SOMA (LGBT-scifi-romance)

Chapter Twenty-One: First Lessons

Sector 09: Cita Canis

Jan. 26, 462 AC

Soma spent the night in the clinic. It smelled of disinfectant, and Gem's monitor let out an aborted alarm every hour. Nurse Aster sat up through the night, tinkering with her electric board and checking on her patients. Her presence was comforting—warm and solid—though she said nothing at all.

In the morning, Soma heard Aster leave the alcove. He wiped at the bags under his eyes and blinked exhaustion from his mind. The clock strip over the clinic hatch read nine.

Soma yelped, and fled out through the main hollow and past the marred effigy to the dimly lit belt of lunaroids around Clutchstone. Mercury was there, drifting between iron rocks. This time, she wore nothing but wires and two sheets of curved scrap metal. The getup should've looked ridiculous, yet somehow, she was striking. She narrowed her eyes at Soma. "Slept in?"

"Sorry, I—"

"Easy to lose track of time out here in the Gray." Mercury gestured for Soma to float up parallel to her. He obeyed, drawing the tesla from where it was bound around his waist.

When he got close, Mercury lunged for him, swiping her arm up. Metal sheets clattered. The impact jarred Soma's bad arm and he cried out. Mercury took his tesla rifle and fired.

Soma's heart lurched, something hot hovering in his throat, but he'd forgotten to charge the tesla, and it had run out of power.

"What is wrong with you?" Soma demanded. His pulse was painful. "I could've..."

"First lesson," Mercury said. "Always keep your weapons charged. Now, do you know how I took your gun from you?"

Soma wrinkled his nose, miffed. He gingerly felt along his right arm. It throbbed. After a night on painkillers, the agony felt sharper than ever. "You're the champion. And I'm injured."

Mercury tossed the tesla rifle back to Soma, wires orbiting around her neck and waist like the rings of Saturn. "Leanne told me a lot about you. She said you fought with synthetic children sometimes. How many fights did you win?"

A dark flush came over Soma's face. His ears burned. "It's because," he stammered for an excuse. "The other synthetic kids were usually bigger. Even the younger kids... Wait, when did Leanne talk about me? Have you talked to her since they took her from Sentinel Tower?"

"The syns didn't win because they were bigger," Mercury interrupted. She clapped a hand to her chest. The metal sheets echoed. "We're made to do more work, bear more hardships, to work in radiation and the harsh conditions of Old Earth. Some of us don't even feel pain."

"So I should never fight? I should just run away?"

"We're made faster too." The old woman swirled, her braids a blur in space. She drew her own firearm, and gestured to Soma. "But by all means, try."

"What?"

"Run." Mercury fired. A rush of electricity rushed up Soma's skin to his chest. The shock drove the breath from his lungs. Soma choked, dropping the tesla and clutching his throat for breath. He struggled, air burning inside him. He arched up, counting seven nebulas in the skies over Clutchstone. He counted them from the left, then from the right, as he brought his brittle breathing back under control.

Mercury said darkly, "That was just the teaser setting. If I was an enemy, you'd be dead."

Soma gestured to the useless tesla floating beside him. "Isn't... ha..." he panted, "this... a little one-sided?"

"Well." Mercury raised her eyebrows. "Tomorrow, if you remember to charge your tesla, you can try to shoot back. Now stop panting. Run."

Mercury was as fast and relentless as she claimed. No matter how Soma climbed, or how he hid, she always found him. She shot him again. And again. After the third shot, Soma got used to the sharp stings of electricity. No asthma: the air in Cita Canis' Gray Zone was freshly generated—not at all like the toxic clouds from sector six.

After being shot the thirteenth time, Soma looked down at himself and cursed his own stupidity. He took off his red coat and carefully stored it in a nearby iron rock. He considered his white clinic shift, and stripped that off as well, leaving only navy undergarments. His dark skin and hair blended with space, and for the first time, he evaded trigger-happy Mercury for about ten minutes before she cornered him in a patch of light.

"Good," she said when they finished. "What have you learned?"

"I think..." Soma panted. Long stretches of his skin were red from electricity. His shoulders peeled white like a moulting snake. He squeezed water from an aluminum package down his throat. "I see clearer than you do in space." Mercury nodded. "And I'm faster."

"Not faster," Mercury corrected. "More agile. Remember the wolf and the rabbit?"

Soma did. "And you didn't think I would take off my coat, so it took you a while to adjust. You were stalled for maybe ten seconds."

Mercury hummed appreciatively. "The more common the stimuli, and the better we're programmed to respond, the faster we find the right functions for scenarios. Against creative or unexpected situations, synthetics often stall out."

She gestured for Soma to float next to her. "Soma, when humans first deciphered the technology to simulate sentience, they tried all manner of robotics and networks. But in the end, this alien interface only works in advanced organic matrixes. So... syns are made from the bodies of dead humans. Recycled, you might say. Do you know what happens to a human body after death?"

Soma shook his head.

"The brain cells die first. Within minutes, the damage is irreparable." Mercury tapped her temple. "Since synthetic are just programming, their functions are unaffected. But the nerve endings." The old synthetic rubbed her fingers together. "The sensory details and fine motor controls degrade as well. You should always react faster and see in more detail than a synthetic. Those are your only advantages, human."

"Oh." Soma thought He gingerly put on his shift and coat, though he was still sweaty. His skin burned. "If synthetics are so much stronger and better, why are humans still in charge?"

Mercury's face soured. "First of all, very few of us think outside of programming. Most can't even curse or conceive of escape, let alone retaliate. Second, we can be culled with a single digital algorithm. Lastly, there are verbal triggers."

Soma shook his head, uncomprehending. "Triggers?"

"Most synthetics are programmed to respond to specific verbal cues. Some cause unconsciousness, or unconditional obedience. Everything is stacked against us, Soma."

Soma floated forward, fascinated. "You shot the Man of Means. Somehow, we can fight back."

Mercury snarled, functions switching like the curled funnel of a hurricane. Metal jingled. Wires sizzled. "I shot a monster," she hissed, "point blank, no effect. He's no more human than I am."

Soma frowned at her. "Well, he's not synthetic," he said. And then, feeling bold, he ventured, "Does he scare you?"

"Leanne used to say mystery is its own brand of terror," Mercury said. "The Man of Means rules with terror. Leanne said he takes young syns into his home and spits them out broken. He's killed humans too, except he's too powerful to bring to justice. He carved his image into our nightmares. He wants fear, because the more he keeps people afraid, the more power he has over them. He's something much, much worse than human. And then remember that he rules them. Of course I'm afraid."

Soma shuddered as he imagined the monstrous man.

"We have to stop him, Soma," Mercury said softly. "Whatever the cost. Don't you see?"

"Yes," Soma rasped.

"Good," she said. "You are exactly who Leanne said you'd be. Precisely what we need. Now, are you ready to meet Leanne?"

"I thought Aster said..."

"Please," Mercury interrupted. "Aster doesn't rule the Clutchstone."