by Tex Leiko
“Will do, Max.”
As Zarfa left the office, Max got the chills. It was as if someone had blown cold air right down his spinal column. He didn’t understand it himself. He’d always thought these Psyker Scream fans were just privileged rave kids spending their trust funds on some new trendy band, but his latest patient, Zarfa, was different.
He was quiet, stoic, testy, sarcastic, stern, but what really stood out was weathered. His battle scars weren’t fake, not some sort of masochism or self-mutilation. Not some sort of cult ritual. No, it had definitely been a battle.
But from what?
Max didn’t have an answer, and he wouldn’t rest easy until he did. There were no other patients to see him so he sat down at his desk and pulled up the Synaptix Corp multiprocessor interface. Back in the day, people were okay with calling it the “Internet,” but these days, it was much more than a collective of web sites; it was practically a world that mirrored the physical world with its every day hustle and bustle.
Some punk hackers figured a way to link the net with a human brain via a simple, small electrode implanted right behind the optic nerve. To see to it that this chip wasn’t used to hack into someone’s brain at any moment of the day, a safety protocol was put in place so that the chip would only activate in front of a terminal. When the user sat at a terminal and pulled up the interface, they were still aware of their surroundings.
They could see from the eye that didn’t have the electrode; the other eye, however, would see a sea of information. The information was easy to navigate. All one needed to do was think of what they wanted to see. The first few times most people would get on, all they would see were lewd pictures or videos of people having intercourse, or sometimes of a cat chasing a ball, but with some practice and self-discipline, one could find anything in the vast sea.
The other additional advantage of the interface was that the brain could respond so quickly to the written word without interpretation being required from direct visual stimuli. Reading an entire book was nearly instant. These days, spending the whole night on the interface was considered abhorrent. Nobody needed to be on that long; their brains wouldn’t be capable of storing all the information one would see in an entire eve.
Max took a sip of his cold, stale coffee and began looking for information on Psyker Screams. He waded through information for roughly ten minutes. He had instantly seen four videos, two books, hundreds of web pages, and about a thousand pictures of them performing. However, he was no closer to understanding why Zarfa would possibly want the modifications.
Was he really nothing more than an emotionally scarred and angst-ridden fan of some trendy band? Was he beaten up so badly on the street one day that he became another kid who liked crazy screamer metal and deep techno beats? Max refused these conclusions.
Maybe the answer was in the nanobots, he thought to himself as he twisted his hair in his finger with his right hand, leaning on the desk. He searched and he searched, reading every specification, every design, every review, and all kinds of medical data on the bots. He knew more now than he ever had, but still, it wasn’t adding up.
The unaltered average human could hear in frequencies ranging from twelve hertz or cycles up to twenty thousand. The bots, other than the high death rate due to complication, were rather pointless and benign. All they did was increase human hearing on the low end of the scale, or bass, to hear frequencies as low as one hertz. It also increased the high end of the hearing range to be able to include frequencies between ninety thousand hertz and one hundred twenty thousand hertz.
The bots left out all tones between twenty thousand and ninety thousand. The reason for this was because the tones in between were everywhere. Microwaves, plasma field generators, hovercraft, plasma energy lines, even light bulbs produced noise frequencies between twenty and ninety thousand hertz, but dropped off significantly at the higher levels.
But why would someone want to hear such high frequencies, or such low ones, for that matter, as well? It didn’t make sense; something still didn’t add up. Max knew there was a much larger picture and he was missing it. Zarfa’s remark wasn’t made as an insult against a musically challenged older man; it was to keep him out of something… Something that he wanted to know about.
“Ugh, I’ve wasted so much time,” he muttered.
The flow of information began to make his head hurt. He had already reached the limits of what a human brain could take in. Frustrated, he leaned back in his chair and finished drinking his cold cup of coffee that tasted more like battery acid than coffee.
Business was slow today. Sure, he had made more money today than in the last month with the one Psyker treatment, but he was getting bored. He usually saw several legitimately sick patients in his area of town, along with the few stimulant freaks and boost users, but they’d begun to avoid his office with the reputation he had for the way he dealt with them. He sat there in his chair, zoning out with a mouthful of cold, rank coffee, and let his mind wander.
He didn’t know how much time had elapsed in his daydream before he heard his door slam open. He jumped up, spitting out the coffee all over his desk and floor. The woman who had abruptly burst into his office like she was breaking in startled him in his dazed state.
She was tall, about five-foot, ten inches, and slender. She was wearing a very tight plasti-poly black and pink jumpsuit. Her eyes were striking and almost catlike; she had a dark line of black around her iris, the core of her iris was a deep blue color, and the trim of her iris around the pupil was a bright yellow. Her hair was a striking red color that contrasted beautifully with her pale, almost porcelain skin.
She wasn’t old, but she wasn’t young either. She was roughly thirty-five, and her face spoke of experience…life experience, things that would wear a weaker person out. She had deep worry lines at the top of her nose by her eyebrows that told of a lot of heartache and pain. She was, however, beautiful beyond a doubt, a real woman, not a little girl.
“Tell me, doctor, what do you know of the Psyker treatments?” she questioned with a sheepish grin. Her canine teeth were slightly longer and more pointed than average.
“Well isn’t that the popular question of the day? I know everything there is to know about how to administer it; everything there is to tell about how the bots are produced, and what they do. Yet, I still don’t know much as to why everyone is in a rush to get them. If that’s what you’re asking,” Max said in an exasperated tone. The adrenaline of the scare was starting to wear off, but a new type was beginning to kick in from her beauty.
“Heh, figures. I already know why I want them, but you just might be my man. Tell me, do you have the capabilities to modify nanobots? I need something like them only…different. What I need, they don’t make. I heard you do the treatments, but can you modify them?”
“Modify an already extremely physically altering, highly dangerous nanobot? Here? In my office? Are you mad, woman?”
“Maybe. Of what concern is it to you? I am sorry to have wasted your time, doctor. Good day,” she said politely and with a curtsy as she began to turn toward the door.
“Wait! You came through that door like you were being chased or were coming to rob me only to ask me a crazy question, and I don’t even know your name. On top of that, you are the second person today to come into my office and inquire about the modifications. On top of that! You appear to be a splicer. Before you go, please, entertain me. What do you want to know about this all for? And why the need to modify the bots? That’s a new one for me.”
She smiled at him again and walked toward him. The skin-tight jumpsuit she was wearing was made for soldiers to fight without restraint from clothing. She was gorgeous, and every curve of her body was showing. She was clearly very sleek and muscular and even though the doctor had become accustomed to seeing patients naked, this one made his heart jump.
She walked right up to his desk and looked him in the eyes, let out a little purr, and reached out her hand to stro
ke his bangs. She took some of his hair and started twisting it in her fingers. Max stood there, looking annoyed. Despite her great beauty and the fact he was contemplating asking her out to dinner, he truly wanted answers to his questions. Also, he was wondering how much of a lunatic she was. He didn’t even know her name and she was touching him like they were old friends…or lovers.
“Max, you haven’t changed a bit. Silly boy, you don’t even know the girl you went to school with? Let’s see, I think we were in kindergarten together. Then again in the third grade and, oh yeah, all of high school. Was it all those years? I feel like I forgot one,” she said playfully.
She knew his name. He had gone to school with her?
“Uhhh, refresh my memory,” he stated.
“The name is Crimson, Crimson Rose. You recall, everyone made fun of me in school? Said I was insane? Said I lived too much in fantasy and not in the real world. You remember now, right? You even made that little chant about me,” she said, not angry, just matter-of-fact, then dropped her hand back down to her side.
He remembered. There was always something amiss with her. She was odd. She was strange in school… She was homely and always dressed in an overly innocent motif. He never thought she would bloom into this mature, beautiful woman he saw in front of him. If he had, he maybe never would have made fun of her.
“Yes, I remember, but that means you’re my age… You look good,” he said with a gulp. “Please forgive me. I was a child then. I was stupid.”
She cut him off. “Hell yeah you were, ugly too, so I didn’t care about your little chant. The reason I am here isn’t because of some score to settle or to rub anything in your face. I happened to be in the neighborhood and saw your office. I came in to ask if you could do the impossible, nothing more.
“Don’t worry, you aren’t the first doctor I have asked and, with your answer, you won’t be the last. I have to hand it to you, though. Something must have changed you. You used to be rude, self-centered, careless, crass and, well, let’s face it, an all-around ass. But here you are, in the slums, offering free care. You’ve changed a lot, as have I. It’s good to see you, doctor. Who would have ever thought, Max Hall! MD!”
“Speaking of change, you got gene spliced with a cat? Really?”
“Yes, really. Not a cat, though. It took a lot of work, but I got my hands on the genetics of a cheetah. Don’t ask, I know most of them died out in twenty-sixty-four. Anyhow, can I go now? I feel I’ve played your little game enough.”
“You can go any time. I can’t detain you… A cheetah? How? Never mind. Like I said, you are free, but still, my questions—Psyker Scream, the modification to the bots?”
“Look, it appears you’ve changed, but people still think I am as crazy as I ever was. You want answers, come to a Psyker show tonight. Come see what you hear. They’re playing in town tonight; not many people know so the crowd won’t be too big. Show me you’ve got an open mind and maybe, just maybe, I will let you know more.”
“Come see what I hear? I think you’ve forgotten something. I provide the enhancements. I don’t have them myself.”
“And you forget, neither do I. Guess you don’t truly want answers…too bad,” she said nonchalantly as she began to saunter toward the door.
Max was going mad with questions; he had more now than when Zarfa had left his office. He wanted to pull his hair out. He had a bit of a temper and wanted to tackle Crimson and interrogate her. He would lose, if he could even catch her.
“Crimson!” he shouted eagerly.
She paused and turned her head with a devilish smile. “Yes?” she questioned, cocking her head to the side.
“Where is it? What time? But please tell me, what do you mean by come see what I hear?”
“Eleven tonight. I will be by to pick you up and you will just have to see what I mean, if you can see it.”
“I close the office at seven, so how—”
She cut him off again. “I know where you live; be home.”
She was out the door quicker than he could say another word. If she had stayed, he would have been asking a myriad of questions. How did she know where he lived? Who was this girl?
He wished he had never been a jerk to her as a child. It seemed like she was over it, but he couldn’t help but feel that this was all an elaborate ploy to get back at him. Who would get spliced with a cheetah? Even eerier, he thought, how? His mind started to simmer down as he was still standing behind his desk, befuddled.
He looked down to see the coffee he had spat out all over his desk and, suddenly, felt a wave of embarrassment. He didn’t think he even stood a chance with this girl once she reminded him of the school days, let alone the fact she had probably seen him jump out of his chair frightened as a schoolgirl who found a mouse.
He was wondering by this point if he had spat any coffee on her… He didn’t see any, and she started off a good distance from him, but in a time of shock and fear, who knew how far he could spit? His heart was still throbbing. This was, by far, the most excitement he had had in a long time, all in one day.
Any semblance of calmness was now completely out the window. Any concentration he had on a single subject, shattered. Even if a patient were to come in now, he would probably misdiagnose them and be guilty of malpractice. He hated abusers, but he was in need of a serenity boost. He opened his stainless steel desk and pulled out a syringe; the fluid inside was only point two of a cc.
Holding the syringe, he stood up, walked over to the door, and locked it. He flipped around his little sign that said “out to lunch” and walked back to his desk. He sat in his leather chair and stuck the boost in his arm. After five seconds, he felt a normal calmness; after ten, he was oblivious, and after fifteen, he was unconscious.
It had been a long time since he had used a serenity boost. He hadn’t expected to react so strongly. He should have only used a tenth of a cc. He knew that; he was a doctor. Those were the thoughts he had when he woke up at ten o’clock at night, still miles from home.
Chapter Three
Pilvikone
“The Solovox 5S-237 or ‘Pilvikone,’ if you will, offers the finest in weather selection for our most esteemed customers. Whether you want the perfect picnic in the park, rain for your crops, wind to fly a kite, or need snow for your favorite winter activities, we have you covered,” said the Barometrics representative.
“Excellent. You know, it is hard to imagine that this technology really works. I know I have probably seen the fruits of all of your labors in my daily activities and never gave it a second thought. However…”
“However?” he questioned, pausing to allow the customer time to make a response.
“However, how do I know after I have handed over my credits that I will actually see the results of what I paid for? How do I know that the weather you claimed to have brought to your other clientele isn’t just random weather patterns you have claimed to make? How do I know your device actually works and that this isn’t some big scam? I mean, come on, with the secrecy waiver I have to sign and the laws being what they are, I could never try to sue you if this technology doesn’t really work. Your office, though being grand and majestic-looking, could all be a ploy. Sure, you could have had a million clients all sworn to the secrecy that I had to sign in order to come in here, not to mention the contract I would have to sign to requisition your services. It’s all so—” For once, she was being cut off in conversation.
“So unrealistic? Yes, I can see your concern, but rest assured this is no hoax or scam. There is no smoke and mirrors here. In fact, our technology isn’t even a secret. We are not well known because only an elite few can even afford our services. Laws and contracts and governments being the way they are, indeed. We have no competitor because the law doesn’t allow it. It would generate chaos and, in this world, we do need stability of some sort. These machines are very expensive to make and maintain; there are currently sixteen active 5S-237 units active around the globe. They are able to proj
ect their effects more than two thousand miles from one another. These are all facts that are a matter of public record. Does this allay your fears of the company in the slightest?”
“It does, but why all the secrecy? Why the waivers?”
“Good question. It is because we can’t be having our customers know each other’s names. Weather is a funny thing. One person wants rain; another, sunshine. One customer wants snow and another, wind. The first I described contradicts; the second doesn’t. One customer offers to pay fifty thousand credits for a windy day; it is granted. On the same day, a customer offers the same sum for a snowy day. We can grant those both on the same day. The customers sometimes aren’t fully excited about their purchase, but with all things, there is sometimes buyer’s remorse. Furthermore, both truly got what they wanted.
“What happens, though, when the first situation I described is asked for? One client wants rain, one wants sunshine; both are looking to pay for a whole day. People are very temperamental when it comes to their weather. We don’t want one killing the other to have less competition. You know assassination contracts are easy to buy these days and even legal in most cases,” he stated.
“Right. So, what happens if two people want something different on the same day? With the secrecy, one can’t offer the other a compromise, or even withdraw their bid on the weather. How do you handle it?”
“Easy, an anonymous bid. Sunshine offers thirty thousand credits for the day. Rain comes in with a bid, is then told what the current offer for the day is. Rain is then given an opportunity to counter offer, the company documents, and the offer is given back to sunshine. The first, sunshine, if you will, always has the final say. If he chooses to pay more, he has it, end of story. We do not want outrageous bid wars. Again! Order…in a chaotic world; that is our slogan. However, if sunshine decides the price is too high, he can decline a second bid and it is over. It is as close to ‘fair’ as we can be.”
