Watching Yute (45 page)

“
Hey, you fucker! Get back
here!” Aw, crap. The man was going to be difficult about it. Think
fast.

Kirison turned around and held up his
severed foot. “No! I need the booze more than you! Morgath the god
of diaper pails demands it! If I don’t get Morgath drunk, he will
send me to get more feet for the toe harvest ceremony!”

The man stood there, wide
eyed.

“
Toe harvest ceremony!!!”
Kirison screamed, waving the booze and the foot overhead. The man
flinched, and Kirison took the chance to flee. The man chose not to
follow

As he ran, Kirison examined his ill
gotten alcohol. Rum. Cheap rum. Horrible stuff, that man must have
been bombed out of his tree. He’ll spend the rest of the night
wondering about toes.

But now, Kirison needed a place to get
really drunk. He followed the darkest, dirtiest alleys he could,
trying to get away from people, trying to walk ‘naturally’ and not
draw attention.

Break into a car? Too much chance of
getting caught. He’d check into a motel if there was one nearby. He
saw a dumpster in a nice dark, tight little alley, and headed for
it. A homeless man lay against it on one side, holding onto some
booze of his own, in a brown paper bag.

“
Hey, cliché guy. I’m going
to go get drunk on the other side of the dumpster. You don’t fuck
with me, I won’t fuck with you, capiche?”

The homeless man took a moment to stare
at the dismembered foot in Kirison’s hand, and grunted with
indifference. Interesting how much braver Kirison found himself
against this man, as opposed to when talking to someone like Book,
or Horad. Then again, things had changed now, hadn’t
they?

Not wasting any more time, Kirison
settled in against the far side of the dumpster with his foot
safely under his jacket. He opened the cheap rum, and started
chugging. Three swallows in, he gagged and had to stop to catch his
breath. It burned, it burned! Don’t stop, this is important! If he
could eat goddam pencils and pennies, he could down a liter and a
half of rum.

Glub, glub, bubble after bubble,
upwards, and pop. The rum became less and less, and the burn became
more and more. His eyes were watering from the fumes. Don’t
stop!

The last mouthful of rum drained into
his mouth, and he held it for a moment before swallowing. He
dropped the bottle, and gasped for air, followed by a triumphant
laugh. “Don’t try that at home, kiddies!”

He felt nauseous, but thankfully the
dizziness distracted him from it. His mood got better and better.
Hmm. Very relaxing. It’d be soon. Pretty soon. It wasn’t long
before he felt like a nap.

A darkness that would be the end of
most people, wrapped warmly around him. Darker, darker,
black.

::: Kirison support colony: brain 1
malfunction detected [unconscious]

::: Kirison support colony: Backup
nanite subset 01 activated

Kirison awoke. Only moments had passed.
At first he thought his stunt had failed. Then he noticed a lack of
any of the effects of alcohol. Yup, he was thinking with a brain
made of nanites, which had found a home somewhere in his body. His
real brain was passed out, probably dying.

He looked inward, and saw all the
controls for the nanites in his body. Controls he couldn’t see from
his real brain. Well, first thing is first, let’s save our life.
Nanites were dispatched to break down alcohol in the bloodstream,
and try to fix any significant damage in the brain
tissue.

With those nanites on task, he looked
at the condition of his body otherwise. Stupid nanites. They’d
built half a dozen brains in totally random places.

He was currently thinking with a brain
not far from his stomach. The one that had caused his ankle to be
so weak was obviously not operational right now.

He noticed his wallet was gone. Damn
it. So was the homeless man. Alright, focus on current
priorities.

He squished his severed foot against
his ankle, and issued orders to re-attach it, and reconfigure the
placement of that brain. That was going to take longer than the
detoxification of his bio brain. Might as well leave a standing
order to reinforce bones as a low priority.

For a while, he considered just
abandoning his original brain in favour of this nanite brain. But
would he still be Kirison? Jonathan Coll gave up his mind in favour
of a machine. He didn’t want to be like Coll. He’d hang onto his
bio brain, thank you very much.

~~~

Mr. Book tapped away at his office
terminal, moving information and orders to and fro, as was business
as usual. It was his career.

His career was primarily telling people
what to do. One great way to motivate people was to tell them that
doing what he asked would be good for their careers. Sometimes, it
was even true. Some people are so obsessed with their career, they
get nothing done.

Book was good at telling the right
person to do the correct thing. He hadn’t set out to be a
‘management’ type, it fell to him because he got things done.
Subsequently, it became his career.

But what was it about nanites? Not many
people had the talent to work with them; especially off the books;
but twice now, the people he chose were lame ducks. Coll, and now
Kirison.

Coll was an ass. He had no
consideration for his career. This made him difficult to control,
and a lot of people paid the price.

Kirison was a moron. He was far too
interested in seeing what he could do, and not nearly interested
enough in business or any consideration for keeping things running
smoothly. Nanite researchers. A pile of morons.

Still, Kirison was malleable. It might
be possible to reclaim him as a resource down the road.

That particular road came to a sudden
dead end. The terminal chimed an incoming call from a Dr. Andrew
Brock. Who the hell was this? Book quietly ran a little trace. He
was calling from Yute army base. Shit.

Book tapped the call to connect, and
the slight middle aged face of Doc Brock appeared. “Book here,
speak.” Book greeted with his usual people skills.

“
Ah, yes.” Brock was
doubtlessly stunned by the sight of the grey, joyless Mr. Book.
“Mister Book? I am to understand you have one Doctor Jacob Kirison
in your employ?”

“
Hrmm.” Book feigned having
to work to remember him. “Yes, what about him?”

“
We’re having some
difficulty contacting him. He isn’t answering his
terminal.”

Book pretended to look up some data.
“Hrph. It seems he hasn’t come to work for some time.”

“
Doctor Kirison was in
charge of your nanite division in the past, wasn’t he?”

“
Yes, Brock. That division
has been shut down, when the laws changed to prohibit it. Kirison
was disappointed, but since then he has gone to work in another
department in an assistant position.”

Brock adjusted his glasses. “Mister
Book, did you receive a message from one Colonel Judith Nafim a
while ago? Around the same time Kirison stopped coming to
work?”

Think quick, Book. “Now that you
mention it, I did. I read as far as it pertaining to nanites, and I
forwarded it to Kirison.”

Brock stared keenly into Book’s eyes.
“Did you happen to look at the attached image?”

“
No,” Book lied, again
faking looking it up. He paused, and furrowed his brow. “Is that…
is that supposed to be Kirison?”

“
I believe it is. We came to
know him first as ‘Samuel’, and he is suspected of being involved
in the murder of two army personnel.” Brock held up the heat suit
in front of the camera, so that Book could see. Book did his best
to look puzzled, and not enraged.

“
Mister Book, is this
property of your company? Many components match those of other
products your company has introduced to market, and aside from the
dominant traces of the confessed killer, I recently found traces of
Doctor Kirison.”

That bastard. Firstly to have the nerve
to steal it, secondly but stupid enough to leave it somewhere with
fingerprints or something.

Book slammed his fist on the desk. “I
would very much like to have a word with Kirison!”

Brock peered over the rims of the
glasses, trying to read Book. “As would we, Mister
Book.”

~~~~~

:::C /44

~~~~~

Cassidy stood in Maxine's exercise
square, holding one of her wooden spears. If she had thought of it
before, Cassidy would have taken the beast spear with her when she
left the airlimb.

Somehow this wooden toy didn't channel
her anger as well as a sharp spear would, and the duty spears
rarely left their posts. The toy would have to do.

She planted her feet in a warlike
position. The sand ground between her boot and the stone with a
quiet, seething sound. Gripping the spear until her knuckles turned
white, she wished that Horad had come at her, attacking.

If he had been aggressive, she would
have had no problems in attacking him. She lunged forward with a
sharp exhale, and slashed the top of the spear across the air,
imagining Cheryl's killer being torn in half in front of her, as if
Armil's spear were that powerful.

Again, she attacked. She imagined the
wet sound it would make. The last sputtering gasp.

Again. A third slice before the
imaginary corpse hit the ground. Again, again. She screamed her
hatred for Cheryl's death with every thrust and slash.

Unable to stop, she turned, and
attacked, attacked, attacked. She jumped and stabbed the ground,
imagining the spear head ramming into her target's chest. Bleed,
you bastard, bleed! The target wasn't a Horad anymore, it was just
a target. Suffer and die, but don't forget to suffer! If she just
wanted to kill a target, she always had her...

She dropped the spear, and rested her
trembling hand on her holster. She always had her gun. Out of
breath, she sunk to her knees and closed her eyes.

The sun was bright, even through her
eyelids.

“
Did you lose?”

Cassidy quickly wiped tears away, and
turned her head to face the voice. It was Maxine. Still catching
her breath, she gave a staggered reply. “Did I... did I lose?
What?”

Maxine walked over to Cassidy, and
picked up the spear. She put the tip near Cassidy's exposed neck.
“Kneeling like that, you looked like you were a surrendering
samurai or something. Are you waiting for an honourable
death?”

Cassidy stood, hoping here eyes weren't
red. “That would be a switch, huh? An honourable death?”

“
I know two people who
recently died doing their duty. Seems pretty darn honourable to
me.” Maxine examined the tip of the spear. “Damn, don't be so rough
with these, huh? They're wood, but they don't grow on
trees.”

Maxine hadn't brought a spear herself.
She probably saw one was gone, and decided to come be nosy. “Yeah,
they died on duty. Big deal. Guarding a statue that you'd need an
aircraft carrier to steal, against a guy who wanted to break a
little chunk of wood in front of it. What's honourable about that?
It was pointless!”

Maxine sighed. “The dishonour goes to
Horad.”

“
Then I should have lobbed
his head off.” Cassidy mumbled.

Maxine shook her head slowly, and put
her hand on Cassidy's shoulder. Cassidy knocked it off, and started
walking. “I'm going to camp.”

“
No you're not.”

Cassidy stopped,and looked back at
Maxine. “Did I say camp? I meant base.” She resumed walking, in the
direction of the little camp.

“
Leftenent, your sidearm
please!” Maxine called out as an order.

Cassidy stopped again, and glared at
Maxine silently.

“
Cass...” Maxine repeated
softly, walking towards Cassidy with her hand out. “Your sidearm.
Please.” She looked into Cassidy's hard eyes. “Please.”

Cassidy gritted her teeth, and stared
back. Finally,she pulled out her gun, and dropped in on the ground
before continuing on to the camp, and Cheryl's sleeping bag. “Fuck
off. Sir.”

~~~

“
Grand Elder Guard, Sergeant
Dixon.” Keith answered an incoming call aboard Armil's airlimb. A
fit middle aged man appeared on screen, wearing a shirt and tie. A
police emblem could be seen in the background, hanging on the
wall.

“
Hello, Sergeant. I think I
may have found someone you're looking for.” The officer tapped a
button off screen, and his own image was replaced with a paused
security image. It was Kirison, walking into a convenience
store.

“
This man has been involved
in a number of petty thefts. Normally, it would barely some to our
attention, but-”

“
What kinds of things did he
steal?” Keith interrupted with great interest.

The officer was quiet for a moment as
he looked it up. “Looks like food and batteries, mostly. A little
stupid about it too. In one of the stores he stole batteries from,
he had to get behind the counter. He wasn't very sneaky about it.”
Another video popped up of Kirison walking around a counter, and
trying to talk to the clerk. As the clerk got increasingly upset,
Kirison jammed packages of batteries into his jacket with one hand,
and making apologetic gestures with the other. Eventually, the
clerk picked up the phone, at which point Kirison ran
off.