Chrysalis Corporation

by T. A. Venedicktov

  “Affirmative,” 47 replied without looking back toward him, then slipping into the capsule.

  “You don’t have to say ‘affirmative.’”

  Damion shook his head and left.

  “Affirmative,” 47 mumbled under his breath as he lay down and punched in the code to activate his jacks. It was still a while before he could fall asleep, no matter how tired he was. Though when he did, he kept tabs on his Fighter, as he had said he would. Even if ordered not to leave the room, it didn’t mean that he couldn’t do anything if something happened to Damion. 47 had chosen him and would stick with him, no matter what his personality turned out to be.

  Traveling the communication and security system, 47 saw Fighter Micco enter Arkin’s quarters, telling him Damion’s whereabouts. Listening in, 47 caused the cameras to rotate around the room, and a feeling he had never experienced before entered his chest as he spotted Arkin’s Core. 92’s unconscious body was in the closet, limp against the back wall and partially obscured by the hanging clothing. Even only being able to see part of him, 47 could see blood staining the dark gray uniform. He idly compared 92’s form to a picture he had once viewed of a marionette whose strings had been cut. The feeling in his chest increased, and he noted that he would have to ask Damion later what it was he was experiencing.

  “How you holding up after that last round?” Micco asked with arms crossed.

  “Fine. My Core, though, is worthless. Not responding to shit.” Arkin spat. “He’ll be in Medical, and I’ll need another.”

  “Man.” Micco shook his head. “How the fuck do you keep getting new ones? I’m not the only one thinking about that.”

  “You go ahead and keep thinking.” Arkin smirked. “I may break them, but the Creators love dissecting them. Whatever that freak Core has come up with, they’re going to want to test it, and they won’t care how many I break.”

  “They’re expensive….” Micco countered.

  Arkin growled. “What’s your damn point?”

  Micco held up his hands and took a step back. “Nothing, man.”

  “I’ve been on the Alpha team the longest, kid. All the rest have either been transferred out or killed. You are all new to me, but the Zeus and the Commander go a long way back. That enough for you?” Arkin stepped forward with a finger pointed at Micco’s chest.

  “Yeah, it’s enough. What do you want me to do?” Micco cleared his throat. “You want to deal with Damion, right?”

  “That lucky-ass bastard has to have a trick. I want to know what, or I want him out of the Alpha squad.”

  It looked as if Arkin was about to leave his quarters to find Damion. 47 sent commands to the system, Arkin’s door locked, keeping both him and his friend in. When Arkin went toward his console, 47 shut it down so he could neither access it nor call for help. Arkin went into a rage, screaming at the room around him and at his comrade until his gaze fell on 92. 47 disconnected from his view of Arkin’s quarters, running from what he was sure was going to be a brutal scene as he switched camera feeds to look for Damion.

  Damion

  DAMION STOPPED by the mess hall first. He received looks—lots of looks—but he couldn’t find Juni. When he asked for 47’s food, he was not impressed by the sight, smell, or color of it. Of course, when he asked for his tray, his food didn’t look much better and that was an Alpha meal plate, but the Core food seemed overly, if not completely, synthetic.

  Although Damion knew it would cause more talk, he sat with Dulton until the man finished his food. Damion doubted he would see the man often now that their positions were so different. Damion never saw himself as the type to forget the people he once shared food with, but being an Alpha was busy work. Soon, with all the simulations and constant scouting missions, he’d not be able to see his old Beta squad outside of the cockpit. He didn’t worry about his own food or 47’s becoming cold. The food was naturally served at room temp.

  Damion was scrambling for normalcy. He was also curious as to how people around him would react. He had spotted a few other Alphas walk in to pick up their food. Alphas were distinguished by the two red stripes on the right arm of their uniform. They paid Damion no mind. He hadn’t had time to get to know the other Fighters who were not in Arkin’s mob. He only hoped they weren’t all assholes.

  Two trays in hand, Damion headed back to his old bunk and his old bunkmate. Juni greeted him warmly, and Damion told him about Arkin and what had happened during sims. Juni was stunned at what Damion said 47 could do, but Damion could see the anxiety in Juni’s demeanor. Juni had learned that Arkin was one of the top Alpha Fighters on the Zeus and had a loyal following. Whether said following was due to admiration or fear or both, Juni didn’t know. What he did find out was that Arkin had the most kills and was the longest-surviving Fighter, but was also on his fifth Core.

  “That is because he kills them when they are no longer useful.”

  47’s tight voice came through Juni’s console speakers, causing the men to jump in surprise.

  “I apologize for interrupting like this, but I just sealed Arkin in his quarters with Fighter Micco. He has some of his supporters tracking you and reporting your every movement to him. He was about to go after you despite being confined to quarters. The Fighter is currently very angry and… distracted. I deemed it wise to warn you.”

  “Shit, that Core is creepy as hell,” Juni grumbled. “But it sounds like you should get back to your room.”

  “47, you really are creepy sometimes.” Damion repeated Juni’s words as he stood. “All right, I’m heading back.”

  “I apologize for being, as you say, creepy. I will not do it again,” 47 stated. “Also, Beta Mathis, you had a virus eating away at your console. I have gotten rid of it. If you wish to avoid more in the future, do not download anything more from hotbodsfrommars.gal.”

  Juni turned bright red and muttered about nosy, creepy Cores while Damion chuckled. They spoke for another ten minutes before Damion left and made it back to his room—with just enough time to think about 47’s words and how to handle the new situation.

  “I didn’t mean to say you have to stop being creepy,” Damion told 47 when he returned, setting both trays down on the very small table. “But yeah, speaking suddenly through a personal console does tend to throw people off.”

  By now 47 had unplugged from the capsule, and with his feet on the ground and hands gripping the edge, he sat looking down. “I did not know how else to contact you.” His voice sounded strained, even through its lack of emotion. He rubbed his chest. “I will send another apology to Beta Mathis.”

  “No, don’t. At least not right now.” Damion shook his head. “Trust me, he’ll forget about it. Why are you so stressed?”

  “Is that what I am feeling? Stressed?” 47 asked, looking up at Damion.

  “Uh, I don’t know.” Damion sat down in one of the two chairs and focused on his Core. “Only you know what you feel.”

  “We were taught and programmed not to have emotions and are continually given chemical supplements to suppress them.” 47 motioned toward the food as he slipped off the pod and walked toward the table, sitting in front of the gray, gruel-like concoction. “Therefore I do not know what I am feeling. It began when I viewed 92. After I sealed the door and cut off his console, Fighter Arkin became… irritated, and it appeared as if he was going to do bodily harm to 92, which it appeared he had previously done. Core 92 was discarded into the closet at the time of my viewing, unconscious and wounded. I can no longer reach him in any way.”

  “Aren’t there rules against that type of abuse?” Damion couldn’t believe the Corporation didn’t have some restrictions in place to protect the Cores, since they were such valuable assets. “Is there not supposed to be an investigation every time a Fighter’s Core is terminated?”

  47 picked up his spoon and pushed the gray mush around its bowl. “There are rules, a lot of them, but many feel that they are made to be bent or broken. Or they perhaps feel that the rules do
not apply to them. In the end Cores are….” 47 paused, his gaze rising to meet Damion’s. He was contemplating if it would be wise for his words to be spoken out loud, before looking back to his food and continuing. “Cores are tools, machines, and are meant to be used as such. When a tool, as with a toy, is broken beyond repair, one merely throws it out and gets a new one. At least that is the belief that I have observed many Fighters having.”

  “I guess I was wrong.”

  Damion was hungry and dove into his food with gusto. He had been too busy talking with Juni to eat when he visited him and also hadn’t eaten much in the morning before the sim. After surviving another close brush with death, it made even synthesized food tasted better… but the dinner conversation was rather depressing.

  “I thought Cores were rare,” Damion continued. “There must be more than enough Cores for them to not enforce the rules. I don’t understand the recent push to recruit really, since there haven’t been any big wars in over a century. We’re really here to protect the colonies against the rebels.”

  “We are fairly rare because we are expensive to make and not every infant they receive to create a Core survives the process. Approximately 70 percent die. Some Fighters, such as Arkin, do not care. When Cores die, the Creators study the body to see how they can make them stronger, more adaptable, harder to kill. Yes, Alphas use the Cores for stress relief, be it in the form of sexual intercourse or physical aggression, because it allows them to study how it affects the Core. They need to build Cores so that the Alpha’s treatment will not result in traumatizing the Core in such a manner that they can no longer work in a Zodiac.”

  Damion came to the silent conclusion from 47’s explanation that although Cores were rare, the Creators valued experimentation over the cost of production. Fun group. He thought the tales of the demons of Hades were scary, but they had nothing on the Creators. Damion looked at 47’s plate and then his own. “Want to try some of mine? Don’t think it’s much better, but watching you eat that gray gruel kills my appetite.”

  47 looked over at Damion’s meal, and Damion could tell he was slightly curious by the faint expression on his normally guarded face.

  “I do not know how taking your sustenance will affect me, nor do I know what would happen if I did not eat my assigned meal.” 47 stood up, taking his bowl and walking toward the bathroom. “I will eat in here so that you may get your appetite back.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Damion groaned and shook his head. “Damn, you could drive a man to drink. You can eat with me, and I don’t think a bite of my dehydrated meal will hurt you any more than the stuff you eat.”

  47 stopped and turned, looking down at his bowl before walking back over to the table “Very well, I will try your meal,” he said, sitting down. Damion knew 47’s pod would not be able to replace the necessary energy lost after what happened today. Even modified humans needed food.

  “Thanks.” Damion shook his head again, cut off a piece of his protein, and handed it over to 47. “Is it true they can disconnect Cores?”

  47 inspected the food for a few moments. “Disconnect in what way?”

  “Like an automatic shutoff. Is it true?” Damion resumed eating.

  “If we are plugged in, then, yes, it is possible,” 47 replied after a moment’s consideration. He took a tentative bite of the food that Damion had given him and looked at his fingers, then at his own food, then back at the bit of protein.

  “It has been done before, after the Core Incentive incident. Every Core involved in the incident was either wiped or remotely terminated by detonating the chip in their cerebral cortex.” 47 took another small bite of the food.

  “You want more?” Damion laughed as he pushed his plate closer to his Core. 47 had the perfect chance to kill him, turn on him. Instead he had, in some odd way, determined Damion was worthy of survival. Had it been the bonding? Or was this new trust part of the process toward becoming one of the best pilots?

  Trust.

  47 eyed Damion’s plate and then looked up to Damion. “I should not. You need your sustenance, and we are required to eat our prescribed food.” He popped the remainder of what he already had in his mouth. Damion pretended not to hear the small sigh of pleasure as 47 ate.

  “I could go back down to the mess and ask for another tray.” Damion grinned as he watched 47’s reaction to the food. “Don’t tell me that gruel is that much more nutritious.”

  “Not much. But it is meant to have no flavor to tempt us, nothing in it to make us feel… curiosity. It also contains vitamins and chemicals to keep us alive, in top health, and to make it easier for our bodies to take the abuse of jacking in.”

  47 paused for a moment. “As well as help the Creators control the Cores. It contains a supplement that we have received since birth.” He spooned a portion of the tasteless gruel into his mouth and swallowed.

  “And that means no.” Damion stood up, “Finish it all, mine included. I’m going to go back down and demand that they give me another Alpha tray and watch the lady handing them out refrain from jumping the counter to kick my ass.”

  “I cannot. If I eat your food, I will not be able to eat my own and therefore not digest my daily regimen.” 47 looked up at Damion in confusion. “I thank you for your… consideration, but I cannot.”

  “Hm.” Damion slowly sat back down. “I guess I don’t want you to get in trouble. Do they check your stomachs too?”

  “No, but they can tell what we have eaten when we enter the capsules and port in. The chemicals they give us help….”

  47 paused again, apparently considering Damion’s words. Putting his spoon down, 47 sat back in his chair, his gaze on the tasteless oatmeal-like substance he had apparently eaten his whole life.

  “The chemicals they give us help them monitor and control us. They keep us placid—block our abilities to feel emotion and other distracting derivatives of such. They also help bond us closer to our chosen Fighter so that we must listen to that person no matter what. It is only when the bonding is complete with our Fighter that a Core attains maximum efficiency and becomes comfortable in that state.”

  “But you don’t listen to me. Well, in the Ares you did, but not really. You already have your own mind.” Damion had seen a light in 47’s eyes, unlike the other Cores he had come across, who looked blank and completely dead inside. “Yet you haven’t been deactivated.”

  47 seemed momentarily surprised by Damion’s astuteness. He lowered his gaze and rose from the table, leaving the rest of his meal untouched. “With your permission, may I resume my rest?” he asked submissively.

  “I would rather you answer my question and try some more of my food.” Damion frowned at 47’s desire to leave the table. “Unless you’re feeling uncomfortable.”

  47 slowly sank back into the chair at the request, still keeping his gaze downcast. “You did not ask a particular question for me to answer,” he stated quietly. “And I feel nothing, therefore I cannot feel… uncomfortable.”

  “I’m just attempting to get past the fact that they want to kill you, and now me by association. And yet they haven’t terminated you in your sleep, which probably means you have something they want.” Damion ate more of his meal out of the need for a distraction more than anything else. “Why wouldn’t they be able to just pull what they want out? Would it damage you?”

  “The Commander or other Cores cannot just terminate you. The Creators are not regulated by any entity within the Zeus. They would be displeased if our progress to further develop the Zeus were to stop. The reports they receive from the Commander can differ from the ones they receive from us and they determine when intervention is needed. They monitor our treatment and find ways to improve Cores’ development from how we fail our Fighters. We are considered replaceable despite the cost it takes to produce one unit.

  “You and Beta Fighter Mathis were not aware of our full capabilities even after being admitted into the Corporation fleet. There is no one who speaks for our ph
ysical beings. Cores are kept away from the general populace. The Creators block the truth about our lives. No. They would not terminate you because the Creators are vested in the Ares’s success. Forceful extraction could damage my ability to adapt to the system, which they will not risk at this time.” 47’s gaze drifted toward the capsule. “That, and there is something they want. Me. Completely under their control and yet still be able to think independently. Until they deduce a way to do so, they will not attempt to terminate me. There are some who do not agree. Those are the ones currently attempting to disable me.”

  “Then you’re going to have to tell me when you notice things, even if you are creepy when you do so. You’ll also have to trust me and maybe listen to me a bit more.” Damion sighed and pushed his plate away before standing and walking over to his bed, then sitting down. “And first… take another bite of my meal before you finish your gruel.”

  “I do not see how your first sentence correlates with what I have told you.”

  47 picked up Damion’s fork and took a bite of the Alpha meal. He let out a small sigh of pleasure.

  “As long as they’re trying to kill or experiment with you, then I’m in danger too. I don’t want to die. Not now, nor in a few years.” And I thought having a Core would make things easier.

  “They will not kill you as long as the Creators do not suspect that I have told you what I have. And they will have no inkling since I am initially programmed to be unable to speak about Cores in this manner,” 47 told him around spoonfuls of his tasteless meal. “If they do succeed in killing me, you will be chosen again. If they establish the control they wish over me, you will have the perfect Core. Arkin was not completely incorrect when he called me broken. I am flawed.”

  “You’re just the right level of fucked up.” Damion smirked, removing his boots before lying on his bed and closing his eyes. “Just don’t overdo it tomorrow. Nothing flashy.”

  “I do not understand your terminology or your meaning.” 47 tilted his head in his unique way.