by Jake Bible
“If you aren’t lazaroti, then what are you?” Clay asked.
“I consider us manufactured immortals,” Morley said and frowned. “I am still searching for a better term, yet even after all these many years, I have not thought of one.”
“Manufactured immortals?” Clay asked. “You can’t die?”
“Of course we can die!” Morley exclaimed. “You nearly witnessed that with Paige! If you were to put a bullet in my brain right now, I would fall down as dead as any other person! A knife to the belly, albeit a slow death, would be just as effective!”
“Okay, okay, calm the hell down,” Clay said, holding up his hands as Morley continued to get wound up. “I get the picture. You can be killed. But somehow you can’t die, either. That’s fair to say, ain’t it?”
“Yes, it is fair to say,” Morley said. “With science’s help.”
He reached out and tapped his finger against a long set of small drawers that sat on the back of the work table.
“Let’s see, let’s see, I have one here,” Morley said absently as he pulled open a couple drawers, inspected their contents, then settled on a last one. “Ah, here we are.”
He held up a small microchip, no bigger than the size of a pinky fingernail.
“The integrated consciousness transfer chip,” Morley announced.
“Reaper chip,” Clay whispered before he could stop himself.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Morley asked.
Clay stiffened, but kept his face passive. As passive as he could considering what he was looking at.
“You invented that?” Clay asked casually.
“I, what?” Morley replied. “Oh, no, not me. This is ancient technology. Centuries old. From the first rebuild of society. I believe, if my research is correct, they called it a Death chip. I have no idea why.”
Morley eyed him very carefully then smiled.
“Mr. MacAulay? Have you ever seen a chip like this?” he asked.
“What? No,” Clay replied.
“Mr. MacAulay, I may look old, which I am, but I can assure you that my hearing is top notch,” Morley said. “I heard what you whispered.”
“I didn’t whisper anything,” Clay replied.
“Oh, but you did, Mr. MacAulay,” Morley said, and his smile widened. “The Reaper chip. That is exactly what this is called. I had a distinct feeling you would know that. Especially after discovering the forbidden alloy in your battle mech’s components. You have a backstory I’d very much like to hear.”
“No backstory,” Clay said. “Just a guy with a mech wandering the open land.”
“That is a shame,” Morley said. “I thought you would be more forthcoming. I know exactly what this chip is and what it does—”
“Apparently not,” Clay interrupted, “or you wouldn’t be telling me you’re immortal. Manufactured or not,” Clay nodded at the microchip Morley still held, “that is a ticking time bomb. When it goes off, it will fry your brainpan.”
“Not this one, Mr. MacAulay,” Morley said. “Nor the ones inserted inside my skull or Paige’s skull. Ours are not like the millions that were created to control the population those dozens of centuries ago.”
Clay didn’t respond. He wanted to. There were so many things he could say, but he knew if he opened his mouth things would not go well for either of them.
“Do you know of which Reaper chips I am referring to?” Morley asked. Clay remained quiet. “I believe you do. I believe that somewhere in your education you have been told all about them. I believe that your ‘wanderings,’ as you call them, are connected with chips like these. These specific chips that do not fry their hosts’ brains, but simply allow for the perfect cerebral integration between pilot and mech. I believe you have one implanted in your skull right now.”
Clay’s eyes widened then he smiled. A smile that matched Morley’s, causing the old man’s to slowly fade from his face.
“What?” Morley asked, looking offended. “What are you smiling about?”
“I thought you knew something. You know nothing, Barnes,” Clay said and shook his head. He stood up from the stool and looked at the way out of the room. “I want to see Paige.”
“I do not think that is a good idea,” Morley said.
“I do,” Clay said.
“And if I refuse?” Morley asked. “She is my daughter, Mr. MacAulay. I have the right to refuse you.”
“I’m going to see Paige,” Clay said. “I want to see what you are doing.”
“I do not think that a good idea,” Morley said. “You will not like what you see.”
“I figured,” Clay said. He glared at Morley. “But I have to see with my own eyes.”
“Yes, I suppose you do,” Morley sighed.
He placed the microchip back in the drawer and stood up. His bones cracked and he chuckled to himself.
“Immortality does not come without a price,” Morley said. “One day, I will pay that price, but not today.”
He reached out to clap Clay on the shoulder then withdrew his hand at the look Clay gave him.
“Unfortunately, today my daughter pays the price,” Morley said. “It is too soon, but that is why we have science.”
Twenty-Six
Surprisingly, the room did not stink of rotted meat or of blood. Clay thought it should, considering the many more vats of bloody liquid and body parts that lined the room’s walls. Yet there was an almost clean smell to the space. Ozone and oxygen like when you stood next to a huge waterfall and the air was infused with the scent of Nature’s power.
But Clay did not dwell on scents. He did not dwell on the vats that lined the walls. He did not dwell on memories of waterfalls seen long ago before he was forced to enter the territories of the MexiCalis and leave the beauty of the Brazilian Empire behind.
Not that he missed the Brazilian Empire. The brutality trumped the beauty, easily.
Paige lay on a long metal table. Or most of her did. Some of her.
“Sweet hell, what have you done to her?” Clay gasped.
“I have done nothing to her,” Morley said, pushing past Clay to get to the table. “This is what happens when the flesh is no longer viable. It must be replaced.”
Paige’s torso, with only head and left arm attached, lay there, still as a fallen statue. A thousand wires were connected to her naked skin and Clay wanted to look away, not out of squeamishness for her nudity, but because the sight was too familiar. He’d seen such horrors as a child, although they were far from scientific. Unless one considered never ending torture a science. Clay figured some did.
“Replaced?” Clay asked, catching up to Morley’s words. “With the parts in the other room?”
“Components,” Morley corrected. “They are simply components. See these vats? I keep a fresh stock on hand for myself and for Paige. These vats are Paige’s. I know each component like the back of my hand.” He paused and looked at the backs of both hands then sighed. “That is until I must obtain new hands. That is the terrifying part of my existence, Mr. MacAulay. All that learned muscle memory gone. I must begin again each and every time.”
“That’s the terrifying part?” Clay laughed. It was a sick, disturbed laugh. “You may want to work on your definition of terrifying.”
“I have lived long enough to not be affected by what you must consider horrors here before you,” Morley said. “That feeling was lost so many, many decades ago.”
Clay couldn’t bring himself to approach the dismantled body before him. He wanted to. He wanted to get closer and see her chest rise so he could know she was a living, breathing person, but Clay knew that if he did approach her, it would only make the scene worse. His mind could not admit that it was Paige he was seeing.
So, Clay turned and began to walk the perimeter of the room. He approached a vat instead, leaning over to peer inside the opaque liquid that was the color, but not quite the consistency of blood. A thousand more wires protruded from the back of the tank, the same kind of wires
that were hooked into Paige.
“Please do not touch,” Morley said as he worked at some task over Paige’s body. Clay did not look close enough to see what the task was. He couldn’t do that. Not yet.
“What am I not touching?” Clay asked. “An arm? A leg? A whole new head?”
“Head? Oh, my, no,” Morley said. “That would be over there.”
Clay started at the admittance and looked up. He snapped around and looked at Morley who was pointing to an upright tank on the far wall. Inside was a woman’s head. It looked nothing like Paige. The skin was pale, the hair was red. Clay couldn’t see the color of the head’s eyes, but he was certain they wouldn’t be golden like Paige’s.
“You gotta be joking,” Clay said quietly as he left the vat and walked across the room to the tank with the head. “You’re pulling my leg.”
“If I was, you’d need to be next to the vat in the corner,” Morley said and chuckled. “That’s where the legs are.”
Clay whirled around to stare at him. The old man was grinning from ear to ear. The grin slowly faded, and he returned his attention to his work on Paige’s torso.
“I apologize,” Morley said. “I forget that this does not seem normal to you. Again, I have been dealing with this process for so long that it is all second nature to me.”
“Not much nature here,” Clay said and continued his approach to the head in the tank.
Unlike the vats that lined the walls, the tank was vertical, not horizontal. Also, unlike the others, the liquid was clear. Or mostly clear. Translucent, at least, and not a bloody opaque like the vats.
Clay was less than half a meter away when the eyes popped open. They were bright green and widened with the universal look of complete shock and terror. Then the mouth opened in a soundless scream. There was no body attached to the head, so no lungs to produce bubbles. Clay thought how horrible it was to scream, but make no sound, make no bubbles.
“What the unholy hell?” Clay gasped as he took a few steps backwards. “This head is alive.”
“All of the components are alive, Mr. MacAulay,” Morley said. “If I let them die, then they would be useless to me and my daughter. We are not ghouls, we are not lazaroti. I thought I explained this to you. To maintain our lives, we must maintain life in the components that will become us.”
Clay spun about and stared at the old man. He stared at Paige’s torso. He closed his eyes for ten long seconds, counting out each one until his heartbeat was at a manageable rate. Two deep breaths, another ten count, and he was able to open his eyes.
“I’m leaving,” Clay said.
“Oh, but Mr. MacAulay, we have so much to discuss,” Morley said. “I must learn what knowledge you have of the Reaper chips. Your experience and expertise are invaluable to myself and my daughter.” He tapped his temple with a blood-smeared finger and Clay winced. “What you have up here could be the key to how I avoid having to constantly procure new components and perform these horrific assemblies.”
“Yeah, I don’t think…” Clay muttered. “Procure components? From where? How do you procure components?”
“That is a very good question,” Morley sighed. “I must say it is not easy. Not easy at all. It takes careful planning and is very, very dangerous.”
“Is that why the Perdition Plains folks have it out for you?” Clay asked.
“What? Oh, heavens no!” Morley exclaimed. “I could no more use components from one of those things than I could from a rotted corpse. They are not compatible. Not in the least. No, no, we have to look much farther than that disgusting little town.”
“Where then?” Clay asked. “What towns are close?”
“In the Midlands? None worthy of our attention,” Morley said. “The level of malnutrition and disease that runs rampant across these plains is just staggering. The people that inhabit the Midlands are barely more than animals. Animals that spread their pestilence from horrid settlement to horrid settlement. No, Mr. MacAulay, I would never defile mine or my daughter’s minds with such filth.”
“Then where?” Clay asked. His voice had lost its shock and was turning to cold steel. He had an idea from where.
“I am sure you have guessed already,” Morley said. “Where else would we be able to fetch such fine components?”
“Sweet hell,” Clay said. “That’s why the NorthAm rollers chased us away from the border before we could even talk to them. You’ve been crossing into their territory and stealing people. Stealing bodies to bring back here in order to mutilate them for your own selfish needs.”
“They are not mutilated,” Morley replied, offended. “I am a craftsman and scientist of the utmost caliber, Mr. MacAulay. I work with precision when handling flesh.”
“You’re a sick fuck,” Clay said. He pointed at Paige. “You have messed her up. If you are really her father, which I have no idea if that is true or not, then you’d let her die a natural death and have some peace.”
“Is there peace in death?” Morley asked, more to himself than to Clay. “I would hope so, but until I can be for certain then we will continue on our path.”
“You keep saying we,” Clay said. “Don’t you mean you? You’re the monster, not her. You have done this to her!”
“Me?” Morley asked, even more offended than before. “Mr. MacAulay, I am proficient in the piloting of my flesh mechs, but I am nowhere near the skill of my Paige. I would blunder and stumble my way across the NorthAm border and be detected almost instantly. Paige is the one with the skill to stealthily move across and procure what is needed.”
“You’re shitting me,” Clay said. “Paige? She kidnaps people and brings them back to you? Bullshit.”
“Not bullshit,” Morley said. “Look, now you have me so upset I am sounding like you. Oh, how I abhor foul language. We have so many words to choose from yet people such as yourself continue to use the most base of them.”
“I use what fits the situation,” Clay said. “Bullshit is a kindness, considering.”
Morley stopped his work and put his bloody hands on his hips. They stained the last couple of patches of semi-clean material on his apron. He looked Clay up and down then rolled his eyes.
“Well, Mr. MacAulay? Are you leaving or are you staying? Please decide soon so I may return to my work,” Morley said. “You are welcome to stay, but I will require you keep your judgment to yourself and swear that you will not interfere with what I am doing here. Or you may leave immediately and once again make your way alone across the continent. Whatever you choose, I need an answer now.”
“I’ll be leaving,” Clay said. “I’m taking my mech and heading to the Vernacht for repairs. And I won’t be alone. Gibbons will be with me.”
“Yes, Gibbons,” Morley said. “I wish you luck in transferring his AI consciousness back into your battle mech’s matrix. I would help, but as I have stated, I am busy. I wish you luck on your travels, as well. Good day.”
Morley returned to Paige’s torso as if Clay was no longer standing in the room. In seconds, he was whistling an old song that asked the question of who wanted to live forever.
Clay said nothing as he hurried from the room. He stumbled his way down the passage and burst into the main cavern. Gibbons was carrying a bag in each hand and had several water skins draped over his shoulders.
“Uh oh,” he said. “I know that face and that is the we are getting the hell out of here as fast as we can face. What happened?”
“Just get in the mech,” Clay said.
“How about you climb up there and lower a hand, pal?” Gibbons said. “I have my arms full, if you haven’t noticed.”
“Right,” Clay said.
He climbed the mech faster than he had ever climbed it. Once in the cockpit, he hesitated, but only for a moment. The intestine cables that snaked out of the pilot’s seat gave him pause, but he didn’t have time to disconnect them and he wasn’t sure what that would do to the mech. The best thing was to leave them be and take them apart once he kne
w they had the right parts from the Vernacht to make the mech fully metal again.
Clay MacAulay was done with flesh mechs, partially flesh mechs, and goddamn tweeners. He wanted the hell out of the Midlands and fast.
He powered the mech up and lowered a hand to Gibbons.
“Get on and get in,” Clay said. “We are out of this madhouse.”
“Roger that,” Gibbons called up to him.
Clay had the mech moving and heading from the cavern before Gibbons was fully in the cockpit and strapped into a jumpseat.
“That bad?” Gibbons asked.
“We’ll talk on the way,” Clay said. “Right now, we get our asses gone from here.”
Twenty-Seven
“They are what?” Gibbons exclaimed. Or exclaimed as much as his monotone voice would allow. “He said what?”
“I don’t know what they are,” Clay replied. “But they aren’t human no matter what that old madman says.”
“Raiding NorthAm border villages for body parts?” Gibbons said. “What the holy hell? We’ve seen some messed up things, but this is close to the top.”
“I wouldn’t put it all the way to the top,” Clay said, “but, yeah, it sure is damn close.”
“Good thing we have two sets of hands now,” Gibbons said. “We should be able to get the repairs done to the mech faster and be on our way. The question is which way.”
“Not towards NorthAm,” Clay said. “The Barneses burned that bridge for us. No mech will cross that border for a long while.” He furrowed his brow. “Mechs…”
“What was that?” Gibbons asked.
“Mechs,” Clay repeated. “One of the last things Barnes said was that he was proficient with his flesh mechs. Mechs. Plural. Do you think he has more than one of those things?”
“If he does, I didn’t see it,” Gibbons said. “All I saw was the one mech. The Prometheus.”
“Which he repaired pretty damn fast after that fight with Mr. Bell,” Clay said.
