All The Colors of Yesterday
by Elliot Bowers
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Chapter 6
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_____Someone was saying something, but it was hard for Scotch to understand. What were they saying? Why didn't they speak a little louder as so he could understand what the heck they were saying? No, wait… Things were getting a little clearer. Get him off…anesthetics… Damage the brain?
_____Brain damage? Who's brain? His brain? And why was it that everything so hard to see around here? He had the vague idea that he was on a bed by a window, golden sunset-light coming into this room, but he couldn't be sure. Considerations… The shock… A loss of comfort to the patient.
_____Through blurry eyes and fuzzy hearing, the dying man saw a blurry figure sort of floating by his bed. No, the figure wasn't floating; Scotch was just so dizzy and sedated due to the drugs that he only saw things that way. Brace yourself. It will hurt for a little while until we can figure out… Heck, everything was blurry, smears of light in hazy darkness. The big white-coated man-blur by his bed was doing something attached to something else closer to Scotch. I'm sorry, but we're trying… Reduce damage to your organs.
_____Pluck! Something was taken out of Scotch's arm. Nothing happened for a little while. Then came the pain--a slow-coming tsunami of intensely insane agony. First, there was a distant feeling of sharpness in his right arm. Then everything began to hurt at once. Everything hurt all over--putting him in his own world of hurt! Head to toe, he felt like a bag of smashed meat stuffed with hot spices and sharp little needles! He squirmed and writhed, felt everything feeling bad and rotten! He screamed because everything…hurt…so…much!
_____Aiiagh! He shouted, writhing on the bed, feeling as if his skin was about to bust open. He kept screaming until his voice went raw. Then he screamed some more. It began to hurt even worse, if that was possible--as if he was being skewered, salted and slow-roasted over the burning flames of Hell! The screams didn't even express one-one thousandth of the dark and sickening suffering he was feeling.
_____Put him in restraints before he hurts himself, voiced the man-shaped blur in the pain-filled darkness. Scotch barely felt some cool but machine-hard metal fingers put his wrists and ankles in plastic straps. Even as he squirmed and reacted to the pain, he listened to what the important doctor was saying. This is a bad idea. Tell Karen and that other so-called "doctor" that we're… Scotch felt himself blacking out as the pain became too much, but he struggled to listen. We'll have to move to move to doing… Too late.
_____Nope, he couldn't take it any more… There was too much pain and suffering jammed into his head. What little blurriness he did see was becoming covered over with a sparkle-dotted darkness of pain. It was what they called "seeing stars," when pain fills a person's vision with many little dancing dots and sparkles. Given all he was feeling now all over, he wasn't just seeing stars; he was seeing entire constellations, nebulae and whole darned planets. He felt himself blacking out again, hearing a great roaring fill his ears as he fell into a dream of fire…
…
_____The fires were everywhere he turned. He tried running, jumping and looking for things to stand on. But there was nothing tall enough to stand on. Everything was ablaze, the tall and bright flames flickering up to the infinitely dark sky above. He should have smelled his own flesh burning, but he didn't smell anything. Maybe it was because his nose was burned off, and his sinuses were ruined from the flesh-melting heat.
_____Then came a cool wind that blew sideways. It was such a blessedly cool breeze, wafting from the right and going across everything. The blessedly cool and dark breeze swept the bright flames away and began sucking them in.. And the breeze was strong enough to pull Scotch right along with it. He was going to wherever the flames were being sucked in.
_____The fire was being sucked right into someone's hands, into a deck of cards… All the flames and all the smoke, all of that was being consumed. With a final slurp of sound, the flames were gone: replaced with the sight of an alley. It was a dark and narrow place here, the walls close in left and right. There was one hanging light-fixture here being the only source of illumination.
_____The pair of hands that held the cards then began to shuffle. Fwip-fwip-fwip… What the Hell was going on here? And what was that guy doing here? That old stranger in coveralls was sitting at that table made from junk--except it didn't look so junky now. As usual, he was still rapid-shuffling that deck of odd, stiff green cards. The stranger put some of them on the table, the cards looking tattooed with lighter green lines and dots.
_____"It's such an old, sad song… But I sang them wrong," said the stranger. "I thought I knew the words… I thought I did!" He tried shuffling his deck of green cards again. Fwip-fwip-fwip-fwip… Grimacing, he tried again when the cards weren't shuffled the way he wanted them.. Fwip-fwip-fwip. "I knew the words, I knew them! But oh, how I sang them wrong! I…sang…them…wrong!" As Scotch watched and as the stranger shuffled, smoke began to seep out from the cards. Scotch had the idea that the smoke wasn't what it seemed…
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_____Consciousness returned…painfully. Squinting open his eyes, Scotch saw that it was morning again. It wasn't that he cared much. Everything still hurt, everything was still blurry and hard to see. But so long as he laid still, the pain was bearable--though it still filled his eyes with sparkles of pain. People were talking.
_____…Quality of life, declared an elegant woman's voice. The voice must belong to the slender, shorter white blob topped with red. Consider the costs to his psyche when… He blacked out again for another second, darn it. Fight it! Fight it! He fought the darkness that threatened to close over him.
____Quality or not, went the other white blob, the one with the male voice. Will it work? No telling what your plans… Just go with the standard…replacement. He'll recover just fine. Trying to… …Goodness sakes, save the brain! Who cares about quality of life? We'll save…!
_____The slightly shorter female blob in white made a gesture, blurry smears of motion in Scotch's sickness-confused darkness. Look at me! Have I done wrong? He and I were friends from a long time ago. Anyway, I'm paying some of my own money and taking charge. If you disagree, then talk to Mister…
_____Gosh darn it… Not now! Don't black out now! Scotch sucked in some more painful breaths, feeling more pain in his chest and head as he did so. They were talking about him, about what they were going to do to him! He didn't want to become a cyborg, not yet. He liked working with machines but he didn't want to become one!
_____Fear-released adrenaline trickled into his bloodstream, clearing the pain a little. Gulping with a dry mouth, he strained to listen. If that's how you want it! He is your responsibility. I did what I could for him! You do what you want from here on. And that's my last word! The tall white blob walked down and out of Scotch's sight.
_____Which him here alone with the woman-sounding white blob… The man-blob's angry steps going away, and the female-blob topped with red came closer to here. Don't worry. Everything will be better quite soon. You can trust in me, because I am your friend… Or she said something like that. Soon, there were some other white blobs coming close to here, bringing with them squat gray blurry blobs that made heavy rolling sounds. The strange white blobs all around reached for him with things in their hands. Trust in me… Please…
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_____Trust in me… The next time he faded into consciousness, he heard wet cutting and snipping noises. The blobs were doing something to him, but he couldn't be sure what. Do take note of the metabolic rates, went the female blob's voice. We want optimal compatibility… They said some other things, but Scotch was more fascinated with what they were doing to his chest. Something inside his chest went snip, and then he was unconscious again…
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_____Please… He groggily awakened again. All the pain was gone; that was good. But he couldn't feel a darned thing. Scotch tried to use his mouth, but no words were coming out. He tried to reach out with his hands but couldn't feel anything. Ah well, who cares? Ooh, look! Were they reaching for his head? Yes, the white blobs had their hands busy above his eyes. He could hear hard wet noises of his own flesh and bone being cut as surgical tools went snip-snip and, finally, buzz-z-z...
_____Trust in me. Now the white blobs were bringing down something that made a lot of noise! It made a high-pitched buzzing sound, something spinning ridiculously fast. When it came down between his eyes, everything became extra blurry as wet stuff began to cover his eyes. As the white blobs began doing things to his face, he again sank into unconsciousness…
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_____Singing… It was such sad and beautiful singing…. Scotch yawned and sat up in the warm room--the dim rich orange of sunlight shining through the window. It took a few seconds, but his eyesight cleared up. He rubbed his face--the skin of his palms rubbing somewhat-numb cheeks, and then he looked around when the singing stopped.
_____It was a medical clinic room… No, it was too expensive-looking for that. This must be a hospital room--a pretty expensive-looking one, too. He was in a bed with white sheets and gray cloth blanket, the walls of the room looking well-maintained. There were some pictures on the wall and a small nightstand to the right of this bed--a book set beneath an incandescent lamp. But the lamp was off, as were the overhead lights. The only light that came in was the light through the window behind this bed.
_____"Well! Someone has certainly taken his time in coming back!" went the female blob's voice. Except, this time, Scotch's eyesight was sharp enough to see that she wasn't just a white blob topped with fluffy red. The one he had previously seen as the woman-blob turned out to be a young-looking, red-haired doctor in lab-coat and slacks, sitting in a chair right of this bed. Sitting in the doctor's lap was a thin and petite girl in blue shorts and white tee-shirt, her glowingly pale-blonde hair combed straight back. She wore a scarf around her neck--a strip of cloth velvet and blood-red in color. The girl was very pretty, like a living doll. But her crimson scarf contrasted with the paleness of her skin, making her seem pallid.
_____He'd never seen the girl before, but the red-haired doctor herself was familiar… Then he remembered. "Dr. Sera!" he exclaimed, leaning forward. "Hee-hee-hee! Of all the people I'd expect to find. It's good to see you after all of these years and years. So where have you been all of this time? Heh, this city is a pretty darned big place. How'd you find me in all of this?" He looked down at his normal-looking hands atop the blanket. "Too bad we didn't meet up earlier. My brother's dead, so are two of my best friends--Kyrie and Harrah. Just too bad… Too bad…" His words were just tumbling out, trying to say so much in a little time.
_____"Whatever do you mean, 'didn't meet up earlier?" asked Dr. Sera aloud, her voice rising. "Why, I've been with you all along. You just didn't recognize me!" She smiled. "Hmm… Perhaps I should be more condescending to your perspective, as anonymity was my intent…"
_____"What the…? What do you mean by that?" asked Scotch. He didn't know what Dr. Sera was talking about. How could she have been around? He would have recognized her elegant good looks and intelligent personality right away. Dr. Sera was one of the most mechanically and technologically intelligent people he ever knew… He leaned forward in the bed. "Wait a second. You mean you were in disguise?"
_____"Certainly. You knew me in my disguised form." She tilted her head to the left, "You called me 'Harrah…'" Then she tilted her head to the right. "And you called me 'Kyrie.'" A shake of her head… "Everybody called me 'Harrah' and 'Kyrie.' It was a little bit confusing at first, but I became quite used to it after a time. It was a rather intriguing and interesting experience, being two people at once… But after the accident at the Arena, I simply had to become myself again--because my dual bodies were just too extensively damaged to be repaired by the limited expertise of the local populace… Good thing, because I came back to myself in time to give you a custom-made body to preserve your quality of life--the kind of body I now have as well."
_____"Huh?" went Scotch. He looked at his hands, which looked fine. "What's that supposed to mean? I've still got my flesh body. I'm still…human…" But then he began to notice some things, staring at and feeling his hands. The little scars and calluses he'd gotten over the years from working with tools and engines, they were gone. And the skin felt just a little less sensitive to touch. He pressed his fingers to his cheeks, which felt a little stiffer than usual. It felt like skin, but…
_____"Amazing, isn't it?" she said, stroking the petite girl's silken hair. The girl sighed and leaned her head on Dr. Sera's left shoulder. She even sighed beautifully, musically. "You will note that your body looks and feels almost totally like the original. Flesh, eyes, hair… Except it isn't. You're a cyborg now, as am I. The muscle-tissue is myogel, and the skin is an elastic polymer--synthetic flesh over titanium bones. I call such a body…a synth-flesh type. Both you and I now have the prototypes."
_____Now Scotch was feeling especially confused. Cyborg bodies that looked real? The doctor being two people at once? "Scotch, I can read the discombobulation on your rather sharp features. Now let me explain. This will take some time, and I suspect that it will put dear little Aikasa here to sleep…" Indeed, the pale-haired girl's large green eyes were already half-closed. "Now pay attention. My explanation will be lengthy, but the details are important in eliminating your confusion. It began, perhaps, eighteen years ago. I was living a rather shameful existence…"
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2.
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_____Here on the farm, Dr. Sera helped yet another farmer, small parts of his metal body having been damaged.. "Aw, gee! Feels an awful lot better, Doc!" said the male cyborg in farmer's coveralls, wriggling his freshly cleaned metal hands. He was sitting atop the raised work-table--miscellaneous medial equipment along the left and right walls. This was the farm's medical clinic, equipped to handle cyborgs and fleshies both--though somewhat better equipped to deal with cyborgs. Because of all the airborne desert grit, miscellaneous agricultural chemicals and all the extra water that cyborg-farmers worked with, cyborg bodies tended to malfunction slightly more often than those of city dwellers.
_____"You will be sure to wear gloves over your hands when you work with dirty water now… Right, Jeremiah?" she asked, her right hand on the farmer's solid left shoulder. "I know, gloves are thick and cumbersome things. Still, you must take the necessary workplace precautions. An ancient saying goes, 'An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.' Preventative medicine is effective."
_____"Hmmph! Good point, Doctor Sera," responded the cyborg. He, Jeremiah, here had been refitting pipes deep in the workings of the farm's water reprocessing facility, his metal hands constantly exposed to untreated water for over an hour. The gritty and impure water worked its way into the many dozens of fine joints in his hands, making them less articulate. This farmer had been so concerned with his work that he cared more about getting the job done than putting on a pair of gloves.
_____All the same, Jeremiah should have taken better care of his body's parts. This was more true because of the lower availability of spare cyborg-parts. Out here on the farm, manufactured supplies--like electromechanical body parts--had to be shipped in from the city. Dr. Sera learned to get by with what was available, building on her knowledge of human and cyborg physiology and technology--a combination of book-knowledge and experience.
_____By the time he was done performing maintenance on the pipes and such, the electromechanical workings of his wet and dirty hands became stiff and unworkable. He could clench and unclench his hands, but wriggling his fingers or pressing buttons on machinery consoles was difficult and slow to do. Some of his co-workers worried that Jeremiah would have to get his hands replaced--hard to do since parts were hard to come boy.
_____No problem. Dr. Sera knew what to do. She had spent an hour and a half in removing the contaminant. Wearing goggles and gloves, working under a bright light, the intelligent and beautiful doctor used high-velocity sprays of silicon oil to remove the contaminants from Jeremiah's hands. She could have just given him a bucket of solvent and let him soak his hands for half the night, which would have been just as effective. Yet farmers needed their relaxation and sleep-time.
_____"Should this happen again," began Dr. Sera, "I will give you a bucket of an especially smelly solvent solution to soak your hands in and have you sit in here until your hands work again. Again, please wear your protective work-gear when doing such work… And in the meantime, I'll be sure to put in a request for more appropriate hands to be shipped here. You're done. Remember what I said."
_____"Hey! Thanks, Doc!" said the farmer, getting off the worktable. "Thanks an awful lot! Wear my gloves… Yeah, I'll have to remember," he said. Jeremiah's words weren't just idle talk. He would be more careful in the future; he didn't want his hands ruined again!
_____When Jeremiah was gone, walking out of this room and along the exit hall out of this small farm building, Dr. Sera walked over to the sink. She stripped off the surgical gloves and carefully laid them on the tray next to the sink--washed her hands with medical-smelling soap and warm water. The faucet off, she looked at her reflection in the mirror.
_____Dr. Sera was a thin, doe-eyed woman in her late twenties--her skin perhaps too pale from being indoors too long. Though such a lithe woman, her hair was thick and full-bodied, long red tresses of curly hair. She wore her thick red hair with the sides pinned back, drawn away from her fine-featured face. It made her look more mature than she really was… The few friends she had, the assistant doctor and the nurses, said that it was a real shame that a girl as pretty as her didn't go out more. Have a little more fun. Even doctors needed time off to heal!
_____Fun? Dr. Sera stared into her own reflection, into her own eyes. Oh, she had her own kind of fun. In the city, Dr. Sera's kind of fun would have led to her being chased down by bounty hunters. Then they would take her head and turned it in for cash. Out here, there were just seven such "hunters"--more like bodyguards because they took in regular wages from Mr. Lionel for maintaining farm security. But they didn't know about Dr. Sera's illegal obsession, or ignored it.
_____To her, the kind of fun she had was better than drugs. It was even better than love. What Dr. Sera did in her private workshop, it felt better and intensely sweeter than anything else she had tried. A thrill rushed through her body at just the thought of it. The day was almost over, and she almost couldn't wait. The thought of her secret and private pleasure was enough to get her through the half hour of regular work-time she had left.
_____In the meantime, she sat down and read through printed-out articles on electromechanical engineering--articles printed up from a database in the city. It would seem intensely technical and boring to most. Dr. Sera was not like most people. She loved this material, this knowledge of small parts working in an orderly manner. It was related to the kind of pleasure she had.
_____When the work day was finally over, and Dr. Sera said her goodbyes to the other doctor and the nurses at the clinic. She walked along the slightly dusty road, shrubs and grasses planted along the sides. She waved waving to farmers and workers on her way back to her own two-story house. Yes, she was almost there. Her fists clenched in anticipation as she approached her front door--unlocked it with her key.
…
_____She didn't bother to change out of the clothes she wore at the clinic--the blouse, slacks and long labcoat. No, she wore this sort of thing when she partook in the kind of pleasure she was going to have--and had every evening to herself. The first floor of her large "house" was actually a studio-apartment setup, where minor experiments and projects were set up on tables. There was a bookshelf and some armchairs along a wall, but most of the area was occupied with work tables and machinery throughout the rest of the floor space.
_____On the first floor, instead of going to one of those tables or sitting down in that armchair, Dr. Sera first made sure that all of her doors were locked and that most of the lights were out. She walked towards one of the brick walls and pressed a sonic remote-device to a certain brick. Something clicked, and she was able to slide aside what was actually a phony section of wall. Smiling, she stepped into a dark space--closing the phony section of wall behind her.
_____Only when she was inside did the lights come on in her secret space. This hidden workshop was only slightly wider than a closet, yet it was as long as the house and as high as the first floor. She had raised stools set in front of three work-tables, each table with a lamp over it. There were also lights along the wall to display what this private workshop was all about.
_____Guns…. Lots of guns. This place was all about guns. Wall to wall, mounted and arranged, there were all kinds of such projectile-firing weapons. Rifles, pistols, submachine guns, every category of portable projectile armament was here. All of them worked and had ammunition. And all of them were carefully and sweetly crafted by Dr. Sera's pleasure-driven fingers.
_____She loved guns--holding them, using them, and making them… Especially making them. There was something intensely wonderful about crafting the mechanisms and the bullets, making them able to quickly glide through long barrels to shoot out and destroy things from a distance. They were so powerful, so wonderful… She liked to touch guns, to hold guns, to fire them! But that was only the culmination of a more delicious ride--that of making them.
_____One such project was already underway. Dr. Sera took up a toolkit and sat down at one of the work-tables--one with parts all over it. Following schematics she had drawn by hand on grid-paper, she slowly and carefully fit pieces and parts together. She measured slides and joints, then soldered them together. Not all of the parts were whole. These came from parts smuggled in on the heavy freight trains from the city. She used them to make her own creations, sometimes from components she had to craft herself.
_____There were no visible clocks in this place, and there were no windows. Also, the air ventilation was minimal. The close air was soon full of thick metal smell of metal-on-metal and getting warm. Lips slightly parted, Dr. Sera's face and neck were sheened wet with perspiration, her fingers working the tools that made this gun. Most of her body was stiff and still as her shoulders and arms worked, hands and fingers moving.
_____Her view of reality became restricted to just this and this alone. A steady river of pleasure was flooding her mind, making her feel good as she steadily made the gun. Parts went here and components went there. Measure this carefully and put that in carefully. Dozens of parts made bigger parts… Onward and upward.
_____Bz-z-z-zt! A small buzzer in here went off, indicating to Dr. Sera that it was nearing the middle of the night. She stopped working, her latest masterpiece nearly completed. It was going to be her most awesome project yet. It would not make a great deal of noise or make for much recoil, but the power and efficacy of this thing was to be nightmarish. Anyone or anything hit by the particle blast would face a horrible and graphic destruction that would make people run. Dr. Sera was almost afraid to complete it.
_____But there was no going back. She had to complete it. Every one of her projects were, subconsciously, leading up to this terrible weapon. And if she stopped, she would simply come right back to making it. Better to finish it now than in some unknown time in the future… The future. Funny how she should think of that, working with this gun. It was time for her to get out of here and upstairs. She would take a long and hot shower, put on a slight nightgown, then go to bed--feeling well-satisfied.
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3.
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_____ Six nights later…her latest labor of dark love was done. She was finally able to go out to the desert and test her compact gun--which she now carried inside a small and insulated case. Most all of the farm's buildings were shut down for the night, setting the compound in gloom, but the moonlight above made for light enough to see. She walked beyond the block of buildings where the workers and farmers lived, made her way along the road that went between the farm fields themselves--fields of tall food plants to the left and right.
_____The crops were so high that they made for dense forests of amber to the left and right. So tall, in fact, that no one could see past them unless they were sitting in a combine harvester or in a truck. They were mutant strains of rice and wheat, able to grow tall and fast in the desert heat. Whoever engineered the plants all of those centuries ago must have had access to excellent technologies--technologies which were probably obliterated and forgotten since the disasters…and the War.
_____"Haa-haa-haa…!" Someone laughed ridiculously loudly, braying like an animal. Thump! "That hurt!" went the man's voice in the field. "Do it again!" Thump! "Ooh, yes! Hit me harder, baby! This moonshine makes the hurt feel good!" Thump! Thump-p-p…! Thump-p-p!
_____Resuming her walk and clutching her case, Dr. Sera shook her head. Some farmers were in the fields, getting drunk off of something they brewed themselves. Mr. Lionel frowned on farmers staying up too far after dark and drinking to excess, but what could he do? Dr. Sera didn't like to drink; drinking made her want to hurt people. Thump… Thump… Thump…
_____With the sounds of blows and laughter behind her, walking along the road, she finally came to the edge of the farm itself. There was a sharp border between where the farm fields ended and where the desert wasteland began--right here. The dusty road cutting between the crop-fields stopped at a sharp edge and so did the square crops. Beyond this edge was a thin strip of browned earth that met the hard-pan ground of the desert itself. The cool moon overhead shone down from a huge sky, the wide-open panorama of land beyond.
_____Out here, there was a vast and open wasteland flatness--slightly rolling brown rises in the far-off distance. The flatness wasn't empty; there were some shells of burnt-out bandit vehicles and unworkable chunks of alloyed junk that were so tough that they couldn't be recycled and re-worked at all. There was one piece of large junk in particular that she was interested in…
_____A minute or so of walking brought her out to a long and blackened vehicular shell--the windows busted out and the tires gone. Yes, this would be an excellent target to test her weapon. Kneeling, her lab-coat flapping around her in a sudden breeze, she opened up the case she had been carrying--lifted out the compact weapon that was inside.
_____Her newly created weapon resembled a very simple, very small, and very dark pistol--small enough to be covered up by an average man's hand. All over, the little thing was sheer black and compact, able to be held in one hand. It was so simple in design that it looked as if most of the little gun's body was made from a single chunk of metal--even the trigger guard being square. Though the dark pistol was very small and toylike, it weighed six pounds.
_____Dr. Sera exercised regularly, but she did not eat as often as she should--making her a rather slight woman--her thin arms straining a little to hold up the weapon at arm's length. It felt good and solid, holding the compact little gun. This was months of work built on years of experience… And now she would fire it.
_____There was a sheen of perspiration on her forehead, reflecting moonlight, as she took aim at the vehicle. It didn't matter where she aimed or what object she aimed at; the results would always be the same. Holding her breath, she sque-e-ezed the trigger…
_____Fa-woosh… A deep orange flash of heat and light flared across the space between the gun and the burnt-out vehicle. The results were horrible and frightening, yet amazing to watch. An eerie and glowing orange haze briefly washed over the junked vehicle, consumed it. Then the haze began to fade.
_____Once the orange haze faded, Dr. Sera could see that the entire bus had disappeared--just faded out of existence. There seemed to be nothing left of the big junked vehicle, not even a pile of rust. Other than a slightly odd smell of burning in the air, there was no sign of the piece of junk ever having existed.
_____This gun, it worked! It could make things…disappear... Nothing material in this universe could stop its concentrated blast of wrong-spinning tachyons. And once the flashing blast struck a material object, it would soon cease to exist… Nothing could stop its shot: not armor, not walls, nothing.
_____She stared at the dark little weapon, a weapon that was heavier than it was big. If this heavy little gun fell into the hands of someone with her knowledge, someone unscrupulous, then there would be more of them made. No one would be safe. A half-dozen of these dark pistols in the hands of bandits, and whole cities could soon cease to exist. Buildings, factories, vehicles, and people… They could be dissolved and destroyed with just shots from this. And because the gun's microfusion energy supply could last as long as a star, there would be no end to the obliteration.
_____It would be the end of the world all over again, like what happened during the disasters and the War. Except, this time, there would be nothing to rebuild this world from. It would be all her fault… All her fault. Just because she had a sort of secret mental sickness that made her like guns more than she liked men or other women. Now, her private and secret pleasure had culminated in the creation of this.
_____Holding the heavy little thing in her hands, she felt tears coming to her eyes. She didn't want to destroy this world! So long as her brain held the knowledge to make the weapon and so long as she liked guns the way she did, there was always the possibility that this dark gun could be made again…and again…
_____No! She went to her knees on the hard desert grit. Tears were coming down her cheeks now, and her breath was coming in shaky little gasps. She almost thought of putting the dark gun to her own head and destroying herself. It would only hurt for a second, and then she'd be dead. But… What about her hidden workshop? And her notes? And all the other weapon prototypes? And the other things she had created? If she didn't exist anymore, then… So she put the dark pistol to her head.
_____She didn't have the courage to kill herself. She didn't want to die… Wiping her tears, she quickly put the compact gun back in the case and closed it. She stood up and made quick strides back towards the farm. In doing so, she passed through the smelly space where the burnt-out bus had once been--the hard dry ground slightly softer where it had been. When she returned to the farm, she knew what she had to do.
…
_____Most all of the lights in her building were on, blazing in the night through the uncurtained windows of the first floor. She took folders of loose-leaf paper out of her secret workshop and brought them out to the main cyborg workshop area, all the notes on projectile and energy weaponry she had written over the years. There was a furnace built against a wall for super-heating metals. The paper didn't stand a chance. All the notes? Yes, they were all done. She tossed in the dark pistol. An hour in the furnace, and its inner workings would be fused together--the power supply rendered useless.
_____Then she went to a sheet-covered table and pulled off what was hidden beneath. There was a table. Atop were two sleek cyborg female bodies of average height. The top-parts to the bald heads were off, the hair sets and tops set between the bodies. Their faces vaguely resembled her own…
_____Dr. Sera was saving these bodies for something special. One day, she was hoping her knowledge of artificial minds would be enough to duplicate the bio-chip technology that went into the heads of Zalemites. But all she was able to make was a simple and brutish electronic brain--set into ROM cards. She didn't want brutish and murderous minds going into such beautiful bodies with pretty faces and hair. So until she could create an electronic brain suitable, she would hold off on completing them.
_____In the meanwhile, she had put simple electronic minds in various other creations. She made simple androids able to perform simple tasks and some (less-successful) floor-cleaning robot-pets. One such simple computer-brain even went into a metal monster which she activated just once and never turned on again--the electromechanical monster now built into a wire-closet. Her secretly made robots were capable of understanding basic commands, and their memories were computer-perfect. Yet, there was something missing… They lacked personality.
_____Simple tasks… Now she knew what she would do. Dr. Sera went into her secret workshop and opened a closet. There was a simple metal android--resembling a man made from cubes of metal. She turned on its switch. "Follow me," she said.
_____The simple robot did as it was told, using its somewhat stiff walk to following Dr. Sera. It stood perfectly still when its chest-panel was opened--wires connecting it to a computer. Instructions flooded its electronic mind--entire volumes of knowledge about cyborg technology and human physiology--especially the human brain. It now knew how to remove a human brain, perfectly bisect the brain in half between the left and right hemispheres, then put the resulting halves through the chemical conversion processes that made them compatible with cyborg bodies.
_____With the robot standing by and the doors locked, Dr. Sera laid down atop a work-table. She had drank something that was already putting her to sleep. This way, she wouldn't be conscious when the robot systematically cut away her head and surgically removed her brain…
…
_____When the next morning came, bright sunlight spilling through the window, two young-looking female cyborgs were sitting in the upstairs living-space of this building--the very same bodies that Dr. Sera had not completed, now completed. Both were vaguely athletic in appearance, their metal bodies resembling form-fitting armor over sleek physiques. Their faces were the same, and so did their hair: long dark hair that flowed to hip-length. Not only were they physically similar, but these cyborg twins also shared the same mind.
_____Or rather, halves of the same mind. It was an odd and somewhat disconnected feeling… Each "twin" knew that the other was thinking the same way. "Hello, other-me," said the cyborg-girl at the left side of the table. "It looks like my plan was a success, right?"
_____"Yes, my plan worked," answered the one on the right side of the table, a smile on her equally pretty face. "If it hadn't, then we wouldn't be alive right now, would we?" Her dark eyes staring, she added, "Even better, I guess I forgot how to make that gun, huh?"
_____"Yeah, I only remember half of how I made it. Funny, I remember everything else… Hmm…" answered the twin at the left side of the table. She rattled her solid fingertips atop the table. "You know what? I can't just walk around calling you 'other-me.' Besides, I'm really you and you're really me at the same time. I think you should have a name."
_____"Hmm… Hey! How about 'Kyrie?' It's a pretty name… I always wanted a pretty name," she said. "And didn't I want the other-me to be named 'Hari' or something…? Harri? Hmmph… Eww! That's a boy's name! Never mind!" She put on an expression of disgust…before another smile lit up her face. "How about…'Harrah?'"
_____"Yeah! Harrah and Kyrie!" answered the other twin, the one now who would call herself Harrah. "When everybody else on this farm wakes up, I suppose I… No, we will have to explain to someone smart what happened to me--what I did to myself."
_____"Probably, only the people at the medical clinic would understand," answered Kyrie. "I mean… Like, wow! Has anyone ever done this before? People have been taking whole brains out and putting them into cyborg-bodies… People have copied brains and put them on bio-chips…"
_____"…But no one ever divided their own brain into two hemispheres and put them in two separate bodies," finished Harrah. "We do have some computer-circuitry in our heads to make up for missing motor-function knowledge and stuff, but we're both… Ha-ha…! We're both half-wits!"
_____"Ha-ha-ha…! Hey there, half-wit!" laughed Kyrie. "I guess we'll have to put our heads together on that one. Oops, too late for that! Now hush up, half-wit. I'm the smart one!"
_____"No… I'm the smart one!" responded Harrah. "Wait a second… I'm the pretty one, too… Even if you do have the same looks I do!" From then on, they were making horrible jokes like that up until they walked over to the clinic and told the assistant doctor and the nurses what had happened.
…
_____To the medical personnel, it was horrible and frightful, almost unbelievable. But sonic resonance scanning of their heads verified what the twins had told them. Indeed, their brains--their minds--were two halves of the same brain, augmented with some computer-chips. And the medical personnel swore to never tell anyone. They then built the lie that Kyrie and Harrah were twin daughters sent by Dr. Sera--who had escaped to the city with a bandit boyfriend.
_____Dr. Sera had children? Twin daughters? No one believed them at first, of course. But the information and answers they gave about their "mother" proved their story enough. And so it came to be. Harrah and Kyrie were daughters of the runaway doctor. They were living a lie, but loving it…
…
4.
…
_____"…Until now, " finished Dr. Sera. She kissed the top of the girl's head. The little girl in the doctor's lap remained awake after all, a half-empty glass of water in her small hands. She had also drank at least half a dozen glasses of water since Dr. Sera began talking. Geez, the kid must have a gallon-capacity bladder.
_____By now, the sun had set--many city lights outside. The hospital room was now illuminated with fluorescent lighting set in the ceiling. Normally, florescent light-tubes made for harsh lighting. But this lighting was softened somehow, making patients more comfortable.
_____"Now here I am, whole again," continued the doctor. "I have odd dreams every so often and the occasional…other problem, but I remember almost everything before I divided myself, unfortunately. Everything except the knowledge of that gun." Her eyes took on a sad and far-off kind of look for a while. And for a few almost-silent seconds, there was just the sound of distant machinery whirring elsewhere in the building--machines in other rooms and in the basement. "Well!" she finally said, breaking the silence. "So tell me, what do you plan on doing now?"
_____Just then, Aikasa frowned and eased herself out of Dr. Sera's lap--went to the water pitcher by Scotch's bed. She glanced at him, watching for harsh words, then walked with it out of the room. Scotch watched the girl leave the room, wondering what was wrong with her. Soon, there was the sound of water in the hall, water flowing into the pitcher.
____"I uh… Guess I'll have to find another job or something. I really don't want to go back to that Arena. They work with some dangerous stuff there, and accidents happen. Maybe I'll see if I can get some odd jobs or something…" He lowered his voice. "By the way, is something…wrong with her?"
_____"Wrong with…? Oh!" said Dr. Sera, maybe a bit too loudly. "I'll let her explain. We all have our faults. No one I know is perfect. We all have our own peculiarities and secrets nowadays. However, in Aikasa's case, she has been especially secretive to the point where it leads to introversion. A shame, since she has such a beautiful voice. Speaking of peculiarities, I really should tell you about the latter--certain aspects of having a synth-flesh type body."
_____Walking quietly, Aikasa came back into the room, cradling the pitcher in her right arm and yet another glass of water in her left hand. She eased the pitcher back onto the stand next to Scotch's bed, then stood near the wall and continued to drink water. Scotch also noticed that the girl's scarf had a damp look to it.
_____Dr. Sera began speaking in a lecturing, instructional tone. "As you have noticed, the body you have now has a very close resemblance to your original. The phenotypes… The exterior anatomy is all in place. However, it is not your original body. It is synthetic. You are now just as much a cyborg as any of the metal-bodied denizens of the land--if not more so. Everything but your brain has been replaced with synthetic materials, ranging from the resilience of your myogel muscle tissue and synthetic skin…to the rigidity of your titanium-alloy skeleton. Endo-skeleton rather than exo-skeleton.
_____"That said, there are certain things to be aware of. Your muscular strength is now six times beyond fleshie average, your agility is three times human normal, and your nutritional needs are radically reduced. Your body and brain have different energy supplies: While your body's systems derive energy from dual microfusion battery packs in your midsection, your brain obtains nutrition from a streamlined version of standard artificial organs.
_____"So yes, you are a cyborg. Yet you are not close to having the strength of a metal-type cyborg. Because the onus of your body's structural integrity is inside, you cannot take the physical damage of a metal-type. Also, your internal supply of nanobots is not as plentiful nor as effective. What I am saying is this: Avoid getting hurt, and avoid fights. It takes longer for you to recover from damage.
_____"You may go back to your job…after a period of initial readjustment to your body's properties. Just be aware of your new medical condition. And if you have any questions, you can come back to this building. Now if you'll excuse me…" She got up from the chair and turned to walk out of this hospital room.
_____"Huh? Wa'… Wait a second!" blurted Scotch, throwing off his sheets. Luckily, he was fully dressed in coveralls and shirt--with fresh socks as well. They had even washed his clothes and dressed him as soon as they had replaced his body. He tried to make a dash for the doorway …and tripped over his own two feet. Dang, Dr. Sera was right: his body was different, moved differently.
_____The beautiful red-haired doctor again turned to face her latest patient and long-time friend. "Hmm? You really should give yourself some time to allow your brain's motor cortex to adjust to your new body… What is it, Scotch?"
_____Shakily standing up again, Scotch asked, "You're just gonna leave? After all this? Me and my brother… We missed you, Doc! You did so much for the farm and everyone, did so many amazing things with machines and helped so may cyborgs." He put his hands in his pockets and looked down at the floor. "You even saved my life. Now you're going away again? I don't know if I can make it alone."
_____ She walked back into the room and stepped closer. Her right hand cradled a side of Scotch's face, a palm on one of his cheeks. "You poor man… I know it's going to be hard, as you have always had your big brother looking out for you. But you're going to have to learn how to stand on your own, to get started in the city. " She lowered her hand away from Scotch's cheek, gestured to Aikasa. "You wouldn't guess it, but Aikasa has learned to make it on her own: no parents or siblings to help her. She earns money singing, and now she lives in her own apartment. Worse yet, her medical condition makes her more vulnerable to certain physical hardships than most fleshies. So if Aikasa found strength enough to make it on her own, then so can you. Good luck, Scotch. We'll meet again…in one form or another. Now I must tend to other patients--new cyborgs, metal-types. By the way, the Arena picked up your bill. You can stay here for one more night."
_____Then Dr. Sera was gone. He watched her quickly step out of the room and turn right, going along the hall. Was he in love? No, it was something else… To him, Dr. Sera was the most amazing woman, the most amazing person, he'd ever known. She was technologically and medically brilliant, yet she had the personality of a kind mother and caring friend--all that, and had that kind of elegant beauty that made a person stare. Now she was walking away.
_____"I like her," said a light and beautiful voice. Scotch turned to look at the girl in blouse and shorts, her back to the wall. It was Aikasa's voice. "Dr. Sera is certainly one of the most admirable people in this city, the entire city," she added.
_____Scotch's attention was again drawn to the girl's red scarf. "Yeah, she is. You know what? Back on the farm, she had a kind of following with the kids. The adults, too. There were men all over the place who wanted her… Really wanted her, if you know what I mean. Some of the women wanted her, too. But she never seem interested in that sort of thing. Guess I know why, now. That gun-fetish… Hey, and what did she mean by that, your medial condition? Are you sick or something?"
_____This made Aikasa's green eyes open wider, the sound of a gasp coming from her open lips. A deep red blush filled her pale cheeks, a blush almost as red as her scarf. "Well, I…" Her eyes darted left and right as she seemed to be looking for an answer. Then came a look of resolution as she stood up, no longer resting her back against the wall. Holding her glass of water in both hands and looking into it, she whispered to herself, "I'm not going to be ashamed of what I am…"
_____Curious as to what she was talking about, Scotch watched as Aikasa went over to the night stand and put the glass of water next to the pitcher. She turned to face him, took some steps closer. With careful fingers, she loosened her scarf and brushed back some lengths of her hair with her small fingers--getting it out of the way. She then held her breath, tilted back her head to arch her neck, and lowered the scarf.
_____Scotch didn't notice anything peculiar at first… Then he did. Aikasa had a series of thin slits in the sides of her neck--three on the left and three on the right. There were networks of red and blue capillaries visible just beneath her skin, going to and from the slits. Yet there was no blood, though there was some water around the slits. Water…
_____ Aikasa quickly bowed her head and re-tied her scarf. "They are gills, allowing those like me to thrive in both freshwater and saltwater environments, however contaminated. Also, I do not have individual toes. And that is all that is wrong with me. I'm normal in every other way, as normal as everyone else!" she said, her voice rising. "I'm not a freak!"
_____ "Please… Calm down, Aikasa," said Scotch, seeing the hurt in the girl's eyes. With all of the pollutants and contaminants in the air, water and even the heavily processed food, mutations were as common as the flu. There were radical cases in which people were born as drooling, psychotic monsters with inhuman strength. But some mutations were slight and benign, like having purple hair or gold-colored eyes. Scotch actually knew a rather pretty city girl with that exact combination of odd-colored hair and eyes. Some fleshies tended to stay away from them, fearing that they would somehow contract the same genetic defects or have it transmitted to their unborn children. They're mutants…
_____"Dr. Sera said I'm not supposed to be ashamed, but it's so hard!" she said. "I'm really lucky she made this scarf for me…a really, really long time ago. It lets me keep my gills moist and live with normal people. But all the time, I worry about somebody taking my scarf, pointing me out and shouting, 'Mutant!' Like I'm something disgusting that has to be killed and thrown back into the sewers." Aikasa clenched her hands and stomped her left foot. "I hated it down there!"
_____"The…sewers?" asked Scotch. "No… No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't ask. My brother and I had it tough for a while, too. And let me tell you, we've done some pretty nasty things to get by. Out in the desert, I mean."
_____"Ooh… The desert," responded Aikasa, gently rubbing a side of her scarf-covered neck. She was no doubt imagining all of those long and dry landscapes, the burning sun overhead. Because of her need for affinity to plenty of water, even thinking about that wide-open wasteland was uncomfortable and a little frightening.
_____"But I'm not going back out there for a long while!" he said. "Nah… I guess I'm going to stay in the city. Find some jobs here and there, try to keep paying for the apartment my brother and me shared. Gonna miss him, though…."
_____Just then, a bald man in a tan-colored business slacks and jacket stepped into the doorway--his dark sunglasses glinting as he grinned. Aikasa turned to look. "Oh, it's Mr. Janx! He's my talent agent. Looks like I have to go earn some money for myself now," she said. "Sorry. I guess this is bye-bye for now, Scotch. Dr. Sera is special to both of us now, huh?"
_____Scotch nodded as he watched Aikasa leave with the quiet man she called Mr. Janx. Aikasa had such a wonderful voice. She must make a great deal of money from singing at restaurants and pubs. No wonder she had a talent agent, helping to manage what could probably become a busy career. As she and Mr. Janx also went away, he was left alone in here. It looked like he was going to have to get on out of here too, get back to his own life in the city. But there was nothing that could be done now; most all the repair businesses in the city were closed by now…
…
5.
…
_____"Mr. Scotch?" came the woman's call from afar. Scotch suddenly sat up in the bed, eyes wide. He saw a nurse in a surprisingly traditional uniform. It seemed that businesses run by the Black Market were restoring ancient styles of clothing in some places. The nurse had a rolling cart with her--some kind of sweet-looking red juice in a large cup and a few bars of enriched chocolate on a plate. It was a cyborg's breakfast: full of glucose. She rolled the cart next to Scotch's bed.
_____He took up the glass of juice and began to drink. Because his tongue was synthetic, the juice tasted a bit watery. The chocolate bar wasn't as tasty as he expected it to be for the same reason. But he found himself craving the stuff anyway.
_____"It's coming close to the afternoon," said the nurse, nodding towards the window behind Scotch's head. Outside was a fifth-story view of this blocky industrial city under a clouded sky, the gray-white light coming in through the window. "We were worried if we weren't able to rouse you. Your attending physician instructed us to keep close watch on you overnight." She leaned closer, squinted a little. "She said that you have a new type of cyborg body? Synthetic flesh? Gosh, you don't look like a cyborg. Maybe I should have this metal body of mine replaced with the kind Dr. Sera makes. A body that looked like my original one, of course. How do you feel?"
_____"I feel… I feel… Wow!" After having eaten and drank that meal, he felt great. His chemically converted cyborg-brain had just received a boost of all the fuels it needed to work for a while. And his body didn't even need food. After all, his insides were powered by two nuclear batteries. "You know what? Nurse, I'm going to get started in my life again!"
_____He climbed out of bed and put back on his work-shoes. Not that he ever cared that much about it before, but his feet had no smell. And he also felt a little dry all over. After all, his skin was synthetic. He wouldn't sweat anymore, probably wouldn't need to use a toilet anymore, either. For some reason, this made him feel less than human.
_____Ah well! At least he was still alive. "Nurse, could you tell Dr. Sera thanks? Thanks for the free body and all? I know the West-Side Arena picked up the bill, but thank her anyway. Well, unless you've got anything else to tell me, I'll see ya!" He gave a wave to the nurse and went for the door, a light carelessness in his step.
…
_____On the sidewalk at the hospital entrance, Scotch looked at the city. It really was around noon-time. The machine-buildings were humming and thrumming, while heavy trucks drove by on the streets. Most people were already at work. The only city dwellers around were some taxi drivers and truck drivers at open cafes. There were some men and women in dark business-clothes at that sidewalk café across the street and sitting beneath big umbrellas, but that sort of people were everywhere. Apparently, those were executives and enforcers of the Black Market. With Zalem's control gone, the once-underground criminal economy had surfaced and was now visibly pervasive.
_____Scotch, however, had no particular desire to have a conversation with members of the Black Market just yet. He had a small pouch of chips in his pocket, and maybe he would hire himself a taxi to get back to his apartment. He would just turn to the left like this, put his hands in his big coverall pockets like so, and calmly…walk…away…
_____Then he heard a whole gaggle of hard-soled footsteps behind him, occasionally interrupted by the sound of a heavy truck. There was no one else on this sidewalk, so that particular group must be interested in him. So he made his own steps go a little faster. The result was that those other footsteps sped up too. Hands still in his pockets, the beat of Scotch's footsteps increased… Then their footsteps sped up.
_____He knew full well who they were: his employers! Everybody knew that the Black Market always kept a close watch on all the mechanics in the city. A lot of mechanics tended to disappear too, taken to do whatever kind of machine-work the Black Market wanted them to do…. It was said that those mechanics were kept busier than Deckmens' brains, working in loud machine-places, fixing and maintaining the city's subterranean infrastructure, never again to see the light of day! Scotch liked seeing daylight, so he didn't particularly favor being caught by those coming after him.
_____Aw, heck, went Scotch. He took his hands out of his pockets then made a run for it. And… Yippee! Dr. Sera said that his synth-flesh body was better than a real body, but she didn't say that he was now this fast! The synthetic muscle tissue of his arms and legs were like powered rubber-bands, flexing and rebounding with amazing speed--his limbs almost a blur as he began to move.
_____He saw that he was getting to the end of this block, so he dashed across the street. There were some people sitting on the sidewalk, so he leapt…seemed to hang in the air for a long time, then came down--stumbling and shaking. Hot dog! The cyborgs looked at him for a while, looks of amazed p4shock on their faces: They'd never seen a fleshie jump like that before!
_____They just didn't know that Scotch wasn't really a fleshie. He turned and ran onward as the people in dark business suits. Yes, they were still coming after him. So he ran on. When he came to the next corner, he tried to slow down and run left… The trouble was, he was going so fast that his p4shoes screeched on the concrete when he tried to turn himself…. He was sliding right into the traffic.
_____Wham! The hard front grille of a particularly large truck smacked right into him, and Scotch went airborne. He came back down hard, landing right back in the street. Having worked around vehicles as long as he did, he had sense enough to roll himself sideways out of the street before any more vehicles could hit him. City traffic stopped for nobody.
_____After having rolled himself over the curb and up to the sidewalk, lying there for a second, he sat up. He realized some things. First, he realized that he was okay, that he had no broken bones--since his bones were now metal. Also, he realized that he had survived being hit by a truck! Dr. Sera said that his body wasn't as tough as a metal-type one, but he was tough enough.
_____Thump! Just then, a rather strong-gripping hand came down on his left shoulder--the metal fingers gripping into his myogel muscle tissue there. It didn't hurt, really. But the slightly angry voice kept Scotch still. "Your name is Scotch, I believe," went the male cyborg in the dark business suit. "Would you accompany my colleagues and I to a rather…personal business gathering?"
_____"Sure! Why now?" nervously blurted Scotch. The metal hand on his shoulder then lifted him to his feet and didn't let go. He was led up to a waiting van, and everyone piled in to the back. Doors closed, the vehicle then motored away from this place on the sidewalk.
…
_____Out here and far away, the city and its wall were a mile in the distance. There was a road that led into the city, leading up to huge concrete gates, but the gates were closed right now. No problem. They would just wait for the gates to open up some time today--or find another entrance. There were always ways to get into the city.
_____In the meanwhile, they could just sit here and badger this crazy old stranger in coveralls who sat outside this burnt-out bus. The vehicle was probably used for shelter against the heat, though there were no traces of soot or grit on the old stranger or on the blackened bus… As if the burnt out bus wasn't out here for long.
_____Jimmy looked up at the gray-clouded sky overhead. The weather was clouded over and cool. It was seldom as cool as this out here in the wastelands. Soon enough, probably, there would be a rainstorm--a deluge. The dry earth would be awash with water for a little while, and then the water would be gone as quickly as it came.
_____"You playing or not?" asked Samantha, the green-haired cyborg-woman in a sleeveless jacket and boots--sitting at the new-looking table with five other bandits. For someone so pretty, she sure had a bad attitude and an even badder taste in clothes. "This guy here wants to play cards. And it looks like he's a real stud with that deck!"
_____"We'll play the game and I hope to sing them right this time," said the old stranger. Fwip-fwip-fwip… His old fingers were machine-quick in shuffling the deck. "I once knew the words, but I sang them wrong. I sang them wrong!"
_____"Whatever, old-timer," said someone else. "Just get to dealing the cards. We ain't got all day… Oops, never mind! We sure do!"
_____Standing a few meters away, Jimmy had the feeling that there was something…not right about all of this. The burnt-out, junked bus didn't seem to have any grit on it. That table didn't look as if it had been out here in the desert for too long. And that old stranger didn't have the look of a wasteland-dweller. In fact, nothing of the old stranger's setup looked as if it had been in the desert for too long.
_____"Yeah… Whatever, old-guy," said Belial--a bandit with old livid scars all over his bare arms and chest. He wore pants and boots for an outfit, often going without a shirt or jacket. How he kept from becoming a cyborg for this long and took the desert heat without much covering was a wonder, given all of the cuts and burns he'd taken over the years. "We gonna play this 'game' of yours?"
_____"Guess we'll count you out, Jimmy!" said Samantha as the old stranger dealt out the cards, six cards each. Samantha put her hands on the cards she'd been dealt. "What game is this? Spades? Blackjack? Or… Heh-heh, strip poker?" She leered, but the leer was replaced with a look of disgusted shock when she saw the kinds of cards she'd been dealt. "What the Hell kind of joke is this? I've never seen these kinds of playing cards before!"
_____"Screw it! Crazy old stranger, you just joked with the wro-o-ong jokers. Let's just kill 'em!" declared Belial. He put the cards on the table and stood up, his chair going tumbling backwards. Everyone there moved menacingly towards the old stranger.
_____ The old stranger shook his head and shuffled the deck again. Suddenly, there was a sheer gout of flame that exploded from the ground! The sudden blast of heat and light caused Jimmy to go tumbling backwards, bringing up an edge of his jacket to keep himself from getting burned.
_____When he looked up, he saw that all of his fellow bandits were…gone. The table was gone too, along with the chairs. The only one there was the old stranger with his deck of cards--a deck that was now smoking. "I tried to let them know… I knew the words…but I sang them wrong!" He shouted, "I knew the words!"
_____Then, as Jimmy watched, the junked bus burst into flames. There was fire all over it, more fire coming from inside it. The old stranger put the deck of cards in his left pocket and boarded the flaming vehicle, stepping into the flames. With its passenger aboard, the burning bus ambled away on melted rubber tires.
…
_____Back in the city, Scotch shakingly stepped out of the office-building. The Black Market people didn't rough him up or explicitly threaten his life. However, as they talked to him, they had their metal hands lightly resting on handguns atop the table. A female cyborg had both her hands on his shoulders--rather close to his neck. He had no doubt what those metal fingers could do to him, be he synthetic-bodied or not.
_____They politely told him that his employers at the West-Side Arena were worried about him. There was talk that, maybe, he was thinking about quitting his oh-so-important mechanic's job. The debacle involving the "faulty" cyborg body was troubling, but that was no reason to avoid returning to regular labor, was it? Because if he didn't return to his employer, maybe the Black Market would see to it that the mechanical engineering talents in his mind would be put to…other uses?
_____In other words, if Scotch didn't get back to work, he would be made to "disappear." Scotch didn't want to end up like all of those other mechanics who'd "disappeared" because of the Black Market. For all he knew, they chained mechanics in underground factories and had them work on machines. Or maybe they would take out his brain and attach it to a legless manufacturing robot--a living brain to replace hard-to-find factory computer circuitry?
_____Anyway, he was now heading back to the West-Side Arena. He had work to do. Sure, it was the place where his brother was killed and where he was almost made dead. But risking accidents there was better than being made to disappear.
