Small, beige-skinned Octavio almost jogged along just to keep his balance.Daddy strongly held his right hand, but Daddy was walking so fast.His father—five feet tall,very muscular, and often in rugged work clothes—was a giant to the 18-inch boy.There was an important reason for Daddy's walking so fast; Daddy said that a person had to walk fast to live in the city.As walking was the default way of transportation since the War, people had to walk—to walk fast, to get to work and to minimize the chance of trouble.Even on weekends, like today.
Today, they were going to buy some maintenance supplies.That was part ofDaddy's job.Daddy did something connected to his job every day."Life in the city, Octavio.It's part of your hypno-education; you know that!
Like all children of Brunswick, Octavio underwent the weekday sessions of hypno-education.In such a process, he and his classmates are strapped to hypno-education chairs for two hours:skin-absorbed sedatives going into their wrists via chair straps; raw information going into their heads by way of goggles and headphones.There is recess, and then they are educated for two hours more.From when he first learned to walk to when he was at least sixteen, Octavio was put through this process.And, there was the option to go through two more years of it to become a higher-paid worker—if one felt that one's sanity would hold for that long.
But becoming sixteen, that was such a long time away.It may as well be forever away.Octavio was less than a year into the process and he already had competent language skills, but his young mind was still unformed and curious.Curious, like now—walking the sidewalk along with so many people.
Walking with Daddy along the city streets let Octavio see lots of things.He saw the storekeepers working and selling things.There were the metal-handed and dark-clothedGanglanders that stayed together in their small groups, to laugh at other people.Ganglanders, they always picked on people.And the very big e-cops were sometimes around.The e-cops were bigger than everybody, even bigger than Daddy.
Octavio thought that this was going to be just another Saturday, another day with fast-walking Daddy.They were going to finish this walk along the city sidewalk, going to a city shop with complicated machine-tools and spare boards and big boxes.But today, oh today.Because of one thing curious Octavio saw, today was different.With his big brown eyes, Octavio saw someone very special and very different.
Because he was looking around, Octavio saw her first.Daddy's attention was still stiffly ahead.Octavio looked left and saw a very strange girl—slumped against a building.Her face was covered with a red rag with two holes in it for eyes.She haddark hair on her head.But she looked like she was made out of metal, like a doll.But dolls looked like people.That doll-girl was metal all over her body.And her hands and neck looked complicated.Maybe, inside, she was as complicated as those machines Daddy worked with sometimes.
Because he stopped his walking, Octavio nearly tripped.He just had to stare.Daddy looked down, and he stopped, too."Octavio, what did I tell you about walking outside?You have to walk fast.You don't want to be picked on by the Ganglander boys and girls, do you?"
Octavio looked up at Daddy, then looked to point at the petite figure against the wall."But Daddy, there's a machine girl!I think she's broken!She's not moving, and she's got dust and dirt on her."He looked up at Daddy."Can't you fix her?"
Daddy was now seriously looking at the little slumped "machine girl"—a metal-type cyborg, female.Metal type cyborgs were outdated as soon as the War ended.Nobody made metal replacement bodies anymore, hadn't for decades.He heard about her at local pubs, but didn't believe what he heard.Now he saw; now he believed.
But it was like that that one's brain was dead.From the first time it appeared in the city, how much longer could its brain have lived?It was alive since the War.Likely, someone just put out the metal body there for pickup later and use for spare parts.And if they did use the body, they would have to open up the head to scoop out the rotten brain inside.Nasty, slimy and smelly work: corpses of metal-type cyborgs were occasionally found out on the plains, and each finding meant scooping out the braincase before selling the body parts to customers.Even then, parts of metal-type cyborgs sold for cheap:salvage of nearly outdated parts.
Well, he wouldn't do it; his specialty was facilities maintenance.The metal corpse was someone else' business."Come along, Octavio.That's just spare parts.It's not a little girl.It's a machine that just looks like one.Nobody has metal-type replacement bodies anymore…" Then, Octavio and his father went away, his father's calm voice reminding and explaining to Octavio about metal-type cyborgs and synth-flesh types.
Yet, the brain was still alive.The metal-bodied "little girl" still "lived" because her life support systems were still in almost perfect condition.Metal-cased food synthesizers in her chest still supplied protein, carbohydrates, water and everything else to her brain.Compact artificial lungs and a spinning plastisteel pump served as her respiratory system.All of this was encased in her body of armor.She did not have to work to live in this city; her body of armor provided for her brain.
Outside of living, in fact, Alia did not want to do anything.Not really.With her memories in fogs of darkness, she remembered no real purpose to her living since coming to Brunswick.There was nothing at all to accomplish.The sun came up, and people walked along the sidewalks as occasional trucks and fancy black and white cars went by in the street.Watching people was something to do to pass the slow and tired days.
There were times, like just then, when people stopped to gawk at her.From what she half-heard through her constant daze, the people almost never saw a metal-type cyborg before.They stopped their walking to make comments about her, primarily about her body.Most of that talk was of her being salvage, or just junk.
And perhaps twice a month, someone would try to destroy her.As the four-foot metal-bodied girl lie against the side of a shop entrance, people wearing coveralls or tee shirts or even leather jackets tried to pick her up, mumbling about "parts."Alia would then jerk herself out of their grip and jog away, leaving the would-be salvagers stunned that a metal-type cyborg still lived.
Now she thought of the little boy called Octavio.Because she listened to so many scraps of information, she knew about the lifestyles of these people.Little Octavio would likely complete his education, grow up and get married.Then he and his wife would have a child or two—before they both opted for synth-flesh "replacement" bodies and new jobs.Octavio may likely hold out on getting body replacement until he was forty or so, but he would become a synth-flesh cyborg at some point.
Was Octavio's father a cyborg?With synth-flesh types, it was not quite possible to tell without staring.Staring can reveal a synth-flesh cyborg because as they look so perfect.Flawless skin because rubberoid skin has no blemishes.Perfect physiques, they have, because synthetic bodies have no fat—are all myogel "muscle" flesh over titanium bone.With slight, medium, or muscular builds, but never fat.
Thoughts of "Octavio" then drifted off as her large dark eyes peered through the holes of the face-rag, looking at passers-by along the sidewalk before her.As sunlight brightened into afternoon, the crowds thickened a bit.People carried bags or pulled children along with them along with bags.Twice, she saw the seven-foot and detective-dressed e-cops walking among the crowds.Among the crowd, not with the crowd, was right; e-cops were so tall that the dapper-dressed giants stood out and could not be of the crowds.
The streets themselves saw almost no vehicular traffic.There were occasional trucks and very less occasional cars.As the people of Brunswick primarily had jobs, factory production vat outlets, and shops all over the city, people really did not need cars.Trucks were for shipping goods that couldn't be transported by the vacuum-pipe modules that traveled beneath the streets.Personal cars expensive to maintain and were not mass-produced, anyway; some wealthy executives used them, though.
But there was one other form of rare transportation, and she would see some of that presently.Alia first heard a hearty thrumming.Them again.The pedestrians along the sidewalks tensed a bit as the thrumming came closer, along the street.Those were the sounds of Ganglander "nuke bikes"—the one other form of transportation.
Nuke bikes look exactly like the long, heavy motorcycles from the Old Days.In terms of workings, though, nuke bikes are very different.The engines are powerful repulsor-field electric engines.In place of the "gas tanks," nuke bikes have mcirofusion packs to supply energy for the engines and lights.And they have auto-repair systems.But only the questionably legal resources of Ganglanders can produce nuke bikes.
Some say that the Ganglanders have found a still-functioning factory left over from the War and use that to make nuke bikes.Or, the Ganglanders just find the parts out in places on the plains and make their bikes.Another theory is that the Ganglanders simply own a secret factory in town and make them.
However they procured or made them, Ganglanders had nuke bikes. Four such bikes down the street:four nuke bike-riding Ganglanders.Alia's eyes followed their loud progress.Two were male; two were obviously female.They all wore tight blue jeans, close-fitting tee shirts and open black leather jackets.And they all looked like young adults or old teenagers.But Ganglanders were synth-flesh cyborgs after all; they could be any age.
They rode away, not at all noticing Alia against the red storefront brickwork she leaned against.She was also well-hidden by the passers-by, who tended to bunch and concentrate whenever Ganglanders rode by.She was safe so long as the Ganglanders stayed on their nuke bikes.But Ganglanders on foot were another issue.
Ganglanders took too much interest in her whenever they did see her.They needed people to ridicule, and there was nothing more ridiculous than a metal-type cyborg (outdated!) with a dusty wig and a crusty rag worn on its metal skull-head.She was probably not worth much in parts.But her brain could be scooped, her body then sold to a machine shop for some cash.
Then, while her separate parts were put into nanobot-sprinkled green vats for cleaning, the Ganglanders could then go to a café and buy some cups of damned good coffee with the cash.Not that they needed it; Ganglanders tended to pick up temp jobs in factory buildings and earn more than enough to live on.But salvaging a metal-type cyborg's body was something to do other than occasionally harassing the townies.
Alia chuckled slightly to herself, chuckling so slightly that no one would notice.She thought, Such palette of activities, the Ganglanders have.Activities include eating, harassment, breathing, harassment, conversation, harassment, nuke-bike riding and harassment.Now, come harass the last living metal-type cyborg!Come Ganglanders!Widen your activities.Add an iota of variation.She thought of the Ganglanders for the rest of the day, intermingling that with thoughts of the little boy Octavio and looks at the passers-by. This was something to do.
When the crowd thinned out and the sun went down, Alia finally picked herself up from the curb.Her brain was tired from the prolonged, slow contemplation and staring of the daytime crowd.But she did not want to sleep on the sidewalk, out where she would be vulnerable.Very distant soldiering skills told her to sleep somewhere off the main paths.
Alia left her place on the sidewalk, and she then stepped slowly into this darkening alley as the yellow sunlight went away from the city.She was careful by habit, not kicking any metal bits of trash or garbage cans.That would make for a loud clatter as her alloy foot connected.She did not want to disturb anyone as they sat down for their dinners inside their nearby and comfortable homes.
No, Alia would just find a nice and relatively secure place in this alley to quietly spend the night.As the sunlight finally went away, to be replaced by harshly bright streetlights, she managed to find a place by some gray trash cans.Good, sleeping with her back to the wall and legs against her chest, the small metal-type cyborg would somewhat blend in somewhat with the cans.
She sat against the junction between wall and ground and folded her legs to her hard chest.In time, her brain would come to consider it time to sleep.Then maybe she would dream nice dreams and be happy for a little while.She hoped she would remember the dream this time when she woke up—because remembered dreams were rare, precious and very nice things to hold to during her long days.
In fact, she did have a memorable dream.It was one of those dreams again, in fact—one of those dreams of a time she forgot.Alia was with plenty of people that had bodies like her, but most all of them were so much taller than herself.And though their bodies were hidden by uniforms, she knew—with the sureness that dreams sometimes grant—that they were metal-type cyborgs, too.But they didn't care.She didn't care.Everyone was happy to do what they did now: soldiering.
She went with her team out to a firing range.She fired various weapons here.Plenty of her comrades also learned to use weapons here.Firing weapons was repetitive, but there was serious purpose to doing so.
Then the dream took her from the firing range and into a classroom with many long tables.The tables had naked metal bodies—without brains, of course.They were just for practice.This was where she learned about cybernetics and electromechanics.She already knew how to quick-repair most any damage to a body, but continued training always helped.
This dream-place was set in a time just before she and her platoon had to leave for the War.They all knew that they had to leave some time—some time away.But the War was several states away.And her platoon's participation in the War would not be for months.The War was a drawn-out and sporadic affair, but she knew that she would not fight for some time.
After the firing range, the dream next took her to the recreation hall with her team.Everyone still in dappled green uniforms, but everyone was more laid back here.Now her and her team sat down at a circular brown table to an odd fantasy card game.She enjoyed just sitting with her friends and team members, sitting and with everyone have fun and just be together.And for fairness' sake, someone decided to let a gynoid deal the cards.It looked exactly like a human female—a Japanese teenager, in fact.Dressed in blouse and slacks, wearing a visor, the synthetic female rapidly dealt the fantasy cards out to everyone at this table.
There was a slight feeling of phantom anticipation among the cyborgs, the vague and odd feeling of excitement slightly different from human anticipation.It was a sort of tingling warmth in just the brain, with next to no matching feeling in the body.Alia smiled at her compatriots as everyone else picked up their cards.Everyone's synthetic face was happy with the start of this game.
The game was suddenly over just as it started; most everyone at her table—at every table—slumped over dead when their brains died.Alia's smile died on her artificial face.She looked around and saw that everyone slumped at the tables or fell to the floor, their dense alloy bodies in uniforms making heavy sounds.
Alia bothered to look at the hand she had been dealt: the cards of the fantasy card game.She found that the hand she had been dealt by the gynoid had just three cards.One of them a bust portrait of the synthetic Japanese girl-woman herself, the one dealt the cards.The other was just an absolutely dark silhouette; with all the logic of a dream, the silhouette on this card was so dark that it seemed to swallow light.As for the third card, it had a familiar bust portrait—because it was a portrait of herself.
There was a laughing in this room.One that echoed throughout and from the walls.That someone laughed louder as lightning and wind began to fill the recreation room.A string-thin streak of lightning smacked her, and …
Alia awakened to the sound of loud and rude laughter—real laughter.Her left arm felt slightly jittery—the after-effect of an actual burst of static electricity.A real person was in this real alley, laughing loudly.With the laughter was a flickering blue light that flashed on the alley's walls.Alia heard the tell-tale sounds of crackling electricity as well.
The laughing stopped, but the flickering blue and the crackling sound did not.Someone was doing something very dangerous with electricity in this alley.That laughing man was doing things with lightning.
Alia could vaguely see a six-foot man in the gloom, near the entrance.He spoke. "Hey, I sure as heck know that there's a metal-type cyborg in this freakin' alley!My cape's static burst must have flickered against something, and I don't think that any of those metal trash cans was that something!Where are you, you metal-bodied sort of person?I know you're here.Come out, come out! Ollie Ollie Oxen-Free, or something like that!"
Alia stayed where she was, pressed her hard back to the brick wall and curled her legs tighter against her solid chest.So, someone was using a sort of static-capacitor weapon against her, something with wide field-effect.But how?He should have been affected by the weapon.Should have.Apparently, he wasn't.He was now using that very weapon to get her out of hiding by flaring out a wide burst of little lightning bolts.
She could just avoid trouble by staying here.There was trouble with that, though.Too many hits from whatever he was using to fire lightning, and her body could go into temporary paralysis.Or her life support could be destabilized.When that happened, she would fall into unconsciousness—leaving her fully vulnerable to further attacks.
"Come…on…out!Sheesh, didn't I just say that someone with a metal body is in this alley?Need I be more specific?Don't make me come after you!"A silent pause.
"Nope, you are making me come after you!Okay, it's on you, whatever happens!"The mystery man with the static-capacitor weapon began a careful walk down the alley and toward the two trash cans where Alia stay curled against the wall.Maybe, the flickering blue of the weapon wasn't enough lighting to see her?
Alia was wrong; the man stopped four yards before the trash cans Alia hid by.She could hear the crackling static-capacitor weapon—even if she could not see what it looked like.Then, the crackling and the blue strobe stopped."Dang, out of buffered charge!You made me use up the primary charge, using the wide field-effect function of my cape!Now it's going to take the other half of the damned night to…"He saw a quick movement not four yards before him."Whoa!"
Alia had snapped to her feet.She then did a powerful leap forward, in the direction of the shadowy man in the gloom.He was stunned and disadvantaged for seconds; Aliahad surprise on her side.So she punched for his gut, twice, with machine speed.She didweak punches in case he was real-bodied; she did not want to gut the man
"Hah!" shouted the man as he brought his fists to places on his gut, exactly where Alia was going to punch him.The man somehow blocked both blows from her alloy fists by using his own.And his fists crackled with electricity.
After delivering foiled punches, Alia did a small hop backward, putting distance between herself and her opponent.And she nearly fell over backward.Her last two punches had brought her fists into contact with that odd shadowy man's fists—which had extreme electrical charges.Her fists and upper body felt weakened from a sort of electrical overload.
"Hey, no fair!" whined the man, rubbing his hands.There were sounds of crackling energy and little blue streaks as he did that."I only used my cape to detect you, now you're attacking me?Quel merde!Donc, en guarde!"He then brought up his own closed hands, fists, before he kicked out with his left foot.
Alia, still feeling weakened, barely blocked the kick with upraised arms.But that was too much.Quickly awakened in the middle of sleep and with her body's mobility compromised by the electrical shocks, she unwillingly backpedaled from the force of the kick.
The man did one powerful stride forward, lashing out with his right fist as he moved...Clunk!The blow hit Alia in her metal face, a blow not quite absorbed by her face-rag.The blow knocked her head back, also sent her bodily falling back.
In falling, the back of her head tapped the concrete.Everything became dazed.She found it hard to move.Sprawled on her back, she had just enough energy to beg for a final favor.
"If you wish to use my body for parts, please kill my brain first."
The man spread his arms in the alley's gloom."Kill your brain?Yech!Why would I want to do that?I just wanted your assistance, is all!Wouldn't you want to cooperate with me instead of fighting with me?"No immediate answer."Come on, be a sport!Be my special friend.Puh-puh-puh…Puh-lease?Petty please?With oatmeal sprinkles and cherry on top?"
Feeling more dazed, Alia simply conceded."I agree to it, then…Do allow rest.." Her head then rested against the pavement, and she closed her fleshless plastic eyelids.Then all faded into darkness as she felt unconsciousness closing over her mind.But just before she fell to full unconsciousness, she noted that the man that defeated her had used a fighting style very similar to her own…
The man with the cape was The Cloaked Man, and he was a madman.No, madness was a relative term—relative to the current society.As society of now was relative to plenty of behaviors, there was no real and authentic gauge for declaring him insane.Then, The Cloaked Man was only a "madman" by self-admission.Some tried to call him The Caped Man, but he did not let them.His few friends called him by his proper and self-imposed title: The Cloaked Man.So there!
So now, The Cloaked Man had finally found the little metal-bodied waif that people were talking about.And people were oh-so-very willing to talk more with good old cash to fill their pockets and inflame their wills.It cost about six hundred dollars and five weeks to get to this little metal-type cyborg.
And what did she do?She attacked him!The little metal twerp tried to kill him.So what if he became a touch anxious in getting at her.So what if he used a relatively harmless static burst to detect her?He took weeks to find her, okay?
Well, now to bring home the prize.The Cloaked Man very slowly stepped forward and deeper into the alley, then went to where the prize lie…Lie or lay?The Cloaked Man sure as heck knew that the verb lie was used for humans—for subjects.Yet, lay was a verb referring to objects.Was the little thing a subject or an object?The little metal-type cyborg could be an object or a subject, really.But then titles came into consideration and…
Whatever.The Cloaked Man lifted the little unconscious metal-bodied twerp, his arms under her legs and back.He then positioned her as so her rested her head against his left shoulder, his left arm under her armored butt—like carrying a little kid.With her positioned so, The Cloaked Man stood.And he left the alley.He suspected that she would not appreciate being carried like an infant, but The Cloaked Man didn't care immediately.He was feeling mean; she shouldn't have attacked him in the first place.So there!
He emerged from the darkened alley, the cape at his back gently wafting in the slight night winds as he walked with her.And out here on the street, there were pools of extremely bright light from the halogen-arc streetlamps.The Cloaked Man and his prize passed through these small batches of brightness.
Doing that, The Cloaked Man became visible.He had wooly and dark hair, and reddish-tan skin.His face and body looked rugged and sharp: a square-jawed sort of face atop a body with a medium build.All synth-flesh, of course; he was a synth-fleshed person.Clothes were simple: slacks and a tee shirt.Black shoes to round off the outfit.There was also the red cape.It was interwoven with plenty of microcircuitry and types of polymers to retain immense static charges.It was beyond just a vaguely silly cape...
And it took just minutes for The Cloaked Man to return to his place.His place, if not his home, was a second-floor apartment right here in the downtown area of Brunswick.Expensive by most counts, it cost little to him.He had plenty of money.He had to shift Alia to his right shoulder as so he could apport and remove his key from his left pocket.The door opened, he went inside and locked the door. Then, he carried her upstairs and into his apartment.
Beyond the freshly painted metal door of the second-floor hallway, his apartment may as well not be inhabited at all.All the furniture was exactly as it was when he first moved in: sofa and armchair in the living room, three chairs around a round brown table in the kitchen (with refrigerator and oven), a bed and dresser in the bedroom.The bathroom had all the standard fixings of a bathroom; it was the bathroom where The Cloaked Man took Alia.
He took her to the tub and turned on the water.He saw the metal-type cyborg stirslightly, but she remained unconscious as the tub filled.When there was about three inches of water in the white tub, The Cloaked Man removed Alia's crusty wig and face rag.Then he reached into his left pocket to remove another apported item: a long plastic container full of cleaning catalyst.
He unscrewed the top and poured the slightly silvery liquid into the tub, then mixed it around.With that solution in the tub, he rinsed the bare machinery of Alia's neck and hands.He next rinsed the armor of the rest of her small body.To The Cloaked Man, it was like cleaning statuary.
And after that cleaning, he removed her from the tub.He then carried her to the living room, where he laid her on the sofa.She would drip-dry there.So what if the cleaning catalyst could bleach some color out of the sofa's fabric?He didn't care.Then he went back to the bathroom to clean Alia's wig and face rag.And, man, were those things crusty!
Clunk!Hours later, Alia had flopped to the hard floor, the fresh dark curls of her wig flopping about her face and shoulders.Her brain was still slightly hazed with the stuff of sleep, causing her loss of coordination.But aheavy hit of quasi-adrenaline in her brain made her extremely jumpy.She managed to scramble to her feet and put her articulate gray fists up.
Someone unseen shouted, "Look out!They're firing goats at us!"Without thinking, Alia leapt forward and went flat against the floor.She heard the words firing…at us, and long-ago training took over.There, she lie for some seconds, her smooth slender gray limbs over her head, expecting the projectiles to come in.
Firing goats? There was chuckling from somewhere."Heh heh heh…Got you with that one, didn't I?Since when did anyone use goats for artillery?"In a more condescending tone, "Sorry about that little prank.But it was just so easy to do!"
Alia stood again, this time with more care and deliberation.She was in a living room—probably somewhere in downtown.Then she looked in the direction of that foolish warning voice; it was coming from the open door that led to the apartment's kitchen.The voice then spoke again."Come on into the kitchen.We've got to talk business."
That voice, it was the voice from last night.The voice of the attacker.Alia suddenly wanted to leave, to get away before she was hurt again.But she knew better; her attacker had a field-effect weapon, one in the form of a cape.If she tried to leave, he could just fire off a static burst, and her metal body would just draw the charge.
Then she noticed her armorless machine-hands.They looked better now.No dust or bits of debris in the mechanism.Her neck also moved slightly better.Likely, buildup was removed from it.That man must have actually done some maintenance on her.Maybe his intentions were not absolutely evil.
So she went into the smallish kitchen and sat opposite the cape-wearing man in tee shirt and slacks.He smiled and nodded a greeting."Ah, I knew you'd come around!And, hallelujah, here you are!Your metal body all polished and new, your head gear cleaned, a night-long nap on a real sofa, and you're all bright and perky for talking business."
Alia tilted her head forward as she leaned toward the man, large dark eyes staring from out of her clean face rag.If she had a face, it would wear a look of new attentiveness.
"The word business, as connoting dealing."Alia then leaned back."Dealing with the anonymous?I have a name; surely, you as a citizen must have one."
He slapped his right hand to his chest."Goodness gracious, where are my manners?"He again put the hand to the table."Heh, you can call me The Cloaked Man.Call me that because that's what I call myself.And that's what most everyone else calls me.That is, everyone that knows me.Now you'll know me.Now you'll have to call me that.And knowing is half the battle."
Rather wordy, she thought.She said, "A title for a name.A sort of anonymity yet remains in portion.But time dispels that.Time may not, however, un-cloak the potential proposition deserving contemplation. So talk to deal and explain, to Alia," she said and asked.
"Say what…?" asked The Cloaked Man.Then he smiled and wagged a finger at her."Ah, your freaky talk can't shake me!So you're named Alia, as I suspected.And you're willing to deal with me…Did I get the translation right?"Alia nodded."Okay, let's deal.I mean 'deal' because you'll have to deal with my deliberate roundabout talk and deal with my plans."
Alia shrugged, small sounds of moving machine-joints."What else am I to do today?First, though I believe your speech holds redundancy,"said Alia, putting her solid fingers against the brown table."I suggest touches of efficiency and refinement.I really wish to dicker, but wordiness is slight deterrent to that."With that, she let silence hang in the air.There was a slight hint of smirk in that statement as well.
"Okay, here's the deal," he began."Join with me in my venture for adventure, and I can guarantee you a better life!No more harassment from Ganglanders.No more lying on the street and sleeping in dark alleys!No more boring lying about and doing…whatever it is that you do all day.Join me, and we will leave the City of Brunswick for a sweeter and more excellent place.Wouldn't you like that?Huh, huh, huh?"
Alia held up her right fist."Be more clearer than that!One point, 'A sweeter' place?"She extended her thumb to count that point."Another point, 'Leave the city?'"She the second finger of the count, her pointer."Two points of dealing.What is the cost to me, lacking in money?"
"Hey, are you listening?" nearly shouted The Cloaked Man."Didn't I just explain the deal?Join me in going to a place far beyond this cutesy little city, and we both will be able to get better living.It's going to be a long and tough ride in getting to that place, and I need the help of a metal-type cyborg—because metal types were tough enough for the War.Of course, we would need the help of a gynoid too, but that's an issue for later."He then leaned back and crossed his forearms."Now, let me tell you about this place.Begging your pardon in advance for being so wordy and all, but this place I'm talking about is so great that wordiness has to be in order."Alia then listened.
He spoke."As you know, or in case you don't know, the world went screwy after the War—the last War between synthetic-bodied people and the humans.Yeah, hundreds of years after it happened, and everyone still talks about it.Why not, it pretty much destroyed plenty of the world.Thank goodness that not all of it was nuclear; we wouldn't be here to talk if it were.Not saying that the world now is any better for the War, just really different.
"How different?I mean, the world became really jumbled and discombobulated.Instead of one big planet under a federation of multi-national elites,the world just fell into a state of city-states.Plenty of wild lands and empty places, but with coherent cities all in-between.Meanwhile, cities don't communicate with each other.The distances to vast.The roads essentially destroyed in too many places.The communications networks trashed.
"With no real information about what is outside cities, legends and half-truths become 'news.'People really don't want to travel anymore; they believe that travelling out on the plains is dangerous.But people do listen to the travelers.And with simple electronic communication and gatherings at pubs and cafes, words about travel get around.
"What is interesting is how just some people are willing to leave the cities.Sometimes, people are able to reach other settlements across the land to get to other cities:They risk lives and fortune to cross the plains and rubble from the Old Days to get to where they've never been before.Indeed, they get or make themselves wheeled vehicles and leave this city, and sometimes come in.Almost never has a person come back."At this point, The Cloaked Man flashed a massive grin.
He continued."And guess what?We're going to make ourselves go away!We're on a road trip!Not just to any place, but to one particular place.There, the Old Days still live on.In that city, people can take up regular jobs and live regular sorts of lives.Imagine that: regular and danger-free living, no random violence by Ganglanders.That and decent technology.Peace and friendship!And it's all stable!
"This place has to be real, too.Of all the travelers that pass through those annoying pip procedures, the tales about that place pop up most consistently.There are other tales about cabin settlements in forests and weird stories about there still being space stations in the sky, stations to visit.But the stories about this surviving town from the Old Days are stories that seem the most reliable.
"For that, my little friend, I am willing to cross over, to cross this freaking continent.I will journey over rubble, ruined roads, trees, rivers and whatever else to reach that legendary place.I even dreamed about going there.And it was just so groovy and laid back.Wouldn't you like to go there, Alia?"
Alia slightly shook her head."You just repeat a tale.That place sounds exactly like a dream.Granted, travelers enter the city with vast stories of grand and far-away settlements.Tales of pre-War wonders that have survived for all of these centuries."Alia put her right pointer finger to her forehead."Probably, I'm somewhat dazed from centuries of auto-stasis; I actually bother to listen to your talk of wonderful pre-War places."
The Cloaked Man chuckled."Heh heh heh…But you're not ignoring this talk as crazy.You're willing to listen to my proposition because you want to leave this place, too.I know you want to leave Brunswick for all sorts of reasons."He put his pointer finger on the table."What else are you going to do, kid?Laze about the city until your brain rots?It will eventually, you know.From what I know, most every other metal-type cyborg is dead by now, for whatever.The War they were made for killed many of them.And with the survivors, their brains just eventually give up and die.
"Do you want your brain to literally rot as you just…exist in this city?Then what?Someone's going to scoop out your rotten gray matter, then sell your body for cheap.I don't know, maybe they'll buy rush pills, a bowl of oatmeal, or a glass of Brennan's Special with the cash.Do you want to be someone's drug fix?
"Tell you what: Join with me right now, and I'll even throw in a synth-flesh face replacement—with the correct phenotype to match.We'll just head over to the nearest little health clinic, I'll pay, and you get to look more normal!Now, adventure and a restored appearance.How can you say no to this?Who else is going to come by and give you what I go to offer?"
"Then, I do accept," said Alia."I accept this madcap travel to…wherever.It really must surpass prolonged and indefinite stay in Brunswick.An offer sure to never happen again."She tilted her head to the right."Also, does this dream place have a name?"
The Cloaked Man raised a finger and began talking like a showman."The place?Why, the place is where dreams live on.It is where people live calm and safe, safe, safe lives of relative luxury!And, dear lady, the city had retained its dreamy quality despite the War.It is called…The City of Slow Dreams."
The City of Slow Dreams, thought Alia.She echoed the name in her mind a few more times, because the name intrigued her as The Cloaked Man did.Indeed, she would go to this place.But…"I have an iota of other questioning," she asked of the madman across from her."That, as you yet failed to more fully disclose information," voiced Alia.The Cloaked Man shrugged, a who-gives-a-freak gesture."You mentioned something.A gynoid?Cloaked Man, of the hundreds of humans hereabouts and hundreds of synth-flesh cyborgs, how does a gynoid fit into your planning?"
The Cloaked Man grinned."Because I said so!That's plenty reason enough, isn't it?Not a good enough answer?Okay, how's this:If we had a threesome going, we'd be less likely to all die out at once in the dangers of the great adventure to come.And, agynoid because people don't like to sell androids.It is much easier to get synthetic girl robots.Androids are very, very rare—probably impossible to get. "He paused."Another explanation is that I dreamt of being dealt a three-card hand.One of the cards was a gynoid, and… Well, I'm not going to tell you about what the other two cards had pictures of."
All the same, Alia knew.She knew what was on those other two cards he mentioned.Her dream dealt her a similar hand.Gaining the gynoid, then, would be a completion of that dealt hand.And in that way, Alia joined The Cloaked Man in his journey to a place that may not exist at all: The City of Slow Dreams.
Now a part of The Cloaked Man's effort, Alia began with an immense boon; she was going to have a new face and scalp.They left the apartment and into daylight, Alia's gray form looking very neat because of cleaning.Not even The Cloaked Man's now-haughty and odd strut could not annoy her enough to leave him.They had a deal. And Alia appreciated him not taking her by the hand to the clinic.
In another place of downtown, they came to the red-brick general cyber-clinic.
"Dr. J.D. Gallager, M.D." in residence.Were it not for the sign mounted on the side, it could be mistaken for one of many small shops here in Brunswick.Indeed, cyber meds did not quite have the prestige of doctors for people with flesh bodies; such doctors for cyborgs were somewhere between mechanics of old and physicians.
Inside, it was a neat green-and-white place.Traditional cyber-clinic colors.The hard-tiled floor was white.Walls and waiting-area furniture here were light pastel green.And the waist-high solid receptionist's counter at the front was white.At least, it was waist-high to the six foot Cloaked Man.Alia could not see over it, and she resisted the whim to pull herself up and look over.
"Hello Mr. Cloak, how may we help you today?Do you need body upgrades or an increased nanobot flow…" asked the red-haired and perfect-bodied receptionist, wearing a simple one-piece green summer dress.
The Cloaked Man answered, "A-a-a-ctually, I'm not the one that's going to be helped today, Trissa.I've got a little customer here that needs a head job.I mean all the synth-flesh and hair.Since she's a recent immigrant, her phenotype isn't on file, I know…."
Trissa smiled, her high-cheekboned and perfect-skinned face showing beautiful teeth."Don't worry on that, Mr. Cloak.Dr. Gallager can simply read the phenotype from brain stem DNA.And, where is this 'little customer?'"The Cloaked Man reached down and lifted Alia to be in view above the counter.
The receptionist put a hand to her mouth in shock; that was the metal-type.But, the receptionist's shock went away as soon as The Cloaked Man put Alia down and paid the flat fee for total head-flesh replacement:five hundred.Unlike many, he paid in cash.The Cloaked Man never had problems with producing cash from his left pocket.
The receptionist put the cash in a drawer (exact change), then typed in the request to Dr. Gallager.Currently, he was probably at work on fine-tuning or even upgrading the equipment in the back rooms.
Dr. Gallager, a five-foot thin man with brown hair, came out from a side door, into the reception area.He smiled when he saw the metal-type cyborg, hiding his shock at seeing a real metal-type standing and alive.Looking down at the four-foot metal-bodied girl, he said, "Well, I'm Dr. Gallager.I'll help you get your face again.And what's your name, hmm?"
Alia sensed the condescending tone; Dr. Gallager probably could not avoid seeing her as a small child.It was just because of her height appearance.Metal-type bodies never "grow."
"As for a name, it is presently Alia.My name remains of my remembered being, if anything significant.So long as you do not ask for anything else beyond my name, all is well…"
"That is good enough then…"The doctor stopped himself from finishing off with little girl."Come follow me to the working room.We'll restore your pretty self yet."The doctor put a hand on Alia's cool and solid upper back and he walked her to the working room.
The procedure would probably take an hour.In the meanwhile, The Cloaked Man would sit on one of the cushioned chairs of the waiting area.There, he would read some of the local publications.The City of Brunswick had no real broadcast media other than simple wall terminals for mailing text messages, so the print media was quite extensive.
There were multiple print journals on the low table in this reception area—fifty-page things bound and printed on gray-white paper.One of them, Bub City News, was sometimes interesting.Maybe this edition was printed in one of those sometimes.
It was somewhat one of those sometimes; this edition had interesting bits.Of course, there were the editor and reader opinions about the occasional trouble with Ganglanders.And, there was praise for the e-cops.But what caught some of The Cloaked Man's attention was the feature on there possibly being a sort of gladiator fighting ring in Brunswick.Damn straight, thought The Cloaked Man, this goofy little city needs some real excitement.
One of the other few items to get his attention was on more speculation as to where Ganglanders got their parts.This article, written by someone called Hubert, generally claimed that Ganglanders had their own secret shops for nuke bikes—shops underneath parts of the city.The writer of the article then ventured to say that the nuke bikes for those shops came from modified factories beneath the city.Sure, thought The Cloaked Man, and space aliens will come down while people turn into slimy monsters.
The Cloaked Man read the fifty-four page journal in fifty-three minutes.He was a fast reader.That was nothing surprising:Everyone in Brunswick was a rapid reader, because reading was one of the very few things of entertainment value in this city.
So he put that edition of the Bub City News on the low table, crossed his arms, then leaned back.And then he suddenly snapped forward, mouth opening.What—or who—he saw was really worth that.
Alia had somehow quietly stepped into the reception area without being heard.At least, that should have been Alia; there were no other metal-type cyborgs in all of Brunswick.
With the synth-flesh and scalp of her head restored, Alia looked quite different and quite cute.Her large dark eyes were now set in a pert and very young face:round and smooth pale face with a high brow, a face also featuring a pert nose and broad cheeks—perhaps Nordic.Also Nordic was her polymer hair:straight ash blonde, cut to shoulder length.Her ears were a touch large, but that made her look more endearing.
That cuteness was augmented with one other modification done by Dr. Gallager.He replaced her skeletal bare "feet" with sleek gray bootlets that went to her ankles.The bottoms of her armor bootlets were done in a friction-textured alloy that was both flexible and strong.
Summarily, Alia looked like a cute kid—though a cute kid in form-fitting armor, complete with silverish footwear and armor-hands.The Cloaked Man stood up, and he managed to close his mouth, which spread into a smile."Alia?Sheesh, you're surprisingly… cute!Is that your real phenotype or what?"
Dr. Gallager patted Alia on her pale-haired head."Indeed, Mr. Cloak, this is Alia's face and hair as she had with her original body.I had to restore her a face proportional to her current body, of course, but this is actually her expressed phenotype—not ruling out any modification of her DNA at birth."
"Whatever," said The Cloaked Man."She's just so darned cute!"He jogged over to Alia and he knelt."I want to hug you and smother your cute little face with kisses!You're a real doll!Come here, cutey!"He spread his arms and began to lean forward—when he was stopped by Alia's metal hand on his chest.
"Your proximity and expressions are enough show of…appreciation.Exuberance only goes so far before it becomes annoyance."She then lowered her hand, and The Cloaked Man stood up.
"Okay, thanks, Doc!" he said.His left had brushed his left pocket, then he extended that hand to the doctor."I have to thank you for the sweet job done!"In turn, Dr. Gallager put out his left hand, and…
Dr. Gallager yelped and yanked back his now-clenched hand."Mr. Cloak, please!I didn't add static capacitor capabilities to your body's mobility systems to…"Then Dr. Gallager's face looked at what was in his clenched hand:it was a ten thousand-dollar bill—not a small amount to just toss out at whims.The Cloaked Man, indeed, had plenty of cash.
"Well now, that will have to be the goodbye I give you, Dr. Gallager!" said The Cloaked Man to the shocked (literally and emotionally) doctor."Come on, Alia!We've got some more starting business to do…"
He and Alia then walked toward the door:a small metal-bodied waif with pale hair and restored face, accompanied by a six-foot, casually dressed madman with a cape at his back and odd abilities inside.When they closed the door behind them, there was a slight passing air current through the room.
