Shadowsiege

Three

Three

Brice had been in Doctor Regas’ room too many times recently. Usually, the medic ran a lattice check every few months, and maybe booked a second appointment if he needed to make some minor tweaks. But Brice had been here every single day since that last mission. He even felt like he was getting to know Lynet, the doctor’s assistant. A couple of times she’d even smiled at him.

She did so again, as he opened the door to the outer room. “Brice,” she said, like she was checking his name off a list‌—‌and she probably was. “Doctor Regas is ready for you.” She held the door wide and waved Brice through.

He was always Doctor Regas, never Kerwin. The lattice specialist was old-school, always immaculately dressed as if he’d stepped from another time, even down to the tidy goatee he wore.

“Ah, Brice Carras,” he said, using Brice’s full name as usual, like it was a label and nothing more. “One of the most fascinating conundrums to present itself to me in many a year. So good to see you, young man.” His eyes dipped to Brice’s bandaged arm. “And you’ve been in the wars, I see. I understand from my colleague Doctor Kallis that you survived another close encounter with one of our creatures of the night. And all without a fully-functioning lattice.”

“Just a scratch,” Brice heard himself saying, and found his hand rubbing the bandage. “Turi says it’ll be fine.”

“And so modest.” Doctor Regas glanced at Lynet. “I suppose that makes this young man something of a charmer, hmm?” He smiled, and Lynet’s cheeks reddened before she turned to examine some piece of equipment by her side.

The doctor turned back to Brice. “Please forgive me. I can be an intolerable tease sometimes. But to business. We’ll run through the preliminaries, as usual. You still hear the sussurations of others, yes?” Brice nodded. “Yet you cannot communicate in return.” Brice shook his head. “And your body‌—‌you cannot read any data through your lattice concerning your functions?”

“None at all. Just like before, if I try pushing, it’s like bouncing off a rubber mat. And my lenses are still down.”

“Hmm. What if someone sends you data directly?”

Brice shrugged. “If it’s going in, I can’t read it.”

“And yet you’ve previously reported ‘feelings of warmth’, I believe you referred to them as, and you are convinced this indicates that your lattice is still active.”

“Correct.”

This was routine now, and Brice let his eyes wander around the room. Doctor Regas had moved the tilting chair so that it was side-on to the door now. Brice thought he preferred it as it was, facing the door. Better for making a quick getaway if the medic started messing about with scalpels.

“So we have no apparent change.” The doctor spoke as if this was what he expected. “Take a seat, and we’ll connect you.”

Brice sat, his body easing into the soft leather. He rested his head back, and felt cool air as Lynet slid the panel across and attached the pad to his lattice’s central node, at the base of his neck. The pad felt slightly moist, as did the others‌—‌one either side of his forehead, and a couple more on his chest. He thought maybe Lynet undid his shirt quicker than usual.

She returned to her station, and tapped at a screen. It had always seemed strange, to Brice, how so much checking of lattices was done through external tech.

“I believe we are prepared,” Doctor Regas said from some unspoken signal from Lynet. “Do you feel anything?”

Brice nodded. There was the familiar tingle of the feedback loop. Doctor Regas had explained this, vaguely, as an indication that the equipment was reading Brice’s lattice and body.

“Hmmm.” Doctor Regas rubbed one hand over his chin. “Preliminary stats are as I would expect for someone in your condition. Vitals strong, above normal for the injury sustained. The usual discrepancies. Yes, much is as I predicted.”

“That’s good, right?”

“That depends on my prediction, surely. To offer a crude example, the predicted outcome for a patient with a fatal wound is not good.”

“My wound is fatal?” Brice thought of those puncture marks, and he wanted to scratch under the bandage. He wasn’t turning, not like Cathal and the other infected, but he kept on expecting to see that black, leather-like hide start spreading from under the gauze.

Doctor Regas waved a hand. “Oh, please forgive me. I never meant that to be taken so literally. I only intended to highlight how predictions are merely an extrapolation from existing data.” He glanced at Lynet, who turned her back on Brice and prepared something he couldn’t see. “But improved predictions require a greater amount of data.”

“You want to run the tests again.” Brice sighed.

“That might be instructive, but I would like to push our understanding further. This procedure is not, I must admit, standard practice, but your case can hardly be described as standard, yes? It is unique, and so its study requires methods that lean towards the unorthodox.”

Brice’s concerns must have shown, because Doctor Regas smiled and waved a hand. “Oh, do not worry, Mister Carras. I assure you these methods are safe. We will be monitoring constantly, and have safeguards in place. And, of course, we will not proceed without your express consent.”

But Brice knew that was a formality only. If he didn’t agree, and Doctor Regas thought the procedure‌—‌whatever the hell it was‌—‌necessary, he’d over-ride Brice. Technically, the lattice belonged to the company anyway.

“You’re the expert,” Brice said. “Do whatever you need to.”

“I thank you for your confidence. So, we will begin. Without getting into the fascinating intricacies, I intend to push your lattice in an unconventional manner, and I would like you to talk through any and all sensations you experience.”

“You can’t take readings?”

“Of course. And they will be vital in our understanding. But I have certain theories, and to test these I wish to understand fully how you perceive what is happening. I feel it will be most instructive to monitor any differences between the actual effects of the push and your perceptions of them. Does that make sense?”

Brice shrugged. “I suppose. So you want me to talk all the time?”

“Precisely. Are we ready?”

Brice nodded. Doctor Regas raised one eyebrow. “Yes. I’m ready.”

That thin smile returned, and the doctor glanced to his assistant. She disappeared behind Brice, and he heard her clothing rustle as she bent down by his head.

“Okay, the back of my neck’s warm now. Not unpleasant. Kind of like a hand rubbing it. No, wait‌—‌the pressure’s lifting now.” He was conscious of the pads on his body, especially the ones on his head as he furrowed his brow. But there was one he could no longer feel. “The pad still attached back there? I can’t feel it anymore.”

“It’s fine, Mister Carras. You’re doing wonderfully. Just keep on describing everything you sense.”

Brice nodded, and the room swayed for a moment. Maybe his wound was making him tired.

“Okay. The warmth seems to be spreading, and‌…‌yes, it’s burrowing deeper. Feels relaxing. Like deep muscle massages.” He smiled. “You could charge a fortune for this, Doc.”

Doctor Regas raised one eyebrow, and only then did Brice realise that calling the man ‘Doc’ wasn’t normal. But the name had slipped out before Brice could stop it.

“The warmth is spreading round my neck. It feels a bit like hands now.” He shut his eyes. “If I concentrate, I can tell my heart-rate’s rising. Don’t know if that’s because I feel a bit nervous. Hands round my neck‌—‌that’s not pleasant.”

“You’re perfectly safe. Keep going.”

“Right. The warmth is spreading now, so it’s not like hands any more. It’s running through my body, and it’s growing weaker as it does so. And there’s something else. It’s‌…‌it’s like a message. Or maybe a signal. Seems to be searching for something. And‌…‌there’s pain now.”

“Describe the pain.”

“Just‌…‌pain. It’s not uncomfortable, though. More of an annoyance, like an itch. And it’s moving around. No, it’s settled. But‌…‌it’s hard to pinpoint. It feels unreal, but real, like a dream. Like when you know you’re dreaming, but you’re certain you’re not. The pain’s like that‌—‌there and not there at the same time.” He laughed. “This an illusion? A physical hallucination?”

“An interesting phrase. I may have to store that for future use. But please concentrate. We will push further now.”

Brice shouldn’t have heard that. Doctor Regas wouldn’t suss something like that and let everyone hear. Even with a functioning lattice, there was no way Brice could have tapped into a private link.

This had happened before, back when his lattice first started playing up. He had heard Cathal and Ryann in private conversation, as clearly as if they were saying the words straight into his ears. And since then, at odd times, Brice thought he caught phrases from those around. Sometimes they didn’t seem to be aimed at anyone in particular, and Brice felt that he was listening in to a person’s own thoughts.

All impossible, of course. And he heard no response from Lynet.

The sensations within Brice changed.

“You’re sending something else. It’s‌…‌it’s travelling fast. Like it’s following that message thing. And‌…‌goddamn, what is that? It’s like something squeezing my chest. Hell, what are you doing to me?” He took a couple of short breaths, forcing his abdominals in to try to quench the agony.

“Talk. Tell me everything.”

Talk through this?

“Like a sucker punch, but won’t let up. I‌…‌hard to breathe. Pain across‌…‌across skin, but deeper too. Pushing down. Warm. Red-hot.” Brice felt his eyes tighten, like his stomach. He rose, hands across his belly, and he twisted to one side.

“Stay in your seat, please.”

Brice turned on his side, trying to bring his knees up. He screamed. At least he thought he did. The agony wouldn’t let up. And he felt‌…

He felt his lattice fight back. That was the warmth‌—‌not the blow, or whatever it was, but his own body’s response. Whatever this spike was, his lattice was rejecting it.

He dived, into the signals that ran under his skin, following them to the source. It was like a blazing white trail, like the pumping of his muscles only a hundred times more intense. And that was the pain he felt‌—‌lactic acid build-up, strain on tendons. It wasn’t something pummelling his body, but his own muscles squeezing. It wasn’t so much a punch as the reaction to a punch.

Brice felt a fist tighten, and he willed the hand to move back before striking hard, into his own stomach. There was the sharp stab of pain, and for a moment he forgot the agony within. But only for a moment. The external had no chance of competing with the internal.

And that was the answer.

Brice remembered how it felt to run through his lattice, pulling readings from his body. He imagined himself doing that, now, and he felt the surge that ran through him. It seemed to be everywhere, with no specific root. It hurt everywhere, and Brice knew he needed to go deeper. Not to the hurt‌—‌because there was no wound, no physical damage‌—‌but to the pain.

He ran along his nerves, like he knew exactly what he was doing. Beneath the lattice, leaping through his abdominals, finding a myelin sheath, searching for a synapse. Running up, through his spine, like racing along a tunnel. He pulled in energy‌—‌he didn’t know how, but he managed anyway. He raced past his own neck, past that cold spot where Lynet was tampering with his focal node.

And then he reached the source of the pain. He reached where he felt.

And his stomach muscles relaxed. The weight lifted.

The pain disappeared, and Brice lay back in the chair. He moved his hand away from his midriff, and he expected to see blood. But there was only sweat, cooling as he regained control of his body.

Doctor Regas stroked his chin, then glanced behind Brice. Lynet rose‌—‌Brice heard her clothing again, along with her heavy breathing.

she sussed.