4: The Process

If only they had listened to him, thought Gus, the whole misunderstanding would never have happened. But he was never given the chance to speak. Some time had passed, how long he could not tell. He heard muffled chatter and signals from outside the hull that trapped him - technical terms he did not recognize...

"Life support?"

"Stable. Digestive system successfully replaced. No bacterial leaks."

"He's secured in the primary tank. Remove stasis bed and open osmotic valves."

"Check."

"Oxygen flow."

"Check."

"Inject more anaesthetic gel."

"In progress."

"Right... Ed, did you mix the sterilization liquid yesterday? Tested it on the tissue samples?"

"All checked out. Allergene readings are within bounds."

"Fine. If all readings are correct, inject TBS now. Not one single body germ can be left alive before the B-Redux are used."

"Watch out - we got negative feedback from the spinner, affecting the body mold... cancel with a counterwave... hurry..."

"Done."

"It's all set then... let's make a mountain out of this man." Gus could see, but he could no longer feel anything. It was as if his limbs had quietly ceased to exist. He thought he could perceive wavelike movements, as if he was floating in some clear liquid. And the liquid was slowly turning dark red...

***

Meanwhile, in a nearby lunar city.

The Kansler exited his tube-train, walked alone to an unmarked alley, and discreetly ran his hand across a scanner on the wall. A small display above the scanner prompted him to stand still, while he was electronically searched and cleared - this took ten seconds. The round airlock opened to let him inside the featureless building.

Several doors locked shut behind the Kansler as he walked in, and he arrived in the lobby of an establishment known as "The House". It was the most ill-reputed, most expensive brothel on the Moon. No information, recordings or camera shots ever left its secure rooms - and should that happen, The House would immediately shut down.

"Welcome, sir!" a plump lady in a red dress greeted the Kansler - it was the "Madam". She knew him, but to ease the surveillance paranoia of her customers, the staff never mentioned titles or names. "Whoever you are, you're an honored guest. How's the weather back on Mother Earth?"

"Haven't been there for a good long while," the Kansler said, taking off the plain gray cap he always wore in public. "And I couldn't care less." His voice changed from the moment he saw the Madam, to a more relaxed note. They exchanged polite kisses and smiles.

"How is my sweet Nica doing?" he asked the Madam with a mischievous wink of an eye. The woman stiffened ever so little.

"Still recuperating from your last meeting, sir."

"So am I. Now, a drink and some relaxants would be a perfect start of the evening."

"Certainly, sir. Come into the cocktail lounge and rest your feet..."

Gus closed his eyes; a time passed. Suddenly, he could see again - but couldn't remember having opened his eyelids. Then he focused closer to his face, and discovered why: his eyelashes and eyelids had vanished from his field of sight... had vanished altogether.

He attempted to move one hand to his face and neck, to see what had happened to his face. Nothing happened. There was a repeating, turning movement of the medium in which he imagined himself floating. Its red tint was beginning to pale into a more transparent blue. He might just as well be trapped in a giant bottle of mouthwash, Gus thought.

He had trouble focusing his eyesight. It seemed to him as if he was getting cross-eyed. From the other side of the thick glass tank, Gus could discern blurred shapes: people in white suits moving about, and - up closer - metal arms of small robots, doing something. The blank surface of some instrument briefly passed by close in his line of sight, and he caught a blurred reflection of his face.

Gus tried to scream. But having no lips, tongue, facial muscles, or larynx left, no sound came... plus, he was submerged in a thick blue liquid.

***

The Kansler sat in the House bar, feet reclining over a woman's back, while another woman massaged his tense shoulders, and a third woman held his drink. The Kansler bit his lip; he was getting frustrated, and he hated it. A half-dozen other guests - all men, all fabulously wealthy - sat and sipped their drinks, with vacant, restless expressions on their faces. v "Is Nica ready yet?" he asked out loud, just a hint of menace in his voice.

"As I said," the Madam interjected patiently, "she is still recuperating. "It should take at least another week before she is ready to... entertain you again, sir. Meanwhile, we have surgically altered another of our ladies to resemble Nica perfectly, to keep -"

"That trick won't fool me," the Kansler snapped. "Patch her up. I want Nica in fifteen minutes, or I'll call it quits."

The Madam's facial color turned a brief red, then white. But she smiled professionally.

"I'll see what I can do."

And she left the lounge. Another visitor in the bar, a wellknown arms manufacturer from Earth, waved hello to the Kansler.

"Good evening. How's business?" the middle-aged politician-commander asked, no interest in his voice.

"Couldn't be better!" the other man laughed, drunk with power and stimulants. "And now the people's voted me an official Friend of Mother Earth, too! How I love the adulation of the crowds. I remember in my youth, my elders told me their forefathers were afraid to show off their wealth and power... ha! Say, are you still married to that videostar, what's-her-name?"

The Kansler frowned: "You need a memo-refresh. I divorced her and gave her the kids years ago."

"Oh - sorry. Still, having a good time, eh, Kans-"

The man stopped and turned pale, realizing he had broken a taboo of the establishment. The Kansler slowly rose to face him down.

"You ought to take a sober-up dose now, sir. If you want a safe flight back home to your family."

The Kansler walked away from the trembling arms manufacturer, toward the inner rooms of The House. He would not wait a minute longer to mete out his pent-up frustration - preferably on a defenseless, non-anaesthetized target.

***

Several hours had passed since Boulder Pi's initial command to begin the NP Process. What remained of Gus Thorsen was the core being: his bones, brain, spine, nerve threads, and eyes. The B-Redux colony, a specially designed strain of flesh-eating bacteria, had removed the rest. Boulder Pi and his team took stimulants to stay alert and continued working their consoles, working on their re-design of the human form.

"Careful now with the remotes... if you break off one single nerve ending, we'll waste days on restoring it."

"Holographic body grid?"

"On."

"Adjusting for new proportions."

"Boulder Pi, sir, why did you change the body grid like that?"

"Don't worry about that for now. Stretch out the loose nerve tendrils... gently now..."

"Boulder, sir?"

"Yes?"

"A cluster of threads have floated into a knot over there... should we untie it now, or remove the bones first?"

"Wait... hold everything... let me take over the controls, Linda... I'll untie the threads right now."

The personnel held their collective breath while Boulder Pi connected his console to the remote-controlled robot arms inside the tank, and began to untangle a small knot of loose nerve threads.

Inside the tank, Gus was assaulted by the strange sensation that his legs were wound up together like rubber bands, and someone tried to pry them apart with red-hot pokers. It seemed to last forever, but ended abruptly - and he felt nothing again.

The team continued its work on Gus; his bones, vertebrae and cranium shell were carefully removed and funneled over into an adjacent section, where they were scanned into 3-D models for an entirely new skeleton. All that remained in the central tank were the tiny bones of his inner ear that still functioned. Gus could hear - just barely.

Boulder Pi let out a sigh, and said out loud: "Great work, people! Now for the tricky part... pull out the inner ear system, and insert the new ear system to speed-grow onto the stumps."

"Going... going... gone." With a subjective thud ringing through his mind, Gus lost all sense of natural hearing.

"Ear replacement systems in place."

"Neural welding?"

"I'm on it... this'll just take a few hours." Boulder Pi yawned demonstratively.

"Good... okay, isolate and store the eyeballs. We'll mold the new ones tomorrow. Activate the magnetic field, start Stage Yellow and leave the plastifier running. See you all tomorrow."

"Great progress, eh!"

"Goodnight!"

"See you tomorrow!"

"What a day, huh?"

"Will you stay long, Hube?"

"Naah, this'll just take a moment. Catch you on the next tube. The pub tonight?"

"Sure!"

Two small mechanical arms, with cup-shaped endings, moved from the edges of Gus's field of vision, and closed in. And he lost his eyesight.

A few minutes later, only one scientist was left on watch in the laboratory. Without previous warning, Boulder Pi re-entered the lab on his leg extensions.

"Did you forget something again, sir?" the lab man chuckled.

"I just got nervous, leaving my creation like that. Hube, I can take your shift. No problem. Go join the others at the pub."

"Thank you, sir!"

When the assistant had left, Boulder Pi stopped pretending to look tired. The crew would object, for sure. It would be easier if they were confronted with the truth "after the fact" - and the responsibility would lie squarely on Boulder Pi, who in turn laid the blame on the Kansler.

"Orders are orders," the little man mumbled to the mass of floating nerves and brain tissue in the central tank. "You won't feel, hear or see a thing, though, if that's any comfort... and I'll store away what I cut off, somewhere the Kansler won't find it. One day, if we're lucky, you can get your mojo back... sorry, Colonel. Orders are orders."

And with the flick of a remote-controlled knife, the living nervous system of Gus Thorsen was neutered.

***

The Kansler emerged from the private rooms of The House - showered, tired and red-faced. He had some time to sleep until Boulder Pi's team began their second shift, and he wanted to be there and oversee the process. The Madam, looking sleepy, came to say goodbye.

"You've had a comfortable visit, sir?" she asked formally.

"Yes."

"Sir... the management wish to make you aware, that your rough behavior is starting to breach the house rules. We advise you to show a little restraint next time."

"She'll live."

"If you say so," the Madam replied, with bitterness audible in her voice.

"Your PP are in the bank," he grunted and headed straight for the exit passage. Payment was done through a network of middlemen, never personally.

The Madam's face seemed to sag as the exit door shut, and her years showed behind the youth treatments. Only when the last airlock door had clicked shut, she muttered: "You murdering bastard."

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THE ARGUS PROJECT INTERNET EDITION (c)A.R.Yngve 1999, 2000, 2004. All rights reserved. May not be copied without permission.

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