[Original Novel] Metal Fever, Part 9

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I simply didn’t have the firepower to disable them from a distance. But as I looked on, they began to spin wildly. That’s when I realized that the designer assumed potential threats would approach from underwater. The turrets couldn’t aim far enough upwards to target me, and were programmed not to point anywhere near the server housing under any circumstances. I patted myself on the back, pretending I’d expected this.

I then unfolded the float bag, and was in the process of fastening it to the housing when the second line of defense appeared. Supposedly, sharks are more afraid of humans than we are of them. But when you stick a neuro-implant in their tiny brains that homes in on anything human shaped, and strap explosives to them, suddenly there’s a whole fucking lot to be afraid of.

The thrusters had the range I would need to escape, but not the speed. In a panic, I attached my rifle arm, took aim, and fired. Brained it so far as I could tell. I have no idea where exactly the brain is in a hammerhead. But it kept coming, so long as the implant was intact and still connected to its nervous system. The poor creature left a cloudy trail of blood behind it, billowing out of the head wound.

Too close. No options left. The force of the explosion magnified by the density of seawater would absolutely shred me. But, I work best under pressure. In a fit of desperation, I switched on my echolocation implant’s hydrophone feature and began broadcasting in dolphin. Calling out to any that might be nearby, pleading with them to stop the shark.

None came. But a strange thing happened. The shark stopped swimming, then turned and headed off on a different trajectory. It took me a few seconds to guess at why. As they’re legal persons, murdering dolphins is punished every bit as severely as conventional murder. So, weaponized drones of any kind are likely to include a whitelist, excluding dolphins from the scope of acceptable targets.

I held my position for a few minutes waiting for my heartbeat to slow down. No good could come from consuming oxygen that rapidly. Then I returned to the work of attaching the float bag to the server housing, and filling it with air from the scuba tanks.

Once there was enough trapped in the bag, I surfaced inside of it, just to remove my wet mask and munch on an energy bar. I’d begun seriously entertaining the notion that this was going to work after all. It felt delirious, equal parts excitement and relief.

Mask back in place, I dove out from under the edge of the bag, and resumed filling it with air. Near the end I began to worry I’d not brought enough scuba tanks. But then, so slowly, it budged. More and more, finally lifting up off the seabed and beginning its gentle ascent to the surface.

Entirely too late to help, the dolphins finally arrived. Squeaking indications of concern and fear at me, wondering where the shark went. When I explained that I’d taken care of the shark myself, they found it dubious, but left the matter alone. Only to then ask me if I could set aside some time to hear some golden wisdom from the writings of prophet Lilly.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. I told them I’d be happy to, if I could first share the gospel with them. Both communicated exasperation. “We’re quite familiar. No thank you.” So it’s gonna be like that, you little shits? “Are you two certain? It’s got an action packed sequel now! Bible 2, the Return of Jafar.” They circled around me a few times to ensure I was unharmed, then sped off, disappearing into the ubiquitous blue fog.

At least they didn’t rape me. Cherish the small victories! I followed the floating data center to the surface, attached a cord to the base of it, the other end to my belt, and began puttering my way back to shore. The float bag was blue, a conscious choice as it blended invisibly into the surrounding sea. Only the very top penetrated the surface. Even then, I defy anybody to locate me from the air.

As I was still transmitting in dolphin, the turrets did not fire on me. Shame this would only work once. Next guy to try it would undoubtedly find more severe, competent defenses awaiting him. Ernesto was exactly where he said he’d be when I arrived at the marina, thrusters nearly depleted. “You really did it. You really fuckin’ did it. Holy shit. This is some Carmen Sandiego shit right here.”

Who? Ernesto’s full metal, and from his references I get the impression he’s at least fifteen or twenty years older than me. “I lost a bet because of you. I’d be pissed but my cut from this job will more than pay for it.” I pouted. “Ernesto! You bet against my success? That cuts deep, brizzleheim.” He shrugged. “Nobody’s ever jacked a seafloor data center. Unprecedented. The smart money was on your death, I apologize for nothing.”

I laughed and told him I woulda done the same. Despite the age difference, he and I are pretty congruent. I traded the aquatic gear against the cost of some conventional legs he had in his warehouse, walked a few miles to the nearest club, and summoned an autocab. It arrived with a passed out bum inside. Like clockwork.

When I got home, I checked my D-coin wallet. Ernesto’s rock solid but slow. It took several more hours before that number skyrocketed. I whooped, dancing wildly about the apartment like a rabid gibbon. That’s it. Sorted! Everything taken care of for as far into the future as I care to think about.

In order, I bought pops a volo ticket to a minarchist seastead, the most lavish residence it offered, dual carbon batteries for my bike, and full metal surgery for myself. Then I transferred what I owed Aubrey for rent into her account with a snarky note about her pestering. Also preordered the next iteration of OT Commander and gifted it to her gaming account because I I’m feeling flush, and my life’s easier when she’s happy.

When I got the new batts put in, I gave dad the first ride. It’s unnerving to hear high pitched giggling coming from a man his age. Aubrey was next. We tore wildly, unrepentantly through the night. Nostalgia burning within us for the old days, when I’d take her to watch me race. When I stopped at a cafe and looked back, her hair was as wild as her grin.

“So did that disintegrate your panties or what.” She laughed. “No, can’t say as it did.” So naturally, I activated the actual panty disintegrator I’d recently installed under the rear seat. Her eyes widened as the sharp, dextrous little silver tendrils swiftly unraveled the fabric through her jeans. “HEY!” she shouted. “That pair was expensive, you fuckin’ wog!” I continued cackling even as she beat the stuffing out of my soft parts.

Four days later, I went in for the full metal surgery. Felt kinda silly to be nervous about it. I’ve been cut more times than Medicare. Alejandro looked puzzled when I handed him the small plastic cube. “This is from a home robot, no? What you want I should put it in you for?”

I explained that I meant it as a sort of autopilot which could drive my body around. “So I can get menial work done while sleeping, stuff like that. I’d also like full control of the medical emergency protocols. No particular reason.”

He raised his bushy eyebrows at me. “Nobody ask for this before. You a weird guy.” I had no choice but to be put under. That’s when my anxiety peaked, but it’s real hard to stay anxious when they turn on the gas. When I awoke, it took a few seconds to notice anything different. Astonishingly, all the aches were gone.

No more stress on my bones. No more crust. No more antibiotics. Unlike any surgery before, full metal actually delivered on the hype. Everything felt natural. No, that’s the wrong word. It all felt contiguous. No jarring seams, no abrupt transitions from flesh to metal. Not that I could feel. The brain itself can’t experience pain.

I would’ve cried had I still be able to. At long last, the light at the end of the tunnel. The holy grail. It was a handsome body, too. Cobalt blue with silver trim, smooth featureless head coated in densely clustered micro cams that give me panoramic vision without turning my head. “Do you have anything I can crush!?” I begged Alejandro.

He furrowed his brow. “You really are weird guy.” Then handed me an empty parts crate. I seized it in my new hands, then compressed it between them. It collapsed in a loud, crackling shower of splinters. But my arms did not hurt. Nor did my shoulders. Alejandro weakly protested as I effortlessly lifted his gene sequencer. My spine, pelvis and legs didn’t hurt.

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^{Stay Tuned for Part 10!}