David Simpson - Post-Human Trilogy

“Paine neutralized Aldous’s MTF generator!” the A.I. warned. “If you don’t help him, Paine will terminate him!”

Craig struggled to his knees, his head bobbing from side to side like a punch-drunk boxer trying to beat the count. As he blinked his eyes several times, the picture in front of him began to solidify, and it became clear that it was Aldous, not Paine who was on top, preparing to deliver a death blow.

“You murdered my wife!” Aldous screamed in a guttural fury. His fist was cocked back and ready to strike, but Paine had managed to grasp Aldous’s arm at the elbow and was struggling to keep the blow from crushing his all-too-human skull.

It seemed as though it would be a forlorn effort on the part of Paine, his strength failing him in the face of the radiation poisoning and of Aldous’s overpowering lust for the ultimate revenge, but then superior technology began to trump the human advantages of will and determination. Though strong, Aldous’s prosthetics were made from a binding material that was hardened with a resin. In contrast, Paine’s prosthetics were carbon fiber, nearly impossible to fracture. As the two materials worked against each other, inevitably it was Aldous’s forgeries that began to show their inferiority. What began as a loud snapping sound quickly became a buckling, and Aldous’s right arm snapped at the bicep, enabling Paine to twist it, rendering the limb useless. Paine’s teeth emerged, a smile forming that revealed his sharp canines. His hand began to spin in its drill action while still gripping Aldous’s arm, causing the limb to snap off violently and throwing Aldous off of the Purist and onto his back. Paine pounced on him instantly, his left arm cocking back as he prepared to level the drill right into the center of Aldous’s chest.

Craig stood on rubberized legs, cognizant of Aldous’s impending demise, yet unable to command his body to respond. “No!” he choked out pathetically as he stepped forward on his unsteady legs and tumbled to the ground.

As he looked up to see the results of his failure, to his amazement, Daniella had leapt from the utter blackness into the fray, her scalpel still in hand, and expertly plunged the metal instrument into the back of Paine’s neck between the C5 and C6 vertebrae. Paine instantly went limp, crumpling down on Aldous, who tucked his prosthetic legs under the heavy body before propelling the mortally wounded man off of him and several meters away.

Daniella immediately went to Aldous’s aid, the prosthetic arm having been torn apart so violently that the prosthetic shoulder had wrenched gruesomely against the soft flesh of Aldous’s torso. Craig observed in near disbelief, his head clearing slowly as a soft whisper floated through the darkness toward him. He turned to his left and regarded the source of the voice—the broken cyborg from whom a faint light emanated, the pillars of LED light shining straight up into the darkness as Paine remained on his back.

“Doc,” his voice called weakly.

Craig walked slowly to the fallen figure whose head was propped up sickeningly by the silver stiletto of the scalpel. It occurred to Craig that the scalpel was like a pillow in Hell.

“Be careful, Craig,” the A.I. warned. “He has respirocytes, and his limbs are cybernetic. Even with his spinal cord severely damaged, he may be able to strike.”

“He won’t,” Craig replied.

“Craig—”

“I know, I know. This time I’ll be right.”

“Doc,” Paine spoke when he sensed Craig was near. “It’s okay. This is a better death—a good death. Remember, Doc. You’re a good man. Don’t let this war consume you…like it consumed me. Remember.”

Before Craig had time to absorb Paine’s last words, Aldous had knocked Craig aside, driving the drill action of his one remaining hand into Paine’s face, instantly liquefying his skull and sending a froth of blood in every direction. “Die, you son of a bitch!”

Something shot toward Craig and hit him in the left pectoral muscle before falling to the ground. He bent down to retrieve it and wiped copious amounts of blood from its surface. When the blood was removed from the ocular implant, it revealed Paine’s golden iris, still staring forward as intently as ever. Craig’s mental haze instantly vanished as he looked into the eye that seemed to bore into him, right into his soul.

“Hurry,” Craig said in a voice muffled by the living gray ooze that dripped from his mouth, nose, ears and eyes. The ooze was a mucous that lubricated the exit of the nans that carried the A.I.’s mother program from Craig’s body. The liquid seemed to form intelligent strings that grasped the open panel on the floor and quickly disappeared into the circuitry underneath. When the liquid stopped dripping from him, Craig sat up and blinked several times, wiping the remnants of the discharge from his face.

“Is it out?” Aldous asked, standing with Daniella, a meter in front of Craig.

“I think so. It’s not talking to me anymore. I think that’s a good sign.”

“Indeed,” the A.I. replied before appearing next to them in holographic form. “Now, this is an excellent holographic projection—much more convincing.”

“That was fast,” Craig noted, impressed.

“This mainframe, though enormously powerful, is relatively simple to navigate,” the A.I. replied. “I am already in the operator’s position.”

“Enjoying your new home?” Craig asked.

“Quite,” answered the A.I.

“What’s the status of the Purists’ armed forces and security?” Aldous asked.

“I am in control,” the A.I. replied. “I’ve neutralized the super soldiers’ onboard computer systems, along with all the computer systems on all their aircraft, ships, weaponry, and so on. I’m already locked into their communications and surveillance systems and I am in control of every system in the globe that is linked to the Internet.”

“Holy…so that means it’s over, doesn’t it?” Daniella asked, astonished.

“Not yet. There’s one more loose end,” Aldous answered before turning to the A.I. “Morgan. Isolate him.”

“Done,” the A.I. replied without skipping a beat. “He’s currently alone in the new oval office in Columbia Bio-Dome. I’ve locked the security doors. From his steady heart rate, I can ascertain that he is unaware of what is transpiring.”

“His heart rate?” Daniella reacted.

“The President is wearing a security apparatus that monitors his vitals at all times.”

“Not very Luddite of him,” Craig noted.

“He’s a murderous hypocrite,” Aldous replied. “I’m going to go have a little chat with him.”

“Craig, would you like to accompany Aldous?” the A.I. asked.

“Me?” Craig replied, surprised by the invitation. “Paine ripped out my MTF. I’m…useless.”

“Not necessarily,” the A.I. replied. “Your MTF is still functional and, it is on Paine’s body in the pocket of his jacket. If you wish, I can painlessly re-implant it for you. You’d be ready to fly in little less than ten minutes.”

Aldous grinned at Craig. “What do you say? I’ve only got one arm. I could use the backup. Would you like to be a post-human again?”

It wasn’t a difficult decision; after having had a taste of what it was like to have wings, having them clipped felt tragic. He nodded. “Yeah. Let’s do it. I wouldn’t mind having a little chat with the President myself.”

“His heart rate is elevated,” the A.I. related to Aldous and Craig as they streaked toward the eastern seaboard of the former United States on a trajectory controlled by the A.I. “He’s not yet panicked, however. He tried to exit the room and discovered the doors are locked and that the communication system is down, but he doesn’t realize the extent of his predicament.”