by Tim Cody
Subject: Nightingale
Volume 1: Birth and Death
Copyright © 2013 Timothy C. McCaughan
All rights reserved. Subject Nightingale, Volume 1: Birth and Death and all Subject Nightingale, Volume 1: Birth and Death-related images invented for this publication are the property of the publisher. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, except for brief quotations in reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
ISBN:
1492184772
ISBN-13:
978-1492184775
Tim Cody
www.timcodywrites.com
Dedicated to my fans. All six of you.
If you six each tell one more, I'll have a dozen fans.
Then if one of you tells one more, that'll be a baker's dozen.
Then I can become a baker instead of a writer.
Contents
Copyright
Chapter 1 Birth
Chapter 2 Namesake
Chapter 3 Team Up
Chapter 4 The Man with the (Pretty Crappy) Plan
Chapter 5 Ten Minutes Flat
Chapter 6 Intimacy Issues
Chapter 7 Not Too Soon
Chapter 8 %$#@!^& Glitches
Chapter 9 Run, Run, and then Run Some More
Chapter 10 The Girls Who Were Almost Sisters
Chapter 11 Lay of the Land
Chapter 12 Humble(?) Beginnings
Chapter 13 What's in a Name
Chapter 14 Show and Tell
Chapter 15 History Lesson
Chapter 16 Bad Dreams
Chapter 17 Making Plans
Chapter 18 Practice Makes Perfect
Chapter 19 Comes Great Responsibility
Chapter 20 Ghost Stories
Chapter 21 Routine
Chapter 22 Hermit Crabbing
Chapter 23 Building a Home
Chapter 24 Renovations
Chapter 25 Why, Oh Why...
Chapter 26 Guardian Angel
Chapter 27 All the Trappings
Chapter 29 Christmas Morning
Chapter 30 Next Time...
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Birth
On the 50th story of the Lab's 100-story tower, Doctor Metzger and his assistant maneuvered around their experiment in a cluttered and hastily assembled research-and-development laboratory. There was hardly room to move; Metzger and his assistant, Phellman, stepped carefully over thick metallic hoses attached to a solid silver throne in the center of the room. The hoses secured the throne to several waist-high steel drums tucked in the far corner of the small room, the way roots would secure a tree to the Earth.
“I haven't even signed the authorization papers yet...” Phellman muttered under his breath, visibly nervous as he double- and triple-checked the hoses' connections. His hands were quivering as he tightened the bolts on the blue, the green, and then the purple drums, killing time, doing what he could to delay the procedure.
“Your cowardice has been noted, Phellman,” Metzger said as he manipulated a touch-screen control panel attached to the throne, “several times over.”
“Th-the connections are secure...” Phellman stepped away from the barrels, concentrating on his feet as he placed them just so between the hoses.
“Good. The SENDS is almost ready.”
When Phellman was transferred all the way up to floor 50 from 15 just a few days ago—when he was asked for by lead scientist Metzger, no less—he thought he had done something worthy of commendation. However, he was quickly learning that Metzger just wanted a patsy; or worse, a scapegoat. “Sir, the chances of this experiment are astronomically low... They're next to zero.” He knew he wasn't telling Metzger anything he didn't know already, but he couldn't help but repeat the information. “I read all the files you gave me. The other subjects could hardly stand a single serum—why should this one be able to handle all three?”
“You haven't asked about the elephant in the room,” Metzger replied, an almost coy grin on his face.
Phellman gulped and craned his neck, raising his nervous gaze toward the apparatus suspended above the throne. A large metal sphere hung from the ceiling, suspended by countless wires, cables, and a sturdy retractable steel arm. Its underside was adorned with what the assistant could only assume were shoulder pads, on either side of an opening wide enough to fit a human head. Three thinner hoses connected the sphere to the throne; the entire device spelled utter doom for anyone seated in its chair.
“Your...device...” Phellman said. It truly appeared a cruel machine.
“My magnum opus!” Metzger replied excitedly. “The Siliquite, Ephilon, and Neptorium Delivery System! The latest in the Lab's nanobot research—the latest in your nanobot research—combined so beautifully with my own research into these precious elements!”
“My nanobot research!?” Phellman suddenly shouted. “My research is still early! It's hardly even experimental yet!”
“Have some faith in yourself, man!” Metzger didn't look away from the control panel the entire time. He needed everything—the dials, the numbers, the sliders—to all be just right. “I've studied your research, and the healing applications of your nanobots are impressive. You should be proud to share in this moment!”
“You're out of your mind!” Phellman was slowly discovering his courage. He didn't want his own research mixed up with whatever shady operation Metzger was running. “My nanobots have only been successful in healing minor wounds—small gashes, clotting, it's not a miracle cure!”
“Calm down, Phellman—remember your chain of command. You're in my lab, so watch your tone.” Metzger rotated a dial on the touch-screen and then swiped a bar labeled Start Recording. A small red dot blinked in the top-left corner of the screen, and a live feed of the small room appeared.
“No, I can't have any part of this—I won't! If the Council finds out, you'll bring their full power down on both our heads. Everyone working in this branch of the Lab will be charged with treason! Did they even authorize this!?”
“Authorization!?” Metzger laughed. “The Council funds the Labs, they know what they're paying for—for science, for breakthroughs such as this! They won't be impressed by some doctor who waits months for approval. They're impressed by initiative, dedication to the cause, and by greatness!
“When the Council decided to save a dying world, did they wait around for some piece of legislation to be passed? No! They saw a problem, they saw a solution, and that was that!”
“Doctor Metzger, I—”
“If you don't want any part of the true miracles we're performing here today, then turn in your badge. I'll consider your resignation tendered.”
Phellman hardly hesitated. He plucked the security badge off the front of his lab coat, threw it into the snaking tubes at Metzger's feet, and stormed out of the room. The steel door pulled itself open with a strong swoosh as the assistant approached, and then slammed shut once he had exited.
“Good riddance!” Metzger said loudly to himself. “Science has no room for such short-sighted and timid men.”
He let out a quiet breath to calm his nerves once he realized he was finally ready. One hand reached out toward his subject, and he caressed the young girl's cheek. Unconscious under heavy medication, she simply appeared to be sleeping in the throne as Metzger tucked some long strands of red hair behind her ear. Her pale, delicate features appeared peaceful despite the setting; ignorance was truly bliss, as the girl's eyes moved rapidly beneath her eyelids in some active dream.
“Nightingale...” Metzger's tone was thoughtful. He spoke half to hi
mself, and half to the camera, “Until man is indistinguishable from gods...”
He swiped his finger across a second touch-screen control panel, and then rotated an on-screen dial. The steel drums each thumped once as their contents began pumping through the thick hoses, and Metzger watched as three gauges on the screen filled.
“Subject: Nightingale,” he narrated, for the benefit of the camera, documenting what he was sure would be his rise to scientific stardom. “Age: Approximately seventeen. Sex: Female. Current status: Normal.” His heart thumped with anticipation as the gauges each filled slowly, one by one raising and reaching their caps. “Note to self: as this will surely be the final subject I need, I need to cancel my contract with the Matron.”
When the gauges filled completely, the sphere above Nightingale's head kicked to life with a brief shutter. The swell of pride the doctor felt at finally seeing his creation beginning to work was indescribable.
“It's working,” Metzger whispered, as if concerned the SENDS would stop if it heard him talking about it. “The SENDS contains a blade that will actually split the subject's head in two, right down the center. It will simultaneously release the nanobots and the serums—effectively coating the subject's entire brain, soaking it inside and out with nanobots as well as all three serums.”
The device worked silently as the doctor narrated for the camera. The sphere settled itself over Nightingale's head, the shoulder pads resting on her shoulders as the blade inside began to work. It tore her skin and sliced through her skull effortlessly, the entire process reflected on a third screen attached to the sphere that Metzger couldn't take his eyes off.
When a small heart monitor popped up in the bottom-right corner of that screen, he explained, “An accelerated heart rate is to be expected. The subject's vitals are normal.”
Eventually the blade reached the center of Nightingale's brain, and then it stalled. Metzger's brow furrowed worriedly, and he swiped through a few screens on the second touch-screen.
“The nanobots and serums have been injected, but the blade should be retracting at this point... I'll attempt a manual override to pull it out.”
The blade began sinking lower, and Metzger gasped sharply.
“No, stop!” He swiped frantically at the second screen, but none of the controls were responding. His finger hovered over the button labeled Emergency Shutdown, but that would terminate the entire project. “She'll die if any more is injected!” He reached up to grab the third screen, extending its retractable arm toward himself to watch it closely. It was all he could do.
The blade continued cleaving through his subject's brain, and her heart rate continued to increase—100, 120, 140, 160 in a matter of seconds; at this pace Metzger was certain her heart was going to explode, so he let out a defeated sigh, and shoved the screen back toward the sphere.
“Subject Nightingale is a failure. Notes: Recalibrate the SENDS; make a smaller sphere if I need to, so the blade physically cannot go any lower...” He rubbed his chin as he considered his invention, already redesigning it as the blade continued slicing through Nightingale's head. “And call the Matron at the end of the week—tell her I need another subject after all.”
He began swiping through some menus on the second screen, letting the blade inside the sphere run its full course before it began to ease itself out.
“Cause of death: Nanobot overdose; Siliquite, Ephilon, and Neptorium overdoses; heart rate exceeding,” he looked up at the third screen, “two-hundred and thirty—two-hundred and twenty... Two-ten, one-ninety! One-seventy! She's still alive!”
He touched the screen to shrink the heart-rate monitor, and watched the progress of the blade as it retracted.
“The blade is retracting! And it's actually working—it's healing her, the nanobots, they... They must have...” He grabbed the screen and pulled it close again, his wide eyes looking all over for an explanation of what could have happened as the sphere began lifting off his subject's head. “The blade sliced into her brain stem, it stopped a few inches into her spine... Could that be it? The nanobots, the serums, her spinal fluid...”
The screen slipped from his grasp and was pulled back up to the ceiling along with the sphere, and Metzger's eyes were slowly drawn to his subject's. Nightingale's emerald green eyes were open wide, and staring at the doctor.
“The subject is...awake,” Metzger said quietly as he backed away cautiously. “Hello, Nightingale. Can you hear me?”
When she didn't respond, the doctor sighed with relief and stood a bit straighter. “Subject Nightingale appears to have awoken into a comatose state... Her vitals have normalized, and her wound appears to have mostly healed. She's left with a laceration, approximately one millimeter, vertically in the center of her face.” He leaned closer to inspect the thin scar. It was only visible upon close inspection, but it left a perfectly straight reminder of where the blade had cleaved her entire head in two.
“Phellman warned me that the nanobots weren't perfect,” Metzger said with a bit of a shrug. He gasped when Nightingale's eyes shifted to watch his own, and her pupils dilated. Was she aware of what was going on? “I'll take the subject to an observation room and monitor her...”
“Where...” Nightingale whispered, her throat dry and her voice raspy.
“Can you hear me, Nightingale?” Metzger said, taking another step away from his subject.
“Nightingale?” she asked.
“Yes, Nightingale. That's your name. Do you want some water?” He grabbed a bottle of water from a nearby table and popped the cap off. “What do you remember?” he asked as he held it out for her.
“I don't...”
“You don't? Don't what?”
“I don't remember...” Nightingale lifted her arm weakly to take the water, but Metzger was holding it just out of reach without realizing it.
“Subject claims to have no memories. She'll remain under observation for the foreseeable future. I need to find out how the injections have affected her.”
A flicker on one of the touch-screens distracted the doctor before he could pass the water to Nightingale, and the bottle slipped from his grip. Nightingale lurched forward to catch it, nearly falling to the floor in the process; she was so thirsty, and didn't want any of it to spill.
The bottle landed on its side, but the water inside remained motionless. Not a single drop poured from its open top, it didn't even sway inside the plastic container. She was confused enough already, though, and only half-aware of what was going on to begin with; she thought nothing of it, and didn't hesitate to pick the bottle up and chug its contents in a matter of seconds.
As she drank, images of machinery pumping water through giant channels filled her mind. Clear water swirled inside giant pools and rushed through filters, and then she saw herself: she was sitting in that throne in the cluttered laboratory, and Doctor Metzger was watching one of the screens right beside her.
Nightingale dropped the empty bottle and grabbed her head when it pounded with a sudden and severe headache, and slumped back into the chair. “My head...” she muttered through gritted teeth.
“Is it a headache? How bad is the pain?” Metzger asked, more concerned about the results of his experiment than Nightingale's well-being. He reached one hand out to touch her forehead, checking for a fever.
Nightingale gasped and pulled her head back when his touch only increased the pain. Suddenly her head was filled with more images she didn't understand. She saw Doctor Metzger and Phellman arguing, she saw him adjusting the hoses and calibrating the SENDS, and again, she saw herself sitting in that throne. The images flashed across her mind in an instant, and she couldn't even begin to explain them.
“What did you do to me?” she choked out, opening her eyes halfway to glare at the doctor.
“You need to calm down, Nightingale,” Metzger said as he retrieved a syringe and a small vial from one of his lab coat pockets. He stuck the needle into the vial and drew its contents. “This is a sedative, it w
ill help you sleep. You need rest.” He leaned in to prick her arm with the needle.
“No!” Nightingale shouted, and suddenly Metzger found himself paralyzed.
His eyes widened and he tried to move, but he very simply could not. Like a living statue he was frozen in front of his subject, his body unable to perform actions even as basic as blinking or breathing.
“What did you do to me!?” Her temper suddenly flared, and Doctor Metzger was hurled clear across the room. His back slammed into the door and he landed hard on the floor, gasping and wheezing for breath in a pile of those hoses.
“It worked!” Metzger coughed out, and he laughed. “Holy $#!%, it worked!” He continued to laugh as he felt along the floor for his syringe, but it was lost in the hoses.
“What worked!?” Nightingale shouted and sprung to her feet; her legs were like rubber, so she just fell back down into the chair. She suddenly felt trapped and afraid. She clenched her teeth and panted for breath as she began to panic, her face flushing red and contrasting her emerald eyes as she glared at Doctor Metzger.
When he couldn't find his syringe, the doctor instead reached for a thin black bracelet he wore on his wrist. He continued to laugh, disturbingly joyously, as he squeezed it with his entire hand. “You worked! Subject Nightingale was a success!” A red light began blinking on the bracelet.
“What's Subject Nightingale!?” she shouted again, and suddenly Metzger began to choke.
His eyes widened and bulged, and his face burnt red. He kicked at the hoses and grabbed at his throat, but there was nothing squeezing it. The pressure was tremendous; he felt his throat collapsing, but he couldn't feel anything but his own skin. “Y-you...are!”
Tchk.
Something in Metzger's throat snapped, and his body went limp. His eyes glazed over and blood trickled from his mouth.
Nightingale calmed down the instant he died. She didn't quite realize what had happened, as if she had immediately forgotten where she was and what she was doing—as if she had known in the first place. She let out a deep breath and then touched her top lip when she felt something warm on her face. She frowned curiously as she looked at the blood on her fingertips; her nose was bleeding? She grabbed the hem of her plain white T-shirt and wiped the blood off her face, wiped her hands off on her matching white pants, and then the door slid open with a sudden whoosh!
