| abstract | - Album: All The Pain Money Can Buy Song Length: 3:02 Written by: Miles Zuniga Lyrics: Try to stop the world spinning 'round My phone bill will tell you she lives outta town It's been a long, long time but I still dream Of warm sunny days on 12th and Lorraine I wish you were here right now...but then I know I should just leave you alone I should just leave you...alone I know I should just leave you alone I should just leave you...alone The ground moved under me I pushed her away with the things I'd say God's face grew Earthquake size And I can't cross our great divide I wanna live inside...but then I know I should just leave you alone I should just leave you...alone I know I should just leave you alone I should just leave you...alone
- Published in Short-Story.me 2011 There I was again, at the Hive Mind, scratching my tusk against the bar. Was like a recurring nightmare. Here to see the Marx again. Here to beg him for work again. It’d been a real shit week too. I’d got shot by stone soldiers, thrown off a 10,000 foot drop by a razor tank, and barely escaped. To boot I’d used up all my medibots. Ahh, the ice cold feeling of medibots going through my veins. Them medibots were almost like biocrack. I couldn’t do a job without ‘em. I was sick of it. Sick of doing it all myself, sick of the cycle. Even a rhino has limits, you know. I tapped my hoof to the pulse-punk and ordered my favorite. A liter bottle cognac and synth-meat satay skewers with peanut sauce. I’m a vegan, I don’t eat real meat. Yeah, everyone’s surprised when I tells them. You can be big and strong without eating meat, ya know. Just look at the diplodocus. Herbivore. “Where the Marx?” I shouted at the bartender, Limei. Limei was one of the Marx’s dunces. Half her face was tattooed--one of ’em a dragon that kept blinking at me. She had long arms covered with bangles. I never seen bangles look so hot before. I stared at her arms--she could leave them bangles on--as she passed the cognac and synth-meat. I slurped on the cognac and eyed her boobs. She said, “Hey, the Marx is in a trawling session. He’ll be envirtua for about a week. Strictly not to be disturbed.” “Taik!” I yelled. I thought maybe I should barge his sanctuary, rip him out of his jack. But fuck it, there was no point moping. I hit the dance floor and joined a quad’ette: a redhead, a brunette, a blonde, and a raven-head. My colors of the rainbow. Hive Mind brang everybody together: hybrids, physicals, rhinos, software-selves, and aethers--some call ’em ghosts, but they’re just holos after all. My dancing hooves didn’t last long, and soon I dizzied out from stim-darts, uber-caffe, and too many liters of Louis XIV. I left the floor, pretended I was fine. Rhinos have reps to maintain. I crashed to this airseat and fumbled in my pocket for Wilson’s Chocolate-Orange snuff. How I take it, I put the chops on a hooftip, inhale, and savor that sweet hit. Then quick take a drag from the cigar I grip on the same hooftip. I was tired, so I knocked off. When I blinked awake, I saw her. She moved like a military mech, choppy, as if her legs and arms swung on hinges. Anything that moved like a machine, I’d been trained to zoom in on. She was on Velvet Delight, the level above where the guests went for a tumble. I followed her reflection on the LED mirrors. She walked backwards. Strawberry-fluro cocktail in one hand, the other held out. Three human males crowded her in. They herded her to one of the private booths and pushed her behind the drapes. That didn’t seem right. I got off my arse and ran through the sweaty bodies on the dance floor. I jumped, grunted as I hit my chin against the ledge, grabbed it, and vaulted over the rails. I landed with a boom. (Rhino’s ain’t made for elegance.) It was much quieter and darker there in the passageway. I burst into the booth. One of the men was squeezing her jaw. Two others held her arms apart. They turned maggot white when they saw me. I said, “Get out.” One. Two. Three. Poof. Them was gone. I started to ask, “What was they--” but she said, “Got a light?” pretending it was every day a rhino saved her ass. I scented her fear--it came thick and strong. She was cross-legged on the velvet sofa. My eyes traveled down her body, and my cigar went tumbling out. She had no real arms or legs. The only parts of her that was human was her torso, neck, and head. Her neck jacked in to a squarish frame that covered her tiny chest. Her entire exo looked like it was assembled from Coke cans. Embarrassment--a sour scent--mixed with her fear. She didn’t look away, though. She stared right at me. Daring me to say something. “Light me up,” she said. I snorted, flicked the burner. Her lips trembled. Her eyebrows were surrounded by red and white dots that curved down to her cheeks. Jawline sprinkled with glitter. A nose ring twinkled bright against her black skin. She was breathing hard, and sweat beaded up on her collarbone. I wanted to lick it. I tried to do the human intro thing. Hand shaking. Rhinos just sniff each other. “Amalric,” I said and put out my hoofhand. She ducked. My hoofhand was half the size of her face. Stratos high as I was, I tried not to stare at her artificial limbs. I been stared at all my life. Fuck if I’ll do that to somebody else. “I guess them three ain’t part of a bondage act,” I said. “Huh. Anything but.” She took a long drag, flicked at the hair that fell over them dark eyes, and said, “Thanks for dropping by.” “Always keen for a fight.” “So it’s true what they say about rhinos, then?” “What? Them say lots of things.” The edges of her lips curled. “Seat? My neck hurts looking up at you.” “Curry-laksa,” I said, seating next to her. “Huh?” “That’s what Malaysia is famous for. You know, tasty red coconut curry mixed with ’em noodles. It’s delish. They got it here. I get it with extra tofu. Hungry?” She looked at me and then laughed. “What?” I said. “You eating tofu,” she said. “Go ahead, I’m starving. It’s been ages since I had a laksa.” See, I warmed her up. My rhino charm works on all the ladies. While we ate, she talked about Jesus, Mohammed, Krishna, and Buddha. I heard the names before but had no idea who they was, ’cept for Mohammed. He was a boxer. By nature I’m a crap listener. Most people seem to spout shit, so I switch off. But when she talked…I never been that enthusiastic since I led a charge with the Rumble-Pack, even if I didn’t understand much. She said, “I’m interlacing my points of view with rationalism and romanticism.” Romanticism I liked the sound of. I told her I only knew about rhino-ism, and she laughed. “Where you get all that info from?” I said. “Books.” “You read books?” She said, “I’ve lots of antique fetishes.” Outside, the music had slowed down from pulse-punk to L&S-Goth. Love music makes me sick, no matter how the DJ tries to mash it. I knew we must be coming to the end of the night, but I felt as if I’d swallowed a dose of medibots. I didn’t want to leave. I edged closer to her. Her purple lips blew smoke-rings. I snatched at one, and it broke apart. “Ha ha,” she laughed. I blundered it, then. Asked her, “So how you end up like that?” Her lips smooched left and right. She turned away. Then she said, “I remember the signage in the Water Wars. It was always a giant-sized rhino in magmite armor. Did wonders for the recruitment campaign. Where did you all go?” Normally I don’t like answering questions like that. Ain’t nobody’s business. But she was curious. The gov’ment left us untagged, so it’s hard to find rhino details these days, even on the neuralnet. “Few left go abouts here and there. We don’t travel together, though, always by ourselves.” “Don’t you get lonely?” “Nah,” I lied, “them’s no trouble. Main trouble is feelin’ like, like maybe there ain’t no purpose for being here now them Water Wars is over.” Whoops. Couldn’t believe I admitted that. This girl was having a strange effect on me, opening me up like a rhino ration pack. She looked in my eyes the longest time, then nodded, took a last drag. “So where you live?” I asked. She stumped her cigar butt on a steel ankle. “Come see for yourself.” *** She lived in the povo part of town. So stupid. She couldn’t even look after herself in a nightclub. We was in an alley with critters in the shadows. They perked up when they saw her, but when they saw me they pissed off. “This is it,” she said. The place was white with black windows. A drain that stunk real bad gushed next to the building. Inside her apartment, it was different. First thing I noticed--she lived alone. I know cause her place was as empty as mine. Her walls were digiprinted with black-and-white pebbles. Her kitchen had this little waterfall that fell between two plants. Them plants looked so delicious that I took a bite out of one. I chewed, only it wasn’t as green as it looked, more crunchy than I expected. She looked at me all strange. “What?” I said. “I can’t believe…That’s an authentic bonsai you’ve just…Oh never mind. Come this way.” She grabbed me like she was in a hurry. Her rusty exo-fingers got a decent grip. In the living room there was an oversized neuralnet recliner. Multi-pronged. It was the only thing worth money in her place. I kind of guessed it would be the center of her world. I mean, where else would you go if you had no arms and legs? Swimming? “You want to try the hook?” she said. I said that I did. “Go ahead,” she said. I jacked myself in. The apartment faded as her virtual dashboard came online. There was mixed-up colors (too weird to say what they was), and music--religious chants with a dash of pulse-punk. A giant worm, transparent bats, and the scent of pineapple. Ahead, rainbows and lollipops floated on foam. A thousand AIs spoke. Humans are crazy. It was starting to give me a tuskache. Anyways, in the middle all that, I saw a black island. My fighter instincts got me prickly. I only spotted it cause I ran a scan. I learned that when I started trawling. If you don’t run scans in the neuralnet, you get burnt by Inquisitors. The island led to an inky corridor. It was ambush-quiet in there. My hearts started to beat quicker. On the black slab a scroll melted out. I read it. I logged off. I was shaking. I ripped the jack out, said, “You got a Gene-Vault’s blueprint stored on your root drive? You insane?” “I lifted it three days ago. It was a silent copy. The Inquisitors have no idea.” “It’s a fucken Gene-Vault!” She arched an eyebrow. “I’ve got blueprints for all seven Gene-Vaults.” “No way,” I said. She had to be boasting. Not even the Marx could trawl the net that good, and he had unlimited processing power. I said, “How…What you plan to do with this?” “Rob it.” “What?” “Look at me.” She knuckled her exo. It made a hollow ting. “I can use the inventory in the Gene-Vault to make me normal. Give me legs and arms like a real girl, so I don’t have to plant myself into this chassis every morning. Do you know how long that takes?” Her black hair swung down as she stared at a rusty toe. “I’m sick of people looking at me like I’m a freak.” I said, “The freak thing we got in common.” I raised her chin. Shit, for a sec I was shaking bad. Something about touching her fuzzed me up. Her eyebrows lifted, and her lips opened. She said, “We do? But you’re a rhino. Invincible. Invulnerable.” She laid a hand on my chest. I thought what she had to do each morning. She would wake up, maybe wriggle around to slot herself in that chassis. I was born strong, with all my limbs intact. Never thought that was special. Until I seen her. The holoprint rotated above my hoofpalm. “Why this one?” I said. Her hand was still on my chest. I shifted closer and put my hoofhand around her waist. She felt so teeny, like she’d break if I hugged her. She said, “It’s taken me eight years. I started looking when I was twelve. That particular Gene-Vault”--she nodded at the blueprint--“holds the highest-grade gene-ampoules. I’m talking yoctobot-synthetics.” I raised my brow ridge. She said, “It’s stolen. Governments stealing from governments. I believe the Australians lifted it from the Chindian government.” “Yoctobots,” I said, “we only got nanotech. They what, ten generations ahead?” A single yoctobot gene-ampoule was worth squadjillions. If I got in on this, I would never have to beg the Marx for work again. “It’s stealing what’s stolen. So it’s not really stealing,” she said. I said, “That don’t worry me. Unique sigs, that’s the problem. That type of tech is going to have ’em.” I’d tried and failed to rob a Gene-Vault before. Since then, I’d thought a few things out. I knew I needed someone with smarts. “I can wipe the signatures,” she said. “Shit, yeah? Even if you escape somehow, you’d have to go off-planet.” She said, “I’m not particularly attached to where I live. Neither are you.” I huffed. “What’s your name?” “Manjulali Chekitana. Lali for shorts.” I told her she was a cheeky girl and she smiled. What a smile! It punched your heart. I rubbed my snout against her nose--the rhino handshake. Lali smelled of pleasant surprise. Right then, it wasn’t about a shitload of cash. People is only ever interested in rhinos cause they want to use us for toughs, but there was something else with Lali. She trusted me. She knew I’d be there to catch her. *** I watched the last of my golden liquid fall on the Sydney Harbour Bridge. “Charming,” Lali said. “Do you always urinate on national monuments?” “Just glad to be back in Australia.” I tapped on the steel beams and grinned. “You think that’s bad, eh? You should have seen this big load I did on the Statue of Liberty.” I winked at her. “Sounds like you’ve got some deep-seated psychological issues with authority.” “I did piss on the Great Wall once.” She shook her head. “Here, a present.” She bent down and unzipped a large bag. “Fifty-medibot slim-packs! Now them is the key to my heart.” The slim-packs were disc shaped, made out of steelcrete. They must have cost a fortune. The armor on my thighs was fitted with sockets that hooked up to slim-packs. I stowed ’em away on my back webbing, made sure they was tied snug. “We’re going to need those,” she said seriously. “Hey, check out my back-strapped scabbard.” I twisted to show her. “Triple-headed missile launcher,” she said. Her fingers made a “ting” against one of the heads. “Nice belt, too.” She nodded at my socketed belt filled with grenades. She said, “My turn. Have a look at this.” Lali unhitched a bolt-rifle. “Nice.” Her rifle was heavily modified: extra large LED on the sights and a mesh of red micro-circuitry. I checked out its sights and whistled. It had alternate-fire mode, so it could lob grenades. A real evil gun. I liked it, a lot. I handed it back to her, said, “It’s small but powerful, just like you.” I think she blushed, but she turned away real quick. We double-checked everything. Then I checked again. My motto: check, check, and recheck. The escape plan involved a boat. I used a GPS scan to check the boat was still tethered to the pier. Lali had a bunch of portable comps to tap into systems. She also had the set bombs. She was supporting artillery and intelligence. I was the siege engine. “Did you check the hover-boards charges?” I asked. She nodded. “Yep, they’re full. I even brought extra battery packs.” I said, “C’mon, then. Let’s go.” I floored the hoverbike and we tore through them streets. The Gene-Vault was right in the middle of the Sydney Opera House Crater. My wikinet search said the SOHC was consecrated ground. You couldn’t normally place buildings in those zones. How the heck these people manage to place a Gene-Vault there? Lali’s grip tightened on me as we drove the streets. When I felt her boobs press against my back, I lost focus and almost cleaned up a biocrack addict. Shit! Them peoples was more dangerous than radiation potholes. The addict stumbled behind us. As we turned a long corner, he approached a group of cybes. They dangled a packet of blue powder in front of him and prodded his groin. He stared at them, eyes waxy. “He’s dead,” I said. I knew what them cybes would do to him. “Damn biocrack. He can’t be more than eight,” Lali said. When we passed the Sydney harborside, Lali made all these sad noises. Said she visited there ages ago. Said the water was blue before. I kept quiet, but as far as I can see, there’s nothing wrong with glowy green water. Mutant fish look like sliced tendons, but they actually pretty tasty. I ate them in the war. I parked the hoverbike in a secluded area, and we got off. The opera house looked like cracked eggshells. Wall chunks all over the wet ground. Lali said the walls was called sails ’cause the opera house was designed to look like a big ship sailing into the ocean. Sticking out from the middle of this mess, like a tooth that had bit through, was the Gene-Vault. Its slopey sides disappeared into the water. Six rhinos in white masks guarded the entrance, armored and magazined to the brim. In front of them, burning bins gave off a black smoke. Them bins was filled with tar-fuel to keep the rhinos warm. Normal fire won’t warm through our skin. On the roof was two large cameras, their lenses stretched out. “I thought you said that the Gene-Vault was lightly guarded?” I said. It was looking like my failed job for the Marx all over again. “Compared to the others,” Lali said. “Actually, what we’re seeing here is the rear entrance. The front entrance is underground, and that’s where our egress point is.” “Timings check, please.” I synched the clocks on our comps. “Deal is fifteen minutes. That’s it. If we there longer, I’m pulling us out. Got it?” Lali nodded. I hawked up and spat a goober. “Today is a good day to die!” Lali laughed. “Hey,”--she walked to me, stood on tippy-toe, and smooched my tusk--“be careful.” Then she jumped on her hover-board and headed to the Gene-Vault. “You coming?” she says. My three thumbs traced the spot she kissed. I cursed and shot after her. When we reached the entrance, them rhinos opened fire. I slammed my board against a bunch of rocks and ducked the lase-fire. I didn’t even get a chance to peek over. I blind-threw all six grenades, and they whistled through the air, zeroed in on their targets. There was a “clunk” as they stickered themselves to the bins. “Get down!” I shouted The grenades exploded. Black smoke poofed in the air, and I saw them turrets come alive. Necks whizzed like they was infected with viralware. The cams couldn’t spot us cause we was still ducked under. But soon as we stepped out, they would. Lali took out something like a briefcase. “What you doin’?” I said. She said, “Distracting those turrets.” She popped her case open, and n-moths fluttered up, millions of them. They clouded them turrets in blue wings. “Now!” I shouted. I jammed on my oxyfilter and sprinted to the entrance. My hooves crunched on the debris. Turret fire thundered in my ears. Lali had gone in already. The girl was fast. She had this strange move: she’d run two large steps, do a small step, then take another two large. Inside, it was dark and wet. The sprinklers spat water. I slipped a few times and then smashed the crap out of ’em. The red emergency lights were low, but finally I found the passageway. Damn. Twin clanium doors barred our way. I retreated, then charged head first. I slammed the doors. They shuddered. I had to do it two more times before them doors gave in. Then I crashed through. It took me a second to realize I was on stairs, and they was vibrating. Lali passed by in a blur. Then them stairs collapsed. Lali had detonated our set-bombs. I was thrown, hit a steelcrete pole and rolled to a stop. Everything was dusty. My left ankle took a bad twist. It sent sharp bites into my feet, all the way up my calves. “Lali?” Gunshots came from the corridor. I ran and found Lali laying behind a pillar. “Shit,” I said. Lali’s frame was shot. Purple liquid oozed out her artificial legs. “That okay?” “I feel great. You want to help kill those?” Lali nodded in front of her. She ducked shrapnel as another salvo of lase-beams blasted. “Okay.” I rolled next to her, unclipped my gauss-cannon, and fired. The grenade blasted out, detonated at the far end of the corridor. The backdraft singed my skin. I knelt and covered Lali. Her silver-pink hair smelled of circuit-boards and mech-lube. “I’m alright, Mr. Muscles.” She fit so nice in the crook of my arms, but she slipped out of them, pointed behind me. “The vault is right here.” Lali knelt before the vault. The doors had two yellow bars across ’em. Thousands of network ports was embedded on the door. Just looking at it confused the crap out of me. Lali took out a data cable from her navel-receptacle and jerked on it. When it had enough slack, she jacked into a port. The display on her forearm blinked with scrolling code. “Quickly, three seconds left!” I said. I covered her and aimed down the hall. I heard footsteps. Damn, but those was the tensest two minutes of the entire mission. The Klaxons stopped blaring, and the lights flickered off. I switched on the four LEDs on me shoulders. The yellow beams narrowed my vision, so I had to keep turning to catch everything. “Found it. There.” Slowly, Lali pumped code down the wire. She thumbs-upped me. “Double done.” The vault door swung open, and there it was. Rows and rows of gene-ampoules hovered along them walls. Lali’s fingers brushed each one, searching for her yoctobot-synthetics. I had never seen so many gene-ampoules in my life. “Can’t believe I’m inside one of these,” I said. “Where is it?” Lali said. She ducked under a steelcrete shelf. Then she hissed in delight. She pushed against a blank space in the floor and found a hidey hole. Four pyramids was in there. They glowed purple, orange, black, and milk-white. “Yes!” She scooped ’em up, then hugged me. “’Kay, let’s get out of here,” I said. My UI was blinking red: sixteen minutes. One minute over. In my worry, I forgot to get in front of Lali. She was heading for the doors. My first mistake that night, and by Grey Tusk did I pay for it. “Hold it!” Rhinos busted in and opened fire. I ducked. Red lasers exploded into Lali. Hurled her backwards. She crashed into the wall. Her little exoskeleton was completely crumpled. A green smear ran from her cheeks to her stomach. The metal on her stomach had ripped apart, showing pale brown skin hadn’t never seen sun. Her hands opened, and them four pyramids fell out. The world turned red. I stood and charged. Them rhinos sidestepped, but I flicked gel-grenades on ’em. Rhinos have a tough skin. We don’t notice so much when small things touch it. They reached out to get my neck, but I slipped their grip. They exploded in red mist. I picked Lali up. Shoved the yoctobots into one of her Velcroed pockets. Her exoskeleton was one cheap knock-off job. She seemed to wince when I did it. I figured any sign from her was a good thing. *** Drizzle coated everything outside. A shadow moved, and I raised the gauss-cannon. I aimed and almost pressed the trigger. But it wasn’t nothing. I told myself to calm the fuck down. Lali mumbled. I took her down and cradled her. Underneath a slit in her chassis was a little screen, displayed her heart rate. It said 25 beats per minute. If I didn’t get help, she would flatline. I lifted her up and ran to the pier. I ripped off the camo-tarp, jumped into our boat. I got out my knife. Was about to slice the rope when I heard a noise. I strained my ears. Then I thought, Amalric, stop kidding yourself. I went to slice the rope-- “Crack!” I staggered, crunched to my knees, and stared at the three holes through my chest. They looked like glowy ends of cigars. “What’s a brickface like you runnin’ and gunnin’ with a human?” A rhino stood on the pier. The triple-muzzle of his bolt-rifle glowed. Rhino killers, that’s what we call a triple-muzzle bolt-rifle. You can hit both them hearts in one shot. I couldn’t speak shit. My mouth tasted of iron. The world was goin’ dark. “Rhinos ain’t no never run with humans. Especially one like that. She a biocrack whore?” The rhino neared the boat. I couldn’t see him, but I heard his footsteps closer. All I seen was the synth-wood planks that formed the hull. The red gushing onto the planks was my blood. There was a lot of it. “Quickly!” Lali’s voice hissed behind me. She sounded far away. Something prodded me in the back--the barrel of my gauss-cannon. A massive boom and the boat rocked. The rhino was right in front of me. “Gosh, you a tough one to kill, looks like I need to shoot yer again. You won’t survive this one, brickface,” he said. The air moved. I was quicker. My shot scored right above the knee, slicing him at the quads. He screamed. I got up and pushed--weakest push I ever done--but he went overboard. Somehow, I managed to slam the throttle to full. The boat sped into the night. It was so damn dark. Couldn’t see shit. It was a miracle I found the cove we marked. Lali and me both needed serious doses of medibots. “Lali?” I tapped her cheek. She stopped breathing and dizzied out. Her life force was on a sure fade. I searched for the medipack. Things was starting to get weird. I saw two boats and two Lalis, and then two of everything. I grabbed the medipack and sucked in gushes of air. The pack had been shot to shit, and there was only two slim-packs left. That wasn’t enough medibots for both of us. “Shit, fuck, fuck!” My body screamed for medibots. Now I knew how a biocrack whore felt. I brought the medipack to the socket on my thigh, almost about to lock the pack in and save myself. I’d killed for medipacks before. No way I could give them up now. My eyes shifted to Lali. She looked like one squished aluminum doll. My medibot-starved brain worked clear just a few ticks. I thought of the first night I met Lali, how she looked at me so kind when I said I had no purpose. And I thought, I’ve lived so far, and them war’s gone. Maybe Lali’s my new purpose. She was like me in a ways, and that was why we got along so fine. There was no guarantees in life. Rhinos knew it best. You had to give things a go. Gakit! I reached for her. Her chest was cut and bleeding. She looked dead. I injected the medibots into her stomach. Her eyes rolled back, and all I seen was whites. I’d only used one slim-pack when she made this “huuuh” sound, like her lungs got shot, then said, “The yoc…” and dizzied out again. The world was dipped in biochems. Everything blurry and slow. I looked at the big empty bag I never got a chance to fill with our haul, then to Lali’s pockets. The yoctobots! I understood what she was trying to say. Them yoctos could heal as well. I undid the Velcro straps around Lali’s thigh. The yoctobot-synthetics came tumbling out: purple, orange, black, and milk-white. All glittering. I put one on her abdomen, removed the medipack’s needle injector, connected it to the little pyramid, and pressed the needle in. The purple pyramid lost its color as the fluid went inside Lali. I done the same for the other three. My body convulsed. Threw me back. I shoved the last slim-pack to my thigh socket, but it clattered against the armor. I tried again, but my hoofhand wasn’t working right. For a sec I thought I’d die. But on the third try, there was a click, and them medibots surged in my veins like ice. I shuddered. Ecstasy. There wasn’t much left, but the stack was enough to restore my left heart. When I opened my eyes, Lali was glowing. Her body flickered purple, orange, black, and white. Damn yeah, the yoctos was working! Where her exo had been--the arms and legs was gone. Heat radiated from Lali like she was a piece of graphene being cooked in a superfab. I shaded my eyes and only looked when her body cooled down. My Lali was brand new, from the crinkles on her knees to the fine hairs on her forearms. Her limbs was dotted with sweat. Her skin was soft, smooth, and very, very warm. Her nipples reacted to the cold. She curled up and shivered. I laid the camo-tarp over her. Then I got down next to her, put an arm across that tarp, and rested my snout on her head.
- In 1996, Damaged Goods was released by Virgin Books.
- Kit is missing, and her friends track down a doctor who knows who and what Kit really is. Can he help them find her again? Will he, even if he can? Quentin sits disconsolately upon the edge of the simple bunk inside the cell, shoulders slumped and fingers playing incessantly with themselves...managing, somehow, to look both stressed and bored at the same time. "Have everything you need?" Marlan says without introduction as she steps up to the cell, hands tucked into her jacket pockets. "Your humor is overwhelming," Quentin remarks derisively, not bothering to look up from his preoccupied stare at the floor. "I wasn't joking." Marlan replies and then shakes her head slightly, "They're upstairs searching the records now. Want to save everyone some trouble and tell me what they're going to find?" Quentin shrugs his shoulders. "Simple enough in summary, though it is debatable whether any of them would understand what they find. Specifications for the Specialists, and if they have been retained, perhaps the original memory and personality engrams that would be uploaded for various missions." Marlan nods slightly, "Kit....why did you feel the need to hide her away?" she asks, "She was breaking away from the programming...trying to reprogram her, it did't make sense." Quentin snorts, finally raising his eyes to peer at Marlan with a decidedly patronizing air - completely different, now, from the preoccupied professorial type he had acted before. "You were hunting her down, determined enough to follow her across three worlds. Why should I *not* hide her away? And after finally reclaiming her, I find that she is damaged goods. I put in a stop-gap patch, but..." He shrugs eloquently. Marlan snorts, "Damaged goods? Hoop. She was breaking through her programming, developing a personality of her own. What the hoop is damaged about that, da." she shakes her head, "Damaging her is trying to convince her that none of it's true, da. That its' all an invention of her mind" "Damaged goods," Quentin reiterates with a stern look over the edge of his glasses, beginning to look quite a bit put out. "And she *had* a personality. We gave her one. But with the breakdown of the electronics' ability to properly shunt sensory inputs and memory storage and retrieval, she became confused, psychotic. If normal humans exhibited such symptoms, they're usually diagnosed with schizophrenia or multiple personality disorder and consigned to mental hospitals until they are 'cured'. We simply have a more direct method of 'curing' than they do." Marlan snorts in response to that, "You said you put in a stop-gap patch. The chip is still malfunctioning?" she asks Quentin shrugs. "It is no longer degrading, but I did not have the proper tools or information to fully upgrade it. I may have spearheaded the projects," more than a hint of pride there, as he sits up a little straighter, chin lifting imperiously, "but I could not, by all means, conduct every single aspect of it myself and still have a finished product within a reasonable amount of time." Marlan nods, passing a compliment, "Kit *is* an amazing accomplishment, I don't think anyone would argue with you in that regard, da. Even if they don't agree with your intent." Quentin sniffs with righteous indignation, warming to the subject as he stands, absently straightening his glasses as he begins to pace. "Oh, there were enough that agreed, until the SIS fell apart - but to have all that time, the research, the work, all gone to waste! And not a single paper published on the subjects to my name when there's an encyclopedia's worth of information! While that supposed 'doctor' Curtis Cheval was going to receive the honors of a seat at..." He pauses to shake a fist at the ceiling in impotent frustration. "But he won't be able to enjoy that now, will he? I ask you, where would the human race be if we did not push the envelope and take risks? Still crawling about in the dirt back on Earth, no doubt!" Marlan frowns, "Perhaps, da. But that doesn't mean that some risks aren't a mistake. That doesn't mean we need to lose our humanity in the process, da." she shakes her head slightly, "Kit is more then a creation, da. She's a living being. She deserves the right to live as one instead of simply being a tool for someone." Quentin snorts, clasping his hands behind him as he eyes Marlan condescendingly. "A debate that has persisted since the first Specialist was developed centuries ago - one that has not yet been argued to either side's satisfaction yet. I am not going to waste my time rehashing the same points." Marlan shrugs slightly in response to that, "The reality though, is that Kit is out of your control now." she shrugs, "You have a choice, da. You can do as best as you can for her and tell us anything we may need to know... "Or what?" Quentin drawls, turning to face her with a thin-lipped smile. Marlan shrugs, "Or you don't, and you watch your last chance at fame potentially self destruct." "Don't try to dangle that bait before me," Quentin sniffs, turning his back to her. "I am not stupid. Do you seriously think that I would believe I have any chance at the fame that I deserve right now, whether she survives intact or not?" Marlan shrugs, "Don't see why not, da. I wouldn't agree to release her name...but releasing the research." she shrugs, "I don't think it'd be a bad thing, da. I'd say its a neccesary thing." Quentin turns his head, just enough to show that he is listening, though he continues to face away from her. "Oh? And what of my incarceration?" Marlan shakes her head, "Your incarcation isn't thanks to me. Although personally, I don't think you deserve to be released, da." she shrugs, "That said, fame from your research isn't dependent on your status as a prisoner." "And who are you, that you can guarantee that my research is published and that my name is attached to it?" Quentin asks, turning back to her with a suspicious frown. Marlan shrugs, "Been published more then a few times myself, da. Know individuals at the Sivadian College of medicine who would probably be very interested in the results of this research." "Not enough," Quentin states boldly. "I can't just sit somewhere in a corner for the rest of my life. I want to be working again; I need to research and *learn* things." Marlan shaks her head, "I can promise you your research will be published. I can't promise you you'll be allowed to work again. That's a conversation to be had with other individuals." "Then bring them in," Quentin says as he moves to reclaim his seat on his bunk, folding his arms obstinately afterwards. "I'm not going anywhere." Marlan nods and shrugs, turning for the door, "Fine then..but i can't promise you they'll be as willing to speak to you as I am." "If you want my help, you should try turning your persuasive talents on them," Quentin returns stubbornly, eyes following the woman out.
*
*
* Sometime later... *** Quentin sits disconsolately upon the edge of the simple bunk inside the cell, shoulders slumped and fingers playing incessantly with themselves...managing, somehow, to look both anxious and bored at the same time. Innokentevna slowly walks down the long aisle of the detention block, until she stops outside the mad doctor's newest den. She turns then, leaning back against the far wall, eyes narrowed as she considers him and his condition. Silvereye follows along slightly behind Katya, glancing into the cells as they pass and finally into Quentin's new abode, narrowing his silver eyes at the doctor and crossing his paws over his chest, giving the prisoner a harsh look. Quentin pays only enough attention to glance up and see who it is that is visiting before returning his gaze to the floor, casually straightening his legs out before him and hooking one heel over the other. "And is it a pleasant day outside today?" Innokentevna looks back to the doctor with a smile, a soft shrug of her shoulders added to it. "Eets as nice as eet gets here. I am sure folks can be confince't to let you take a valk outsite. I atmeet, eet toes breeng zee consekvences ov a certain vort to mint." "The suspense is killing me," Quentin notes dryly, finally lifting his head as he folds his arms across his chest, rocking back as he regards them. Silvereye glances to Katya and then returns his gaze to Quentin. "I think it would be best not to play games, doctor. This is your future, afterall." He pauses, tail lashing. "Of course I'm just a dumb Demarian." "Extradeeshun." Innokentevna just shrugs her shoulders. "Sifatian lavs an sense ov justeece are just too compleecate't for a frontier Ungstiri like me." Quentin snorts, casting Silvereye a sharp scowl. "And sarcasm is all very well and good, but the jokes can only stretch so thin." Returning his focus to Innokentevna, he says, "I already discussed quite a bit of this with your other friend. If you haven't spoken with her yet, I suggest you do so now before coming back for a discussion. I'll wait." "Don't say things unless you're willing to eat them, doctor." Silvereye retorts, "We have talked to her. Now we want to hear what you have to say. Please give my companion an answer and we'll all have a better time of this." "Da ..." Innokentevna looks across to the Doctor. "I ton't theenk eets you vho unterstant. Last theenk you vant to hafe happen to you ees me trag you across zee stars to ungstir, vhere you are nyi a person ... but a toureest. An no one meesses toureests. Eets nyi me z'at has to confince you, Toctor .. eets you z'at has to confeence me vhy I shoult go easy on you." The corners of Quentin's mouth pull down sharply and he plants his feet on the floor beneath him, though he does not stand, bracing his hands against his knees. "Posture all you want, but right now, mine is the only mind who can still comprehend and translate all that research you've been trying to dig up for the past night. The very fact that you are both standing there, talking to me, instead of waltzing off back to your homeworlds, tells me that there's something you want. Well, very simply, there is something I want too - prestige, and freedom to continue to practice what I love best; science. Now that we have cut to the chase, as they say, what do you plan to do about it?" Innokentevna just watches quietly, looking back to Quentin with a raising or lowering of her shoulders. She stays still, as his words wash about her, and then a hand rises to rub behind her neck. She nds once, as if finished considering his words. "You deedn't ansver zee kvestshun." "And you would kill for it." Silvereye remarks calmly, gaze still fixed on the doctor. "I think you're going to get infamy if you live at all, doctor. We can't give you prestige, but maybe we can let you dabble a bit. You're not getting off of this without punishment." He glances at Katya, then back to Quentin. "She is dead serious, you know." "That's because I didn't hear a question mark anywhere. All I heard were vague implications and threats," Quentin snaps before turning to the Demarian. "As if you cats have anything to talk about! I know enough about what your people have found offenses punishable by all manner of ridiculous tests that were clearly not survivable, and declared it the fate decreed by some cosmic will, to find your attempt to remonstrate me laughable. I have been punished! I am forced to live in ignominy when I have probably made the greatest breakthroughs in the understanding of the mind, memory and consciousness in the history of mankind, and I am to be vitiated, my work lost to the ignorant ramblings of what is the current fad in social sensitivities!" Innokentevna listens as the scientist bombasts, hazel eyes narrow and harsh as steel. Halfway through it she raises her hand, as if to ward off the stream of words. When she speaks her voice is soft, soft and perfectly controlled. "I ton't care." Three simple words. "Leesten." A pace of speech perfectly balanced, probably a touch too controlled, as the temperature in the room slowly drops. "Nyi threat or eenuando. Speakink zee facts. Gifink you fair varnink ov vhat veell happen to you, eef you ton't geef me a reson nyi to. Nyi zee ozer vay arount. An steel you ton't ansver zee kvestshun. Vhat can you to for me, z'at veell make me choose nyi to sent you to zee aluminum smeltink peets? You ent up zere ... no prestige, no science, nothink except manual labor for zee rest ov your life." Silvereye laughs, the doctor's words, tone and expression working on him to produce a small bit of laughter. "The Desert Trials not survivable? If I ever see Stumppaw Sandwalker I will have to tell him you said that, and then we will both laugh at your narrow mind. The trials judge on merits, and right now the woman a few levels below us has more merit than you may ever have." He pauses, "But the trials can also be redemption. The only way, doctor, that you will ever have the fame and recognition you want is to listen carefully to what my companion has to say and then give us what we want." Quentin winces, muttering beneath his breath as he finally stands, striding toward the bars dividing them. "Why you continue to persist in these games...you want what I know about the construction of the Proteus Children and their maintenance," he states with a glower. "Happy now? Have you gained some vestigial delight in hearing me state the sole reason why you even bothered coming here to see me, rather than leaving me to rot with the Sivadians?" Sniffing, he turns a baleful look on Silvereye. "And it is merit to throw away all those who do not have the physical attributes of olympians but, instead, hold their strengths in mental processes? It is a wonder that your species managed to throw themselves out of their home planet's gravity well at all." Innokentevna looks to Quentin and just asks, very very quietly. "To you really theenk z'ats vhat I vish?" "You still do not understand, doctor. Sometimes the strongest do not survive...It takes more than muscles or physical ability to survive. Stumppaw Sandwalker has been missing a hand since birth and he was the leader of his community." He pauses, turning to Katya, realizing that his own arrogance and pride might be getting in the way. "Answer carefully, doctor. This one could be the most important." Quentin's brows draw upwards. "Is it not?" he asks rhetorically. "I've certainly heard enough about your 'Kit'. Isn't that the persona you've been trying to track down for the past week or two?" Snorting, he says in aside, "Son, remind me to give you a basic course in statistics and natural selection sometime." "Zat's right. Zee stable personaleety, zee one zat's vetvare encote't an nyi hartvare encote't. Zee funcshunal one. An most eemportantly, my drook. I vant her back, I vant her stable, an i vant her to nyi hafe to vorry for zee fugues again. Naya vants nefer to vake up ... Tina unterstants she ees just a serfant oferlay ... an Tania ees completely tysfuncshunal. Kitt ees Kittianna's soul." Simple words, for her friend. Innokentevna stands firm. "Nov, eet's Marly' z'ats all googly eye't for your vork. I couldn't geef a hoop myself. You help us breeng my frient back from zee nightmare you hafe trapp't her een ... an I'll consiter lettink Sifatian courts hantle you." She then leans forward. "Zere ees one theenk you ton't knov. I fery, fery rarely put my foot tovn, vhen eet comes to Marly. But she knovs. I say you tie een zee alumeenum peets, you veel melt een zere heat. So eets you choice, Kitt an I consiter leafink you here to cut a teal vith my sysetra." Silvereye's teeth clench and the fur on the back of his neck begin to rise. For the first time during the interrogation he actually seems angry, pissed, in fact. His tail lashes furiously as his eyes bore into the doctor. "You are not my father." He struggles to say, "And if he was here he'd kill you for even suggesting it. You are fortunate that I am not half who my father was, or I'd kill you too, right here, Sivad be damned. By Altheor you will help her, or a slow cook in the aluminum pits will seem pleasant to what I will do to you." He seems very serious, the doctor struck the wrong nerve. "It's called a *euphemism*," Quentin says condescendingly, though he slides an unconscious, wary step back. Clasping his hands behind him, he curls his shoulders into a sullen slouch. "Why can't you just work what I want into the deal, eh? After all, without me, Kit wouldn't have even existed. Bloody hell, I was the only one who was trying to collect them back and repair them! Someone else was hired to simply terminate them - someone you've already encountered once, while completing one of his assignments. What was his excuse for them, eh? And he was hunting down your Kit too, wasn't he?" "She ees steel alife, eesn't she?" Innokentevna returns quietly. "Ve are settle't betveen me an heem an' Kitt. But z'at's niezer here nor z'ere. An for a smart person, you to nyi seem to be gettink eet. You are een zee cage, you eediot. You vant fame and prestige an a chance to vork. I TON'T CARE. Da ... you can geet all high an mighty, sayink you are zee only one vith z'eese eenformashun ... but ask yourself, ees z'at prite vorth zee kvaleety ov life you hafe left? I am zee one stantink betveen you an your chance to bargain for z'at. Zee kvestshun ees seemple ... to geet to z'at point, are you villink to offer up vhat toes matter to me? Zen you mite geet your chance. Because, Toctor Kventin, I ton't geet kitt back you are nefer nefer goink to see anytheenk close to a fair trial. You'll face Ungstiri justeece, you got zat. An just vhen you are hopink to die just to escape, z'ats vhen I'll geef you to zee Temarian. because eef Kitt toesn't fint her vay back, I am goink to holt you personally reesponseeble." Silvereye steps forward as Quentin steps back, until his face is nearly touching the bars. He is still angry, claws visible as he lays them on the bars. "Altheor spit on your excuses." The Demarian seethes, "That's all you are, excuses. You should know by now that we are very, very serious. Step up, worm, you gave up rights to whatever power you had as Kit's creator-" He avoids the word father, "-when you let this happen. You only have one choice, worm. Forget everyone else involved in this, and do what you can. Your excuses are tiring and weak, do what you can, take some responsibility, and maybe you will get out of this with more prestige in your heart than any headline can give you." "I never said I wouldn't be willing to restore her," Quentin snaps. "I just want to make sure that I'm not throwing away the sole bargaining chip that I have. And I am not interested in any metaphysical claptrap. If my work is published, if the right doctors and scientists understand it, years from now, it may be hailed as the breakthrough for successful treatment of mental patients. You can apply it however you want. But I have a talent that others do not possess, and I aim to see that it is not wasted." Straightening, he looks at each of them sternly. "If you want, I can have the electronics deconstructed completely and made inert. But I want to have the chance to do what I do best." "Fint Kitt ... an help her back, stable an vhole " Innokentevna answers, serious and quiet, "An I'll talk to Marlan Ranix for you. Zat'll geet you your chance. Kitt comes feerst." Silvereye steps back, lowering his paws to his side but keeping his eyes on the doctor. "We are not unfair." His voice softens somewhat, the anger subsiding. "Prove your worth and I'm sure something will be worked out." He nods absently to Katya. Quentin grimaces, peering over the edge of his glasses toward them. "Only a chance?" he asks, the faintest note of plaintiveness creeping in. Innokentevna just lifts her head. "A chance ees better z'an nothink. You hafe alreaty try't to decife us ... fool me once, da. A secont time, nyet. You shoult help us vith Kitt ... as eef your life tepent't on eet, Toctor Kventin. Because eet toes." Innokentevna then crosses her arms. "An eef you hafe any kvestshun ov vhat my vort means, vhen I say i shall talk to marlan Ranix, geef you your chance ... remember, eet vas my vort z'at follov't Kitt from Ungstir to Comorro, to Ungstir, Temaria, Antimone , Sifat an here. You vant me speakink for you ... nyi against you, da?" Silvereye's ears perk upward and he raises his eyeridges, speaking somewhat in disbelief and anger, "A chance is all we can give you, doctor. We can't guarantee fame or recognition, that's up to you. We can just give you that chance if you do as we ask." Quentin sighs. "Very well. Someone will have to let me access records and equipment for a day or two, however. After all, it has been over a year, and I will need to refresh my memory concerning the details of the API." "I am sure z'at can be arrange't ... an sviftly." She pushes herself off the wall, hooking her hands into her belt loops. "You hafe mate zee rite choice totay, toctor. Just keep eet up. Da svidaniya, Toctor Kventin. I shall see you on zee morrov." She nods to Silvereye as she heads down towards the security gate. "Come on gospadin Silfereye ... you look like you coult use sometheenk to eat." Quentin snorts as he turns to walk back toward his bunk. "I don't need verbal pats on the head, madam. And what does one have to do for some reading material around here?" Silvereye nods to Katya, flicking an ear towards Quentin before turning away from him without a word. He doesn't look at Katya as he walks away, staring over her and ahead into space. "Better z'at z'en a boot elsevhere toctor. Take atfantage ov my goot humor." She pauses at the door. "I'll tellz em to geet you a cuple books to start. I hafe no itea vhat sort ov reatink materials are left here." She then passes through the gate, vanishing behind the metal door. Silvereye follows after Katya, not bothering to look over his shoulder at the cells or the doctor.
- Damaged Goods was a pornographic film produced by Anthony Allen and TNA Productions, and starring Monique Alexander. The poster of the film was kept in Allen's TNA office, where it was found in June of 2015 by LAPD detective Harry Bosch following Allen's murder.
- As biblical Eve bobbed for Adam's apple and soon found herself damaged beyond repair, other women were being damaged by even more obscure cavemen. A cavewoman would be wandering by singing "La La La" and a caveman would grab her by the hair and damage her. Then damage her again twenty minutes later. She would hang around for another twenty minutes, hoping for a three-fer, before the guy got tired of looking at her and sent her to the corner store or tarpit or something. As she walked to the store people would point and stare at her and children would run up to kick at her ankles, and then one child would get down on all fours behind her as another child shoved her backwards. This became known as the Walk of Shame.
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