Marcus 582: A Cyborg Adventure

1Marcus walked head down to avoid the curious stares his tats frequently got from passersby on the pedestrian track. It wasn’t that he harbored concerns about being judged for his ink, he just didn’t want to make the awkward connection of locking gazes. He hated people noticing his used and abused clothing, but it covered what needed covering and let him blend into crowds. Eric would say his social skills needed some work after the restoration…and his friend was probably right. He felt relieved when he finally walked into Rachel’s apartment building, which was practically next door to Norton Industries. Now he could stop thinking about it altogether. Even though he visited the location daily, the barely sentient AI bot sitting behind the welcome desk always treated him like he’d never seen him before. It was difficult to believe the unit hadn’t come with enough memory storage to record and retain visuals for tenant recognition. Norton probably had some jacked-up reason for programming the front desk guard to treat everyone as a stranger, but their logic certainly wasn’t his. He dreaded seeing the abject misery on Rachel’s face every time the insufficiently programmed bot made her feel like a stranger in her own home. After seven months, Marcus well knew the routine to gain entrance, but waited until the bot’s programming kicked in enough to offer directions. If he moved too fast, the unit got confused and exhibited what could easily pass for human anxiety. He wasn’t in the mood to linger in the lobby this morning while the guard bot slowly searched all its secondary codes to figure out the best way to handle his rushing. He might be tempted to throttle the lame a*s unit until Norton had no choice but to replace it. Not that he thought one AI bot was much better than another. In his opinion, all AI’s seemed to have some sort of processor OCD issue. They all stretched his limited patience to its breaking point, which was a human trait he recognized as a fault. Watching the nearly incompetent bot struggle to carry out the simplest of programs always had him wondering if he had been like that before his restoration. He had all the memories of his Cyber Husband contracts, but no feelings by which to judge if he’d been more machine than man. One contract wife had rated him poorly. Another had rated him highly. Emotionless data was useless in answering his real questions—like why the whole program had been allowed to happen in the first place. Marcus searched for a calmer state and told himself it was worth being patient this morning in order not to cause his mind more concern about trivial things. Over-analyzing his irritation with the bot taxed what he considered his ‘human thinking’. Dr. Winters had called him a natural ‘worrier’. Regardless of accuracy, he was still uncomfortable with the descriptor. “Place your ID hand on the scanner,” the bot ordered. The unit’s tinny mechanical voice grated on his cybernetic ears—and human nerves—but Marcus complied without complaint or comment. “Your identity…has been confirmed…Marcus 582. You are cleared…to enter…this residence. State your exact…destination. I will inform…the inhabitant.” “Rachel Logan. Residence 37.” He watched the unit blink a few times as the notification was wirelessly sent. “The inhabitant…has agreed…to your entry. You may proceed…Marcus 582. Walk slowly through…the scanner.” Marcus walked through an artistic looking archway, which tried unsuccessfully to mask its true purpose. He ignored the yellow caution lights flashing along the edges and so did the AI bot. Dr. Winters had made sure his ID information thoroughly rationalized his cybernetic soldier enhancements. In fact, AI guard bots—even the better programmed ones—no longer paid any attention to him. What he was in reality now matched the United Coalition of Nations data about him. For a short period of time though, when he’d first been restored, he’d had some very real issues with human guards at places like the bank. His very large deposit from the UCN had prompted them to manually amend their ID records for him. Even his kids’ school had eventually accommodated his presence, but he knew that was more about the phone call Peyton had made on his behalf after Eric had informed him about the trouble. After he cleared the scanner completely, a tinny voice acknowledged his approval with fake well wishing. “Have a blessed day, Marcus 582.” As Marcus walked to the airlift and stepped inside, he shook his head over hearing a platitude he damn well knew the unit didn’t have the capacity to understand. “Floor thirty,” he ordered gruffly, irritated by his caring as much as by the building’s shoddy security. The doors swished quietly closed just before the lift rose soundlessly. Rachel sighed when the monitoring system announced Marcus 582 was outside her door. She wondered if he hated hearing her building’s ID system state his cyborg moniker as much she did. Her abhorrence of all such things had significantly escalated after Dr. Winters discovered her torturer had labeled her in all official databases with a number as well. Whenever bots or scanners announced her cybernetic registration, she silently screamed in her head so she wouldn’t have to hear it. She was Rachel Logan, damn it. Having circuitry in her head didn’t change her freaking genus as a human being. “I am not a cyborg,” she said aloud, breaking a silence which had been a prison to her until last week. The words hadn’t faded from the air before the irony of her vocal rebellion occurred to her. She ducked her head until her chin touched her chest, an annoying self-conscious habit she’d picked up since her conversion. While her bogus Cyber Wife file had been expunged from public records, nothing could completely remove the memories of what she had suffered at the hands of Dr. Bradley Smith who had—among other things—destroyed her ability to speak. She had done therapy to rid herself of her two months of a***e at his hands. During it, she had quickly given up trying to type every angry thought she’d ever had about the man. Her resentment was too large to be explained. Her best help had been Dr. Winters allowing her to work alongside the cybernetically, and also behaviorally, modified version of the man who had mechanized her without her permission. Kyra Winters had done to Bradley Smith the very thing he’d intended to do to as many people as he could. And Dr. Winters had done more than the warped cyber scientist had done to her. Cyborg Brad looked at her every day with no recognition whatsoever. His complete lack of personal acknowledgement went a long way towards letting her pretend nothing seriously bad had happened to her because of him. Whoever said living in denial was a bad thing had obviously never been turned into a cyborg against their will. As she went to open her apartment door, Rachel reached up and pressed a tiny button several times to turn up the volume on the small device Dr. Winters had installed in her throat. They had consulted many specialists before installing it, but no one could find the physical switch to turn her vocal chords back on. Not wanting to replace them unnecessarily, in case they one day found a way to reactivate her natural speech, the next best thing had been wiring her with a resonance implant that obeyed her vocal mechanisms. It was a great relief to finally have some way to talk to people, even if talking did come at a painful price. She opened the door and her mouth at the same time. “Hello…Marcus. I am…ready…to go.” Rachel could tell that hearing her computerized female voice had shocked him, but Marcus recovered quickly. If she hadn’t been seeing him five days a week for the last seven months, she might not have caught his brief expression of surprise. The man was so reserved all the time, she often had to remind herself Marcus hadn’t been stoic at all when he was first restored. The first time she’d seen Marcus the man had been weeping steadily, and with good reasons, given all he’d endured and survived. Like all of the original three hundred and forty-two Cyber Soldiers, Marcus had lost a decade of his life living in an AI processor induced trance. It was a small blessing Bradley Smith hadn’t taken away her awareness of time passing. She was happy for the progress Marcus had made since he’d been restored, but couldn’t say reconnecting with his human side had made the man any more content with his life. In the last few months, he’d sought out his pre-cyborg family and not received a warm welcome. He was gradually gaining back some of his children’s affection. However, he’d had to concede the permanent loss of his wife to a man she’d married nearly ten years ago. Apparently his former wife had written Marcus off during the war and remarried as soon as he’d entered the Cyber Husband program. From the stories she heard working for Dr. Winters, cyborg reintegration into society was going like that for most of the soldiers being restored. In their minds, they were just back from the war, but their families had all moved on in the decade that had passed without them. “Hey—listen to you. You’re finally talking,” Marcus declared, forcing enthusiasm into his voice. It was hard to hide how displeased he was about Rachel sounding so much like the antiquated AI bot downstairs. Rachel snorted at Marcus’s comment, easily reading his appalled expression. “I know…I sound like the…announcing bot…at the air transport…station.” Her reward for her admission was an honest grin. It wasn’t much, but she’d take it as positive proof his humor was going to save her from a cross-examination. When his expression of delight changed to one of genuine concern, she fought back a sigh of having lost. Marcus shouldn’t be worried about her. He had enough problems of his own to deal with. “You didn’t have to hide it from me. Now I know why you’ve been wearing all those neck scarves. Does it hurt to talk?” he asked. Rachel ignored him for a minute to finish pulling on her solar protection jacket. His soft-spoken question was thoughtful, just like so many others Marcus had asked her from time to time. “Only hurts…when I laugh,” she finally answered. At his continued hard stare, she reluctantly gave up trying to be light-hearted about it. Marcus could tell when she was trying to bullshit anyway, and he always called her on it. “Vibrations…make my…throat sore…but this beats…typing…every word…on a com. Need to…be more…succinct.” She smiled when Marcus released a heavy sigh. “Good thing…I was…never a…chatter…box.” She finally got a grin as she looped her Norton Industries sanctioned backpack over her shoulders. Though Marcus wasn’t officially assigned to monitor her activities any longer, he still showed up to walk her to work every morning and back home every evening. He did so even though Norton was only two buildings away from where she now lived. No matter what she communicated to him with her typing or her body language, she hadn’t been able to dissuade him from being her personal escort. Now at least she could verbally argue about it. She opened her mouth, thinking carefully about how to express it in as few words as possible. “Don’t make your throat sore arguing, Rachel. It would just be a waste of your energy. Protecting you is my only job right now. I intend to keep doing it.” Closing her mouth in surprise at his firmly spoken statement, Rachel instantly fell back to expressing herself in body language. She sighed loudly, nodded, and then shrugged. She had no choice but to let him trail behind her as she opened the door and stepped out into the hall. Or did she? Maybe she just wasn’t being assertive enough with the persistent man. Deciding she had caved too fast, Rachel turned back to make another attempt. Marcus was busy securing the door behind them. It was something he insisted on doing for her and another she’d learned to let him do. Not a sound emerged when she caught Marcus checking out her bare legs under the short, full-skirted dress she’d worn. Her heartbeat picked up—which surprised her. She couldn’t decide whether it was concern about his masculine interest or excitement to feel like a normal female again. Needing some time to think about her reaction, she decided it best to pretend she hadn’t noticed. Instead, she ducked her chin and headed for the airlift, her booted feet eating up the short distance quickly. Of course, Marcus’ long legs brought him almost immediately to her side.