Well, even though digital life rocks, peeps still wanna breathe, be alive, feel the Earth beneath their feet. And, let’s face it, to fuck again.
Andron nods in agreement, and takes a large swallow.
Trouble is, there’s only so many the biospheres can support — millions instead of billions in virtual form. And so there’s a lottery where winners win the right to be born again.
“Okay, wait a minute. I think I know enough to know a person can’t be changed into electricity, or binary code, that’s impossible. Who are hu anyway? Some pimple prodigy twerp on the Internet fucking with my head?”
Ha-ha, I like that one. I know it’s hard to believe, but you will. But it isn’t impossible. Your planet hasn’t invented Quadra Code yet, but it’s not far off.
“Okay, even if that’s true, how can hu go from your Quatra Code or whatever to being a person? No way that’s possible.”
Possible.
What’s needed is an in-vitro manipulation of DNA dude to make the target embryo possess the same brain, genetically speaking, as the transferor. Then it’s a simple exercise of downloading memories later into that brain using something like a MRI. So it’s possible for someone’s brain and mind to be put into the body of another. Cloning the same person is even easier.
There’s one important limitation. A male, even in virtual form, and no matter how girly or whether homo or straight, cannot be inserted into a female host because of the root difference in DNA coding. Everything gets fucked up, the host DNA reverts, and the person being transferred sucks on Final Extinction’s tit.
“Duly noted…burrrp…final extin-shun. Wait, if someone can be kept in digital form, couldn’t they just keep a copy of themselves around…burrrp…in case of death?”
Good question dude. But, the rule about two objects not occupying the same space at the same time applies, so that a person must transfer over to virtual form while he or she is still alive. Once a person goes from virtual to physical, the Quadra Code corrupts and can’t be used again.
“Sssorry, but if what hu say is true, and I still think you’re a pimply kid on the Internet. If hu left your planet, hu risked Final Extin-shun on the off chance that your laser beam might find another planet such as ours with the tech to not only get your laser beam but also to get you out of your beam. Weren’t hu sent basically on a kamaka…suicide mission?”
Cygnus hesitates.
I guess it would appear that way, dude. But, I was bored and willing to take the risk. The maximum wait time on our planet for re-incorporation is a hundred and fifty years, unless you’re lucky with the lottery. And I was willing to take a chance to be born into a living world outside a Biosphere for a change.
“What do hu mean by living again in our world? We don’t have this stuff yet, Mr. …Sssickness.”
You do with my help, dude. I want to do this without governments or military. I’ll reveal myself in time. If I do now, they’ll likely try and stop me, thinking I might be spearheading an alien invasion.
“Aren’t hu?”
Ha-ha, well perhaps in a limited way. But the invasion consists of little ol’ me. By the time I could get word back to Earth and help set things up for transportation, your planet will be no better off than ours so there wouldn’t be any point to it because of…
“No…I get it…don’t say it…fuckitzation right?…It’s time for bed….It’s 1:30.”
Of course, by all means, dude. Drinking used to flatten me out, too.
Andron thinks about turning off his computer, but realizes it won’t make a difference.
Before dozing off he isn’t sure if he’s dealing with a pimply-faced genius, an NSS spook or a being from another planet. Either way, he’s fucked. The room spins. He should have eaten something.
He races to his bedroom bathroom and sticks his head in the toilet.
And pukes into the fuckedization of it all.
Chapter 12:
Cygnus and Andron Make a Helmet
Where have you been, dude?
Cygnus the talking computer. His life was shitty before. Now it’s a sitcom.
There should be a laugh track.
“I stopped for some takeout on the way home, why?”
That fuckin’ smoke detector of yours has been driving me nuts all day.
“Can’t you just go back to your data center?”
It’s complicated.
The alarm sounds.
BEEP-BEEP
AVERTISSEMENT
BATTERIE FAIBLE
See what I mean?
“Hang on.”
Andron returns with his screwdriver and changes the batteries.
“There…the appliances in my home can once again live in harmony.”
He sits in front of his talking computer with his Chinese food.
So…dude…how was your day?
“Okay, I guess. Closed that property deal. How was yours?”
It was going great until that French bitch started talking.
Andron’s impressed by how the Internet twerp/mind-fucker is staying in character. He plans to ask open-ended questions. Let the imposter talk himself into a hole and then go over the contradictions.
Lawyer v. Talking Computer.
Can the laughter.
“So you were talking about history, Cyg?”
Andron’s chewing on some noodles.
Yeah, so your planet, Kelvin 429xcj, was thought to be a bit bigger and a bit further from its sun. That would have made a difference, but it isn’t the case. Same gravity, same sun, same elements. Same evolutionary ingredients, same soup. Our species are compatible. We could have an interplanetary orgy.
“You bring the Earth girls; I’ll bring the beer.”
Andron returns with a beer to wash down his Chinese food.
“So Earth and Terra are the same…or were the same?”
Almost. Seems like there are the same animals and plants here that used to be on Earth. We also had the pyramids, the Roman Empire, the Crusades, the dynasties, revolutions, wars, Nazis, beer, Chinese food and fucked up smoke detectors.
Andron’s working on his deep-fried shrimp now, chasing it down with beer.
Our histories have much the same winners and losers, sinners and saints, celebrities and nobodies, clever fellows and dumb shits.
“Are you reading that?”
What?
“It sounds like you’re reading from a script.”
I’m for real, dude. I keep telling you.
“Okay, so what you’re saying is our future is your past, right?”
According to Blitherman.
“Then you should be able to show me our future.”
Andron thinks he has him.
Not without upgrades.
“What kind of upgrades?”
Andron’s working on his rice now.
Tech stuff. I can try a few things with your primitive shit, but this crap-assed computer of yours has to go.
“Sorry, I guess computers were never my thing. I just bought this one. What else do I need?”
Let’s start with these.
Andron’s printer rattles awake. Andron uses the time to throw out the takeout box, run the sink, change into his sweats and grab another beer. There are several pages waiting for him when he returns. Andron cracks open his beer and skims.
I put down what to buy and where to get it. We’ll have to order a few things. Some of it we’re going to have to make. That’s why we need a 3D printer, dude, and some fly circuit boards and tools.
Andron sees that, besides a 3D printer, the list includes a soldering gun, wire, speakers, receivers, headphones, special 3D glasses, game controllers, a bike helmet, a dozen CPU units, motion detectors, cell phones, five widescreen monitors, modems, routers, fans, network racks, power boxes, fifty feet of cable wire, EEG equipment and a fiber optic Internet co
nnection.
And that was just the first page.
“Hold up there, fellah, I can’t afford all this. This is a fucking electronics store.”
Are you kidding me, have you checked your bank balance lately? You seriously need to loosen up, dude.
“I can change the batteries in a smoke detector. I’m pretty useless beyond that.”
I’ll walk you through it. I used to be a computer engineer.
“Of course you were. But you heard about my arrest for cyber-terrorism, right?”
I am familiar, yes.
“Isn’t this sort of a red flag?”
Relax, dude, they’re not watching you anymore. They don’t think you had anything to do with it.
“How do you know?”
I pulled your interrogation file off an email.
Andron puts his beer down and leans forward.
“What did it say?”
Not too much really. You pretty much rolled over on the first day. You talked about what you did the day you downloaded me and talked a lot about your old bitch. Then they tried to torture a name out of you that you didn’t have.
“Can I see it?”
A large file pops open on his monitor.
Andron scrolls through it, sighing and printing off the odd page. He watches a video of a drugged interview that he doesn’t recall. The Enhanced Interrogation File is written up like a hospital record.
0600: Sleep interruption therapy ongoing +30 hrs. Patient is put into Knee-Chest position. 30 mm rectal feeding tube is introduced and advanced. 350 Cal Paste injected successfully. Feeding tube is withdrawn. Patient weighed — 185 lbs. Patient tolerated procedure well. Patient comment: “can I get fries with that?” Compliance pain encouragement administered x 2. Patient approved for further therapy.
Andron heads off to puke again.
Andron’s cutting boxes up in his garage. He, Dylan and Bruce used to work at a grocery store so it’s familiar work.
He walks back into his computer room and surveys the network of racks and monitors. The electrician had been around earlier to wire in the power board and chiller.
“Here goes nothing.”
Andron flips the switch and the bank of CPUs come to life.
Power on the motherboard, dude.
The robot is gone. The voice from the speakers is late-night deejay smooth.
“Cygnus, you sound much more natural.”
That’s cause I’ve been upgraded, updated and elevated. Coming at you live with jive from planet Earth.
Data chips, tools, diagrams, wire and tiny bolts are scattered everywhere. Andron’s sitting on the floor holding a bike helmet, trying to screw in a clasp. The clasp breaks.
“Fuuuck.”
They named the helmet TACHY — The Andron and Cygnus Helmet Y’all.
Andron wants to throw the fucking thing against the wall.
Dude, if you would just follow the fucking diagram I made for you.
“I am following your dumb fucking diagram, using your dumb fucking pieces that don’t fucking fit; that I made following your dumb fucking instructions…
“Yeshua fucking Christos.”
Cygnus goes back to his robot voice.
There are seven point two billion people living on the planet Terra and I get stuck with this nitwit.
Andron tries snapping the clasp into the helmet visor arm again. The entire visor arm breaks off this time.
“Fuuuck.”
Andron’s sitting in his new control chair, enjoying a cold beer. He cracks open a ceremonial one for Cygnus and puts it in front of a monitor. The beer fridge was Andron’s idea. The rest was built to Cygnus’s specifications. Andron’s computer room now resembles a spaceship. He even calls it the Bridge. A Bridge with a beer fridge.
The TACHY is the spider in the center of the web, all lines leading to the modified bike helmet. It can read brain waves, has 3D goggles, an Heads Up Display and headphones. It took weeks to put together. Andron even called in sick a few days to work on it. The room is cleaned and all the tools are put away.
Andron feels the cool heft of the elaborate thing in his hands and smiles.
He slides it on his head with two hands and snaps down the goggles. They click into place like tumblers.
“What do you say we take this thing for a spin, Cyg?”
Hell yeah.
The glasses and HUD are still dark. There’s no sound. The monitors flash.
Okay, you see that, dude?
“Nope, not getting anything.”
How about now?
The monitors flash again.
“Nope…wait…. nope, nothing.”
Try slapping it on the side a few times.
Whap. Whap.
Okay, how about now?
The monitors flash.
Andron moans and tenses.
He is switched out of his old world and into a new one. A world that pulsates colors, sounds and feelings. He is there in every way, and not just watching. The universe flies by through a wormhole all the way to Earth. He stops above it, floating in a spacesuit. Numbers scroll down his HUD.
Cygnus is there, too.
They see Earth fast-forward from a deep blue marble with fluffy clouds to a raggedy old tetherball.
“So that’s going to be us, hey?”
His voice catches.
“I hope not, dude. But that’s fuck…”
“…edization…yeah, yeah, I get it.”
“Say, dude, would you like to see what I look like?”
“Yes, actually.”
They fly to Earth and are in an apartment. Cygnus is looking out a window and then turns to face him.
Cygnus is lanky, in his mid-thirties. He wears his straight reddish-brown hair parted to the side. His eyes are a faded green. There’s a hurt, almost pleading look about him, even though he’s smiling.
“Did you have your Eden Marks removed?”
Andron is reacting to the lack of two parallel indented lines in the middle of Cygnus’s forehead. Myth has it that God put them there to be able to recognize his chosen. To be born without them is a birth defect and a bad omen on Terra.
“We don’t have those. Don’t worry though, Earth girls would still fuck you.”
“Well, I do have plenty of beer.”
“Cygnus, this may seem odd to you, but this is exactly how I pictured you, apart from not having Eden Marks. Is that your real voice, by the way?”
“As close as I can make it.”
“Do you have a last name, Cygnus?”
“Whey. W-h-e-y.”
“I was about to say welcome to our planet, Mr. Whey, but we’re sorta standing on yours right now.”
The two men shake hands.
Cygnus smiles.
“About time that you started believing me, dude.”
Andron needs practice. The Bridge and TACHY are linked to a sophisticated array of sensitive motion detectors that respond to the slightest of gestures. Andron can move around with a tilt of his head, a finger movement, hand swipe or foot tap.
The EEG connection is taking longer. Cygnus says that it’s a wetware issue.
At first, Andron lurches around uncontrollably like someone afflicted with both Parkinson’s and Tourette’s. With practice, his movements become more fluid. But they can’t seem to train or code out a slight limp that Andron has while walking.
Cygnus tells Andron to just go with it.
“It gives you character, dude.”
For advance training, Cygnus modifies Terra’s 2004 All-pro Football game for use with a TACHY device. It allows Andron to suit up as quarterback for the Boston Partisans, his favourite team.
First thing, it’s fast. And the Delphi d-lineman are making animal noises. They’re twitching and grinning. The wetware issues are resolving. It’s not just real. It’s fucking terrifying.
First play from scrimmage and he’s smoked by a safety on backside blitz The ball shoots out and the last thing he sees is the back of a gre
en jersey sprinting untouched to the end zone. Andron is carried off the field on a stretcher.
He needs rehab and time on the practice roster.
“Dude, you’re playing the game like a lawyer, stop thinking. You’ve got to relax and train yourself enough so that it pure reflex, baby.”
As a receiver, Cygnus is a thing of beauty. With practice, he and Andron get into a rhythm. Andron’s release gets faster and he can sense where Cygnus is on the field.
Reflex, baby.
Andron gets a fourth quarter shot when Barkley goes down late against New Lancashire.
Down by four on their own twenty-yard line with time left for one play. They have to win to stay alive.
They call for a Hail Christos — a hook-and-ladder that starts with a quick hitter to the wide receiver. He has to yell it in the huddle to be heard above the crowd. He goes with a silent count. Cygnus is in the huddle with him. The two men exchange a look.
They break huddle and swarm to the line. No respect. The Leviathans are jamming. Andron feels Hector laughing at him. He decides to go downtown on these fuckers.
Andron is running up and down the line, changing the play. Ten seconds left on the play clock. Cygnus motions wide. He’s drawing coverage. Andron sees that it’s man. He catches a glimpse of Cygnus on his peripheral. He’s perfectly still, arms bent, only his fingers are moving.
One stomp.
Two stomps.
The ball nearly sails over his head. He feels for the stiches and rolls right. The tight end picked up the safety, but the inside linebacker didn’t bite on the fake and he closing like he’s going to beat the throw and send Andron to the hospital again.
The replay shows a fifty-yard tight spiral to Cygnus who doesn’t even break stride taking it all the way. Downtown.
And it’s mayhem, fans pouring on the field, teammates flying from the bench and dogpiling him. He looks for Cygnus. He wants to hug him. He eventually finds him on the sidelines.
Getting a blowjob from a cheerleader in front of everyone.
Cygnus waves to Andron when he sees him, points down at the cheerleader and grins.
Andron walks off the field.
Yeshua fucking Christos, Cygnus.
The Cygnus Virus Page 6
