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.