The Delmarian Influence

Chapter Nine

9.

Stealth Vessel, Cruiser Class

4100 O.E., Septam 27, 14:23:30.02

Location Unknown

Captain Harold Michael Garrison sucked in a deep breath as he rose from the metallic bunk. His vision was blurred and his breathing came in sharp, shallow breaths.

"Environmental controls," he ordered.

"Happy to see you are awake, Captain," the voice seemed to inhabit his mind with its silky baritone.

Memories flooded in on him and he realized that he was speaking to the miscreant. He felt along the metallic walls. He was in the brig, that was for certain, but why? He attempted a system check, but nothing happened. He attempted again, but there was no response from his nanites.

He rubbed his back involuntarily, attempting to think clearly, but his normally crisp logic was suddenly very cloudy and malleable.

"I have disabled your nanites, Captain. You will feel slightly disoriented for a time. This must be your first time without them. Fascinating experience, I'm sure. I attempted it once. It terrified me, at first, until I realized that to know one's self, one has to strip away all of the artificial and have a look at the real."

"Why are you doing this?" his voice sounded soft and it shook slightly. Normally it was gruff and full of confidence, no matter his inner emotions.

"Do you recall what you were? As human beings we seem to have forgotten ourselves, forgotten what it was like to be human. With the infestation of nanites we have become machines with little vulnerabilities. In essence, we are creatures riddled with flaws. For instance, your near-sightedness. I would guess that you never even knew you were near sighted. The asthmatic breathing...that was more interesting--"

"All such flaws should have been corrected--"

"They were. Are you aware that every human being has an original imprint? I simply reverted--"

"Why?" Captain Garrison felt along the walls of his prison, then reached for his naked hip. A thought tugged at the edge of his mind, just out of his reach. "Why are you doing this?"

There was silence for a time. Had he finally stumped the strange miscreant that seemed to have nanites far in advance of his own?

The robotics that were in Captain Garrison were said to be of the highest quality. He had higher brain function nanites, physical nanites, and a high recovery rate. In fact, his recovery rate was the highest in the Confederate.

Now that they were disabled they were useless. He'd learned in basic training that this moment might come, but he had never believed himself to be so vulnerable as to have all corrections negated. In effect he was blind, wheezing through damaged lungs, and having trouble thinking, yet there was something at the back of his mind.

The more he tried to think, the harder it was to grasp.

Captain Garrison ran a hand around his slender hips, feeling the cold flesh that rose at his touch. He shivered involuntarily and coughed.

The entire reaction made him shiver again, but not from the cold.

"It is difficult to say why we do what we do, Michael," the voice made the captain’s hands freeze on his hips. "I can feel the others that are like me and there is something that must be done. There is a place we must go, but the Confederate continues to halt our every move. It is so important that we reach this place."

"Where?" He knew he was close to figuring out what it was he was supposed to do. An imbedded instinct perhaps? Something the medical technicians had installed without his knowledge.