Tagged: 365

Written in 365 Parts: 49: Memories

“The other guy? So you are saying there was a third person in the vehicle and they presented as a male? Is that what guy means?”

Marsh stared at Krennar for a long moment, “I don’t know. You people don’t really look that similar to anyone I remember meeting before. There are a lot of differences between you. I mean as individuals. It is hard for me to work out which of you are what sex.”

“By sex I take it you mean something similar to your word, gender? Well that’s fairly easy to explain, most of us are neither. We are usually quite adrogynous. As in we don’t present as either a binary or non-binary being unless we have a specific desire such. Our features and our bodies can be shaped to present features and characteristics from either of what you consider the primary sexes. Since the ease of physical manipulation, especially in tank grown organics, almost a thousand years past we have moved to a society and existence where the choice is not only personal but easy to make. One can have genetic manipulation or surgical procedures done with significant ease so that almost any particular desire or need can be catered for. The vast majority though prefer what you might consider a base, or null, state. We would not use such terminology. In fact it is rarely discussed. We also have transcended the pitiful arguments over what is better, preferred or natural. They are merely choices.”

“Then how do you, well, how do you know if someone has chosen a particular state, or what their preferences are?”

“We all have identity tattoos and there are common enough symbols. If you are presenting as a specific form it is shown. If you look at my wrist and wait a few moments.” Krennar held out a wrist and waited until the symbols rotated around, “there, now the group of symbols that went past would have…”

“Some text just popped into my head. You prefer to be termed as a Legal or by the name Krennar. Your only strong other  identification preference is as masculine dominant for language purposes so often use the strong personal pronouns. Where did that come from?”

“The language implant, it auto-translates. Because you were focussing on my identification band it filled in a translation for you. It is wired into the language areas of your brain and can understand when you need a translation. If you focus more on language and symbols that need translation it will start to pattern your mind to understand.”

“Can I stop it doing that?”

“I am not sure that you can. I am curious why you would want to?”

“Because it is freaking me out.”

“I’m sorry, do you mean that it is making you uncomfortable?”

“Dude, it is making my skin crawl to think there is some clever device burrowed into my head and rewiring and writing to my brain.”

“I see. To us that is perfectly natural, in fact deeply desired. Those who cannot afford implants, or the few who reject them are seen as disadvantaged to the point of being severely disabled.” Krennar smiled politely, “however you mentioned the other person? Tell me about what you can remember, let me try and help you piece things together. Are you recalling more?”

“I think I am, it’s starting to come back in flashes.”

“Well, let’s see if we can encourage it a little more. Maybe we could eat a little food, have a drink of a stimulant and see if that teases the memories a little more. I could continue to explain a little more about the time you now live in and that might help clarify the memories and clear some confusion?”

“It’s worth a try.”

“Good, then let’s start with the other guy, as you called them, and the person who died. What is your first memory of them?”

Written in 365 Parts: 48: In Another Mind

At the centre of the spiral there was, rather predictably Drick thought, a door. It was a blank steel portal similar to the airlock design used on high security craft. Drick knew that the construct program was again imposing its own understanding of semiotics to correspond to how Drick imagined the world. So this door was a security door, a lock with a secure way of ensuring single direction passage. Which is what Drick had envisaged when they built the connection to the security guard’s mind.

Drick took a mental pause to collect and marshall thoughts and the avatar representing them, that looked almost exactly as Drick did in the visceral realm, took a deep breath. Then Drick opened the airlock and passed through into the other mind.

It wasn’t really a doorway. It was a link, a gateway, a portal. Drick didn’t really step through it so much as open the link and join with the consciousness on the other side. To the construct program which simulated existence there needed to be some action though, something to build. A phenomena that was triggered by the desire to do. Then there was the oscillation of waves, the passing of neurons along dendril pathways, the synchronous activation of separate parts of the brain that created an experience from a metaphor. 

On the other side the Avatar that was Drick took a deep breath as a miasma of images burned themselves into neural clusters of retinal pathways. They wondered how much computational power would be needed to amplify so much stimulus. There was no clean order instead images and scenes from a life flashed by with apparent random. In every direction there were images swirling around each other. As Drick watched an organic walked out of one image and grew to tremendous proportions to squeeze into another floating nearby and discolour it with their presence. It went from a scene showing two organics laughing at a smaller one, a child, rolling on the grass to an adult kicking the child along a path. It was the same adult who had been laughing before. The colours darkened and the sky boiled with the laughing face that had torn from the organics head and grown to fill the world. 

Drick spun away from it and saw the guard sitting at the centre of the storm of images, they were smiling, their eyes were angry and they laughed suddenly at Drick. “Is this what you wanted,” they called in malicious glee.

Drick raised a jewelled brow, “yes. I suppose it is.” 

Drick looked around and spotted an image of themselves, it was moments before the guard with the third arm had fired the poison darts. Drick was paused with a look of surprise etched on their face, which was exaggerated, how fickle was memory and perception. As Drick grew closer the image filled the world and Drick was now wrapped inside it. There was a tag, a voice over that spoke “this is when that…” Drick silenced the image and the playback of a memory with a dismissive wave of their hand.

“Do you have to be so crude? That was quite a string of profanities to describe me with.”

“My mind, my rules,” the guard leapt to their feet and strode at Drick.

Drick laughed hard which stopped the guard dead in their tracks, “really,” Drick laughed again, even louder, “it’s been a while since I heard anything so funny. Did you actually think this was inside your mind? It is a construct program you idiot. You are inside the construct and I have higher privileges.” 

The guard ran and leapt at Drick making themselves taller with every step, Drick watched as they grew to the height of a ten storey building in a few steps and towered above reaching down with a fist to pummel Drick into dust.

There was a slap that made the ground shake and sent all the images rocking back into a spinning warp of colour that gradually settled to a coarse pink. The world was ridges of pink and flushing red. The guard lifted a mighty fist expecting to see a smear on their fingers of a dead organic with a loud mouth and a bad attitude but there was nothing there.

“Look up,” the whole world seemed to shake at the voice. The guard looked up into a pair of eyes that were as large as the world. Twin worlds hanging above their face and a moment later the realisation came of where they were. The ridges were the textures of skin on a palm, they were stood on a hand that stretched for miles and above them was a face that was the whole of the sky. “I told you I have privileges. Your mind is in the construct. But in this realm, I am a god.”

Drick’s laughter echoed throughout the universe that was the guards existence. They could not escape they did not know how to get in or out of here, they thought it was their mind but it was not. Their mind was connected to this one, not in control. The guard covered their face and cried out, “I’m sorry.”

The world spun back to images floating around and Drick was stood in front of the guard once again. “So you should be. Now we have an agreement. So stop pissing about and show me what I want to know.”

Written in 365 Parts: 47: The Archive

Drick had only the time to blink before the two-dimensional cartoon image of Alice changed. Not that Drick did blink instead there was a gap in the visual stimulation for that section of the construct. Rodero controlled and manipulated this world, it was their environment and within it they were almost a deity, but more accurately an architect with real world painting privileges. 

Recreating a world on the fly was difficult and expensive for both wetware and hardware, it could be done, in fact many of the more expensive forms of entertainment from immersive holomedia to clubs, sports and pleasure services were entirely created to user, or audience, response. But they had budgets and teams of personnel, hundreds, sometimes thousands, of artificial intelligences and the software systems that were pre-constructed to make their operation slick.

A lone operator like Rodero would have to use a mixture of their own with other people’s software and piecing them together was time consuming. Rodero was a decent slicer though and had at least created their own flavour of construct with low level packages. Drick would bet that there were few elements that Rodero hadn’t changed to create their own specific flavour.

Rodero appeared again. Manifesting as a gender which surprised Drick. Clearly male in their late middle age, bald but with a grey-brown beard; there were thick silver eyebrows over eyes sunk behind wrinkles yet the eyes were still sharp and a bright green with the meerest flecks of hazel. They were less than one metre seventy in height with a skin condition that suggested little natural light and too many poorly balanced foods. They sported a pair of grey lounge pants, a hooded top with a band that Drick had never heard about and a pair of expensive magnetic slippers made from a cotton fibre with magnetised metal sole.

“Is this better?”

“Sure,” Drick was about to dismiss the random thoughts that had coalesced on seeing the image but then a curious moment caught their attention. “This is an interesting look. Is it a character or someone you know, or is this a real world input?”

“The latter.”

“Shit, Rodero, this is really you?”

“Yes.”

“It has been some time.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t presenting as anything back when we last met after a long period of being fluid, I was in a null place.”

“And this?”

“Just how I feel. This is comfortable. Look are we going to debate my personal preferences all day or are we going to do this thing. It’s your money but I don’t owe you that much anymore and I am not sure I care to share more than what I have.”

“No, you’re right. I was being pushy. Thanks for dumping the memes. I will guide you into their mind. I don’t expect that you will be able to cross fully in with me as I have a number of protections and I will not be turning them off. You could probably try to work around them but it may be better if I go in and then throw what I see into this construct. You can open that for me, right?”

“Sure. This world is partly responding to you anyway. I defined the look but this is all you Drick. You are the one who fills in the colour, the distances, the shelves, those weird boxes. I then provide a system for ordering which in your mind comes out as this spiral with everything labelled with an index for theme, a code for item and what looks like a time and place. I have to say I am very impressed. Not many people have such a structured way of thinking.”

“So this is responding to how I internally marshall my thoughts?”

“Yes. You have a tidy mind, Drick. Though others would call it cold and harsh.” Rodero smiled, “I like it, I wouldn’t want to live here. Please bear in mind that this is only representing the gateway to your memories, how you like to order your mind and retrieve data for perusal. There are other areas, for you there are doors.”

Drick looked and suddenly thousands of doorways appeared in the distant horizon, they hung in the air, or maybe they appeared to hang in the air at this distance. The doors seemed to have some regularity, though the occasional doorway looked bigger or wider, some had vastly divergent colours. “Where do they lead?”

“They don’t really lead anywhere. The software construct orders parts of the brain and restricts other parts. In this instance we merely want memories and information. So we have an archive and I instruct the program to hold back and suppress everything else. You can of course open any of the doorways, portals, gates, whatever you wish to call them, you made them doors. If you do what is held beyond will merge and the archive will expand and change to adapt to the part of you that has been let in. I thought an archive would be the best since we are using a third brain, better to hold back as much as possible. Unless they are as well controlled as you, then maybe we should allow full freedom?”

“No. I like this. It was the best idea.” Drick smiled. “So which way then? One of the doors?”

“No, going out towards the doors merely connects to more of you. We need to go into the centre of the archive to find the connection you made to the other mind.”

Drick smiled,  “So, to the centre of the spiral then.”

Written in 365 Parts: 46: The Connected World

Drick took a long deep breath in through nostrils and then waited holding in the breath. There were many people who liked to connect to a neural network while breathing out through the teeth. This was the accepted approach as it allowed the external connection program to fall into sequence with cardiovascular rhythms. Drick liked to pause instead and allow the interface to sequence brain wave activity before surrendering muscular control. This approach created more initial feedback but gave the user more control of how fast and how far they went into the constructed world.

Technology evolved at a frightening pace when mankind had need for it. The rise in constructed organic life led to a need to implant knowledge into a fast growing person; then skills, as why take all those years learning a basic task; and for the uber wealthy, memories and personality needed to be transferred. The wealthy had a desire to live almost eternally by transferring themselves from generation of grown clone to another. This act alone drove much of the research. It wasn’t, initially, wholly successful. There were parts of an organics’ memory, the manner in which it organically grew its connections and how it perceived and built its reality, that was difficult to copy from generation to the next. Even in a clone. People, even exact copies, were different. Personality was seemingly the key.

The mastery of the subtle manner in which organic brains used oscillating waves to control neurological phenomena went a long way to solving most of this issue. The manner in which perception was partially governed by the reaction of spatially separated neurons oscillating synchronously using phased gamma waves gave understanding to how the world could be manipulated. Gamma waves were the key to how we understand the world in our own unique way, mu waves the answer to how we interacted with that reality. The combination of both guided every dream construct, every other wave oscillation.

By building exact replicas of how a brain emitted waves in the various neural centres, the subtle unique patterns each organic created, allowed a map of the activity to be created. When this was applied to a clone with a perfect set of memories it allowed the development of an almost replica personality. The clone was a match for its original in most regards and those who could afford it could achieve this limited form of immortality.

For everyone who had a neural connection it allowed programs to be constructed that could interface with our perceptions on a fundamental level. There would be no difference between the internal world and the constructed world. They could be woven together. For some escape into the framework of the machines represented a form of immortality of their own at a much lower cost. But an organic intellect could not survive in a machine environment forever. It always broke down. Tiny variances led to cascading errors. The organic intellect left too long in the network of electronic ether always went insane. 

But a machine could create a perfect simulation of any environment and allow a connected organic brain to experience that world. So any sensation, reaction, experience could be simulated. Just not lived forever.

A decent slicer would always create their own upload environment and fill it with the experience they wanted you to participate within. Drick had seen so many different ones, including the many that came from construction packages bought on the grid, that they were mostly bored of them. They always ended up the same, or followed phases that matched social desires or cultural shifts and phases. 

It was a few years since Drick had connected to one of Rodero’s programs. Drick wondered if the magical cartoon states they had indulged in when a younger intellect had survived at all. There should at least be some changes, hopefully at least in the avatars that Rodero chose to use.

Drick had learned how to connect in another age, before the interfaces had full control over spatially activated neurons via wave oscillation and long before the mastery of mu waves. Even the organic sheath that came out of the tanks back then was crude by modern standards. 

The neural connection systems that Drick knew first, developed for linking organic lifeforms almost seamlessly to electronics interfaces were primarily used for weapons systems, machinery and the broader grid infrastructure. They had required hard wiring of electronic circuitry to various parts of the cortex where information could be manipulated by ‘learning’ to control the machine with your mind. Like fitting an electronic skin it was painful and required finesse of operating procedure and months to learn. The remains of this system, upgraded a number of times was still fitted to parts of Drick’s skull. 

The connection to Rodero’s network, their master grid within their construction programs, was a harsh searing pain in Drick’s brain. Drick took the whole brunt of the connection and then pushed a connection into the mind of the security guard. It was like connecting a streaming hot plasma stream to a paper straw without setting yourself on fire. Drick drew strict patterns in their mind and made sure to act as a gateway, or a buffer between the two interfaces. The environment Rodero had chosen snapped onto Drick’s mind and reality shifted so they were stood directly within.

It was a white floor, tiles, slightly patterned for texture and friction. They stretched in every direction to the horizon. The light came universally from above and around and was a bright white, but not harsh or glaring. There were rows of shelves hanging in the air. As Drick moved towards them they gained more substance and Drick noticed they were a clear glass, it was a spiral that started where Drick stood and spun out to the infinity of the white rooms horizons.

As Drick approached closer still the shelves filled with glass cases looking like clear books on clear bookshelves each becoming filled with a pattern of colour as Drick’s steps drew them in. A mix of lights that shifted and formed, dancing and chasing or spinning around each other in shifts. 

On the spine or edge, of each glass book, was a date stamp, some code and a series of coloured bars. As Drick wondered about the bars an index floated into view listing what they meant. It was a reference system for genres and types of thought. A library of Drick’s mind. 

Drick sensed someone behind and turned to see a small girl in a blue and white pinafore dress. Her hair was fastened into braids and tied back. She wore black flat shoes and white socks, she looked to be fewer than ten years in age. She was also a two dimensional coloured image. “Hello Rodero,” said Drick.

“Hello Drick,” said Rodero.

“Did you have to appear as a cartoon Alice?”

“I like it, we are after all in Wonderland and through the Looking Glass. I also thought it would be familiar to you. As you can see I have made significant changes since you were last inside my domain.” 

“Sure. It’s nice, a lot better, aside from the avatar.” said Drick, “please dump this stupid trope and don’t appear as something other than a proper expression of yourself. Honestly after the last time I was in here I have no wish to be reminded of the familiarity of that domain. If you appear as another fictional piece of shit I am going to rip out your frontal lobes, we clear.”

Written in 365 Parts: 45: Getting Connected

Drick walked to the back of the hover van, Boomer had been using this vehicle to track the events of the past few hours. The van was about as nondescript as Drick could have hoped for. A flat grey rental with the identity tags subtly altered, Boomer must have dropped it by a chop shop for a quick set of changes. There were hundreds of similar vans in this section of the city, used mostly by automated deliveries and robotic operated shipment services. Vans like this were often boosted for quick heists but Boomer wouldn’t have taken that chance, this would be rented and be returned leaving no strong trail.

The back doorway was swung open and the ramp dropped down to reveal a mostly empty interior. Boomer had made good sense to use their own shipping containers in the vehicle, less chance of potential evidence to clear up if one simply removed the whole of the insides. They had stowed one of the guards, the tri-limbed mouthy nuisance, in a soundproof box with a ventilator unit. They were drugged and incapacitated, they’d be offline for at least three hours. The other guard was sat upright against the wall with some carbon fibre cuffs on their wrists and a sound-suppressant headpiece fastened to their skull. Other than that they had been relieved of any weapons and the majority of their electronics devices..

Drick nodded at the helmeted figure of Boomer’s other operative and noted that they made sure to get a nod from Boomer before they put their weapon away and moved to the front of the van leaving Drick and Boomer alone with the security guard.

Drick loosened the sound suppressant headpiece and turned it to light passive. Drick and Boomer would be able to speak comfortably with the security guard but it should mask any devices such as a laser probe from listening in on them.

“How are you feeling?” asked Drick in a soft tone, “the cuffs are not too tight I hope.”

“You don’t really need them.” said the guard.

“I guess not, but after the events of the day I am feeling a little cautious.”

“I only have the two arms.”

Drick smiled and laughed a little, “yes that was a surprise. I must be getting soft in my old age to have missed that. I guess it has been a while since I needed to think in a combat mode and have gotten a little rusty. Never mind I will recover.”

“You should have died.”

“Should have, could have, but rarely would have, I’m that kind of person. Anyway, this is all just here and there talk. Let’s get down to business. You tell me everything that you know and I will make sure you are shipped off planet. I will also arrange for a suitable change of biological details, some papers and a small credit donation to your future career of never getting in my way again. How does that sound?”

“Like I don’t really have a choice.”

“Smart. That is essentially the case.”

“What about the other guard?”

“You let me worry about them. Don’t stress, I am not going to kill them. I will not need to. Your former employers are likely to have less of a fondness for them than I have so I would rather pass them back with my warmest regards.”

“They’ll torture and then eradicate, that’s what will come of them.”

“They made their choice, as did you. Deal with it. Now, my information. I want everything that you know about the events leading up the incident yesterday on the Yee On Kline district, the crash with the K-tag. I also want to know who ordered you to follow and attack me. The names of any officers or personnel who are involved, in fact the names of everyone you know and their position. I would like the code sequences used on doors and security consoles and I don’t care how complex they are and how often they change them. I want everything. I want it willingly.”

“I will give it to you willingly, but that’s going to take a while to tell you, and I am not sure where to start. How much time do we have?”

Drick smiled, “I notice you have the standard high-data neural transport interface for re-alignment of internal network systems and repair modules.”

“What?”

“You have an expensive data port so medics can plug in to your internal systems.”

“Yeah, everyone has something similar who has implants that are connected to the brain. You have one as well, I bet your big friend over there has theirs linked in to that impressive weapons harness they are lugging around.”

“I do have one, and they likely have theirs connected to the weapons, they like their weapons, they like to shoot things. So that’s all good. Then all I need you to do is to open your mind and think about all the things I ask you to think about. Try to be structured but it isn’t totally relevant if they are not in a coherent order. I will deal with the rest.”

Drick saw them pale, “wait, are you going to use a neural probe on me? Those are dangerous. I am not sure I even have the right software installed and the wetware interface I have is not going to be powerful enough.”

“Hush,” Drick smiled warmly, “it isn’t a cheap butcher’s probe or something your interrogation monkeys stick into anyone they get their greasy mittens on. I have a rather sophisticated unit in this case,” Drick pulled out the neuro-computer that Krennar had supplied as part of the shopping trip. “I also have a very experienced slicer on the other end of a long connection. All you need to do is focus and marshall your thoughts they will be able to gently tug them down the connection. I will even be acting as a buffer in between you and the rest of the hardware so whatever happens to you also happens to me. Got it?”

“Why do you need to be between?”

“Quite simple, as you noted,” Drick had opened up the ports on the side of the machine and slipped in a data transfer cable, they pushed the other end into the neural port behind their left ear. “Your internal hardware isn’t really suitable for this type of data transfer, whereas mine is. My whole consciousness is able to be digitally transferred at a considerable speed.”

“That’s because there ain’t much to move,” said Boomer in a husky voice through their helmet speakers.

Drick shot Boomer a dark look, “so I will initiate the transfer to the networks, meanwhile I will plug myself,” Drick took another cable and pushed it into a second port just below the first, “into you.” The other end of the cable was gently pushed into the port on the security guards neck. The guard’s access ports were at the base of their skull just above the collar line of their uniform.

Drick closed their eyes and made sure Rodero was already connected to the private network, they were. Then Drick initiated the link to the security guards internal hardware and turned the connection to live.

Written in 365 Parts: 44: Paid Off

Drick stared at the back of the departing executive vehicle as it rounded a bend in the tunnel and out of view. The rear of the vehicle was a mess, there was little left of the passenger compartment and a multitude of shredded pieces of layered armour pockmarked the whole of the rear hull. It was going to cost Drick their deposit and probably a little credit rating until the insurance claim could be filed and processed. Drick figured that it would be handled swiftly and discreetly, in fact they would not be surprised if it were not already being dealt with.

Drick had asked Boomer to bring in two more of their people to help in the immediate aftermath of the pursuit through the tunnels. One was currently piloting the executive vehicle back to the rental service. The other sat in a loaned hovervan in a side tunnel. They would drive the security guards to their destination after Drick had spoken to them. Or to be more precise they would deliver one to a convenient contact who would have them taken off planet. The other was going to be mailed back to their friends at Volstron courtesy of an associate in the Engineer’s Union.

Drick’s gambit had paid off well. The Engineer’s Union were suitably unimpressed by both the illicit incursion into their territories, the lack of advance notice and the small firefight over the heads of their employees and protectees. Most of the traders in this region paid a small, but generous, stipend to the Union for insurance services. Rarely did the Union need to provide for that payment so being forced to by these circumstances ruffled the right feathers.

As for Drick, they were partially in the clear due to going through the proper channels and alerting the local Union branch in advance of their movements. They had also paid the right fees to the right bosses. The street gang Drick had employed were paid up with Union fees and so everything was tidy enough that it was forgiveable that Drick chose to escape into this section.

Drick synced internal comms channels to Boomer’s private channel. “How are we doing?”

“‘Bout the same as always.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Yup. Well you started this mess. Why couldn’t you leave this alone? I guess this was something you could have just dropped?”

“Yes.”

“Then why the heck did you bring this whole mess on to yourself?”

“You already know the answer to that.”

“You just can’t help yourself, can you? What next?”

“How well do you trust the people who are piloting?”

“More than I trust you.”

“Sweet.”

“I always did have a soft spot for you. It was as if you were ankle deep in a marsh.”

“Upside down then?”

“Too right. I trust them. Known them a long while, never had any issues and they know how to keep their mouths quiet.”

“Good. I will try and keep them out of this as much as possible. Same with you.”

“Oh I think I am about neck deep in that marsh with you at this point and heading in the same direction.”

“You could have said no.”

“You know I couldn’t have. Not really. Not when you were praying.”

“Sure. Look this is getting really messy so I want to straight line it as much as I can. If I get even an inkling as to who to aim for from this guard that’s going to be the target. We good with that?”

“Five by five.”

“Then let’s talk to the guard.”

Written in 365 Parts: 43: Formerly Known As

The Officer in Charge stared at a blank hologram screen for several long moments before internally shaking themselves into action and pulling up the file they had on Drick once more. How was it possible that this low level operator, this failed at their life choices nothing, had managed to evade a highly trained team. It had to be luck, it just had to be luck and a large number of friends.

Drick was known to Volstron, they had had dealings with that particular organic in the past. At that time, close to a century before, Drick had been an officer of the Judiciary, Corporate Investigations Department and had used the name Kend.

Kend had proven themselves a liability to everybody, but especially to those superiors who wanted fewer issues in the judiciary. Kend was problematical in regards to the operation of a system. The process was simple. There were always rough edges between corporate growth, need and utilisation of resources; political capital, public face of an individual and public relations of a political party; legal status and the rights of organics and other intelligences. Sure there were laws, protocols and practices but that was the rub, so to speak. The interaction between disparate needs often led to friction. Usually the application of credits, and the occasional item of leverage appropriately applied, help to smooth such friction. 

Then there were intelligences like Kend. Organics who bucked against such manipulation of the system and were grit in the smooth operation of the machine. Sabot in the looms. Kend had arrested high level executives of the Han Phillips group one of Volstron’s clients. 

Han Phillips  were a major supplier of chemical enhancements and biomechanical augmentation for organics and robotic organisms. Some minor issues in the augmentation of deep belt miners and the supply chain of undesirable practices had occurred. It happened. People needed to be able to survive certain conditions and environments, and the length of time for recovery from procedures to augment such survival could be drastically reduced with the right medication. Everyone was happy. Who cared if the recovery rates were slightly lowered or if the rejection more likely. You took that chance. The organics signed the waivers and the company did all the operations out of system jurisdiction. As for robotic organisms who cared what happened to them, they were machines.

But, then there was Kend. Meticulously applying the letter of the law and getting a connected executive on transportation charges and worse getting a confession and a whole list of links. They discovered that the chemicals that made the medication and parts of the machinery were shipped via the planet and assembled within its jurisdiction. Therefore intent to supply a practice that was illicit. Arrestable, convictable and would Kend take the appropriate kick back. No.

Somewhere it had gotten messy and other judicials had become involved, there was some terminal issues and the matter cost far more in reputation and credits than anyone wanted. It led inevitably to the sacrificing of mid-level staff to the courts. It seemed that Kend had resigned, or been diplomatically thrown through the door, clearing the obstacle as far as judiciary were concerned. Kend. The grit in the cogs. They seemed to be unable to resist stinking their flesh where nobody wanted.

The Officer had to admit that Kend looked good for an organic with more than a century of wear. Likely they had a refresh at some point. They must have been able to afford a new body somehow, maybe something to do with a judicial medical cover. Maybe it was payment in lieu of keeping their mouths shut. The file did not detail so there was likely some hidden reason.

Prior to the Judiciary Kend had some government service but the details on that were minimal. The file listed them as being in service to an internal organisation, connected to the Accord Military for an unspecified period on unspecified duties. The Officer guessed that it was likely to have been diplomatic service and maybe protection duties. That might account for their high ability in combat training and the lack of details. Special Service always kept the files to themselves of who worked for them and what they did. 

The Officer was unsure how Kend had survived the assault at the Shuttle Port. The team should have been able to handle one organic with ease. Kend/Drick must have had help. The Officer had yet to interview the team members who had survived the incident as they were under close guard by Judiciary.

The Officer disliked that they had been taken off that matter. They were the one who had used their own strong contact. The Officer was sure they would have been able to have the organics who had survived and were now detained released to a legal team able to close matters down quickly. The superior above had decided differently and had passed the matter to another team, either the internal contact at the judiciary or someone in the hospital. Either way it was out of the Officer’s hands and they would have to rebuild trust with their contacts alone.

The organic, Drick, formerly Kend, they were becoming a major niggle, an itch that the Officer was finding it increasingly difficult to scratch. They came to a sudden decision. Time to pay a heavy price and deal with Drick, or Kend, once and for all.

Written in 365 Parts: 42: Significant Issues

“Officer in Charge, this is Benson.”

The Officer in Charge of External Security for Yee On Kline District looked up at the holoscreen showing Benson. The organic, Benson, had been with the External Security since passing out of college and completing mandatory training like most of security. They were good, if not a terrifically innovative guard. “What is it Benson. I hope it is good news. Did you manage to apprehend the target or remove them from causing any further complications?”

“No command. We have encountered some significant issues.”

The Officer shut down a few other screens containing less important issues and personnel and turned the conversation mode into high priority with maximum anti-scrubbing filters to reduce the chances of anyone of the wrong pay grade examining this material. It would also help remove any evidence later if needed. “Describe to me in detail what you mean by significant issues.”

Benson paused and the Officer in Charge was sure that they had paled a little more, it might be the harsh LED lighting from the inside of the armoured personnel carrier, but the Officer doubted that. “We had to have a recovery vehicle come to attend to us. We were flipped and then sabotaged by a group of street punks. One of the hoverbike gangs that roam the streets down here.”

“Did you get identification?”

“No. They were wearing masks and had covered up most of their usual colours, it was most certainly a local gang but we cannot be certain of which chapter. They turned us over and then prevented the vehicle from self-righting, after that they damaged the gravity system.”

“Did you manage to get sensor readings?”

“Only live readings that were not recorded. Our instructions were to ensure that there was no evidence left on any system so all recording, remote linking and auxiliary diagnostics and analytics were disabled. By your order.”

“I am aware of that. I was hoping that someone may have got enough information.”

“No. It was very sudden and mostly we were reacting to a lot of circumstances. There is more worrying news.”

“What is more worrying than the fact that a squad of trained personnel in an armoured truck were taken out by a group of itinerant children on scooters?”

“We have lost contact with the pursuit craft. It went to the lower levels and we think it may have entered the tunnel systems. There are vague reports  floating around of a vehicle firing on a marketplace in the lower sections. The organics down in this section are a little aggrieved and have started to make very vocal complaints already. We have received a short note from the Engineer’s Union asking us for confirmation that we had a warrant to exceed our territorial jurisdiction.”

“Please tell me this is a joke, Benson? You’re reporting to me that not only was a squad laid useless along with their vehicle but we have lost a very expensive combat craft and that it might be involved in an illegal assault?”

“That is correct.”

“There will be severe consequences if all of this is true and becomes broadly known. You had better clean up as much of the mess that you have made and find out as much information as possible. Get that pursuit craft back in the hangar immediately and I want to see all the units involved as soon as we have managed to clear this up. We had almost covered up this mess. You only had to apprehend one lousy organic in an executive vehicle.”

“I know. It became very complicated. I have sent a full report to you.”

“You wrote this down?” the Officer heard themselves screech.

“Encrypted eyes-only data packet. Read once and destroy. I am not wholly incompitent, Officer.”

“Good. I will want the same from everyone, now find that pursuit craft.”

“And the organic target.”

“Leave them, for now. This is getting too messy again. Way too messy. We will have to hope that the other routes being explored become more fruitful. Consider your entire shift on suspended duties pending a full investigation the moment you have finished clearing the mess you have made.”

The Officer in Charge closed the connection and slammed a fist too hard onto a resin desk surface. They felt a knuckle crack as the surface failed to make a significant sound. A slight hiss left between clenched teeth. They would have to report this to their superiors. This was going to be awkward and if they were unlucky it might result in slow molecular disintegration.

Written in 365 Parts: 41: One of You Shot Me

A loud scream erupted from the guard as their third hand exploded into shards of flesh and blood. It confirmed that it was a graft controlled by connecting nerve fibres and not just an implant or a controlled appendage. They rocked from side to side holding on to the shattered limb squeezing tight to stem the blood that threatened to spray out. The limb didn’t have a full suit covering so there were no emergency systems to help.

The outfits that the guards wore were combat battle suits, they were probably amongst the cheapest versions of such but would still be fitted with a host of systems. One of the principal systems on these suits was damage limitation, as such the suit could act as a wound patch and even initial trauma response in combat.

Organics who had extra limbs fitted would often wear custom suits. The security guard had foregone that; possibly because of cost but more likely to secrete that third limb as a tactical surprise in combat.

“Quell that yelling or I will silence you,” shouted Boomer their voice echoing loudly in the cavern amplified by the suit speakers. Boomer was moving slowly along the top of the side wall to get a better view on the two guards.

“Let me help them,” the other guard yelled, “please.”

Boomer took a moment to think about it and realised that it wouldn’t hurt and they were tired of the screaming. “Do what you have to, but you try anything cute and the next round will be aimed at the head. We clear?”

“I am not going to do anything, I promise, just let me apply a wound patch.”

“I said do it.” Snappy but not without some compassion. Boomer had managed to move around the side of the vehicles and now hovered silently near the ceiling almost directly above Drick’s vehicle. Boomer was concealed by a rocky outcrop and a thick ventilation duct. The guards were fully visible as was the still form of Drick.

Boomer did a cursory check of Drick’s body, all external life readings were null. No sign of heart beat or respiration. The body was still warm, in fact very warm but Boomer knew that Drick had a slightly elevated body temperature, amongst other distinct differences.

Boomer watched as the guard pulled an emergency trauma pack from a pocket in his jacket and applied a wound patch to the stump of their companions wrist. The patch ballooned instantly on contact and covered the wound with a soothing anaesthetic. The guard’s reaction was one of almost instant relief. They went from hunched in agony to a stiffer more aggressive pose in a few seconds and colour flooded back into their cheeks.

The injured guard tapped their friend on the shoulder for them to move aside and looked to where they thought Boomer was based on the recent gunshot. “I killed your friend good and proper. They weren’t so clever. Everyone claimed they were amongst the best”

“Everyone gets surprised.” said Boomer. “Difference between best and others is how well you deal with it.”

“Death is a pretty final way of dealing with it,” sneered the guard trying to sit up.

“I wouldn’t be so cocky if I were you.” Boomer was watching all of the monitor screens and had instructed their own cover operatives to keep this section of the tunnel closed for the time being.

“Why don’t you make a deal with us. We were not tasked with harming you, as far as we are concerned you don’t exist. We understand that you were just doing your job.”

The other guard, without injuries added. “We can give you the same arrangement. Tell us everything you know and we’ll let you get off planet.”

“Only one major problem with that,” said Boomer.

“That is?” asked the injured guard slowly standing up.

“Me.” Answered Drick as they stood up from behind the vehicle.

The guard was visibly shocked and actually seemed to jump a little in fright, they had taken an involuntary step backwards. “But you’re dead. That’s not possible. Nothing organic could survive that poison.”

“Wrong,” said Drick calmly walking around the side of the vehicle. On an internal screen Drick quickly confirmed that it was Boomer who was hiding in the shadows above the executive vehicle and was relieved to get an affirmation. “As you can see, I survived.”

“But how? I was told it wasn’t possible, that no anti-toxin could work fast enough to stop this shutting down all your organs.”

“I guess that’s true,” said Drick, “I would have to be the type of person who can resist poisons, develop anti-toxins and have vital organs that could be rendered inoperable without it killing me. So while my body brings my kidneys back online we can discuss your surrender and the details that I requested before you attempted to commit suicide.”

“I never…”

“I think you’ll find that you did. The moment you decided to kill me and the second after you did.” Drick smiled, “and just think on this for a moment, while I consider if I should slowly twist of your head or kill you a more painful way. Everything you can tell me, your friend can tell me. So I only need one of you. And only one of you shot me.”

Written in 365 Parts: 40: The Other Guy

“That doesn’t really answer my question.”

“Well I am neither a historian, nor an astronomer, so I can only give you vague answers. One issue we have is that this system has been colonised for greater than five hundred years. We have not used the Terran calendar for years, since the end of the Expansion Wars, in fact possibly before then. Our calendar broadly follows the Terran Year but not really. Just for traditions and festivals.”

“So what is this system?”

“The local name for it is Big House, but that’s a shortening of Ebbighausen which is the name of some historical person. I believe he was related to the first habitable planet discovered at Luyten’s star. This world we circulate is the fifth, most habitable that was colonised, but one of the furthest away.

When I say most habitable I am trying to use terminology from you time period, if my data about the terms from your time is correct. We have redefined what is meant by habitable. It has been some considerable time after all. I cannot verify some historical information as there was a series of large events that have left us with some variable quality information of some of our own history.”

“My history is pretty sketchy but I might be able to fill someone in with some details.”

“I’m sure that would please someone. But it is not important to us at this time. Have you recollected any more information? Do you remember anything?”

“I don’t know. I mean I am not sure. There was a lot of noise and I get glimpses, flashes of images that might be something. I don’t really know yet. Bits are starting to make sense but not enough there for me to say.”

“Well, the initial medical reports will be here soon and that will help us a little. it may be possible for us to have a medical professional help, to relieve some of your confusion.”

“What does that mean? How would that happen?”

“Again, I am sorry to say that I am a legal professional, however medical technology has far outstripped what you would know.”

“Well I figured, the tattoos, implants, the fact that you all look so different. Thought it was a fashion thing at first but now I think you’re all, I’m not sure how to say this, odd.”

“I imagine to you we are odd. But to return to the matter of your memory, there are medical procedures and medication to help restore memories, that might help you.”

“Why can’t you ask the other guy?”

“I’m sorry, Marsh, perhaps you are confused. That is why you had the K-tag, the other organic in the vehicle was dead.”

“There were three of us in that vehicle.”