Cyborg: Redux

by Imogene Nix

  “But you’re not. We saved your life when we operated on you. You should be grateful that I took such an interest in you. If it wasn’t for me—”

  “I didn’t want this. I never asked for it.” She hated the desperation in her voice.

  For the first time, he looked startled, then a canny look settled on his face. “No, maybe you didn’t. But I had the choice. You were the one I saved. Not the others.”

  His words dropped on her, heavy weights she didn’t want. Couldn’t welcome. “Others?”

  He shrugged. “Inconsequential. You were the best choice.”

  Others. There’d been others? He’d chosen? She struggled to remember what had come before and was left gasping as a lance of pain shifted through her brain. She struggled against the blank wall that surrounded her previous knowledge of herself. She’d tried before, but it was as if someone had walled out that portion of her life. Why couldn’t she remember?

  “You shouldn’t struggle, Clarissa. It’s not good for your body or your mind. Now, stay still, I have some students here who are keen to run their tests.” He stepped back as two men strode forward, wearing clear glasses she’d come to fear. That meant splatter. Blood or other liquids.

  Neither was really young she realized as she gazed into their eyes, noting the way they appeared flat and focused. Looks she’d seen before in other eyes when they only saw a procedure that treated her as inhuman.

  “No!” Clarissa screamed. The echo resounded, but no one commented, they simply took their positions beside her strapped gurney.

  None cared that she was sentient. Human. To them, she was simply an experiment.

  Another man trundled in a machine, power cords and long clamps folded across its top, and she shivered. It reminded her of an oversized battery charger. The thought increased the nausea that boiled in her belly, the acidic taste of bile sliding into her mouth. She fought it. Whatever they were going to do wouldn’t be pleasant.

  Clarissa shuddered and sucked in a deep breath as the man plugged the machine in, extending the cords and leads, then moved around her to fasten bits to the side of her bed.

  Should she twist those bonds again? Would that work in her favor? Thoughts and ideas, wilder than before, ran through her brain. Escape, her mind screamed. Don’t get caught. Plan.

  “We’re charging now, doctor.” The one who’d wheeled in the machine advanced with the clamps and settled them on her wrists, while the others unfastened the gown covering her and started attaching probes to her chest, wrists, and head.

  The wobble increased and became a full-blown panic attack as they started talking about megahertz and brain patterns. Blackness edged at her mind as she fought to suck in enough oxygen. Each move, every word, only increased her terror.

  “Please…” She tried to engage one of them, hoping they’d read the panic and take pity on her, but they didn’t gaze at her eyes.

  That avoidance left her fearful, not wanting to know their plans, fearing what lay ahead yet strangely accepting of her lot.

  * * * *

  Michael rolled out of the bed. His body strong, his mind clearer than it had been since the accident that had claimed his life. Today was the day Sara was completing his release papers from the hospital. I’m going home.

  Satisfaction never felt so good, he thought, striding to the window and looking out onto the park opposite his hospital room.

  Sara had warned him that his release would come with some restrictions, but he could live with that. After all, he’d sleep in his own bed and be with his family.

  The door opened, and he spun around. Sara strode into the room, her brow furrowed, followed by two security officers, their faces tense. Michael’s adrenaline surged, but he stayed still, waiting for them to explain this sudden intrusion.

  “What’s this, Sara?” He indicated to the two men, and she grimaced.

  “I told you there would be restrictions. Well, the first one is, because the media got wind of your release, you’re going to have security escorts. This is for your safety. We’re going to take you down to the VIP entrance, where a car will be waiting. Your father couldn’t come, because the house is locked down with paparazzi waiting to get a photo of you.” She changed position, shifting to the left, her gaze sliding over his shoulder, and inhaled. “Secondly, you’re not going straight home.”

  He opened his mouth, and she lifted her hand, willing him to settle.

  Frustration thrummed, but he waited, barely leashing his furious reaction.

  “The powers that be requested we place you in a halfway facility.”

  His ire rose, face flaming. “Why? I’ve not done anything—”

  “No, Michael, it’s not because of you or anything you’ve done. They…umm… They want you somewhere so they can evaluate your psychiatric status. There’s only been a few other cyber-organic transplant patients who survived surgery. None as extensive as you, but none could be released. They didn’t cope very well with the changes of their systems. None were able to transition to everyday life. The government needs to be sure of your state of mind.”

  “You said I was the only one.” Fury grew, and he fisted his hands. “I’m not like that anyway. I’m ready to go home.”

  “No, Michael.” Her voice firmed. “They didn’t know about others until a report was made to the authorities a few weeks ago, but it was kept under wraps given your personal circumstances. I didn’t know anything about it until last night when this was presented to me as the only resort. And yes, I agree, you exhibit no negative tendencies, but the authorities need to be sure of the safety and security of the populace.”

  She advanced, brushing off the concerns of the guards.

  “But your current anger won’t help, so sit down and listen.” She reached for him, even as the two guards thrust their hands to their belts.

  He stalked to the bed and dropped down. It dipped and creaked beneath him. His hiss of anger was long, loud, and she winced at his obvious frustration. “Right. I’m listening.”

  “Good. You’re to be released to a halfway facility. Your parents and siblings can visit as often as they like. The added benefit is no one will be mauling you while your body is healing, which, I have to be honest, concerned me.”

  Michael had to work hard to contain his snarl.

  “Your transplants are new, and I don’t want you to be physically manhandled and run the risk of infection,” she continued. “It’s a win—the only one you’re going to get. Otherwise, you’ll have to stay here until they determine you are emotionally stable enough. You must recognize it’s harder here, because the conditions are manufactured. It would take longer to achieve the outcome necessary, and I’m not sure that would be untainted. This way, you’ll have freedom to come and go to some degree. Please, understand, I’ve fought hard for this. For you.”

  He snorted. “What’s the alternative? If I choose to leave and not enter the halfway house or remain here?”

  She shuddered and looked away.

  Michael frowned. “Sara?”

  “You’d be disengaged. That’s the only other alternative.” Her words were muffled, movements edgy as if she fought some great emotional turmoil.

  It took a moment for the words to refine in his mind.

  Disengage. Disengage his bio-tronic life support battery? “Sara?” Oxygen clogged in his throat, almost choking the life from him. “They’d do what?”

  She reached out, placing her hand over his. “I’m sorry, Michael. You need to understand. I didn’t choose any of this. I know you’re exactly as you were mentally, but the psychologists don’t. You have to prove to them that you’re still human and the Michael we all knew before your accident.”

  Heavy and dark emotion, the kind he was unused to, coursed within his body. It wasn’t anger. Nor was it frustration. Instead, it was some powerful mix—potent and scouring. Fury took the leading edge. He clenched his fists, hiding them behind his back so the guards wouldn’t see.

  A small mon
itor, yet another implantation created to assist him in monitoring his emotions and physical status, slid over his vision and showed him the level of distress radiating from him. It not only captured the levels of his breathing, but also that of Sara’s increased respiration and perspiration. It reminded him, forcibly, of what he wasn’t any longer and the humanity he’d lost.

  It took seconds—five point three to be exact—for him to control himself, release the pressure in his hands, and his endorphin levels to begin decreasing. “Then I’ll go, Sara. I’m sorry.” He spoke clearly, his eyes on the guards, who nodded and stepped back. When he looked at her again, she’d dabbed away the tears that had wavered on her lashes.

  This is the last time we’ll meet like this, he promised himself. Not even really friends, but never more. He and Sara could never be anything more than doctor and patient, and for him that was more than enough.

  If I had known what lay ahead, I don’t think I would have wanted them to save me.

  He rose and stepped away.

  “Michael?”

  He stilled, his gaze settled on Sara. “Yes?”

  “I’m…” She hiccuped. “I’m sorry.” There was a tremble in her voice, but he refused to let it affect him.

  “So am I, Sara.” Then he turned slowly on his heel and dismissed her.

  Chapter 3

  Clarissa stood with her back against the wall as she caught sight of herself in the highly polished metal. This was the first time she’d been freed from the bed for as long as she could remember. She looked human, except for the glow of her eyes. The scars, the ones roping her body, ridged though fading to a lighter pink, along with others, the newer ones, were joined with burns and jagged tears. Every one reinforced her status of ‘cyber-organic entity’. That’s what they’d said she was. Not human. That was long gone.

  She didn’t know, nor was she able to guess, the duration of her incarceration. Long enough to almost forget her name. “Clar-iss-a.” She spoke quietly, afraid they’d hear. Know that the worst of their programming had failed. In the last time period, they’d attempted to even strip that small shred of humanity from her.

  They’d coined the name COE for her, expecting her to answer like a lapdog to it. The things they’d done were horrific. Almost as bad as what they’d expected her to do and become.

  She blinked, and a tiny trail of moisture escaped, rolling down her cheek. Tear. The word came to her, and she frowned. A tear was a human reaction to pain. She wasn’t human anymore. They’d reinforced that time and again.

  The door opened, and a tech scurried in carrying a tray. One of the few things they attended to now on a daily basis was meals. In the darkness of memory, she remembered the doctor instructing them to ensure she was adequately nourished. “After all, far too much has been invested for us to fail to keep her in top condition.”

  Jeremy. He’d been much more to her once. Now he was her tormentor. The one who’d stripped her of herself, her humanity, and any hope for a future.

  The hopelessness weighed down on her like chains around her mind and body. If only she could find a way out. Freedom.

  Clarissa desperately needed the wind on her face, the scent of the salty ocean. To make her own decisions. To be what she had been before, if only she could remember.

  The tech slid the tray on the table and hurried out without a word, fingers tugging on the edges of the door to shut it, but unlike in the past, it didn’t latch closed.

  It gaped a little, and unsure, Clarissa advanced. “It’s probably a trap. The beginning of another one of their sessions.”

  She stopped, scared and shaking, reached for the brushed metal and touched it. Nothing. No pain radiated. No sharp screams or threats.

  She waited a heartbeat, then another.

  I could escape.

  The thought emboldened her. She reached out again and carefully opened the door a crack. She peered out. No one stood beyond. No guards with whips or electronic prodders.

  She made the split-second decision, swung it open, and slid through the opening, scanning left and right. No alarm sounded, no guards came running.

  On a deep and desperately shaky breath she padded to the end of the hall and glanced around the corner. Again, no one was there.

  Then she ran, helter-skelter, the simple hospital gown fluttering around her as her long legs ate up the distance until she reached the swing doors.

  One last set of doors stood between her and the outside world, and she raced to them, shoved them open, and stilled for a second. She sucked in a deep lungful of clean oxygen. Her feet were bare, the ground pitted with gravel. She checked her surroundings. Grass to the left, then trees, shadowy in the distance.

  Nothing would stop her now, she told herself and propelled her body in the direction of the trees. Once she reached them, there’d likely be a fence—electrocuted or other. She’d get through it.

  “Freedom.” The word spurred her onward. Heart rate pumping in time with the cadence of her steps, she ran, faster and faster, the wind whipping through her hair.

  Once in the trees she skidded to a halt. If she stayed at this level, they’d find her. Glancing up showed there were branches, long and heavy, hanging down. She reached and tugged herself up, noting the scratch of uneven bark and not caring.

  The sound of a klaxon split the air. “No time now, Clarissa.”

  She jumped tree to tree, clutching at the branches and trunks as she fled. They swayed with her every move. She’d need to get down soon, otherwise they’d be able to track her far too easily from the air, and those on the ground would be waiting.

  Before her, the tree line ended and a large chasm appeared. The rush of water sounded. Clarissa peered over the edge, her stomach roiling at the drop in front of her. She glanced back and sought out those who hunted her, but so far nothing appeared in her vision. Dogs barked and voices called out to her. Threats echoed. Go back and face whatever they planned or take a chance? Her need to flee won, and Clarissa jumped.

  The crash at the bottom wasn’t so bad. They’d inured her to pain with their so-called experiments. Her body coped well, if the readout behind her vision could be believed.

  A broken rib or two. Some nasty bruises and cuts. They’d heal.

  Instead, Clarissa focused on the choppy water which buoyed her and the way it churned. It buffeted her, and more than one wave washed over her face.

  I’ll tire soon. I need to find a cave or somewhere to shelter.

  Her memories rose. Swimming, the movement of arms and legs in water, breathing to the side. Swim! No time to consider anything else, she accepted the knowledge, used it, and aimed for the same side, her mind telling her they’d start on the other side. She’d have time to recover the energy expended. Her battery life was extensive according to Jeremy. At least a month with the recent upgrade. Clarissa hoped that was right, but the extra exertion was an unknown equation.

  She found a narrow outcropping, rounded it, and saw with consternation there was no cave. She swam on, eyes scanning about, her arms and legs moving in a desperate rhythm.

  Time passed as she fought the ebb and flow, then there it was. An egress, darkness against the rocks. She arrowed in, tugging and pulling herself along until her feet scraped the bottom of the river floor. She slapped at the waves, gripped the rocks, and dripped her way to the opening. Peering inside showed her it opened much further back than she’d anticipated.

  With careful steps she tiptoed inside and followed the line until she was beyond view.

  “I need to find somewhere flat, so I can lie down.” She might have all the enhancements Jeremy had fitted, but her body still ached to be horizontal for rest.

  Who knew how long until she’d be able to find a port and plug in? Whatever rest she could find, she’d accept.

  Carefully picking her way to the back of the cave, she found a sandy area, which was mostly clear of debris. She hunkered down, finally allowing her systems to run a full diagnostic.

  For the
first time she considered that they may have embedded a GPS clip in her receptors. “Is there a tracker?” She spoke aloud, pleased to hear the huskiness from the disuse of her vocal cords had already abated somewhat.

  Negative.

  She squinted. Can I even believe that?

  Clarissa fought against the block in her mind, searching deep until she detected a chink to exploit. Pain radiated, but she used it, and there before her were the memories they’d sought to keep from her. The knowledge of her previous life as a nanny. It also answered her query that she didn’t know how to check the fittings and systems they’d installed.

  “Make a mental note. Find somewhere to run a full diagnostic for GPS and tracker chips. Oh, and algorithms of energy usage and projections of how long until I need to port in.”

  She ran shaking fingers through her short hair. They’d shorn it again recently, telling her only human women wore their hair long.

  Her fingers slid down her body, brushing against the light cotton. She hated the green hospital gown, but it was all she had right now. A naked body—human or cyber-organic—would raise alarm. And yet, she’d be better off without it weighing her down. She reached back, her fingers finding the fastenings and untying them, and she dropped the garment to the ground.

  The drip, drip, drip in the distance caught her attention, and she dimmed her sight, hoping that would make the illumination from her glowing eyes less visible. It continued, and she cocked her head to the side, listening. Source—water dripping. Alert Status - nil.

  She released her pent-up breath and leaned back against the wall. In order for the nano-cybernetic implants to repair the damage she’d need to rest. She forced her eyes to shut, set her micro-comp implant to standby and scan alert status, and let herself drop into a doze.

  Chapter 4

  Michael walked along the path, noting the verdant greenery of the gardens, stopping occasionally to inhale the scents of flowers. Gardenias, roses, and narcissus existed alongside dianthus, honeysuckle, and forget-me-nots. Each beautiful and fragrant. Calming.