Christopher Nuttall - A Learning Experience

Kevin could understand. Healing someone was one thing, but taking out their brain and inserting it into a cyborg frame was quite another. He wouldn’t have wanted to give up sex and the other pleasures of being human, yet if he was facing certain death would he still make the same decision? And besides, Romford wasn’t quite on the verge of death.

Romford produced a croaking sound, drawing their attention. “What sort of treatments?”

Kevin opened his mouth to respond, but Mariko beat him to it. “We can heal you, to some extent,” she said. “Or we can transform you into an inhuman cyborg. You would no longer be completely human.”

What an elegant sales pitch , Kevin thought, sourly. But did they really want cyborgs?

Romford hesitated. “You can heal me?”

“You’ll be able to walk again, yes,” Mariko confirmed. “It may take some time for you to get used to it, but you’ll be able to walk again. And we can fix the other damage at the same time.”

“Then please do so,” Romford said.

Kevin watched as Mariko helped him into the tube — for all her slight build, she was surprisingly strong — and activated the medical system. There was a long pause, long enough to make Kevin wonder if something had gone wrong, then the system came to life, scanning Romford’s body. He shook his head in awe. Even under the best circumstances, no human treatment could eradicate the effects of those wounds. But for the alien autodoc it was all in a day’s work.

“There would be people who would pay millions for this kind of treatment,” he said, softly. “We could approach them and…”

“We will,” Steve said. “But the vets come first.”

“Yes, sir,” Kevin said. After seeing the residential home, it had become clear that they needed to reach out for other suitable candidates. With a little effort, and some computer hacking, they could create a whole charity intent on transferring wounded veterans to the ranch, where they could be teleported to the starship. “But there are others we also need to recruit.”

“You’ll be off to Switzerland next,” Steve said. “Don’t forget your passport.”

Kevin snorted. He’d have given his right arm for the teleporter while he’d been in intelligence, if only to avoid border controls and hazardous journeys across bandit-infested mountains. Maybe the Marines and the Rangers did more fighting — it was hard to argue that — but the intelligence officers were often in more danger. Kevin had been in places where a single word out of place would have ensured his death.

But Switzerland was a reasonably peaceful country.

“I won’t need it,” he said. “How’s Keith settling in?”

“Reading as much as he can download,” Steve said. “I think his fans are going to be a little disappointed this year.”

Kevin sighed. “They’ll tar and feather me if they ever find out,” he said. Glass’s fans were quite faithful. They wouldn’t forgive one of their own for taking their writer away from his work. “Did we get a few samples produced from the fabricators?”

“They’re ready,” Steve said. “Have fun. And just think of all the air miles you’re racking up.”

“You mean teleporter miles,” Kevin corrected. “And I don’t think they really count.”

“Probably should,” Mariko said, from where she was watching the medical treatment. “Have you considered the long-term effects of having your body broken down to energy and then put back together again?”

“No,” Kevin said.

“Nor as anyone else, as far as I can determine,” Mariko said. “If it were up to me, I’d have the teleport restricted as much as possible.”

“We need it,” Steve said, quietly.

Kevin nodded and left the compartment.

Bern, Switzerland

Kevin had always liked the Swiss. They were a mountain folk, like some of his own family, and they had a robust attitude towards personal freedom, gun ownership and maintaining their independence despite being surrounded by stronger and often hostile nations. Indeed, they actually were more democratic — for better or worse — than much of the Western World.

They also maintained a largely-secure banking system, despite the pressures of the War on Terror. Their reputation for discretion was everything, even though it worked against the forces of freedom and liberty as much as they worked against dictatorships and tyrannies. An African despot could have a Swiss bank account, crammed with as much foreign aid funds as he could loot from his benefactors, but so could his opponents. And they had far fewer pesky laws on technology transfer than the USA. Quite a few small computing businesses had moved operations to Switzerland in the last few years.

He stopped outside the building and smiled to himself. Wilhelm Technology was a very small firm compared to the giants, but it had operations in both Texas and Switzerland. On the surface, the technology they produced was made in Switzerland, allowing it to avoid export restrictions and government interference. If nothing else, the internet made it much harder to hide when something existed the government didn’t want its citizens to have. And then they could simply order it from overseas.

Idiots , he thought, sourly. Small innovative firms like Wilhelm had once been the lifeblood of the American economy. Now, they were often forced out of the market by paperwork and regulations that the bigger industries could simply pay lawyers to avoid. Maybe some of the regulations made sense, maybe they didn’t… but they collectively strangled the life out of the small businessman. In desperation, some of them had even started to outsource their production facilities to other countries. Many of the major industries were already gone.

He stepped inside and smiled. There were few people working in the offices; Wilhelm Technology’s factories consumed much of their manpower. The receptionist looked at his card and waved him to a seat. He’d expected a wait — most corporate big-shots preferred to keep people waiting, just to make their inferiority clear — but he was met within seconds. But then, he should have expected no less.

Markus Wilhelm had been a USAF Geek when Kevin had first met him, years ago. He’d never flown an aircraft and never would, not even one of the Predator drones, but he’d been extremely important, none the less. The fighter pilots might sneer, yet in an age of increasing technological development and deployment, the computer geek was often more important than the pilot. After he’d finished his first term, Wilhelm had taken his expertise and founded a company of his very own. And he’d seen moderate success since then. It would have been more, Kevin knew, if he’d been able to find additional capital.

“Kevin,” Wilhelm said. He was a tall, but slim man, the very picture of a geek. The glasses he wore, he had once claimed, were the same style as Bill Gates had worn before he’d become a billionaire. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Likewise,” Kevin said, as Wilhelm led him into the office. He couldn’t help a trickle of nervousness. All the other people he’d contacted for Steve — and the ones Mongo was collecting — were people who could disappear, if necessary, without being missed in a hurry. Wilhelm, on the other hand, would be very noticeable if he vanished. People would ask questions. “I was wondering if you would be interested in a business proposition?”

Wilhelm turned and frowned at him. “ You are offering me a business proposition?”

“Something like that,” Kevin said. “There is a piece of… technology we wish you to market for us. We would split the profits.”