Excerpt: (Na)No Name Stranger

ACT II

Doctor Carlisle Stevenson flinched in the NEAT chair, his temples and the base of his neck were throbbing. Neural enhancement upgrade treatments did not usually feel this way. His last upload had been seven months ago; he’d had a system upgrade and added the latest database of nano-biotes to his NESTI. That treatment, like the hundreds he’d had previously, gave him the normal, tingling sensation he was used to. This treatment, however, was something else. He rubbed at his forehead, which was damp with sweat. Blinking, he opened his eyes and felt the brightness of the overly lit room sting his eyes, intensifying the pain from the treatment, despite being shielded from his eyes by the oclashield.
“You think you’d dim the lights, knowing how sensitive this makes the eyes,” Stevenson whined.
“Doc, stop squirming” the technician said, head craning over the three monitors, his fingers ticking a rataplan from the keyboard. Stevenson squinted through the glorified sunglasses at the center monitor, which bore a holo image of his brain, illuminated blue and red, seemingly normal. His NESTI was a shown as a small green blob at the base of the cortex in the image. So far, so good, he guessed. No unusual sirens were beeping, no flashing warnings. This pain must be normal.
“Is it supposed to hurt like this?” he asked anyway, but Beaumont did not immediately answer. The tech continued to monitor the systems, intent in concentration, with the posture of smug confidence playing through his body.
Another pulse of pain shot through the base of Stevenson’s skull and forced his eyes shut. He let out a small exclamation.
“Dammit,” he cursed. This was getting annoying now.
“No talking, Doc,” the tech said absently. “This isn’t a regular upload. We’re doing things to your nasty Nesty that it wasn’t meant to do… that they tried to prevent anyone from doing. This code is rewriting some of the programs, and the device doesn’t like it.”
Another jolt pierced him. Stars swirled in the darkness of his clenched eyes, and geometric patterns morphed and sent a wave of dizziness through him. He wanted to surge up from the chair and pull himself free from the pain, but he knew that he could seriously hurt himself if he interrupted the transfer. That is why the chairs all have restraint hardware, to prevent the patient from interrupting the data transmission.
Images of his first treatment reluctantly surfaced. It was his ninth birthday, a year after the implant operation. He was a terrified child. They strapped him into the restraints. That was a long time ago, the chairs have changed so much since then. That one was more like a helmet, forced onto the head, and deprived him of sight and hearing. It lulled him into a comfortable hypnotic state by some neural-synaptic transference, and before he knew it, the treatment was over, and he had access to so much new knowledge. Stevenson chuckled to himself, then winced from the pain. As a boy, Carlisle thought that that first enhancement treatment had been overwhelming in the amount of knowledge he’d received. It was the proverbial drop in the bucket compared to what his NESTI held now.
Even though the technology of the Neural Enhancement Adaptive Treatment chairs had advanced, they still bore the restraints, and Stevenson still hated them. But in a chop shop like this, such details are extraneous and certain precautions are bypassed. One in his position knows the risks going in.
With an easing sensation akin to an ion shower, the pain gently lifted. A buzz emanated from the direction of the displays, no doubt chosen for its resounding “we are done” quality. Stevenson relaxed his eyes without opening them, and the glare of the room shone through despite his closed lids and the oclashield.
“That wasn’t so bad, Doc, was it?” The tech asked, and Stevenson bit back a reply. Bad is relative, he thought. After seeing the pain and deaths he had caused, no… this pain was probably not all that bad. He imagined that this pain must be close to what the subjects of the experiment must have felt, suffered, when the company had their NESTI’s programming overwritten. When the protocols were modified, and the safeguard firewall was installed. Stevenson had argued vehemently against rewriting the code for their NESTIs, against using human beings that way. He hated that they were never given the choice of the modifications done to them. The company simply took them, whisked them away from their obscure lives, chosen because they were loners and would not be missed. These people had unique gifts that made them “useful” subject, and they were essentially kidnapped and then used as human experiments. Then, when the “test” was pushed through, rushed without fully examining the data on the animal tests… Stevenson never signed up for that. He was a temporal physicist, not some mad scientist playing with the lives of human beings. But he was forced to comply with the company’s directives. He had gotten too deeply involved before he realized the extent of their plans. It was too late then, but maybe now. Maybe now he could make a difference, free from the company’s grasp. Invisible to them. Invisible to everyone.
Stevenson leaned forward, pulling his head free from the pads that had been pressing against his temples, and felt the pressure release with a sucking popping sound. He removed the eye covering, which promptly retracted into the machine, then he leaned forward and put his head in his hands.
“I’ve never felt pain like that during a treatment before.” He didn’t care if he was complaining. Pain like that deserves a little pity.
Beaumont chuckled. Squinting, Stevenson looked at him. The tech shook his head, it was a slow blur of movement. Stevenson’s vision was still impaired, a side effect of treatments. It would be a half hour or more before he’d be back to normal, and as he’d aged, he found that it took longer to fully recover from the uploads. Who knows how long it would take with this upload, this… reworking.
“Yeah, Doc. Working against the programming causes nasty Nesty to protest a little. What you just paid me handsomely to do…,” Beaumont tapped his blurry finger to his diffused temple, “…well it overwrites certain protocols and rewrites the programming you’ve had inside your melon since your operation, what… some seventy years or so.”
Stevenson grimaced, “Eighty three, Beau. I just turned ninety one last month.”
Beaumont gave a low whistle, then said, “…and you are still on the same unit. Woah. I am a little surprised you didn’t just want me to replace your old one.”
“Too many out of date uploads. There is information in there to which I cannot afford to lose full access.”
“Yeah,” Beaumont agreed, his fingers tapping the keyboard while he reviewed the transfer data on the far screen. “There is a big difference between your normal memory of the data, and being able to access it directly from the NESTI. I can see why you wanna keep it.”
“I’ve got too much to lose by replacing the hardware.”
They had discussed replacing the unit, as well as the risks of this procedure being performed on such an antiquated NESTI, but in the end, Stevenson simply could not afford to have so much data potentially lost. A data transfer to a new unit was possible, but some of the older programming had known glitches in newer models, worse than those found with the upgrade patches. No one really cared that much to retrofit the programs for the older NESTIs. And with the Mark VII generation of NESTIs, they had stopped making patches for the previous units. The Mark VIIs used gene imprint technology, which utilized the brain to store the information, rather than relying wholly on the synthetic node to hold the data. Stevenson knew he was… outdated. Despite feeling hale, with only a smattering of cellular degradation due to aging affects. He had many good years ahead of him, but the tech in his body was fairly old. They’ve made all these advancements to prolong life, he thought, but they still care more about the breakthroughs than the patients whose life they prolong.
“Besides, Beau,” Stevenson added wryly, “at your rates, I couldn’t afford a whole new unit.”
Beumont chuckled. “Well you know the risk I am taking to do this, so I gotta charge you appropriately.”
“Hell, I am not complaining about your fees. But you don’t have to take delight in the pain this has caused me.”
“All part of the process, Doc. Seems the older the model, the worse the pain. And the tweaking we are doing makes any unit… cranky. The normal tinglies get… amplified. That’s the best I can describe it.”
“Amplified is putting it nicely,” Stevenson replied flatly.
Beaumont wheeled his chair around and began powering down the system, unhooking the cables from the treatment chair. He resembled a cat tugging on the wire arrays, deftly batting the releases and flinging the freed cables into plastic bins.
“Now remember,” Beaumont went on, “you may experience sporadic disorientation for the next few days as ‘Mister Nesty’ is adjusting to your new environment. You’ll need to resynch your security systems when you get home so it will recognize your Nesty’s new codes. Your old bank account is toast, cause you won’t be able to access it anymore…”
“My assets were frozen anyway,” Stevenson interrupted, “so that won’t be any more of a problem than I already had.” First thing the government had done after the accident exposed the facility. “When should I be able to access the new account?”
“I would give it three days. Not because the funds aren’t there yet or its not set up, but because we want you to heal and acclimate the programming to the rest of aspects of your life. Any glitches should worm their way out by the three day mark.”
“Wonderful!” Stevenson exclaimed. “I think if we have glitches, a problem accessing my bank account would be one of the lesser problems I could face.”
“Don’t worry, Doc. You called on me. I am the best in the business.”
Stevenson chuckled. “The best underground, illegal brain chopper money can buy. Its a good thing I had access to some clean Escies. I may be wiped out, but at least I get a chance to…”
“Don’t tell me, Doc. I don’t wanna know. Whatever you do after you leave my office is your business. That was the deal.”
“Enough said, Beau.”
“Good enough,” Beaumont said as he pulled a folding chair from the wall compartment and indicated to Stevenson to change seats. “Lets see, what else is going to change for you?”
Stevenson squinted his eyes, noting that Beaumont was becoming more clearly in focus. The technician’s uniform was now definably navy blue, no longer black. Stevenson moved from the NEAT chair to the utility chair as requested, noting that the details of the stark room were becoming to come into slight focus. The standard cube, full utility package. Strictly non-res. The building had been marked as commercial, light industrial on the sign out front. Certainly not zoned for medical. He wondered what classification the tech had used when he registered the space. In any case, this would be the last time either of them saw this building again.
“Your combook was destroyed,” Beaumont went on, “so all of your old contacts are gone. I wouldn’t use your com if you don’t have to, just to be on the safe side. Anyone you contact has the chance to turn you in. Even if they don’t, gov can monitor their systems and place your voice patterns. Either way, its a big risk. Oh, and your GPS marker has been obliterated too, so you won’t blip on any system.”
“Yes and that was the point of all of this, to disappear.”
“Of course,” Beaumont said, his words full of sarcasm, “I got no idea what you mean, Doc. Still, don’t count on your GPS to direct you around. It ain’t there.”
The technician folded the NEAT chair into a neat compact form and placed it into the bottom compartment of a steel colored, wheeled case. The monitors snugly fit into the top of the case, with layers of packing between the thin screens.
Once the other bins were placed inside the case, Beaumont slid the compartments together and they snapped shut with a hissing click. He rose and smiled at Stevenson - yes, definitely a smile. His vision was starting to return.
Stevenson shook Beaumont’s extended hand, and for the first time in months, felt a small sense of relief. It had been a very long time indeed since he felt he could relax. He could now move around in public without having to wear that stupid looking helmet to block the signals from his NESTI. He could not continue his research, and help the… victims. Victims of the experimental test. He would have to be careful, this new found freedom could be blown in so many ways.
“Doc…” Beaumont said, attempting to gain back his hand, still locked in the handshake.
Stevenson released the grip and smiled. “Thanks Beau,” he said.
“You take care of yourself Doc. I know you got important shit to do. If you need me again…” Beau gave a confident smirk. Yes, vision was returning. “…just make sure you got the money, and I’m your man!”
“Lets hope it doesn’t come to that.”
They left through the close sliding door in the center of the cube, neither man looking back. The corridor led to an elevator, and seventy five blips of the counter later, they entered the lobby of the building. Neither man said another word to each other, and Beaumont followed the lobby towards the next building to the left, while Stevenson continued out the double sliding doors, illuminated bluish yellow by the environment shield.
Stevenson pulled the respirator from his pocket and placed it over his nose and mouth. There were smaller, more efficient respirators available, but he never had gotten used to them. He may be a curmudgeon in his ways, but he deserved his little idiosyncrasies. Ninety one years may not be all that ancient, but one gets used to things. Used to familiar things.
He felt his skin prickle as he passed through the doorway and the semi-electrical charge of the shield. White flame assaulted his senses. Heat flooded his body. Fire exploded in his head.
Doctor Carlisle Stevenson found himself flat on his back, his respirator crackling with jagged breaths. The night sky stung his eyes. Pain creeped over him like a shroud. It numbed his every sense. The full moon glowed almost red on this eerie night, framed as it was by the tall, flanking - earthly - buildings. It was funny, he thought. There was a time, long ago, when he remembered that moon without those two huge black structures. The company did that too. Two giant eyes staring back down at the world. There was a time…