A/N: This story takes place mid 2nd Season because I like Beckett and Weir. But everyone gets a role to play.
Summary: This is a story about future tech and how a society might deploy its weapon of choice. The story builds slowly as the team blunders into a killing field, accidentally interfere, and find themselves immersed in a galactic power play that threatens them all.
Disclaimer: Look what I found in the garbage! Can I keep it? Aw, crap. Can we put in the Recycle Bin? Go green!
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The Uplink
The enabler agent stirred, or tried to stir, but her body was immobile. At first she didn't understand the limbo that trapped her. When the emergency core kicked in, she started experiencing her physical world in separate slices of information. First she became aware of rocks jutting into her side and grass tufts under her fingers. A trickle of wetness touched her lip and she could hear the feint plop of blood as it hit the dirt. The puff of dust it stirred tickled her nose.
Her memory returned in a rush as her implant spared her no imperfect detail. In her mind, she screamed and thrashed for release. In reality, her nose dripped a silent drop of blood into the dry layer of dirt.
Failure tasted bitter.
The catalyst had struck out with a power she had not thought possible. She had been touched by an unthinkable evil and had miscalculated with the wrong tactic. All was lost in a mere instant that stretched into a miserable lifetime from a wasted maneuver. And she was left to die in a broken body on a distant planet, disconnected from family and utterly alone with no escape.
She shrank from the physical and withdrew back into her mind. Panic hit her to be so alone. She thought such isolation brought insanity, but her synthetic encoding calmed her almost instantly. It was hard to remain panicked without the aid of limbs with an artificial intelligence calculating odds.
Despair was easier.
Her situation merited the tragic tears she could not shed. The Puchek sun would soon rise and suck every ounce of moisture from her pathetic body while oppressive humidity tortured every cell. Then the storm clouds would gather and torrents of water she could not drink would wash over her. If she were lucky, she would attract a large carnivorous creature that could end her suffering with a powerful snap of its jaws. No one would even know how she died, alone and insane.
She sobbed inwardly and calculated the odds that her world would beat her to insanity if she didn't warn them of her defeat.
Her calculations froze because she recognized her conundrum. The truth was simpler. She was a talented enabler, who could regenerate her link to the home world, escape her host's fate, and continue the hunt. But it would risk the insanity of her world if the catalyst bridged the link. That was unthinkable.
Only isolation stood between the catalyst and insanity—utter and lonely isolation—which was insanity all by itself and an intimate tormentor.
But she sensed something human.
Tentatively, she reached out with her organic senses and searched for them, forgoing the artificial link. For a moment, confusion blinded her because even though the man approached alone, he followed someone. The one she could not sense led him straight toward her.
With a rush, adrenaline hit her again and the emergency core reconnected her to tangible sensations. Her heart kicked furiously against her ribs and she felt the blood dripping from her nose.
It was the catalyst!
The catalyst's minion revealed his approach through an awareness of his physical presence. If her nerves hadn't been shattered, they would have betrayed her with trembling anticipation.
This was her chance, the moment her failed strategy triumphed. This was the time for the victim to become the weapon.
With the trap set, she waited.
When she heard the deeper tones of a male approaching, she powered down the link as far as she dared to avoid detection and her senses faded. She allowed herself a moment to gloat over how easy it had turned out to be. She may be a novice, but she was a talented novice and she would die a heroine.
The catalyst knelt next to her without touching her. He wore protective gloves that hindered the bond. Then a light hit her eye and she moaned in sudden terror of linking with the mad man. He had come to finish her off and was taking his time doing it. She imagined he saved her for some prolonged torture. And then his hands firmly felt her scalp.
It was the contact she needed.
Her hair, acting as physical links, bonded them through his exposed wrists and the upload took barely the briefest of seconds. She saw herself through his eyes as the link assembled in his temple and instantly realized her blunder even before his eyes could register the silver connectivity in her hair.
This was not the insane mind of Catalyst 24. This was a mistake. She would lose her A-ware virus protection to an untrained drone.
The artificial intelligence, her A-ware, would not heed her command. Her mistake was not its mistake. Its central command perceived her useless body as waste to be discarded on its quest. It finished duplicating her implant and sucked its power source almost dry as it uploaded into the drone. In the end, it abandoned her, too, leaving her adrift.
Terrified and exhausted from her effort, her mind numb and fading, she felt her former A-ware nudge a suggestion to his elbow and tease a firmer command to the energy cell that caused the light to wink out. It was enough time to withdraw from his confusion as her silver tendrils fell across her cheek. Her hair faded to its natural state while he fumbled with his equipment and the light returned.
The drone's words "Hang on," penetrated the fog closing in on her. It was reason enough to stir hope and live.
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Next Chapter, Thirty Minutes to Dawn...