Warborg - Star Panther (7 page)

Martin nodded to the crowd as they gave him a round of applause.

“Now as tradition demands we will have a few words from those that know Martin and have watched him become the cyborg he is today. Our first guest is non-other than that esteemed physician Doctor Franken . . . I mean Swain.”

Martin had a sinking feeling as he realized what was going on.
A roast, oh great.
He gave Reese his best,
‘you’re a dead man’,
glare. Reese answered with a smile of feigned innocence.

A large holoscreen faded into view next to the stage. Doctor Swain smiled out to the crowd where he was met by an equal number of howdies, facetious raspberries and cat calls. “Well thank you for that fine introduction Mister Reese, by the way isn’t it about time for you to come in and have your rectum sensors re-aligned?”

There was a collective “Yewww” from the crowd. 

“Martin Morgan? What can you say about such an outstanding person?” Swain opened with a poker face.

Martin braced himself for the worst.

“Why I’ll never forget the first words I heard from my new intellectually stimulating patient.”

“Jesus Christ, who turned out the friggin’ lights?” A recording of Martin’s voice bellowed across the room. Martin visibly sagged as the crowd roared.

Swain smiled. “Yes, dear Martin, it was always such a joy to work with such a professional who could articulate his feelings so well.”

“Yo Doc, you go about an inch lower and I’m going to have to buy you flowers and a box of candy.” Martin felt himself go beet red and it didn’t fade for the next five minutes. But he didn’t care he was laughing so hard as Swain pummeled him with out of context quotes and acidic narration concerning his adaption to becoming a cyborg and intelligence in general. Martin was blinking back tears as Swain wound down.

“And finally.” Swain grew serious. “It was a great privilege to work with a man who took so much in stride with grace and humor. You gritted your teeth during the bad times giving me the time I needed and I spent more time laughing with you than any other cyborg I’ve met. You were more than a patient Martin, you were and are a good friend. I thank you.”

Polite applause followed Swain and Martin felt a little choked up. It had been a terrible ordeal, but that man had made it work.
I owe him so damn much.
Martin sighed and braced himself for the next barrage.

“Well, after the good Doctor got through stuffing Martin in his brain bucket we had to teach him how to fly his ship and . . .”

For the next five minutes they showed Martin’s gaffs as he mastered his ship. The antics were funny, but the best part was the sound effects someone had thoughtfully added and the voice transmissions where they had bleeped out any profanities, plus quite a bit of other stuff for good measure. Even Martin was roaring as his ship tumbled away and the only sounds were someone grinding an ancient gearbox and nearly continuous bleeping with just a word here and there.

“Well, he did eventually learn to fly that thing. But we have to watch him every second.” Reese melodramatically shook his head and sighed in despair. He looked up and smiled. “Martin, why don’t you give us a few words.”

Martin knew it was coming and was prepared. “Thanks Reese,” he nodded to the holoscreen, “Doc and the rest of you who have had to put up with me for the last couple months.” He spotted Maria looking up at him in the crowd and mentally stumbled. “I guess I can honestly say everyone here has gone through what I have so I won’t linger on the lurid details. Just let me close by saying thank you all for being here and I’m looking forward to getting to know you.” Martin stepped back and polite applause rolled up from the audience.

Briton stepped up on to the stage. Reese glanced at Brian who just shrugged.

“Hi folks.” Briton smiled over the quiet crowd.

They all just stared at Commander Briton in expectant silence. He rarely spoke to the group, always aware that his position made it uncomfortable for some of the cyborg to be around him.

“I know it’s unusual but I wanted to give you a little background on our newest member.” He looked at Martin. “Do you mind?”

Martin sensed it was a real question, not just a formality and he could decline if he wished, but he was curious. He trusted Briton wouldn’t say anything he wouldn’t want the others to know. “No, of course not, Sir.”

Briton nodded. “Captain Morgan has chosen to be a warborg, and as you saw he now pilots one of our Light Fighters, a difficult ship to fly at best. But accepting the challenge to master one of these mean ships was nothing new to Martin, he was a premiere manned Light Fighter pilot for three tours prior to this one. He had logged well over twenty five hundred hours and had ninety three confirmed kills.”

There was a murmur from the crowd.

“Tonight we have inflicted all sorts of humiliation on him and he stood his ground and laughed with us. Earlier today I had a discussion with an associate of Martin’s and decided to give him a moment of equal time, sometimes in our own little worlds we forget why we are all out here. A few hours ago Martin and the rest of Jester squadron engaged in battle and unusual as it is I wanted to show you the simulation of that combat. There is no sound and it only lasts a few seconds, so look away if you don’t want to see the cold reality of our warborg world. I will only show it once, and this is realtime.”

A holotank appeared on the stage where the band was sitting, the simulation was large enough for everyone to see and Swain looked down from the vidscreen. After the few seconds of three dimensional combat played out the holotank was replaced by the band. The crowd was silent and Martin self-consciously stood to the side.

Briton turned to Martin. “I think you learned to fly that ship, Martin.”

“No shit!” A lone, anonymous voice echoed through the hushed crowd.

He turned to the crowd. “Thank you. Now let’s strike up the band and get this party rolling.” Briton nodded to Martin and Reese then stepped off the stage.

Martin shot Reese a quizzical shrug and stepped off the stage. The band started playing when Reese stepped down.

Dottie and Brian met Reese and Martin at the edge of the stage.

“What the hell was that all about?” Brian looked around at the confused faces.

“Excuse me.” A soft familiar voice came from behind Martin. They turned as a group to a very flustered Maria. “I guess it was my fault.”

“Your fault?” Reese asked with raised eyebrows.

“Well dammit,” She looked like she was about to cry. “First, I’m sorry Martin. Briton came to see me today; he was concerned there might be some kind of problem with your assimilation into becoming a tinman. I told him no, you were doing just fine, in fact you were doing so God damned fine that you were determined to go off and get yourself killed. Needless to say he came down on me like a pile of bricks,” she really looked sheepish, “and I deserved every last lump.”

She looked so sad Martin had to catch himself from putting his arm around her shoulders. “It’s ok, Maria.”

“No, it’s not ok.” She sniffed. “We get so wrapped up in our little make believe worlds that we forget there’s a real war going on here with all the death and destruction that goes with it, especially those of us who don’t see it up close and personal like you guys do.” She blinked back some tears. “Call me later, Martin.”

He smiled down on a puffy eyed face that he knew would haunt him for days. “Ok.” He gave her a sad wink.

“Oh come on sweetie.” Dottie clucked. “Let’s get you back into party form.”

Maria smiled through the tears. “Thanks Dottie, I guess I’m through making a spectacle of myself.” They headed off together.

Martin scratched his cheek. “Does everyone know everybody?”

“Yep, just about.” Reese chuckled. “Remember there are only about a hundred and fifty of us in this group. That’s a mighty small community.”

“Yeah, a real little Peyton Place.” Brian clicked his teeth. “I think she likes you Martin, even if you don’t have a cool shirt like this.”

“You’re a sick man, Brian.” Reese sighed, eyeing Brian’s eyesore through the corner of his eye.

Four strangers drifted up to Martin. “That was some nice flying, Captain.” The leader stated.

“Oh my god, who let the clowns in?” Brian waved his hands in the air.

“Jesus Reese, did Brian’s optical circuitry go blewy or what?” One of the other’s prodded, shielding his eyes from Brian’s shirt.

“Martin, meet C squadron. They look pretty ragtag but they’re not bad in a fight.” Reese winked at Martin. “They’re our sister squadron on this base ship.”

Martin nodded to the group, he didn’t try to get the individual names but rather watched in amusement as the banter got nastier then settled into a general bull session, he knew he’d pick them up.
There’s a lot of comradery here.
Martin rolled his eyes and laughed as one of the newcomers tried to convince Brian he should get a pair of boxers to match his shirt.
Clown squadron and Jester Squadron, somebody has a sense of humor. And I bet his initials are Commander Britain.
It felt good.

The next hour was a kaleidoscope of introductions and the renewing of sensations Martin had written off ever having again. But he was getting tired; it had been a long day. “Hey Reese, I’m going to take a powder, I’m beat.”

Reese nodded. “Hang on a minute there’s still one more thing I need to show you about Charlie’s Place.” He noticed Martin’s questioning look. “Remember, you asked where I bought all that stuff you saw back at my place.”

Martin perked up. “Oh yeah.”

“Follow me and I’ll show you where to get it.” With that Reese walked out the front door of Charlie’s Place with Martin in tow.

Martin stopped and gazed all around him. He was standing in the middle of a bustling, humongous indoor/outdoor mall.
It’s not a mall, it’s a city, a virtual city.
Martin smiled at his own unintended double entendre. “Reese, I just don’t get it.”

“It’ll come,” He smiled at his perplexed friend. “Just give it time, but for now, welcome to Cyberville.” He gave Martin a ‘good ‘ol boy’ wink and laughed.

For a couple weeks, between sorties, Martin became familiar with Charlie’s Place and met several other cyborgs. One thing he noticed immediately was the Warborgs were somewhat outcasts in the cyborg community, nothing overt, just a hesitation when interacting with other cyborgs. He asked Brian if he was imagining things.

“The cyborg community is very consistent except for the Warborgs,” Brian explained. “It’s rough on the others. They know what it means when a Warborg suddenly disappears . . . and sadly it’s a pretty common occurrence.” Brian shrugged and sighed. “So while the Warborgs aren’t discriminated against intentionally, there is an underlying ‘Dead man walking’ stigma that makes relationships more difficult. So yes, there is a standoffish reaction.”

During his down times Martin thought about getting a place to live. But after a couple quick ventures into Cyberville that left his head spinning, he decided to call in an expert.

. . .

Martin slumped in the black leather chair and sipped an ice tea. Maria’s place was so different from Reese’s. He looked over the wrought iron balcony rail at the tropical beach several stories below. The beach was lined with set back high rise apartments similar to the one she was in and there were crowds of people on the beach doing everyday beach things, sunbathing, children running and laughing, swimming, surfing, it all looked so natural. And Maria’s place had something Reese’s didn’t, when you took the lift tube down it opened directly into Cyberville.

“Hey, I’m ready, shall we?” Maria looked out the French doors and smiled.

Martin levered himself up and looked down at the happy grin on Maria’s face.
God you’re beautiful.
He stifled the thought in frustration.
The only thing I really want to feel doesn’t exist, SHIT!!
“Can I ask a stupid question?”

Maria laughed. “Sure, but only if you’ll take a dumb answer.”

“Well, if you’re just a virtual image what took you so long to get ready to go?”

“Men.” Maria giggled. “You’ll never understand. In this reality everything is materially real. So I had to put on my makeup, do my hair . . . Martin, half the fun of going out is getting ready to go out, especially if you know you don’t really have to.”

Martin scratched his head. “Oh.”
She’s right, I don’t get it, maybe it’s a girl thing.

“Oh, come on.” She smiled up at him and he followed her to the lift tube.

. . .

A minute later they were standing in Cyberville. “Ok, what now?” Martin asked, gawking at his surroundings.

She smiled at his boyish awkwardness.
You have a lot to learn Martin Morgan, and I think I’m really going to enjoy showing you.
“Well, first of all we have to get you a place of your own, so let’s go world shopping at an environment store. You need to think Martin, what kind of place do you want. The sky’s the limit, you’ve seen Reese’s cabin and my apartment, you can have a shack in the jungle or a medieval castle, with a dungeon if you’re kinky,” She laughed at her own brazenness. “It’s all out there just waiting.” She kept walking, her hands in constant motion, as she talked.

Martin followed a step behind, enjoying her antics. He stopped dead in his tracks; a hotdog vendor. The smell of sauerkraut made him sweat and salivate. “Damn.” He studied the vendor in desperation as the vendor gave him a questioning look.

Maria heard him and turned around. “Well if you want one, buy one for crying out loud.” She laughed.

“How.” Martin realized he was almost obsessed, as he floundered.

“Here, I’ll show you.” She walked up beside Martin. “Just tell him what you want.”

“OK. Sir can I have a sausage with kraut and mustard please.”

“Why of course.” The vendor chuckled, plopping a sausage on a bun and piled on the sauerkraut, he eyed Martin, smiled and piled on a little more for the obvious ‘newbie’. “The mustard’s on the end of the cart.” And then waited.

“Ok Martin, see the palm reader, use it.” Maria instructed pointing at the device.

Martin saw the reader on top of the cart and noted a number in a flashing display, which he assumed was the price. He placed his hand on the reader and was rewarded with a quiet beep.

“Thank you sir, enjoy you dog.” The vendor handed Martin his steaming prize.

“Oh crap, I’m sorry. Did you want something?” He instantly felt foolish.

Maria laughed and wrinkled her nose at the sauerkraut. “Ahh, no thanks.” She stuck out her tongue and made an ugly face.

He pumped on a couple squirts of mustard, closed his eyes and took a big bite, hoping it would taste as good as it smelled. His sinuses burned and his eyes watered. “Wow, that’s the good stuff.” He commented before taking another bite.

“Men.” She laughed. “C’mon, we still have to find you a place to call home.” She led off. “So where were we, oh yeah. What kind of place would you like to live in?”

Martin thought about it as he finished his kraut dog. “I don’t know, I’ve been thinking about it since I saw Reese’s. I just don’t know.”

Maria waved him to a bench. “Well, what do you like to do? I mean do you ski, scuba dive, air sled, anything like that. What have you ever done that brings peace to your soul?” She studied his eyes as she spoke.

Martin went blank before the answer started forming, edging its way into his consciousness. “Fly Maria, I like to fly. Away from it all, the hustle, the madness . . . the death.”

Maria was shocked at the sad intensity she read in Martin’s eyes. She looked away, somehow not feeling worthy to view this man’s reality.
Damn you Martin, I promised myself never again . . .
She felt her heart being peeled like an onion
. . . damn you.
She looked back and the haunted look was gone, replaced by a longing that hurt to even look at.

“Before I became a fighter pilot I was a long range scout. I’d spend months at a time roving around some distant corner of space. Just me, no one else around for thousands of light years, just me and the endless stars. A lone wanderer at peace with the universe.”

Maria realized her hands were clenched in white knuckle fists and she was chewing her lip. She shook it off and sighed with the realization he owned her, heart and soul.

Martin suddenly refocused on Maria, startled to see a pained look in her eyes and the smeared lip gloss on her lower lip. “I’m sorry, I was rambling.”

“Never apologize for speaking from the heart,” she answered softly. “C’mon I know just the place to go.” With an introspective sigh she headed off with Martin in close pursuit.

              . . .

“Brayco Space Yacht, the Brayco Space Yacht.” Martin stammered as Maria waved him through the door. “Man, I just don’t get it.”

“Yes, the Brayco Space Yacht.” Maria smiled as she took in the plush showroom. “Almost every major manufacturer maintains a virtual showroom in Cyberville.”

“But what is all this doing in the computers in the fleet?”

“Ahh ha, now I get it.” Maria suddenly realized why Martin was confused. “Martin, Cyberville isn’t in the fleet’s computers, only Charlie’s Place is there. Charlie’s is a portal.” She hesitated trying to figure out how to explain Cyberville in as few words as possible. “Ok, let’s start with the Cyborg Cooperative. Since you became a cyborg ten percent of whatever you earn goes to the cooperative, they use that money to pay for insane amounts of superlight communications and computers.”

She studied Martin for a heartbeat. “Martin, there are two hundred billion humans spread across space, you know that.”

Martin nodded.

“Of those, about two million are cyborgs, mostly working in space in one form or another.”

Martin looked stunned; he had never considered the overall number of the cyborg population.

“The cooperative was formed by a coalition of industry, the military and the cyborgs themselves in an effort to tap this huge specialized customer base. Cyberville doesn’t actually exist as you see it, it’s a collection of small interactive virtual realities spread across human occupied space. The instant you step out of Charlie’s into the street you leave the base’s computers. As for my apartment, I don’t even know where the computer is that has that program. All of our sensory data is being fed to us through the superlight communications system from who knows where. And when we stepped off the street into this showroom all our sensory input was transferred to another computer where this virtual showroom is located.”

“My god, I just didn’t realize. So this is probably the only virtual showroom they have, and it is available to any cyborg, no matter where they are physically located. This is friggin’ incredible.”

“Now you’re getting the idea. That kraut dog you ate may have very well have come from New York City back on Earth.” She laughed at Martin’s perplexed expression. “Hey just do what I do, don’t worry about it. Now let’s pick you out a place to live.”

Martin spent the next hour in bliss after Maria explained that he was given a generous ‘housing and assimilation’ allowance when he was converted to a cyborg.
A space yacht, I’m going to live in a space yacht.
He found he could afford a virtual rendition of one of Brayco’s finest two hundred meter jobs with all the trimmings. But he opted for an opulent seventy five meter ship. He took possession of a loaner immediately with the promise his personalized virtual yacht would be ready in thirty days. He upgraded the lease on the yacht to include a load compensating access portal and high priority processor access on Brayco’s own computer network. It cost him a bunch and the ongoing fee was ugly, but if he had a yacht he damn well wanted to be able to have a couple dozen guests aboard any time he wished.

              . . .

Martin slumped in a chair in the posh control deck, a smile permanently plastered to his face as he watched the stars roll by outside the ports. “Thank you, Maria.”

She smiled and laughed. “What ever works, Captain.” At first she didn’t think she’d like Martin’s world, but after lolling around on an incredibly comfortable couch for a few minutes, with the low hums, beeps and clicks coming from the consoles she could see the attraction.
I’d never exchange it for my apartment, but it’s not bad.
She thought with a smile.

“Hey let’s go below and see if it’s got all the mechanical stuff like the real thing. I think it’s supposed to.” Martin rolled out of his chair still grinning from ear to ear.

Men and their toys.
“You go ahead, I’ll be down in a minute or two . . . or three . . .”

Martin’s smile vanished. “Son of a bitch, I’m still on alert stand by and we’re needed.”

“Be careful Martin,” was all she could say before he popped out with a nod. Maria looked around Martin’s ship, it had been so warm and cozy just seconds ago, now it was a stark, cold reminder of Martin’s insanely dangerous reality. She buried her face in her hands, glad for the quiet solitude where her tears could flow freely. “Damn you Martin, why, why do you have to do it? Damn you.”

              . . .

^Jester four, in.^ Martin’s Light Fighter hung outside the base ship where he left it. He shook his head for a moment.
What is my reality?
A collage of the same face with a hundred different expressions flowed through his mind in the blink of an eye, and he knew.

^Martin, good that’s all of us, go FTL to pre-loads on my mark . . .^ Brian sounded serious. ^MARK!^