MTLNOVEL Chapter 10: Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
Consciousness slammed back into my skull. Blue afterimages danced across my vision as I took stock - empty relay chamber, sterile white walls, and notably no Elias.
The hiss of pressurized doors revealed two Gen-1s gliding forward on silent servos. Their skeletal frames showed every redundant hydraulic line and joint actuator, pre-war engineering stripped bare of pretenses. The lead unit extended spindly arms with the precise grace of a conveyor belt.
"Please present belongings and disrobe," it intoned, voice buzzing through corroded vocal modules. "All items will be returned post-decontamination."
I raised an eyebrow at the armed companion, its laser rifle held in perfect parade rest. With deliberate slowness, I drained the last dregs from the miraculously transported glass before tucking it into my sack.
"Here's my weaponry so I don't have to deal with faulty targeting software." I said dryly, stacking the Type-79 and C96 into the synth's waiting arms. Hooking my rucksack on its shoulder, I then proceed to unfasten my holster, remove my boots, and finally unzip and slide out of my fatigues like a snake would its shed skin. Placing everything into a neat pile into the gen-1's waiting arms.
Activating my retrocognition for the microsecond my skin touched metal I witnessed—
—hydraulic pistons stacking like toy blocks—
—vacuum-sealed cortical chips sliding into spinal housings—
—assembly arms welding carapaces with sparks that smelled of burnt vanilla—
all gone in a nanosecond.
While impressive in its own right based on the technological principles of this world, I still see it as fairly primitive. I'd have to compare it with a gen-2, and eventually gen-3, since I never got the opportunity to scan him so to speak.
They're probably analyzing me just the same, taking notes on my engineered symmetry and implants.
The one carrying my belongings gestures its head to its armed partner.
The synth cradling my possessions jerked its head toward its partner with a servo's precision. "Follow the accompanying unit for decontamination." Its voice crackled as the armed model pivoted on its joint actuators.
I trailed behind, hands clasped behind my back like an inspector touring a factory floor. The corridor's patched concrete and fresh polymer paneling told the story - a pre-war husk retrofitted with Institute architecture.
The decontamination chamber hissed open, revealing a sterile crypt of nozzles. The lemon-scented mist stung my nostrils before the first spray even hit.
"Close your eyes." I obliged just as the jets activated, feeling the chemical cocktail prickle across my skin. The solution evaporated almost instantly, leaving my skin taut and reeking of artificial citrus. A shower followed - a luxury I exploited without shame, letting scalding water scour away the grime I've accumulated these last few days.
The waiting clothes were telling: white cotton scrubs and shorts thin enough to show anything protruding under my skin through the fabric, sandals that whispered temporary guest with every step. The armed synth reappeared as I fastened the drawstring, its ocular sensor lingering on my implants a half-second too long.
It led me to an atrium that stole my breath - not for its grandeur, but for the abyss staring back through the ceiling. Endless black pressed against the reinforced glass, the occasional bioluminescent flicker highlighting the Institute's audacity. They'd built their sanctuary where the ocean's weight could crush it on a whim.
Research Station Delta. The submarine's last log entry and Nav-Data flashed through my mind. This had to be the Chinese facility - repurposed like everything else in this godforsaken world. I could almost taste the history: third-generation scientists trading hammer-and-sickle dogma for synth labor, selling their ancestors' marine bioweapons research for clean water and filtered air, right into the waiting arms of the Institute.
As If to prove my point the hiss of pressurized doors shattered the silence. A woman emerged like an artifact from a time capsule - petite frame swimming in an oversized lab coat that somehow still strained across her hips, with shining circular glasses, her razor-straight posture betraying military training. The obsidian gleam of her eyes froze when they met mine, and for half a second I saw the ghost of Mandarin syllables forming behind her lips before she schooled her features.
"Doctor Vogt." Her English was frost-perfect, every consonant filed smooth of ancestral inflection.
Taking note of her entourage at her flank, consisting of Elias standing rigid in full Courser regalia, his synth musculature taut beneath the armored coat. Two Gen-2s completed the procession, their rubberized flesh faces frozen in permanent scowls, fingers resting on laser rifle triggers. The woman's stiletto heels clicked against the composite flooring.
"Welcome to our... aquatic outpost." A gloved hand gestured to the groaning ceiling. "We find the pressure focuses minds wonderfully."
In accented mandarin I reply. "Thank you for the invitation Comrade.." Catching her eyes narrow I swap back to English "Though I don't believe we've been properly introduced."
"Director Zhao Lian," she said at last, the name neutered of tones. "Applied Biophysics Division." Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"
I coughed into my fist, the sound echoing off the groaning metal walls. "I make it a policy not to rifle through minds without sufficient cause." My thumb brushed against one of my Projektor nodes. "The connection leaves... echoes. Both parties become aware of the bridge after it's dissolved."
Unlike those fog-addled cultists, I thought with grim amusement. Their minds were so thoroughly pickled in radiation and dogma they wouldn't notice if I'd rebuilt their memories from scratch. Which, admittedly, I had.
"Enough about psychic etiquette," I said, waving a hand through the antiseptic air. The motion made my Projektor nodes catch the light - a deliberate flourish. "I'm far more interested in what part of our little chat convinced the Institute to yank me through their quantum plumbing." My smile showed teeth. "Was it the mentions of space travel? The neural architecture? Or..." I tapped my temple as an answer.
The hum of the facility's life support systems filled the silence just a beat too long. Behind Zhao, Elias's fingers twitched - that same barely-restrained motion I'd seen when mentioning deviancy. The Gen-2s' targeting scanners whined as they tracked my movements
Zhao's clipboard creaked under tightened fingers. "Your claims on synthetic consciousness showed... unexpected insight." Her gaze flickered to the black water pressing against the ceiling. "And we do so hate wasted potential."
"How touching…" I mused, letting the words drip with false warmth. The rubber soles of my sandals squeaked against sterile flooring as I completed a slow circle, arms raised to the room while the Gen-2s' optics tracked each micro-movement. "No grand tour? No meet-and-greet with the rest of your underwater think tank?" I clicked my tongue. "And here I thought the Institute valued proper scientific protocol."
Her strained smile attempted to conceal her desire to throttle me by my neck or maybe someone else.
She begins. "I was volunteered." she said, the word hanging between us like a live wire, "as the most qualified to evaluate your claims."
"Ah..." I gave her a serene smile. "A sacrificial lamb for the unknown they invited, yet sufficiently educated to parse my jargon should things go smoothly. How ruthlessly efficient."
I sighed dramatically, watching the flicker of irritation cross Zhao's features. "For our exchange to be productive, we face a fundamental obstacle. While I'm certainly flattered you'd like to keep me as your personal talking database..." My Projektor pulsed for emphasis. "...I'd prefer not to be permanently tethered to this aquatic prison. Which leaves data transference as our only viable option."
Zhao opened her mouth, no doubt to recite some protocol, but I continued over her: "The issue being our technological bases are fundamentally incompatible. Your entire computational paradigms is still heavily reliant and run on superconductors and vacuum tubes. While your world has developed transistors, they're still decades behind my reality's, even with our heavy reliance on bioresona—" I paused, seeing her blank expression. "Oh, this is precious. They sent a biologist to debate semiconductor physics."
Her jaw tightened. "Our superconducting chips—"
"—are glorified switches the size of my fist, yes." I couldn't suppress the grin spreading across my face. "Director, when was the last time you looked at the actual components behind your terminals?"
With a flick of my wrist, the Projektor projected a shimmering schematic between us. "Observe. In my reality, we had developed transistor based miniaturization to the point where we could fit millions of them on a single CPU." The hologram zoomed in on the microscopic semiconductor.
Zhao's eyes tracked the unfamiliar components with growing frustration. "Our superconducting architecture provides equivalent processing power—"
"Through rooms full of cryogenically cooled monstrosities, yes." I dissolved the hologram with a wave. "The issue being that I can't exactly interface my hardware—" I tapped my co-processor "—with what amounts to an electrified steam engine. Your data ports might as well be telegraph keys."
The Gen-2s shifted uncomfortably as Zhao's composure fractured further. "Then what do you propose?" she snapped, the words escaping before she could regain her clinical detachment.
I leaned forward, Projektor casting crimson light across her face. "Option one: I waste away years in this pressurized tin can while your engineers attempt to reinvent centuries worth of computational progress." Our faces a foot apart. "Though I must say, the... accommodations show promise." Giving her a sly grin as my gaze flicked to the blush creeping up her neck.
"Option two..." The Projektor's hum deepened to a predatory purr. "I interface directly with a suitably robust mind. Given your biophysics expertise, Director, you'd be uniquely positioned to... benefit from the exchange." My smile turned surgical. "I imagine this situation to be unprecedented, so there shouldn't be any protocols in place for such a scenario. Unless your colleagues find issue with this?"