Captain Lucas Jarcor

by T. J. Quinn

  That night, Jarcor ran several analyses of all his new programs trying to find the tracking devices and searching for a way to deactivate them. But it was no use. He didn’t even know how to access the circuitries they had installed in him. It would take him some time to figure out how they worked and what he needed to control them.

  They had chosen the wrong man to use as a lab rat. Jarcor had been hacking undetected into the government’s systems since he was ten. Hacking into his own systems might take him some time, but he was certain he could figure it out.

  The following morning, he was taken to the Cyborgs’ training camp. There were a lot more than he expected, and he wondered how many more of them were scattered around the world.

  He was introduced to Sergeant Miller, his new superior officer. He pursed his lips and clenched his hands into fists, but kept silent, at least until the man addressed him.

  “Soldier H01, you are to present─”

  “Excuse me, are you talking to me?” he asked, through gritted teeth. H01? What the hell was the meaning of that?

  “Yes, of course I’m talking to you. You’re a cyborg and as such, you are referred to by the serial number assigned to you,” the man replied in a cold tone. “Yours is H01, since you are the first converted human.”

  Fury blinded Jarcor and he had to make a considerable effort to control himself not to jump down the man’s throat. “My name is Jarcor, and you better use it, Sergeant,” he added, stepping forward and towering over the shorter, and probably weaker man. He wasn’t going to tolerate being called by a serial number. He was a person, a human being, not a damn robot.

  The man opened the mouth to insist but something in Jarcor’s expression must have told him it wasn’t worth it, and he finally nodded.

  He was taken to the quarters he was to share with another twenty men. Immediately, he missed his own home, at Camp Freedom, back in Quantico. He guessed he had not only lost his humanity, but every aspect of his life.

  The place was empty when he was guided to his bunk and he thanked the opportunity to put his things away and get acquainted with his new life before he was forced to face his new roommates.

  A short while later, a soldier came to escort him to the gym where he was asked to show the men gathered his skills in the ancient martial arts.

  “Though the Taucets usually avoid a hand-to-hand combat, you can find yourself in a position where this knowledge will save your life,” Sergeant Miller said. “Copy his moves and add it to your fighting repertoire. Once you’ve done that, I would like you to put your knowledge to test, against the new recruit,” he added, with a touch of scorn in the last word. “Show us what you’ve got, soldier,” he ordered him.

  Gritting his teeth, he controlled his desire to punch the man in his face. They had taken away even his rank.

  Instead, he did as told; showing the men assembled around him, most of the basic kicks and attacks. He had no idea how they would assimilate all the information he was giving them, but when they put into practice what he had just shown them, he was amazed.

  Though they were a bit clumsy at first, it didn’t take them more than a couple tries to get it right. He could see now why the government wanted more men like this. Their ability to learn was impressive and their physical condition was a lot better than the average soldier.

  That night when he returned to his quarters, he was greeted with a tense silence. His roommates were standing next to their bunks waiting for him, apparently not very pleased with his presence in the room.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” he greeted them in a calm tone.

  “Why are you here? You’re not one of us,” one of them said, getting straight to the point.

  “Apparently, I am now,” he replied in a flat tone.

  “What do you mean?” the same one asked, clearly too curious to be silent.

  “They’ve turned me into one of you, or so they say.”

  “I didn’t know that was even possible. We were born cyborgs.”

  “Well…” he paused inviting the other man to identify himself.

  “Jayport.”

  He looked at the man surprised. “I thought you had serial numbers,” he said, making a parenthesis on what he was saying.

  “We do, but despite their efforts to turn us into machines, we’re part humans and we deserve names, like everybody else,” Jayport explained in a cold tone.

  Pleasantly surprised, Jarcor nodded. These men were more human than he had expected, with a mind of their own, considering the way they were born and how they had been raised.

  “Well, Jayport, like I was saying, apparently it is possible. And since they’ve changed me into one of you, according to them and their laws, I’m no longer human.”

  “They can’t do that, can they?” asked someone from the other side of the room.

  “They say they can,” Jarcor pointed out, shrugging.

  “But you can’t possibly agree with that,” there was a shock on Jayport’s tone.

  “I don’t, but do I have a choice? Do you have a choice?” he asked, in a cold tone.

  “No, we don’t, but that doesn’t mean we’re happy with it,” he replied, confirming Jarcor’s suspicions. These men dreamed of freedom as much as he did.

  “Well, I don’t have a choice either, Jayport. For now.”

  Time flew by amidst training and battle exercises, and three months later, they were finally considered fit to fight the alien invaders and they were sent to the battlefield.

  Despite his hopes, Jarcor wasn’t deployed with the rest of the men he had been training with. Instead, he was assigned a new group of cyborgs ready to be trained. He wasn’t very happy. He had hoped he would be able to escape once out there fighting since he had no intentions of being the government’s little marionette for much longer.

  However, they must have had some idea as to his intentions, because during the following months he wasn’t allowed out of the camp where they had sent him unless he was required at the hospital for more tests and upgrades. He hated the way they treated him. A lab rat ignoring his will or even his pain.

  They were playing with his body, especially his brain and no matter how many times he had asked them to stop, they didn’t. The pain he experienced each time they added new circuitry to his brain was excruciating and he hated with all his heart every single one of those sessions.

  Once, right after one particularly painful session, he turned to look at the doctor working on him. “Is this what you do to all the cyborgs you breed in your labs?” he asked, with apparent hatred in his tone.

  “Cyborgs are bred with Nanocybots. They start working on the embryo the minute it’s conceived, adding all the upgrades we’re giving to you,” the woman explained with pride on her tone. It was as if she was talking about machines other than human babies. Yes, special babies, but still babies. “When they are born, they already have many of the special abilities inherent to cyborgs. The other ones are inserted right after they are born and fully developed during the six years they need to reach their full maturity.”

  “Six years? Six damn years? Are you kidding me?” he asked, outraged.

  “Yes, six years,” she dismissed the anger in his tone and replied in a cold tone. “We’ve tried to reduce it, but we’ve discovered the results of sending them to the battlefield before time, aren’t good enough as to risk losing one of them.”

  “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. When did the government lose sight of all the principles that ruled this nation?” he ranted, shaking his head.

  “I really don’t see what the problem is, soldier. It’s not like they’re real people,” she retorted in a self-defensive tone.

  “You still use a human egg and human sperm to conceive those babies, right?” he asked, in a stern tone.

  “Yes, but─”

  “Then, please explain to me how the hell they aren’t humans like you and the rest of the people in this place?” he asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest,
towering over her.

  Over the past months, his body had become a lot taller and broader than it had been previously, he was still getting used to it, but it came in handy in moments like this.

  The woman looked at him, flustered, unable to find a suitable answer to his question. “They have too many mechanical parts to be considered human,” she finally muttered, but, for the first time, there was no conviction on her tone.

  “Is that what you keep telling yourself at night when you’re trying to have a peaceful night’s sleep?” he asked, sarcastically.

  The woman snorted and walked away from him, but he didn’t mind. At least he had been able to make her think about what they were doing here and how wrong they were treating all the cyborgs, himself included.

  A couple of soldiers came to escort him back to the camp and he went straight to his barracks, eager to have some time alone and rest. Each upgrade they gave him required some readjustment on his part and the process was quite painful.

  Lying on his bunk, he ran his hand over his shaved head, feeling every one of the scars from the multiple surgeries they had done on him. He sighed. He was starting to look like freaking Frankenstein’s monster, and he was beginning to doubt his dark hair would ever grow back.

  His eyes certainly didn’t look the same anymore. After all the changes they had made, they were starting to look a lot like the rest of the cyborgs, with a grayish tone. He now had night and infrared vision, but he was still learning how to use those upgrades and headaches had become a daily presence in his life. Of course, his own programming and hacking didn’t help, but at this point, he didn’t care.

  Each time he had access to a computer, he accessed the chips inserted in his brain and started working on them, breaking their codes, learning more about them and making all the changes he was allowed to. He had tried to record everything they did to him, trying to get access to the main programming codes, but so far, they shut him down before they made any changes and he hadn't been able to activate the recording process and keep it running despite the shutdown.

  He was sure it was a matter of time before he was able to get the codes. Right now, he was working on a way to communicate with the other cyborgs without the humans finding out.

  He let out a bitter laugh when he realized he was starting to think of himself as a cyborg too. Not in the derogatory sense the humans did, but as a proud new race that deserved freedom and a place in the world.

  Chapter Six

  He had his eyes closed when he sensed someone entering the room. His nostrils flared when he perceived Sergeant Miller’s scent and he wondered what the hell he was doing there.

  “Getting some rest, little flower?” the man asked, in a scornful tone, and not for the first time, Jarcor wished he could teach the little worm a much-needed lesson on manners and humanity.

  “Is there a point to this visit, Sergeant? Or you just missed me so much you had to come see me?” he asked in a mocking tone, not even opening his eyes. The man was no threat to him. He was just human. Right now, he could smash him as quickly as he would smash an insect.

  But, apparently, the man thought he was safe behind his rank because he decided to kick Jarcor out of his bed. Or at least try.

  The moment Miller raised his leg to kick Jarcor, his senses captured the motion and his powerful hand flew to grab his ankle and send him flying into the nearest bed. He jumped to his feet and faced the man, towering over him menacingly.

  “Is there a problem, Sergeant, that you would like to discuss with me?” he snarled, his teeth gritted, still holding the man’s foot, ready to break it, if he insisted on attacking him.

  Jarcor felt a surge of pain rushing through him, but he ignored it.

  “You can’t attack me. I’m your superior.” Miller mumbled, clearly scared. It was probably the first time one of the cyborgs had decided to fight back.

  “Where does it say that? If you attack me, I’ll attack back,” he assured him, adding pressure to his grip.

  “You can’t, you have been programmed not to attack us under any circumstance,” he mumbled some more, revealing facts Jarcor had started to suspect but hadn't yet confirmed.

  “It seems my programmer forgot to add that,” he mocked him, adding a bit more pressure. Certainly, he could feel the pain, but it wasn’t strong enough to stop him. “You’re nothing but a cowardly little worm. You’ve been abusing the soldiers in your unit, just because you knew they couldn’t fight back.”

  “You…you have no right to talk to me like that─” he ranted, but Jarcor knew he was scared.

  “Who’s going to stop me? You?” he asked, in a mocking tone, finally releasing the man’s foot and stepping aside. “You’re not worth the effort.”

  “This will be reported immediately. I’m sure they’ll review all your programming.” Miller quickly jumped up, trying to recover his composure, but his shaking hands took away the effect he was trying to get with his threats.

  “Do as you please, but before you go, you might want to tell me what brought you here in the first place,” he pointed out in a cold tone.

  “You’ll be deployed to the front line in the morning. They need someone with a bit more experience leading the new cyborgs,” spat the sergeant.

  “They should have sent you. After all, you’ve trained them,” Jarcor replied with an ironic tone. The man was too much of a coward, making Jarcor wonder how the hell Miller had gotten his rank in the first place.

  “My place is here. I’m too valuable for them to endanger my life,” Miller replied, infatuated with his own self-importance.

  “Sure, whatever makes you happy.” Jarcor replied, too happy with his deployment to pay attention to the man’s delusions.

  “Though, after your display of violence, I’m starting to think that deployment isn’t a good idea…” the Sergeant continued, determined to reestablish his superiority over the human cyborg.

  Jarcor wasn’t going to let that happen. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want to have me breathing down your neck all day long, Sergeant. Who knows what I might do with my next display of violence─” he left the threat hanging between them and watched the man gulp.

  “I guess you’ll find a better use for it on the battlefield,” he said, and turned around, stomping out of the room.

  Jarcor rubbed his face and walked to the nearest window. They were finally sending him into combat. He would be able to check the possibilities of escape and perhaps even start making plans towards it. He knew he still wasn’t ready to escape, but he was close and being on the front line would allow him to assess the real possibilities of a successful escape.

  But that night, when he was getting ready to go to bed, his quarters were invaded by three doctors, accompanied by one of the programmers that had worked on him.

  He pursed his lips, regretting his decision of giving Sergeant Miller a taste of his own medicine, but it was too late now.

  “We’ve been notified that your obedience program is malfunctioning, so we decided to come and check it before you are deployed out to the battlefield in the morning,” one of the doctors announced, taking a syringe out of his pocket.

  He considered resisting and though he was sure he was more than able to take them all down, he wouldn’t go that far. So, he just stood there and allowed them to do whatever the hell they wanted to. It would only delay his plans, nothing else.

  The following morning, when he came to his senses, he felt a bit strange, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what was making him feel that way.

  Ignoring the sensation, he grabbed his gear and left his quarters to join the group of soldiers that would be deployed to the front with him.

  He hadn't trained this group and they seemed even more inexperienced than the groups he had worked with in the past months. They were flown out of camp, in one of the fleet’s fastest vessels.

  They got to the battlefront unit in just a couple of hours and soon they were being taken to their tents and handed all the
equipment they were going to need on the battlefield.

  “Unit H01, I was told you have experience on the battlefield.” General Brown said, in a stern tone.

  Jarcor pursed his lips, furious. “My name is Jarcor, Sir. I used to be a Captain and my last battle was in the Middle East,” he replied in an even tone.

  The man frowned, surprised. “We didn’t send cyborgs to the Middle East.”

  “I wasn’t a cyborg back then, Sir,” Jarcor was surprised. He was sure they would have notified General Brown of his battle record, but it seemed they hadn't.

  “What the hell does that mean?” the man sounded quite upset and that surprised him even more. “Follow me, I need more information from you,” he finally decided and Jarcor followed him sighing, confident this would be a total waste of time.

  General Brown took him to his tent and took a seat at his desk. “Start talking,” he ordered.

  Chapter Seven

  “What would you like to know?”

  “All of it.”

  Jarcor wanted to sigh, instead he complied. Telling General Brown his story, summarizing where possible, highlighting the more important facts and when he was finally done, he was able to see the general didn’t look very happy.

  “How many of you are there?” he finally asked, in a stern tone.

  “As far as I know, I’m the only one, Sir. They wanted to see if it would be faster to transform soldiers into cyborgs rather than breeding them,” he explained, allowing his tone to show precisely what he thought about that idea.

  “Have they reached a conclusion?”

  “I don’t think so. This is the first time I’ll be on an actual battlefield since my transformation,” he replied, honestly. He saw no point in lying to the man.

  “I see. Did you agree with all this? Losing your human condition and being degraded to a simple soldier?”

  “They gave me some papers, rushing me to sign them. According to them all that information was written in them,” he explained. “However, I was in a lot of pain, in no fit state to study the papers and all I wanted was for them to fix my wounded legs. I assure you it was my mistake that I didn’t stop to read any papers.”