CHAPTER TEN
"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear. And the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown." - Author Unknown
Harry's hover-car followed its cyber grid-map to Cyber Match Central. The vehicle's interior, anointed with comfortable furnishings, adjusted to Harry's every conscious or unconscious whim. A bubble top kept the Outside out and the Inside in. Approaching Cyber Match Central, the car sensed he was tense and surrounded him with blue sky, puffy white clouds with a steady breeze that pushed his hair back slightly. The car seat warmed to please him and gently filled with softness, holding him snug and secure. Apparently Harry's psyche needed that.
"Mr. Bolls, we have arrived at your destination." the car's voice—an agreeable female voice—announced gently and earnestly. Harry didn't feel the motion as the hover-car stopped and floated to the ground to rest a mere two inches from the surface. Equipped with SensaVision programs, these newer models could mask g-forces, making an even more perfect experience. That way the car's occupant arrived refreshed and ready to seek a social match.
Abruptly, the usually obliging voice that easily mimicked the positive attributes of both Bio genders, became tinny, sharp, mechanical—obviously of cybert origin, and as obnoxious as intended.
"Warning! Caution! Warning. Do not exit. Possible contacts with other Bio arrivals prohibit your exit from this vehicle."
Pause, then the tone reverted to the familiar and soft-spoken Bio sounding voice—another female, this time, with a distinctly subservient tone.
"Sir, would you like your usual vodka cocktail while you are waiting?"
"Yes, thanks."
"You are welcome, Sir." The voice was steady, calm and compliant. There was a breath of cool fog as the dashboard presented the gimlet of Absolute Citron vodka with lemon slice on a platter. It would ease the added anxiety caused by the warning. Alcohol, like tobacco, now existed in innocuous forms without the insidious side effects, replicating the ancient euphoria momentarily and totally evaporating the alcohol absorbed by the blood. The euphoria dissipated, too, moments later.
"The way is clear, Sir." His head also cleared itself of the very brief warm feelings of intoxication.
The hover-car's gull-wing doors open with a hiss, allowing him to stand up and exit the vehicle without stooping. As Harry stepped out he noticed the same blue sky dotted with wispy white clouds. The clouds began stirring in response to a slight but pleasantly warm breeze surrounding him now. Ahead he saw the entrance, ringed by an unnatural formation of those same clouds.
He thought-blinked playfully. The blue sky and white clouds vanished and were replaced with a totally overcast gray sky and a vast expanse of bland gray and brown buildings. The buildings, including the one he was about to enter, appeared to be in various stages of disuse—considerably worn but apparently still functional, sanitized for human occupancy. Harry noticed the buildings were still adorned with early twentieth century architectural touches. He knew some older buildings like these would be destroyed and recycled, but before that happened Makr would have the inhabitants removed in their sleep and moved to identical quarters. The inhabitants would be oblivious to the change unless Makr told them. Just when Harry's curiosity was making him want to see the inside of these buildings, two of them imploded and collapsed almost simultaneously at a safe distance from where Harry stood. Teams of cyberts rushed to the rubble. It was the first time he had seen a group of street cleaner and deconstruction cyberts performing their respective tasks. Harry reluctantly turned his back on the scene and headed to the entrance and the treasure he had come for.
Harry would remember this experience and relieve it in his dreams. Good dreams, he hoped.
The Cyber Match Central entrance was a rectangular opening in the building; there was no door—just a dark space large enough for one person to pass through. Only a small unobtrusive sign to the left of the opening, abridged, censored and succinctly worded as in all government communications these days, marked the entrance as the place where Bios went to identify and receive Cyber sanction for personal meetings. The sign read: Cyber Match Central—Matches for Every Bio. It's the Law.
.
In an alleyway on the upper West Side of the city, a Stealth-cloaked figure created a ripple in the darkness as it moves through the shadows. This charcoal gray phantom slinked through the inky blackness of night. To any unlikely observer, human or visually-equipped Cyber, the flowing ghoul was seen as a change in the reflection of moonlight or the stars as clouds pass by. Only another Shadow could perceive the movement for what it really was. It wasn't a beast; it was just a man hiding his repugnant actions from, not only patrolling cyberts, but his own kind.
Not trusting his own Stealth technology, the furtive figure looked around and peered deep into the shadows to make sure he was alone. Finally, as he faced the reinforced iron door, he relaxed for a moment before slapping a baseball-size gray malleable substance on the door where a lock would have been found in the past and presses an object the size of a small coin into it. Several decades ago the door he was trying to enter would have easily opened to the alley. Now it stood rusted to the door jam. Simple science had made entrance through the door impregnable except by force. The building's eroded and broken stone facade told him it was a rather ancient building—maybe two hundred years old—and ignored by Cyber because it was obsolete and inefficient, and by Bios because it offered little or no Shadow protection from cyberts on the prowl. No need to preserve—no need to destroy.
But, what did he know or care about such things? The building contained what he wanted; that's what was important here. Rumors in the Nest had it that amid all of Jackson's cybert weapons and spare parts temporarily stored here were century old, obsolete sex cyberts and other cyber-toys. The earliest versions of SensaVision had made Bio sex toys and other level-one interactive devices like these obsolete. Fine for those connected to Makr; however, Outside, Harlan Leach felt he had no choice but to find pleasure this way. It has been a perversion for many a lonely ancient human. He only hoped his prizes still functioned.
Only one way to find out, he thought, as he moved quickly down the alley about 50 yards and around the corner. That should be far enough. Pulling open his cloak for a fraction of a second, he took a tiny square box no bigger than the palm of his gloved hand from a pocket inside his cloak. He braced himself against the wall so the blast would channel down the alley and miss him. Then, finding his earplugs in another pocket, stuffed them in his ears underneath his cloak. This would be big, he predicted optimistically. Big enough to do the trick he hoped. Although ancient as the explosive was—as old as this building, more or less—it should be adequate to open the door.
Just as he started to push the red button on the little plastic box, he stopped to eye the inanimate device fondly. "I want to feel your power," he said quietly as he took off one glove and gently caressed the box, touching the button ever so lightly. Then, staring straight ahead, he removed his cowl and hood.
"I know you can sense my warmth, but wait till you feel this," he said arrogantly, a little louder as if the building could hear him.
He knew he wasn't in any immediate danger from Cyber. If the explosion was great enough, it should shut down Cyber activity in the immediate area. With any luck, he'd be in and out before cyberts, almost instantaneously re-booted, and were dispatched to do anything about it. He'd have to move quickly.
As he pushed the button, he found the resulting explosion exhilarating, orgasmic even—and that was just the sound alone. The force sent him flying back some 60 feet. He landed bruised and battered; the wind knocked out of him, but otherwise unhurt. Oh, Makr! Okay, so it was a little bigger than I imagined.
He ran his hands all over his body. A few holes in his Stealth covering—nothing else. Uh oh, those holes could be a problem.
As he looked around the building to where he had placed the explosive, there was no longer a door, nor half the building. So, he had used a bit too much of
the stuff. Hell, I never used the stuff before, he thinks. Who cares? Besides, there is plenty more of that C-4 plastic explosive or—whatever-it-is-called. Sure packs a wallop even after a couple hundred years of storage.
"Bzzzzz." What the...
He rounded the corner in time to see a cybercleaner, half the height of a man, intent on vaporizing and inhaling the building's remnants. It must have been in the area. Naturally, since it was a demolition cybert, it could handle concussion or electromagnetic pulses, but it was otherwise harmless. He watched the oblivious cybert with interest as it tried to deal with the rubble and became more and more frustrated.
He stifled a chuckle, noting that clearing the rubble would be a daunting, if not an impossible task, for a one hundred-plus pound street cleaning cybert—even one equipped with all the latest in disintegration devices. It will eventually blow a fuse, but not before it sends a message to Makr, and larger cybert replacements would arrive that could handle a job this size.
If Makr can shield cyberts, why just this one?
Is it just cyber street cleaners that aren't affected by the explosions because they're too simple, too basic, not enough "brains" to scramble? Or is it this type of explosive? Leach had neither knowledge nor brains enough to figure that out. Right now he was more concerned about being discovered by bigger, more capable machines.
Hidden inside the massive pile of steel, stone and composite rubble, Leach's 5'7" frame, 140 pounds of wiry muscle and bones, might be missed by this task-dedicated cybert but he wasn't going to wait around to find out. Quietly, he crept toward the oversized street vacuum, making sure he was clear of the pulverizer that contained the various tools the cybert had to do its job. At that moment, it was using ultra concentrated sound waves in an attempt to break up a large chunk of steel, concrete and glass. If that was unsuccessful, it would use its laser. When all else failed, it would use its disintegrator to blast the stone into digestible pieces. Inside the small cybert, those "digestible" pieces that were sucked in would be broken down even further to separate elements and molecules into the energy life force for all of Makr's cyberts. It would just stop short of spitting the atom.
Leach picked up an iron pipe about three feet long and two inches thick. He had seen Carlos do this, and if Carlos could do this, he certainly could. Looking for the weak spot, he whipped the pipe around and slammed it sideways into the cybert's neck; his intention was to decapitate it where the least armor was located but he was disappointed.
"Bong! Bong!" Nothing! It didn't occur to him that a cybert with shielding, working in demolition might have had a tougher skin. The cybercleaner zipped its head 180 degrees. As Leach raised the pipe in defense, the cybercleaner's laser, probably triggered by the blow, fired and sliced the pipe in half.
Firing the laser unexpectedly made the cybert hesitate, which was logical considering it wasn't made for combat, performed only one function at a time and is wasn't sophisticated enough to be terribly fast. Seizing the opportunity, Leach swung the rest of the pipe down, this time aiming between the two light photo sensors and caved in the front of the cybert cranium.
The primary suction unit at the cybert's chest that had been inhaling minuscule particles of debris previously now extended its hose and initiated suction again, this time unintentionally trying to inhale Leach through an opening less than three inches in diameter. Leach panicked as he found himself attached to the vacuum unable to pull free. His Stealth clothing was being sucked in—with him in it!
As he wrestled to get out of his Stealth cloak, he managed to pull his sleeve free just in time to miss another disintegrating laser beam. He let go of the sleeve, which tore free at the shoulder, and watched the cybert make a meal of it, sucking the rough-hewed fabric inside and dissolving it. A tiny bit of steam exited through a hole at the cybert's opposite end.
Leach was stunned. The damn thing is still able to function—even with the front of its head bashed in!
Traveling without Stealth protection on one arm would make getting home awkward; he'd have to keep one arm inside his cloak while he made his way back to the Nest to avoid detection.
No longer attached to the cybert by his clothing, Leach thought he was free as well. Not so. The cybert lurched forward and attached itself—this time to skin. At first, he felt his skin being pulled tighter and tighter. Then, he experienced the pain of flesh and bones being pulled into a sausage-sized space—far smaller than anyone could survive. He saw the cybert sensor turn red. The garbage disintegrating laser fired up. Burning! The laser sliced through his cheek.
Ow! Damn! An inch up and over, it could have sliced through the brain.
"I've taken about all I'm goin' to take from you, Garbage-eater!"
Tightly clutching the pipe, he brought it in close to his body and used the end like a piston, repeatedly slamming it down on top of the Cyber cranium. With each blow he nearly lost consciousness because of the excruciating pain he was in. The pain can't last forever, he thought. How can this machine survive all this? Aren't the "brains" of this thing in its head like most other cyberts? This particular cybert didn't have enough critical programming to deal with this kind of situation, but Leach's abuse had triggered a normal sequence of events used in street cleaning. Not only did Leach's hands, head, chest and cheek hurt, but the cybert was beating him by doing its job—without thinking!
Without warning, the cybercleaner reversed the suction and blew Leach some twenty feet away from where he had been grappling with the cleaner. As he slammed into the nearby building the air was forced out of his lungs. Like a fish out of water, he gasped for air, but the available air outside, filled with fine dust particles, only made him cough and choke. Breathing was only one of his problems. Frantic the machine would switch to disintegrate mode, he yanked his hood off, exposing his face so he could see better, possibly breathe easier, but then discovered that breathing the dust was far worse. As he choked, unable to breathe, he lost consciousness. Upon opening his eyes, he saw only a single red light, blinking for a few seconds and then it went out. He sensed a burning in his shoulder...and lost consciousness again.
Finally, he stirred, not knowing if he should be afraid; there didn't seem to be a part of his body that didn't ache, throb or burn. Even tiny movements to raise up off the ground caused him more pain although these wounds were only skin scrapes from the rough, hard pavement beneath him. Breathing a sigh of relief, thinking the ordeal was over; he realized he was partially uncovered—more than just his hand. Panic set in! No Stealth cover on his face or his arm!
It is the one fear he couldn't pretend doesn't exist for him and connects him to the Shadows: an almost natural phobia of discovery, of being without a Shadow or Stealth.
"Makr, damn you!" he screamed.
No Stealth cover on his face or his arm! The brainless trash incinerator had done this to Leach, the great soldier.
As The Great Soldier limped away quickly and pathetically without his prized sex cyberts, he swore he heard laughing. Impossible. He moved circuitously, trying to find comfort in the shadows along the route home. He found none—none for he felt too vulnerable without half his Stealth protection.
Seconds later, the battered Cyber street cleaner disintegrator malfunctioned again, this time firing uncontrollably, leveling the rest of the building it was cleaning and the one next to it, a small apartment building with only 1,508 residents. The street cleaner at last ceased all functions and there wasn't another single street cleaner for miles to clean up the mess.
.
It took Leach twice as long to return to the Nest after hiding in the shadows and making doubly sure no Bios spotted him and absolutely no cyberts detected his presence—even small harmless ones like the Cyber street cleaner. Grateful to return to the safe shadows of home, he rushed to his quarters and removes his Stealth garments to find his body covered with red circles. Vacuum kisses. So much for Cybersex.
.
Cyber Match Central was merely a holding area with pla
in desks and chairs large enough to separate and mask Bios in darkness until a match was found. Fitted with special contact lenses, Desiree could see his perfectly ordinary features in the dim light of Cyber Match Central that shielded everyone from truly seeing each other. Ironically, they appeared to each other as mere shadows, ghosts of living beings, without faces, without discernible clothing or body types; they were simply there to indicate availability at that moment.
Every movement would be controlled and observed by Cyber, for the Bios' own protection, of course. Individuals were separated by several feet, although it wasn't really necessary; they could have been matched from the comfort of their home. Some Bios still needed to be in the presence of their own kind. Centers like this prevented "the last-man-on-earth syndrome," and gave the Bios the impression of being around others in a group, while still sanitizing the potentially destructive environment. Of course, Makr never understood, but the solution was simple enough to keep the Bios sane.
Each match seeker heard his or her own "happy" music or noise and could order a drink from a Cyber server. Only previously matched as friends who could meet socially were allowed contact while here; all others had to wait to be matched. Unauthorized contacts violated PerSoc laws and were punished accordingly. Harry had alienated every "friend" he had been matched with. He just had nothing to say to others who existed purely in Makr's world. But he had to get out. There was that need to be around others of his own kind.
The beautiful demon smiled at Harry's shadow.
Right size and age, she thought. Although she couldn't be certain until she was closer to him, she thought she understood why her people were interested in him even at this distance. He definitely doesn't stand out in a crowd, and, in the artificial darkness he stands out even less. That could be useful. He blended so well that when she let her attention slip for a moment, she lost him and had to sift through the shadows again to find him.
Desiree was the consummate bait: She was Harry's fantasy type physically—young, attractive in form, yet, in certain lights either seductive or innocent. In a society that reveres anonymity and blandness for safety's sake, Harry epitomized the ordinary and average. Desiree was neither; she was striking in looks and alluring in her personality. She might be Harry's fantasy but never his match. This made him all the more ripe for what she has planned.
Harry had no idea he was about to be ...not eaten ...something worse: accosted. Accosted and taken.
Experience with similar missions had minimized her hesitation, although this prey was different from her usual scientist or doctor. He was an Insider with no useable Outside skills. The fact that he talked to Makr directly was troubling but not enough to deter her from her task. She had always appreciated a challenge.
"Hello," Desiree's whisper broke the silence and resonated loudly in a room where people never actually talked with one another.
She heard a gasp or two, and with her night vision contact lenses spied some heads moving to get a look. This Insider even perspires more than the others.
"Hello, I said," Desiree insisted. "I'm talking to you silly."
Harry flinched.
Gotcha!
"Yes, you!"
Silently, Harry turned stiffly in his chair, ever so slightly—only a few inches away from the voice, pretending not to hear, trying hard to be inconspicuous. Squinting in the darkness, he tried to see what he both feared and needed: Bio contact.
He listened for the voice again, but his nervous anticipation made his sweat stream uncontrollably. He felt a spring of moisture roll down his side, despite his heavy, neutralizing antiperspirant.
Harry couldn't help noticing the inviting and delicate fragrance of flowers coming from the same direction as the voice he had heard moments ago and he felt anxious once again. It seemed the scent was created for him alone. The olfactory assault makes the situation even more dangerous.
Desiree saw her prey was frozen with fear. Some hero you are, she thought.
He could barely see, his eyes glazed over with trepidation and indecision. Desiree took advantage of the opportunity to place her ticket, number side down, with a message scribbled on the back, on the very table in front of him. He flinched helplessly a second time as he saw her invading his personal space. He had not been this close to another Bio before—not that he could remember or thought-blink—for years.
Blinking himself back to reality, his jaw dropped as she thrust the note in front of him. I won't look, I won't read it! he thought. His body stiffened.
Thought-blinking isn't working. He's too nervous. Should have done it sooner, he thought. If he ever needed it, he needed it now!
Is this Makr's doing? agonized Harry. If so, all is lost anyway. Always the cynical Harry.
In light of this revelation, he reasoned he would lose nothing if he read the note now. Yet he continued debating with himself about reading it. Mindful of this hesitation, Desiree persisted in her physical seduction by pulling her shoulders back—thereby extending her breasts, tilting her head, raising her right eyebrow, and smiling. She blew him a kiss. Who can resist that?
Harry wiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief and tried to dry his palms with the saturated cloth without much luck.
A drink! He needed a drink to calm his nerves. More noticeably agitated, he fumbled holding his drink, spilling some of it on the counter. Finally, with a barely audible screech that sounded like thunder in his mind, he inched his chair back, ready to bolt.
Damn! He couldn't breathe. Need more air! More air! Makr, where the Hell are you?
Harry was on the verge of hyperventilating while the less than vigilant Desiree added more bait to her trap to captivate her prey. She smiled. It was the self-assured smile that finally melted his resistance.
Harry imagined he was about to open a door to Hell, but he reached for it anyway. He knew better, but he reached...grasped at the unknown. He spied a look at the note. It said, "I choose you." Interesting thought, chosen but not matched. But he could do it. He'd have to overcome the unnatural fear that had been bred into him; however, he was determined to try.
He could pass on a match tonight and justify it later. He could say he was sick, which was true; his stomach was churning and bubbling, and he was certainly nauseous. One more personal invasion and he knew he'd lose his lunch. The moment he started up from his seat a Cyber waiter scurried to his table and wiped away the liquid Harry had spilled without knowing it.
Harry died...or thought he had.
His heart stopped. Not really, perhaps only for a fraction of a second as it skipped a beat, but he was sure his end was near.
Whose reality is it this time? This time it would be his, he resolved.
As he left Cyber Match Central to be with Desiree, and with no attempt at getting Cyber approval, Harry readied himself for one hell of a ride.
Taken.
Flash. Bright light. Noise roaring. No definite sounds—just noise. Clanging. Banging. Pain. The dream...