Jack Kilborn - Disturb

Faced with the ugly prospect of nothing to do, Townsend pulled the Hundai into a supermarket parking lot and weighed options. A frown creased his doughy face. He scratched at a spot on his glasses, pushed the comb-over back on his balding head, and tried to think of something to kill time until tomorrow.

Movies, and all forms of media entertainment, bored him. There was nothing to do back at the apartment; the little amount of time he spent there was for sleeping, dressing, and washing. Eating was a joyless necessity, usually something quick and convenient. His burgeoning stomach was a testament to this, but exercise bored Townsend as much as anything else.

The library? He needed to catch up on his reading; many of his subscriptions had run out, and prestigious scientific journals didn’t send you a little card to fill out as a reminder.

A search of his wallet revealed his library card was expired. To get a renewal meant lines and hassles. The library was out.

Museums? It seemed a chore to go into the city, search for parking, fight the crowds of school children.

He thought, enviously, of his computer at work. When the strain became too great, he’d play a chess program to help ease his mind. It was somewhat banal, and he never lost, but it was the closest thing to entertainment that he pursued.

Though efficient on many different operating systems, Townsend had never gotten around to owning his own computer. The ones he worked on were always vastly superior to home versions. But he knew that modern models had a tremendous amount of speed and memory, quadruple that of only a year ago. Was it time to join the personal computer revolution?

“Why the heck not?”

Computer stores seemed to be everywhere in the suburbs, and Townsend located one of the larger chains and went inside.

Four different salespeople approached him, and each time he shooed them away, annoyed at the interruption. He finally did require assistance after deciding on a model, and of course it took forever to find help. Such a burden, shopping.

After rebuffing pitch after pitch for accessories, Townsend allowed himself to be talked into two chess programs, each claiming to have beaten grand masters. He even felt a tinge of excitement, driving home with his purchases in the back seat. It wasn’t nearly as fulfilling as work, but these boxes represented a slight promise of challenge, something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

It took three trips to bring everything up to his third floor apartment. Badly out of breath, he needed a rest and a glass of orange juice before setting up his new system. His answering machine was blinking, but he was too preoccupied to notice.

Assembly was easy, and he didn’t bother with the instructions. The system had dutifully included a CD for free internet hours, but he decided to put that off until later. Townsend installed the first chess program, somewhat surprised by his new computer’s speed, and after familiarizing himself with the controls he began to play.

Within forty minutes, the computer was up a piece.

Townsend had to grin at the move. It was a brilliant one, a pin that forced him to give up his rook to save his queen. Townsend made the computer go back several moves, not to cheat, but to see if he could have prevented it. He couldn’t have. The program had planned it at least six moves in advance.

“Wonderful.”

He hunkered down and continued play, trying to be wary but thrilled at the possibility of being beaten.

It was only when Townsend began to squint at the keyboard that he realized the sun had gone down. He checked the clock and was surprised to see he’d been playing for seven hours.

The computer had beaten him three games out of six. They were tied in this seventh game, and Townsend was preparing a sacrifice that would lead to checkmate if the computer didn’t see it. The odds were slim; the computer saw just about everything. Unlike the chess program at work, this one could think several hundred moves ahead, and understood the concept of sacrifice for the sake of position.

He paused the game on his turn and ordered some Chinese food to be delivered. After a bathroom break and a splash of water on his face to keep him focused, he returned to the computer and made his move.

The computer didn’t take the bait.

“I figured you’d see it. Good one.”

A knock at the door. Townsend was so involved with the game that he never bothered to question the obvious fact that his food couldn’t have been there so quickly.

The man in the hallway was wearing jeans and a leather jacket. He wasn’t delivering sweet and sour pork or any other food. Most irritating of all, it was someone that Townsend knew, and happened to dislike.

“What are you doing here?”

“Hello doctor.” David grinned, his pleasure genuine. “I came here to kill you.”

When he saw the scalpel, Townsend’s annoyance puddled into fear. He took several steps back.

“This… this is a mistake. You’ll jeopardize the project.”

“That’s the point. Manny and I are sick of being guinea pigs. I think it’s made us somewhat unhinged.”

“Manny and I? What do-”

Townsend saw the slash, saw the blood, but didn’t feel a thing. He tried to speak and it came out in a gurgle.

David appraised the wound.

“The first cut is the deepest.”

When Townsend coughed, it was through the gash in his neck rather than his mouth. Things became blurry, and he fell over.

David closed the door behind him. He inspected the apartment, giving an empty monitor box a small kick.

“New computer? Nice.”

Townsend crawled over to his desk, reaching for the phone. He came up short and pulled his keyboard down on top of him.

“Careful, Dr. Townsend. You’ll void the warranty if you bleed all over it.”

Townsend began to pass out. He knew that if he did, he’d never wake up. He had to get the phone, had to get help.

“Do you want the phone?” David laughed. “What are you gonna do with the phone, Dr. Townsend? Your tongue is hanging out your neck. Maybe I can help.”

David knelt down next to him. Townsend felt his consciousness ebbing, the darkness closing in.

He was almost dead when David began to work on him with the scalpel.

Almost.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

The sheer amount of collected data impressed Bill, but not nearly as much as the content. Each document he read was more fascinating than the last. He got up from his sofa and stretched, his back crackling like a bag of chips. He took a sip of coffee. Cold.

The clock told him it was coming up on one in the morning, but Bill wasn’t ready to turn in yet. He plodded into the kitchen for another cup. He used three spoonfuls of instant, extra strong, and popped it in the microwave. The deluxe espresso maker stared at him from the counter, dejected.

The machine was Italian, a top end model. It had been their first purchase together, after moving into the condo. Kristen loved making lattes, and double cappuccinos, and espresso so thick you could eat it with a fork.

Bill turned away from it. The microwave dinged and he stirred some sugar into his coffee and went back to the sofa.

The log he was currently reviewing detailed experiments with rhesus monkeys. An early version of N-Som had kept a test animal awake for almost eight months. Bill wanted to find out how the experiment ended.

Day 236-Sam continues to act strangely, refusing his usual morning fruit. Vitals are normal, though his eyes seem a bit glassy. After discussing the situation with Theena, I order for a complete blood work up.

Bill reached for the next page, but there were no more in file.

He looked by his feet, to see if it any had fallen under the table. Coming up empty, he sifted through the previous pages, then the pages of several other folders.