Loose Ends

by J M Thomas

As I raised myself up from the depths of slumber, my eyelids fluttered open and I beheld a spider spinning its web in the corner of a rusted metal ceiling in a rusted metal box. I lay on a metal platform that hung from dilapidated hinges with a chain so thoroughly degraded by time and this planet’s natural humidity that the links had all fused together. They wouldn’t even creak as I moved.

  I shifted my weight to roll onto my side, my head falling toward the front of the four-meter-squared room. With considerable effort, I drew a breath, lifting my hand in front of my face. I was a synth again this time. How I remembered being a synth, then being a human again, now this, I had no idea. Things were getting hard to recall, difficult to keep separated out from one another. Memory tampering, shit.

  Of course, I shouldn’t have had to tell by looking at my hand. I wasn’t sick in the slightest; I felt every bit my own personal best. Still, there was something below the surface, something lingering in the back of my mind that said things could not be as they seemed.

  This time, instead of feeling like the spider casting the web, I felt like the bug trying to traverse the corner where it knows a spider waits in the shadows. I viewed every event in my recent memory as tendrils of sticky web being spun about me like a cage. If I so much as slipped up in the wrong way, the spider would have me, and I would be the most unsatisfying plastic dinner the world had ever known.

  Ah, here comes the spider now, I thought as the young male synth nurse with stupid hair unlocked the reinforced metal door to my cell. Not willing to be caught lying down, I struggled to a seated position. Moving was weird in this body, like I sent the command, then point two five seconds later, the muscles received and obeyed my impulse.

  “Officer Jeet, how do you feel?” He stood opposite me, datapad in hand, stylus poised to record something.

  “Sluggish,” I said a beat later than I thought it.

  “Pity.” He replied with a shake of his head. “We are trying to get you a clean download, but your original’s mind iss proving far more challenging than we anticipated.”

  “Come again?” I squinted. “I’m not banging on all cylinders here.”

  “You are the creation, a synthetic man, yes? This much you see?”

  I gave a slow nod.

  He made a face like he’d tasted something sour and got up to leave.

  “Why... don’t... I... work?” I called to his back. Dammit, it’s like wading through concrete to say anything already.

  A grave look came over his face. “Getting a clean download from the original Officer Jeet is our best hope. However, he iss not… conversational, at the moment.”

  I rose menacingly to tower over him, forcing my will to move every joint in the body, though it felt as if I was swimming through mud to do it. “What’d... you... do?”

  “It iss not what we did to him, do not misunderstand. No, this, he does to himself. It iss why you will soon be erased again. This body may lay dormant for some time before we find a way to make his mind compatible with his new form, especially with the equipment broken.”

  With a tilt of my head, I leveled my gaze at the synth. “I… talk… to… him?”

  “Have patience, Officer. Enough time in withdrawal, and he will be happy to lay down his pride and his prejudice. We will take the best Testament scan in that moment.”

  “Ha!” I sat down hard with a laugh escaping my lips. It was the only action I’d managed so far that hadn’t felt forced and involuntary. If you’re waiting on me to forget my prejudice, you’ll be waiting a fucking long time. I’ll be rust and dust before I give up who I am, especially if you keep talking about withdrawal like you actually want anyone off the drugs you’re pushing. You’re going to let Jet die.

  The synth nurse seemed puzzled as he tapped the stylus against the datapad with a faraway look in his eyes. “What did synths ever do to Officer Jeet, hmm? Do you have memory of some terrible thing?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing… out… of… the… ordi… nary.”

  “Well, it was worth a try. Thank you for acting far more civilized and amiable than your human counterpart.”

  I snorted. That’s because saying a word takes a full half minute, you bucket of bolts. An idea popped into my head. “Blade.”

  The synth seemed to consider this for a moment. “Alright. Maybe he can help.”

  As the spider headed back the way he came, disappearing behind the locked door, I drew both knees up to rest my chin on them. My head was heavy on my neck as I let my arms fall to my sides. Alright now, you synth bastard, bring me my partner. It’s time for Jet and Blade two-point-oh to do what our originals failed at and bring you bastards down.

  Sure enough, within a few minutes, a towering dark figure made his way through my door. It locked behind him and he beamed at me, arms wide. Synth Blade, like synth me. So where are they keeping the real one? Horror chilled my bones. I hoped like hell they hadn’t offed him already. We were a massive liability against their company’s promise they only made synthetic copies of deceased individuals.

  “Look at you, Jet! You look like the stuck up piece of work you were when you was a whippersnapper.”

  With a sideways grin, I dropped my feet. “Bust… shit… up… with… me?”

  “Yeah, I reckon I could do a thing or two with this new body.” Blade winked at me, his grin turning deadly serious. “I bet you could, too.”

  “What’s… wrong… with… me?”

  Blade took a seat next to me on the metal bench, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he gestured with both hands. “Nothing whatsoever. This is the only time in our entire career when you can’t interrupt me, so I plan on leaving you like this forever. Think of all the fantastic things you can learn when all you can do is listen!”

  I gave him a glare I hoped could melt steel. It did nothing against his perky mood.

  “The doc in a box told me they’re having trouble syncing Jet’s scans with the new body. His brain keeps rejecting the synthetic operating system. That’s why, the longer you’re up, the slower your responses get to your neural impulses. The body can’t sustain organ function like that, so in short, they’ll put the new body back on life support stasis as soon as the disconnect gets bad enough, and try to get Jet to a place where they can get a proper scan.”

  “It’s… wrong.”

  “No, you’re wrong. Don’t you see? It’s your insistence that all this is wrong, that it’s not real life, that’s holding you back.” He had a glint in his eye that I hadn’t realized synths could get. “Smack me for it. I’ll see you comin’ a week before you get to me.”

  I went for a glare, but barely managed to execute looking up. The sluggishness was worsening already. “No… time.”

  “Then just shut up and listen. They’re listening too, but I don’t care. This bit helps their cause more than it hurts it, but it also happens to help us, too. These guys aren’t gonna let the real me talk to Jet, the real Jet. They’ve got my original body on ice in case of need for a re-download, but given a few weeks, once we’re stable enough, it’s curtains for our originals. This would be fine by me if it was just me, but that ain’t for Jet. The very thought of him having a synthetic body and no original one would kill him real good and real fast.

  “But maybe you could have a chance at getting him to give you the clean download. He’s got a real good mental block surrounding his identity, his need to maintain an organic body to be a true life.” Blade shook his head in disgust. “That’s why you can’t do jack shit. He held off the sync half a dozen times, but the drugs will break down his brain if they dose him again.

  “If you’re gonna help me win this, you’ve gotta convince him to let that go. Maybe there’s a way for us to work together to spring our originals and work together to bring down this racket. Yeah, I was playing both sides back then. Still am, and it’s kept both of us alive, so don’t you give me that look. You’re gonna have to trust me if we even have a prayer.”

  “Shut… up… Blade.”

/>   He grinned. “Nope. Never gonna happen.”

  I grinned back. Just then, the door to the cell opened and an Ehksmian burst through. He chittered something in his language, and Blade nodded.

  “You’d better pick your words carefully. It’s time to meet your maker.”

  Chapter 7 – Original

  I had to be wheeled to the room where Jet, the real Jet, lay unconscious, strapped to an oversized gurney, pouring sweat. How come he gets the good bed and I get metal? Even the synth give the human version of me preferential treatment. Don’t tell me there isn’t a difference between us. That gave me an idea of how I’d deconstruct this particular brain fart. It was close enough to true that it might just work

  The nurse injected something into Original Jet’s infusion line, and a few moments later, his eyelids fluttered open. His glassy-eyed, bleary gaze fell upon me as he groaned. “Aww, shit.” He glanced at his situation, then shrugged. “It’s not as sexy as it looks.”

  I waited a full minute for him to decide to push the lever to raise his gurney to sitting. It was about all he could do, tethered as he was. “Alright, then. What do you want from me?”

  “I’m… your… brain… child.” A smile made its way up the corners of my lips. “Ass.”

  He laid his head back on his pillow and laughed bitterly. “You’re slow. Are you sure you’re not made of what Blade thinks of me?”

  “Too… pretty… for… that.”

  Jet snorted. “So, what do I call this, then? Me two-point-oh?”

  I shrugged.

  He shuddered. “So it’s true, huh? I keep transferring badly because my ol’ brain refuses to accept that I can be a synth?” Original Jet closed his eyes, not waiting for a response. When he opened them again, he licked his lips and leveled his gaze on me.

  “Look, I dunno if I can do it, alright? I’m afraid that, if I become the other thing, I will cease to be me. Even if I’m alive, I’ll still be dead.”

  I shook my head. “I’m… not… you.”

  “That’s the first piece of good news I’ve gotten in this godforsaken place.”

  I struggled as much with the words as I did with the act of saying them. “I… am.... a... thing.”

  Jet straightened, straining against the restraints. “So, that’s my future, then? Be old and sick and miserable, or be a thing that ain’t me?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I’m me.”

  “Alright. No promises, but I’ll try.”

  “How?” I asked.

  “Hell if I know. Get Blade in here; I don’t care which one. He made the switch with no problem, so I bet he can tell me.” Jet made a shooing motion with his fingers. “Go, get back in stasis or cryo or whatever the hell ice they put you on, before you embarrass yourself any worse.”

  To my surprise, the nurse left me where I sat, helpless to do anything but wait. Awkward silence fell between myself and my progenitor. Well, this is stupid. As much as I talk to myself, you’d think I’d talk to me more.

  “Ya know, as much as I talk to myself…”

  I snorted. “Sounds… stupid… aloud.”

  “Don’t we all,” he managed, closing his eyes again until Blade came in, escorted in handcuffs just in case he got an idea to try anything. Since he wasn’t cuffed before, I got the distinct impression he had tried something in the meantime. A glance at his knuckles confirmed my suspicions as the nurse shut and locked the door behind him on the way out.

  Jet wasted no moments. “Talk to me, Blade. How’d you manage it?”

  I got the feeling Blade would have crossed his arms if he could’ve. “You sayin’ you want to?”

  “I ain’t sayin’ nothing. I wanna know how you did it.” Jet narrowed his eyes.

  “Well, there wasn’t nothin’ to it. My brain scanned just fine. It’s your damned prejudice, I swear.”

  Jet gave a violent cough, managing to screw his face back into an indignant scowl. “And what the hell am I supposed to do about that?”

  “How am I supposed to know? I’m not the one who’s prejudiced!” The two were nearly shouting at each other at this point, though I couldn’t quite make out why. The tiny room was growing stuffy with all our bodies and little ventilation, causing Jet to sweat even more. Withdrawal is a bitch.

  “Is it ‘cause you were half synthetic already?” Jet finally asked, an eyebrow raised. “No offense.”

  “How exactly is that supposed to be offensive?” Blade huffed as a thoughtful look crossed his face. “You might be onto something there.”

  “Because, just being honest here, I’ve been trying for twenty minutes to elevate that piece of art over there,” he gestured at me, “to a status of more than a thing in my mind. I can’t unlock the memory file for download if I keep seeing synths as glorified animatronics instead of people.”

  Blade sighed. “Well, if you don’t figure out some way to change it, we’re all fucked. Like, maybe not me per se, but my original body’s on ice somewhere. You’re in serious shit shape, and your synth copy is on its third round of re-imprinting. There’s only so much they’ll try before they discard the both of you.”

  “I’m trying, don’t ya see? Dammit, Blade.” Jet banged his head on his pillow.

  I wracked my brain for a solution. With all the back and forth and my movements getting slower by the second, I knew I didn’t have much time to contribute to this crazy mess. I stared hard at Jet.

  “What’re you looking at?” he asked.

  “You…”

  “Oh shit. Buckle up, this road trip’s gonna take a while.” Jet threw a smirk at me and I was suddenly thankful he nor I had never had kids. We’d have screwed them up so bad. Then I was glad I didn’t say that aloud, cause it’d have sounded way worse than I meant it.

  “...Are….”

  “Yes?” Blade leaned in toward our conversation.

  “A… thing.”

  Blade threw his head back and laughed. “Hear, that Jet? You’re a thing. Your slow as hell synth body over here be judging you like you judge me…”

  “Shut up, Blade.” He squinted at me as Blade continued to guffaw and carry on. I caught sight of a tic in his cheek, a sign of the withdrawal seizures from the drugs. I remembered the drugs—it wasn’t something I wanted to think about.

  “Oh naw, Jet. I don’t have to shut up. You’re a persona non grata like the rest of us thing people. You done sold your soul to the job, treated that body of yours as less than a person, not developing a life after work. We were things a long time before the silicone showed up, objectifying ourselves in the name of galactic justice or some shit.”

  Jet fell silent for a full minute. “I’m dying, aren’t I?”

  “You’re too ornery to die.” Blade shot back, a little too quickly, as if he was trying to convince himself of it.

  “Bullshit. You know how hard it was to detox from that shit when I was his age.” He gestured to me again with a flick of his index finger. “I barely made it then. I’m too old for this shit now.”

  “It’s why my original body’s on ice, too. They gave me, well… original me that weird fyrefly shit you had to get the scan done, and I spiraled.” Blade shuddered at the recollection. “It was like falling down a never-ending hole—like the ones in the dream, then you hit the bottom and jolt awake. Except I never hit the bottom.”

  “Thought so.” Jet sighed, stifling another hacking fit. “So the only way we’re getting this operation shut down is if these synth two-point-oh folks manage this shit for us while we chill on actual ice.”

  Blade was silent, his laughter evaporating like a raindrop in a desert.

  “And, to make matters worse, Jet two-point-oh is slower than molasses and his brain pattern is rejecting his body like a back alley chicken liver transplant.”

  “Something like that.” Blade leaned against the wall. “So, talk to me. What’s this gonna take?”

  Jet stared at the ceiling for a moment. “If Mother Nature made me flawed and fucked up, but hu
man or frogman or whatever decided what ideal Jet looks like and re-created me in that image, is it really any better? Who are they to decide? Who am I to decide? Why not just let me die like a normal...?”

  Blade interrupted him there. “Mother Nature is an idiot.”

  “Come again?” Jet’s arm spasmed next, though he tried to cover the motion adjusting his weight on the gurney.

  “No accident took my face, my arm and leg—it was a defect of my genetic makeup that only half my body connected to my brain. I had to get emergency treatment before I even left my mama’s womb, or I’d die. Mother Nature can go screw herself.”

  Jet was incredulous. “What’d they do, disconnect your brain from the rest of you so you’d live but could only be a cop?”

  “Shut up, you idiot.” Blade retorted. “The point is, Mama Nature was too drunk to put sweet baby Blade together in the womb. Phoned me in. Mama Nature ain’t no better than synths or people at deciding how to put together a person.”

  “Oh, so you’re single-handed proof of that now?” Jet coughed again, a tinge of blood on his lips. “So what if you’re wrong, and something just… broke?”

  Blade looked away. “No shit, something broke.”

  Jet glanced from me to Blade, then back to me, his breathing becoming increasingly labored. “If you’re gonna get that scan in, best be getting at it.”

  Chapter 8 – Brick

  I remembered it all the moment I woke. Every failed attempt, the slowing of my organs until someone had the mercy to wipe the cranial unit. This time being the last they’d get, they swapped it out for a fresh one. Whether the hardware finally took or my progenitor, God rest his soul, had given me every last synapse he had left before the seizures became almost constant, I don’t know.

  They brought out the med that’d take him under for the cryo chamber. The light dawned in his eyes that this was likely his last moment alive. He looked right at the synth Blade and seemed so disappointed that it wasn’t the real man. I’m sure, in those moments, he felt so alone, because he couldn’t reach out to another of his kind.