Blood Soaked and Invaded - 02 (8 page)

There also seemed to be a lot of fluid floating around.

“!” I pointed at the image.

“Yes! Astounding, isn’t it?” The doctor was smiling and moist-eyed behind his headgear. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Not even in the animal experiments!”

I felt a little ill, and decided to wander back to the cold steel table. If they needed me, they’d ask. When I turned around, I discovered that Buttons and Omura had walked up behind me without even making a sound. Omura smiled and clapped me on the shoulder. Buttons simply walked around me, snatched the print from the unsuspecting doctors, and gave it a thorough examination.

The look on his face was disturbing, and indescribable. Even the doctors, eager to retrieve the sheet, quailed rather than push the issue. Luckily for them, Buttons handed it back without a word, and left the tent with a snarl. Even government drones had a sixth sense when it came to touchy situations.

I mumbled, and pointed at the swinging door that Buttons had just gone through.

“Don’t worry about it too much, he’s a little sensitive about this issue.”

“?”

Omura snorted, smiling. “Give him a little sympathy. Half of his brain is mechanically reconstructed and he knows it. That is probably the most tragic thing about the procedure in the first place.”

“…”

“Exactly. His treatment was ten generations more primitive than your reconstruction. He can remember who he was before the injury, and knows that he will never be that man again,” Shoei explained, “or be entirely in control of himself.”

“I don’t know if I’m willing to give him a free pass on being an asshole, just because his shit isn’t together,” Charlie said from behind my shoulder, giving me a start.

“Major Bernard Grachevsky, ‘Buttons’ to you and me, deserves a few free passes. He’s come farther than I can easily explain to you. Try and cut him just a little slack.”

Charlie was about to open her mouth and offer more commentary on the topic, but I put a finger to her lips. I wasn’t sure that I could hear more dross piled on top of the heap that we’d already built. I doubt that I’d developed a sudden sense of kinship with Buttons, but I could easily imagine knowing that the person I am is not the person I was. A bullet to the head will give one a certain… perspective.

Jayashri was holding forth on the other side of the tent, pointing at the printouts of my cranial cavity that had been tacked up on a board while we’d been discussing other things.

“What you see here are voids that contain fluid. The hexagon-shaped structures are beyond my experience.”

The Health Troopers nodded in unison, stone quiet. Charlie walked over to the outer edge of medical professionals and raised her hand. Jayashri pointed to her.

“Jayashri, when you say ‘fluid filled areas’, are you talking about blood or something else?” I couldn’t see Charlie’s face when she asked this question, but I felt goosebumps on my forearms.

“Blood and damaged tissue would be my guess.”

“Oh.”

Even I felt a little cold, hearing that.

Charlie asked her, “Is there any good way to find out what all is going on in there?”

“A craniotomy would answer many questions,” Jaya answered.

There was a palpable tremor of excitement emanating from the assembled medical community, and I nearly had to beat a hasty retreat. Feeling like some sort of captive experimental subject is no fun at all, not when the topic of popping your noggin open arrives.

Dr. Bottsford stood up. “Dr. Sharma, based on the patient’s response to tissue damage from simple sampling, do you actually believe that the nanomachines would allow us to remove the top of his head and have a peek?”

“No. I do not believe that we would be successful. The wound would begin to close, and, as tenacious as the technology is, I do not feel that retracting the flesh would allow us more time before it closes.”

I could almost feel the erections of modern medical science deflate.

Fine with me!

The debate over the character of my internal organs and bones continued for some time, and I was as worried about it as I was bored. Omura left not long after Charlie’s first question, and she stayed close to the discussion at the board. I stood there until the worry made me feel ill, and the “You need more coffee” headache was blaring between my ears.

I did what I felt was best; I snuck out in search of coffee and a more pleasant environment. My luck must have been with me, because I looked across the street and saw Shawn, Chunhua and the Banks family lounging on the lawn next door to Baj’s house. They had, and my nose is seldom ever wrong on this topic, coffee.

I don’t have to tell you where I went as fast as my little feet would carry me.

But just as I was about across the street, everyone sitting on the lawn levitated to their feet and started to move towards the empty field next door. I barely had time to register their movement before Charlie, Bajali and Jayashri plowed through the tent door behind me. They knocked me ass over teakettle to get across the street.

I heard people yelling, but only one thing came through clearly. Omura yelled, “Channing, stand down! That’s an order!” When I raised my eyes and looked in that direction, all I saw were dark outlines of people, haloed by an intense white light.

The sound hit me an instant after that: a sizzling crack like an electrical transformer exploding. Then the smell wafted towards me: burning meat and ozone. It didn’t take much to put evidence together and figure out that Channing had done something unfortunate, or had done something unfortunate to someone else. I wanted to find out precisely what happened as soon as the after-images cleared from my vision.

By the time I was back on my feet, blinking tears and brightly colored shapes out of my eyes, Charlie was by my side.

“Channing,” she told me, “Omura’s tech geek, killed himself.”

“Narg?”

“He grabbed the positive and negative poles of the underground generator,” she said, wrapping her arm around my shoulder, “and that’s enough electricity to power half of Washington.”

I sighed.

“I know. Fuckin’ sad. There’s nothing left.” I embraced her and felt her shaking. “I guess we know what can kill us now.”

My stomach and headache didn’t care that the rest of me was sad and disappointed. They tied themselves in knots to protest the lack of attention to their needs. Groaning inwardly, I hug-walked Charlie across the street and let her go just long enough to steal the coffee cup that was nearest to full. I drank from it with one arm around her shoulders.

I saw Bajali sprint back to the medical tent, go in, and sprint back to the field with a graduated cylinder in his hand. I guess they’d found enough of Channing to merit a container of some kind. Grim thoughts crowded my head.

I didn’t notice other people appearing and nearly jumped out of my skin when someone poked me. I squawked and hopped like an annoyed turkey.

“You did not,” Barbara Banks said to me.

“?”

“You did not drink my coffee,” she elaborated. “You so did not drink my coffee.”

“Eh-eh.”

“That pisses me off. Java thieves rack up nasty karma and end up reincarnated as child pornographers. You know that, right?”

“!” I handed the cup back, ducking my head down against my chest in an attempt to look contrite and pitiful at the same time.

“It’s okay, Frank,” Barbara said, patting me on my head. “I can forgive you this once.”

We stood around in the wake of Channing taking his own life, aimless and shocked. In retrospect, we should have been more curious or more cynical about the changes to our living situation. Everyone appeared to have ignored a fundamental rule of the universe: jails have guards.

No one, including those of us with functioning nanotech sensors, noticed their existence until they manifested themselves all around us. The only warning we got was an amplified voice ordering us to get down on our knees and put our hands on our heads.

Civilians will look around before they drop to the ground. It actually takes training to be able to set your curiosity aside for self-preservation. Our jailers appeared out of nowhere, wearing some kind of battle armor, and popped their rifle butts into the backs of unsuspecting knees. Nate was the only one of us who reacted fast enough to avoid their encouragement.

I fell flat on my face, and the business end of a weapon appeared against my temple when I tried to lift myself up on all fours. I seethed quietly, debated random acts of violence, and forced myself to relax and let things play out.

“Major Kenney, what the fuck are you doing?” Omura shouted from somewhere off to my left, and I wanted to turn my head to get a better look. I tried it, and didn’t get my head blown off again.

Thank goodness for small favors.

Omura was still standing, but two of our new friends had their guns trained on him from less than five feet away. The weapons were totally unfamiliar, beyond having the general form of a rifle. Regardless, the menace was clear and the likelihood of Shoei taking a hit from that distance was pretty high.

The soldiers looked like members of the Detroit branch of the Dark Lords of the Sith Motorcycle Club. Kinky. I had a brief thought of hoping that the black armor incorporated climate control. Sweat and armor would make anybody pissed off. Annoyed, gun-toting jail guards were the last thing we needed.

A member of the Club approached Omura; the only one I could see who didn’t come armed with a funky black blaster rifle.

“I am taking command of this situation, Mister Omura,” the helmeted stranger replied. “All of you will remain where you are until I have ascertained the scope of this event.”

“Channing, one of my people, just killed himself with the positive and negative poles of the underground generator. Pretty fucking obvious, don’t you think?” He was yelling, and it looked like he wanted to throttle the newcomer, armor or no. I can’t imagine that it would have been a good choice. “And ‘Mister’? I goddamned well outrank you.”

“No, you do not. I am in charge of this camp and everything in it. You manage your people, and that’s fine. Other than that, you all answer to me.” The Major looked around at the group of us, and all we saw was the texture of the visor hiding his face. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am Major Kenney, your Camp Director and CO. My people have one order as far as you all go: shoot to kill.”

Our local Dark Overlord raised his gauntlet to the front of his black, textured visor, and lifted it up. There was a second, clear one, underneath. Major Kenney was about what you’d expect for a career military man: sharp features, chiseled bone structure, and that rangy look old soldiers seem to take no end of pride in.

Not a man to fuck with. Clearly.

“I am aware of your enhancements.” Kenney’s eyes came to rest on Baj, who was on his knees with a beaker full of Channing dust in his hands. “I am equally aware that you consider yourselves to be invincible, and I bet you think that a round from a weapon won’t end you where you stand. That is a mistake on your part. These rifles are powered by the same technology that your boy just roasted himself with, and the ammunition is superconductive.”

“Touch my people and this will become a very personal issue, Major,” Shoei snarled.

“Mr. Omura, allow me to give you a piece of advice for free: don’t test me.” Major Kenney turned, and I realized something about this armor. It wasn’t just armor; it was a motor-assisted exoskeleton.

Great. Just great.

I watched him get a faraway expression, and saw his mouth move with a very sharp nod. He looked at all of us on the ground once more and waved his right hand. The guns lowered, and the soldiers stepped back about three paces.

“Thank you all for your cooperation while we investigated your comrade’s untimely departure. Please accept my sympathy in your time of loss. The boy was a good soldier,” the Major intoned, as if reading from a teleprompter on the inside of his visor.

For all I knew, he might have been.

“Now then,” he resumed, “we will go back to our business of keeping you secure. Please be aware that the Corps of Engineers will commence work on your new buildings as soon as they arrive this morning. They will also examine your homes for structural integrity and may make alterations and repairs as they see fit.” He crossed his arms, clearly tired of talking to us. “The engineers are under orders not to interact with you, and will be wearing biohazard gear. Do not interact with them or attempt to infect them with your ‘enhancements’,” he actually used air quotes, “or there will be significant consequences. Any questions will go through one of my people, and from them to me.”

Nate raised his hand.

“Mr. Banks?”

“Sir, if you and your people are doing the ‘Predator’ bullshit, how are we supposed to know you’re there to ask questions?”

“An excellent question, Mr. Banks. Anyone who wishes to ask questions or needs our assistance should call out, ‘Guards’, and one of us will be there momentarily. We are listening and watching everything in your community.”