture that betrayed my disappointment. “I don’t do that.” I had never killed a man in my life.

He ignored me. The man I knew as Donnell got up from where he had knelt by the unconscious guard.  “This is wrong,” he muttered. His right hand was shaking; a bandage wrapped what was left of his left forearm. My stomach dropped at the sight, reminding me of what I was doing.

This man was a killer. Why was I risking everything by saving him?

Donnell kicked the unconscious man roughly, turning him over on his stomach. “When he wakes up and triggers and alarm –"

“We’ll be gone,” I cut him off. “Assuming we move now.”

Donnell looked up at me and I returned his stare. His narrow eyes seemed wider, and for a second I thought he might say something; the man simply swore and began to wrestle the Diamnite vest from the unconscious guard.

Then he stopped and stood still for several seconds, considering... “I’ve made my peace, Jack," he said at last.

My jaw clenched at the name. I picked up the guard’s weapon - my turn to ignore him.  “Six rounds,” I said, kicking one into the chamber. Donnell began to secure the vest across his chest, frowning.  “Don’t bother shooting unless –“

“Less than three feet, I know,” Donnell muttered. “Most of them still wear my armor.” He took the gun from me and slowly checked the sight, seemingly unconcerned about why he would need such a weapon. His eye caught mine again, and then he looked down. “I should stay here.” Sighing again, he lowered the gun.

“No,” I said, grabbing his shoulder and turning him quickly towards the door. I’d drag him if I had to. 

I crouched by the doorframe and peered around the corner. As suspected, the way had remained clear behind me. We moved quickly through the hall, rechecking the unconscious bodies I had left in my wake and making sure I didn’t miss any supplies. The polished, metallic bulkhead betrayed us if anyone bothered to look - our reflections distorting far ahead of us on the walls as we hurried along.

“How much time?” Donnell asked as he stood above me, gun pointed at the latest unconscious body we had come across.  The guard was propped against the bulkhead, his helmeted head lolling to one side. The man’s hand was still over a wound in his side, one I had accidentally inflicted upon him before knocking him out. Blood seeped slowly between his gloved fingers, but the wound didn’t seem serious.

“I dunno,” I muttered, “an hour? They hit their heads pretty hard on the way down too, so maybe longer. Don’t worry about it. It’s what you programmed me to do –“

I was interrupted – shoved hard in the shoulder. As I stumbled I was aware of Donnell’s sudden elevated heart-rate. When I looked up at him, I felt a cold chill run up my neck.

Adrenaline injections…

“Don’t you fucking say that,” he hissed. He made to shove me again, but I caught his arm, sheepishly urging him to be quiet. “Don’t you fucking say that!” This time he screamed; I cringed, stumbling as he shoved me away from him. “You’re a god-damned nightmare,” he shouted, stepping towards me like he wanted to strike me, but stopping.  I was suddenly uncertain I was doing the right thing – a mindset only Donnell could inflict upon me. “A nightmare,” his voice broke. “But you’re still human.” He stumbled back against the bulkhead and sank too the floor. “That’s why you came back, isn’t it? Why you’re risking your life?” His breath came out in hard, ragged rasps.

It was seconds before I spoke. “When did you last eat?” Days, it seemed. I only just noticed now how gaunt his face was.  The food tray in his cell had been full when I had arrived. I felt a familiar burn in the back of my throat, one that threatened to cut off my attempts to breathe normally.

When Donnell didn’t answer, I released my sob, disguising it as a snarl.  We weren’t going to make it out of here.  I had come for a dead man. My dread was confirmed by shouts coming from the further down the cellblock.

“Why did you come?” Donnell asked me again, leaning his head back against the bulkhead. I stood quickly from where I had stumbled and made to help Donnell to his feet. By this point, I had lost count of the number of times Donnell had asked me that very question, “Why did you come?” I didn’t have an answer for him, except that he left a deep, dark void in the place where he used to be, after the trial. Ever since Jack was, Donnell was too. And when I am gone, it is Donnell who always brings me back. Not Jack, but still me. Only he could and would do that… and he knew all this, but how could I explain its importance to me?

Donnell was vital. I grabbed his right forearm and his left bicep and pulled him to his feet.

“This is wrong,” he murmured as the voices behind us grew louder. “I made my peace. Why would you come? If they catch you –

“There’s no more than six of them,” I said, cocking my head as if listening, still ignoring his question. “Let’s go-

“No.”

I gaped, still holding onto Donnel’s arms. I quickly looked over my shoulder as three guards rounded a corner, weapons drawn and aimed. “Donnell,” I said, turning back to face him. “Baas, please!” He used to pretend he hated being called that, but now he didn’t even notice.

“I’ve made my peace,” he nearly smiled at me then, but then his eye caught the guards behind me. Standing nearly head to head, Donnell leaned to the side slightly to catch a glimpse of the guards.

I felt the impact almost immediately. Donnell’s head snapped back and then slung limply down on my shoulder. I began to lose my grip on his arms as his dead weight slid to the ground.

I can’t remember if I screamed when I was pulled off his body. I can’t remember if I fought. Everything I had been designed to do had fled from me, as the life of my programmer fled from the wound on his head. For hours, days, years… only one thing screamed within my head like a soul being tortured within the confines of a tin can.

Baastian Donnell was dead.