Scribbles and Drabbles

Notebook Drabble 69 - AI Clone

"You haven't spoken to them, have you?" 

"Fuck off."

"Luis, I'm serious," Mindas forced him into a corner. They don't forgive easily. Holding off will eventually mark you as a deserter, and don't pretend not to know what happens to deserters."

"They have no legal claim to me, I've checked." 

"Then get them to shut it down. If you have proof this is a mistake it will serve you better to report it than get a black mark on your ID record," Mindas warned.

"What if they don't care?"

"Luis."

"I'm serious! I'm not one of theirs, and yet this is on me. What if this is a new contagion to force people to serve in that machine of theirs? What if they say 'tough' and vanish me away. You must have heard the stories," Luis hissed. It was a common trope in horror movies. The machine that did not stop and infected the technology of every Power. It could dictate life itself. It liked to. 

Mindas's shoulders sank. "I forgot your border-planets raised. The Great Al isn't like that. The machine is the empire, not a literal machine."

"They want to force me into it regardless."

"By the divine and all things holy, listen to yourself."

"There is nothing divine about having a parasite clinging to your skin to claim you as one of its fodder," Luis said, voicing their thoughts in the dark. "Ma taught me never to get involved with the A.I.. And I don't intend to now."

"It's your head you're risking," Mindas said in defeat. "People are starting to notice. It won't be hard to guess, and the A.I. puts bounties up for deserters."

"Maybe I shouldn't renew my contract."

"Is that any wiser?"

No, not really, Mindas left him to it. Luis spent the rest of the day pacing until he put in the leave request. Maybe if he went home and read through his mother's work, there would be a clue or something, or how to deal with this. Or being out of the field would be enough to stop the progression of the cog trying to cover his arm.

It circled his forearm with new, smaller cogs appearing next to it, with numbers banding around his wrist.

Fuck.

The numbers were a comm link in case anyone claimed not to know what to do. He curled, his face hidden in his pillows, as he wept. This wasn't fair.

The cogs turned.

The level of pain turned unbearable.

He curled around his arm and cried, praying the sobs didn't reach outside. The pain stopped.

It didn't feel like sleeping so much as it felt like someone had hit him over the head with a sledgehammer. He burned into the pillow and wished he'd had the memory to put a coat over his shoulders. He'd been saving for a better blanket, but now he'd need to start again. Going home was going to cost him an arm and a leg.

Jean was going to be so disappointed with him.

Everything ached as he woke up, and he sat groaning as his back clicked. His nose was blocked, and his head throbbed. He curled, shivering and ignored how his hands turned blue. The cog was gone from his arm. Not true, it was no longer encompassing his entire arm. It was a small cog again with a polite warning on his arm.

"We gave you time, little cog."

That couldn't be good. He pulled his coat on, glancing at his barcode to confirm he wasn't due at the mines today. His leave was in place, and he had his ticket for the shuttle. The shuttle would be warmer than this. He shivered and pulled his hood on to bury himself in it.

The light in the hall hurt. 

Would they let him onto the shuttle like this? They didn't let ill people travel. He winced into the light, peering beyond his hood, and stumbled along to a shower cubicle. Warm air covered him, and he rested his head against the shelving unit. He wanted to go back to sleep. The hygiene cubicle would charge him if he was longer than his allotted time. He stripped down, washed, and got the cold sweat out of his hair. His fingers burned as feeling returned to them.

Another gust of hot air blew over him, and he got into a fresh uniform. His old one wasn't up to code and wasn't good enough to be used for anything. It would be washed and reused or recycled, depending on our rating. The uniforms didn't last brilliantly.

He brushed his teeth and paused as a green shape peeked out of his hood. He flipped his fringe over his forehead; a cog sat there.

Two things happened simultaneously.

The room chimed and locked, the mirror flicking into a loading comm line as the A.I. sensed a cog in its presence.

His knees buckled, and he slammed his head off the countertop, blood pouring from his nose as pain roared over him. A voice spoke, echoing in the tight space. It spun and spun, and he buckled further. 

 A second of silence before a more hesitant call. "Cog?"

Horror numbed his chest; he pushed himself back up to face the Server. The male-presenting person winced. "I'll talk to the corporation about health and safety," it said, typing. "That's a lot of blood. Tilt your head upwards."

"Not a nosebleed."

"It will help stem the blood," the Server shook his head. "The bruising is bad, too. Stay put. A mechanic is on his way to collect you."

"Need a doc, not a mechanic," Luis coughed, pain jolting through him as blood spluttered out of his mouth and landed in a glob in the sink below. He staggered, struggling to stay upright before collapsing on the ground again. 

"Cog!"

"I'm not a fucking cog," Luis spat another bubble to the ground. 

"That is not the concern right now. Your nanites are reading red on all your vitals," the Server's voice got higher with worry. Servers were neutral on duty, but it was well known they had personalities that bled through the hive mind. 

"I don't have nanites."

"If you didn't have namites, you wouldn't be clogged."

"No nanites. I got checked on intake. I had cancer when I was seven," Luis forced, talking to stay awake. 

"That might explain the vitals. You should have triggered earlier if your condition is this bad," the Server said. "I can see from your forms that you're freeborn. Your clone parent should have warned you that if your vitals get too low, it triggers conscription." 

The rumble of voices on the other side of the door went on. They promised anger and more pain. Luis clutched at his face and prayed to any god listening to kill him swiftly.

The universe was not that kind.

The door unlocked, and a man stomped in, taking up the cubicle doorway. "The hell did you do to yourself?"

Sargent Storm yelled and raged for two seconds before grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and dragging him to the clinic room. There was a lot of pain, a lot of grumbling and manhandling.

They knocked him out there.

There were no curse words in the universe for this. Being a cog was a natural part of life. He shouldn't be cogged. His mother took great lengths to ensure it and yet, here he was.