The following short story is based on characters created and/or copyrighted by SEGA! Enterprises, DiC Productions, Archie Comic Publishers, Fleetway Comic Publishers, and the Taki Corporation. All other characters were created and copyrighted by Roland Lowery. The author gives full permission to distribute this work freely, as long as no alterations were made and the exchange of monetary units was not involved. Any questions, comments, suggestions, or complaints should be sent to . Thank you. The Chaotic Multiverse #1 of 100 ------------------ "O, that a man might know the end of this day's business ere it come!" -William Shakespeare, "Julius Caesar" ------------------ The Beginning Of The End By Roland Lowery JULIAN IVAN ROBONINSKI LOOKED out over the skyline of Leningrad. Years ago, he had thought that this sort of view was the most beautiful to be seen in the entire solar system. Skyscrapers of all shapes and sizes jutted up into the twilight sky, proof of Man's ingenuity. The clouds reflected the reds and oranges of the setting sun, surrounded by the cool blue and purple of oncoming night, accentuating the dark shapes of the city. Here and there amongst the backdrop of the buildings, he could see the flicker of streetlamps turning on, illuminating the city against the encroaching darkness. Likewise, stars began to litter the heavens, a timeless yet still wonder-inspiring event. He used to watch as the city's denizens scurried about on their errands, doing this and that, hurrying about in a manner almost - but not quite - ant-like. It still suprised Julian to this day that humans even bothered leaving their houses when they could have everything they could ask for delivered right to their doorstep. Not that he seemed to understand much about humankind anyway, if recent events were any indication. Thanks to the attitude of the general public, Julian had long since stopped watching them muck about down there. The skyline, however beautiful, no longer brought him any joy. This view, in fact, began to make him slightly paranoid, even though he knew full well that the glass he was watching it through was blastproof. A twenty megaton warhead from the bad old days could hit it and the tinting wouldn't even be scratched. Nevertheless, he decided to move away from the glass and sit at his desk to finish packing. Just to be on the safe side, of course. But, no matter how beautiful or distasteful or dangerous he found the horizons of Terra, he knew that soon he would never have to worry about them ever again. In the year 2164 A.D., Dr. Julian Roboninski had published his paper on advanced cybernetics. It detailed a series of as-yet untried experiments that, he hoped, would result in the development of a fully cybernetic being. This paper was not warmly recieved. The reasons given were many and varied, but the basic argument behind them all was an old one. Over a century earlier, the human race had wallowed in debauchary and general unpleasantness. What sort of unpleasantness, unfortunately, was not known, for records from the time were spotty at best . . . most of them, in fact, detailed events and things that seemed to be pure fantasy out of fairy stories, such as the general anatomy, behavioral patterns, and landholdings of elves. One undeniable fact of the time, however, is that most of the problems arose from the widespread use of cybernetic implants. Though they were originally built to keep the human machine in top operational shape, they ended up just being quicker, easier ways for people to kill themselves and each other. It was a natural part of the human condition that became amplified under a most unnatural environment and a terrible thing, yet people continued to get partial cybernetic reconstruction to keep from becoming obsolete. Back then, fully cybernetic beings like those detailed in Julian's paper were an impossibility for several good reasons. By Julian's time, however, the major argument against any sort of modification was that it had become a taboo almost altogether, possible or not. The only implants even considered marginably acceptable in polite company were eye and internal organ replacements and, to a slight degree, NETTERjacks . . . but only because they were a requirement for high-speed computer applications. Even in the case of cybereyes, they had to be realistic-looking unless one wanted to be stared at by adults and razzed by small children or otherwise shunned by the rest of society. Julian continued his research, in any event, and continued to publish his findings as well. He began to feel pressure from all sides to cease and desist his "blasphemous" work, but he and his assistant Snively both studiously attended to their work regardless of their naysayers. It wasn't until a terrorist group calling themselves the Luna-Techs bombed one of Julian's research laboratories that he decided to take the criticism of his work seriously. The Luna-Techs continued making various threats and attempts on his life until he decided to leave Terra completely in 2172. With his equipment, files, and assistant safely packed, he set off in a space skimmer for the Mars Colonies. There he hoped to find more liberal minded and decidedly less fanatical people who would accept his ideas and, perhaps, expound on them as well. "Dr. Julian Roboninski, it's a pleasure!" Julian raised an eyebrow at the odd little man that was shaking his hand fast and hard enough to take it clean off. He and Snively had just stepped off of the skimmer and into the main terminal of the John Carter Memorial Space Port when they had been set upon by this complete stranger. "Yes, I'm sure it is," he said, trying to suppress his light Russian accent, but failing in his confusion. The little man was old, wiry, and nervous looking. A bushy white moustache and eyebrows nearly hid his eyes and mouth completely and his hair was frazzled out in every direction. Julian automatically compared him with Albert Einstien, but decided that the great scientist had never looked quite so skinny or grizzled. Julian himself certainly looked nothing of the kind, with his large - though not overweight - frame, carefully groomed red hair, and pencil-thin mustache. "If you'll come right this way, doctor," the old man said, "I have a ride waiting to take us to the lab." Julian grunted, then leaned over to his diminuitive assistant and said, "Snively, I want you to take our belongings to the hotel and wait there for me." "Yes, doctor," Snively whined in his nasal voice, clearly unhappy with being unable to go with them. He turned on his heel and stomped off towards baggage claim, quickly disappearing into the crowd. Julian turned back towards the old man. "Now then, Mister . . . " "Doctor, actually," the man said, suprising Julian. "Don't worry, lots of folks make that mistake. The name's Robert Post, but you can call me Bob. Now, c'mon, we don't want ta keep the folks at the lab waiting! They're all looking forward to meeting you." "That will be a refreshing change," Julian muttered as he followed Post through the crowd in the terminal. His wider than average frame didn't move through the mass of people quite as well as Post did, but Post slowed down so he could keep up. "Oh, you'll find that people are much more open-minded up here, doctor," Post said cheerfully. "I've heard about the attacks on your work made by the terrorist factions over on Terra, but I'm glad to say that we have very little trouble in the way of terrorists here on Mars. The Luna-Techs and other bio-purist groups have no chapters here, and thanks to the more open atmosphere of our society, fewer people feel they need to get their point across by blowing something up." Outside of the spaceport's main doors, a large hovercar awaited them. The car door bore the imprint of Julian's soon-to-be employers, Gemini Incorporated, and the interior was very comfortable-looking. Post gave an order to the driver then rolled the glass up between the cab and the back seat to give them some privacy. Julian leaned back into the plush darkness of the leather seat. It was very comfortable, a welcome change from all of the little two-seater hovercompacts he and Snively had been forced to ride around in on Terra. Post settled back into the seat across from him and offered him a drink from the mini-bar, which Julian accepted. "A sad place Terra has become," Post said slowly. "Even Luna and the Orbital Cities seem to have caught their social inhibitions. It's horrible the way they've let things degrade, isn't it? From watching them, you'd think that someone who had his eyes cybernetically replaced so that he wouldn't have to be burdened with glasses for the rest of his life had done just as awful a crime as raping his mother on top of a stack of bibles! I just can't understand how they can look at your ideas, which could quite possibly end all disease and suffering in the world, and say it's a no-go just because it's not to be done! By the One, that's like refusing to take a pink pill that makes you immortal just because you don't like the color pink, you know? "Maybe it's the pioneering blood. They've just lost the instinct to accept new ideas. They're so mired in their ways that it'll take the majority of 'em dying off and your idea being the only thing that could save them to wake them up to the fact that what you're doing is good for them!" Post shook his head sadly. "I guess I just don't understand those people at all. But then, that's why I live and work here instead of there." He looked over at Julian. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said, "I've just been rattlin' on here, haven't I?" Julian smiled briefly. He was already getting to like this odd little man, in spite of himself. "It's quite alright," he said. "Your ideas closely parallel my own, actually. I just hope that I can work in peace here, without fear of retaliation from the more zealous members of the population." "I don't think you have ta worry about that," Post said with a grin. "In fact, once we prove your theories right, I have no doubts that you'll be able to work ANYwhere without having to worry about ANY outside threats at all." "I hope that's true," Julian said. "It's so frustrating when you can't put forth even the slightest of new ideas without having your life threatened by at least one other person. And, naturally, my opposition took every chance to make things harder on me even when they weren't trying to kill me. No one would fund my work. I was working out of an old office in a run down building. The only reason I had any money at all is because I had tenure at the local university. They couldn't fire me, but they all worked to make my life a living hell, I can tell you. Snively only works for me because he's interested in the work. I barely made enough money to feed and house myself, let alone him as well, but I needed an assistant . . . " "Well, don't you worry any about workspace or assistants," Post said with an expansive wave of his hand. "We've got plenty of both to spare! I'm sure you'll be impressed with our facilities. Though technically you'll be employed by Gemini, Inc., we're working out of the Mechaniks Technologies laboratories, one of Gemini's subsidaries. Whole different building, dedicated solely to the pursuit of advancing robotics technologies! "Well," he added, "except for the small spot we gave over to the biotechnologists after we heard you were coming, of course. Just trust me, though, m'boy," Post said, his eyes sparkling, "wherever you may have worked before, you've never worked ANYwhere as impressive as Mechaniks!" Post was right. Julian was impressed. VERY impressed. As it turned out, the laboratory that was being given over to Julian for his work took up almost an entire floor of the building. He was introduced to a few of the people he was going to be working with, many of them engineers, designers, and researchers whose work Julian had used to help develop his own theories. All of the equipment was state of the art, bleeding edge technology, all ready to go in a moment's notice. Julian found that he wanted to go directly to work himself, as a matter of fact, but Post just laughed and patted him on the back. "Oh, no, not today, m'boy," the old scientist said. "Trust me, I wish we could just dive right in, too, but you still have to become a fully registered Mars citizen, get all your employment papers worked out, and so on. And you'll be expected to give a lecture involving your theories before the entire team and Gemini's board of directors, naturally. We've all read your papers, of course, but it's always better to get it all straight from the horse's mouth, you know?" "Yes, of course," Julian said distractedly. He was still staring around at all of the equipment. "This is absolutely facinating!" "This?" Post asked, looking around himself. "No, no . . . what's facinating is what we're going to be doing with all of this, m'boy. If we succeed, then the whole solar system will be changed for the better. I guarantee you that civilization as we know it will be turned on its ear by this. THAT'S what's facinating!" The next two weeks went by quickly for Julian. Gemini payed for everything, from making him a citizen of Mars to setting him and Snively up in a large apartment. The transfer from pariah to celebrity was so sudden that he felt that he was caught up in a raging torrent and having the time of his life. He managed to keep a grip on it at all times, however. The powers-that-be at Gemini were expecting great things from him, so he had to be ready to deliver. So it was that, even though he felt things were flowing past him almost too quickly, he was quite ready to deliver his lecture the day before the real work began. As he prepared his notes and projections on the podium, Julian spared a few glances up at his audience. Many of the scientists, researchers, and assisstants he had seen at the Mechaniks' lab were milling about, finding places to sit. They all looked happy to be there, a definite change from the audiences Julian was used to lecturing to back Terra-side. Over to one side he saw the board of directors, all wearing severe-looking business suits. Amongst them he recognized the CEO of Gemini, Inc., Gregory Tanis Shiningleaf IV, from the picture Post had shown him. He was the great-grandson of Gemini's founder, Julian had been told, and a strictly no-nonsense attitude ran in the family. Julian only looked at him for a moment, as the young CEO seemed to be staring directly at him. He tried to put this out of his mind, not wanting to appear nervous during this most important junction in his new life. After shuffling his notes around once more and triple checking everything for the third time, he cleared his throat to get everyone's attention. Once everything had settled down, the house lights turned down low. "Long ago," Julian said to scientists and executives in the hushed auditorium, "scientists believed that fully cybernetic organisms could not exist, a conclusion that was reached as early as the year 2040. At this time, cybernetic parts were becoming widespread on Earth, large clumsy things that had primitive interfaces with the human nervous system. Partial cybernetic reconstructions were rare, but did happen on occaision. It was by studying these partials that scientists of the time discovered that the parts caused the nervous system to be drained slightly by the implants. The more sophisticated or larger the device, the worse the drain was. "Eventually, they deduced exactly how much drain the system could take before it began to experience serious problems. They called the homeopathic wholeness of the nervous system 'essence' and had legislation passed that forced cybernetic manufacturers to mark their products with an 'essence cost' label, telling how much of a strain the device put on the body's central nervous system. "Cybernetic modifications had become extremely popular at the time, however, and for some people they had become a necessity to survive in an increasingly hostile environment. Therefore, the essence limit set was often surpassed by those unwilling or unable to do without the modifications. In effect, the power drawn from the nervous system left insufficient energy to power such vital organs as the heart, muscles, lungs, and brain. The situation these unfortunates found themselves in was called being 'cybered'. In the best of cases, the victim was a mindless vegetable. In the worst, they were homicidal maniacs unable to differintiate between fantasy and reality." Julian paused for effect. Though the light on the audience was dim, he could still tell that his words had indeed struck a chord. A quick glance at the board of directors showed him that Gregory Shiningleaf, especially, was frowning heavily at this. "I realize that I have started off by painting a rather grim picture," he continued. "I do this merely to convey the reasons behind the opposition to my work, why cybernetic modifications have become something of a taboo on Terra. I wanted to give that viewpoint a chance to be heard before I show you exactly why it is completely and utterly WRONG." There was a slight murmur among the audience at this. Julian smiled thinly before continuing. "This unfortunate taboo on cybernetics has made my work very difficult, as you might imagine. But I believe that I have found a way of bypassing the essence limit and allowing any number of implants to be borne within an organic structure! Not only that, but I believe that the only reason that this discovery has not been made to date is because of opposition to research in that area. The hurdles are very difficult ones to overcome, to be sure. It may take many months, if not years, to fully develop my theories, but I can assure you that they can be developed." Scattered applause met Julian's ears. He guestured at Snively, who turned to his virtual-padd and began pressing buttons. A display lit up behind Julian, depicting a human nervous system. "I apologize for the dry scientific nature of the rest of my speech," Julian said as he turned to the display, "but I believe that even the non-scientists will find this interesting . . . " Julian went over his theories for nearly another hour after this. Much of it, as he had warned them, was mostly pure biology and electronics with a sprinkling of mechanics and computer jargon. The part that both interested everyone the most as well as frightened them a bit was the modified head computer that Julian proposed. "This is actually a rather simple idea, in a way," Julian said as the head computer's schematic shone on the display. "The essence limit is, of course, based on the limits of the human nervous system. What I am suggesting is that we replace the parts of the nervous system that cannot handle the strain! "The invention of the head computer can be dated back to the dark ages of the 21st century, but they were as primitive as other cybernetic systems of the time. It wasn't until the early decades of this century that any serious work was put forth in developing them. Dr. Klinger Stradhelm was one of the first to begin research on head computers, working under the belief that computers were about as complicated as they could get in their current form. "Fortunate for us that he believed this, because he eventually developed what became known as the 'thinkbox', a computer who's complexity was based almost entirely on the fuctionings of the human brain, the most complicated computer known to man even to this day. "The problem, however," Julian said sadly, "was that there were no operating systems capable of operating the thinkbox to its full potential. Even the rudimentary true-AI systems we have been developing lately couldn't handle it. No, only one operating system could do the job . . . the human mind itself. By the time the thinkbox was fully developed, however, anti-cybernetic hysteria had already set in, so Dr. Stradhelm was never given the chance to try downloading a human mind into his thinkbox. A box inside a human was bad enough; a human inside a box was unthinkable. "But it may be just what we need to complete my work. If part of the subject's brain was replaced by a thinkbox running the subject's own mind as its operating system, the thinkbox and the nueral overlays I mentioned earlier woven into the nervous tissue throughout the body would be able to handle the essence loss with minimal loss of function. The recipitant would retain no loss of memory or motor functions and they would be able to have virtually any number of cybernetic enhancements." Heads were nodding among the scientists in the audience as Snively took over the lecture briefly to detail the computing paramaters needed for such a task. Julian grudgingly stepped aside for the moment. Though he was a robotologist, working with all manner of electronics and mechanics, Julian was nearly mystified by the workings of a computer. Oh, he could handle the hardware alright, given the time and enough manuals describing them, but he simply could not get by on the programming aspect. That was why he relied so heavily on Snively on some areas of his theories. He had never advertised for a computer expert, however. Snively, oddly enough, had simply shown up on his doorstep one day, asking for a job. After showing his extremely impressive skills with computers, Snively was hired on the spot and had been with the doctor ever since. The diminuitive Englishman was a bit snide sometimes, often criticizing Julian's procedures and giving his opinion about anything and everything . . . but Julian figured that he would be able to take that attitude out over time. Snively was, after all, his assistant, meant only to assist, not take everything over. Julian did have to admit that Snively was good at what he did, however, and quite enthusiastic about it as well. As Snively stood at the podium and made his speech, he bobbed about so energetically that his long, thick silver hair was constantly shaking up and down on his head. He reminded Julian of a smaller version of a fictional doctor he had seen on an old 2-D vidflick concerning a time travelling car long ago. Great Scott, indeed. " . . . believe that when the subject's mind is fully transferred," Snively was saying, "then we would be able to actually correct problems within that subject's mind for the better. Psycological dementia would be a thing of the past for - with the subject's approval, of course - we would be able to go in and edit out any problem they may be having. Criminal tendencies, homicidal intents, any major mental abberation could be erased with just a few editing procedures here and there. "Information storage would be greatly enhanced as well. The whole Library of Congress could be downloaded directly to one's brain. With Dr. Roboninski's cybernetic enhancements to make the perfect body, and the thinkbox to make the perfect mind, we will have reached a Utopia that men have dreamed of for millinea . . . " "I hate M-m-mars," Jeni said as she set her bags on the bed. "It's du-u-usty, everything's the wr-r-rong color, and it's co-co-cold." "Maybe if you'd dress right," Marty growled as he locked the hotel room door, "you wouldn't be so goddamned 'co-co-cold', freak!" Jeni scowled at her companion, who pointedly ignored her as he began to place the defensive perimiter alarms on the door and windows of the small room. Instead of allowing him to get to her, she unpacked her suitcase in what she hoped was dignified silence. She hated it when Marty made fun of her stutter, but there was nothing she could do about his attitude until their mission was over. She was just stuck with him until they left Mars. Finished placing the devices, Marty flopped down on the other bed, located the remote padd on the nightstand, and turned on the holovid. Naturally, to Jeni's dismay, he selected the tackiest game show he could find to watch and started singing loudly, off-key, to the theme music. "I do-o-on't understa-a-and how I get hooked up with yu-u-ou so o-o-often!" Jeni nearly screamed as she pulled at her short-cropped red-black hair nearly hard enough to yank it out. "You're so go-o-oddamned fru-u-ustrating!" He merely made a kissy face at her as she stamped out of the room and into the bathroom. There, she disrobed angrily, throwing her clothes on the floor as hard as she could, and stomped into the sonic shower. Bloody overseers! Jeni thought as she turned the shower on. If they had just let their little holy crusade go, I wouldn't be in this damnable mess to begin with! "Hey," Marty's voice drifted in from the main room, "turn on the holo, freak . . . we're on the news! Channel 276!" "Sh-sh-shut the hell up!" Jeni yelled. But, in spite of herself, she turned on the holo built into the shower wall and changed it to the channel Marty had indicated. The head and shoulders of a news anchor appeared a few inches out from the wall. "-una-Techs claim responsibility for the explosion," the anchor was saying, "but have not, as yet, given reason for their actions. It is believed that the laboratory in question had been working on genetic engineering procedures that would allow the selective cloning of vital bodily organs. These procedures were first developed then lost during the turmoil of the twenty-first century, and are just now being touched upon again. Though the Luna-Tech terrorist faction has not been known to take an active part in protesting purely biological enhancements-" Jeni turned off the holo and yelled, "Tha-a-at wasn't abo-o-out us, Mart." "Yah, yah," Marty yelled back, "not us exactly, but the group, anyway! The more exposure we get, the better, right?" Jeni elected not to get into that argument again. She was one of the minority in the Luna-Tech infrastructure that believed that they should work quietly, simply eliminating anyone who would try to dilute the human race. Marty belonged to the "let's blow it all up so they get the point" faction of the Luna-Techs . . . the faction that was currently in charge, much to Jeni's continued frustration. She didn't want to argue, she just wanted to take a shower and not think about anything else for a while. And she was doing a pretty good job of it, too, until she ran her fingers across the odd metal square that was surgically implanted just under the skin on the back of her neck. She hated that square. She wasn't sure why the overseers had deemed it necessary for all Luna-Tech members to get one implanted, but she was sure as hell going to find out one of these days . . . "Pawn to Queen's Knight four." Julian snorted as he moved one of his own pawns forward. He and Post had taken to playing chess in the local park over the past few weeks they had been working together. Quite a few problems they had been having in the lab had been worked out over a game of chess, and both of them generally found the games to be relaxing. Today, however, Julian seemed to be unable to shake the bad mood he had worked himself into. "I know it's frustrating, Julian," Post said softly as he moved another piece forward. "King's Knight to Queen's Bishop five. But you have ta remember that big discoveries aren't made in just a few weeks, and problems like this were expected, anyway." "I know," Julian growled. "That just makes it more frustrating . . . that we saw this coming. King's Rook to King's Rook three." Post shrugged. "It'll pass," he said. "You never know, you might just come up with the solution while you're shaving or something. Other scientists worked it out that way, I've heard. You can't expect ta come up with all the answers by staying in the lab all night, working yourself crazy. King's Knight to Queen's Rook four." Julian shrugged noncommitally and made a move almost thoughtlessly. For some reason, the sub-clones that they were implanting their prototype thinkboxes in weren't surviving the process. By all their calculations, the problem shouldn't be happening, and the entire staff was working almost constantly on correcting it. No solution could be found, however, and it was causing Julian to wonder about the validity of his work. As he sat, mostly lost in thought, the chess game moved on. He didn't start paying attention again until he found that Post's knight had wormed its way around his defenses and opened a path for an enemy bishop to start gobbling up more pieces. Now totally thrown off his original battle strategy, Julian found himself working just to keep the few pieces he had left. Too quickly, Post had pinned Julian's king with his queen and rooks. "Checkmate," Post said thoughtfully. He studied the board for a moment while Julian sat staring, slack-jawed. "You know what your problem is, son?" Post asked. "You have a great analytical mind and you always keep your goal in mind, but when one little thing goes against your plan, you fall to pieces. The second my knight took your bishop, your entire game fell apart, even though I know that you had your entire gameplan worked out from beginning to end. It's pretty much the same with the problems at the lab. You seem ta expect everything just to fall into place, but it just ain't gonna happen. Sometimes you just gotta improvise and hope for the best instead of scramble around in the dark and expect the worst." Post was giving good advice, but Julian, naturally, wasn't listening. He liked Post, considered him a friend, but he hated when people pointed out his mistakes. He hated it more than anything, and someday he'd show them . . . Post shook his head sadly, his puffy mustache and eyebrows drooping in a way that made him look almost like a cartoon version of sadness. He shut down the virtual chessboard and stood up. "We all have ta deal with our mistakes and shortcomings, Julian," he said. "Just don't let 'em stop you. Just think over the problem slowly and quietly. No more of this late night frantic experimentation, right? You'll just get sloppy results . . . " Julian simply stared at the chessboard, not listening to a word Post was saying. Seeing this, Post sighed and shuffled off to his gravgar. It was the last time the two of them played each other at chess. Marty scratched the metal square set in the back of his neck. "Watch, watch, watch!" he complained to Jeni after Post had walked by their table. "I'm sick of watching these two. When are we going to do something about what they're doing?" He ran his hand across his perfectly shaven head then went back to scratching the square. "And why in the hell is this thing itching so damn much?! Goddammit!" "Ca-a-alm dow-w-wn," Jeni said. "Ro-ro-roboninski is still o-o-over there. We ha-a-ave to keep wa-a-atching them becau-u-use we were to-to-told to. W-w-we fol-l-low orders wether we li-i-ike 'em or no-o-ot." Marty raised a shaved eyebrow at her. "Is it just me, freak, or is your stutter getting worse?" he asked as he clawed the back of his neck. "Shu-u-ut u-u-up!" she hissed. "And sto-o-op scra-a-atching! It's ma-a-aking me itch, too!" She reached up and scratched her own square. Over the weeks that they had been watching Julian and Post, she had artifically grown her newly dyed blue-black hair out to cover the red scratch marks on her neck. Marty didn't seem to give a damn about his own marks . . . but then, self-image had never been much of a problem with him. Jeni had long ago decided that he was too handsome to himself on the inside to worry about his outside appearance. SHE had bothered looking in the mirror, though, and noticed that both of them looked like they hadn't slept in months. The itching had started about the same time for both of them, shortly after they had arrived on Mars. Marty had insisted that it was probably just some local bug, but Jeni was beginning to wonder. No matter what it was, however, they had a job to do and she was going to make sure it got done, freaky mutant Martian flu notwithstanding. "Loo-o-ok," she said, leaning forward, "we ju-u-ust ha-a-ave to wa-a-atch for a litt-t-tle while lo-o-onger, then we gee-e-ek 'em. Ra-a-azor?" Marty screwed his face up for a moment, but finally settled into a slightly relaxed brooding posture. "Razor," he said. "But if we don't do it soon, by the One . . . I swear I'm just gonna geek them then geek myself right after! DAMMIT!" He scratched furiously at the back of his neck, his mouth twisted and bloodshot eyes glaring with the hate and pain of a wounded animal. Post looked at his chronometer. Snively would be up to his office in a few short minutes at his bequest. Having nothing else to do in the meantime, he shuffled through some of the datapadds on his desk until he found one that had information that he had compiled on Dr. Roboninski's assisstant. The list of knowns was extremely short. Snively was approximately four and a half feet tall, weighing approximately ninety-eight pounds. He had grey hair and blue eyes. These "facts" were all that Post had been able to find out about the man, and even they could be erroneous. He could wear contacts, dye his hair, wear lifters, and carry around lead in his pockets, for all Post knew. The list of unknowns was a much longer list. Snively had an English accent, but that could be effected, and even if it was real it didn't neccesarily mean that he was from England. His parents could have moved somewhere else before he was born and he simply picked up the accent from them. He appeared human, but Post had never been able to find even a simple DNA scan anywhere. Any check into official records was a fruitless search . . . the official communications lines between Terra and Mars were quite tangled when it came to official business, for some reason. Even when Post was able to get through to the record keepers Terra-side, he got nothing but confusing answers. All of Snively's credentials were authentic beyond a doubt, but only gave "Snively" as his full name, and it could never be quite discerned who actually issued the documentation. Many of the places the person known as Snively had put in for any kind of ID seemed to have disappeared at some time or another. Because Snively continued to work only as an employee of Doctor Roboninski and not of Gemini, Inc., he had never had to give them any sort of personal information. Furthermore, since he wasn't a direct employee of theirs, they could not force that information out of him now. And yet he was allowed access to all the restricted areas of the Mechaniks' building that Julian had access to. After doing some digging, Post had found an oddly worded yet completely legal order issued by Mechaniks Technologies that gave him access to virtually EVERY part of the building, including a few that Post himself couldn't enter. The worst part of the whole ordeal was when Post had tried simply talking to Snively in an attempt to pump him for information about his past. He still hadn't learned a thing, but not because Snively wouldn't say anything. In fact, Julian's assistant seemed more than willing to keep the conversation alive all by himself, but he had somehow developed an almost uncanny ability to dodge answering any question about his past that Post threw at him. Just trying to talk about his and Julian's work on Terra was a trying experience. It seemed as if Snively had trained himself so well to cover information about himself that he did it subconciously. It had taken Post nearly half an hour just to find out exactly what city their main laboratory on Terra had been! Thouroughly exhausted with trying to talk to Snively, Post had tried asking Julian about his assistant, but it turned out that Julian had never even bothered trying to learn anything about him. He had been so happy to have any kind of help at all that things like personal history were of no importance whatsoever. A light knock at the door brought Post out of his brooding. "Come in," he called out. Snively stepped inside and closed the door behind him. "You asked to see me, sir?" That was another thing about Snively that grated on Post's nerves: he was unfailingly polite, even during his most obvious attempts to keep his secrets. Every man was "sir", ever woman was "madam", and he very rarely raised his voice above a polite whisper. He had a mean sarcastic streak and tended to become particularly animated whenever someone accused him of being wrong, but he somehow managed to keep a respectable amount of politeness even when insulting a co-worker about their obvious mistakes. "Yes," said Post as he motioned Snively to a chair. He cleared his throat as Snively sat down, then shuffled his datapadds for a moment before continuing. "I'm kinda worried about Julian, Snively." Snively raised an eyebrow. "I was not aware that there was any problems, doctor," he said. "Well, I'm certain that you've noticed his late-night sessions in the lab and his recent irritable behavior . . . " "Ah, that," Snively said, nodding. "It's nothing to worry about." Post waited for Snively to expound on this comment, but no explination seemed to be forthcoming. "And, er, why isn't it?" he finally asked. "Dr. Roboninski is a highly success-orientated individual," Snively said with a shrug. "Anything not directly related with his success in whatever it is he's happened to be working on is not considered, therefore any attempt to talk sense into him when he's in this stage will have no effect whatsoever. So, since there is nothing you can possibly do to improve his behavior, there is nothing to worry about. He will either work it out himself or he will fail miserably and fall into a merciless spiral of failure and self-destruction ending with his broken soul being released from its pain by his untimely death." Post, caught completely off-guard, could only blink at Snively for a few moments. He finally regained his composure enough to say, "I . . . don't believe I've ever heard so well-rehearsed an explination." "It's quite unfortunate that I've had to have that statement prepared for just this sort of an occaision, really," Snively said, "but he's always been this way." Post drummed his fingers on the desk and sighed. "Can you keep a secret?" he asked. When Snively simply raised his eyebrow again, he said, "Ah, yes. Silly question. "Look, the point of the matter is that I'm under quite a bit of pressure from the board. They've been studying the results of our work and don't seem ta be likin' what they're seein'. And since Julian was actually my choice for the project, most of the blame is being put on me. Hell, I don't really blame 'em. I'm starting to think it wasn't such a good idea myself. Julian's a smart boy and I'd think the world of him otherwise, but the way he's going about this whole deal . . . well, I'm afraid that he's going to take that soul-breaking path you were talking about and end up taking a lot of the rest of us with him when he goes." Snively nodded slowly. "I understand your concern," he said, "but I'm afraid I can't give you any advice, sir. Not on this, in any case. If there isn't anything else . . . ?" "No," Post said, shaking his head. "Thank you for your time." Snively stood, bowed his head to Post, and softly shut the door behind him. Post stared at the door for several minutes after Snively left, trying to imagine if things could get any worse. I don't feel so good. Jeni laughed a hard, bitter laugh at that though, at what a horrible understatement it was. She felt a small bit of drool drip from the corner of her otherwise bone-dry mouth and watched with hazy eyes as the drip hit the carpet just a few inches away. Just a few days after she and Marty had spied on Julian and Post's last chess match, the itching had become absolutely intolerable. Marty had already dug into the back of his neck hard enough to draw blood on several occaisions. Though she didn't have the presence of mind to check and make sure, Jeni was certain that she had done the same at some point. For a short while they had taken to wearing damp cloths wrapped around their necks, but found that they couldn't keep them on long enough to do any good. During the past week they had gradually stopped their surveillence of the Mechaniks laboratories and Dr. Roboninski's work. The had begun to roam their hotel room day and night, trying not to claw their own skin off. They never left for any reason and had stopped calling for room service several days before. Their appearances had definitely suffered, though neither of them were in a state of mind to care. Marty hadn't shaven his head in days and Jeni hadn't bothered re-dying her hair after the blue had worn out. What hair they had left after several bouts of pulling and tugging at it was greasy from lack of soap and water. Their eyes were puffy from sleep deprivation. The whole hotel room reeked of their stale sweat tinged with the metallic taste of their dried blood. Their skin was covered in sores in some spots, dry and cracked in others. When they moved from where they had flopped over on the floor the previous night, which was rarely, their actions were not those of mentally intact persons. If anyone had entered their hotel room at this time, they would have surely been unable to decide whether they should call an asylum, the police, or a coroner. Yet a small spark lit in Jeni's brain as she watched the drool spot on the carpet dry. It lit in her mind and burned like a halogen lamp until she couldn't ignore it, no matter what her condition. She ran her dry, cracked tongue across her chapped lips and slowly uncurled herself from the corner she had stuffed herself into nearly half a day before. She stretched out stiff muscles as she pulled herself towards a large stack of soiled clothing in the middle of the floor. She found Marty lying in the middle of the stack, calmly regarding the ceiling with vacant eyes. She leaned over his face, her rancid breath mingling with his, and grabbed ahold of his shirt to pull him closer to her and said a single word. "So-o-o-on . . . " Post slumped through the lobby of the Mechaniks building, reflecting on what a horrible day it had been. He had never felt more tired in his entire life. He was completely worn out from the worry and frustration Julian, Snively, and the board of directors were causing him. All he wanted to do was get in his gravcar and go home. As he passed through the glass doors and onto the parking lot, he groped through his pockets trying to find his magkeys. He looked around the lot as he continued his search. The night was clear and calm, softly lit up by Phobos and Deimos. Only two other vehicles besides his own sat in the front parking lot. One of them he didn't recognize, but it had a Mechaniks logo on the side, so he didn't give it much thought. The other car, however, belonged to Julian. Magkey finally in hand, Post stood at his car door and looked at Julian's gravcar for several long moments. He then closed his eyes and tilted his head forward until it rested on the car roof. He knew he shouldn't do what he was about to do. He knew that in the long run it would probably do more harm than good. He knew that it would simply lead everyone involved a little further down the road to complete ruin. He knew, but he did it anyway. He shoved his keys back into his pocket and found his way back through the glass doors of Mechaniks Technologies and into a lift. As he called his destination to the lift computer and the doors slid closed before him, he cursed himself for a damned fool and knew there was nothing he could do about it now. Amongst the shadows littering the base of the Mechaniks building, starlight glinted off of something metallic. If Robert Post hadn't been so wrapped up in his own thoughts, he would have noticed this peculiar glimmer of light and things would have gone much differently than they did. Two figures emerged from the shadows shortly after Post had re-entered the building. A few hours before, they had been laying half-dead in their hotel room, but now they were all nervous energy and full of unholy life. Metal protruded from the squares that had been implanted in the backs of Jeni and Marty's necks. It arched outward about an inch, then plunged back into their skin, then ran crisscross through and across their bodies in patterns vaugely reminicent of circuitry. Their eyes glowed a dull red and their teeth were shot through with chrome. Their movements were jerky to a degree, but becoming more exact and fluid with every second. They looked much like automatons that had just started to become very skilled at mimicing human movement. After acertianing that no one else was around, they turned towards the building and stepped up to the wall. Their fingernails, which had been completely replaced by the metal running through their bodies, grew out until they became two-inch long spikes. Using these spikes, they began to climb the sheer surface of the building like spiders. They didn't speak. They didn't have to. The radio transmitters that had been formed inside of their skulls transfered all the information they needed directly from one to the other. The rest of their brains were slowly being transformed as the "metal" within them took over. It was doing the job slowly, because it wanted Julian to see these poor wretches just before it engulfed them completely. And then they would no longer be Jeni and Marty. Then they would be the Chaotic Collective. Julian frowned as he looked over the results of his last test. "Inconclusive," he growled to himself, reading the datapadd. "Inconclusive, Inconclusive. Always INCLONCLUSIVE!" He threw the padd into a corner and angrily jabbed his finger at the main lab console. A pair of robotic arms lowered themselves from the ceiling and gathered up the corpse of the sub-clone laying on a nearby operation table. They retracted after dumping the body down the sanitizer hatch. As Julian stalked towards the cryostasis room, he heard the lab door softly swish open. He turned to see Robert Post standing in the doorway. "Here to offer more of your little pearls of wisdom?" he asked Post sarcastically. "Here to tell me to go home? Hmm?" Post stepped into the lab and took off his jacket. After slowly placing it on a peg by the door, he turned back to Julian with a resigned look on his face. "No," he said, "I suppose not. Let me get scrubbed up and I'll help you with the next one." Julian grunted, momentarily taken aback by this offer to help. He had expected Post to try and order him to go home or babble on some more about procedure and attitude. He thought of Post as a good friend, but hated his tendency to lecture. Satisfied that no lecture was forthcoming this time, he went on to the cryo-room and unfroze another sub-clone. Post stepped out of the sonic scrubber just as Julian finished setting up for the operation. The sub-clone had already been placed under anesthisia and the surgery lasers were set in the ready position. When Post nodded, Julian pressed a button on the computer console to begin a recording of the operation log. "Thinkbox insertion attempt, take fifteen," Julian intoned. "Due to the . . . regrettably few helpful facts I have managed to garner from the last fourteen attempts tonight, I have decided to leave the left frontal lobe fully intact in the new subject. It would seem that-" "Did you hear that?" Julian turned off the recording and looked at Post, then turned to see what Post was looking at. One of the lab windows, it turned out . . . a large pla-steel number that let in a fair amount of starlight from outside. "I didn't hear anything," he replied after a moment, "because I was in the process of recording a very crucial medical log. Now, if you don't-" "Shh!" Post quieted him. "There it is again! Listen!" Julian had heard it that time, and it had sent chills running down his spine. It was a metal-on-glass scratching sound coming from the window that Post was staring at. There was something indefinably creepy about the sound, though neither man could figure why. It was almost unreal and if Post hadn't heard it first, Julian would have been tempted to think it was an auditory hallucination brought on by the stimpatches he had slapped on earlier that night. "I hear it," he said. "Coming from the window. Should we be worried?" "I don't know," Post said grimly. He pulled out his magkeys and walked over to a row of metal cabinets near the door. He manually turned the lights a bit lower so that they could see through the window more easily as he opened up one of the cabinets with a magnetic key. The cabinet he had opened was hardly ever used by the staff of Mechaniks, but everyone that worked there was damned sure glad it was there. Corporate raids were rare, but on those few occaisions the contents of that cabinet were all that stood between life and death. Several weapons of varying size, power, and legality were stored in this cabinet and many others just like it positioned throughout the building. All employees had the right to defend the company's assets to the death . . . preferably the death of the raider. Post pulled out a nano-pistol from the cabinet and activated its power cell. It was one of the more powerful guns in the arsenal, capable of electromagnetically propelling supercharged particles of its own mass at the target at extremely high speeds. It was also one of the more illegal weapons seeing as it could punch a hole through an armored elephant - if there had been one there on Mars - and it was easily disposed of since it used itself up as ammo. Julian, like many young people, had spent a large amount of his time watching action and horror vidflicks, so he was used to scenes of windows exploding outward as the monster burst in to kill its unsuspecting victims. This was why when the window merely clicked softly and swung open silently on well-oiled hinges, he was caught more off guard than he would've been had it actually exploded. He didn't know what to make of the situation, and from the way the nano-pistol had started to shake, he could tell that Post didn't either. The night sky outside was calm and still. They could hear the whir and clicking of various nocturnal insects imported from Terra singing their nightly chorus. A tree or two off in the distance softly swayed in the night breeze and an owl gently hooted its mournful cry. It suddenly struck Julian as odd that these things - small things he hardly ever thought about - hadn't changed, even after he had moved from one planet to another. Post advanced slowly towards the window, squinting to pierce the gloom outside. Halfway there he stopped and looked back at Julian, his face as grey as ash. "Maybe . . . it's just the wind . . . ?" he said half-heartedly. With frightening abruptness and in absolute silence, two nightmare shapes erupted through the open window. The one on Julian's left was certainly a female but only barely still resembled a human. Her clothes were mostly ripped, and her body was covered with protruding metal spikes and what appeared to be circuitry. She had grabbed Post by the neck and disposed of the nano-pistol faster than this information could be taken in. The thing on Julian's right was staring at Julian in a most unpleasant way. It's gender was harder to guage. It's head was completely shaven of hair, had it ever had any in the first place, and completely covered with metal stripes and protrusions which had also taken the liberty of ripping much of its facial features away. The body was only barely clothed in tattered rags that looked as if they had been in bad shape even before the metal had sliced through them. The female creature turned to look at Julian as well. There was subtle shift in both of the creatures' eyes followed by the metal running through their bodies to erupt in a frenzy of movement. The circuitry designs spread further as the protrusions flattened out and started encasing the bodies. Julian almost expected the things to start screaming as this happened, but they were apparently far beyond the realm of pain at this point. Within moments, the two creatures had morphed into silvery, seven-foot tall robots. The metal covering them from head to foot gleamed in the dim light of the laboratory. The were covered with razor-sharp edges and sharp points. Their faceplates were featureless except for a boomerang-shaped flair sitting over two glaring eye-shapes, making it look as if they were perpetually and extremely pissed off about something. Julian got the distinct feeling that the something was him. Though the bodies of the robots were reminicent of knights in shining armor, he figured that these knights weren't here to save a pretty damsel in distress by any stretch of the imagination. The one on the left suddenly squeezed with the hand that was holding Post's neck. Post had been struggling against his captor for the past few seconds, but now he simply burst into a high-pitched scream. After clenching its fists for a few moments longer, the robot dropped Post and turned back to Julian. "*Designate: Robert Entre Post assimilated,*" it said tonelessly. The wiry doctor hit the ground hard. His scream was cut off as metal poured over his body from a spot on the back of his neck, tearing its way through his clothes and skin in circuit-like patterns before extending to create a shell around him. Julian now found himself facing three of the metal horrors. "*Designate: Julian Ivan Roboninski,*" all three said in unison, "*you will come with us by order of the Chaotic Collective, or you will be destroyed.*" Julian felt a small spot of warmth spreading across the front of his pants, and he dimly became aware that he had just wet himself. Operating completely under the only tool left him - survival instinct - he re-activated his computer panel and started rapidly typing in commands. The surgery lasers that had been waiting over the operating table sprang to life. They turned smoothly on their robotic arms and set their sights on the robots by the window. Blue fire arced through the air and blazed across the robots, cutting criss-cross patterns. Normally such a thing couldn't have happened, but Julian had deactivated the safety screen surrounding the table. Steam rose up where the lasers hit the metal monsters, who had thrown up their arms in defense. One of them fell to the floor, then another, but the third stayed on its feet. The steam soon became so dense that Julian could no longer see any of the 'bots, much less anything else on that side of the room. He set the lasers to fire a few more times into the cloud, then shut it down. With the window open, the steam quickly dissapated. Julian leaned forward to view his handiwork. To his utter horror and dismay, the robots were completely unharmed. The two that had been knocked over were getting back to their feet while the third was wiping at the burn marks on its chest. Julian never in a million years would have guessed that a man his size could vault out the door, across the hall, and down the emergency stairs as fast as he did at that moment. In the lab, the three Chaotic Collective robots stared at each other, quickly conferring with one another via their radio transmitters. After several seconds of discussion and calculations, they all came to the same conclusion . . . mission accomplished. They disappeared from the laboratory in a flash of rainbow-colored light. "Snive-LY!" Julian's hysterical voice hit Snively's ears and jolted him awake instantly. He sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes sleepily, then checked the chronometer on his nightstand. Just as he feared, it was far too early in the morning for sane people to be out and about. He slowly pulled on his robe and shuffled into the hallway of the apartment. "Snivelygoodyou'reup," Julian babbled as he passed by with an armload of luggage. "Getpackedwe'releaving!" It took Snively's sleep-addled brain several moments to fully comprehend this command. "Doctor?" he finally managed to mumble. "What's going on?" "No time to explain!" Julian shouted as he rushed by again on his way to grab more of his belongings. "Just pack!" Instead of arguing, which he might have done later in the morning, Snively simply yawned, pushed his thick grey hair out from in front of his eyes, and moved towards the bathroom. "Where are you going?!" Julian demanded, nearly dropping the flight bags he had tucked under his arms. "The bathroom, sir," Snively replied testily. "Just hold it!" Julian nearly screamed. "You can go on the shuttle!" "Fine," Snively growled. He yawned again and turned back to his room to grab his suitcase, then suddenly caught Julian's meaning. "What shuttle, doctor?" "The first one off this damnable planet," Julian yelled from the living room. "Our lives are in danger!" "Well, that's nothing new," Snively said irritably. Now that he was starting to wake up a bit more, his patience was starting to wear thin. "Who is it this time?" Julian shrugged. "They called themselves the 'Chaotic Collective', whatever that means," he said. He gave a quick description of the twisted metal nightmares he had seen in the lab. As Snively listened, he began to understand the true severity of the situation and started packing in earnest. In just a few minutes, they had all their essentials ready to go. "This is all very hard to believe, doctor," Snively said as they rushed out the door. "Are you sure you're feeling all right?" "No, Snively," Julian snarled. "And I will continue NOT feeling all right until we are safely in cryo-stasis and headed for Pluto!" "You know, I thought you were joking about the Pluto thing," Snively said weakly as they ran for their gate at the station. Julian hushed him and picked up the pace a bit. "This is perfect, Snively," he said. "A two-seater cryo-stasis skimmer ferry that heads straight for the Pluto Outpost!" "Yes, sir," Snively agreed breathlessly, "perfect . . . " Julian pushed through the crowd as quickly as he dared, constantly on the lookout for any metal monstrosities to jump out from anywhere to get him. His brain was buzzing with electricity, fueled by adrenaline. He knew that this was exactly what Post had been trying to warn him about a short time ago. As soon as anything unplanned happened, he scampered around like a frightened mouse. He knew this could lead to a bad decision - knew that he was really in no state of mind to make ANY rational decisions, good or bad - but this was the only thing he could think of to do. The terrorists had found him on Terra. Now they had found him on Mars and had some kind of new weapons to kill him all the better with. The only choice, as he saw it, was to get as far away from Terra and its particular brand of insanity as he possibly could. If that meant blasting off to the coldest and most remote outpost of humankind to live with the pasty-white, homesick, and quite possibly mentally imbalanced researchers and miners there, so be it. Finally, after much huffing, puffing, and jumping at every shadow, they reached the gate and handed their passes to the flight attendant. "Made it just in time," the attendant said. "I was afraid that we were going to have to lease the charter on this tug to someone else just to get it out of our way." He scanned their passes and handed them back. "Everything's automated; just enter your destination, step into the cryo-chambers, and you'll be there before you know it. Have a nice flight!" Julian and Snively thanked him curtly and rushed through the gate. The flight attendant waved as they ran by. "What a nice couple of guys!" he said to himself as he scratched at the small metal square located at the base of his neck. "I'm glad I held that ship for them. Sure hope they get where they need to be . . . " Deep in cryo-stasis, trillions of miles away from his home planet, Julian dreamed of hedgehogs, echidnas, and bright green jewels . . . END. Roland Lowery