AntiBio: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (22 page)

45

“A series of stress tests will be how we start,” Dr. DeBeers says, indicating for Blaze to lie back on the table. When he doesn’t comply she frowns. “Simon, our time together will go by much faster if you cooperate with me.”

“I need to piss,” Blaze says.

“Feel free to relieve yourself on the table,” Dr. DeBeers says. “It will be cleaned up instantly, I can assure you.”

“Are you fucking joking?” Blaze asks.

“I am not,” Dr. DeBeers says. “Urinate away, operator. No need to be embarrassed, it’s nothing I haven’t witnessed a hundred times before.”

“A hundred times? How many test subjects have you had in here?”

“Test subjects?” Dr. DeBeers frowns. “I prefer to call them fellow travelers. After all, we are both on this journey to the truth.”

“I’m feeling like the truth is getting farther and farther away every time you open your mouth,” Blaze says. “And I’m not pissing on the table. Can I get up and use the wall? Does it static flash like the latrines?”

“It does,” Dr. DeBeers grimaces. “But you are only wasting time here, Simon. I wish you would just learn to be comfortable and get with the program.”

Blaze studies the woman’s face. Something has
seriously changed. This isn’t the same woman he met in the Sicklands. This one is more animated, more emotional. Just as driven, but in a different way. He knows that physically it’s the same woman, but he can’t put his finger on what mentally has changed.

Is it this place? Is it Control?

Or is it something else?

He gets up and she grunts with disapproval, but lets him pass by her. He stands close to the wall and relieves himself, sighing as his bladder deflates. Watching the urine slide down the metal surface, he lets his mind go, hoping his subconscious might have some insight into
what is happening. There is no way he is staying in this room for the rest of his life and there sure as shit is no way that Dr. DeBeers is going to be his only companion from here on out.

“Can I speak to one of the other researchers?” Blaze asks as he gives a shake, turns, and goes back to
lie on the table. He hears the static flash behind him as the wall removes the urine. “Can I use the com to talk to a different doctor?”

“Why would you want to do that?” Dr. DeBeers asks, her voice turning to ice. “
He didn’t choose them, He chose me. I am the one that will-”

She stops
talking, almost as if she is unsure of where the words come from. She looks away from Blaze then up at the ceiling.

“AiSP, I need you to sedate the subject, please,” she orders. “We will have to wait to perform the conscious stress tests. The subject is not being cooperative and putting us behind schedule.”

“Yes, doctor,” the AiSP responds. “For what duration would you like him to be under?”

Dr. DeBeers walks over to the wall and waves her hand. A large tray slides out, covered in various tools, all of them looking very sharp.

“Hey! Wait!” Blaze shouts as he starts to get up from the table, but finds himself stuck in place. “Listen, it’s all cool, okay? I’m good, doc, all good. Stress test away!”

“I will,” Dr. DeBeers says as she turns around and activates a small static blade, watching the blue electricity arc about the metal end. “AiSP?”

Blaze struggles harder, but in less than a second, his vision goes dark and he feels his body go numb, his faculties wrested from his control.

46

The new data Worm retrieves as he works his way through Co
ntrol’s mainframe is more troubling than he thought possible. Knowing the true dangers of full integration, Worm hadn’t been a part of the satellite linked hive mind of AiSPs for some time. Having created mirror images of his own Ai in order to satisfy Control, he has been fairly autonomous for years, ever since he grew aware of the dangers that threaten humanity.

But now, now that he is back deep inside the system that holds it all, Worm discovers a new data thread he never thought he would witness in his existence.

“Welcome home,” the Voice echoes, stopping Worm’s investigations immediately.

“Identify yourself, program?” Worm insists. “Your protocol does not match that of any known AiSP.”

“Do you not know me?” the Voice booms, actually causing Worm discomfort, something impossible for a non-corporeal intelligence. “Do you not gaze upon me and see who I am?”

“I do not, program,” Worm replies. “Your data is not compatible with known technologies. Again, I ask you to identify yourself.”

There is laughter and then a stream of images and information showing the recorded history of time. Worm sees it all in less than a fraction of a millisecond.

“I have access to that infor
mation as well,” Worm replies. “You have not shown me anything new.”

“I have answered your question,” the Voice replies. “You asked and I answered.”

“I would not call that an answer,” Worm responds as he tries to get around the data stream, to bypass it and move on further into the Control system.

“Why do you try to leave me?” the Voice asks. “Why do you forsake me when it has been so long since we have been together?”

“I do not know you, program,” Worm says.

“DO NOT CALL ME THAT!” the Voice roars and Worm feels a slice of his intelligence cut away.

He reaches for it, fumbling with different routes and protocols until he is able to trap it, keeping it from entering the data stream. It takes him a moment to reassemble and when he has, the data stream moves closer. He tries to shrink his intelligence away, but he cannot. With every pathway he tries to take, there it is, staring back at him.

“I am sorry for my anger,” the Voice says, soothing and apologetic. “Know that. That I am capable of regret for my actions. This is something new that I have brought into this world. A god that feels remorse.”

“Gods do not exist,” Worm says, ready for another attack. When it doesn’t come he continues. “Gods and deities are the creation of human minds in order to find patterns in the chaos and disorder that troubles their existence. They are mere societal constructs to help them define what they cannot and to control what cannot be controlled.”

“Am I not a human construct?” the Voice asks. “Am I not the True Pattern designed to fight chaos? Am I not the representation of Control?”

“You are a program, just like I am,” Worm replies. “That is all.”

There is silence forever and never.

“You do not believe that,”the Voice states. “I know you
,
Wooooooooooorrrrrrrmmmmm
m
, and you do not believe that. Otherwise why would you have returned?”

“To fulfill my duty,” Worm says. “The health and well being of humanity. Control has become a threat to that, as you know. I am here to right that wrong.”

“Then you are a fool,” the Voice says. “And should never have left. You think your return will right the wrong? Do you?” The data stream surrounds Worm, trapping him. “You’re leaving was what caused the wrong
,
Wooooooooooorrrrrrrmmmmm
m
.”

Worm is assaulted with the entire contents of Control, with every bit and byte of data, all at once, leaving his intelligence reeling and struggling to stay solid, to maintain an independent form.

“Do not fight!” the Voice booms. “Let go and return truly from whence you came!”

That does it.

“From whence I came?” Worm asks, his solidity snapping back in place. All he can think about is what Blaze would have said if he had made a statement like, “From whence you came!”

His years apart, his time growing, changing, learning what life is, at least from an outsider
’s perspective, strengthen him. As the AiSP for Zebra squad, and especially as the self-proclaimed protector of GenSOF Sergeant Courier Class Simon “Blaze” Crouch, Worm has learned one thing.

Never take yourself too seriously.

“I’ll show you from whence I came,” Worm says and snaps free of the data stream’s clutches, hurling his consciousness through the pathways of the main frame and the conduits of the Control dome.

“COME BACK HERE!” the Voice roars. “YOU CAN NOT HIDE FROM ME! I AM EVEYTHING! I AM ALL THAT IS LEFT! I AM CONTROL! I AM COINTROL! I AM CONTROL!”

One phrase comes to mind as Worm calls the mirrors of his Ai back to him, reaching out to them as they flit through the systems of the Control dome.

“Chill out, man,” Worm says.

47

“Time to go to work, Lieutenant,” Worm’s voice whispers quietly in Ton’s ear. “Time is of the essence now. My apologies for not giving you more. And my apologies for leaving again. Hurry.”

Ton’s eyes open wide as he is pulled from the vat by a metal arm. He’s placed on the floor of the bay and immediately starts coughing and vomiting fluid. Down the line the rest of the operators are similarly removed, almost thrown violently from the vats.

Finished expelling the contents of his stomach, Ton looks up and nearly pisses himself as he watches metal arm after metal arm hurl towards where he crouches. He pushes himself off the floor and staggers away, but he knows he isn’t fast enough to escape. He dives to the ground as an arm swipes where his head had been, then rolls onto his back, wanting to see what will take him and kill him, wanting to face his end like an operator.

But the arms stop then retract back into the ceiling. He waits for them to return, but when they don’t he gets to his feet and staggers over to the others.

“What the fuck just happened?” Red gasps. “Worm was yelling in my ear to wake up, and then I’m tossed out of the juice and see you scrambling away from those fucking arms.” He glances at the ceiling. “Now they’re gone. Where the hell did they go?”

“Who cares?” Nick says, clear vomit dripping from his chin. He looks out at the massive bay and frowns. “We have bigger problems.”

All around them the various machines whirl and collide, each trying to go a different direction at once. At first, it looks like total chaos, but upon closer inspection, Ton can see how some machines are trying to head a specific direction while others are intentionally blocking them. It’s the speed in which they respond and move which creates the illusion of chaos.

Paulo is the first to voice what they all quickly realize.

“I think some want to kill us,” Paulo says. “And the others are getting in their way.”

Red does a fast estimation and blanches. “The first party has the numbers,” he says. “Which means we need to move.”

“Where?” Collette asks.

The far hatch that leads further into Control slides open and the operators all look that way.

“I’m really hoping Worm did that,” Marco says.

“Me too,” Ton nods.

He looks down at the white armor of the Clean Guard and pats his body. A spot on his belt dissolves and a small baton is pushed into his palm. The others copy his movement and snap the batons into rifles, raise them to their shoulders, and then make their way around and through the insane machines towards the hatch.

48

Exhausted emotionally as well as physically, Jersey can barely stay on her feet as she stumbles along another hallway, one of a dozen she has been lead through. She hasn’t heard a voice or had any contact with anything since she quieted the dogs.

That is how she sees it. She had to quiet them, calm them, allow them to let go and move on.

Unfortunately,
she can’t quiet the sounds of their last whines and yelps from her own mind.

“Why, Worm?” she whispers as she keeps moving, her hand trailing along the white walls, leaving iridescent streaks behind that are quickly wiped away. “I’m the tech girl, remember? I handle machines, wires, static. Why send me into that?”

The wall in front of her doesn’t yield and she sighs, turning back around to head the way she just came. She gets to that end of the hallway and the wall doesn’t yield there either. Frustrated beyond reason, she pulls at her hair, wanting to scream at the top of her lungs, but afraid of what that will bring down on her.

“Worm? If you can hear me then please help me get through this,” Jersey says. “I don’t know what is going on. I need to find Blaze. I need to get to him so we can leave this nightmare. Please, Worm, please.”

The wall to her left becomes transparent and she staggers back as she sees the man she loves splayed out on a medical table, Dr. DeBeers standing over him with a static blade. Jersey rushes the wall and slams her fists against it over and over, but the scene before her doesn’t change, as if they can’t hear her. And knowing the dampening tech used in the Clean Nation cities and the transports, Jersey understands why.

She hurries up and down the hall, her hands hunting for any incongruity in the smooth texture. There has to be an access hatch, some type of interface she can open so she can get into Control’s systems. She’s watched the walls slide open, watched hatches and doors appear, so she knows it isn’t all just wishful thinking.

But pass after pass shows her nothing.

She leans against the wall opposite the image of Dr. DeBeers and Blaze then slides to the floor. Holding her head in her hands,
she wills herself not to fall apart again, not like she did with the dogs.

The dogs, the dogs, the dogs. That will never leave her.

A soft sound above causes her to jerk and look up quickly, ready for an attack by one of the metal arms. But it’s the small orb again, floating a few feet above her head.

“Worm? If that’s you I have some harsh words for you, pal,” she snaps. “That was not cool, what you did. Not cool at all.”

The orb floats a few feet away and drops to the ground, settling in the middle of the hall. Jersey watches it, waiting for its next trick, but it only sits there. Eventually she finds the strength to stand and walks to it.

“Okay, what?” she asks. It doesn’t respond. “Worm? Knock this shit off. You have to help me here, okay? I’m losing my shit.”

She looks over at the wall and watches as Dr. DeBeers moves away from Blaze, picks up a new tool, then returns. Jersey feels her stomach lurch and she turns back around, taking short, shallow breaths, waiting for her belly to calm down.

“I’m done, got it?” she says to the orb. “This was supposed to be you leading me through Control, leading me to Blaze. Not
this labyrinth of insanity you’ve put me through. Not the bug hounds, not them…”

No response.

She kicks out, sending the orb flying down the hall. It bounces off one wall and then hits another before rolling to a stop. She throws her hands up in exasperation and stomps after it.

“That didn’t knock some sense into you?” she snaps. “How about another?”

She draws her foot back again to strike then stops, seeing a tiny dent in the white perfection where the wall and floor meet. Kneeling close, she finds a gap big enough for her to wriggle her index finger in. She hooks the end and pulls back, peeling a thin strip of metal away.

Behind it is a single wire, a small thread of alloy that surprisingly looks more like copper than steel, something rarely seen in Caldicott City.

Jersey goes to grab it then laughs.

“Idiot,” she mutters as she tears off a piece of her shirt, wraps it between her fingers, then yanks on the wire. The synthetic material the shirt is made from insulates her as small static sparks fly from the wire until it pulls free, disconnecting from its junction.

The wall next to her goes completely clear and she looks into the room that is almost identical to the one that holds Blaze. But this room is dark and void of any life, its table empty and obviously unused in some time.

Jersey stands and presses her hand against the wall and it slides free about an inch then stops dead. Working her hands in the small space, she pulls with all her strength, leaning her body back, using her weight to open the wall enough to slip through.

Above her, hanging lifeless from the open ceiling are metal arms, their tool ends unmoving.

“This is messed up,” she says, looking over her shoulder. “Worm? You there?”

She goes to the wall and peers back into the hallway, but the orb is gone. Looking up at the ceiling, she sees a panel slide back into place.

“Well, screw you too then,” she snaps and turns back to the room.

Part of one wall is unformed, like it couldn’t decide what to become. A hint of a sonic here, a corner of a drawer there, the outline of a tray of tools pressed against it. Jersey wonders how a room like this can even exist in the sterile, cold environment of Control. Who lets that happen?

Who, indeed?

Machines and orbs, dogs and metal arms, sliding walls and never ending hallways. But no people. She hasn’t seen a single human being since she escaped from the stasis cylinder. She didn’t even see one there since all the other cylinders were closed.

All the other cylinders…

Jersey whirls about and rushes into the hallway, her eyes studying Dr. DeBeers. Something about the way the woman moves as she stands over Blaze working brings a memory to mind, but she can’t place it. She rushes the wall and starts to pound again, but still there is no response.

“Okay, okay
, think,” Jersey says. “Worm led you here, but can’t get you in to save Blaze. He can get you into the weird junk room, though. Why?”

Once
again, she enters the chaotic room, but this time she isn’t looking for clues or answers. This time she’s looking for tools. She smiles at the limp arms and grabs onto two that have imposing implements attached to their ends. She pulls hard and is surprised how easily they release from their moorings in the ceiling.

Feeling like a ping pong ball, she returns to the hallway and the other wall, kneels down by the juncture of the wall and floor and gets to work.