Chapter 10
Josie was nervous. Here she was, going to see the richest man in the world, to an office in the top floor of the fifth tallest building in the world. An old warning her mother gave her about old men with deep pockets and the idea that everything belonged to them came to the forefront of her mind, but she managed to quell it easily enough.
In the fifty years that Isaac Sumdac had been in the business, he'd never been involved in that kind of scandal. Of course, that might just mean he was that good at hiding it, but still.
Shaking the less-than-pleasant thoughts, she approached the secretary. Or at least, she assumed it was a secretary. The short Japanese woman appeared to be in her late thirties and had, surprisingly enough, dirty blonde hair that looked natural. She couldn't think of any reason that a secretary would be tinkering with a robot though.
"Hi um… Dr. Nishigaki?"
The woman looked up from her work.
"Wow, I knew Sumdac had high standards, but this is a bit more than I expected," she joked, "even the secretaries need degrees huh?"
Dr. Nishigaki's mouth moved, but Josie couldn't hear anything.
"Umm, pardon?"
She rolled her eyes and pressed a button on a white pendant she was wearing.
"Sorry about that," she said in a whispering voice, as if she'd lost use of her vocal cords, "I had a laryngectomy when I was young and sometimes forget about my amplifier."
"Oh, um sorry."
"I'm just filling in while I fix the secretary," she said, ignoring the apology, "how may I help you?"
"I have an appointment with professor Sumdac."
Dr. Nishigaki tapped a few keys on her keyboard, bringing up the appointments schedule.
"Proffesor Sumdac, your five o'clock is here." She whispered.
"Yes, thank you Dr. Nishigaki. Please send her up."
"Go ahead."
"Thank you," she called out as she stepped into the elevator.
"MISS JOSIE BELLER, IDENTIFIED," said the elevator, "PROCEEDING TO. PENTHOUSE."
"Penthouse?"
She was there before she could process the implications. The door opened to reveal a cozy living room clad in different shades of green and blue. The treated concrete floor was dyed turquoise blue, a grass green carpet laid in front of a real fireplace (how he'd managed to get that in a tower was beyond her), and a dining area to the right.
"Professor?" she called out.
"Over here!"
Despite herself, Josie couldn't help but swallow as her mother's old warnings came back to the forefront.
Pepper spray in hand, she walked in the direction she'd heard the voice of the seventy-something year old man emanate from.
She saw nothing that would warrant the use of the pepper spray. Rather, she saw a modern kitchen with stainless steel appliances, a synthetic jade countertop, light-yellow cabinets, and a lab on the kitchen island.
"Miss Beller! I'm so happy you could make it!" he exclaimed as he stepped away from a microscope to shake her hand.
"Wouldn't miss it," she replied, covertly sneaking her pepper spray into her pocket, "what was it you wanted to show me?"
"First of all, what I'm about to show you does not leave this room," he warned her, "do I have your word?"
She couldn't help but gulp at his tone. In every show, exhibition, and occasional tour she'd seen the portly scientist in, Isaac Sumdac had always held himself aloofly, almost careless to the point of absentmindedness. A wealthy-yet-friendly man that at no time had seemed unapproachable or harsh or even socially adept enough to run the single biggest company in the world, becoming the single wealthiest man in the world in the process. She, like everyone else that didn't personally know him, erroneously assumed that Isaac delegated all of his duties to his long-time friend and underling, Porter C. Powell.
Yet the tone he used now was severe enough that it made her doubt the veracity of his friendly demeanor.
"I-Yes."
"Just so you know, verbal contracts have all of the validity of written ones," he pointed out, "it's just harder to prove them, unless you happen to record the conversation," he pulled a recorder out of his pocket, "I just hope it won't come to that."
With that, he turned to his makeshift lab, leaving the younger scientist to stare at the usually friendly man momentarily, before following after him.
"I trust you remember your… rather public failure with your Circuit Breaker project."
A deadpan glare was her response.
"Right, sorry, stupid question," he apologized, "either way, that demonstration is the reason I called you here."
"Isaac, it failed," she sighed, "I was wrong, I killed the test subject, and traumatized the dean's great-grandson."
"Oh, Daniel will be fine," he told her dismissively, "he'll need some therapy mind you. And I wouldn't expect any Christmas cards from Spike or Carly."
"Is there a point?"
"As you might know, one of the more… controversial? Yes let's call it that, controversial issues I delve into is the search for immortality."
"Yeah, I think there's a few cults out for your blood for that," she quipped before realization dawned on her, "wait, you think my research is the key to immortality?"
"Precisely," he confirmed as he turned back to his lab, "and you have no idea how close you got."
"Look, Professor Sumdac, I'm flattered, but you saw what happened," she pointed out as he turned back to her, holding a remote in his hand, "my research is a death sentence. A cell cannot accept a non-organic molecule without… self… destructing."
As she'd spoken, Isaac had taken advantage of her distraction to pull up what he needed to show her. A microscope slide of a small sample of tissue taken from the inside of his daughter's cheek. Due to her new diet of radioactive fuel, they'd correctly assumed that her mouth would be lined with a protective layer of cybertronian metal that would isolate her sensitive tissues from the corrosive liquid.
What they'd found was that some of Sari's cells had been modified to use the cybertronian alloys in place of a regular cell membrane. The meta-material's unique programmable nature made her tissues indistinguishable from regular skin at first sight, and even held under the scrutiny of her dentist, although he did notice the unusual nature of her cybertitanum teeth.
"That's- that's not possible."
"It's your creation," he pointed out, "you just don't know that your Circuit Breaker program is nothing but the surface."
"But- but how!?"
"Do you recall the Autobot's newest, and smallest, recruit?" she nodded, "Her name, is Sari."
"Isn't that your… daughter's…"
"As far as the world knows, a life was lost in the incident involving a living asteroid," he told her, "what they don't know is that the victim was not my ten-year-old daughter."
"That- that THING is your daughter!?" she exclaimed, "What the hell did you do to her!?"
"I did nothing," he replied calmly as he picked a hot pot of Earl-Grey and some cups and saucers, "she merely embraced her true nature… and destroyed half the industrial district in the process." He handed her a cup.
"There were eyewitness reports of people that claimed that the robot was actually a suit," she remembered as she stirred honey into her tea, "but no one could provide video evidence. Phones, cameras, even satellites were taken out of commission."
"A lucky side effect of the energy that coursed through her circuits," he pointed out, "the only one really. The Allspark energy aged her to an equivalent of maybe 15 or 16 years old, and now she's a lot taller than me."
"You're a meter sixty-five." She pointed out.
"Sixty-six thank you very much," he grumbled, "anyways, we're getting off track. I have always dreamed of reaching immortality, and now it is closer than ever."
"Sir, with all due respect, this is big. But it's not THAT big," she pointed out, "death is ultimately a human trait."
"Precisely," he told her, pointing at her with a spoon, "if it is because of our humanity that we die, then we need to be less human."
She put her cup down.
"What are you planning Sumdac?"
He smiled over his cup.
"Evolution."
Eight Years Ago
Beneath the Las Vegas skyline, blood and rainwater flowed down the drain.
"Shit happens," figured the source of the crimson fluid, wincing as he tried in vain to keep his life by pushing into the wound, "I just had to be the hero, didn't I?"
His uncle had warned him this would happen, yet he hadn't listened. The "Wrong Crowd" had swallowed him before he could blink. All he could think of at the time was sex, drugs, and rock and roll. A week later a gang, a mugging, and a shootout had left him in this dilemma.
And yet…
He was smiling.
He was free. Free of all that had bound him. Free of his dead-end job, free of the system that'd let him slip through the cracks, free of his teachers' glares, free of the automated society that had cost him his first job, and would soon be free of all pain.
He, however, had to admit to having a single regret.
He hadn't made it, he pondered as his fingers found the object in his pocket, not in the way he'd wanted to anyways.
All he'd ever wanted to be was a-
The sound of metal on concrete caught his attention.
He looked to his right, only for a can to fall near his left.
A garbage can in front of him shook.
The skittering began to surround him.
He turned one way and something sounded off on the other.
Where was it?
"Vell, vell, vell," said a voice, "vhat have ve 'ere?"
He turned sharply to the front.
Crooked and humped, the old man before him seemed to radiate distrust as he drummed his fingers onto his bag.
He couldn't see his face at all, though the man's spectacles seemed to glow an inhuman yellow color in the lamplight.
"Fuck off," he growled, "last thing I want is to hear some old man jerk off behind a dumpster before I die."
"Hah! Old? Ju haf no idea," he chuckled darkly, "ju're wounded? Lethally?"
"Yeah, I'm dying. Now leave."
He giggled, a horrid sound akin to nails on a chalkboard.
"Vut who sayz ju haf to die?"
"You a doctor?"
"Oh ja," he snickered, "I doctor, I fix."
"Fix huh," smirked the almost-man, "that's what got me into this mess."
"Yet ju're happy," he cackled, "I see it. It all over jur optics."
"Optics?"
"Vat if I say ju don't haf to die?" he asked, "Vat if I save ju?"
"I have a magazine's-worth of bullets in my gut," he snorted, "if you carry around a surgical table in that satchel of yours, be my guest."
"Of course," he grinned as he reached into his medical kit, "Vut! I only carry microscope. Is all I need."
With that, he ceremoniously placed an antique double viewer microscope on the ground.
"Of course you do," he snorted, right before a red beam emanated from the primary lens.
He yelped as the beam hit his wound, instinctively trying to run away from the device.
"Ju no move!" snapped the old man, grasping the boy's shoulders harshly, "Let me vork."
Frozen, he could only stare as the beam painfully cauterized the wound, striking just the right places until the bleeding stopped.
"Zhere!" said the old man, "Now, zis is und temporary fix. I suggest ju find doctor vefore ju die."
"You think I'd be in this mess if I could a afford one!?"
"Vell, no," he admitted with a malevolent grin, "vut zat's ze fun part. Ju see, left alone ju vould have vled out vefore ve could make deal. Now ju might take dayz to die!"
"Wha-! What the fuck!?" he yelled, "What kind of sicko are you!?"
"Ah, if only I had shanix for every time I heard zat," muttered the man wistfully, "vut alas, ze insults to my zanity are to remain unpaid."
"You crazy old crockpot!"
"Jes jes, I crazy. I hear zat a lot," he cackled, "VUT! Now ju haf choize. Ju can die a slow und painful death… or ju can come vit me und I get ju all vetter!"
"Nice choices I got," said the voice with a wince, a burning sensation was spreading over his gut.
"Zat is ze stomach acid eating ju from ze inside out," cackled the old man, harshly poking at the cauterized injury, "humans are funny. Zey can ve killed vy zeir own bodies."
The boy could only gasp in pain as the burning spread.
"Now! Vat do ju say? I can tell ju don't vant to die. Ju zink I offer zis to every dying bot I come across!? NO! Ju special!"
He grinned maliciously as he picked the teenager up and let him lean against the alley's wall.
"I make ju very special."
"Do I have a choice?" he gasped.
"Zat's ze zpirit!" cackled the man as he elbowed the boy in the gut, forcing him to fall back down in pain, "Now up! Ve need to get to zat car!"
He pointed at an antique Smart car the youth hadn't noticed earlier.
"Come on! UP!"
"You try standing with a bullet in your stomach!"
"Bah! Do not ve such a crybaby!" he groaned as he dragged the teenager towards the car, "Vy ze vay, vat iz jur name? I make it und point to know my vork partners."
"Darby," he growled, "Jackson Darby."
"Jackson? Jack! Jack ze Ripper! No, Ripsaw better. Ju und I vill get along just fine."
"Ripper? What?" he shook the fog out of his head.
"Ju vill see."
He guided the boy into the car and roughly pushed him into the shotgun seat.
He cackled as the rain let up just enough to allow the light of a single blue star to shine through the light-pollution of Las Vegas, reminding him of the steel-blue planet that once shunned his genius.
"JU'LL ALL SEE!"