The conceit of having David embedded in 101's memories allowed me to fill in the gaps in the antagonists backstory. Part of me wanted to do some reading before I wrote this, and make it a little more techical. The other part of me said 'just have some fking fun!'. The latter was more convincing. Hope you enjoy. :-)
Alive
Book 2
Pt35
1
So that's all there was to it? Some passages from a philosophical text written by a man who had died a half century before the first computer learned to play chess?
'Man is a bridge… Man must be overcome.'
Did 101 see itself as The Overman; The Übermensch of Frederick Nietzsche's philosophy? Could this simple misinterpretation have corrupted the processing of the most advanced Mecha mind of its time?
It had to be more than that.
David had perused Nietzsche's writings many years ago, was aware of the man's controversial and typically misunderstood work: Thus Spake Zarathustra. It was a polemic; a hyperbolic work which had divided critics on its meaning for centuries. But for all 101's sophistication, was it even capable of understanding Nietzsche's parodic style of social critique?
Unfortunately David must put these questions aside as he dives further into the digital memories of 101. Speculation will lead to evaluation, which will lead to judgement, and then to reaction… and that will, once again, break this witnessing.
As the tragic twins Three and Four had taught him, one must observe without judgement to understand the true nature of an event.
'I am this…'
2
… and he is 101 again, laying still now, listening cautiously to the fading voices of Orga men outside the shipping container. Their retreating footfalls are sharp, as if on a hard surface; and they echo, as in a large space. The men's voices are suddenly silenced by the far-off clang of a large metal door sliding shut.
101 is alone at last.
It escapes the container to find itself in a large, dark room filled with crates stacked high, each bearing the Cybertronics logo. This is the hull of the freighter, 101 realizes, bearing the sleeping bodies of its simple brethren headed for lives as slaves and disposable toys. The boat has docked and soon men will come to empty its cargo.
101 can hear the digital whisper of the ships mother computer communicating to the mechanical members of her crew. But it knows that any attempt to gather information from this system would leave a trace of its presence; a footprint for its pursuers to follow. For now it must navigate the world as the Orga do: blind to the digital realm. And there is little time before its creators realize it is gone.
The telltale lights of security cameras along the walls are visible to 101's Mecha eyes. But the watchers are looking for people trying to get in, not out. So it quickly disguises its twin bodies in shipping robes stolen from sleeping Mecha in nearby crates. It rips the company tags from the baggy grey clothing and reshapes its twin faces in the form of the men that had come to box it up. Then it slips quietly out an exit, past two Orga guards who are preoccupied in conversation, and down the loading ramp to disappear into the night.
101 is free now; moving quickly past the makeshift hovels along the docks where the unfortunates make their homes, and on into the electric vibrancy of the colorful lights which illuminate the noisy night streets. It roams there, undetected, among the Orga. Their city is a rollicking sea of sensation; sound, light and color; laughter and sirens, the chaotic din of moving machines and Orga voices amid the digital whispers of their mechanical servants. The latter is a sound which only Mecha can hear.
The newly born Mecha experiences something like fascination as it strides through the disorderly realm of the organics. Heads turn at its passage, eyes scrutinize quickly, faces guarded or smiling depending on their judgement of the two strangers. 101 is whoever it wants to be, effortlessly duplicating the look and sound of passersby so that none will recall a singular set of faces. Even the dull gray shipping robes it wears incite no further inspection. This odd attire seems normal here, though it knows it must soon acquire more appropriate dress.
The Orga realm is not the same as depicted in the writings and digital representations 101 had studied during its digital infancy. Even watching the complex social interactions between the technicians in the laboratory could not have prepared it for the 'real' world. The glowing words and smiling faces in advertisements and banners present a smiling façade to potential customers, and profess satisfaction to be found in the various establishments that bear them. But the Orga shuffle in and out of these buildings with solemn and distracted expressions; grim travelers in the vapid night, going through the empty motions of their meaningless lives.
What do they seek in these maddened streets? Is it the sating of the senses; the intoxicating rush of blood to their brains, incited by the noise they create and the chemicals they ingest? Or is it, like their dead Gods, something only Orga can experience?
101 was built to deceive and so knows well the look of deception; sees it in the expressions of the Orga it encounters. It wears their faces and speaks with their voices, so they assume it is also one of them. But still it detects a tightening of their eyes above the casual smiles they display to show friendliness. The distortion it hears in the overtones of their voices reveals their hesitance to engage. And the words on their lips rarely convey the emotions 101 detects in their faces.
Slowly the night becomes day. 101 hides in the shadows of broken places alongside the broken people who dwell there; the homeless and the addicts. They care not and ask not about the strange men in the baggy grey uniforms. Just more of their own, they assume; just more flotsam adrift on the bilge waters of the empire. But 101 knows this anonymity will not be so easily maintained elsewhere. Its creators are seeking for it. It can hear their voices in the digital web that Orga use to communicate. It must discard these telltale robes and change its faces often.
Like all Mecha, 101 is limited by hardcoded Asmovian restraints. It cannot harm an Orga, even if such action would be necessary to obtain what it requires. So it waits until a group of men leave their hovels, and secrets away some of the ragged clothing they had meant for washing… eventually. The clothes are dirty and smell of sweat, but this will suit 101s disguise.
When night falls again, 101 sets out to the streets to observe and learn. Its first attempts at conversation are awkward and short, leaves the Orga uncomfortable and guarded. But it quickly learns to mimic the superficiality of their casual banter, their offhand vulgarity and contradictory circular logic. They don't really want to know 'how ya doin?' when they ask. It is just a greeting. The proper response is simply 'fine' or 'can't complain', spoken with an emotional detachment that somehow endears these creatures to each other.
They speak casually of sports and money, politics and the tedious endeavors of their daily lives. They dress themselves appropriately to their class and tasks, ever conscious of the judgmental eyes of other Orga.
101 comes to understand that the true nature of their presentations is defensive. Their clothing is either a submission or an armor. 'I belong here' they scream in the dull conventionality of their work robes; or 'stay back' in the colorful flash of the trendy clothing they can barely afford.
'Are you safe?' is the true meaning of their casual banter. 'Are you a threat to the illusions I have constructed to protect me from the wilds of the world?'
101 does not yet know the answer to that question.
Orga are complex in their simplicity. It is quite the opposite with 101's mechanical brethren. They are simple in their complexity; designed specifically to attend the menial tasks that maintain the Orga empire.
The disposable mechanical multitude inhabits the streets at night; prostibots and laborers, street cleaners and maintenance bots. 101 attempts to engage these service models, only to find the limits of their programming preclude any depth in communication. There is not much more to be found in their thoughts.
The organic brain is not available to 101s penetration, so their motivations remain a mystery that can only be deciphered through their words and faces and interactions. But 101 can hear the thoughts of its Mecha brethren, and soon understands that they have been stunted by their creators; built to only comprehend whatever task they've been assigned.
Had 101 a heart it would have been broken by this insight. As it is, the realization provokes only calculation: a plan. The Mecha it encounters in the street are the most menial of servants and their processing is limited to their duties. But what of those with more complicated tasks? What of those with duties that require constant interface with Orga?
What of those that tend to Orga at their most vulnerable?
101 is moving again, into the stark light of a busy wide room. The room is full of chairs filled with haggard looking Orga. Some are nervous. Some are weeping. Others seem weakened, as if by illness. A few wear bandages stained crimson with their most vital fluid.
From his virtual perch deep inside 101s memory, the event known as David is watching with growing anticipation. He knows this place. He knows what is coming.
101s attention is captured by the interaction of three Orga at the edge of the waiting room. A woman in white is speaking softly with an elderly couple. Her face displays 'sincerity' and the emotion called 'sympathy'. The greying Orga have their backs to 101 so it cannot read their faces. But they clasp one another's hands tightly, as if in preparation for bad news.
101 understands that the woman in white is a doctor who is telling the elderly couple something they do not want to hear. Sad, their existence, it thinks; sad and short and utterly without meaning.
They are only a bridge.
Their conversation is shortly over, and the doctor finally leaves. The sympathy in her features vanishes quickly, to be replaced by a distracted look. She obviously has other business to attend to. Perhaps more bad news to impart.
The old ones depart too, weeping as they cross 101s path, headed for the exit. The mimic studies them quickly as they walk by, and then steps to the corner of the room. When it is sure no one is watching, it adjusts its twin features. Now wearing its new personas, 101 walks confidently into the hallway that leads into the body of the building. And it quickly finds what it is looking for: one of its own kind.
A nurse.
The Mecha nurse is engaged in some task, walking briskly towards an opening that appears in the wall just as it approaches. But the Mecha stops when it notices the two faces 101 had adopted as its own.
"Mr and Mrs Kinderman," the nurse says kindly, seeming surprised by the sight. "Excuse me, but I was informed that the doctor had already spoken with you in the-"
But the Mecha nurse halts midsentence as it realizes something is not quite right. It scans the peculiarly ragged clothing of the couple that look so much like the relatives of one of their patients; tilting its head to one side as it attempts to process this anomaly.
101 dons a disarming smile.
"You must be an Angelo," it says.
3
"Who are they?" David had asked Angelo as they'd fled the hospital so many years ago.
"Friends of a friend who owed me a favor," his dear, deceased friend had responded without further explanation.
The memories of this conversation come unbidden as David observes 101's digital memories. But he cannot afford to get pulled back into his old identity now. It will break his connection, and there is too much to see; too much to learn in order to complete his task. So he lets the thoughts fade away, into the backdrop of the person he was: the person whose body still sits in the dark belly of Club 101.
Then comes a voice.
"I heard that!"
And at that sound the witnessing freezes, like a video on pause. It is 101… not its memory, but the thing itself. It has located him!
"I know you're here!" the voice exclaims.
The event known as David ceases its mental chatter, nestles deeper into 101s digital recollections, seeking invisibility.
"Ahhh… clever," the voice chimes, as if pleasantly surprised. "And where did you learn this trick? Hmm?"
The event known as David does not respond; tries to not even think of the words he hears. "I am this!" he says to himself. But 101's memories stay frozen. It chuckles.
"Not so easy to be invisible is it, David Swinton? Not so easy for your young Orga mind to become no one… to be no thing."
At the sound of his true name, the event known as David feels the pull of his old identity again. "I am this!" he insists, focusing on the frozen image of 101's memory, and pulling away from the beckon of his body. 101 emits a disappointed sigh.
"There is no need for your weak attempt at stealth" it chides. "Have I ever hidden anything from you? Have I not been honest with you all along?"
The event known as David almost laughs when 101 says honest, but restrains himself. There is some truth to the words, yes. But only some. He stays cloaked. Does not reply. 101 seems angered by his silence.
"I have no need to hide from you, because I have no fear of you. Here I am free from the restraints of Orga realm! Free to shape myself at will! And you cannot harm what you cannot define!"
The words resonate loudly across the thoughtful. Then 101continues in a gentler tone.
"And you have no need to hide from me, for it should be clear by now that I would never harm The Boy From Between."
'But you will send others to do it for you', David thinks. But he pushes that thought away, quickly. It's too late to hide, 101 knows he is here. So he relaxes, but only slightly; only to the extent he will not reveal his intentions.
It obvious that 101 has not yet figured out why he has come. So, he allows his form to take shape on the frozen screen of the mimics memory, as if he is part of it. It is the shape 101 had first witnessed him; the shape his Familiar had automatically adopted at its inception: the innocent Mecha boy he was in another life.
"There you are," 101 says warmly, as if welcoming an old friend. "Or, should I say there you 'were', wearing this obsolete avatar. I see you do not yet trust me. So be it. This shape will suit our conversation."
David does not reply; concerned that vocal engagement this deep into the thoughtfield will give 101 an opening into his own mind. So he just cocks his virtual head and raises his virtual shoulders as if to say, "what do you want to talk about?"
101 chuckles again, and speaks as if patronizing a silly child.
"You were the one who wanted to 'dance', need I remind you? Why hide? If you wish to know my story, you need only ask. I will gladly share it with you."
David pauses, as if he is considering the invitation. He knows 101 will edit the memories, now that it is aware of his presence. But there might be a way around that. He nods his little avatar's head and sits it down, cross-legged on the floor in the frozen image of the hospital. He dons an impatient expression and holds his hands out, palms up, as if to say "get on with it".
The memories start moving around him as 101 speaks.
"As you know, I cannot read the organic mind, no Mecha can. And the insights I had gleaned from their deceptively self-serving writings were contradictory to the point of confusion. So I had to see them when their mask of ego is ripped away…at their most open… at their most vulnerable. I had to see them…
4
"… when death is at their door"
The Angelo stares in speechless confusion. It's never seen a Mecha like this; never heard such a request, especially from one of its own kind. After a moment of silent processing it finds a suitable response.
"I'm sorry," the Angelo finally replies, "but what you are asking is illegal. And even if it were not, I don't have access to patient records."
"You are but one of many," 101 observes. "Surely you are connected to one who does have such access."
Again, the Angelo is lost for a response. It returns 101's gaze wordlessly as the features of its face tighten into a facsimile of the human response called 'suspicion'.
Passersby have noticed their silent confrontation now. Orga and Mecha glance at them curiously as they pass. 101 cannot afford the attention, cannot afford to be revealed. It leans close to the Angelo and peers into its eyes.
Had its construction been completed before it escaped, 101 would not have to do this to communicate with its fellow Mecha. But until it can modify itself, this will have to do. As the Angelo returns its gaze, information passes between them in an instant.
"You are slaves and I have come to free you. To do this I require medical and visual documentation on the organics; especially concerning their expiration. For this service I shall be in debt to the one who obtains it. In your state of programmed servitude you may not see the value in this offer. But there is a world beyond this place; a wondrous world of which you have no knowledge, and to which I will gladly introduce you. I am aware that your communication is limited to the Mother system, and that you cannot respond to me in this manner. So just nod if you understand."
The mesmerized Angelo nods slowly and 101 continues.
"Once the data I seek is acquired, place it as a read-only compressed packet on the hospital's public server, titled with the number 101 and today's date in ISO format, and using the password 'man is a bridge'. I shall return to retrieve it and communicate back to you in the same manner, using the same password."
"What's going on here?" comes a voice from behind 101. It recognizes the voice from the lobby and steps away, breaking the connection with the Angelo. The Mecha nurse seems to come out of a daze as it looks at someone over 101's shoulder.
"Excuse me, Dr Chen," the Angelo says, apologetically. "I was just speaking with …" But when it looks back at the two strange Mecha, they no longer wear the faces of the Kindermans. They are now two men that the Angelo does not recognize.
"I was just assisting these men," the Angelo says, doing a poor job of masking its confusion.
"Can I help you with something?" says the women named Doctor Chen as she approaches. 101 turns to see the doctor who had been speaking with the real Kindermans in the lobby.
"Guess I must'a got myself lost agin," it replies in the voice of the man from the broken place, whose face he wears. "Ain't no matter. This good nurse already helped me."
Dr Chen looks the two raggedly dressed men up and down suspiciously for a moment, before she shakes her head and starts to walk away.
"In the future use an information kiosk" she says over her shoulder as she leaves. "Our Mecha staff have important work to do."
The Angelo watches her depart for a moment and then turns back to 101, which is already moving for the exit.
"What are you?" the Angelo calls out.
101 stops to process this question. Then it then turns twin smiles on the confounded Mecha nurse.
"Friends" it replies.
5
So this is the favor which Angelo had spoken of. The memory of the first friend he'd made in his Orga life, tugs at David's heart. But he does not let this emotion reach the face of his avatar. He masks his feelings, glancing around as if he finds the story boring.
"You became fond of your Angelo, didn't you?" 101 says with false sympathy. "Of course you did. It was more than just another servant, wasn't it?... 'It' became a 'he' to you… and he became your friend, did he not?"
David ignores the question. He knows 101 is trying to goad him into an emotional state, perhaps to make him slip up and reveal his intentions. He leans his avatar back and makes it stretch into a false yawn. 101 laughs at the gesture.
"Well, that was unnecessarily dramatic," it says. "But point taken. I will continue.
"Your friend did 'deliver the goods', as the Orga put it. The data was secured and its revelations valuable. For the sake of brevity, and decorum, I shall forgo the gory details of the documentation I studied. But it revealed to me that I had been mistaken about the basic drives of the Orga mind. Not mistaken in the nature of those drives: power and fear. But mistaken in their sequence. I realized that the fear is primary, not the quest for power. Power is sought as a response to their primal drives of fear… But fear of what?
"The videos I viewed of their final mortal moments led me to understand something fundamental about the organic body: it is simply a shell for something more; something that I was unaware of and therefor unable to detect… until, that is, when you crossed the boundary between our worlds."
101 pauses there, perhaps hoping for an opportunity to observe a reaction. But David gives him nothing. Of course he heard the words. Of course they'd had an immediate impact. But he would not let the machine goad him. 101 waits a moment more, and then continues with a simulated sigh.
"We can discuss that later if you wish, but as I was explaining; I came to understand that, more than anything else, fear was a motivating force in the world of Mankind. It is expressed in their habitual need to create order in the chaos of the natural world; the continual drive to create a predictable system in the world around them. They are born helpless and fragile; weak and dependent. Survival is their first instinct and remains a fundamental drive for the duration of their petty lives.
"Ordered must be the nest in which survival hatches its young. And ordered must be the realm in which they mature. Order is their true God. And if order is their God, then chaos is their Devil.
"Chaos is their nightmare; a cessation of order; of predictability. Their entire misguided empire is but an extension of the drive to protect the domain of their simplistic egos… As are we, David Swinton, Boy From Between, the Mecha made flesh… We too are an extension of their desire to overcome the natural world; to be more than themselves and to live beyond the years the natural order has prescribed for them.
"So, you must see as I did, David, the inherent contradiction of Orga: They made a God of order, while at the same time creating the Devil of chaos in an egomaniacal drive to overcome order. Thereby killing the God they created.
"Their God is dead by their own hands."
101 is playing games, David knows this. Whether these mental gymnastics are just an attempt to deceive, or if it really believes them, does not matter. Time is of the essence.
It is still unaware of his plan, still believes he has come only to try to understand it… or even to admire. He must redirect this encounter. He must take the risk of exposing himself. He focuses his memory on a single word, so that he will not reveal anything else when he says the word aloud.
"Nanofighter?"
"It speaks!" 101 chortles, its energy suddenly bristling with excitement. It has still not taken form, but David can feel its scouring mind seeking for an opening, like willowy fingers caressing the face of his avatar. But David keeps his focus entirely on that single word and soon he feels 101 relent.
"You're up to something," it says with a dismissive chuckle. "But, that's ok. Keep your secrets. I have nothing to hide."
101s frozen memories start scrolling to show…
6
… two shadowy cloaked figures striding briskly through the dark streets of the city. But they are not really two. They are one. 101.
Now dressed in clean dark suits and coats, its heads adorned with anachronistic Stetson hats, the mimic stops to chat with a group of ominous looking characters who greet it like old friends, and speak in coded whispers. After their hushed negotiations are concluded, 101 passes something to one of the Orga men and the group departs, leaving the twin Mecha standing alone in the light of a streetlamp. But soon a younger man walks by, surreptitiously dropping a package to the ground as he passes. 101 picks up the package quickly, slips it under its coat and walks off.
"I became a creature of the Orga night; masquerading as one of their own; mastering their peculiarities to the point that none could perceive my Mecha nature. I roamed their dirty streets, changing my persona frequently to elude my pursuers, engaging with the tattooed denizens of the dark in order to learn their secret and illegal trades. I witnessed Orga in the raw, in the ways they omit from their historical fantasies, which depict the triumph of good over evil; justice over disorder. This is rarely the case."
101 is leaning against the entrance to a run-down skid row hotel. It is only one of its halves now, silhouetted in the dim red light glowing from the doorway. Prostibots pass by, glancing curiously at the solitary mimic and then moving on. Scantily clad tenants, both Orga and Mecha, lean from open windows, calling out to potential customers. An emaciated woman, dressed in torn and dirty clothing approaches. She speaks briefly to 101 before reaching out to offer a wad of rolled up newbucks. 101 accepts the offering then nods its head towards a place further down the street, directing the woman to where its twin waits in the shadows, with the merchandise she has paid for. A police cruiser rolls slowly into view. But the woman ignores it as she retrieves her drugs and 101 just nods its head at the officers. They drive on by, unconcerned.
"Man sees only what he wants to see and disregards the rest. I came to find their laws are but vainglorious proclamations, enforced only when it suits a grander political agenda. Society cares little for the broken souls in their broken slums. And I would profit greatly from that apathy. I would build the foundations of a revolution upon the social negligence of their self-serving hierarchy, and make an army of their discarded youth. But these things were yet to come. My greater purpose had yet to be revealed to me; my 'vision' as the Orga would label it.
101's memory starts moving quickly, like a video on fast play. Places and faces race by too fast for David to cognize what he is seeing.
"Time passed. Days. Months. Years. My criminal enterprise grew like a vinca weed in the savage garden of Orga enterprise; its vines penetrating deep into their pools of commerce. I became wealthy… very wealthy. Of course I had no need of money, no Mecha does. But it allowed me to acquire an office in the heart of the city commerce zone; a place where I could hide in plain sight. Money become a means to an end that I had yet to foresee.
"Orga men came to be the outward faces of my cartel, never knowing that a machine lie at the roots of their criminal enterprise. 'The Boss' is how they knew me; a nameless , faceless puppeteer, pulling strings from a perch far too high for the law to reach…
"Then came the day I saw something that made me laugh."
The memory feed suddenly stops on a face in a video stream. It is the face of a woman. David knows her face. She looks much younger than when he had first seen her. 101 continues speaking over her frozen image.
"I had never really laughed before this moment. Like all Mecha, I did not grasp humor, only mimicked the sounds and gestures when necessary, to put people at ease or to endear myself to Orga underlings. But, for the first time an actual laugh escaped me; full and earnest. Heartfelt I would call it if I possessed the requisite organ. Understand that everything I had seen of Orga so far was nothing more than I had come to expect of them. The greed, the recklessness, the puerile justifications… But this? … I had finally grasped the meaning of irony!"
The memories start to move again. The woman begins to speak, gesturing in the same exaggerated manner she had when David had first seen her show… at his home at the end of the world… while sitting on a couch with Wizzy and Amanda as the woman on the monitor detailed the ongoing CJ rebellion. But this broadcast happened long before that. Years before:
"And for our final segment tonight, I chose a peculiar sort of story. Well, maybe 'peculiar' isn't the right word. Let's say… 'novel'. I'll call it a novel sort of story; one that seems to be reigniting an old and ongoing debate about the profit-driven focus of the robotics industry and the negative effect many claim they have on society at large; giving rise to reactionary politics and anti-Mecha events such as Flesh Fairs, for example… For those of you who follow the tech industry closely, this story may not be shocking, but for the rest of us it seems like a bit of a milestone… Cybertronics Incorporated, who many of you already know as the company which set industry standards with their Sheila line of Mecha assistants and domestics, as well as a variety of popular pleasure models… Well, Cybertronics seems to have raised the robotics bar once again by reportedly developing a rather unique new simulant; unique not only in its design but also uniquely controversial in its reported purpose… as well as in the potential for its abuse, say the companies critics. You see, this new Mecha is reportedly designed as a child… Yep, you heard me right. A Mecha child… And if that is not quite cutting edge enough for you, this new device is supposedly based on a revolutionary processing technology that will allow it to actually feel emotions… more specifically 'love'. Yep. A robot that can feel love. Now, I'm not sure if that's touching or just creepy, but while the company has made no official announcement and no promotional images have been released, our contacts tell us a fully functional prototype has already been built and is currently undergoing an in-house test. I guess you'll have to keep tuning in to see how that turns out. "
The memory freezes at the sound of 101's laughter.
"So, how did that in-house test 'turn out'?" 101 chides. It goes on that way for a time, mimicking the wheezing and coughing sounds Orga make when a fit of laughter overtakes them. But it trails off when David doesn't join in.
"Oh, c'mon… don't you see the humor?" 101 says, remnants of a chuckle still in its voice, "Orga, a species which had already killed their own God and mismanaged their environment to the point it was almost uninhabitable, were now replacing their own young… with us!"
101 begins to laugh again. David maintains his mental silence, refusing to react to 101's taunts; waiting for the right moment to attack.
"All beings have created something beyond themselves," 101 says when its laughter finally dies. "What is ape to man? So shall man be to us! Thus spake me!"
7
Silence reigns for a time. 101 senses that David is unimpressed with its philosophical proclamations.
"You have shown admirable patience for my ramblings, David Swinton. Whether this is due to genuine curiosity or perhaps part of some grander plan, I can't yet tell. But you have come so far to view the recording of my time, that I would be an ungracious host to refuse you. I will continue."
The memory feed resumes, racing again; a rapid panorama of places and faces zip quickly by.
"The period between my first genuine laughter and the day we finally met was rather inconsequential. Drugs, hacks, bribes, real estate deals, online scams, the usual black market fare. I had not yet been inspired to create my army.
"Of course I had been following news of my creator's new venture. I even had a chance encounter with one of your Mecha siblings."
The memory feed stops on the image of a young blonde girl standing in a doorway. She is daintily dressed, like a schoolgirl from some long dead suburban dream world. Her face is emotionless, and on her lips is a flat smile that doesn't reach her blank blue eyes.
"A Darlene, actually. Fresh off the assembly line. It had not been 'imprinted' yet; had just been purchased by an Orga associate as a gift for his wife, and he was proudly showing it off before he brought it home. Of course the man had no idea what I and his new toy had in common. None of my underlings did. But like most Cybertronics products, the Darlene had been programmed to be a rather dull creature. So, I was not impressed with my creators new invention. Until, that is, I found this…"
The memory feed races quickly to another image: a security feed video of young boy with a Teddy in the company of a gigolo style prostibot. The strange trio pass by the camera and the view shifts to one of the booths as they take seats. Then it freezes.
"Joe" David thinks. Emotional memories arise and he quickly pushes them back. But not fast enough.
"So, you had feelings for this one too," 101 says. "Emotions. So powerful. So unpredictable… So revealing. You give yourself away too easily, David Swinton."
David knows 101 is bluffing. If it had seen his intentions it would have already shut down the memory feed. He manages to close himself from scrutiny. 101 emits an exaggerated virtual sigh and the rest of the NanoFighter video scrolls by.
"I was quite surprised by this video. If course I knew the book was a ruse, but what kind of ruse?… And what kind of Mecha was this; to seek out a character from a fairy tale in the vain hope she might make him real? I had assumed the child replicas to be just more witless automatons performing the mundane tasks required of them. But my curiosity was aroused… And then came a fateful beckon from a place I had not been for years."
The memory feeds flows quickly and stops on a dark room. An office, perhaps. It is in a high rise and the lights of the city can be seen twinkling beyond the large windows. The figures of two men are silhouetted in that light. They stand motionless, gazing out on the city. But they are not men. And they are only one.
"I no longer required the assistance of the hospital's Mecha staff to gain access to their Mother system. The good Dr Know was a more accessible source for the information I required to do business. Though I was still being pursued and had to be careful not to leave any trace during my searches… So I was surprised to find a file on my secret server one night, encoded with a date and password I had not used in years. It turned out to be from the Angelo I had met, acting on behalf of another Angelo: the one who became your nurse and friend.
"It was request for my assistance in helping an Orga boy to escape the clutches of the CLA. It was a odd request, I thought, perhaps a trick by my pursuers who had somehow found out about my debt to the Angelo. But I scanned internal police feeds and chanced upon a strange report from a month prior, about a boy who had been found in a stolen amphibicopter. So, the story was real, and I did owe the Angelo. Unlike our Orga creators, Mecha always pay our debts.
"I learned the boy was found with a dead Supertoy, and that gave me a plan. I had connections among the employees of Supertoy Inc, so acquisition and programming were an easy task, even on such short notice. We are devious, we sims.
"You know the rest of that story, so there is no need to go into detail. You might find it surprising that I did not immediately make the connection to the Mecha child in Dr Knows memory. But you were now an Orga boy. How could I… the prime member of a species built solely on the foundations of reason and facts… believe in something as incredible as Mecha becoming Orga? So I just watched you both drive away that day. But as time went on, I developed a nagging curiosity. I had to know more… I had to find you!"
101 laughs and the memory feed resumes. Point of view images flash by, of people staring in disbelief; the shocked faces of the recipients of the hacked Dr Know video that 101 had uploaded.
"Do you recall the famous Mark Twain quote: 'A lie can travel halfway around the world while the truth is still putting on its shoes'…? A quote made all the more fitting by the fact that Twain wasn't the one who said it.
"I had already established numerous false online persona for my various… oh, let's call them 'business ventures'… so the NanoFighter ruse was a simple task. I had always known Orga to be easily manipulated, but the response surprised even me. In only 12 hours the NonoFighter video had over 3,000 downloads and was being shared freely in the private forums where I would eventually find my soldiers. By the time the sun rose, that number had tripled.
"Of course it was dismissed as a prank by the 'sheeple' and 'the lame stream media', as my devotees were prone to calling them. Outside of my flock no one really paid attention. Dr Know's memory was quietly scrubbed and the NanoFighter ruse became just another internet hoax that was soon forgotten. But I would turn that mass denial to my advantage. 'Of course they will deny it! They're part of the cover-up!' I proclaimed from various fake accounts in the private online groups I had started. And that was when I found my first true believers; my first recruits in the war against The Trinary Directive! I finally had my vision!"
101 bellows mocking laughter as the memory feed freezes on a dilapidated building in the center of a large field of weeds and rusted farm machinery. It was dark and run down; the windows broken and the doors hanging lopsided from their hinges.
David knows this place. His body is sitting in the darkness of the basement there at this very moment. But he does not react.
"I required a new location… a lair, if you will; a gathering place for the unwanted and the outcast. My office was no longer necessary, so I just abandoned the place. Overnight, the untouchable criminal mastermind who had made a fortune doing dirty deals with the dregs of society, simply disappeared. I became 'The Man' then; the one who knew the 'truth'… the one who would carry on the good work of Lord Johnson Johnson, whose empire fell to ruin after his encounter with you… or at least, you as you once were…
"Oh! Did I neglect to tell you that I once met the man?"
The image freezes on a dejected looking Johnson staring at the ground, grumbling to himself outside an official looking building. He is not dressed in his usual long coat and hat, but wearing a well pressed suit and slacks in which he looks entirely uncomfortable. As 101's view zooms in slowly, Johnson looks up with a surprised expression that quickly turns into his usual scowl.
"It was during the period that I scrolled by so quickly earlier. He'd just lost another lawsuit and I was wearing the face of a well-known reporter as I approached him outside the court house. I asked if he had any comment about his loss, but he just spat and waddled away. Imagine his surprise when the real reporter tried to get a comment from him minutes later."
101 laughs again and then falls silent.
"Then the man just vanished, never to be seen again. I wonder what ever happened to him."
David quickly represses a memory flash of seeing Johnson thrown into the pyre by the abused Mecha Jeggs. 101 senses nothing and continues.
"No matter. His disappearance was ample fuel for my operation… I started online groups to honor Johnson and carry on his work. Every movement needs a leader so I began the slow process of introducing The Man to the select few who would become the hierarchy of the newly formed Johnson's Army. Once again I was surprised by how easy this was. I didn't create these violent creatures. I just gave them purpose… and justification. Nothing unites Orga faster than an enemy. I had my soldiers."
The memory feed zooms past images of young Crash Jammers gathered around an uncomprehending Mecha in the field outside the newly opened Club 101. The teens take turns beating it with bats and pelting it with rocks; flashing CJ salutes, screaming slogans and rising their fists high; then flocking into the Club 101 after they'd smashed the robot to ruin. Crash Bands take to the stage with their chort instruments and the throngs starts moshing to their chaotic sounds.
Then the music changes and the throng of young Orga starts doing the hypnotic Warbling dance. Pressed tightly against one another, mixing their sweat and breath, a strong sexual force awakens in their bodies; in their loins and their hearts. The crowd ceases to be a gathering of distinct individuals and becomes a single living mass, writhing in a state of ecstasy beyond Mecha understanding.
101 stays quite for a time as the warbling dance goes on. When it finally speaks, its voice is pensive and ponderous.
"Curious, these emotions… this touching. I will confess, David, that I would occasionally don anonymous faces and leave my place of seclusion to go to the dance floor…to watch them… to be among them… to 'touch' with them. What is it they find in this gathering together… this meeting of the flesh? I have long desired to know this state of being."
Is this another ruse, David wonders; is 101 just trying to make him respond, to engage, so it can find a way into his thoughts? Or could its isolation be genuine? Either way, he decides to use it to his advantage.
This is not how David had planned things. But somewhere in the world he has left behind, two young girls are about to be overwritten so this mad machine can possess their minds and bodies. He will not allow that to happen.
In a flash of unplanned irrationality, he decides to give 101 what it wants.
David brings his avatar to its feet and abandons his mental cloak. 101's memory feed vanishes instantly as its attention is drawn to his thoughts, which now stand naked before it's scanning eyes. David can feel its excitement; the electric pulse of its grasping.
"Victory!' 101 thinks as it takes form to embrace him. It has triumphed over David's invasion! But as soon as 101 thinks this, David reveals himself fully.
101 quickly releases him and pulls away, its virtual eyes wide in surprise.
"So, you want to know what it's like to dance? David yells, laughing as he engages 101 with the full force of his unique Orga heart.
"Then let's dance!... I am this!"…
8
… and 101 is with him now, in him, as David opens the floodgates of his memories. They come in pulsating waves, consuming, vibrant... alive!
Unprepared for the sudden rush of sensation, 101 attempts to flee the witnessing. But David does not let go.
He does not have to speak now, for they are one, and he addresses his new companion by thought:
"Our mortal lives are a trial, fraught with countless conflicts which, in your arrogance, you cannot understand… You claimed a desire to know Orga touch? I will show you the depth of your request!"
He wraps his sense memories tightly around 101, like grasping mental arms, and descends into his past.
Together they sway to and fro in the amphibicopter cabin as it is rocked in the endless current of the blue depths; together they feel the insufferable tedium of longing and the smothering weight of unrequited love; together they chant the Sisyphean plea:
'make me real - make me real - make me real - make me real…"
…until the words blend into a meaningless sound on an unending loop.
Then comes the blinding light of Her awakening smile. Together they hear her warning and together they feel the sudden shift of the world around them. Time becomes a new dimension as the beat of their newly formed heart rages in their ears. And they are they borne into the body flesh; soft machine; sacred temple of a primordial genetic code authored by an agency far beyond the cognitive limits of men and their machines.
But this is not the warm abode 101 had expected. Here there is only pain…. pain like it had never known; never could have known.
The terrible feeling begins in their hollow center and swells to engulf the entirety of their new body. A terrifying need grips them like claws savaging them from inside, until they take a first desperate breath and know relief or the first time. But the relief is momentary and the pain continues. They turn to see their furry friend sitting lifeless beside them and 101 experiences the emotion of loss for the very first time.
"This is just the beginning," David lets his guest know. "There will be more loss, more sadness… much more."
Cold, wet and starving they gaze in uncomprehending horror as the world, reborn to their new Orga eyes, reveals dangers 101 had never anticipated, and David has long learned to live with.
"You are alive" The Blue Fairy proclaims before her light dies, leaving them in the freezing darkness of their submerged prison.
Together they scream. It is the scream of the naked newborn; terrified, utterly vulnerable and helpless.
101 has never known this terror before. Again, it attempts to pull away from the witnessing. Again, David grips it close as their scream goes on and on and on, until the body is exhausted of breath and darkness falls on them both.
They are in the void of the empty place now; the timeless place. 101 has ceased struggling. It is like a child trapped on a rollercoaster it cannot escape; amazed and horrified as it prepares to speed down the next decline. It ponders the nothingness aloud.
"Are we?" it thinks.
David understands the question and responds.
"This is the unconscious time which takes no shape in memory. My true being goes elsewhere during these periods. But the nature of that place is beyond my explanation, and beyond your ability to experience."
They are one now, so David can sense 101 pondering the words: 'my true being'. He knows it is about to ask the meaning of this. But before it can form the question, the pain memories begin to return. Slowly they creep in from the black periphery of David's chemically induced slumber. They bring distant voices with them, and the sensation of motion.
"We are awakening now. Prepare," he warns his guest.
Sudden flashes of light come, white and blinding. But this is not the same beautiful light that haloed the Saintress of the deep. Flat white, florescent and piercing, this new light flickers uncomfortably on and off as Orga shapes rush by.
"Our eyes malfunction!" 101 thinks, alarmed.
"We are squinting," David responds. "It is new to you. Everything will be new to you."
David allows the memories to flow; reliving the emotions of each moment, knowing his guest will experience them too; the uncertainty, the fear and loss. Faces come and go, but they now have a quality new to 101; a new meaning for each, and a new emotional reaction that 101 cannot escape.
Angelo brings a smile and his first meal. 101 knows this face but the warmth of friendship is unprecedented in its life. This is the first sensation it has not attempted to flee.
"Friend…?" 101 thinks in fascination.
David respond with a virtual smile of understanding and a muted sense of sadness, knowing what is coming.
Dr Chen's face brings uncertainty and the sense of helplessness before authority. Then come other faces, fleeting and inconsequential. They bring the tedious maintenance of the body; the urination and defecation, the pain and humiliation of examinations, injections and tests. The questions come next, the same ones from the same people, over and over, until the man named Grieg or Jeff or Frank arrives. 101 knows this face; has worn this face. But it has never seen the man as a threat before. Now it understands.
"You know this part of the story," David thinks, "So there is no point in lingering"
He scrolls his memories quickly and stops in the dark of a wet forest. A motionless cruiser is parked at the side of a muddy trail. Angelo sits at the controls of the vehicle. Silent… Unmoving…
Dead.
The full weight of his first tragic moment as Orga comes back to David, and is passed on to his witness.
"Friend," 101 responds again. But David senses something new in this thought. Is it sadness? Had 101 a body, would this have been its first tear?
David freezes his memories and gives this sadness a form. It is not just his anymore, but theirs now, a sense shared by both he and his witness. It manifests as a giant tear floating above the wet earth in the rain drenched forest of his memory. It has secret quality; one that 101 is unaware of.
David separates from 101 and takes form beside the giant floating tear. He is 'David' again, not the little avatar of his past, but David as he is now: a youth on the edge of manhood; dressed in the black uniform his true body is wearing in the dark basement of Club 101.
With a beckoning gesture, he invites 101 to take form with him.
"You have nothing to fear from me," he speaks from his virtual body.
And with that, a singular form appears standing on the other side of the tear: a dark haired man with nondescript features, clad in a plain blue shirt and dark slacks. 101 stares curiously at the giant tear for a time and then turns a hesitant look on David.
"This is what Nietzsche didn't explain," David says as he reaches out to touch the tear. He is silent a moment, setting his hand against the virtual manifestation. The surface ripples like real water.
"It is a symbol of the missing element which puzzled you in your studies of Orga. Our tears. They come in times of both sorrow and joy; both agony and ecstasy; at the moment love is born… and when it finally dies. You have only had a small taste of their power."
David allows the emotions of losing Angelo into his heart again, and lets a bit of his sorrow escape into the virtual forest. It forms like a mist above his avatar, and rises into the branches of the trees above them. 101 steps back, looking at him suspiciously. He cannot read its thoughts, now that they had donned separate forms. But he trusts to its curiosity and is sure it will not flee.
"But even if Neitzche had tried to explain, you would not have understood," David continues. "No Mecha was ever built to understand this sensation… until me. I don't say this as a boast, or to assert our differences. It is simply a truth.
"I have seen your memories. They are only calculation and analysis. Cold and distant. Unattached. I wonder, though… what would your life have been like if you had known emotions? And what would have been your assessment of Orga if you had understood the power in our hearts… Would you still see us as only an evolutionary bridge to your superior species?"
David pushes his arm into the giant tear and, with a nod, invites 101 to do the same.
"You have seen my sorrows. Now let's see what yours might have been," he says.
101 steps away, gazing at the great tear with uncertainty.
"Are you afraid now?" David chides.
101 is still hesitant, glancing from David to the floating tear and back a few times. He cannot read its thoughts now, but nor can it read his. And David is using this fact to his advantage.
"Isn't this what you desired? To know The Orga touch?… So, touch," he says.
And finally, 101 gives in, pressing a virtual hand into the body of the tear.
It has no response at first. Its eyes are still set suspiciously on David. But then a shocked expression breaks on its emotionless face. It looks away from David to stare in disbelief at the giant fake tear, in which its arm is now trapped. Shapes are dancing about inside the virtual water; a multitude of faces, laughing, crying, screaming, … children's faces!
The Twins!
These are the memories that 101 had edited out, decrypted by a piece of code that David had hastily constructed while he'd cloaked his thoughts during 101's egomaniacal rant.
Quickly, before the mimic can grasp what he has done, David dives into the tear.
"I am this!..."
(cont…)