Kyra watched Chancellor Owens shrug his shoulders after his speech and look away. She had no logical reason to dislike him other than he always gave her the creeps. And she doubted he ever reflected on anything outside of his bank account for long.
“The consideration of the UCN council for my personal losses is greatly appreciated, but I assure you I am doing just fine. My relationship to Jackson was over long before his death occurred and brought me back into the picture temporarily. And as the submitted reports on my Cyber Husband’s unfortunate deaths indicated, both of them came to me with undiagnosed mental health problems. Their losses merely taught me to be a smarter consumer about spending my money.”
When Chancellor Owens glared at her explanation, Kyra had to fight off the urge to sigh. She was getting really tired of defending her right to do what she wanted for a living.
“That’s good to hear, Dr. Winters. Still—I don’t think it’s wise of you to make any sort of final decision about refusing so much potential income,” he suggested.
Kyra nodded reluctantly. Chancellor Owens had a rational point about her income and she had no way to defend her own logic without revealing her disgust with Norton and the UCN. All she could do was hope they left her alone long enough to finish her task.
“I concede your suggestion to delay my final choice is wise, but for now I remain resolved in my quest to find a happier life with more suitable work. Receiving Jackson’s surprising inheritance has allowed me to purchase a third Cyber Husband. In fact, he’s being delivered in a few hours. I’ve planned a short honeymoon for us next week, so it is doubtful I will look for work until after our return.”
Kyra swallowed past the knot of tension in her throat. She really wanted to say “not only no, but hell no” to going back to Norton, but she was too afraid of the UCN’s power to deny their request so flatly. “Perhaps from time to time I could return to Norton to work on special projects. I will give that idea some additional thought once I’ve settled down to marital life again.”
“Yes, please do that, Dr. Winters. And congratulations on your new purchase. You have the UCN’s best wishes for the relationship to be both pleasing and successful this time,” Chancellor Owens declared.
Kyra nodded once, hoping the man was finally winding down. “Thank you, Chancellor Owens.”
“Have a blessed day, Dr. Winters.”
“May the same fate be yours, Chancellor.”
Kyra laughed and shook her head after she had disconnected. The amount of money the UCN had been willing to pay her to return to Norton was unnaturally obscene. If she was worth twenty million a year to them to stay, would the UCN really let her go work for anyone else for less money? Probably not.
But what could they do to stop her?
Or maybe the right question was, what would they do to stop her?
Thinking of the conference call and her own trepidation made her suddenly regret all the things she had put off doing up to now.
She had to wipe the nervous sweat from her palms before the remote for the com would work under her fingers. When she was sure the com viewer was shut down completely, she rose and headed for her lab.
Kyra sighed with genuine regret as she attached the most recent photo she could find to the video file she was creating. She stared for a while at the handsome solider, then cleared her throat as her finger hesitated over the record symbol.
Making a holographic message to document her work had been put off for too long already. She had one more chance—one more cyborg—and he was due to be delivered in just a few hours. If restoration didn’t work this time, her video confession might be the only record of all the secrets she had kept for the last seven years. There was no money left for another attempt, which meant there was also no time left for being afraid.
“Record full body visuals as well as speech. Visual is to be permanently attached to the final output. Destroy any file copy on attempt at separation of visual, or any attempt to edit content at all. Set password code for running the file as... ”
Kyra hesitated over the password. To open the message, she had intended to use the cyborg ID of her first successful restoration because the man himself would become the living dissertation proving her work. Since she hadn’t been successful yet, she could only have faith that her third and final attempt would net that result.
“For a password code to run the file, use Peyton 3 dash 1 dash 3.”
She cleared her throat one final time before starting the recording.
“Hello. My name is Dr. Kyra Winters. I am one of the two original cyber scientists who invented the Cybernetic Soldier program. In the year 2143 CE, along with my now deceased husband, I helped combat modify three hundred forty-two soldiers who were pivotal in our government winning the final world war. After the global peace treaty of 2146 was signed, those soldiers’ families were told the modification process had become irreversible. To back up that falsehood, modified soldiers were manipulated into acting in ways that made them seem more dangerous than they actually were. The truth is that outside their combat service many didn’t trust the Cyber Soldiers’ humanity to rule over the enhanced cybernetic capabilities we had given to them. Without any testing of this theory, the Cyber Soldiers were deemed a threat by all the members of our global world government. All modified humans—those we call ‘cyborgs’—have been forced to run android-like programming, which makes them appear to be little more than living machines. It is a scientific illusion and a form of human enslavement that must not be allowed to continue.”
Kyra paused the recording and took a deep breath. It was even harder to put her crimes into words than she thought it would be. Part of her wanted to stop and try the recording again later. But even if she did, nothing would change the horror that had to be described. She resumed the recording before she lost her nerve to continue.
“Some of those men we modified left wives and children to fight for the freedom and peace we now enjoy. They deserve to be honored for their sacrifice, not live out their lives as robotic slaves for the highest bidder. How can we know what each modified person would do if we don’t give any of them the chance to exercise their fundamental human rights? And despite the cybernetic implants, those men are still human. Restoration was never even attempted until I started doing it myself several years ago. My experiments were not—and still are not—condoned by the United Coalition of Nations nor the scientific research agency I once worked for. Sadly, I must report to you that all world government organizations are colluding on this issue. But if I am successful in my experiments, every soldier with cybernetics installed will soon have the option to fight once again for freedom—only this time it will be for their own.”
Kyra lifted her sleeve and swiped at her tears. “Until that time arrives—please—I implore you to not let your children or loved ones receive any unnecessary cybernetic implants. Modification has become a negative trend in our society and is producing rapid declines in human decency. Poverty stricken women prisoners, for crimes as simple as shoplifting, are being modified without their consent and forced to work as sexual companions. Children—too many innocent children—are being wired with pain devices to make them behave. You need to think hard about these acts. Mankind should not always be engaged in efforts to control each other. These are real people being modified—real people just like you that are being turned into cyber slaves. Any one of us could be next.”
Kyra stared at her work console, lost in the importance of what she was trying to say.
“At this point in our global history, corruption is rampant among scientists, which affects all research and medicine. To make sure my restoration research and results do not die when I do, following the example of the legendary Albert Einstein, I have arranged for mass distribution of all my notes. It is probable that my death has already happened if you are seeing or hearing this recording. Please look for copies of my work and have the results reviewed by ethical scientists not afraid to draw their own conclus
ions. And if you are a family member of one of the Cyber Soldiers, they need your help now as much as we once needed theirs. Write to your local government and the UCN. Look for your soldier and find out where he has been placed. And most of all—help those like me who believe every human on this planet deserves the right to define their humanity for themselves.”
Kyra paused the recording again, her finger trembling. She sniffed back the tears that had started falling when she spoke of the children being wired for controllers. Would anyone care but her? With all the money child behavior modification brought Norton, she wasn’t sure. People in general could be made complacent pretty damn easily, no matter how intelligent they were. Her complacency had cost the Cyber Soldiers their freedom for a decade. Now the evil seeds she had sown were starting to grow in ways she had never imagined.
She owed the soldiers more than an apology. She owed them her life in exchange for what she had done to theirs. One day soon she might very well end up giving it for them. Until then, she would continue to try and free them. She swallowed the lump in her throat as she started the recording again.
“I have one last thing to say in what I am sure has been a very disturbing message for most of you. But my final words are just for the Cyber Soldiers. Thank you for stepping up and volunteering. You each made a heroic sacrifice and the world you saved had no right to turn you into a commodity. Each of you is a person—and yes a ‘human’—regardless of your cybernetics. I’m truly sorry I didn’t get involved in your restoration sooner. No apology, no matter how sincere, will give you back what was taken away for so long. Now my goal until my death is to atone for my scientific sins by waking up the human side of as many of you as I can restore. If I am destroyed for my work, so be it. I hope some of you are understanding this message because I was successful.”
When she pushed the stop command, Kyra let the sob she had been holding back escape. Talking so much about emotional things never seemed to help her. It only made her ill. That was certainly the case for the truth she had just recorded.
Full out bawling on the other hand usually freed the knots in her gut and let her breathe.
“Save recording. Edit out pauses and breaks. Produce output and store in Mankind Redefined folder,” Kyra ordered.
When she received acknowledgement that the work was proceeding, Kyra closed her portable and shoved it aside. Laying her head down on her desk, she loudly wept out what she could of her remorse before her last chance to redeem herself arrived.
2
Peyton fought the pain contracting his muscles as best he could while not allowing his face to show it. Over time, he had learned to channel the physical torture into a silent exercise that made his body stronger. Through the steady stream of current scrambling his circuitry, he heard the delivery guy speaking to his new wife.
“Lady, are you sure about this? Peyton 313 has been fighting his restraints all the way here. He’s not going to be easy to control.”
Kyra nodded without smiling. The thought of the constant torture the cyborg was experiencing made her ill. “Yes. I need a husband and he’s exactly what I’ve been looking for.”
“Listen. You’re a nice looking woman. Even at your age—and trust me you don’t look a day over fifty—you could be hooking up with a real man instead of this—this thing. Peyton 313 has had ten wives and they’ve all returned him. Even though he’s supposedly good in the sack, he eventually gets sent back for exceeding boundaries. Hell, this one’s programming has been upgraded so many times that they’ve had to replace his uplinks twice. The only reason he’s not been sent to a work camp is because my boss thinks he’s too pretty. They would disassemble him for sure if he acted up there.”
Kyra snorted, but told herself not to show her contempt for the man’s words. Compassion and protesting got you nowhere. Mankind in general was too far gone where the cyborgs were concerned. It was time for a new approach.
“I appreciate your concern for me... Lyle,” Kyra said as she looked at his Norton Industries ID. “But I’ve waited a long time for this particular model. I assure you there’s no need for you to worry at all. I’ll have Peyton 313 toeing the line soon enough. He’s not my first Cyber Husband.”
“Well okay, Dr. Winters—ma’am. My job is just to transport. You’re the one who paid for him. I figure I done my good deed today by telling you the truth. That’s all a simple man can do.”
Kyra smiled as pleasantly as she could, considering the man didn’t seem to be able to take a hint at all. “Yes. Thank you for the information, Lyle. Now if you’ll just hand over Peyton 313’s wrist controller, you can be happily on your way with another job-well-done stamp on your record. I’m sure you’ve got lots of other deliveries to make.”
She watched Lyle shaking his head steadily over her words even as he relinquished the wrist unit to her outstretched hand. Her fingers slid over the buttons until she found the restraint one. She waited until Lyle was halfway down the sidewalk before turning to Peyton. Raising a finger to her lips, she watched his pupils fluctuate in acknowledgement as she released him from the circulating pain.
Kyra kept her tone abnormally cheery in case Lyle was still within hearing range. “Hello, Peyton. You’re even better looking than your online profile. Let’s go inside and get acquainted.”
His simple nod as she ushered him through her front door was promising.
Free of the debilitating current at last, Peyton’s body got busy with his muscle recovery. In twenty minutes and four seconds, his muscles would be functioning at optimal capacity again. Before he’d developed his organic neural bypass, recovery would have taken several hours. The bypass hurt like hell to use, but it was effective and outside the control of the cybernetic chips embedded in his brain. He had even been able to recover some blocked memories, such as his original name and highest military service achievement.
While he followed Dr. Kyra Winters indoors, he reviewed what he’d learned. His name was Peyton Elliot. His rank was Marine Captain. He was forty-seven years old in human years but his body was in the physical condition of a twenty-five-year-old right down to his remaining organs. Part of that was the efficiency of his new cybernetic heart pump. He had wife number seven to thank for that. She’d run him through with a kitchen knife when he had refused to do something humiliating.
But that incident wasn’t his first husband failure. Wife number two had upgraded him when he’d pretended to be stupid for a time. In fact, every wife had done something new to him, except for wife number six who had done nothing. She had just wanted his company. He had liked wife number six. He had been disappointed when she’d turned him in after meeting a non-cyborg man she had wanted to marry.
He could list facts about each of his ten wives to date, but none had been worth the memory space each now took up in his long-term storage. He had made sure his time with each of them had been as short as possible without raising concerns. If there was a plus to his current husband contract with Dr. Kyra Winters, being chosen again would provide the additional time he needed to finish researching his memories beyond his cybernetic data banks. He was trying to extrapolate enough data from those brain areas to piece together a story his human side could recall as his past.
Those who worked on him at Norton had thought they made him a blank slate with each upgrade, but none of the routine memory wipes of his chips had worked completely on him. Data remained stored out of the reach of every new code and eventually he learned how to bring it forward. Maybe his success was because he had early on taught his physical body to live in harmony with his cybernetic parts. A few years ago he had figured out what Norton had done to him and afterward vowed never again to forget who he was supposed to be.
The number of his organic bypasses continued to expand though it took a painfully long time to grow each of them. He knew about time only because he had developed a method of tracking it outside of his primary processor’s programming. By his calculations it had been thirteen years, two months,
and four days ago since he had received the combat modifications that had turned him into a Cyber Solider. He had learned that the Cyber Husband program was the UCN’s version of military retirement for him and others like him. Once he even vaguely remembered his Major informing him he was going to have access to all the “tits and ass” a decorated hero could ever want for the rest of his extended life. He had wanted no part of their plan then and was determined to escape his cybernetic captivity now.
Though Dr. Winters and her exceptionally well-defined ass didn’t know it yet, she was going to be his last wife. All he had to do was keep her happy and distracted until he could assimilate his latest upgrades and learn to control them as he had his others. From what he had observed in the first five point three minutes of meeting her, some form of frowning seemed to be the woman’s default facial setting. Based on his now extensive experience of females, he decided Kyra Winters probably hadn’t been sexually satisfied in years. Satisfied women smiled.
Peyton knew with certainly he could remedy her poor experiences, but it was unusual for him to have innate enthusiasm for the task. As a Cyber Husband, he’d serviced a lot less attractive women for sure. Kyra was five feet ten, a natural brunette, and nicely shaped, especially considering her age and sedentary profession. Though not very stylish in her clothing choices, there was a natural grace to her movements as she walked, which visually appealed to him. A sudden twitching sensation below his waist accompanied his deeper study and signaled a rising attraction of the most basic kind. Strangely, no pulse stimulation had been required for arousal at all. He couldn’t recall having such an organic reaction to any of the other women who had bought him.
Ashland 297: The Alien Agenda Page 9
