Jerry Davis - Strong Metallic Arm

file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Jerry%20Davis%20-%20Strong%20Metallic%20Arm.txt

Strong Metallic Arm

Previously Published in Boundaries of Sanity Magazine

Two red lights blinked on in the bedroom. There was a tiny

but audible "beep" and a countdown began deep in the basement of

the stone mansion. In the bedroom a white-haired white-skinned

woman stirred in her sleep.

She was having a nightmare.

The countdown in the basement arrived at zero. The two red

lights winked green. A signal was sent to the interface in woman's

head and an electro-chemical switch was shut off. The nightmare

disappeared and the woman's body went limp.

Another signal was sent, another microscopic switch thrown.

The implanted interface began a systematic stimulation of her

brain. Information poured out, sharp and clear images, memories,

attitudes, transmitted from the interface to the basement. A copy

of everything that made this woman "Erin Lind" was stripped away

and put into a box for safe-keeping.

The process finished, and Erin resumed normal sleep.

The nightmare, which had been a reoccurring one for the last

few weeks, began again.

Hours later her bedroom curtains pulled themselves aside to

let in sharp morning sunlight, and light Poonjaz music began

drifting out of the walls. TIM, Erin's executive AI, sent a signal

through her interface and she woke up. Erin opened her eyes and

looked around the white room. The dream was still lingering in her

mind, vivid, and she shuddered and sat up in the web. It lowered

her so that her feet touched the ground, and after a moment she

stepped out of it.

When she was out in the hall, heading toward the bathroom,

her husband's voice drifted up to her from downstairs. "Oh, you're

up!"

"Yes," she said.

"How are you feeling this morning?"

"Sick."

"Sick?!"

"Yes." She rushed into the bathroom and closed and locked

the door behind her. She sat heavily on the commode, holding her

hands to her face.

She deliberated for a long while, trying to become rational.

She just couldn't do it, she needed help. She needed the guidence

of the Oricle. TIM, she thought, connect me.

<Would you like me to keep track of the charges?> TIM asked,

a thought-voice in her head.

Yes, she told him. Cut us off when we reach four thousand.

Erin closed her eyes and found herself in a white marble

chapel full of misty air. A window high above the altar let in a

brilliant light, which shined down upon the steps where she stood.

She faced the light, and said, "I am still having that dream."

A deep, powerful voice replied. "Is this the dream where

your husband kills you during a fishing trip?"

"Yes."

"How many times have you had this dream now?"

"A lot. I don't know how many exactly."

"May I review your memories?"

"Yes."

The Oracle paused, and the light streaming through the

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window became blinding. Erin felt warm, relaxed. She had

completely forgotten that she was sitting on the commode in one of

her upstairs bathrooms. When The Oracle spoke again the voice was

not as loud, it was more personal and fatherly. "Are you going on

this fishing trip with him today?"

"I don't want to."

"The fear you have is irrational, and stems from the guilt

you feel for cutting your husband off from your company."

"I do feel guilty."

"It was a wise choice, Erin, and my advice is for you to

stand firm on your decision. It is possible he married you for

personal gain, we have talked about that before. But beside that,

he has cost you money on his ventures. You're company has lost

some credibility directly because of his actions. He is prone to

scandals. Your actions have been more than fair, you should feel

no guilt."

"Thank you."

"I see no implied threat, however, from your husband."

"Are you sure?"

"Nothing is absolutely 'sure.' However, the probability is

small and I see no implied threat from your memories. This fishing

trip is a perfect opportunity to overcome this nightmare."

"I don't know if I can go through with it."

"I urge you to go. Go, have a pleasant time. Chances are you

will never have that nightmare again."

"Well, isn't there another way? I mean, can't you . . ." She

stopped talking as the light was cut off and the chapel around her

faded to black. She opened her eyes and found herself in the

bathroom.

Four-thousand already? she thought.

<Yes,> TIM told her. <Connection terminated.>

There was a knock at the door. Her husband's voice drifted

in. "You're sick?" he said.

Erin hesitated. "I feel a little sick, yes."

"Does that mean you don't want to go out on the boat?"

"I'll, I'll . . . I'll go out on the boat."

"Are you sure, sugar? You don't have to. You shouldn't go if

you're not feeling well."

Erin didn't say anything.

"You want me to get the automed ready?"

"No, I'm not that sick. I just feel a little queasy."

"Maybe you'll feel better after you've eaten something."

"Yes, I think that'll do it." Her hands to her face, she bit

her right index finger. She shivered, the room was cold. "I'll be

out in a minute."

"Want anything special for breakfast?"

"No. I don't care."

"How about some mild chibique, a bit of lime and some strip

steaks?"

"I don't care. Sounds good."

"Okay." His footsteps told her he was heading away.

"Duane?" she called.

His footsteps came back. "Yes, sugar?"

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

"Because I love you."

It didn't sound sincere. Erin thought that it had never

sounded sincere. But, maybe it was. Maybe I'm putting the

insincerity into it? she thought. God knows I loved him. Do I

still?

She said, "Thank you, sweetheart."

"No problem."

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His footsteps receded down the hall, down the steps, and

away into the lower portions of the mansion. His withdrawal made

her feel very alone. I'm just a small freak of a woman, she

thought. He has been the only one who's cared for me. She stood up

and looked at her white face in the mirror, her bulging blue eyes

surrounded by wrinkles, her thin white hair. She looked hideous to

herself. A pale freak in a world where everyone was tan,

dark-haired and healthy.

Erin fixed herself up and dressed, then glided down the

stairs and into the dining area. The servant remotes were putting

out the silver plates of the fresh, aromatic chibique, a pile of

soy-bacon strips, and large glasses of malted villomead. Duane was

squeezing a lemon wedge over the chibique. "Good morning, honey,

you look wonderful."

"Thank you Duane. This smells good."

"Pushed the buttons myself."

"Thank you." Erin stared at the breakfast with no desire to

eat. "It looks like you're starting to adjust to not working."

"Hell, honey, when have I ever worked? I can do without

business deals. You were right all along. If I want to work the

nets, I can use my own money."

"You don't hate me?"

"No! I don't hate you. It's a silly little matter, anyway, I

don't see why we got all worked up about it."

It's just me, she told herself. I feel so guilty about

cutting him off from what he loves. He ought to hate me. He really

should. That's why his voice sounds so insincere to me, it's

because my subconscious hates me for doing it to him. That's why

I've been having all those terrible nightmares. Right, TIM? That's

what The Oracle said.

<That is what he was implying,> TIM told her. <Would you

like to review the recent conversations?>

What she really wanted to do is have another session with

The Oracle. It was the ultimate AI, the ultimate psychologist, the

ultimate confessional. It was just that it was so damn expensive.

No, she thought. Not now. I can't go off into a trance at the

breakfast table. She made a valiant attempt at smiling at Duane.

"Do you think . . ."

"What?" he said.

"Do you think we could do something besides fish while we're

out on the boat?"

"Something besides fish?" He said it like it was

inconceivable.

"It's been over two months."

"Two months since . . . oh, yeah. I guess it has, hasn't it?

Well." He smiled. The smile seemed genuine enough. "Well," was all

he said.

It was a sunny, cloudless day in the islands. Duane had the

boat's top retracted and a breeze blew warm and fresh across

Erin's skin. She was reclined across a cushion at the back,

feeling lazy and at ease. Her fear was gone. The Oracle had been

absolutely right.

They had kissed and petted while the boat drifted up the

Dime river from their dock. The love is still there, she thought.

He was up front talking to the Nav AI about the best fishing spots

this season, and she was just lying in the sun, relaxed, waiting

for him to come back. Nobody else seemed to be on the water today;

she didn't feel modest, no one would see.

The sunlight flashed against her closed eyelids as they

crossed the shadows of passing trees. The gravity engines hummed;

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she kept her tongue between her teeth to keep them from vibrating

against each other. She felt a strange motion and she opened her

eyes. The boat was slowing, lowering itself into the water.

She could hear it now, the great churning of waters. This

was where the East and West forks of the Dime river met. She

looked over the side as the boat touched the water and floated.

Blue and green waters mixed in torrid upheavals and violent

whirlpools. The river was wide here. Seven kilometers.

The boat turned. "We're going out toward the middle,"

Duane's voice came from somewhere up front, out of sight. "The

biggest fish are out in the middle."

Odd, she thought. He had always said the best fishing was

near to the shore.

Duane made his way back with rods in his hands. "Are you

ready for this?"

"We're going to the middle?"

"Yes."

"The only big fish out there would be a cleotis; they eat

tiny insects. You can't catch them with hooks."

He was smiling.

Erin took a close look at the rods he was holding and

realized they weren't rods at all. They were expensive, programmed

fish guns with intelligent harpoons. "Where's the sportsmanship in

that?" she said.

Duane laughed. "To hell with sportsmanship. I want a big

fish."

Erin didn't like the way he'd said that. Her fear was coming

back. He's talking about fish, she told herself. Fish. Regardless,

she found herself in her own nightmare, all the terror was coming

to her, all the horrible helplessness. She sat rigidly in front of

him, unable to move.

There was a signal from her interface, and she heard the

calm, clear thought-voice of her executive AI. <It's nine o'clock.

Would you like to hear the morning report?>

Yes, she thought. Yes, it'll calm me down.

TIM summarized the day's global business since the report

last night. Her labor service, which provided 32% of the robotic

rental and leasing of all of Terranova colony, was still healthy

and thriving. Echoes of her husband's last scandal still had

stocks down 9%, but the company was riding it out. A hacker had

tried to enter her system, but TIM had turned him away. Five new

models of industrial robot were announced by Terranova Machinery.

Other news . . . Erin went into unnecessary details to delay her

return to the real world. Then business was concluded, and she

focused her eyes to find Duane staring at her.

"I can tell when you're interfacing," he said. "Your eyes

get glassy, like when you're drunk."

"I just received the morning report."

"I know, it's nine."

"TIM said another hacker's been trying to get into my

system."

"It wasn't me."

"What?"

"It wasn't me."

"I wasn't accusing you." Her voice rose. "Why did you think

I was accusing you?"

"You're always accusing me."

Erin thought this over. She had accused him a lot recently,

and she was right every time. My god, she thought, he's hacking my

system. "Why are you hacking my system?"

"See?"

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"Duane, my system is my livelihood and my life."

"I have a present for you," he said.

"I don't care. Duane, what are you trying to get out of my

system? If you want information just ask me for it."

Duane had turned and was digging in a pack for something. He

found something small and produced it, showing it to her. "You

know what this is?"

She looked at it briefly. A small black crystal of some

sort, it looked like cheap jewelry. He peeled something off the

back, reached forward and, before she could stop him, placed it

against her skin between her breasts.

"It's pretty," he said. "Do you like it?"

She pulled at it; it wouldn't come off. "Duane, what is

this?"

"A pretty jewel."

"It is not. It's ugly and it's stuck to me. Duane . . ."

"It's okay, it'll come off if you soak it in water for a

while. Don't you like it?"

"No, I don't . . . I don't wear this kind of jewelry. Duane,

what is going on? Tell me, please, I'm getting frightened."

"Well, I can tell you now. That is a tachyon signal

blocker."

She stared at him in shock.

"I don't want you talking to your executive for a while, so

I waited until after your report. Now I have about 8 hours of your

undivided attention."

"I don't think this is funny. I want this thing off me now."

The boat slowed and stopped. They had reached the middle of

the river, a good 3.5 kilometers from land in either direction.

Duane picked up the fishing guns from the deck beside him.

"You know, " he said, "that crystal really does look nice on

you. I mean, it's really set off. Something so black and shiny

against your white skin. I've always found you beautiful, Erin,

I've never had to fake that."

"F-fake . . . what do you mean?"

"It's not important now. Hey, do you feel like a swim?"

Erin shrank back. Her dream! It was her dream! "Don't touch

me," she said to him in a low, shaking voice. "I've already sent

for the police, your signal blocker isn't working."

"That's a lie."

"You don't know that!"

"I know you, sugar." He grinned.

Erin was desperately calling out for TIM, but the interface

signal was completely blocked.

"This is your pole," he said, indicating one of the fishing

guns. He turned and casually fired it out over the water. The

harpoon shot out in a great arc, trailing strong, dangerously thin

monofilament. He held it out for her, and said, "Here."

She made no move to take it.

He shrugged, and put it in a holder. Then he turned and

fired off his. "This is a special lure," he said. "It's custom

made."

Erin gave up trying to call for TIM. In desperation she set

her interface to record.

"Don't you want to fish?" he asked.

Very slowly, fighting for control, she said, "I want you to

take me home, now."

"But we haven't caught anything yet."

She began crying. This was terrible --- it was really

happening. "You're going to kill me," she said.

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Duane sighed. "Yes, I am. You're right."

"Oh God," she said, sobbing. She was crying and shaking in

terror.

"Come on, Erin. What is death, anyhow? We're ready for it.

We can survive it. What's there to be afraid of?"

"Why are you doing this?" she screamed at him, her voice

cracking. Tears streamed and her nose was running.

"I mean, all that'll happen is you'll get into a new,

younger body," he said. "You'll only be away from the business for

a few days."

"I don't want to die!" she cried.

"Come on, Erin. Get into the water, let's get this over

with."

"I don't want to drown!"

"You won't drown, I promise. I've made sure it'll be

absolutely painless. You see, this is going to be a fishing

accident. You're going to fall overboard while we're fishing. My

lure is going to mistake you for a fish. The lure will hit you in

the head, boom, that's it. You'll feel nothing. The signal block

will come off in the water, and they'll find your body. You wake

up in a new body. Ta-da! Everything's better."

Erin dove to the right of him, trying to get past to the

front of the boat. He grabbed her, his arms around her stomach,

and lifted her over his head. She struggled in blind terror,

kicking, squirming. She hit him somewhere that stunned him. He

dropped her to the deck and staggered backward, groaning. Erin hit

the deck hard, landing on her wrists, and one twisted back with a

sickening crack. Pain shot up her arm like fire.

She rolled over onto her back, holding her injured wrist

against her chest. Erin had never broken a bone before, she was

shocked by how much pain was involved. She accessed her interface,

chose body controls, and began raising her pain threshold.

Duane recovered, and came toward her.

"No!" she screamed.

"Come on, you bitch!" He bent down to pick her up.

Erin placed both feet against his chest and shoved with her

legs. He flew backwards, a surprised look on his face, hit the

edge of the starboard deck and tumbled over into the water. There

was a large splash, and Erin saw water droplets spray up in a

fountain and come raining down. She thought immediately of the

lure, and that it would get him. Panting, she crawled to the

starboard side on knees and elbows and looked over.

He was swimming in place, looking up at her.

"Why did you do it!" she screamed at him. "Why?!"

"It'll get me, now."

"Oh, God," she said. "Why?"

"I suppose I deserve it. I deserve to die."

She was crying. She couldn't believe this it was all so

insane. She didn't want him to die. "Why did you want to kill me?"

"I don't want to kill you."

"You don't, you why did you do this? You broke my wrist!"

"I'm sorry." He looked up at her with his wide brown eyes.

Erin extended her good hand out to him. "Hurry," she said.

He grabbed her arm, put his feet against the boat and pulled

her headlong into the water. The coldness of sudden immersion

shocked her, her body going stiff as she sank. Currents pulled her

from side to side, twisting her around. She opened her eyes,

sought the surface. Long, pastel green and blue streaks of light

surround an area of black. In her panic she couldn't make any

sense of what she was seeing.

It was the bottom of the boat. It was sliding away, the

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Jerry Davis - Strong Metallic Arm

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