Continued from Part I.

“Berlman?” I call out again, my legs gaining strength as I force them to continue carrying me forward.  I make it out of the medical bay, heading down through the metal, meshed walkways that lead throughout the ship.  I still feel a little woozy, but that’s not what’s bothering me the most.

Warning: Attempt to access most recently written memories failed.  Memories were likely corrupted due to improper upload or transfer.

Attempting to repair files…
Repairing…
Repairing…
Repair failed.  Files cannot be repaired from available data.

Attempting to restore files from earlier backup…
Restore failed.  No earlier backup is present.

The system in the ship was top-of-the-line, capable of keeping a constant real-time profile of every crew member’s brain in the synthetic matrix of the computer.  Whenever massive damage was detected to a crewman, the real-time profile on the computer was simply saved, ready to be uploaded to a new, rebooted body.  

I knew that the system worked.  On previous voyages, several of our more accident-prone members of the crew had managed to injure or kill themselves through various circumstances.  In every case, their profile had been successfully saved, and they had stepped out of the reboot chamber a couple of hours later, after their new body had been constructed, shaking their head at their stupidity.  

It had even progressed to the point where Barry, one of the more enterprising crewmen, kept a pool going on who would be the next person to need rebooting.  As the captain, I had to discourage such behavior, of course, but occasionally I’d sit down and consult with him in private.  He was able to provide a good insight into how the crew felt – something invaluable to a captain.

But my point was that the ship’s computer was able to keep a full brain profile up until the last microsecond of that person’s life before the reboot.  There should not be any memory gaps.  So why can’t I recall why I had been rebooted?

The corridors are suspiciously quiet.  The only noise that I can hear is the banging of my own steps against the metal gratings.  Wait a minute.  I pause, straining my ears.  It isn’t just my imagination – the sounds of the ship itself, the steady purr of the warp drive beneath my feet, is different.  I’ve commanded this ship long enough to tell when it’s gone wrong.  And something is definitely off.  No crew, malfunctioning reboot system, and now something different with the ship’s engines; there’s a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I lean forward, releasing the railing and pushing myself forward into a half-stumble, half-run down the corridor towards the nearest terminal interface.  I duck around the corner, into the mess hall (which is also completely empty.  This is very bad, my brain’s crying out to me), and grab for the terminal keyboard.  I key in my access code to the ship’s mainframe, my fingers trembling slightly. 

Access code accepted.  Welcome, Captain Reynolds.

>Run diagnostics

Running full-system diagnostic scan…
…
…
Warning!  Extensive damage detected.  Multiple detection pathways are currently offline.  Extent of damage cannot be determined at this time.

Warning!  Damage detected to Reboot™ system.  Memory save function corrupted.  Real-time protection module has been disconnected and must be manually repaired.  Any Reboot™ that occurs will be drawn from most recent saved profile.

Ah, so that explained part of what was wrong.  The computer system, for some reason, had been damaged and was no longer able to save the up-to-date copies of brain scans for new reboots.  This explained why I couldn’t remember what had gone wrong when I had awoken; those most recent memories must not have been preserved.

Although the idea of not being able to save my memories fills me with concern, I know what I have to do next; I have to head to the computer room.  Hopefully, I’ll be able to repair the computer system.  But I’ll have to be alert as I do so. Any mistakes I make won’t be remembered if I reboot…

Continued in Part III…

Warning: Damage at critical levels. 
Shutting down non-vital systems.
Diverting power to core processes.

Wait, what?  No, hold on!  I can almost reach the switch . . .

Warning: Damage at critical levels.
Overriding higher subroutines.
Beginning memory dump.

No!  I can’t.  Hold.  Fight back.  Cannot.  Memory…

Memory dump complete.  
Final upload initialized.
Transferring…
Transferring…
Transfer complete.

Shutting down.

Rebooting in 5…
4…
3…
2…
1…

Core systems online.  Running boot diagnostics…
System is stable.

Booting secondary subroutines.
Secondary subroutines are active.
Booting primary subroutines and personality core.

Ow… oh man, my head is killing me.  What happened?

All systems active.  Performance nominal.

Ugh.  I hate waking up like this.  When I’ve watched the old movies, the main character sometimes sits up, clutching his head, on the morning after a hard night of drinking.  I don’t drink, of course, and the alcohol wouldn’t have much effect even if I did.  Thanks, super-efficient liver.  Thanks for not letting me get drunk for more than ten minutes or so at a time, at the cost of an entire bag of booze.

But anyway, I imagine that those old people, after their heavy nights of drinking, felt something like how I do now.

Anyway, let’s see.  Time to see if the muscles in this body are any good.  I’ll just reach up for the handle to the pod that I’m in, and ta da!  One push, and the door is open.  My muscles feel a little wobbly, but nothing too bad.  I should be able to walk.

Thud.  Freaking ow.  Okay, maybe the neurons are still compensating a little, and I don’t yet have full control.  Luckily, there was this hard metal med bay floor to break my fall.  Let’s try this: I’ll reach out for the operating table, anchored in the middle and fortunately unoccupied, and use it to pull myself up.  There, that works great!

Now that I’m sitting here in the middle of the med bay, waiting for my new brain to get acquainted with my new body, I wonder where the doctor is.  Ugh, memory’s still fuzzy, long-term connections aren’t all there yet, but I can picture his face.  Bearded fellow.  A little tall, for a crewman, but doctors are always in high demand, and he can get on a ship even though he stretches the acceptable size limits.  I can’t quite recall his name, though.  Beard-man?  Beerman?  Berlman?  I think that last one’s it.

“Berlman?” I call out, my voice still a little raspy.  Yeah, definitely still need more connections to finish wiring themselves inside my head.  All reboots are supposed to be perfect copies, up until the last few seconds, but nothing’s ever quite as good as it sounds.

No answer.  That’s really odd.  Now, I can remember Berlman a bit better, including his belligerent attitude.  He rules over this sick bay like a lord, and he’d never leave it alone this long.  Especially if someone’s rebooting.

Speaking of which, I can’t remember why I rebooted.  This is really strange.  Fortunately, my legs seem to be working all right now.  

Time to go find some answers.

Continued in Part II…

As I cruised past the “Mile 66” sign on the road, the metal briefly, brightly illuminated in the haze of falling snow by the glow from my headlights, I fumed silently, my hands gripping the wheel.

Who did that whore think that she was?  How dare she throw me out of her house, as if I was just another bit of garbage?  She may be going through her midlife crisis, I thought furiously to myself, but that gave her no right to get rid of me, her long-suffering husband.

Sure, I had given her a bit of hassle, over the years.  Even I had to admit that we weren’t always the perfect couple, sometimes getting into fights.  And back in my younger days, when I was still a heavy drinker, I may have even gotten physical once or twice.  But never anything serious – I’d never inflicted anything worse than a bruise.  And since I’d sworn off the hard stuff, I had gotten much better.

My headlights caught another sign, this one flashing by the side of the car before I could read it.  It was just another momentarily bright blur in the darkness, like me.  I knew that I still had a few more miles of driving before I reached the turn-off for the cheap motel that was my current destination.  Even in my current state, I was still plenty capable of operating my car.  And I was used to these roads – their ice didn’t bother me, and I could drive through the heavy, silently falling snow.

And, damn it, it was my car!  Just like it was my house, my life, that I had worked hard to build.  And Sara, that insufferable woman, had fit into the plan at first.  She had been young, blonde, pretty, the perfect lady to hang off my arm at parties, to dazzle my bosses with her smile and wit, to rub against my body in the bedroom.

At first, it had all seemed to work out.  She had been everything that I had wanted, had hoped for, and more.  But maybe it had been too perfect.  She had been smart, too smart.  She took away my liquor, stood up to me when I confronted her about it, didn’t back down like a woman was supposed to.  I’d had to hit her.  There hadn’t been any other choice.

Another sign appeared.  This time, I was able to have my eyes up, to read it.  “Mile 66,” it read.  I blinked a couple times.  Hadn’t I passed that one before?  I tried to remember, but my head was fuzzy.  I shrugged and kept on going forward.  Mile 66 meant that I wasn’t there yet.

Tonight . . . tonight, things had boiled over.  All I had wanted was a couple of beers, after work, but that damn woman had come in.  I had tried to cop a feel, show her that I was in the mood, but not only did she shoot me down, but she started yelling at me, not relenting.  All sorts of crap.  I wasn’t what she had married, she wanted a real life, I didn’t care about her – all of it crap.

The next road sign, approaching.  This time, I made sure to slow down, braking cautiously on the snowy road.  “Mile 66,” the sign read.  But this time, I knew that I had passed this sign, had driven more than a mile!

I looked down at the odometer.  Last time I’d checked the car, it had been sprouting eighty-something thousand miles.  I didn’t remember the exact number.  But now, it had almost all been rolled back to zeros.  “2”, the counter read.

A tremor of fear, a strange and barely recognized feeling, suddenly wormed its way in through the anger.  Steering back into the road, I floored the accelerator, shooting down the middle of the street.  It didn’t take long, maybe ten minutes, until another sign was visible behind the wall of falling snow.  I made sure to slow down carefully, staring out at it.  “Mile 66,” I read off.

I looked back down at the odometer.  “3”…

The man staggered forward, both hands pressed against his side through the bulky overcoat. The wound was still leaching blood, and he knew that it wouldn’t close. Not until after he had turned, at least.

As he hobbled past the makeshift barricades, he could see eyes, innumerable pairs glowing in the twilight. They didn’t approach, though. They could smell his injury, feel the heat radiating from his clammy skin. They knew that he was infected, would soon join their ranks.

The man lifted his head, blinking as he tried to focus. He knew that the Engine lay ahead. He had worked with the others, the shattered remnants of an obsolete race, figuring out its location. The Contagion Engines, downfall of humanity!  Creators and controllers of the virion plague!

In the dim light, now, the man could see the outline of the massive Engine, complex networks of pipes feeding into the giant, hulking Genesis Sphere. Exhaust vents, aimed upwards, spewed its toxic spores into the sky, a cloud of plague. Gritting his teeth, the man hobbled closer.

Now, in the shadow of the Engine, he saw movement emerging from the darkness. The Guardians. Hundreds of insectile eyes gazed down towards him as the Guardians chittered to their next meal.

The man had known that the Engine would not be undefended. He drew his pistol with a shaking hand, pointing it towards the Guardians.

They buzzed back at him, still slinking forward. They knew that the pistol wouldn’t penetrate their overlapping chitin plates. One, more daring than its fellows, moved forward as it unsheathed its pincers.

The man’s aim was unsteady, but he pulled the trigger, and felt a small twinge of satisfaction as the Guardian erupted into flame. The armor-piercing incendiary shell had burned through the chitin, roasting the abomination from the inside. At least his one shot hadn’t been wasted.

Leaning forward, the man forced himself into a run, past the uncertain Guardians towards the Engine. His other hand dipped into a pocket and his jacket blew open, revealing the heavy vest that covered his wound. The cloth was sodden with blood, but the electronics were sealed and insulated. The man’s hand emerged from the pocket, clutching the detonator.

Standing before the Genesis Sphere, the man turned to face the Guardians, struggling to draw breath as they moved forward to defend the Engine. For one last second, he spread his lips, revealing a toothy, rictus grin. He didn’t know if the creatures could understand him, and he didn’t care.

“Cut off the head,” the man rasped, and slammed down his thumb on the detonator.

“No, please!” I begged her, still cowering in the debris of what had once been my laboratory. “Don’t come any closer!”

As always, she ignored my warning, crouching down in front of me. “Adam, it’s me!  What happened?  Are you all right?”

I shook my head fervently. “No, no!” I cried, trying to retreat further. I was against the wall, however, and she stretched out her hand towards me as I flinched.

For just a moment, I felt the touch of her fingers against my hand, soft and calming. I saw her mouth begin to open for an instant, but no words came out.  Perhaps she could already feel herself diffusing.

And then, before my eyes, she broke apart, vanishing into puffs of smoke and fine particles. Just like everyone else I touched.

I stared around at the empty, ruined lab, that had seemed so full of promise just this morning. The field had collapsed, and I was the last one left. The rest were gone forever, unraveled out of existence.

I lifted my hands, holding them, trembling, before my eyes. Death, death to anything I touched.

Very carefully, no longer holding back my tears, I pressed both of my hands against my head. I closed my eyes as the rush of heat engulfed me.

Author’s note: This is a brainstorming post.  It will make no clear sense, most likely.  But I need somewhere to write my ideas down and get them in order!

Meridia is a normal person, she likes to believe.  She’s off at college, taking classes, casting dreamy eyes towards the princes who are practicing fencing on the green during the morning between scurrying from building to building.

Now, she knows that most people are destined to remain normal, to end up marrying a baker, a miller, a farmer, or an investment banker.  You know, normal lives.  However, for a few lucky girls, those who have the perfect combination of luck, talent, and work ethic, they transform – into princesses!  These girls, perfect in every way, grow up to marry the princes, taking their pick of the cream of the crop of men and living a charmed life.

Obviously, everyone wants to be a princess.

No one’s quite sure why some young adults, seemingly no different at childhood from everyone else, become these paragons of beauty and grace.  There are plenty of geneticists, psychologists, and anthropologists studying the princesses, searching for a root cause, something for which rich parents could pay lots of money in exchange for giving their child a charmed life.  Unfortunately, no one seems to be making much headway.

Now, princesses seem to have a few common, natural abilities that come with the title.  They can:

• Communicate with small, often-furry woodland creatures.  This includes, but is not limited to, mice, chipmunks, squirrels, songbirds, skunks, foxes, rabbits, little fish, and so forth.  The animals seem to happily obey orders, although it often helps if the princess is singing…
• Summon up dresses, ball gowns, crowns, and other princess-like accompaniments (shoes.  Lots of shoes).  No one’s quite sure where they come from.  There’s actually a decent aftermarket for items worn by princesses, and many princesses are able to make a decent second income by selling their items online.
• Sing.  Sing with perfect, golden, dulcet tones.  They are absolutely loved by choirs.
• Stay in relatively good shape, thin and limber, no matter how much they eat or exercise.  Something about them just makes them abnormally healthy, apparently.
• Encourage living things to grow.  Flowers bloom with their kisses, grass sprouts up under foot.  Makes them great for gardening, horrible for clean room environments.  This only seems to work on plants, however; no healing wounds with it.
• Have persistently good luck.  Somehow, things always seem to turn out well for them.  Several casinos in Vegas have even considered banning them, but they do bring in a lot of onlookers and admirers (who can also break into spontaneous dance numbers).

The Finale!

Link to Part III.

Close to four months later, I was walking into a restaurant, gazing around the room for the sight of Alex’s unruly hair.  We had decided to get together and catch up on recent events in each others’ lives, and I knew that he had arrived first, as always, at the location we had selected.

I was especially looking forward to this get-together so that I could thank him for his gift.  The watch had buzzed several more times over the last few months, and each time it had ended up saving me from various problems.  One time, it had forced me to pull over to the side of the road, just in time to see a semi truck run through the red light in front of me.  Another time, it had prevented me from eating a “home-made” dish that left my flatmate puking for two days.  Once, it had even prevented me from leaving a friend I had been chatting with.  My insistence on staying forced him to reveal that he was in a deep depression and had been considering taking his own life.  I managed to convince him to talk to his doctor instead.

In short, the watch had proved its value many times over.  It was, quite literally, the best present I had ever received, and I wanted to make sure that Alex was properly thanked.  I also was curious about where he had acquired it; the watch didn’t seem to have any brand markings or logos that I could identify, and my searches on the internet for similar devices had found nothing.

Spotting the shock of mussed hair sitting at one of the tables, I made my way through the restaurant to Alex.  “Hey, sorry I’m late,” I said as I sank into the seat across from him.

“No problem,” he grinned, passing over a menu.  “I’m just glad that we were able to find this time to get together.”

After a brief pause while we both inspected the menus, we placed our orders and resumed talking.  Alex filled me in on his recent developments – he had earned another raise at work, and he elaborated on several pranks that he had gotten away with.  He was always so creative with his revenge stories, and by the end, I was in stitches.

“So, how’s the watch working out?” he asked, after the laughter had subsided.

I smiled back at him.  “I don’t know where you found this thing, but it’s amazing,” I told him.  “It somehow knows about bad things before they happen, and warns me!  It’s saved me from so many bad things, you wouldn’t even believe it.  But I haven’t found anything else like it!  Where did you get it?”

Alex, surprisingly, looked uncomfortable at the question.  “Um, it was actually a gift to me,” he said sheepishly.

“A gift?  From whom?”

“From my dad,” he continued.  “I asked him for a good present idea for a girl, because I know that most of my other ideas from other years haven’t worked out so well.”  I nodded in agreement at this, picturing the robot floor cleaner still sulking in one corner of my apartment.  “And he said that I should get you a watch, and that he had an old one sitting around from someplace.  So I gave it to you.”

I ran my hand over the watch.  This still didn’t tell me much about where it was from, but I had met Alex’s dad before, and knew that he was a kook who accumulated all sorts of odd things.  “Really broke the bank on this present then, huh?” I joked.

This broke the tension, and he narrowed his eyes back at me in a mock glare.  “Hey, you said it’s the best one yet!” he shot back.  But then, his expression grew serious once again.  “Although, this does sort of lead to something that I’ve wanted to talk to you about for a long time.”

I braced myself.  I had a fairly good idea of what was going to come next, and I wasn’t sure that I was ready for it to happen.  Alex, however, was still talking.  “Look, Sue, I’ve known you for a long time,” he started.

“Alex,” I tried to break in, but he held up a hand to forestall me.

“I like you,” he said, the words pouring out in a rush.  “I like you as more than just a friend.  I’ve felt so for ages, but I’ve never been able to tell you, because I was scared of how you’d react.  But now, I’d rather at least say it than continue not knowing whether anything could happen between us or not.”  As he finished this, he stared at me, clearly scared but waiting for an answer.

I stared at him, my mouth possibly hanging open, not sure how to respond.  Of course I had known that he liked me – I had known it so long that it had all but faded from my memory, merely one more bit of background information like the color of his hair or the way that he would rub his ear whenever he was upset and searching for the right words to express his anger.  But I had never planned for how I would respond when he told me, when he changed our relationship from implied to actual.

Finally, my brain kicked into gear, my fight-or-flight response seizing control of my upper functions.  “I’m sorry,” I stammered, jumping to my feet, “but I have to go.” Ignoring Alex’s voice behind me, I hurried towards the door of the restaurant, stretching out my hand for the handle, already finding it hard to see through a veil of tears.

Buzz.  I looked down at my wrist; I could feel, rather than see, my watch going off.  I reached down, hit a couple buttons in an effort to make the buzzing stop, and then reached for the door handle once more.  If anything, the vibrations doubled in intensity, the watch shaking until I could feel my whole arm being shifted back and forth.

I stopped, stunned.  What was the watch trying to tell me?  Lost and confused, I turned around.  Alex was standing there, a few steps away, frozen as my eyes locked on to him.  “Sue,” he said softly.

I took a step back.  The watch buzzed angrily.  I took a step forward.  The buzzing stopped.  Was it really so simple?

Hesitantly, slowly, step by step, I moved forward towards Alex.  He said nothing more, but held out his arms, letting me step forward and into them.  As I felt them curl around me, for one last moment, I held out.  Was this right?  Was I making the right choice?

The watch buzzed once more, a short sharp zing, as though it was able to read my mind and disapproved of what it was seeing.  “Fine,” I said aloud, and turned back to Alex’s smile as he gazed down at me.  “Now what?” I asked him, my words coming out sharper than I had intended.

Alex’s grin grew wider.  “Now this,” he said, and he kissed me.

The watch was silent.  Somehow, I knew that it would be silent for a while.  I was done making bad decisions.