The nurse raised her eyebrows. California CNED indicated the patient was able to walk past three agents by convincing them that she was undercover CNED herself? The girl was only arrested after she accidentally tripped over a curb while, “…engaging in light conversation” with the CNED field commander outside the speakeasy in question! The officer realized she was intoxicated at that point and asked to scan her combud for CNED verification. There was no combud present. The girl’s body was free of tech! When the field commander put his hand on the subject’s forearm to restrain her, Ms. Dean delivered a swift kick to the man’s testicles and bit him on the left forearm, drawing blood.
Nurse Fossbender’s eyes grew wide. One agent’s statement described Tara Dean as being “sexy.”
At that, Nurse Fossbender activated her tablet’s full holokeys and quickly typed her own entry in the notes; “Day one (1) p373-B; The same agent who was bit and kicked still under impression the woman is “sexy” after the fact? Possible addicto-borderline tendencies? Why did CNED field commander not press charges? Following Ms. Dean’s arrest, the family requested that she be treated in Kansas to avoid any potential embarrassment in their New Riverside community. After a detailed examination of the patient history, one thing is clear: this girl will require extensive attitude realignment. Marlene Fossbender, RN/VCSW.
She clicked her chubby fingers together. The projection diodes on her holotab blinked off and the keyboard vanished. A blink collapsed the patient holofiles completely. The nurse snorted, again looking around the room at the despondent, humiliated gaggle of boozebums that were her charge over the next thirty days.
The tide was never ending.
Between Level 1, Level 2 and Level 3 patients being prepped for slaughterhouse treatment, there were always up to sixty patients in her care alone. Every month, every year. What could one nurse do to help? If citizens’ want for self destruction was stronger than their want for Vision?
The problem lay with people like Neil Young. Centrists, moderates, Traditionalist privacy advocates.
The only people who value privacy are those with something to hide.
The days of Nurse Young and his belief in the inherent good of every patient were fortunately behind the hospital. Nurse Fossbender also believed people were inherently good, as long as they allowed themselves to be properly treated.
For those Traditionalists who insisted on promoting “normalized usage” of the world’s most destructive drug… Nurse Fossbender would be there. The nurse was blessed with Sight. Whether through public shaming or a sonic drill to the eye, she had made it her life’s conviction to stamp out the scourge of alcohol.
The digidollars weren’t bad either.
Three minutes before the meeting was to commence, patient 373-B sauntered into the room, dragging a low-hanging cloud of melancholy with her. The girl was pretty, as advertised. She wore a plain red baseball cap over her black hair, blue jeans and a faded, pink university sweatshirt with the words, ROCK CHALK across the chest. Her eyes were like jade searchlights, scanning methodically, making a brief analysis of not only Nurse Fossbender, but the other patients in the room as well.
Finally Tara Dean sighed audibly and sat down in the last open seat, next to Melky O’Brien. She immediately crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. Nurse Fossbender noticed that the fireman perked up and smiled as soon as the girl took a seat.
Marlene Fossbender had been young once. She knew exactly how Tara Dean had managed to slip by. The little whore had probably spent every day between her first and second arrests high on alcohol, spread-eagle in the back of any booze house she could find. This patient used her sex to manipulate!
You’re in Kansas now, young lady. Neil Young and his antique views have burned out and faded…
She would bring the girl in line. Womyn to woman.
The nurse stood and closed the door to the meeting room. The door was heavy and made an definitive klak that silenced conversation. It was an authoritative noise Nurse Fossbender found most satisfying. She was optimistic about what the day’s group therapy meeting would bring. It had begun just like a hundred before it.
Unfortunately she had no way of knowing the meeting would only last another nine minutes.
Excerpt taken from: The Peoples’ Progressive Encyclopedia 2071 Edition 23 Volume 8 Letter Frames 412 – 413:
The following is a direct quotation from the North American United States Constitution: “NAUSC Amendment 46: As of January 1, 2062, splices of canine gene sequences with non-expiring, fusion powered robotic systems are hereby banned in all 91 States. Federal ban likewise applies to the Nunavut, Northwest, Yukon, Bermudan, Cuban and Bahamian Territories. Suspected hybrid life form activity shall be reported by all registered citizens to appropriate state law enforcement division(s) and/or The Federal Cyborg Commission. The design of fusion powered cybernetic systems must proceed in accordance with Amendment 222, canine biomorphology only. Civilian (CIV) grade law enforcement models (as well as standard battborg Fidos powered by the solar grid) will conform to average species dimensions and MAY be encased in a synthetic exopolymer or BIOSKIN©. Military (MIL) grade models must be BIOSKIN© free and shall be maximized to three dimensional aspect ratios of 3m x 4m x 6m. As final cyborg bios engrams spool, any attempt at external reprogramming or autonomic neural restructuring must result in initialization of self destruct protocols, IE: core implosion…”
Amendment 222 was originally drafted by senate majority leader, Lupe Martinez (P), in direct response to the Darkpool Labs Massacre of 2061 in Lenexa, Kansas. Senator Martinez was a distant relative of cyborg geneticist Dr. Marvin Adler, the principal Darkpool Labs researcher. In addition to creating the first functional cyborg OS, Adler is best known for his invention of stem cell based BIOSKIN©, which is used today in medical applications such as tissue grafting, organ exchange and exopolymer synthetic cell manufacture.
Exopolymer technology was the basis for Darkpool Labs’ successful 2060 grafting of genetically engineered canine dermal tissue to a robotic titanalum chassis based on the canis latrans endoskeleton. This cybernetic organism was initially celebrated by the North American public as Coyote One. Coyote One was cloned in secret seventeen times by Darkpool Labs in the spring of 2061 in an effort to determine whether onboard learning algorithms, or “memories”, would be duplicated from replica to replica over time.
Laboratory records indicate that canis latrans was chosen as the case study template due to the species’ adaptive immune system response to foreign tissue introduction; (see Titanalum Metallurgy & Bioadaptics). The Coyote Series was not spooled with self destruct protocols. Accordingly, it is assumed that autonomic neural restructuring (see Synthetic Brain Mimicry Code) cascaded forward at an exponential rate with each cloned generation (see Canis Latrans – Pack Psychology).
The Coyote series DOGS units were intentionally designed as the physically weakest models, with a 2.0 CSF. In retrospect of the massacre, the cybernetics community posits this decision was made specifically by Dr. Adler to compensate for the lack of self destruct protocols in the robots’ compugene code.
For vernacular reference; military AK9CIV DOGS units based on the canis familiaris Rottweiler, German Shepherd or Doberman chassis have a top gallop range of 127 – 145 kph and a median bite force of 5,000 kg. Coyote series DOGS units have a governed gallop speed of 65 kph and a bite force of 400 kg. Their CPU’s were engineered to network, simulating the pack behavior of the animal in its indigenous environment.
Despite all precautions, Dr. Marvin Adler and eleven Darkpool Labs’ scientists were found disemboweled in the facility basement by National Guard Troopers on July 3, 2061. The throats of each corpse had been lacerated. Holovid surveillance shows that Coyote One and the 17 clones in her pack escaped from Darkpool by leaping, single file, through a window three meters off the ground where they were able to access the first floor of the facility.
From there, the DOGS units escaped into the wild. At the time of this pub
lication, none have been found.
The ongoing disappearance of the Coyote DOGS units remains a mystery of modern science. Seven copycat livestock mutilations have been reported in eastern Kansas since the original massacre. Universal self destruct protocols (see complete Constitutional Amendment 222) are now standard issue in all canine cybernetic organisms with a fusion based power supply.
Chapter 1.5 – Why Don’t the Eyes Work?
November 2079 – Two Years Eleven Months Before Event.
“Hello everyone and welcome to day two of behavioral mod for alcohol addiction! Has everyone had a chance to fill out their IRS holodocs?”
All of the patients in the group, save the stoic Afghan physicist, nodded painfully.
Nurse Fossbender continued at a standard chirp, “As we all know, recreational drug use is North American as apple pie. We all like to get blended from time to time, right?” She pressed her hands into her hips and winked knowingly at a thin, bird-like woman in the chair nearest, “I know I certainly like to dab a vape at the end of the day. Sometimes two!”
The bird woman and half the group chuckled, as if on cue.
The nurse brought her finger up and waggled it in front of her face, “The Twelve Steps to Vision make clear,” she pointed towards the holoposter, “we have to treat the privilege to use jane responsibly as just that, a privilege. It’s a privilege that can be taken away if we make the wrong decisions.” She tented her fingers and took another step towards the center of the room, “We all know the negative effect that alcohol has on our lives. I don’t have to tell a single one of you. You’re here, right?!” The nurse jiggled coyly.
She delighted at the sound of her own voice ricocheting off the walls.
“The Twelve Steps to Vision are here to guide us because of the courage and innovation of The Architect. The Architect stood up for our right to be free from oppression. A hundred years ago, alcohol was beating our society down. In the 20th century, close to half-a-million people perished each year from alcohol related deaths. That’s in the antique United States alone! Solar power, wind, hydroelectric, fusion… we had none of these things in any capacity that mattered. We ravaged the land with hydraulic fracturing, and cotton production leached the nutrients from our country’s soil. In fact,” the nurse clicked her tongue audibly against the roof of her mouth, “a hundred years ago, regular citizens like you and me could actually be put in jail for making clothes or fuel from industrial hemp. Let alone vaping or growing recreational jane! It was a barbaric time.”
She liked to pause at this point in the speech for dramatic effect, letting the final sentence be absorbed. Newbies in behavioral mod were always shocked when they thought about their ancestors going to prison for smoking marijuana.
Nurse Fossbender cocked her head to one side, cuing the group to higher contemplation, “Today, of course, we live in the benevolent North American Union. We have no carbon pollution, no ravaged soils. We have advanced as a conscious people. In addition to progressive environmental reforms, The Architect also recognized the need for healthy, recreational stress reduction through drug use. So at the dawn of The Revolution, in the interest of the American species, we replaced environmentally toxic sources of food and energy with those that nurture our communities. We also replaced historically toxic alcohol with safe, non-addictive and environmentally harmonious marijuana. We treat people with alcohol addiction syndrome. We don’t lock them up in a prison! Can you imagine? Of course it’s this last topic that brings you here today,” she winked at the bird woman who smiled back complacently.
Nurse Fossbender extended her arms to the group as though exposing her prodigious bosoms in an open invitation for children to suckle. About seven people were actually paying attention, the rest sat with heads in hands or propped forward with their elbows on their knees staring at the floor.
The nurse’s glance at last landed on patient 373-B. Her face lost its sunny disposition. The young woman was not paying attention, reading a printed newspaper. Unacceptable! She would make these people love Vision. Especially this insolent little brat from California.
Tara Dean let her eyes roll quickly around the meeting room as soon as she sat down.
What a collection of ass monkeys.
The room was hospital blue with beige carpet.
Who combines blue and beige?
The ceiling was white, LED’s overhead making the space unnecessarily bright.
As bright as blue can get.
Tara made note of the windows. They were old plastic-frame efficiency windows that would be easy to put a boot through. However, the padlocked iron grates outside would make escape from this particular room impossible.
The floor nurse running the Bmod meet had bulbous eyes and a bulbous ass. Bulbous tits. In fact the only non-bulbous thing about the woman was her canary-like voice. She was droning off the usual Federal talking points about how drinking liquor means the end of civilization. At least Tara assumed she’d arrive at that conclusion soon enough. She’d heard this script last time, and anytime a Marlboro Gold e-joint commercial pushed to the holostream.
Ugh.
She was bored beyond bored. She noticed a newspaper underneath her chair. Tara leaned over and picked up The Lawrence Journal World – Print Edition, November 14, 2079. The recycled hemp paper was bleached bright white. As the Bmod floor nurse ran down her bullet points, Tara flipped the paper open and began reading a cover story on the left hand column:
CYBERNETIC COYOTES CAUSE INTERSTATE ACCIDENT – 2 DEAD. Your Ten-Sent Federal News by Martin Wringle, LJW
Lawrence, KS – Last night at 2:17 am, hovsemi pilot Melvin Coolidge pinged The Hovway Patrol from the shoulder of Interstate 70 stating that his 18 propeller had been forced into a ditch after colliding with an unknown, heavy object. The hovsemi’s stern cams captured a single dog-like animal, impacting the trailer section of the rig. Mable and Phyllis Austin of Kansas City, 22 and 24 years of age, were killed when the animal bounced off the trailer and skidded directly into the path of their vehicle, a 2067 Ford Flotaur, a late-model vehicle unfortunately not equipped with collision sphere tech. The hovsemi surveillance stream also showed a glowing, blue eye in the animal’s head for two holoframes, supporting the assumption that these are indeed the legendary cybernetic Coyotes involved in the Darkpool Labs Massacre. Unfortunately, the creature involved in the accident has not been discovered and neither have any of its pack mates. A platoon of National Guard security cyborgs from Fort Riley is currently scouring the countryside for clues as to where the Coyotes came from, where they went and why, after so many years, they have come out of hiding. Whether this accident was a fluke, or the first of many feral cyborg sightings to come, we don’t know. Services for Mable and Phyllis Austin will be held this coming Saturday at All Souls Unitarian Church on The Plaza in Kansas City, Missouri. State troopers have reported that a mason jar containing alcohol residue was found in the Austin sisters’ vehicle. Per guidelines, Federal LifeInsure payments to the Austin family will be reduced by 60% since it is assumed illegal drugs may have contributed to the accident. A fundraiser for Phyllis Austin’s two month old daughter will be announced by the family in the coming days.
Thank you for reading today’s Ten-Sent Federal News – Sponsored by Ford
Tara rolled her eyes as she read the article’s final sentence.
The news always blows dark sky.
She dropped the paper noisily to one side of her chair, sighed and looked around. The Bmod nurse’s calves were disproportionately enormous. Why was this bitch mean-mugging her like she was a medium rare petri-steak? They were uneasy eyes, diluted by obsession. Tara sensed fury and misdirected lust. The nurse could only be in her early 40’s, but she dressed like a grandma cougar on her way to knock out a few rounds of floatboard at the geriatric plantation. Tara wished she had a tablet and stylus so she could draw this monster while she was forced to sit there and listen to her babble. Personal holotabs, along with joy, were not permitted in
Bmod.
Tara sighed and dreamed of California.
Back in New Riverside, she would take her lunches in Millennium Ocean Park, sitting on a bench and watching the constant flow of citizens up and down the boardwalk. She would pull out her tablet and sketch quick-flash impressions of any interesting character who passed. A man in his 50’s, hairy as a bear, hovblading by in a purple Speedo wearing tube socks – lovely. The homeless bag women who lived under the Mockingbird Canyon Overpass, shuffling their old-school shopping carts with the actual wheels, clank-clank-clanking along with minds full of plastic bags and tobacco smoke, their whole lives contained in a wire shoebox on wheels. It was brilliant. An endless, free parade of entertainment on display.
She sat on the bench every day the cloud-seeders allowed, eating synthchicken salad and a hydro apple and illustrating an ongoing library of thirty second snapshots for her sketch files. Tara wiggled her toes with excitement as she thought of her illustrations on display. She had her first solo exhibition scheduled for First Friday in January at the Open-Cal Gallery above Doragon Tattoo Studios where she worked. She would be displaying 193 holograms of these character sketches, each culled from a year of boardwalk lunch breaks.
Tara’s exhibition was titled, Watch out for People Watching out for You.
Back in Lawrence, Kansas, she had nothing to watch, no holotab to sketch on. Nothing but the sad faces of the Bmod patients, eyes moping, and the amazingly hideous shoes and mind of this floor nurse. Tara wondered if the woman color coordinated her outfits intentionally? She wore a wedding ring, so at least one other person was responsible for letting this aesthetic travesty walk out the door. The tidal rolls of flesh that poured over the nurse’s waistline were concealed from direct view by a blue and green checkered blouse featuring oversized orange buttons that queued with her orange clogs. Her breasts were large enough to generate their own gravitational field, while also being saggy enough to require a nanoreinforced aluminum bra. And that skirt.
Dawn of the Courtezan: Phase 01 (The Eighteenth Shadow) Page 6
