CATCH ME

In Progress Cyborg 009 fic

"Where do you want to fall?"

(It doesn't matter anymore, at least we're not alone..)

~~~~~~~~~~

The words echoed in Joe's memory as his eyes jerked open. A skittering twitch of a scanline blurred the vision in his right eye, and his internal diagnostics were flashing a christmas tree of red lights behind his eyelids.

"I'm... alive?" He sat up, feeling needles of simulated pain rocket through both his natural and synthetic nervous systems.

"HOLY SHIT!" Joe went scrambling in one direction, tangling in the sheets that covered him, at the scream, while the source dove behind a nearby couch. "It's on!!! GUYS!! IT'S ON!!"

(IT? What the...?)

A scruffy teenager poked his head over the back of the couch, while two more fell over eachother in the nearest doorway. They all had the look of unkempt, pot-smoking, juvenile delinquent slackers.

Joe Shimamura knew the look a little too well. After all, before the unfortunate series of events that had delivered him into the clutches of Black Ghost, he'd been the same way.

"Hey there..." He offered with a friendly smile, moving to give a nonthreatening wave, before he realized his left arm was missing at the elbow. "...oh. Shit." He looked at the severed, nanogrown synthmuscle and the twisted stump of his endoskeleton and grimaced. At least it didn't hurt.

"Dude..." one of them started. He had a wild frizz of hair topping what mostly seemed to be a mound of overlarge clothes. "You.. like ... y'know.. some freaky space alien robot come to take over the world?" He flashed some sort of hand gesture that Joe vaguely remembered from some American science fiction show that Jet had been so enamored of. The others quickly followed suit.

(Jet...)

Joe tried to stand, the damaged motor control linkages in his legs protesting wildly. "No.. nono.. my name's Joe.. I'm.."

He clicked his tongue over his teeth trying to figure out the best way to explain this, then deciding on close to the bald truth. No one would ever believe them anyways. "I'm a cyborg.. a super secret government agent... I was on a mission... did you three see anyone else...er.." He looked around. "wherever you found me?"

He forced his best cool veneer to hide the growing sense of panic he felt starting in what functioned as his stomach. There was a hazy snippet of memory, Jet sheltering him with his own body from the re-entry.... Jet breathing for him, mouth sealed over his, Jet’s internal oxygen storage flooding life into Joe’s system after his own failed.

“Uhm.. no, man.. but..” The dreadlocked one behind the couch started rooting through the cushions, “Like, I think this is your arm, dude?” He fished out the remainder of Joe’s arm and waved it at him.

Joe sighed. This was not going to be easy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A thorough damage report took about half an hour to complete, and Joe couldn’t help but be amazed that it wasn’t worse than it was. His synthskin was burned off in several places, mostly his legs, leaving the artificial muscle and nerve conduits exposed. The impact had apparently shattered the delicate connections in his motor control linkages, leaving him with a broad, jerky range of movement. Something was definitely wrong with his right eye, even though a glimpse in a grimy mirror assured him it was still there.

Then there was the little matter of his severed right arm, but at least he had what was left of it.

The sheer fact, though, that he was functional, and cognizant was overwhelming. Doctor Gilmore had built the shielding and cushioning around his still-living brain and spinal column to apparently withstand a nuclear blast. Joe’s internal fusion generator had been similarly well protected, or else, he mused, he’d be just a few radioactive bits twitching at ground zero.

But… where the hell was Jet?

They’d been out smoking dope in this ramshackle hunting lodge when the crash from 3 kilometers away had blown out all the windows, and left a ring of flattened trees at the point of impact. JoJo, Zaz and Clown explained to Joe in their vaguely confused way that at first, they hadn’t realized it wasn’t the drugs.

“But then, ok, like, we figured it wasn’t, and we found you wandering around, y’know, all naked and stuff.. and we figgered your spaceship crashed..”

Joe shifted in the borrowed clothes, too big and smelling of sweat and dope, but coverage at least. “My.. partner… was with me..” He looked out the broken remains of Zaz’s battered, grimy little car as it bounced it’s way down the steep mountain road. “You didn’t see anyone else?”

“Just your arm, dude..”

He needed to contact the others, but none of his newfound companions had a celphone, and Joe wasn’t exactly sure of where he was at any rate. But he knew for certain that he was in no shape to be hunting through the mountains by himself for … he stopped himself before the thought finalized itself.

(Jet’s remains) He didn’t want to think about it. His friend.. the quick wit and the cocky grin.. Jet was assured of his own indestructibility. Joe forced himself to believe in it too.

(Jet’s mouth covering his own, sharing oxygen, but.. ) Joe’s functional hand brushed across his lips. (but…)

[I’m not leaving you alone.] (Jet’s subvocalization growling in his inner ear) [I don’t want to be without you.]

There was a payphone down the mountain at a gas station, and Joe almost threw Clown out his way to get to it the moment the car stopped.

Balancing the receiver on his shoulder he punched in the numbers for Gilmore’s private line, and prayed someone would be there to accept a collect call.

“He..Hello?” Françoise’s sweet voice answered, fearful, hopeful, expectant. Joe could picture her bright blue eyes squeezed shut as she clutched the phone.

“Françoise… it’s me.. Joe.. I’m alive…” He said gently, pausing when he heard the stifled sob of relief on the other end.

“Ivan predicted you’d live.. but he .. he couldn’t reach you with his powers…” she finally hiccupped.. “Jet reached you…..”

Joe chewed on his lower lip, and the silence hung between them on the crackling line. “I can’t find him, I’m.. damaged pretty badly.. Some people found me….” He filled her in the best he could, knowing that one of the others was already tracing the call, and they were all readying to come to his aid.

They were family, after all.

“Don’t cry, Françoise.. it’s ok… “ he tried to reassure her even as he heard Albert in the background yelling at her to get off the phone already.

“Don’t move, Joe.. we’ll be there as soon as we can…”

~~~~~~~~~

Joe was sitting on the hood of Zaz’s car when a glint of light high above caught his eye. There was a brief, irrational surge of hope, only slightly diminished when he realized it was the Dolphin 2. The gleaming little transport jet thundered overhead, switching to VTOL mode to find a landing space somewhere in a clearing beyond.

“Dude.. total science fiction…” Jojo murmured from the passenger seat.

“So, you’re all like, secret agents?” Clown had somehow come into possession of Joe’s left arm again, and fiddled with it, until the cyborg snatched it away from him.

“uhm. Yeah.” He slid gracelessly off the hood, legs protesting from even the small effort. “Look.. thanks.”

“No problem, man.. “ They all laughed. “You ever wanna come by again, just come on over, you’re alright for a spaceman.”

“JOE!! JOE!!!” Françoise was running towards him down the road, like an angel, like something out of a soft-focus romantic movie.

“Dude.. Space Babe..”

Joe shot them a dirty look before Zaz cranked the beat up old car into life.

She was about ready to throw herself at him when she realized he was holding part of his left arm in his right hand and stopped short. “Oh my god.. come on.. we’ll get you fixed up…”

“Later, ok? Jet’s still somewhere up on the mountain…” He was suddenly irritable, gesturing impotently with the stump of his left arm.

“We saw the impact crater from above.. Redhawk , Albert, and Great are scouting around for him now…” She herded him up the road a bit where Pjumma stood, an incredulous look on his handsome, dark face.

“Good lord.” Was all he would say, with a quirk of an eyebrow.

“He saved my life…” Joe protested as they helped him into the plane. “We have to find him.”

“They’re looking, mate.” Pjumma settled him into a cot in the emergency repair bay. “But from the looks of it…”

“Shut. Up. He’s ok. He’s ok…” Joe’s good hand fisted as Pjumma pushed him back again. He started to say more, but Françoise’s distant expression stopped him.

“They found him.” Was all she would say.

~~~

Cham settled the Dolphin 2 into the clearing that Jet and Joe’s impact made in the forest, and then proceeded to literally sit on Joe while Françoise and Pjumma went to meet up with the others.

“Goddamnit, Cham… I’m fine!!” Joe protested at the rotund little man perched on his chest.

“So says the man with one arm and practically no legs.” He answered blandly. “Pjumma tells me to sit on you, I sit on you.”

“But….”

“I will melt what’s left of your legs to the cot if you give me any more lip, little boy.” Cham wagged a stubby finger at him and Joe silenced for the moment.

They had all been prototypes, combat-oriented cyborgs created by a black ops shadow organization for the purpose of mass production, selling them to governments to wage unending wars.

Cham Chanko’s particular modification had involved incendiary generation, and ultra-high-thermal survivability. Joe had been created for maneuverability and high speed pursuit. With non-functional legs, he was more an expensive paperweight than anything else.

With a distressed grunt, Joe stared at the ceiling, reassessing his motley crew of an adopted family. They had all been unwanted in their homelands. Poor, forgotten, dwellers on the fringes of society. They weren’t missed when the Black Ghost took them, and stripped their humanity away, replacing it with layers of nanogrown fiber and biopolymers.

Francoise was the reconnaissance prototype, with a wide variety of audio/visual monitoring equipment. All of her senses were heightened, making her a one woman spy center. Pjumma had been created to serve for underwater ops, able to produce enormous bursts of speed in the water, process air from seawater, and function in the lowest light and the highest pressures.

Redhawk had been designed as ultra-strong front line infantry. Unlike Joe or Françoise’s lightweight titanium-biopolymer endoskeletons, Redhawk’s was hundreds of times as dense, infused with ceramics and rare earth materials, his muscles and joints cushioned with specialized gels. Joe mused sourly that Redhawk probably could’ve walked from this with minor surface damage.

Albert had a similar endoskeleton to Redhawk’s to contain the munitions and weaponry stored within. His cyborg body had been designed as a walking arsenal, nanogrown morphing weapons systems, high explosive shells, and even, it was rumoured, the ability to detonate his generator system as a nuclear weapon. It deeply bothered Albert to talk about it. It was obvious that the shy German was terrified of it.

Ian Britain, “Great” to his friends, had been the strangest prototype of all. The nanite-based morphing gel that comprised part of Albert’s body had been formed entirely around a highly flexible endoskeleton and compact generator. Within given size parameters, Great was able to shift himself into any shape he wanted. A perfect fit for the former stage actor.

And then there was Jet. Joe had tried not to come around to thinking about him. Jet had been the aerial combat and reconnaissance model, his endoskeletal system lighter than Albert’s, but stronger and heavier than Joe’s to resist the stresses of high-G maneuvers, and equipped with a peculiar combination of solid fuel based thrusters and magnetic field distorters. Of all of them, Jet even had the capability to survive for long periods of time outside of the atmosphere, but even limited space-flight had not been part of his design parameters.

Jet had expended almost everything he had, trying to reach Joe, high above the earth in what he hoped was his final battle with their former masters in Black Ghost.

[I’ve got just enough to keep us from skipping off the atmosphere on reentry like a stone on a pond. Where do you want to fall?] (That cocky smile reaching his blue green eyes like the world closing fast on them.)

[I don’t care. Just don’t let go.]

[Don’t worry, Joe… don’t you ever worry about that.]

“Cham…” he looked up at the Buddha-eqsue little man perched above him. “I…”

“Shh. Don’t worry about it, little boy. They will bring him back. Then we will slap the both of you senseless for stupidity.” Cham’s threat was pleasantly-voiced.

Joe rolled his eyes and started to answer when something violently rocked the Dolphin 2, sending them both flying.

“Joe, you stay here.. I will go see…” nimbler than his bulk might seemingly allow, Cham scrambled over the cot to the door.

Joe snarled and dragged himself to his feet. After everything he’d just been through, now they were under attack?

“Goddamnit.” He made his way to the door, ignoring the flashing alert lights in his HUD. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but somehow, seeing Redhawk’s enormous frame lying next to the Dolphin 2, with the similarly sized dent in the hull behind him, hadn’t been on the list.

Cham shook the larger man, trying to assess the damage. “There’s no burns or marks.. it’s like something just threw him at the ship!” He turned a worried gaze up at Joe as Françoise came scrambling down the hill with Pjumma.

“REDHAWK!” She nearly screamed, moving quickly to check him over as the trees shook from some subsonic explosion.

“What the HELL is going on??” Joe roared as branches pelted the plane.

“It’s Jet…” Pjumma’s dark eyes said much more than his normally impassive face. “He’s gone mad. Albert and Great are trying to subdue him before he hurts himself or someone else worse…”

“Oh, fuck that… “ Joe shoved past him, Pjumma’s hand fisting in his collar.

“Joe, you shouldn’t go up there.. He doesn’t know who we are… and.. you don’t want to see him.. not right now..”

“Take. Me. To. Him. NOW.” The two men were locked in an angry stare before Francoise stepped between them.

“Cut it out!! Pjumma, maybe Joe will be able to reason with him…” She bit her lip, small hands fisting. “I don’t want to see Joe hurt worse, but….”

“But nothing. Come on.” Joe accepted Pjumma’s offer of a shoulder as Francoise and Cham struggled to get Redhawk’s bulk into the Dolphin 2.

“How did he end up down here?” Joe asked quietly, as they straggled up the hill. “Jet’s not that strong…”

“His gravity distorters… he used them to turn Redhawk’s endoskeleton into a cannonball.. he’s operating on the combat overlay personality that Black Ghost programmed into us. Jet has left the building.” Pjumma retorted sourly as another subsonic ripple quaked the forest.

Joe recognized the gravity wave now.

This was not good.

“He’s going to overload… whatever’s not fried now, is going to be if we can’t shut him down..” Pjumma added as the got to the clearing in time to see Great puddled against a boulder.

“Joe.. you really.. don’t want to…”

Joe cut him off. “JET!!! JET, GODDAMNIT!!!” In the swirling dust and branches, the shower of gravel and shredded bark filling the air, Joe could make out a figure hovering above the crater. Below, Albert was struggling to stand, his nanoweapons unable to form correctly in the throbbing gravity pulse.

The figure turned in the cloud of dust, and Joe’s mouth dropped open.

Charred. Twisted. It was a parody of human form in blackened mangled polymer and titanium. There was no face on the ruined carcass, but one eye peered out of the smoldering darkness.

One eye as blue-green as the world closing in on him.

“JET!!!!” Joe shook Pjumma off and staggered into the field. The gravity wave ebbed, folding in around the floating wreckage as it lowered to the ground, the blackened skull tipping to the side.

The lower jaw dropped, as it to speak, but there was only a high-pitched popping, screeching sound. Joe was certain that if he still had a stomach, he’d be vomiting, the smell of burned synthskin thick in the air.

“Jet. It’s me.. it’s Joe.. I’m alive.. you saved me.. “ He pushed down his fear, holding out his remaining hand to the ruin before him, that one blue-green eye bright and fixed on him. A skeletonized hand reached out in return, but instead went to the stump of Joe’s left arm, the spindly framework of fingers gently passing over the mangled ends.

“I’m going to be sick…” Great burbled as he reformed himself, Albert staggering over to scrape the rest of the morphing cyborg off the rock. At the words, the blackened figure turned again, it’s remaining eye bright and wild.

“Jet!!” Joe’s hand clamped on the charred wrist. “It’s ok.. It’s just Ian and Albert, remember? It’s just us!!” There was that horrible electronic yowl in response again, but what had been Jet laid its head on Joe’s shoulder.

Joe closed his eyes and stroked the rubbery, melted remains of his subdermis. “Shh.. it’s ok… it’s ok…”

He didn’t open his eyes again until the Dolphin 2 was airborne.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Quit moving around so much.” Françoise chided in one of Doctor Gilmore’s laboratory rooms. The old man’s mansion was a high-tech candyland, filled with the leavings he’d carefully accumulated in his years working for both Black Ghost, and some of the world’s leading tech industries.

“I’m not moving around.” Joe sniped back, watching as Françoise deftly skinned his arm and set about with microtorches and nanoprobe repair gels to attach a new forearm. “What do you think is going to happen?”

“I think I’m going to fix your arm and then try and get you walking again.” She said absently, her wide blue eyes looking past him into his structure, guiding the repair process through the VR headset obscuring her features. “Let me know when you start to get some feeling.”

He felt vague, ghostly prickles as she worked, trying to will the unfamiliar fingers back into operation. “I meant about Jet…”

She sighed, one delicate hand rubbing across her eyes. “I’m sure Doctor Gilmore will get him as good as new.” She gently lied. “After all, he built us once before.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Albert Heinrich looked at the twisted, blackened remains on the cot with a mixture of horror and sympathy that never quite reached his face. His elegant, pale features remained still, and his eyes, blank. They hadn’t bothered to give him irises, the Black Ghost designers, or pupils. Behind the milky stare was a battery of tracking sensors, starlite/IR viewers, anything and everything to facilitate the capture of his prey.

His eyes had been grey. He could still remember when he looked into the mirror and saw nothing looking back at him. They had been grey.

They had powered Jet down once Joe had led him onboard the Dolphin 2, and now Doctor Gilmore was beginning the arduous task of salvaging Jet’s inbuilt diagnostics.

“Maybe.. maybe we.. should just let him.. go.” Albert said softly, fidgeting as Gilmore slid the long, gleaming probes into the remaining datapoints on Jet’s mangled body. “Wouldn’t that be kinder?”

“We can build him another body, Albert…” the elderly man turned to a console, watching Jet’s diagnostic display come up, the scrolling data chronicling his fall to earth in terms of heat, stress, and damage.

“But his brain…” Albert looked down at the one, blankly-staring bright eye. “He’s hurt so bad.”

“I designed you all better than that. And Jet has been through quite a bit in his life. He’s tough enough to survive.”

Albert’s jaw worked silently, but one hand closed over the black spindle of Jet’s.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The hours passed, and finally Françoise was satisfied with Joe’s repair. He had to admit, she had learned from Gilmore the finest points of his craft. They were all capable of making general field repairs to each other and themselves, but Joe was certain he’d never be able to reattach someone else’s limb.

He flexed the new fingers as a light swept over the arm, curing the synthskin to match his normal coloring. “You do good work.”

Francoise smiled, tucking back her golden hair. “I try. You’re a rotten patient, though.” She patted his knee, and he wiggled his toes in response. “I’m glad we’ve gotten you up and.. running again, eh?”

She sat next to him, bright eyes searching his. They were always like this, sitting together, never saying …. Something.

“Joe…”

“Why don’t we go check on the Doctor, and Jet, neh?” Joe suddenly stood up, afraid of the impending conversation.

“… yes. Let’s go check.” She finished, crestfallen.

~~~~

The creation of an endoskeleton was a largely automated process, the pieces being assembled in a nanite-enhanced bath, the tiny machines assembling the delicate network of connectors that mimicked, and went far beyond, human performance.

Joe watched as the pale green liquid bubbled around the growing body. Soon, the artificial nervous system would be laid in, with Jet’s flight control equipment. Already the protective sheath for Jet’s remaining organics was forming, where his brain and spine would reside, and mesh with the burgeoning neural systems.

The screens around the tank flashed a constant stream of data, improvements being made to the systems that had failed the previous model. Joe ran a hand over the glass, the door behind him sliding open.

Doctor Thaddeus Gilmore was a comparatively tiny man, but his genius had spearheaded Black Ghost’s cyborg warfare program, and his conscience had freed them. He looked very old and frail in his white scrubs as he exited the inner room. Beyond him, Joe could see Albert’s back… standing guard?

“Doctor…” He started, craning to look in the room.

“Albert’s afraid of Jet’s emergency power kicking back on. He’s keeping an eye on him so no one will get hurt.” He patted Joe’s hand in a fatherly manner.

“How is.. he?” Joe asked, still craning to see.

“He’s suffered some brain damage… some of it, we might be able to fix with nanite patches. We won’t know until we get him rebooted into his new body, though, the extent. Most of his motor and cognitive functions do seem to be fine.” He wiped his forehead. “We might have a problem with his combat overlay programming, though. I can’t remove it from any of you, without doing serious damage to your normal personalities… they’re hardwired into your brains as it were… Jet’s is… for lack of a better term.. a corrupt file. I’m running some repairs, but I’m not going to be sure of the extent… once again, until we can fully communicate with him.

“I want to see him…” Joe fidgeted.

“He’s not really there, Joe… all that’s there is a burned hunk of dangerous refuse, now. His organics have been moved into stasis, and his new body is still being built. You just need to wait. Why don’t you get some rest?”

~~~~~~~~~~~

[It’s too hot!! JET!!]

[Don’t worry, I can take the heat…just keep your head tucked in. Whatever happens, don’t look up.]

[JET!!]

Joe found himself staring at the ceiling in his darkened room. They still had human brains, and human brains needed rest… although Joe doubted he was going to get any rest. He kept replaying that last horrible moment before the world went white hot around them, and the sonic boom of entry deafened him.

Silently, he padded down to the lab, the sounds of his sleeping family soft in the air around him.

The lab was dark except for the soft glow of the equipment. Jet’s new body was nearly finished, the ribcage swung wide to allow the generator to be inserted. The unruly red hair waved softly in the green-glowing goop, and Joe touched the glass with a sigh.

“What are you doing?” Albert’s voice behind him almost sent Joe through the ceiling.

“Gaah.. Albert? What are YOU doing?” Joe didn’t have a beating heart anymore, but he still felt the rush of synthesized adrenaline spiking in an imitation of fight-or-flight.

“keeping an eye on Jet.” He said blandly, his marble-angel’s face unemotional. “someone has to.”

“Albert…”

“I see Françoise got your arm back on. Good as new. You’re good as new. That’s great.” There was a twinge in the German’s voice that Joe couldn’t identify, as he turned back to the inner room where Jet’s original body lay.

“Albert?”

“Go back to bed, 009. Just go back to bed.”

(009… not my name… ) Joe watched the featureless white door slide shut, as blank and unforgiving as Albert’s eyes.

Joe wandered through the house, unable to sleep, beckoned by the dim light of the kitchen. Albert.. it sounded as if Albert.. blamed him for Jet...but.....

They needed basic nutrient intake for the proper care of their remaining organic components - a regimen of concentrated rations had been their daily bread at Black Ghost.

The first thing they had all done when they escaped was eat a "normal" meal. Each of the prototypes had been equipped with the ability to eat, to taste - all the better to blend in for covert operations. In his previous life, Cham Chanko had been a cook in Shanghai. As far as the cyborgs were concerned, he was a four star chef.

Joe padded into the kitchen, visions of green tea and Cham's sesame cookies drifting in front of the memory of Albert's accusing white stare. A rattle of glass on the countertop startled him as he turned the corner.

"Ivan.. what are you doing up?"

A little boy, not more than five or six, was perched on a stool, currently chewing on a cookie with the seriousness of a math problem. His eyes were dark, and too old under the tousled mop of sandy hair.

Yesterday, he'd been an infant.

"I wanted a cookie." He said with the same seriousness with which he ate. "I like this body better than the old one. The power to mass ratio is still acceptable, and I don't have to expend my powers to move around through levitation." With that, he took a swallow of milk.

Ivan Usikiev would have been almost ten years old, if he'd been allowed to grow up as a normal child. His father, unfortunately had been Fodor Usikiev - the founder of Black Ghost's cybernetic warfare programme and Doctor Gilmore's close associate. Mad as a hatter, Usikiev had transformed his infant son into a never-aging cyborg spy. Ivan's mother had been a star of the Russian psionics, trained to spy on enemies through clairvoyance. Usikiev had taken Ivan's naturally inherited ability, and increased it one hundred fold through brain implants, genetic manipulation, and drug enhancements.

The trade-off had been Ivan eternally trapped in an infant body to conserve power. Gilmore had been working on giving Ivan a new form, one that would "age", giving the child a chance to experience some glimpse of normality - at least as much as a telekinetic, telepathic, and precognizant parahuman cyborg could.

"Can I have a cookie too?" Joe asked gently, pulling up a stool to the counter. The child offered him one, looking at Joe with his too-old eyes.

"Who do you love, Joe?" He asked as if it were a query about the weather, leaving the older cyborg staring.

"What do you mean, Ivan? I love all of you! You're my family." He chewed on the sesame cookie thoughtfully.

"Francoise loves you. I can hear it in her thoughts. I can't always hear yours though. Who do you love?" The boy leaned his round chin on his chubby little hand.

"I... don't know...."

[I don't want to be without you, Joe.]

"You think about Jet alot." he said seriously. "Do you love him?"

"I think I'm going back to bed, Ivan. Don't stay up too late."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Who do you love, Joe?) Ivan's words were still lingering in Joe's dreams the next morning when Pjumma's voice started speaking softly in his inner ear. (Joe?)

"Joe. Joe, are you up yet?"

Joe cranked one eye open, relieved it was functioning fine. "Yeah, I'm up.." he yawned, a programmed autonomic response, and scratched a hand through his hair. "What's going on?"

"You really.. really need to get down here and take a look at what's on TV."

WIth a grunt, Joe groped around for a T-shirt to pull over his plaid pajama bottoms, before shambling out of the room. The few chances he had for lazy mornings were a vestige of humanity that he clung to jealously. (This had better be good) was all he could think as he descended the stairs.

Pjumma was leaning against the doorframe between the kitchen and the living room, slowly sipping orange juice as his dark eyes were fixed on the television. "Good Morning, sunshine." he said absently as Joe ambled past him into the kitchen.

"What is it?" Joe looked over his shoulder at the TV as he reached into the fridge to pour some juice for himself, unblinking as it poured it for him and handed it back. At least for several seconds before he turned back to the gleaming appliance.

"GODDAMNIT, BRITAIN!" he sputtered at the avocado-green box. "Cut that out!"

[It's a performance piece i'm developing, lad. I call it "Bangers and Mash, Portrait of Breakfast"] came a voice somewhere back behind the pastrami.

"I'll show you a banging..." Joe shook a fist at the refrigerator without much venom before rejoining Pjumma.

"GNN's been running this all morning.." he offered, turning up the volume.

{...ve from New Mexico where the White Sands Nuclear Research Facility has simply vanished.} The reporter was saying, illuminated in the glare of military light towers in the American southwest night. {Scientists and military sources say they're baffled, as a special meeting of the United Nations has been convened.. }

"Check it out..." Pjumma pointed a dark finger at the screen, massive strange carvings etched into the desert sandstone where a massive facility had once stood.

Joe squinted at the television. "What the heck is it?"

"Doctor Gilmore's best guess is that it's some form of ancient writing... related to ogham script and Mediterranean Linear B... Ivan's working on it.."

"Well, you've all had a busy morning..." Joe took a swallow of juice as a shriek echoed from the kitchen, followed immediately by a prolific string of Germanic cursing and a partially mangled, shape-changing, screaming refrigerator being flung through the doorway.

Joe and Pjumma both looked dispassionately down at the wreck, straightening itself out between it's default shape and that of the appliance. "Really, Ian. You should know better." Pjumma said mildly, finishing his juice. "Albert's really not the best sport before his morning coffee."

The former actor picked himself up out of the pile of scattered debris. “Albert is never a good sport, dear boy.” He said with a modicum of dignity before Cham found his way into the room and started screaming at the waste of food.

(Just an average morning) Joe thought fondly, attention only half on the TV, until he caught Albert’s gaze again. The blank white eyes were hard as stone. Joe gritted his teeth. “Albert? Can I talk to you for a sec?”

The German paused, looking younger than Joe as he stood there in his dark sweatsuit. “What is it, 009?” He asked, making a great show of pouring sugar into his coffee.

“Albert… what’s going on?” Joe felt as if he really didn’t want to know the answer, but still…

“I have to get back down to the lab.” 004 finally stopped stirring the coffee, the spoon nearly worn to a nub. “Jet’s new body’s going to be coming online soon, and I need to be there in case it malfunctions.”

“You don’t have to, I can….” Joe started, the words dying under Albert’s arctic glare.

“You’ve done enough, Joe. Stay away.” He wheeled, the coffee forgotten as he stalked away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m glad you could all make the briefing.” Doctor Gilmore sat on the edge of his desk, GNN playing, muted, on the television behind him.

“This is an extraordinarily strange event, one I think behooves us to check out. Redhawk’s going to lead the mission, so I’ll turn this over to him.”

His bulk dwarfing the doctor, Redhawk nodded, leaning against the bookcase. “I’d like to bring Francoise and Albert. Francoise and I can handle the analysis, but if whatever made that comes back, I’d like some backup.”

The others nodded, except for Albert. “What if Jet malfunctions?” he asked softly.

The doctor waved it off. “Don’t worry about it, Albert. There’s more than enough of us here to handle him if there’s a problem.”

Joe thought he felt the room drop several degrees the German stalking past him, as the team went to suit up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The echo of the Dolphin 2’s engines still sung in the metal hangar as the remaining cyborgs went down to the lab.

Joe fidgeted, watching the seam on Jet’s chest cavity vanish under the remaining nanorepairs. (Albert’s right. If it hadn’t been for my stupid ass trying to finish Black Ghost by myself…) He stuffed his hands in his pockets, focusing on the lean figure still encased in the compiler polyamniosis.

He frowned, then. It was Jet, but somehow.. it wasn’t. “Doctor Gilmore?” He interrupted the elderly man as he and Pjumma began running the final diagnostics before bringing Jet online. “Why does Jet look different?”

“I made some improvements to his design…” The Doctor began, bringing up a series of schematics on the screen. “Originally, Jet was built on the Juno Endoskeletal Frame System like Pjumma and Cham… not as light as the Venus frame that you and Françoise were built on… but far lighter than Redhawk and Albert’s Titan series frames. It was a trade-off because of the solid fuel boosters we equipped him with.”

The screen shifted to a comparison. “I did away with the old-fashioned booster, and instead upgraded his quantum gravity distorters – in the event he ends up in an extra-atmospheric situation again, the distorters will also manage re-entry heat.” Gilmore tapped the screen. “Without the boosters, there’s less endoskeletal stress, so I could give him a lighter frame. I modified your Venus series endoskeleton.”

Joe tilted his head, looking at the data scrolling across the screen, as the others gathered to look as well. “What the heck…?” He started, as the generator system began to go online. “What kind of generator is that?”

“It was only a design drawing when we escaped from Black Ghost.” Pjumma commented. “Most of us, except for you, run the Trident generator. Because of your hyperspeed capability, you were built with the Mjolnir … at the time, it was the highest output fusion core they’d ever created.”

Joe absently touched his chest. The Mjolnir was also dangerously prone to overloading if he abused the hyperspeed, compared to the lower-output, but far more stable Trident generators. “That’s not a Mjolnir, though….”

“No. It’s called the Excalibur. If it operates as the tests indicate, we’re looking at least at a 30% output increase. It should open up a whole new range of ability for Jet.” Doctor Gilmore finished proudly. “If Jet’s improvements test out, it’ll give me a basis to upgrade all of you.”

Joe heard Great and Cham murmuring their approval from behind him, but he felt a strange shiver of dread at the concept of an “upgrade.” He left the others at the console, wandering back to the womb. That’s what was different, then. He and Françoise had been designed to blend closely in with normal humans. In the case of the others, there had been corners cut… their bodies lacked detail, simply smooth, vaguely shaped synthskin coverings.

Built on the Venus frame, Jet’s new body carried the same naturalistic modeling that Joe’s did, the same carefully planned imperfections – a freckle there, a scar here – that had been deemed unnecessary on the heavy-combat prototypes.

Ticking in the corner of his memory, he could hear Jet’s sharp laugh as they sat in the pool one blessedly lazy summer day.

~~~~~~~~~~

(You know what I miss the most?) Jet was saying, floating on the surface of the water as Pjumma slipped underneath like a shadow. (I miss Mr. Winky.)

(Mr… what?) Joe had snorted the beer out of his nose as realization set in. (You mean.. your…)

(Yeah. I guess they figured it wasn’t aerodynamic) Jet downed his beer with good-natured acceptance. (I mean, I guess there’s nothing I could do with it anyways…. But still…) The sharp features broke into a grin. (I mean, you and Francie… you’re.. ) He waved a hand in Joe’s direction. (Anatomically correct, for undercover ops, right? Have you ever.. you know.. done anything?)

The conversation ended when Joe beaned him with his beer can and stalked away, feeling the vague semblance of a blush his body was designed to produce for naturalistic effect, and the sudden embarrassment that burned hotter than he could express.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Joe started to laugh softly as the memory finished, running his hand along the glass. “Well, that’s one improvement he’s gonna be happy with.”

“What was that?” The Doctor looked over to him, as Joe quickly waved it off.

“Nothing.” Joe murmured as the vents in the bottom of the tank opened and began draining the polyamnesis into the recyclers. The faintly luminescent green goo slid down Jet’s new skin, beading in his scarlet hair. It looked strange to Joe, Jet’s hair hanging long and straight down his back, sodden with liquid, rather than the punky spikes he was so fond of.

The dryers kicked on, as the others gathered around, an unspoken prayer passing between all of them that they wouldn’t have to take Jet down the moment he came online.

“Generator fully online time, 11:35:27.” Pjumma said quietly as the seals on the womb began to release with a hiss of compressed gas. “Motor control linkages, 45%. No red lights.”

Joe’s rebuilt hand tensed into a fist, and he felt Cham shift behind him, the little man system’s undoubtedly priming his flamethrowers. The transparent walls of the womb unfolded like a crystal flower, Jet still draped with dataprobes and one great umbilical cord protruding from the port at the base of his skull.

“Motor control linkages 100%, no red lights.” Pjumma said quietly as Jet stood, statue-still, on the womb’s platform. “Boot personality online in three.”

Joe clenched his jaw.

“Two”

Britain took a step back, ready to morph into a barrier.

“One”

Doctor Gilmore stepped in front of the womb as Jet’s brilliant blue-green eyes blinked open, blank and innocent.

“Unit 002, Aerial Combat and Reconnaissance. Online and awaiting orders.” Jet’s voice, without it’s warmth and humor, was a flat, nasal, and unpleasant sound. Joe shuddered. He had been the last of them built. He didn’t realize the blessing that was until now. He had never had to see his friends as empty machines.

He hated seeing Jet like that now.

“002, do you know who I am?” Gilmore asked in a firm voice, the newborn cyborg’s head tipping down to look at him with that same blank expression.

“Doctor Thaddeus Gilmore.” Jet.. Jet’s body, Joe firmly reminded himself… answered.

“002, do you trust me?” Gilmore said in the same, firm tone. Joe recognized it now. His programming voice. He’d heard it in his dreams.

“Yes, Doctor Gilmore.”

“002, accept command string input now.” Gilmore nodded to Pjumma who pushed a key, lighting up the Christmas tree of datapoints on the screen. “It’s time to wake up.”

For a moment, Jet stood there, before the bright eyes rolled back into his head, and his knees suddenly unlocked, his tall form collapsing.

Joe was at Jet’s side in between the beats of Doctor Gilmore’s heart. “JET!!!”

For another long, interminable moment, Jet looked at him, blinking. “…Joe. Joe Shimamura.” He said, as if remembering after years, a smile slowly blooming on his sharp features.

The others gathered around, all speaking at once before the doctor could silence them. “Jet, what is the last thing you remember?”

From Joe’s arms, Jet looked around. “Remember? My name is James Andrew Link. My friends call me Jet.” He smiled. “Doc Gilmore. Cham Chanko. Ian Britain. Pjumma Dwmbe. Francie, Redhawk and Albert aren’t here.” He looked around, and Joe’s hands tightened on him. “We’re home. We’re home and I’m naked.” The more he spoke, the more his natural inflections, his cocky smirk, his normal gestures began to return.

“….why am I naked?” He looked at Joe for the answer.

The answer suddenly blurted out, before Gilmore could provide Jet with something more reassuring. “We were fighting Black Ghost, and you got hurt.. and Jet, god, you…”

“Black Ghost. I remember coming online.. I remember fighting for them. I remember fighting them. I remember…” He looked at Joe. “You went after them alone. I don’t remember anything past that…” The bright eyes closed for a moment.

“My internal clock says I’ve been online 0:7:24… that’s impossible.” He looked over Joe’s shoulders to the others. “Doc, why is my clock so off? I’ve been online for more than two years.”

“Jet, we had to rebuild you…” the doctor began gently before Joe cut him off.

“You were almost killed saving me, you burned.. Jet I’m so sorry..” Joe started to babble, tears welling up in synthetic ducts, his hands tightening painfully on Jet’s newborn skin.

Jet’s hands moved suddenly to cup Joe’s face. “I saved you. You’re ok.” He said, looking Joe over as if examining him. “You’re ok, right?”

“Y..yeah.” Joe nodded, sniffling in a most unprofessional manner, whatever else he was going to say cut off by Jet’s mouth covering his.

Joe stiffened, startled, feeling his face burn as he heard the collective gasp and conspicuous resulting silence behind him. It took Jet a few moments longer before he backed off, looking at them all.

“Alright. Guess I never did that before, right?” Jet sat back, touching the unfamiliar burn on his face. “Guess that’s not exactly a memory then.” He looked down, unable to meet Joe’s stunned gaze, before looking up again.

“I have.. a… DOC! Look! It’s…” Jet pointed down to his crotch as Britain suddenly burst out laughing. “I HAVE A DICK!!”

“Oh, aye. Jet’s alright, then.” He managed to get out in between snorts as Joe wished he could will his body back into some sort of action, anything, except sit there and gape and replay the last several seconds over again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Redhawk yawned, stretching in the Dolphin 2’s cockpit. “We’ve got another ten hours, even at this speed. Fighting the jetstream. You two might as well get a little downtime.” He glanced over his shoulder at Françoise, who’d been looking at the stills from the site in New Mexico for the past hour.

Albert nodded from further back, finishing his diagnostics. “Françoise. I need to ask you something.”

He’d been quiet ever since Cham had called with the good news about Jet, and the amusing little story about his reaction to Joe.

Francoise glanced up at him, and sat back. “I think I know what you’re going to ask, Albert.” She said quietly, moving over to make room for him.

“You do?” Little expression showed on his face, but enough.

“You stood vigil in the lab all those nights.” Her pretty face didn’t hide the hurt in her eyes. “But you know Jet… is more interested in Joe.” She offered him a weak smile. “About right?”

“Pretty close, liebchen.” Albert laughed softly. “Look, Francie. I know… how you feel… about Joe. Everyone does, except for him. I just want to help all of us.”

“But if Joe doesn’t want me…” she started, her voice dropping.

“You think you’re doing him a favor by stepping aside?” Albert snorted. “You need to fight for him. You can help Joe. Jet’s just going to get himself killed trying to play the hero all the time. I want you and Joe to be happy. And I want Jet safe. That’s not too much to ask.”

“Albert…” Françoise twisted her scarf. “I want him to be happy.”

“I want him to be happy.. with you, Francie. I want him to be happy with you. Can you help me? Please?” The emotion in his voice made up for the lack showing on his perfect marble face.

Françoise’s lips hardened into a firm line and she nodded. “I’ll help. I’ll help us all.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Joe retreated from the lab under the pretense of getting some clothes for Jet, not wanting to think about (Jet’s mouth covering his, breathing for them both in the freezing cold of the upper atmosphere. Jet’s mouth kissing him.)

Halfway down the hall, Joe sat down heavily and started to laugh nervously, raking his hands through sandy-brown hair that felt just like the real thing. (Jet …. Loves me?)

(Who do you love, Joe?) Ivan’s voice nagged at him. “Can I love anyone?” He answered out loud, hugging his knees. “Jet’s my friend… He’s my best friend….We’re both… for god’s sake…”

“Is that what’s really bothering you?” Ivan’s soft voice gave Joe a terrifying start.

“Shit! Ivan….!” Joe glared at the little boy standing next to him in the corridor, eating another cookie. Ivan was slightly older than he had been a few hours ago, but the eyes in his child’s face were still ancient.

“You think about Jet a lot.” He said simply, offering Joe half of the snack.

“That’s not fair.” Joe groused, waving it off. “You shouldn’t be poking around in your friend’s heads.”

“I can’t help it. It’s very loud.” Ivan sighed. “Jet hasn’t completely settled into his new body yet, and I could hear him all the way upstairs. He thinks about a lot of very bad things.”

Joe wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but he asked anwyays. “Bad things?”

Ivan frowned. “I asked Doctor Gilmore about them once, but he said I was too young. But they’re very bad.”

Joe stifled a sudden, hysterical laugh. “It’s ok, Ivan. Sometimes… we all think about them.”

“Françoise thinks about you.” The child added bluntly, tilting his head as Joe blinked and suddenly felt his face burn.

“I have to go get Jet a bathrobe or something.” He mumbled, jerking to his feet and retreating quickly.

INSERT INSERT INSERT

Joe closed his eyes as the water from the shower pelted him, soothing. They didn’t really need to shower, none of them sweated, and synthskin was exceptionally dirt resistant. But, the cool water assisted in heat dumping after serious exertion, and no one could argue the psychological benefit of a nice bath.

He was so lost in the meditation of the water on skin and tile that he thought the small, soft sounds in the background were his imagination. But their persistence brought him to awareness.

Frowning, Joe padded silently to the edge of the stall, peering around the wall. Down the corridor, by the deep soaking tub, he could see Jet, one long hand splayed against the blue tile for support, his face hidden under the spiky scarlet mane.

Joe felt the quiver of pseudoendorphins as his autonomic response system started to kick in. Water dripped slowly from that one bracing arm, as another hand, pale and shot through with silver nanogel began to travel the length of it.

Albert’s gunarm.

Joe felt his jaw drop open and he forcibly closed it, craning to get a better glimpse.

“Ah.. Albert…” Jet breathed as the gleaming hand retreated, the inserts morphing into something long and slender. Joe swallowed reflexively until he realized what it was.

A dataprobe.

“This isn’t going to hurt a bit.” Albert’s crisp accent was strained. “I just… want to feel you…” Jet murmured acceptance, and his head dropped lower, exposing the dataport hidden at the base of his skull.

Joe absently touched his own, hidden under the mass of wet hair, as the probe slipped in, Albert hissing softly as it connected. Jet shuddered, fingers flexing, leaving scratches in the tile as they did.

Albert’s free hand roamed along the length of Jet’s torso and they moaned in peculiar unison.

“So much feeling….” Albert whispered, his silvery hair brushing Jet’s shoulder as he pressed against him. “It’s so beautiful.”

Joe covered his mouth, trying not to let the squeak of surprise he felt in his throat escape. He suddenly realized what Albert was doing. Jet’s original body, and this new one to a much greater degree, was a veritable feast of sensory input points. It had to be for him to judge altitude, pressure, speed… a thousand different mundane things. Normally, a processing overlay converted all those sensations into simple data. But bypass the overlay, and feed the sensory input directly into their feeling-starved brains….

Beyond his exceptional sight and hearing, Albert only had the barest of physical senses - heat, cold, damage. He only had a rudimentary sense of taste and smell – all things their designers had considered useless in a walking arsenal. Now, hooked into Jet’s nervous system, he was devouring the feast of sensation and looping the spikes of pleasure it gave him back to Jet.

Jet’s fingers tightened on the tile, now gouging the smooth surface, gasping out a stream of incoherence as that one pale hand explored him. The long legs had locked tightly in some automatic response to keep him from falling over.

Joe’s hands tightened on the towel bar as he watched, twisting the metal unrecognizably as Jet hurdled to a release that his body would never be able to complete, but his brain was more than willing to try and compensate for, taking Albert with him.