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.