Assimilation

[Chimaera182]

Well... I wrote a science fiction short story for my SciFi class. I hated it, as I do everything I do, but my teacher loved it, and a co-worker--who I named a character for, and she is conceited so she had to read it for her namesake--loved it, and another co-worker saw the first page and loved it, so I figure I'll post it here so someone will hate it like me.

And despite my best efforts, my "short" story turned out to be 18 pages (double-spaced). And there's a whole part missing near the end--well not missing, it was never written--but when I realized the main character goes from hating technology to loving it without there being an explanation... I almost swore quite loudly during my SciFi final. Boy, that would've been embarrassing.

The door swung open, pulling Buck’s attention away from his old-style book. That makes twelve, he thought dryly as he watched the man approach. The person walked by rigidly, not paying Buck any mind.
As Buck watched number twelve, thirteen passed him by. Thirteen, like the twelve before, slapped the switch and the door swung ponderously open. “No, I went out last night,” thirteen was saying, shifting the oppressive weight of his single binder from his left to his right hand. A brief glance was all it took: the metallic glint of the implant was easily visible behind the man’s ear. “No, it was okay. I didn’t drink too much, though,” he continued, his voice waning as the distance between them increased. “I—“ The door slammed shut, cutting off the rest of his conversation.
Buck glowered through the glass door at the receding figure. However did people survive before the CRAPs?
The CRAP—Cognitive Rendering Automatic Phone—implant was still relatively new. The device worked by transmitting sound information from one end of a telephone line directly to the user’s brain. It was a hands free model that wasn’t as cumbersome as the headset version. One didn’t have to worry about dropping the phone, forgetting to bring it with them, or even forgetting to take it off. And the unit was easy to use and it could never be turned off. It had taken a while for people to get used to the idea, though; seeing men in business suits wandering down the street, seemingly talking to themselves, elicited quite the stir. Now, however, it seemed as if everyone was doing it, like the whole world had gone crazy around him. Buck hated such invasive technology, but apparently the people were all for it: the masses were eagerly going out and buying the implants, paying exorbitant fees for the surgery and the monthly phone bills. Apparently, having computers spliced into one’s brain was all the rage. So what do I know? he thought sarcastically.
Tired of waiting for his next class, he gathered his things and stood. Not bothering with the switch, Buck heaved the door open.
The dim, filtered sunlight paled in comparison to the bright afternoon lights that illuminated the hall. The useless music that was being broadcast via the loudspeakers was a bare murmur compared to the echo of the several hundred conversations taking place. Buck surveyed the situation. A crowd of people had huddled together at the foot of the escalator, waiting to ascend to the next floor. The stairs, in contrast, were nearly empty. Buck took those. As he climbed, he could just feel the stares that his choice elicited. “He’s taking the stairs? Why not just use the escalator and not have to climb?”
Once he made it to the top, it took a second to orient himself. To his left, another mass of people stood before the elevator doors, waiting so they wouldn’t have to walk down the one flight of stairs. In front of him were the doors to the cafeteria, which slid open as anyone approached. He sighed and went inside.
The cafeteria was crowded, as usual. Everyone was seated at the numerous tables, and servers came around to take their order. Buck looked around for a familiar face, but didn’t see any; just the countless faces of nameless people scattered throughout the expansive room. He settled on a table by himself and took a seat.
It didn’t take long for a server to come by. “Good afternoon and thank you for coming to the Stryder Café. Can I take your order?” he asked mechanically, and Buck idly wondered how long it had taken him to memorize his speech.
“I’ll just take a plate and go to the salad bar,” he said, already knowing the answer.
“We have prepared salads so you don’t have to.”
Buck’s eyebrows rose. “I would rather take a plate and do it myself.”
“Wouldn’t you rather not leave the comfort of your seat?”
“No,” he stated firmly. “Please let me have a plate so I can make my own salad.”
The server sighed with defeat. “Very well, sir,” he said, turning on his heel and marching off in a huff.
“You always have to make it hard on them, don’t you?” a wry voice said from behind him. Buck turned back to find Eve standing there, grinning down at him. “Can’t you just let them bring you your food for once?”
Buck crossed his arms and turned forward again, saying, “I’m not a baby; I can take care of myself.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” Eve replied, coming around the table to sit across from him. “But they’re paid to bring food to you. You don’t have to do it yourself.”
“What’s the point of a salad bar if I can’t go to it myself? Besides, maybe their lettuce looks rank and I wanna substitute it with something else? Then they have to take it back, re-do the order—“
“I get your point,” Eve interrupted, her eyes rolling. “But wouldn’t you like to actually be waited on once?”
“Dude, there’s no reason for me to have to let other people do for me what I’m capable of doing myself.”
“Your food, ma’am.”
The server gently placed a styrofoam plate before Eve. He caught Buck’s eye and his eyes narrowed. Clearly, he remembered Buck from a previous visit. “Thank you,” Eve said, oblivious to the sudden increase in tension.
“Not at all,” the server said, turning back to Eve and smiling.
“Now, see, was that so bad?” Eve asked as she tore into her cheesecake.
Before he could reply, the original server returned. “Your plate, sir,” he spat, dropping his plate in front of him. Buck watched the plate as it fluttered to the table. He looked up at Eve, then at the server, and smiled. “The salad bar is over there,” he said, nodding toward the giant sign that clearly stated “Salad Bar.”
“Thank you,” he said sarcastically, but he was already moving away.
Eve shook her head. “Man, you need to relax.”
“You’re kidding, right? That was just uncalled for.”
“It’s what you get when you intentionally provoke the staff,” she shrugged.
It was Buck’s turn to roll his eyes. “Whatever.”
“Hey, listen, do you wanna get together tonight? Me and Cess are going to Chaz and Vince’s for a smoke. I thought I’d break out the ol’ pipe.”
Buck’s eyes widened with surprise. The last he heard of Charles and Cessily, they were going through yet another of their loud and extremely public break-ups. Apparently, they were back together yet again. “I guess. I need some creative inspiration, and getting high’s always helped.”
“Man, you need to find a better, healthier way to get creative,” Eve admonished.
“Like you’re any better; you break out the pipe whenever you think you’ll have a pop quiz in class.”
“And I always pass, don’t I?”
Buck shook his head. “I’ll be there.”

[Chimaera182]

The car slid to a halt in the driveway, and Buck yawned. This had to be the longest day on record. Between the boring class lectures and the stress of preparing for the holidays at his job, the pressure seemed unending. At least I’ll have a chance to unwind tonight, he thought, looking forward to a night of reckless partying.
The door opened as he walked up the path. “Dude!” Charles “Chaz” Sharp shouted, embracing Buck in a bear hug. “Man, how you been, yo?”
“I’ve been better,” Buck managed. “You’re hugging too tight.”
“What?”
“Let go!” Buck pushed out of Chaz’s embrace. “You could wrestle gators with that grip of yours.”
“Sorry, yo; it’s the new arms, G.”
Buck started. “What?”
“Man, I was in Iran, remember? Lost my whole left arm in a suicide bomb-run, and before they got me to a doctor, the shrapnel that got in my right arm damaged too much or somethin’. Had to cut it off from the elbow down.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Buck said. He knew it was trite, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say to his friend.
“No, it’s great, man. These robotic limbs rock! Here.” Before Buck knew what was happening, Chaz lifted his left hand, grabbed his pinky, twisted it and pulled it right off. The entire display nearly turned Buck’s stomach. “Man, I got this USB memory thing in my hand now, I can store all kinds of stuff on. I put my iPod music in one of my fingers, but now . . .” He trailed off.
“Hey, Buck!” a voice called from the doorway. He turned and caught sight of Cessily Liverpool coming down the walkway. “Hey, Chaz, Eve and Vincent need your help with the equipment.”
The sound of his name seemed to shake Chaz out of his reverie. “Okay, that’s cool.” He nodded to Buck then went back inside. Cessily beckoned to him, smiling, and Buck followed.
He felt relaxed now that he was with his friends. Sure, the workload was steadily increasing, and the demands of his classes as finals drew near were overbearing, but at least he could relax with his friends. His family. He smiled as he stepped inside behind Cess. I really needed this, he thought, willing the tension to leave him. A good ol’ session of—“What the hell is that thing?”
Eve looked up at him from the . . . apparatus that dominated the table. “Oh, hey, man, you’re here.”
“What is that?” he asked again, eyeing the strange contraption Eve and Vincent had been working on.
“Hey, man, it’s Buck,” Vincent said from underneath the table. “Don’t you know what this is?”
Buck shook his head. “It’s a WILL,” Eve explained, taking him by the arm and leading him over to the couch. “We’re setting it up, then we’re going to have a blast.”
Buck’s nervousness went up a few notches as he eyed the machine suspiciously. A WILL was one of the most powerful—and dangerous—devices in the hemisphere. Use of the WILL had been the direct result of several dozen deaths in the United States alone, leading to it being outlawed in most of the civilized world. It wasn’t something Buck had ever wanted to try before.
The stories he had heard of the device’s properties had once made him reconsider. A couple friends of his had tried the WILL and told him it was the most intense high of their lives. Unfortunately for Buck, the WILL required an implant to plug into, and Buck had foregone implants of any kind.
“I think I’ll stick with your pipe, Eve,” he said slowly, not taking his eyes off the WILL.
“Wimp,” Vince muttered from under the table.
Eve glared at the man’s legs. “It’s not like you have a choice, anyway,” Eve replied, turning back to face him. “You really should have invested in a CRAP, you know. You don’t know what you’re missing.”
Vince pulled himself out from underneath the table. “Done.”
“Finally, G,” Chaz said. “This is gonna be sweet, yo,” he added, smiling at Buck knowingly. Buck held his friend’s gaze for a second then turned away.
Without waiting for the others, Chaz grabbed hold of one of the cords dangling from the WILL. With his free hand, he took hold of his left pinky and tore it off with less finesse than he had earlier. In the same motion, as the artificial digit was removed, the WILL plug was inserted into the empty socket.
“Hey, you sure you got this thing workin’ right?” Chaz growled. “’cuz I’m not feeling curtains.”
Buck blinked. “What?”
“Dude, this is stellar, man,” Chaz whispered. “My compact tape instructor finish.”
“What the hell—“
“It’s the WILL,” Vincent explained. “Don’t worry; he’ll remember how to speak eventually.”
Buck watched the display with revulsion. A machine was capable of doing this to a person? This just was not right on so many levels. “Maybe you should unplug him,” he suggested hesitantly.
“Go unplug yourself, narc,” Chaz bit out.
“Calm down, Chaz,” Eve intervened. “He’s just not seen it before is all.”
Cess nodded. “C’mon, let me have a go.”
“I need to bathroom to the go,” Chaz said, then shook his head. “Go. Bathroom.” He unplugged himself, and Buck noticed a small blue spark that arced out from the WILL plug to the connector port in Chaz’s artificial hand. “Wow, that’s good stuff.” Chaz staggered back, falling into the sofa behind him. He just sat there, silent, for a minute; then, with obvious effort, he picked himself up and slowly made his way to the bathroom.
“What happened to him?” Buck asked, turning back to Eve.
“It’s just the WILL. It’s pretty powerful stuff, man.”
“It’s not just that; he seems . . . I don’t know, less human somehow.”
“Oh, c’mon; you’re not seriously suggesting that the WILL is somehow robbing him of his humanity,” Eve scoffed.
Buck shook his head. “It’s not just the WILL. What about his arms? I mean, with the kinds of implants people get nowadays, it’s a wonder we don’t turn into the Borg.”
Eve looked at him with surprise. “The Borg? Pull your nose out of Star Trek and the future and embrace the now. Just because people are attaching devices to their bodies does not make them into inhuman cyborgs.”
“My turn!” Cess yelled at that moment, lunging for the dangling cord. She grabbed the cable, caressing the connector jack. “Ooh, baby, come to momma.”

[Chimaera182]

Buck glared at the mountain of boxes that still awaited him in the back of the store. Yet more “priceless” merchandise to unpack, put away, and watch vanish in a matter of hours. “I hate the holidays,” he murmured.
“I love them,” his manager said from behind him, making him jump and kick a metal shelf with his shin. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I didn’t think anyone was back here,” Buck replied dryly, rubbing his leg.
“You seem on edge. Go to lunch.”
“But, the boxes—“
“Will still be here when you get back,” she interrupted.
Buck glared at the pile. “Well, when you put it like that . . .”
The walk to the food court was depressing: everyone was rushing around to buy what they wouldn’t buy any other time of the year for themselves. But it was always good enough for loved ones, it seemed.
Buck shook his head and stepped onto the slidewalk. As the conveyor belt led him through the mall, he revisited the events of the previous night. Vincent, Cessily, Chaz, even Eve had all foregone conventional methods of getting high, opting instead for abusing the WILL machine. Leaving Buck out of the loop once again.
He began grinding his teeth. It was so unfair. He had to sit back and watch everyone else have fun without him, as usual. Once the technology-based highs came into the picture, it seemed like that was all anyone wanted to do. Buck didn’t think anyone appreciated the classics anymore: weed, LSD, even beer was out. The people wanted implants in their heads and hands and even other areas, and they wanted Bloodhound and Chimera.
And they wanted WILL.
Buck suddenly realized he wasn’t walking; he’d stepped onto a slidewalk. He prepared to step off in annoyance when a Verizon CRAP kiosk started to pass him by. He stopped mid-step, but the momentum was already pushing him forward. He stepped unceremoniously from the slidewalk and nearly stumbled into the Verizon display case.
“Are you interested in our products, sir?” the salesperson asked dryly.
“No,” he replied sternly, preparing to leave.
“But, sir,” the salesperson said, “everyone can use an add-on to their—“ the man broke off. “You don’t even have an implant? What luck! Verizon is having a sale this month on—“
“No, thank you,” Buck said, turning away.
“Half off on all splicing surgeries! Don’t you want to show off the latest in Verizon technology to all your friends? I’m sure your girlfriend would be impressed.”
Buck stopped. “What?” he asked, not bothering to turn back to face him.
“Chicks totally dig men with CRAP implants,” the salesperson went on, clearly thinking he had found a way to persuade a customer into buying his wares. “Just think of how she will react when she sees you sporting a brand new, state-of-the-art Verizon CRAP implant. Or go the next level: the brand new picture-CRAP implant which allows you to use your eyes to take photos and instantly send them to friends. You can even customize your personal ringtones to play a different tune whenever someone calls you on your implant.”
“I don’t have a girlfriend to impress with that worthless crap, you pathetic loser,” Buck bit out, finally turning around to face the man. “Why the hell would anyone need a phone to take pictures with? It’s a god-damn phone, not a camera.”
“But it can be so much more,” the other persisted. Buck was almost impressed; the man’s complexion had gone sheet-white, but he was still trying to get him to buy the implant surgery. “You can use your CRAP to play music, take pictures, even play games.”
“How does that even work?” he asked, not really wanting to know.
“The imagery data is directly transferred to your retinas. Man, I swear, I’ve tried it before; it’s freaking amazing.” The salesman was clearly excited now, probably once again dreaming of a commission. “I downloaded some old-style Atari games, like Dig Dug and Missile Command into my own CRAP. Man, I’m telling you, it’s so sweet. I’d play all day if I didn’t have to work.”
Buck sighed. “But why would a device made for communication need to do all those things?”
The man seemed taken aback. “Why shouldn’t it? You don’t have to carry a portable gaming system around with you, or a camera, or an iPod. It’s just convenient that way.”
“You’re an idiot,” Buck retorted

On the week of finals, Buck felt calmer and more at ease than he had since . . . he couldn’t remember. He smiled as he wandered the halls, hummed to the music playing, and for the first time in his life, he felt good. And he didn’t need mind-altering drugs or alcohol to do it.
He had his Verizon-chip.
He slapped the handicap switch, and the door swung open slowly. He whistled to the music that played in his head. His Verizon CRAP implant was the best thing to happen to him. Ever.
The three final exams he’d had that day were a breeze; he couldn’t believe how stressed he had been a week ago. Then again, his CRAP implant’s memory could store nearly a gigabyte of information; it was easy enough to program it so he could use his notes during all three tests. It was the first time he’d cheated on a test in his life, but, somehow, the idea didn’t bother him.
He was just walking toward the escalator when a different song interrupted his music. He sent the proper thought to the implant, which stopped the song. “Hey, Eve,” he greeted.
“Hey, man, what are you up to tonight?”
“Just gonna relax. I wanna blow off some steam, though; had three tests today.” Buck smiled. “They were easy, but I still feel like doing something.”
He could almost picture Eve’s smile. “Great. Me and the guys are going to meet up at Chaz’s again. You game?”
Buck’s smile widened. “I’m always game.”

Buck couldn’t wait.
Eve had said to drop by around nine, but he was too eager to get started and showed up at seven. His eagerness had been wasted, however: no one was even around save Chaz. He greeted Buck, commented on his new hardware, then introduced him to Bloodhound.
“Wow, this is great,” Buck said slowly, carefully enunciating each syllable.
“’Great’ doesn’t even begin to describe it, yo,” Chaz said in response.
“Man, this is ten times better than weed. I had no idea . . .”
Chaz laughed. “Serves you right, G, bein’ all high ‘n mighty about gettin’ machines spliced into ya. So, what changed your mind, anyhow?”
Buck frowned. “I don’t know,” he said carefully. “I just sort of . . . fell towards a Verizon kiosk, and then, next thing I knew, I was on my back on an operating table.”
Chaz raised a glass of water in toast. “To technology: the greatest gift God bestowed on us.”
As Buck raised his own glass of water, somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought, God didn’t give us technology; we gave it to ourselves. “Here, here,” he seconded, and the pair downed their glasses.
Two hours of Bloodhound hadn’t been enough, though; when Eve and Cessily had arrived, it was time to break out the WILL. Only then did the ever-elusive Vincent emerge from his room with the machine. Buck no longer looked upon the device with revulsion or fear; now, finally, he felt he understood why it was necessary. Finally, he could experience this “ultimate high” that everyone had been talking about.
Over the course of the next half hour, he began to not just want the WILL, but he hungered for it, a sensation of yearning that felt almost primitive. Eve was chattering away incessantly while Vincent and Chaz set up the WILL. Cess, Buck noticed, was eyeing the WILL with the same look of barely-controlled desire he himself was feeling. Dimly, he wondered why he felt this intense need for something that a week ago had struck him with fear.
“Finished,” Vincent announced, picking himself up from the floor. As he dusted himself off, Cess leapt for the connector jack. “Me first!”
“Dude, you need to slow down,” Chaz said, snatching the cord away from her.
“You always go first! I want to go!”
Eve said, “Let Buck go first.”
Vincent nodded, and Chaz seemed to consider that. Cess stood there, eyeing him angrily. She was practically hopping in place, and Buck got the impression of a group of sugar-high children. The way she was moving, he almost expected her to vibrate into another dimension.
“Fine, I’ll go first,” Buck replied. Chaz handed him the connector jack. Cess continued to fume as he searched for the port in his implant. This is it, he thought eagerly as he raised the cable to his head. Before the jack made its connection, he wondered once more why he needed this so much.

[Chimaera182]

Buck’s eyes fluttered open. At first, everything had a strange, yellowish tint to it. What happened?
Slowly, he moved his head to the left, then to the right. His neck muscles felt stiff, as if he hadn’t used them in a while. That’s odd. He started to pick himself up from whatever surface he was lying on; he hit the limits of his restraints, then stopped struggling. What is going on?
A strange face appeared over him. “He’s awake now,” the stranger said. He reached for the side of Buck’s head. He couldn’t tell what the man was doing, but suddenly the yellow tint was gone. “That should do it. Buck, can you understand me?”
He blinked. Of course I can understand you. I’m not stupid.
“He’s not speaking.” The stranger looked up at something unseen. Buck was wondering where he was when the other looked back down on him, a doleful expression on his face. “Let’s see if this does the trick.” Once again, the stranger’s hand dropped down to the side of Buck’s head. Buck couldn’t see what was going on, and a part of him felt like he should have been apprehensive. “There. Can you speak now?”
“Yes.” At first, Buck didn’t recognize the voice; it sounded too metallic, too artificial. What have they done to my hearing? he wondered. “I can speak.”
“Do you remember what happened?” the man asked.
Buck frowned. “No. I—“ he broke off. Suddenly, a rush of memories flooded in on him: that night at Chaz’s, the WILL, Buck eagerly anticipating the greatest high of his life. At first, he couldn’t remember past the connection between him and the machine; he struggled in vain to reconstruct the events of that night, but it seemed as if his brain had blocked off those memories.
The strange man began tapping at a keyboard on the table next to him, and without warning, everything came back to him. Buck remembered the extreme jubilation he had experienced. He remembered the WILL satiating his hunger, taking him in, comforting him. He remembered the high as it overtook him. He remembered when the WILL took him over and he felt as though he were merely a passenger in his own body.
And then he remembered the extreme fear that had gripped his heart as the WILL began to attack him. He remembered trying to tell his friends what was going on, but everything came out gibberish. He recalled as Cess yanked the connector jack out of his port with her artificial hand, her own port exposed. Then, the blue lightning that arced from the broken connection jumped from his port to hers. “Cessily?” he asked.
“Dead,” the man confirmed. “The feedback from the WILL overloaded her implants, frying her nervous system. You gave her the Bloodhound virus along with a very nasty feedback charge; combined, it was too much for her system to handle.”
Bloodhound virus? Bloodhound is a virus? “What happened to me?” he asked mechanically.
“Your nervous system took a hit, too. It fried nearly a quarter of your brain. You lost motor control functions and had to be rushed here. You died on the operating table, but we were able to bring you back. Unfortunately, several of your vital organs didn’t survive the transition; we had to replace them with prosthetics.”
A woman and a second man came into view now; he recognized the nurse’s scrubs they both wore. They began untying his limbs. “Is that all?”
The man shook his head. Once we got your artificial organs up and running, we realized that the feedback shunt had fried the nerves in your limbs. Your legs and arms were useless, so we had to replace those, too.”
A wave of anxiety hit Buck now. “How much?” he asked, picking himself up from the operating table.
“How much what?”
How much of me is still human? he thought. “How much of me is machine?” he asked instead.
“Just your lungs, liver, heart, and stomach, as well as your larynx, eyes, gallbladder, and spleen. And your arms and legs, of course.”
Buck’s legs swung out over the edge of the table. As they landed on the metallic floor, he was struck by the sound of metal hitting metal. “Where?”
“Where what?” one of the nurses asked.
Buck turned to face him and saw what he was looking for behind him: a mirror. Buck started forward, but the two nurses rushed to his side to stop him. Unaware of the strength of his new limbs, he pushed them away; the female nurse went flying over the operating table, the male nurse collided with the computer station next to it, taking the entire system down with him. And Buck stepped in front of the mirror.
What he saw should have shocked him. The person staring back at him was a complete stranger. His complexion was sallow and sickly; the bags under his eyes made it appear as though he had gone years without sleep. The intense gaze of the eyes, those turquoise orbs with their metallic glint, seemed cold, dead. A thin layer of protective black armor covered his mechanical arms and legs. He wondered about that, flexing his right arm. Inside him, he knew that many of his organs had been replaced with false, mechanical ones. As his brain sped to catch up with everything it was processing, he stared unblinkingly at the image before him. His brain came to its conclusion: sixty-seven. 67% of him was now machine. The number seemed so harsh and cold. He was now more machine than man. Dimly, he remembered his comment about Chaz several months ago—he suddenly realized it had been months since that first time he had seen the WILL—and his worry that mankind, with all its technology and implants and methods to accentuate their laziness, was becoming more and more like the Borg. What he saw in the mirror, he knew, was the absolute manifestation of that fear.
For some reason, none of that bothered him.