Cyber Dreams 2.24 - Science Fiction (Patreon)

My apologies for the cliff last time. This cliff is more gentle. If you don't follow Discord, I should let you all know I changed the scene in chapter 21 at the end where Rachel is speaking to WBD. It's kind of significant, so maybe check it out; it's the part after the hash mark. (#)

Happy to hear your thoughts :)

-Plum

Juliet couldn’t feel the drill when it started on her skull, and it was so brief that she almost thought she’d imagined the whirring sound and the echoing, grinding noises. She knew better, though—the surgical unit was just precise and fast. The noise stopped, and then she felt some strange pressure above her left ear, and then the agony began.

When Juliet was younger, during her teen years, she’d suffered from regular migraines. They’d come less and less frequently as the years passed, and she couldn’t remember the last true migraine she’d had—sure, she had headaches, but nothing like those. Those migraines had been different. Their harbinger were weird spiral sparkles in her vision; then, as her vision cleared and returned to normal, the pain would roll in, and nothing would help short of going to bed.

Whatever Violet and Dr. Vance were doing was worse; Juliet felt like her skull was splitting, and that something was squeezing her brain into a pulp. She wanted to scream, wanted to thrash and grab her head, but she couldn’t move, and that made it worse—if she could devise the worst torture to put someone through, she felt like the hell she was experiencing would be on the list.

Despite the paralytic agent they’d given her, Juliet felt her body begin to vibrate, found her breathing growing ragged, and realized she could no longer focus, couldn’t really see anything, and she knew her eyes had rolled back in their sockets.

“Juliet! I’m going to try to regulate your respirations and heart rate—I’m worried you’ll suffer a cardiac event!” Angel sounded hysterical, but Juliet could barely hear her, barely register her voice; it sounded to her like she was submerged in water and a massive propeller was revving up nearby. The agony rose to a crescendo, and then, blissfully, she lost consciousness.

#

“. . . yes, the structure is far more robust; tens of thousands of branches.” Juliet didn’t open her eyes when she heard the voice; it sounded like Violet.

“And the nanites are all inert? They’ve finished?” The second voice was new to her, another woman, older-sounding.

“That’s right; the array’s been constructed, and the leftovers have all passed through the blood-brain barrier; she’ll void them within forty-eight hours.”

While she tried to make sense of the words, Juliet took stock of herself. The pain was gone; she felt pretty good and wanted to open her eyes, but something told her to keep them closed, to keep her respirations slow and even. With her eyes closed, her AUI was vivid against the black; Angel hadn’t gone offline, but Juliet didn’t want to give herself away by subvocalizing, afraid they were monitoring her too closely.

“When can we start the assessment?” the second woman asked.

“When she wakes—there shouldn’t be any lingering effects; the latticework branches are nearly microscopic, and now that the extra nanites are out of her meninges, the debilitating pain should be gone.”

“Can we go ahead and wake her? I have three visitors from the executive suites who are interested in your progress.” While the woman spoke, something strange happened to Juliet—she saw an image of three men in dark suits sitting around a fancy opti-glass conference table, making irritated, impatient faces. One of them shifted as though about to stand up.

“Dr. Vance should be back any moment; when he’s here, I’m sure he’ll be all right with that.” Violet sounded nervous—pressured.

“Very well,” the woman said. “I’m going to make my way back to my guests,” once again, Juliet had the weird sensation that she was looking through a window into the conference room she’d seen before, “and when I get there, we’ll be watching the feed of the test room. You have fifteen minutes to begin.” The sounds of heels clicking on the industrial tile and a door opening and closing followed her words.

Juliet decided it was time to let Angel know she was awake. She subvocalized, “Angel?”

“Yes, Juliet. I sensed you waking but knew you were trying to feign sleep.”

“Of course you did. What’s going on? How long was I out? What did the nanites do to me?”

“She’s waking,” Juliet heard Violet say, presumably into a comm channel.

“You’ve been out for eleven hours. All of your vitals are strong, and I’m not sensing any brain damage. The nanites constructed a—nearly—microscopic latticework between various parts of your brain. It’s truly a beautifully complex design—it appears to be made from some sort of organic and metallic hybrid; I cannot identify it. Juliet, I’m sensing electrical impulses traveling along it—moments ago, a fairly large surge.”

Juliet opened her eyes and turned to where she’d heard Violet speaking. She was standing a foot away, perusing her datapad, her brows creased in concentration. “What the fuck did you do to me?” Juliet growled and tried to stand up, but her hands were still bound to the plasteel bed frame.

“Lydia! Welcome back! Everything went very well, better than we could have hoped. You’re exceedingly compatible with the compound.”

“I’m not going to repeat the question, but you need to start giving me some goddamn answers!”

“I understand you feel violated, tricked, even, but we’ve only done what we told you we would do—administered an injection of nanites that constructed a harmless latticework in your brain. I can’t tell you the purpose, or it may taint the upcoming evaluations . . .” She stopped speaking as the door hissed open, and Dr. Vance walked into the room.

“Aha! Our patient rouses. Wonderful, wonderful. Lydia, you’ve done quite well—we’re so excited to see how things turn out.”

“I don’t care if you call this shit harmless,” Juliet said, scowling and straining against her bonds. “It wasn’t! I’ve never felt anything so horrible; it was worse than getting stabbed through my lung—hundreds of times worse!”

“Yes, I understand. We had to have you conscious for the initial phase—the nanites needed to follow your synapses to the best contact points, and we’ve found that a waking mind is far more thoroughly mapped. We kept you conscious for as brief a period as possible. We’re terribly sorry about your suffering, Lydia, but the memory of your agony will fade, and hopefully, it will all pay off nicely.”

Juliet wanted to rail, to cuss them out, but she held her tongue. If she were too hostile, they’d never unbind her. Never give her any freedom. No, it would be better to play it smart; go along until they’d given her enough leash to get herself out of this mess. “I’m just . . . I’m just upset that you didn’t give me more time to adjust to the idea. I feel trapped.” She nodded her head toward her cuffs.

“Of course, of course.” When Vance spoke, suddenly Juliet saw, as though through a hazy window, an image of a terminal screen and a blinking icon that said, “Disengage Restraints.” Was she seeing what he was thinking? Was she seeing what she wanted? She couldn’t make sense of it, but then it faded as Vance continued speaking, “Violet, release her restraints. We need to move into the assessment room; people are waiting.”

Violet reached her hand toward the terminal attached to Juliet’s bed and touched it. A second later, her wrist restraints snapped open. Juliet had the urge to leap to her feet, smash Vance in the throat, and then choke the life out of Violet. “Time for that later,” she subvocalized, trusting that Angel would know what she meant. Instead, she calmly sat up and shook her head slightly, wondering at the lack of pain or discomfort. She reached a hand to her scalp above her ear and felt for where the drill had punctured her.

“We sealed the insertion point with bone gel and sutured your scalp with glue; it’ll be tender for a few days, but otherwise, you won’t notice the injury . . .” Violet trailed off as Juliet let her hand drop and turned, so her legs slid off the side of the bed.

“I have to use the bathroom.”

“Yes, of course. You were under nearly twice as long as we’d anticipated. We were getting ready to rouse you and, failing that, would have inserted a catheter.” Vance spoke like he was saying something positive, something reassuring, but all it did was irritate Juliet. She frowned and stood, a little wobbly at first but then feeling all right, other than the immense pressure she’d grown cognisant of in her bladder.

“Please do hurry; we have a tight schedule to adhere to.”

“I’ll pee as fast as I can, doc.” Juliet brushed past Violet, frowning down at the smaller woman, imagining she could ignite her flesh with laser eyes as she let her gaze linger on her downcast, demure expression. “Fake bitch,” she subvocalized.

“Juliet, I’m trying hard not to distract you, but I feel we should speak at great length about everything that’s going on!” Angel said as she shut the door to the restroom.

“I know, Angel,” Juliet subvocalized, then sat down on the toilet to relieve the pressure in her gut. “Priority one is figuring out what they did to me; then priority two is deciding if it’s time to bolt out of here or not. I feel fine, but I’m seeing weird things. Did you see anything appear in my vision, like on my AUI? I saw something weird, a foggy window showing me a conference room, then a few minutes later, I saw an image of the control panel on the hospital bed.”

“No. There haven’t been any anomalies in your retinal implants or on your AUI; I’m not detecting any strange data spikes or transfers. I did tell you the nano-latticework around your brain has been transmitting your brain’s electrical impulses, and they do seem to spike occasionally.”

“So. I wonder . . .” Juliet closed her eyes and, while she continued to urinate, perhaps the single longest marathon of peeing she’d ever managed, she concentrated and thought about Violet; she chose her instead of Vance because Juliet could visualize her beautiful amber eyes more easily. “What are you thinking about, Violet?” she hissed, concentrating.

This time, rather than an image, Juliet heard Violet’s voice, as though she was speaking softly into her ear: We need to lock her up. She should be in restraints.

“Holy shit! Is this science fiction?” Juliet subvocalized. “They fucking gave me psychic powers, Angel!”

“It’s very likely you’ve experienced some sort of delusion; you’ve been through a very trying experience . . .”

“No! I’m serious!” Juliet stood, and before she flushed, she glanced into the toilet and was alarmed that the water was dark gray. She shook her head and remembered what Violet had told the other woman—she’d be voiding the nanites for a day or two. “Okay,” she continued, subvocalizing while she washed her hands, “I scared Violet too much; time to play nice so they don’t lock me up.”

Juliet opened the door and, with a supreme effort of will, offered the two white-coated scientists a friendly smile. “Whew! I feel a lot better!”

“Ah, I’m sure you do,” Vance said, then gestured toward the door. “Shall we? We just need to go two doors down from here.”

“Uh, sure.” Juliet smiled and walked toward the door, then asked, “After you do your assessment will you be able to tell me what your procedure did, exactly? I feel totally normal.”

“Yes. We have a few baselines to run, then we’ll be able to brief you,” Violet said, daring a glance that made eye contact with Juliet. Again, Juliet smiled, nodding.

“Great.”

Vance opened the door and stepped out, and when Juliet followed him, she was surprised to see four corpo-sec personnel standing at attention just a few paces to the right, toward the elevators. “Those guys here for me?”

“We wanted to heighten security after we saw the success of your operation, Lydia. You’re very valuable to Grave now,” Dr. Vance said, and Juliet had a feeling his words weren’t just for her benefit. Who was he trying to impress? Who was listening to him? She also knew he was full of shit; those guards were to keep her in line, keep her from bolting.

Just as Vance had said, they walked two doors down the hallway and then stepped into a room very much like the first one Juliet had visited on B20; a white rectangular space with a table, four chairs, and a camera array in the corner. “Please sit here,” Vance said, gesturing to one of the chairs, then he and Violet sat on the opposite side.

“Sure,” Juliet said, still smiling like an idiot, and sat down, folding her hands on the table.

“Excellent. Lydia, do you remember the first assessment you had in our department? The one where you were supposed to guess colors?” Vance smiled and scratched at one of his sideburns. Juliet watched as little flakes of dandruff fell down to disappear in the white of his lab coat.

“Yes, I remember.”

“We’re going to do that again; Violet will look at a random color on her display, and you’ll try to guess what she’s seeing. How does that sound?”

“Sounds great! I’m starving, by the way; any chance I can head up to the cafeteria after this?”

“Oh yes, of course!” Vance jumped up and walked to the door, then he said, into the hallway, “Bring us some juice and a protein bar.” When he closed the door and sat back down, Juliet favored him another smile and a wink; despite her obvious—to her—attempts to force her pleasant demeanor, Vance seemed to eat it up, smiling back at her and fidgeting in his seat.

“I’m ready, Doctor,” Violet said.

“All right. Shall we begin, Lydia?”

“Sure,” Juliet said, closing her eyes and clearing her mind.

“Begin post-procedure assessment A214,” Vance said.

“The first color will display in three . . . two . . . one . . . begin,” Violet said.

Juliet concentrated, she thought about Violet, about her eyes, and then suddenly she saw it, not just a color but her entire vid screen. She saw a window displaying a square filled in with red, but she also saw a spreadsheet on which were dozens of names along with green checks and red Xs. Currently, her name, Lydia Roman, was highlighted, and there were two lines beneath it, a pre-procedure row with seven green checks and thirteen red Xs, and a post-procedure row with blank boxes.

Looking over the list, Juliet saw that most of the other names only had pre-assessment rows. Many had rows of mostly red Xs, but a few had five or more green checks. She spotted a name with two rows, Gabriel Massingil, and his pre-procedure row had six green checks, and his post-procedure row had nine. Before she read any more, Juliet said, “Red.”

She watched as Violet populated the spreadsheet with a green check, then she saw the red square pulse and then refill with the color red again. Juliet wondered, then, if she should be honest about her abilities. Did she want Grave to know how clearly she could see what Violet was seeing? Would it be better to have marginal gains like Gabriel apparently had? “What if they give me special treatment if I get them all right,” she subvocalized.

“Are you able to see the colors?” Angel suddenly asked.

“Yep. I think I could ace this test. Do you think I should?”

“Strategically, it would benefit you to some degree if they feel you are exceptionally valuable to their program. However, such status may come with reduced freedoms; they’ll likely want to keep you isolated while they continue to work on their procedure.”

While she listened to Angel’s answer, Juliet said, “Red,” and watched as Violet filled in another green check. She tended to agree with Angel; she liked the idea of not letting these creeps know what she could do. She continued to concentrate, watching what Violet was doing, and purposefully said the wrong color for the following three prompts. She could hear Vance shifting in his seat across from her and thought he was breathing more quickly, and then, to her surprise, she picked up his voice.

I’m fucked.

Some surprise must have shown on her face because Vance said aloud, “Are you all right, Lydia? After this test, we’ll get your snack in here.”

“I’m fine,” Juliet said, but then she heard another voice, this one more distant.

Am I supposed to knock? Did he want me to bring this stuff in there right away? Last time they told us not to interrupt . . .

“What the hell,” she subvocalized, “I’m hearing the guard outside, I think.”

“I’m detecting massive spikes of activity along the latticework, Juliet!” Angel replied, a note of strain in her perfectly natural voice.

“Black,” Juliet said, noting the correct color on Violet’s screen.

Thank God.

That time, she’d heard Violet’s voice, and close behind it, she heard: There’s hope yet, from Vance. Suddenly, Juliet realized she was beginning to sweat profusely, and then she became aware of a dull pain near the base of her skull, and it began to spread.

What’s wrong with her? The color’s about to change!

Juliet concentrated on Violet’s view again and said, “Blue,” again guessing the correct color.

Am I going to get fired over this? Oh, Jesus, here goes . . .

Suddenly a knock sounded on the door, and Vance shouted, “Not now!” More quietly, he said, “I’m sorry, Lydia; try to focus.”

I’m fucking fired . . .

Oh please, oh please, guess the right one.

“I’m concerned about the temperature in your head, Juliet; you’re exhibiting the physiological symptoms of a high fever.” Juliet found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on what Violet saw, and Angel’s words sounded distant and hollow. The pain in her head was beginning to throb, and, just as the color changed again, she felt a deep wave of vertigo and fell forward, smacking her forehead into the plasteel table and sliding out of her chair to sprawl onto the painted concrete floor.

“Goddammit!” Vance said, and Juliet was distantly aware of his chair scraping over the floor as he came around to take her hand, holding his fingers to her wrist. “Her pulse is thready, and she’s burning up! Didn’t we hydrate her at all while she was out?”

“Yes, doctor! I ran an IV!”

“Well, something’s wrong. Goddammit! We’ll need to reschedule. What were her results?”

“Four of seven.”

“Truly? Well, one partial sample won’t be enough. We’ll need to run more tests. Let’s get her recovered.” Though she could hear them speaking, it was strange—she had the impression they were far away and that she was hearing their words echoing up out of a deep well.

Juliet found she couldn’t open her eyes and couldn’t really move, and that’s when she realized she wasn’t fully conscious. She decided to stop fighting—her head was pounding, and she was exhausted; it was time to get some rest.