Pilgrimage (Books and Echoplex)

[Inwiththebooks]

The clinic had a sterile appearance and smell to it. The floor and walls were spotless ivory and the light seemed to be just bright enough to make one uncomfortable. Five scanning tables were lined against the walls, humming gently with power and ready to be put to work at a moment’s notice. Cupboards lined the opposite walls, each filled with various chemicals, drugs, and syringes that were stacked in an almost obsessive neatness. It screamed artificial and was only one of dozens to be found through the Valiant. The artificial nature in this case was a lovely reflection of the attending physician.

Malik Al-Shraded was his name. Brown skin and sculpted features indicated Arabic decent from Earth. He was average height and slim of build, wrapped in a white lab coat, dark shirt, and a set of crisp khakis. A passing glance was all it took for most to guess he was a Fabricator, given that his left eye was replaced with intrusive cybernetics and his left arm was similarly substituted. The blue lens of his left eye swiveled slightly, examining a specimen in a Petri dish more closely. Dark hair was cut short and his face possessed a slight stubble to darken his chin.

His lens swiveled in the opposite direction as he brought the magnification out of focus to normal parameters. The man blinked several times as he readjusted back to twenty-twenty vision. With a slight sigh he scribbled on a label and moved the dish aside, turning his attention back to the clock on his desk. His next appointment would be in soon if she was punctual. The young man leaned forward in his seat and stared down at his cybernetic hand. The light caught the spotless metal and gleamed nicely, scattering reflected light through the room.

The senses of the appendage were still useable; he could still feel the cool table below his artificial fingers and the light tickle of the air vent close by. His neural link was advanced enough for that thanks to the woman who had programmed it. His control over it was as natural as his other arm though occasionally decay in the program would occur. Hence why his next appointment was waited on with equal parts anticipation and dread. A decay in the program would mean a couple of hours lost as the error was corrected. He was just hoping for a simple update to his systems and nothing more.

As a Fabricator he craved more of the cold technology upon his form, greedily advancing through the ranks of the order for more. His arm had been the first and then his eye. Malik planned on trying his other arm next for symmetry though that would likely take a couple of years. Such was the slow progression within the order so at the moment he was stuck with his two implants. He envied the Ascendants and their metal forms, all but immortal in their machine bodies. Perhaps one day he would join their ranks but today was not this day.

The commotion outside of his clinic was thankfully muted by the insulated walls. Finding a new habitable planet after a century drifting in the stars was a cause for excitement. 'Pilgrimage' was what it had been dubbed. The young man snorted as he remembered that little detail. Malik himself was intrigued as well but was not part of the talks among either the military or Fabricators. So instead of figuring out what this new world was all about he was stuck in his little slice of the Valiant. Just as well he supposed. He’d been born on a ship. Being on an actual world… the Fabricator did not feel ashamed to admit the prospect frightened him. All of that open space sounded overwhelming.

By the Ascendants where was that blasted woman?

 

[Echoplex]

Cigarettes were a commodity on the 9th flagship Lissom. Doctors—albeit ones borne of military origins—claimed that they were simply a vice and had no medicinal properties although many herbalists claimed otherwise. That was when recreational narcotics were reborn; a lovechild sired by marijuana and ecstasy. The cultivator was a comrade of Omorose’s and supplied her with a copious amount in exchange for routine check-ups. He was ill, ironically with lung cancer.

That particular evening she concluded her visit with a healthier strain of narcotics that heavily resembled a lone snow pea. They were small and easily concealed. In exchange Omorose was given her usual dowry, a hefty sum of heresy. It calmed her mind which was growing more and more frantic with the passing months. Fortunately the smell was reminiscent of sweet cinnamon and blackberry, easily mistaken for the incenses burned by the religious zealots choking the third level’s dormitories.

She traipsed into her clinic with her drug snug between her lips. The smoke was kaleidoscopic, like pure light slanted through a crystal, and the scent was purely cloying. With ginger eyes half-lidded she shrugged into her uniform. The day was long, full of routine visits, majorly by Fabricators that sought after firmware updates. In the wee hours of the morning prior she shared details of her upgrades with them—most flooded to her door before the clinic opened, anxiously waiting in line to receive her revolutionary enhancements.

For a moment, she glimpsed her reflection in an adjacent mirror. Omorose was tall, unusually so for a woman. Her body was hardened in her youth from battle, but since she adopted her new title, she had forsaken her muscle definition in exchange for wide hips and heavy, round breasts. Much to her dismay, her hair was unruly, but she often neglected it on account of her ritual misgivings. It was long, black and reminiscent of her Egyptian culture; she, herself, was swarthy-complected, somehow maintaining her sun-kissed radiance. Regardless, she was a roguish looking woman with half-lidded eyes, riddled in strange tattoos and a labret piercing below her lip.

“Malik.” Although Egyptian borne, Omorose was raised in South Africa during the annulment of Apartheid. Cape Town was her home and its dialect ruined her. Her accent was as thick as her eyelashes but not nearly as plush.

She blew a cloud of smoke through her nose. “I didn’t expect you to be early.” Truthfully, Omorose was late.

 

[Inwiththebooks]

Malik regarded his opposite with a look that was absent anything beyond a business-like demeanor. He was slightly annoyed at her tardiness but was willing to overlook the lack of punctuality. The smoke leaving her nostrils irritated him more than anything else. The smoke drifted slightly from her face before dissipating. Narcotics were a dangerous thing in his mind and he avoided them like the plague. He wrinkled his nose as he stood and smoothed out his lab coat. The Fabricator moved out from behind Omorose’s desk and gave her a polite incline of his head, for all his disapproval he respected her abilities.

“Omorose. Punctual as always. Shall we get this over with? I have my own appointments to get to today.” Malik said, his accent possessing slight traces of his Iraqi descent.

He was not blind to the unusual circumstances of their situations. He sought to escape the bounds of the flesh and yet was an expert on fixing the human body. She was the pinnacle of fleshlings and yet had great knowledge regarding technology. He supposed that was why Nascents and Fabricators tended to get along for the most part. Unlike most of his fellows who needed to pay for such upgrades he had worked out a special arrangement that took advantage of their balance of skills. A useful thing really.

His left optic swiveled a good bit as he examined the surface of her skin and up towards her eyes, seeing how they dilated. The narcotic substance irritated him medically as it would likely interfere with the examination later. He was not overly concerned she might get ill as her enhanced biology shrugged off most abnormalities in the body. Even still it showed a lack of forethought on her part. Malik clucked his tongue in displeasure.

“I see you ignored my advice regarding using narcotics. I do hope you are aware it will throw off some readings. Let’s handle this upgrade first so your body settles a tad.”

“Oh, yes. I’ll need to conduct a blood test this time as well. It has been six months since your last one.” Malik stated as though remembering an afterthought.

Nascent biology was essentially the same as normal human biology only it was much more robust. Malik prided himself as an expert of their biology and physiology so he also knew it came at a bit of a cost. Namely that the experiments to make them had not worked out every kink. Symptoms were wild and varied but most Nascent went through phases in their long life cycles and he was one of the few that could recognize the early signs.

“Why you insist on abusing your body so gleefully is beyond me. In any event, standard questioning is in order. Have you had any trouble sleeping lately? Migraines? Going to the bathroom frequently? Any chills when you wake up in the morning? Any nausea? Vomiting? Issues with balance? Frequent nose bleeds? Can you provide a full list of any alcohol or narcotics you frequently use?” Malik inquired, sitting himself down and going through the list of symptoms from memory. He approached this professionally and with a clipped tone, like going down a checklist. His lab coat and shirt had been shed and his cybernetic arm was full on display.

It was a marvel of engineering, part artificial arm and part artwork. The Fabricators crafted augments for their members specifically for that member, though certain firmware came from outside sources. The metal ended at his shoulder, ugly skin grafts melded with metal. Most did not understand the Fabricator philosophy nor did they wish to. Most were too attached to their flesh. Malik was not such an individual. He, like so many others in the order, tended to believe that only through technology could humanity evolve.

 

[Echoplex]

“Ah. Fuck off, pous.” Despite the angularity in her murmur, her cigarette managed to maintain the perfect balance between her lips. Malik was wont to harp on her for her often nonsensical machinations—she was 103 years of age, one of the oldest Nascents let alone human. She thought at this given point in time Malik would heed her superiority, but the man was too obsequious for his own good.

She grimaced when he warned her about the effects of her habit. Truthfully, Omorose could not expect someone absent Nascent genealogy to understand the manner in which her cogs turned. Her body outlived her brain which was steadily spiraling into oblivion. Her thoughts, she felt, were often not her own. ‘The Nascent transcend the mortal coil’ she recalled one of the zealots preaching, but rather, it was the polar opposite. It was her mortal coil that had transcended—she was a brain in the jar, hoping to ignore the goings on about her, but in her ignorance she found some semblance of truth.

“Sleep is fine.” It was mostly true. During her preliminary injections, an amalgam of melatonin was introduced into her system. It made sleep effortless; she need only close her eyes and her consciousness escaped her if she let the dark encroach. “Migraines have been fewer, but not altogether gone.” She cocked a perfectly curved brow. Malik was a madman as far as she was concerned. “Christ, Malik. I’m not pregnant. I’m too busy to go looking for a fuck. But, yeah. Heresy, three grams. I had a glass of whiskey last night and two percocets three hours prior.”

As he flitted down his checklist, Omorose circuited around a gurney in search of her own belongings. She collected an amalgam of intertwined fibre optic cables all tapered into several pins. The cord fed into her computer—she had several applications open, one being an IDE where she wrote the code for his firmware. As unscholarly and obtuse as Omorose was wont to be, she had some redeeming qualities.

She threw herself into a chair and spun around to Malik’s haunt. His cybernetics truly were a technological marvel. Gently she grasped his wrist, smoothing over the alloy with the soft pads of her fingers. “I’ve often pondered these, myself,” she mused aloud, guiding the cord into its groove. “Alright. Don’t tense, don’t flinch. Establishing initial connection … now.” She held his forearm in a gentle although firm grip, shooting a glance back and forth to the monitor.

“This is a big upgrade so it will likely take a bit.”

 

[Inwiththebooks]

Malik rolled his one human eye theatrically at her grousing, his lens simply swiveled slightly before returning to regular twenty-twenty. Nascent in general made poor patients in his opinion; then again his bedside manner had been rather wanting. He didn’t bother correcting her and requesting she refer to him as Doctor Al-Shraded. Her old age made her worse in his opinion than others. Once one reached one hundred and three years old one probably stopped caring overmuch about other opinions. Most of the eldest Ascendants were a little like that though in a more mechanical and logical manner so he just chalked it to old age. He was only about twenty five so he was used to such talking from elders.

He ignored the vulgarity she casually threw around. “Well, that answers most questions regarding sexual activity.” He noted, his tone dry.

“I’d recommend cutting back on both Alcohol and Heresy use. You’re going to ignore me of course but there’s the recommendation for the record. As for the migraines I’ll write up a prescription for some Propranolol after the examination.” He said as she drew up next to him to handle her upload of firmware into his implants.

Her next statement surprised him to some degree and he was unable to tell if she was joking or not regarding considering Cybernetics. He shrugged it off as mindless musings on her part and waited for the connection to be established. He felt as the cord was connected, a jolt of pain akin to a needle poking through the skin flaring up. Malik resisted the urge to flinch. It was one of the drawbacks of having a strong neural connection to his cybernetics. Most Fabricators forewent having feeling in their implants but he found it to have its uses, one of those parts of his humanity he doubted he’s ever shed. He could tell the firmness of Omorose’s grip, her strength being rather peak for a human.

“I hardly expected it to be short. Anyway. Finishing with the questions. Any blackouts? Memory loss? Blurry eyesight? Acute ringing in the ears? Pain anywhere in your body for extended periods? Stomach cramps? Irregular breathing?” Malik said, finishing his check list.

Once he finished he sighed, leaning back in his seat and relaxing. The cord ‘itched’ as it were. Not like an actual itch as he thankfully did not get those on his metallic bits but like something in the back of his mind. He disliked the sensation however he resisted the dull urge to tear the cord out and instead went over the procedure for Fleet standard examinations. They were fairly simple affairs, made a little more complex by the fact his patient was a Nascent.

“Hmm… I trust you’ve heard the news? The Ascendants have been in council for the last two days because of it. Personally I don’t see much fuss over this planet. Yet it has everyone in a frenzy, scrambling about as though something unprecedented is about to occur. Habitable or no, a planet is a planet. Just a bit of rock drifting in space.” Malik said, his attempt at a bit of conversation.

 

[Echoplex]

Through the colorful tendrils of smoke Omorose witnessed the console spew forth line after line of complex code. She squinted as if trying to part through the smog with her eyes. Initiation was successful, much to her elation. She inhaled smoke—it tasted strangely redolent of nutmeggy sweet-tea; the flavors lingered on her tongue and breath long after she snuffed the drag.

“I never ignore you.” Her eyes smoldered, reflecting her earnestness. “My choices, ultimately, are my own, but I take into account everything you say.” She lurched back in her chair. The monitor flashed iteration after iteration of code. There was one steadfast variable—a climbing percentage at the bottom, indicating the installation’s level of completion. “Know always, doctor, that there is a method to my madness. And a madness to my methods, so I’m well aware.”

She circuited around the gurney to her desk a second time collecting a dossier brimming with neatly stacked papers. “Patch notes.” She gestured for him to take it. As she did so, she watched on as his cybernetics began to assume a new form. While marginally different from before, the panels moved like the sides to a Rubik’s cube, assimilating its permutations in rapid waves. “You should find that your joint will have more mobility, now. The specifics are in the folder—dexterity, agility. All there.”

Her ethnic features balled up in scrutiny. “The Ascendants? Fokkenwil. Ek gee nie n’ fok nie.” She pressed her lips together. Even after all this time, her South African roots made her boughs quite apparent. There were very few people of Cape Town or what was left of Johannesburg that remained on their respective flagship. Afrikaans was a dying dialect; its death quickened, in fact, largely due to its profane nature. The Nascent faction was majorly composed of South African survivors but they were re-educated.

“Regardless. You are what the Nascent ilk call a brain in the jar. ‘Brein in die pot’, as it were. You know nothing outside of this metal prison—not the flesh of earth or the pallet of homogenized colors from the sky. They’re in a frenzy because for the first time in a little over a century they’ll get to witness what their ancestors raved on about in their death throes. Humans weren’t meant to live in these conditions.
”
The upload percentage continued to climb. “But, you and I … we’re human no longer. A planet is not just a planet either, you cynical bastard.” There was a shade of humor to her tone. “It’s not just a bit of rock drifting in space. However, I fear my verbosity is impotent. Perhaps you’ll see when the time comes.”

 

[Inwiththebooks]

Malik snorted at that response and allowed his counterpart’s program to work. When his cybernetics started shifting he felt a numbness overcome his artificial limb and eye as they reconfigured themselves. The downside was he was now half blind but that would only be momentary. The sound of metal scraping over metal ever so soothed his mind. The young Fabricator enjoyed his current state and even more so the new sensations that came with it. How anyone could be satisfied with a body of mere flesh and blood was beyond him. It was so very weak and fragile compared to the cool certainty of the machine.

His human eye narrowed slightly at her tone when speaking of the Ascendants. Her works were not fully understood but he doubted it was flattering. The greatest and oldest of the Fabricators, possessing only bits of brain matter to fetter them to the flesh; hence the title Ascendant. Within the fleet they made up some of the greatest minds and held a good deal of influence. Engineering and the fleet upkeep was mostly the domain of the Fabricators. Hence they had a big voice in politics. There were very few things Malik took offense to; slandering the Ascendants was one.

He allowed whatever she had said to slide for now and rolled his eyes at her old world thinking. “You are what the Fabricators call ‘old minded’. If the form does not fit the conditions then the form must be altered. If nature will not allow it then the matter must be in human hands. We must learn from the past but not obsess over regaining what was already lost. Such is the folly of man.” Malik said.

The man pondered the last bit of what Omorose said. Not about the planet but rather about not being human. He supposed that was true as he long ago had decided humanity was too weak in its current state. One day, perhaps, he would become like the Ascendants. A metal form mostly free from mortality and unfettered by human weakness. A good bit of him wished for this but still… there was always doubt. Doubt that perhaps there was another way and another method open to humanity.

“I have my doubts I will be overly moved by a planet. You and I value things differently. Where you see a metal prison I see a home among the stars. What I see as but a rock you insist to be more.” The doctor retorted as his arm assembled itself into its newer form slowly but surely.

“Once this is done I want you to remove most of your clothing. We’ll be conducting a physical before I take your blood and examine your brain fluctuations.” He said, his tone returning to its cool and clipped norm.