Black Hull (14 page)

“A non-expancapacitor model cellbot—geez,
I don’t know Mick—maybe twenty thousand UCD?”

She is. My irrational act of pity is her
windfall. And mine.

“Mick?”

“Sorry XJ. I’m done for the night.”

“You’re not going to—”

“Try to kill your daughter? No.”

“My
what?”                                                                                                                                       

“Never mind. Go get GR. I’ll see you
tomorrow.”

Mick exited toward his new bedroom
aboard the Fogstar.

What’s the difference between destroying
a .HUM that’s been transferred into a droid and one that’s still in someone’s
brain? What’s the difference between a photograph and the file that stores it?
Research—I’ve been neglecting to learn—I haven’t wanted to learn.

Mick sat by his bed at a computer
terminal. He swiped twice and brought up the Fogstar’s database. He touched a
circular knob as XJ had shown him to do, activating thought control, and
thought of the word “cellbot.” The screen of green faded and a human appeared.
It projected into the room, small, life-like in color. The three dimensional
hologram body rotated and text ran next to it:

CELLBOT: a term created in 3744 by GENE
MIRACLE Corporation to describe the seamless combination of homo sapiens with
nanorobot architecture.

           
Cellbots are modified human beings whose cellular and genetic structure is
aided and advanced by the technology of nanomachines. In the 3800s, cellbot
babies became the birth form of choice among the richest populations in the
Milky Way Galaxy. By 3900, cellbots became more affordable, entering into most
upper-wealth societies.

           
Cellbots are the first biomechanical life forms capable of brain transplants.
Cellbots entering the mainstream populace increased the average human lifespan
gradually from 120 years to 180 years. Cellbot brain transplant technology led
to developments in brain research, eventually giving rise to the complete
brain-mapping program known as NEUROMAP. INTEL corporation bought NEUROMAP and
funded the research that resulted in the mapping of the human brain to the file
known as a .human file, or .HUM, its file extension. Eventually, cellbots were
used as a way to save lives. Brainless cellbots were grown in laboratories
awaiting transplants from terminal patients.

           
With the influx of affordable cellbots, corporations in the private sector
began to offer customized cellbots—cellbots built for specific purposes. The
most popular varieties were soldier cellbots and sex cellbots. In the late
3900s, the UCA began to regulate cellbot production to curb illicit industries
and the use of modified cellbots in fringe world faction wars.

Mick stopped reading; he brought his
attention to the .HUM on the screen. It suddenly highlighted, then transferred
to its own page. He read on:

.HUM: a file type first patented by
INTEL and later found to be nonpatentable by the UCA government. It was found
in the landmark ruling of 3913 that “.HUM files represent human beings in their
entirety, and as such, they represent and are a person’s essence, identity, and
soul. Such property cannot be owned or patented, and so the technology belongs
in the public domain.”

           
A .HUM file houses a complete mapping of a person’s brain, housing a person’s
knowledge, memories, associations, and imagination. .HUM transfers cost an
exorbitant amount of money despite the length of time the technology has
existed, and the costs have been slow to decline. Some speculate that a corporate
oligarchy is behind the high costs of .HUM transfers (This sentence has been
flagged as insubstantial and opinionated, and should be researched further).
Transfers are not entirely useful unless one has the proper hardware with which
to “mount” the .HUM file, effectively bringing it to life within a body.
Because of the initial piracy of .HUM files, in which multiple copies of the
same person were made for illicit purposes, the UCA began to strictly regulate
the creation of and transfer of .HUM files, preventing further mass-copying and
manipulation. There is a range of architecture that can mount .HUM files,
spanning from droids constructed at the turn of the millennia, which can mount
roughly 5 percent of a .HUM profile with proper plugins, all the way up to the
EXPANCAPACITOR droid system.

Mick instantly focused on
EXPANCAPACITOR, revealing a new screen:

EXPANCAPACITOR DROID SYSTEM: a droid
system created by NEUROCORP technologies. The EXPANCAPACITOR is the first droid
system that makes two claims never before made by a droid production run: The
EXPANCAPACITOR is the first droid system that can fully mount a .HUM file,
correctly mapping and running a .HUM at %100 without glitches; and, it is the
first system that uses a cellbot core: in other words, the droid appears and
functions as a human, but lasts forever, such as a machine droid, granted that
proper maintenance is carried out. Given the low production run and steep cost
of EXPANCAPACITOR models, they are reserved for use primarily by the wealthiest
citizens of the galaxy. Some contest that a corporate oligarchy has gained
control of EXPANCAPACTOR production to a.) ensure the oligarchy outlasts all
other populations, and b.) retain singular control of the galaxy and the
government (This sentence has been flagged as insubstantial and opinionated,
and should be researched further).

Mick thought of Utopia, reading on with
tired eyes:

UTOPIA: (This article has an excessive
amount of flagged information. Readers should exercise skepticism concerning
the content presented). Little is known about the actual environment known as
UTOPIA. The UCA has strictly regulated information leaks from UTOPIA, citing
galactic security concerns. The common understanding of the once-anomalous
signal from M82 is that it is a faux planet constructed as a vessel of virtual
reality that synergizes with humans and/or .HUM mounted systems. The rogue
planet is rumored to be the perfect simulation of reality, allowing its
inhabitants to create reality for each of their five senses by belief alone
(This sentence has been flagged as insubstantial and opinionated, and should be
researched further). None who have entered within UTOPIA’s orbit have exited,
further fueling speculation that UTOPIA is humanity’s manifestation of the ancient
religious ideal of heaven (This sentence has been flagged as insubstantial and
opinionated, and should be researched further). UTOPIA’s creation dates from
4300, placing its construction several hundred years in the future. The UCA
first claimed that UTOPIA was “humanity’s future giving a present to its
past"; the statement was soon withdrawn and denied by government leaders
(This sentence has been flagged as insubstantial and opinionated, and should be
researched further). Critics attacked the initial proclamation of UTOPIA as “a
present from the future” as propaganda, citing the UCA’s decision to profit
from the moon by selling extremely high-priced entrance tickets.

           
The harsh reality of UTOPIA’s cost has resulted in sects of generational cults
and dogmas, each bent on achieving entrance into UTOPIA. Due to rising crime
rates in earlier centuries before UTOPIA, the UCA implemented the M82, and
later Milky Way-wide PLANT system.

Mick focused on PLANT, fighting his
heavy lids to consume more knowledge:

PLANT: a UCA-created crime regulation
device present in all galaxy citizens through genetic nanotherapy. Children
born of PLANTED parents automatically inherit their PLANT. The last known
non-PLANTED citizen died in 3912. Some speculate that some of the corporate
elite never received PLANTS, and can still create children that are PLANT-free,
which has led to speculation of organized crime (This sentence has been flagged
as insubstantial and opinionated, and should be researched further). By way of
entangled particles within the quantum implant, the UCA is alerted
instantaneously of changes in brain and body rhythm indicative of moral lapses
ranging from petty crimes through to precognition of murder.

I’m the perfect criminal in a far away
world, and all I want is innocence.

Mick retreated into bed. He closed his
eyes and fell into black.

Tonight there is the real possibility
that I’ll see you in my dreams.

Come back.

“Daddy, do you think the rain will stop
in time for tomorrow?” a little girl asked.

“I don’t know honey. I hope so,” he
replied, sliding close on the couch and squeezing her. “We can go in the rain
though, that is, if you think you’re tough enough.”

“Of course I’m tough enough! I’ve been
wanting to ride a boat in a real lake since I was three years old!”

A fire crackled from the corner of the
log cabin. The wall in front of them displayed the rolling credits of a movie.
The melody of a happy-ending played.

“I know honey. I’ve been hearing about it
for four years, more than half your life,” He smiled. Orange flame reflected on
his cheeks. They were warm, a family, and safe. He cherished the moment as if
it were eternity.

A boy, slightly older than the girl,
walked into the room holding a large bowl of popcorn and three glasses filled
with juice.

“These old-time cooking
things—micro-ovens?—are really neat,” he said.

“Careful Teddy,” the man said, watching
the boy wobble into the flickering living room.

“I’m okay—” at that moment, the boy’s toes
dug beneath an end table and he tripped. The bowl of popcorn exploded into the
air, white fireworks, followed by three juice-filled glass rockets. Kernels
scattered on the brown rug, the juice landing in the bowl and making popcorn
cereal. Teddy stretched out his hands to support his fall, one of them landing
squarely upon the length of a cylinder of glass; with a pop, it shattered.

“Damn it Teddy!” his father reacted,
then he rose in fear: “Oh my god, are you alright?”

Teddy looked stupefied, and finally
turned to look at his dad and sister: “Yea, I’m okay. I’m sorry.”

“Teddy you’re bleeding!” the girl
screamed.

“What?” He looked down at his wrist. A
gash, open to muscle, ran in a line; he hadn’t noticed any pain. Gazing upon
the muted wound, he slipped into shock—blood gushed onto the brown floor, the
white popcorn—he couldn’t speak.

“Hold it up,” his father said quickly,
ripping his shirt off. “It’s nothing, I’ve had much worse—high—hold it straight
up son.” The man grabbed the boy’s arm and coiled his shirt tightly around the
cut. “Come into the bathroom.”

“Is he going to be okay daddy?” the girl
whined, forgetting her excitement about the movie marathon they’d embarked
upon, the boating trip planned for the next day, and the last two days of their
vacation on Cedar Minor; it had been the first time the family had felt whole
since the loss of mom.

“He’s going to be fine. Stay there Sera,
don’t come in here,” the father called back.

Sera stopped. In her seven years, she had
never known her father to lie. If he said Teddy would be okay, then she had no
reason to continue to worry, no reason to let the fun die. She turned back to
the mess of juice, popcorn and blood on the rug, the wallscreen still scrolling
credits.

“I’ll clean up and put the next movie
in,” she hollered into the bathroom. She could only hear the muffled voice of
her father instructing Teddy to calm down and follow his directions. She waited
for his affirmation of her hope that things could resume just as they’d been
going—no reply came. To her, suddenly, it seemed unfair that Teddy had sucked
the life out of their fun.

“We’re still going out on the boat
tomorrow, right?” Sera asked, louder. “Right daddy?”

“Not now!” her father replied in a rare
flash of anger. She questioned her original assumption:

Maybe things aren’t back to normal.
Maybe everything’s bad again.

Before her mind slipped into familiar
depression, she walked into the kitchen, grabbed a towel, and returned to clean
up the mess.

Morning dawned on Cedar Minor, a red
gold wonder lighting its sky. By the Conlon’s cabin rental stretched a deep
lake, pressing itself through twining forest leads, reflecting the copper birth
overhead. A long wooden dock yawned on the lake; roped to a pole at its end,
wobbled a fishing boat. A lone figure, slightly taller than four feet, hopped
and skipped along the dock. She sat at its edge, pulled off her sandals, then
dipped her toes into the water. Cool liquid pressed between each of her toes.
She paddled back and forth and stared down, trying to make our her feet through
the brackish water. A wooden door slapped back against its frame. Sera twisted
her neck to see the cabin. Her father strode out toward her, Teddy nowhere in
sight.