The Wondering Workshop

Israeli authors and poets creating in English

Pyrostasis Resurrection part III (New Version)

Written By: DaVe - Feb• 17•09

Pyrostasis Resurrection – Part III

Confession & Retribution

“Resurrect them.” Commodore Kane Mason told a lab technician who were in charge of the resurrection process.

“Are you sure?” He asked in a bored tone, as if he were expecting the previous command and the obvious answer to be followed.

“Yes, this one is special.”

“Why? I mean what’s the rush? You have six more colour blinded marksmen, one in each unit.”

“We lost Alpha and golf too.”

“Then what is it?”

“Ballistics claims she was the one who murdered her comrades.”

“Could it be?”

“It can. She’ll be court martialled if it’s turn out to be true.”

“Why she hasn’t committed suicide, then?”

“Maybe her muffler broke on the 2nd shot or maybe she felt she deserves to be punished.”

“Such perfection of beauty and she turned out femme-fatale on us, just like that.” The technician added a sigh.

“What a shame.” The commodore sighed as well.

“She could have any boy at the base, yet she sought for solitude, why is that?”

“Just like Richard Corey by Sir Edwin Arlington Robinson or Ulysses by Alfred Lord Tennyson. In the case of Richard Corey, once he reached fulfilment, he killed himself.”

“What are you talking about?” The technician scratched his right temple.

“Once you reach for your goal, you search for the next challenge or die of boredom, supposedly.” The commodore crossed his arms abreast.

“Do you think that’s her excuse?” He wiped his glasses for a second and put them back on.

“I doubt it, but we’ll ask her after her tissue regeneration is complete.”

That kid is at those ever-green yellow blade meadows again… The sky is darkening, some lightning bolts are striking the land, scorching the earth wherever they hit… Run you foolish boy, start running already, he lingers for a few more seconds before turning around and starts heading for cover. At the sky some enemy vessels have decided to give chase of their new found prey. Those vultures are after you, with their stupid octagonal shaped wings, clearly not built in an aero-dynamic thinking, probably their architect intended them for space flight only… Using rather powerful engines they are quite fast as well in the atmosphere, not as our F-512-XAs but still, run foolish boy, give them a hard time, get to the cover of the nearby buildings, or more correctly whatever left of them, they’ll never find you in those ruins… Fuck what is it? Sodium Pentothal? They’re waking me again… shit, to bloody hell with them…

Sixteen hours later the commodore whispered to me “Wake up beautiful…” I heard it, when they woke me up using their serums. I was in the embryonic chamber, semi floating, semi standing in about 60 degrees stance, inside a diagonally standing human size testing tube. Hydro-oxygen rich fluid filling my lungs. Great I was naked again, as if female nudity is really necessary to the resurrection process, those god damn pervert scientists. The commodore looks at me, admiring my cursed figure of genetic engineering brought to the level of perfection. Breasts size according to the parents wish. They settled on C36, midway before I was even born. Quite a threat on the reproduction rate for other girls around me. Coal black wavy long hair. My parents a Swede and a Dane, both blonde, a recessive trait, as if I wouldn’t know I’m adopted, once I learn basic rules of inheritance. How I turned out to be a drifter to a couple of nomads in Europe. They smoked weed all day and drank beer all night, but I never wanted to to turn out the way they were. I was destined for great impact on the human race, maybe, probably not, delusions of self grandeur are common nowadays, aren’t them…?

We’re still in the complex, never made it back to the Oedipus, or to the Antigone. I guess one mother ship is as good as another, hexagon corridors made of carbine poly-alloy, somewhere between black and grey, though tends slightly more into dark grey in general. The complex corridors are hexagonal as well but wider, much like the Antigone embryonic chambers are slightly smaller than those of the complex with an annoying 45 degrees stance, where you cannot sleep or move until it phases into a bubble membrane and you can exocytose out of it.

“What I wouldn’t give to have her…” Stupid Ishikawa Kawajiri, or was it Hideo Sakaguchi, yep that’s more likely. Time to open my eyes, but I’ll do it slowly so he wouldn’t know I heard him the first time.

“Miss Summer, drop the act, there was brain activity a minute ago, stop stalling, I want to hear explanations and I want them now.” The commodore put his serious face on. As if I could care less. An inner wicked smile almost escapes to an actual manifestation but withheld on the last second.

“What do you want me to say, commodore?” I said while trying to keep my posture.

“The report claims you killed your friends in the middle of the fray, is it true?”

“What if it is?”

“Then you’ll be court martialled.”

“Then it’s false.”

“Evidence shows otherwise.”

“Then you have it.”

“Do you admit opening fire on Sergeant Mustapha Abdul and Corporal Jacques Phillipes?”

“What does it matter what my answer would be, I’m full of truth serum as well, right?”

“Maybe so, give me your answer now, it’s an order.”

“I killed them, sir, purposefully.”

“OK..” He paused for a minute. ”Why is that?”

“Because I’m a drifter and they promised to kill me on my next nocturnal-reverie manifested in a day-dream, so it was a pre-emptive strike and I let the enemy kill me so I wouldn’t have to fear it.”

“So there are respawn points in real life, I guess.”

“Mind reading is not susceptible on the court of law.”

“But I already have your confession recorded. Next time I’ll go Prometheus on your liver if the situation recurs. The entire platoon will turn into golden condors and eat out your liver while you’ll be kept alive by artificial means.”

“This is illegal and you know it.”

“So does the killing of your comrades, but if I deem it necessary to raise spirits on the battlefield I can issue such a command as a field marshal.”

“You can, but you won’t.”

“Watch me, an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.”

Pain & Despair

The commodore left the room and from some reason all the rez technicians followed him. An odd sight – no doubt, they usually don’t follow him into the death infested hexagonal corridors.

I was clotted in three layers: Epidermis, Dermis and Hypo-dermis, so naturally I couldn’t complain about the matter. Deprived of the exoskeleton C60 suit of armour, tremour crept under my skin. I felt something changed in my cytoplasm shell. Liquid oxygen at mild concentration filled my lungs. Suddenly the tubes got disconnected and retracted, though failing any mere chance not to scratch my now goose bump skin with their metallic ribs, ever so cold in so many terms. The scratches disappear very quickly with the augmented activity of re-constructive enzymes rich within the engulfing solution. I count my fingers, just to be sure, no extra fingers were inserted by mistake of hereditary mix–up. Six and seven fingers were common in some royal blood lines slightly before two millenia ago.

The membrane is now also has a different flux and feel to it. I know what it is, it silently changed phase from full solid to semi – solid and semi – liquid, a bubble skin if you will. If it wasn’t for the absence of the rez techs, I’d think it’s a good sign, that I’m about to be discharged and ‘cytose my way out of the bubble and to my room at the barracks. But something rings odd, the tubes were disconnected rather sharply yet the medical harness belt remained intact, and I don’t see the buckle. Not behind me, nothing but goose bumps all over my body, and the scary thing is, that the liquid is rather warm. No implication toward one excrement or another but something is very fishy about this matter.

That was strange, it felt as if my rez chamber was connected to the membrane of another rez chamber. The cytoplasm is starting to get cooler now. Something is off, definitely off at the moment. Some more rez chambers are getting connected as well, and the temperature is dropping fast. I cannot move because of this medical harness that accidentally helps to cover the lower genitalia as a side effect of how it is stretched all over my pelvis. I felt a tremour and it wasn’t one of my new found vibrations of the chill cytoplasm. I think I heard an aquatic sound, a fin or a flipper maybe. There is a sound of a creature making an approach towards me, but it really hard to see through the the green and reddish shades of the cytoplasm.

It is green from the medical proteins and red from open wounds I suppose. Ah good, the harness got disconnected somehow. I really want to believe it’s a good sign, but then why the hell those lab rats left the room. Except when they’re picking us bits by bits from the floors, walls, ceilings and ruptured aqueducts and/or cooling ducts, they never leave this room all at once. I can sense a metallic taste in the cytoplasm, probably a bit of Ferrum from my blood. I needn’t worry myself over such trivial matters now. The cytoplasm is being replaced with clear water at the moment. That would certainly explain the disappearance of the green and red shades and their replacement with clean fresh water.

Damn it, the oxygen levels are now dropping, but I think I can see slits of air forming now near the ceiling. It really strange to be breathing oxygen in gas form again but that is the price of resurrection. Something is inside the water with me, I’m sure about it now, if ever was a doubt, now it’s gone. I feel the motions of what now the combination of six rez bubbles turned into one membrane, and under floor-tiles water pumps are doing. The filtering system went on and its centrifugal force is attempting to pull me down with the ever growing strong current. I must cling to one of these rails in this new established vortex aquatic wind tunnel. There is such a relief that nothing could sustain this vortex rotors underneath the floor. Wait, what is that? A fin of some kind, it has a rather weird triangle shape, like those of the aquatic mammals or very ignorant fish with a minimal brain activity. That’s bullshit. Total bullshit. The commodore must have dropped a carcass of a shark into the vortex filtering system. No, its movements are cutting through the vortex, and yet as circular as the pattern of the flow. It isn’t dead yet, or maybe it wasn’t dead at all. Intake… Compression… Power… Exhaust… Intake… Compression… Power… Exhaust… By the power of the four strokes internal combustion engine, by the name of Christiaan Huygens and Ford…” Shchplazse

***

It happened again, somebody is not following protocol, memory wipes are not taking place as they supposed to happen. Again the membrane has loosened up, and the phase shift of parallel rez chambers can be a sign of only one thing. I’m not alone in this vortex filter. Something is holding the process up, the engine was not fired yet. I know the marital status of assumption and whose mother is, but again everything seems off. The lab rats in white coats are missing again from their regular posts. Unless they went scraping for our lost ones they should be here on duty, occasionally staring when they think we’re not yet awake.

I can bet my life that something is here in the water with me. It happened once and with the vindictive Commodore anything is possible. The shade of the water is clearing up. I guess they did activate the vortex engines, but this time on very low and quiet amplitude. The shade of them has become clear again, maybe slightly blue with those white fluorescent lamps they like to put at the bottom of the walls just before the floor, less than a feet from the floor. Wait, something is blocking the light, it is some fluid, dark gooey fluid, like an ink from a squid, but why would there be ink of a squid, unless… no he wouldn’t, not again, not after what happened before, fuck no, let go of my legs you slimy bastard, let go I said… FUCK…” Shchplazse…

“Forty years old, acting like 10 years old.” I said to the commodore once I regained consciousness and he was right there to stare at me.

“Prove me wrong.”

“You let them kill me again to get even.”

“I wouldn’t know of what you’re talking about, Miss Summer.”

“The scientists are my witnesses.”

“No one will ever testify against me.” The commodore said. So sure of himself. I would kill him, if I hadn’t respect for the chain of command, they must have re-established my psychic blocks against insurrection or disrespect for authority, I’ll have to break it again somehow. Just think of the possible Promethean punishment, this ought to work, if only they would keep the vivid image in my mind as I had before, but they took it, my ability to day-dream could have been gone too. For the love of Ford, give me back my dreams…

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