by B. Wulf
The interviews got less awkward each time. I think people started to get used to the idea of me and see me less as a machine and more as a human. The problem was, that as time went on, I started to see myself less as a human and increasingly more as a machine. But hey, I was a celebrity now. Who can complain about fame?
***
One white morning, while I was moping around in my room, watching cartoons, Sasha arrived.
“Hello Fletcher.”
He was like my reflection except less embellished. His form looked sullen and drawn. It's as if age was superimposed from his mind onto his metallic features.
“Why?” I should have returned his greeting. Now I was just being rude. “You didn’t have to become a synthetic as well.”
“I was growing old... To continue with my work I had to. The investors have all undergone the integration. Stuart has as well. There are now sixteen synthetics in existence.”
“Stuart? I thought he might have changed his mind.”
Sasha halted his speech. He still sounded old. Probably for my benefit.
“Yes, Stuart as well. Something has happened.”
“What?” I was the master of the monosyllabic sentences today.
“One of the investors, Samara, did not take the integration too well. She has become... Dangerous. There are reports of killings. I should never have let them… I should have installed a failsafe or…”
“What can we do?” I asked, interrupting his guilt-ridden ramblings.
Quite frankly I had expected this. I already felt like I was in the middle of a horror movie so this was a logical development.
“We...”
“You could tell Kevin... The secretary of Homeland Security... He could get her.”
“No,” said Sasha firmly. He sat down on the couch beside me. “They do not know what they are up against. One of us must go. Before she does something terrible. Frederick offered, but I do not think it wise after what happened in Siberia. He has still not fully recovered.”
Something terrible? Hadn’t we already passed that stage?
“I'll go. Stuart might wanna come along too.” I still viewed Sasha as an old Grandpa sipping iced tea. He wasn't going after some mental cyborg chick. “It could be a nice little vacation.”
Sasha looked down. I was starting to notice how the lack of facial expressions affected communication. He could be crying for all I knew.
“She must be stopped soon. CANA won’t survive this. If the government gets evidence of such results they may forcefully terminate the project. You must keep this confidential. It is important that the public does not view synthetics as dangerous.”
I nodded. Was I an assassin now? Cool. Or crap. I didn’t know.
Sasha rose gingerly, as if age still plagued his joints.
“And Fletcher?” he said.
“Yeah?”
“Stuart is in his room. You might want to go get reacquainted.
***
After Sasha had left, I headed over to Stuart’s room. With great concentration I knocked gently on the door.
“Stuart?” I called, “It’s me Fletcher. How you been man?”
There was no reply.
“Okay,” I said mainly to myself, “I’m coming in Stuart.”
I eased the door open and found myself in an empty room. It was silent except for the noise of running water coming from the bathroom.
“Stuart?” I said again as I opened the bathroom door.
“Hi Fletcher.”
“What the hell are you doing?” I asked.
There sat Stuart, now a seven-foot synthetic, holding his head in his hands while sitting on the toilet.
“The hell man,” I said, “What are you doing?”
“I just got nostalgic,” he said standing up, “It’s funny aye. There is so much stuff we can do now, but there is also so much stuff we can’t do.”
I laughed as we left the bathroom.
“So how have you been Stuart?”
I tried to sit on his bed but it buckled so I just sat on the floor.
“Sorry about that,” I said.
“All good,” said Stuart sitting on the floor opposite me, “I haven’t slept since I was integrated anyway.”
“Neither,” I said, “So how have you been?”
Stuart didn’t bother to answer my question and instead said, “It’s good to see you Staggers.”
“It’s good to see you too.”
“I still dream, you know,” he said.
“I thought you said you haven’t slept?”
“I know.” He looked out the window. “I haven’t slept.”
We lapsed into silence.
“I’m sorry about what happened Staggers. It hurt us all.”
I nodded.
“How you liking the new body?”
“Needs wings,” said Stuart.
“Sasha needs a favour from us.”
Stuart started tapping the floor.
“Yeah, I know,” he said.
“So are you in?”
Stuart turned his head to me.
“It’s paying my debt right? All this is paying my debt?”
“I don’t know Stuart.”
“It is Fletcher,” said Stuart getting to his feet. “This is important. CANA is important. We have to protect it.”
I got to my feet as well.
“Yes,” I said, “We do.”
***
Frederick tagged along for the jet ride over to Dubai, where apparently Samara was holed up in a high-rise apartment. Stuart was to meet us there. He had taken another jet, because apparently too many synthetics onboard an aircraft might screw with the navigation instruments.
“Freddy, my man,” I said, sauntering down the aisle, limp free. Yes, limp free. It was glorious.
Frederick did not even notice me. He just continued watching the TV. CANA was on. Word was getting around. No one knew about Frederick, Sasha, Stuart or the Investors, but everyone knew about me. I was a celebrity. I looked amazing on screen. Maybe I could make a career of it, after all this CANA stuff settled down.
“Thanks again,” I said, sitting across the aisle. He looked like he needed space.
I was riding a wave of pretentious pomposity. It felt good to be the envy of seven billion people.
I still didn't get what Sasha was thinking when he integrated the investors. He gave the most power hungry men and woman on earth more power. I guess it's just business. He needed capital and those were the terms. You can’t mix morality with business anyhow. That’s bad business. I did wonder when his dream of a better tomorrow would filter down to the rest of humanity. As always the individual tends to get lost in the big picture. That is, unless that individual is a tyrant painting a self-portrait. Then he is the big picture, but Sasha was no tyrant. He was an old man.
I felt like an old man.
***
We touched down at a deserted airstrip just outside the city limits. Sand swept across the tarmac, while the high sun scorched the landscape. A lone BMW was waiting. It looked more like a tank then a road car.
“Staggers!”
I saw Stuart stomping towards me. We were practically twins.
“You’re looking good bro,” he said.
“You too. How was the flight?”
“Yeah good good.”
We stood before each other. It was pretty awkward.
He fell in beside me when I started walking towards the car. Frederick was staying with the plane.
“Well let’s do this Staggers.” He patted me on the back.
I went flying forward and landed facedown on the tarmac.
“That’s hilarious,” said Stuart finally helping me up after going through all the motions of laughter that did not use your face. “I’m a beast.”
I shrugged, “You better not have scuffed my bodywork.”
“Don’t worry Staggers, I’ll shout you a trip to the panel beaters when we get back to the states.”
�
�You all good with driving?” I asked, sitting down in the passenger seat.
“Yeah Staggers.”
He scrambled in and sat silently with both hands on the wheel.
“What happens if the cops pull us up?” he said finally.
“Just tell them we are going to a costume party.”
“What are we dressed as?”
“Toy soldiers? Hell, I dunno. It’s not like they are going to argue with us.”
***
So the plan was, Stuart waited in the car in some deserted alley, while I went up with a Desert Eagle with specially tipped ammunition and either reasoned with her or shot her in the face. I was planning to tilt the gun to the side gangster style and to say something slick and cool.
“Why doesn’t Sasha send some professionals to do this? Do the job properly,” said Stuart as I exited the car.
“I think this is past the point of being professional.”
I swear I'm in the wrong body.
Well technically it isn’t my body so therefore I must be in the wrong body.
As I rode the lift to the seventeenth floor, my palms were not sweaty, my mouth was not dry and the hairs on my neck did not stand on end. I had being repeating Sasha's mantra over and over in my head; 'Virtue is selfish when it hurts the innocent.' I don't want to be selfish.
Actually, honestly I don't mind being selfish. Why was I doing this? I could take the moral high ground and walk away. Killing is wrong. My mum told me that when my friend wanted to shoot our cat with a twenty-two. I could walk away. CANA would be shut down and humanity would continue to wallow around in all this filth we call reality. But these aren't my dreams, they’re Sasha's. He wants peace and perfection. I want... It doesn’t matter what I want anymore.
The lift door slid open. I stepped tentatively into the hallway.
“Drop the gun.”
Damn. That didn't take long. I couldn't see the speaker but I gently lowered my gun and put it on the floor. I wasn't scared. I was just being cautious.
“Poor little thing.”
Okay that was very patronizing. I am a seven-foot tall, titanium alloy god. Not a poor little thing.
“So you must be Fletcher? The poster boy?”
I don’t know whether boy was the most appropriate term here.
She descended a small flight of stairs at the opposite end of the hallway. Her body was all curves and sensuous lines. Whoever designed it must've been a creepy old feller. Most likely she requested it. She kind of reminded me of a mannequin. The only difference was that she could probably tear me limb from limb. She was unarmed so I retrieved my gun. I didn't really know why I dropped it. I'm not a consistently logical kind of guy.
“Yes,” I said, “And you must be Samara?”
“Correct.” She motioned to the gun in my hand. “Can we please talk like regular people and not like Americans?”
She was a bit less loopy than I had been anticipating. I almost laughed but was unsure what would happen if I did. I was steadily losing the ability to laugh. I could make the noises, but without the facial expressions it felt too unnatural.
The cadence of her voice was short shifted; aggressive but engaging. I put the gun down. I guess I finally realized I didn't actually want to kill her. I didn’t want to kill anyone to be honest and she seemed all good. It was probably just a misunderstanding.
“Thank you Fletcher.” I imagined she would have smiled if she could. “Should we go sit down and talk?”
“Sure.”
“My apartment's just down the hall, if you would follow me.”
***
“I would offer refreshments,” she said as she ushered me inside, “But I somehow don’t think that’s appropriate.”
More humor. Psychopaths don’t use humor… Do they?
Samara's apartment was meticulous. We sat in the living room with the sprawling city of Dubai peeking in through a massive window, which spanned an entire face. A painting of two women in a dingy, fishing in what looked like Scotland, hung to my left. Just between a potted fern and a man slumped on a chair. His neck hung unnaturally to the side, like he’d had a few too many. He was blue with a black and yellow collar. My back grew straight and in shock I smashed a decorative plate and sent the table it sat on flying across the room. I was stronger than I thought. I looked at the corpse, then at Samara; she was gauging my reaction. I was tripping out. I looked at the corpse again.
“God.”
“Yes Fletcher?”
I did not realize I had spoken. The corpse was pleading with me, its glassy eyes entrancing me.
“Why?” I forced the word out.
Samara appeared to not comprehend what all the fuss was about. It was as if the corpse were a tabletop ornament.
“Oh.” She said it silkily. “Does dear Mister Pinkerton frighten you?”
She made him sound like a pet. I was desperately trying to process the situation.
“God.”
“No darling. That is Steve Pinkerton. He used to be my lawyer. He was a dreadfully dull fellow.”
“Did you do this?”
“Of course I did. He was past the point of usefulness so he had to be put down. He was threatening to blackmail me.”
I stood, fast, and started checking for exits.
“Fletcher dearest, please don't leave.”
“You... You murdered him.” Samara's jet black eyes devoured me. She was like a siren; her decay masked with beauty.
“No, no,” she said standing and taking a step towards me, “Is it really murder or is it shooting chimps? Besides Fletcher, didn’t you come to murder me?”
“We are still human!” I stepped back, “And no, I don’t want to kill you.”
“Fletcher, Fletcher, you poor child. We are Synthetics not humans. You must grasp the way of this world. Monkeys created humans and humans in turn created angels. There is nothing human about us. We are glorious.” She paused and motioned towards Mister Pinkerton. “They are an embarrassing reminder of what we strived so hard to transcend. Weakness, lust, sickness... Death.” She took a step towards me. “They are the embodiment of our past failures.”
“I am still human.” I said it quietly. I didn't quite believe it but I wanted to. God I wanted to. She was standing directly opposite me now.
“I beg you to reconsider Fletcher.”
“No, we should help them.”
“Then you leave me no choice.”
“You want this don't you.”
“Want what?”
“To kill me, to dominate, to rule. Power; it always comes down to power. You are more human than you could imagine. You are just in a shinier body. You use pretty rhetoric to justify your actions but you are really driven by your emotions. You've been done before.”
Samara stood motionless. I thought she was going to calm down. I was wrong.
A screech pierced the air as she braced her legs and punched me in the stomach. I was sent flying across the room into the wall. It cracked under the impact. I felt no pain but I was aware of the deterioration of my structural integrity. I had to fight back.
I rose from a dusting of debris just in time to deflect a charge from Samara.
“Power is all we have boy! A well placed blow defeats any argument.”
She kicked out at my groin. It was an odd choice of target. I used my knee to smash her leg away, putting her off balance.
As she spun sideways she hissed mockingly, “Tell me Fletcher, what other noble cause should we pledge ourselves to?”
I stalked towards her readying myself to smack her in the face. I was already savoring the moment.
“We have power,” I said, my right fist connecting with her raised arm, “So we can help.” My left fist struck her in the temple, felling her.
“Define good,” She said rising. I backed off. “Are you good Fletcher? You were sent to murder me.”
I couldn't reply. The heat of the moment didn't allow for clear thought.
“You are all
the same,” she accused, pointing her finger at me. “You champion petty ideals based on fluffy emotions. There is no substance, no reason to your thinking.”
“We have to help people...”
“Why? Do they deserve it? Did they earn it? Are they even worth a second look?”
“Because...” I didn't know what to say.
“Fletcher, you are trapped in your outdated system of morality. The morality of the universe is that the strong prosper and the weak die. It is simplistic and right. Your notions of right are just random collection of charges in your brain.”
I felt insulted. Actually I just felt confused and angry. I decided to take it out on Samara.
I charged. She tried to step aside but I grabbed her arm and dragged her along with me. Planting my feet I swung her towards the massive window. It shattered into crystal rain and she fell. I heard her screaming my name on the way down.
We may be immortal but we are not invincible.
Checking myself I peered over the precipice to see Samara. She was still moving but didn’t seem to be able to get up.
I started out of the apartment; picked up the gun I had discarded and entered the elevator.
Chapter 15
Tinny jazz permeated the elevator, making me feel like I was in a twisted remake of The Godfather. There was a mirror in the elevator; it scared me. I think I was developing a fear of mirrors. That said, I couldn't stop staring at my reflection.
Before I reached the ground floor the elevator halted on the seventh story. A little old man with a zimmer frame was inching his way towards the elevator. He started jabbering at me, in whatever language the locals’ spoke, as the doors started closing before him.
I put out my arm to hold the elevator as he soldiered on. When he was finally in, he tipped his plaid hat at me and offered up a smoke. I politely declined.
I realized I had stuffed up. Samara was out in the street now so finishing her off would be very public. I guess I would just have to hope that no one in Dubai was handy with a video camera.
It was nice in the elevator, just the grandpa and me. I could have stayed there forever but the doors opened and reality beckoned.
