Jak Koke - Stranger souls

Jane slotted the plug into the shiny black panel on the deck, then pulled another cord from under the panel and snugged it into one of the datajacks on her skull. "Of course, the IC seldom ever hits me, and this is an easy run. We're just going to slide into the Fuchi star, Villiers' camp, to implant the fabricated identity of T.W. Saint John. You, my friend."

Jane looked at the dragon. "Ready for trance," she said. Proceed.

Jane stiffened slightly as Dunkelzahn entered her mind. He would see the Matrix through her, telepathically. It was almost like the dragon was doing the decking. Ryan felt his presence as Jane engaged the link.

Then he forgot everything as they fell through the neon sky of the Matrix. Free fall.

Falling and falling and falling…

Until the memory careens away in silence. Billowing

blankets of the softest silk caress him as he falls, nearing the rim. The event horizon of the blackout fringe. Over. Gone.

He regained consciousness slowly and with great effort. Even before he opened his eyes, he felt himself to be lying on a hard mattress, a thin foam pillow under his head. Rough sheets chafed at his raw skin. The dull ache of bruised muscles throbbed from his extremities, as if from a great distance. As if through the haze of pain dampers or drugs.

He rolled over slowly, carefully. Opened his eyes a crack, letting them adjust to the harsh white of overhead fluores-cents. Nothing of who he was remained. Even the memories he knew he'd just experienced were lost to him, drifting away from his consciousness like leaves in a breeze.

Who am I?

He sat up abruptly, wincing from the sudden pain. He had to see what he looked like. The light made him squint at first, but he needed to examine his body. Needed to check, for some reason he could not trace, that the sanctity of his flesh had not been violated by machines.

He threw back the white clinic sheets and looked down at his body. Human, male, with white skin, tinted slightly olive. He was solidly built and strong, but he could see that he'd been bruised recently. Purplish red splotches and webs of blood vessels floated under his skin.

He checked his face with his hands, finding himself unshaven, but generally intact. No broken bones, no permanent physical damage. Mentally, however, he was unsure. When would his memory return?

"Good morning," came a voice from above. A deep rumbling sound from the speakers, a British accent he thought he recognized. "I trust you feel better?"

He looked around the room for the first time. He was on a single bed in a small room that boasted only a small sink, the bed, and a bank of machinery along the wall next to him. In the metal facade of the electronics was a small screen, flickering to life.

The man on the screen was someone he had seen before. He knew it, but was unable to put a name to the handsome young face. The deep blue eyes, the curly dark hair, the confident smile-it all seemed familiar.

"I seem to be in one piece," he told the man on the screen. "Excellent."

He knew the voice to be the same as the one he'd heard in his dreams, a reassuring bass in proper English. The voice comforted him, made him feel secure. He trusted the man with that voice.

"There is one thing," he told the man. "I can't remember who I am or why I'm here. I don't remember anything."

The man smiled on the screen. "Worry not, my friend. Your memory will return over time. And for a while you might be confused, but that will pass. As for who you are…"

"Yes?"

"Your name is Thomas Roxborough. You're me.9' He sank back into the rough sheets of his bed. Yes, he thought, that makes perfect sense.

The Aztechnology cybermancy clinic was a squat, three-story block fortress, hidden in the jungle of northern Panama. Only those with connections and nuyen to burn could afford the services provided by the clinic's doctors and mages. Most of that nuyen went into research, and much of that research was aimed at solving one problem. Getting the clinic's major owner and permanent resident into a functional human body.

Today, the clinic's board room was small and cozy, its rectangular shape just large enough to accommodate the centerpiece-an oval-shaped, fake cherrywood table surrounded by high-back synthleather chairs. Thomas Roxborough saw the room from the video cameras, his rig interface sculpting the input from the three cameras and the room's microphones into a seamless composite-a 360-degree sensory perception of the board room.

Roxborough had become used to seeing the world this way. For the past six years his body had been confined to a support tank-a vat of saline and enzymes upon which his physical existence depended, controlled by computers and constantly monitored by technicians. He was barely alive; his own immune system had nearly destroyed him. It had only been his wealth and determination that had let him survive for so long. His massive funding of Universal Omnitech, and his refusal to sit idle and die without a fight.

At the board room table were Meyer and Riese, sitting opposite each other as they waited for Roxborough. Meyer was the mage-an elf man with a long brown ponytail, brown eyes, and a typically arrogant disposition. But he was

the backbone of the cybermantic procedures, so Roxborough put up with his ego and insubordination.

Riese was the scientist-a short human woman of remarkable energy and intelligence. Roxborough actually liked her because she was usually pleasant, content as long as she could perform her research. Riese had a pretty, round face and brown hair that hung just below her ears.

Roxborough activated the holoprojector so that he would appear in the chair at the head of the table. The two hushed their discussion as Roxborough's holographic representation solidified. His simulacrum looked nothing like his old body, from long ago when he was a corporate raider, walking around in the real world. No, this was the image he'd been using since being locked into his vat-a human, young and handsome with blue eyes and curly brown hair. He might have looked that way in his twenties had he not been so addicted to the rich delicacies of a gourmet diet and the exquisite taste of tobacco.

"Hello," he said to the others.

"Good morning, Mr. Roxborough," they said.

Roxborough shuffled through some holographic papers. "Let's get down to business," he said. The papers were unnecessary, of course, but he found that it put others at ease. Made them more comfortable with his simulacrum. "I have spoken to the subject, and he seems to be reacting well to the treatment. Is this your prognosis as well, Riese?"

Riese brushed a hand through her mouse-brown hair. "Essentially, sir… yes, it is. But it's too early to tell if his memory is completely destroyed. The laes did the trick, but we'll have to wait and see whether the synaptic remapping is effective."

The elf leaned in. "I think there's a serious problem with this subject," he said in a voice that was both condescending and effete.

"And what might that be?" Roxborough asked.

"His magic is extremely strong. His aura hasn't changed since the laes was administered. I just have an odd feeling about him. Even if the biology is effective, I'm not sure the cybermantic procedure will work on this one."

Roxborough looked at Meyer, focusing down on his face. The on-line voice stress-analyzer indicated that Meyer was telling the truth as far as he knew it; he didn't seem to have any hidden agenda for telling Roxborough this. Except perhaps to cover his hoop if the magic frags up.

The experimental procedure that would liberate Roxborough from his prison of macroglass and saline was a two-step process. Step one was technological-the subject's mind was wiped with drugs and his brain was remapped by implanting new memories. And also, according to Riese, retroviruses and trypanosomes were used to redistribute the synaptic relationships, strengthening some while weakening others until the actual neuronal map looked like Roxborough's. This step had worked on eight or nine test subjects and was almost routine by this point.