by J M Thomas
I should probably explain that cryo-tubes look a bit like military-issue coffins, but less shiny. They’re a matte black, there’s no need for a viewing window from the outside or the inside. There are grey buttons, there’s a hinged lid with a recessed handle, and that’s it.
In fact, they’re useless for anything other than keeping living beings from dying entirely, freezing their bodies in a hybernative state where cancers do not grow, hair does not grow, and you sleep in the cold until you’re awakened. It doesn’t fix death; it doesn’t keep people who have died ready to be revived—we’ve tried that. Corpses’ brains melt within minutes of dying, you’d have to get shot while already in a cryo-tube, and that would be tricky, seeing as they’ve got titanium alloys to dip the things in nowadays.
So it came as a bit of a surprise when Marsha recovered from her stumble out of the lev-lorry and broke into a sprint, hugging the nearest cryo pod and breaking into sobs like she’d just found her long-lost cousin.
As much as I’d like to pretend I know everything about women, I have to admit I was wholeheartedly confused for a few minutes. Not only about what the heck she was doing, but what the heck I should do about it. Should I let her sob her not-unsubstantial eyeballs out? Do I rush to her side and do the “there there” and shoulder pat combo move? Do I stand behind her like an idiot and wait for her to come to me? Load the other cryo-tubes?
This seemed like the kind of information freshman cadets at the Galactic Patrol academy needed to know, so I added “how to comfort frogwomen in times of desperate turmoil” to my bullet point list. Now to learn the lesson I’d teach.
I opted to stand far enough behind her that a startle wouldn’t send her flying into me. Marsha carried on her weeping for a couple minutes before rising and turning, startling again when her gaze flicked over to my direction.
“Jet!” she exclaimed, a single bound forward bringing her to hug me like I was that long-lost relative. “Blade did not tell Marsha what Jet bring.” The waterworks started up again, a side of her I’d not seen, even under the most horrible of circumstances when it was clearly warranted.
“Yes, they’re cryo-tubes.”
“No. Not cryo tubes. Hope. Hope for little Ehksmians jabbed with needles. Hope for no more long nights spinning blood. Hope…” She couldn’t choke out the next words as I returned her hug.
“Hope to wait out a cure. I just hope it’s enough.”
“How many?” She rubbed her eyes and straightened, looking around at the treasure trove.
“Should be eighteen. Two went with Blade for evidence.”
Marsha blinked, inclining her head. “Why need two?”
“They’re our pods.”
She didn’t seem to understand right away, but I didn’t want to elaborate. Finally, the light of what happened dawned in her eyes.
“Live specimens to make the cure.”
I nodded, a lump forming in my throat.
“If attempt not work…”
“It’ll work. I can’t… can’t have it not work. Marsha, there were more of them. I don’t know why, but there were dozens. Political prisoners, maybe. I didn’t have time to look.” Emotion choked my words.
Marsha’s eyes never left the floor. “Work for another day.”
Feeling awkward, I decided to change the subject. “Umm, Blade wanted me to ask you something. About why you joined up.”
Something akin to a sad smile cut through the tears streaking her green, leathery cheeks. “Blade want to know, or Blade want Jet to know?”
“I get the feeling it’s the latter.”
“Then come. Move pods, then Jet see why Marsha fights.”
Chapter 26 – Bright
Trying to get the cryo-tubes into the underwater bubbles proved a massive challenge that left even my fantastic swimming skills wanting. First off, they floated better than inflatable life rafts. This unfortunately meant the stupid things were wanting to head off downriver and float away at the slightest provocation.
Second, despite the matte coloration, the second that river water touched the things, they turned more slippery than a greased boar at a coliseum rodeo. Those things were superfluid-level slick, which meant I had to ride them the whole way down. About the third one, Marsha managed to scrounge up some rope we could use to lead them, but by then I’d swam downriver and upriver chasing runaway cryo-tubes.
Then, after Marsh’s similarly emotional experience at seeing the conference room filled with hope-giving pods, I was ready to call it a day and crash at some seedy hotel for the night. But Marsha had promised me a story, and apparently it had to come with an object lesson.
“Here.” She shoved the translator into my palm as soon as we were topside and dried off. “Remind Marsh to implant one next week.”
“You mean, Marsh does cybernetic upgrades?” I seemed to recall something about the topic in the distant past but had no interest in dredging my synapses for the memory.
“Is specialty. Very talented, will be happy to.” She flicked her finger pads in the direction of my translator, putting her own on. “Hurry. Is not far.”
I followed her through a few narrow back alleys, up a fire escape, over a couple adjoined rooftops, past a chain-link fence, and into what looked like an old arcade room, not terribly unlike the one in my old apartment. Most of the machines didn’t appear to be working and the carpet was threadbare, but the neon lights still boasted of the best time to be had for miles. I sincerely doubted it.
A white-lit holoroom, completely bare of decor, with only a small terminal and a bench, even smaller than the synth “hospital,” was our destination. Marsha sat and patted the white-painted single slat of plastic next to her. I sat, too, unsure of the point of this exercise and nervous about the holoroom.
She punched a long string of numbers into the keypad, then scanned her card to pay for the session. The door whooshed shut and the lights dimmed, then brightened again.
“Calculating. Retrieving data. One moment, please.”
“They always count the loading time toward your actual paid time, never to them,” Marsha grumbled as a figure began materializing in front of us. I knew, instinctively, how this technology worked as well—something I never learned. Another of the bits deposited into me from my new operating system. Another uncomfortable realization that I was less than… no. That I was no longer human.
First, the edges appeared. Then the dips and rises developed, like someone was sculpting a creature before our eyes. Finally, texture overlaid the frame. The uncanny, sightless eyes of an Ehksmian the same coloration and height as Marsha gazed in our general direction, but never at us.
“Hello, sister. How long have I been dormant?” This Ehksmian’s voice was smoother and higher-pitched, her silky clothing and fluid movements indicating a person of higher class. “You have brought a friend to meet me.” This was more a statement than a question, but Marsha nodded her response nonetheless.
“You have slept for… months, Lithoba.” Marsha hung her head in shame.
“Like I can tell. Cheer up. We don’t have much time.” Lithoba flashed a congenial smile. “Tell me what you want me to know. I have nothing new to report.” She snorted, her nostrils flaring a little with a half-laugh, her hand settling over Marsha’s.
“We have hope again, Lithoba. Not for you—as my friend would say, that ship done sailed. Though, perhaps one day I can get a holoterminal put in near me and see you every day. Marsh sends his greetings.”
“Not that stuff. I don’t need to know about your life. I need to know how your heart fares.”
Marsha shook her head. “Better very recently. Times have been dark for so long, I was wearing thin. A little hope is a big balm.”
“If your friend brings you hope, I am glad for him. Well met, sir. Pardon if I do not ask your name. I am part of the synth system now, and anything I know can be known.”
I nodded as if I understood. Lithoba opened her mouth to speak, but dissolved again into nothing be
fore our eyes, leaving Marsha clutching the fabric of her pants so hard her knuckles turned greenish-white.
“What… what was that?” I asked.
“That was… is… all that remains of my sister.” Marsha pursed her lips. “Uploaded to the synth mainframe before the drugs could permeate her mind, then there was a power outage resulting in a file save error. No download into a new body possible.”
A lightbulb seemed to come on in my mind. “They dose us up to get the brain mapping. If she didn’t have the drugs in enough quantity…”
“Exactly.” Marsha sighed, pressing the door release on the holoroom. It slid open, letting in a blast of warm night air. “So, the mind and soul of my sister will remain trapped here, with no life unless I generate a form and download her into it for a few minutes, and no death unless they decide to one day upgrade the synth network systems. Every time I come, I do so in the simultaneous hope and terror that I’ll get the final error message that she is free and I am alone.”
I squeezed her shoulders once. “You can’t grieve someone who is sorta still there.”
“That is why I joined up, Jet. I’m sure you could tell by her finesse that our family was once quite well-established. She was the eldest, the beauty of mind and soul. Her leadership could have meant so much to our people, but Father took a bribe and let the synth build here. He and a dozen other legislators looked the other way as pro-synth policies passed with ease. They toasted to the future and shot up the new fyrefly at parties. I’m the only one left to atone for their wrongs.”
“Hell of a job you’re doing, too.”
“Don’t patronize me, Jet. My efforts, and those of so many others, are inconsequential compared to the scope of the problem. I know my world can’t be the only one to suffer. But the word on the street is that SynthCorp is well-respected in most heavily-populated worlds as an alternative body to the slow process of cloning, at least for those who can afford such luxuries.”
“It’s hit a few trends, for sure.” I shoved my hands in my pockets a we reached the shoreline where we’d part ways, for how long, I didn’t know. “Hey, Marsha. I know I’m not sold out to your cause or any cause just yet. I’ve done some things, but they’re just me poking holes in anthills to see what scurries out. I just want you to know you’re doing good here.”
“You have done good, too. Even the bad.” Marsha smiled, sticky finger pads brushing my cheek. I resisted the urge to flinch away from the gross texture. “You are a good synth, Jet. Thank you for your help.”
I found myself unable to speak or even breathe as her words echoed through my mind again. She dove into the water and I just stood there watching the ripples form and dissipate. You are a good synth, Jet. A good synth.
Chapter 27 – Return
I’d love to say I spent the month Blade was gone doing something with myself better than visiting establishments of low repute, getting wasted, eating fried dumplings, and starting fights with folks. I’d be lying, and I’d sworn off lying to balance out being a dirty, rotten thief, so that was out.
Try as I might, I couldn’t get Marsha’s words out of my head, about being a good synth and brothers either living at peace or living apart. I was no good apart, which meant I’d have to find some peace somewhere. I had a feeling they didn’t stock that at the bars I was patronizing.
Once I got my fill of the party life, I sobered up over cups of coffee and long walks on the beach. Thoughts of what Lila was up to these days flitted in and out, but that was just the self-destructive nature overtaking my usual destructive nature. And that was the problem, really.
If I didn’t have something else to tear down, bring down, take down—it left only me to rip into. I’d spent so much of my life becoming highly skilled at poking holes in everything else, if I turned that same intensity inward, I’d be Swiss cheese. There were enough flaws and nasty bits for me to chew on for an eternity, right between my silicone chest wall and metal alloy spine.
As I returned to the seedy hotel that had become my home away from home after our eviction from the high-rise apartment, a familiar tower of a man loomed before me, arms out wide.
“They told me I’d find your sorry ass here, Jet!” Blade grinned.
I hastened my steps toward him, wrapping him in a quick bear hug before delivering a solid smack to his shoulder with my fist. “What the hell took you so long?”
“I had a grocery list a mile long, you idiot, and the lines were plain and unadulterated terror.”
I grinned. “Alright, alright. I assume you have souvenirs for me?”
“The very best.” Blade swung the black shoulder satchel around and unzipped the main pouch. “A half-eaten box of crackers…” He handed me the box, and I dropped it to the ground. “A receipt of purchase you might wanna hold onto…”
I turned over the slip of paper in my hand, reading the numbers. “That’s in credits?”
“Of course not. Gigacredits. And it won’t be ready for another eighteen years, but I told them to mod it for you, too, just the way you wanted it.”
“Did you get you one?” I met his gaze, searching for that light of satisfaction I’d seen before.
Blade smiled. “Nope. Happy just like I am, thank you very much.” His gaze softened a bit. “Now your synth sentence is just eighteen to twenty, not life. You’ve gotta get over to the address on the receipt to pick it up and transfer, and of course, they’ll keep the synth body for you when you wear the clone out, but you can start the countdown now. You’ll be a human again one of these days.”
My eyes misted over and I blinked back the moisture, forcing the grin back up. “My synthtense? How synthpathetic of you.”
“You’re a moron, have I ever told you that?” Blade let out a laugh. “As for our bonus checks from all those drug busts, back pension, hazard pay, the credits you got for stolen drugs… you know how big my eyes got when I cashed that in at the interplanetary bank for standard chips? Hugest sum of money I’d ever seen, right there in these palms.”
“And what did you do, but go spend it all in one place.” I laughed.
“I did no such thing. You and me, Jet, are rich as fuck, or we were before I spent most of it ten minutes later. There’s an open investigation on SynthCorp, which means they’ve at least given lip service to the evidence in processing. Oh, and we’ve officially retired from the Galactic Patrol with our honor moderately intact.”
I pumped my fist in the air. “This means I can use my own card again?”
“Yup,” Blade answered. “No more pocket change exchanges; you’re free and clear. Just don’t go racking up any new charges.”
“Wait, is that why you’re wearing that dumbass-looking merit badge?” I punched it into his shoulder hard enough he winced before grinning again.
“They’ll track you down and give you yours next time you’re in GP-land.”
I shook my head. “No thanks.”
Blade straightened his little gold star. “Welp, it’s mission accomplished. Where to now?”
I had no idea. Actually, I had one more purchase in mind, but beyond that… nothing.
Chapter 28 – Dismantling
I’m not sure what I expected to wake up to the next day. SynthCorp certainly wouldn’t go down without a fight—there’d be no fireball in the sky to give me closure on the case. In fact, it was looking more and more like most every other case in my career—I did my part, then passed it off to someone else’s hands.
Best not to look back.
But this time, things were different. I was part of this shenanigans; I couldn’t just not deal with SynthCorp ever again. They fixed up my bruised tailbone once Marsh dumped the most unsightly records with his usual meticulousness.
I had to walk into that building and look those people in the face at least once a month for something or another. I couldn’t deny there was a part of me that hoped one day to wake up dead—shut down with the rest of synth everywhere, old tech no longer supported because of company collapse
.
The other part of me was satisfied to call this my new gig for awhile. I bought the neon green speed bike I’d been hankering for. It couldn’t fly like a levcar, and it was useless for speeding in the rain. Since it rained at least twice a day here, that was a frequent problem. This place had an odd way of making you feel alive again, then the next minute like your very soul was corroding.
I quit the patrol job the second I got a chance and took up a sweet gig as a bartender at a little dive that didn’t care that I mixed like shit. At Blade’s unyielding suggestion, I got a better room than the back alley motel. I rented from a sweet little old Ehksmian lady. She was on the blue stuff, but planned to just let her body go when it went. She was fun to talk to when she was high, which was every day except the day off. Then she was miserable, but I wasn’t home.
I spent that day each week gazing over the pier, watching bubbles rise to the surface. Every cycle, I waited until sunset, then grinned like an idiot as tears ran down my face. Another day, no Ehksmian bodies floated to the surface. Another day I could feel like I’d made a difference for once.
On one such day, about twenty revolutions after I’d last seen his busybody self, Blade joined me on the pier. He rocked back on his heels, studying the surface of the water. Neither of us spoke for several minutes.
That was as long as he ever managed to be quiet.
“You still ain’t answered my question, Jet. We did what we set out to do. It’s time to move on to something else. You can’t just keep wai…”
“I know what I want to do, Blade. I want to blow SynthCorp to toothpicks and smithereens, then leave and go to Andromeda like we’d planned.”
Blade frowned. “Don’t be such a baby.”
“Why am I a baby for that?”
“The only way SynthCorp is getting dismantled is piece-by-piece. Even then, it ain’t gonna happen until something bigger, badder, and more powerful corners the market on fast flesh.”
