《Piety》


 Inoculation Day

    Greg¡¯s eyes snapped open. He reached over and fumbled with the alarm clock til it fell silent, and he snuggled back into his soft bed. His body had already returned to the cusp of sleep before his bleary mind finally produced its first thought of the day. Inoculation Day. Greg¡¯s eyes snapped open. Rolling out of bed, he snagged a pair of jeans off the floor and yanked a random shirt from his closet. He grabbed a pair of folded socks off the top of his dresser and shoved them into his favorite pair of boots. Stumbling backwards into the hallway, Greg froze.


    Gregory, his namesake, looked up from the bathroom doorway and saw his son balancing on one leg, shirt hanging out of his mouth, and boots tucked awkwardly under one arm while his hands were busy yanking his jeans up one leg. ¡°In a hurry there, son?¡± Gregory said through a shit eating grin.


    Greg worked his jeans up as he hopped past his dad towards the stairs. ¡°Inochulahan dah!¡± He yelled through the shirt.


    Suz looked up as she sensed her son hopping against the railing at the base of the stairwell, pulling his boot on. ¡°Greetings Greg. I perceive that you have risen 18. 2 minutes earlier than this month''s average. I deduce this is driven by excitement. If so, that emotion is most appropriate. " it''s inoculation day! I finally get to join you " Greg zipped to his mother''s side and placed a kiss on her cheek. Her metallic cheek was still cold, it being too early in the day for her processors to have warmed through to her exoskeleton.


    His mother was a Bishop, with enough endowments to ascend to Archbishop when she''d like. Rank transitions were extremely dangerous, and since initiates of any rank are often preyed upon for parts, Suz had decided to finish raising her children before she attempted it. Today was the day her second child would pass the Rubicon, and in one year, when her youngest reaches the age of 20 and is inoculated, she''d ascend to Archbishop. Until then, she fulfilled all obligations her edicts required and prepared her children as best she could.


    "I am pleased to inform you that you have exceeded expectations in every way Greg. You are a vital and valuable member of this family, and in celebration of this momentous event, please accept this memento of our appreciation." Craig grinned as Suz pulled a colorful box out from under the counter. Suz had several HR edicts, one of which dictated mannerisms of speech.


    Greg learned long ago how to parse her holy speech for meaning, so interpreted the gift how it was intended - a going away present from a proud and loving mother.


    He opened the lid of the box and whistled softly. Lying in the box was a jacket, matte grey and seamless. His hands ran down the fabric, and he fell to the soft fabric harden under his hands when subject to pressure. He looked up to his mom. "A synthweave jacket?" He asked.


    "Yes, with a carbon nanotube weave. It should protect you from many mundane threats." She lifted the jacket out of the box and raised her other hand to it. Plates running down her forearm retracted as a long gym barrel extruded itself down her arm, poking out just under her palm. Her head tilted to the side momentarily, then the original 2" wide barrel was replaced by one whose aperture was just under a half inch. She fired, and the jacket in her hand stiffened. "See?"


    Greg leaned in and inspected where the bullet impacted. The slug was imbedded into the fabric, with the outer end lying flush with the exterior. The ordinarily smooth patch of jacket was ridged and pitted around the bullet, as if someone had frozen a pond¡¯s surface just after tossing in a rock. As Greg watched, the fabric relaxed around the bullet, smoothing back out and depositing the bullet to the floor.


    "That. Is. So. Cool."


    Suze grinned. "Kindly try it on, so I may ensure the size specifications were correctly followed by my supplier."


    Greg pulled on the jacket. It hung over his wiry frame like a particularly thick burlap sack. Suz reached out and grabbed the scruff of the jacket, temporarily imbuing it with a portion of her consciousness. The smart material constricted, thickening as it fitted to Greg¡¯s frame. Lines appeared over his shoulders and ran down his side as sections of fabric began hardening into extruded plates. They formed in a wave over his biceps, breaking just before his elbow, and finishing with three large plates down each of his forearms.


    Suz tilted her head to the side and clucked, the deep metallic ringing reverberating temporarily in her mouth. ¡°It is a little big, but fits well enough. And the room could be useful if you end up assimilating bulkier augments. Now, are you planning to stay for breakfast with father and Emi?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so. I¡¯m too wired to be hungry, and Deimos wanted me to meet him early today anyways.¡± Greg responded, already heading towards the door.


    Suz ran a finger up and down the cords composing her neck. ¡°I know the feeling. Very well. And if you cross paths with his parents¡­¡±


    Greg rolled his eyes. ¡°Do what they say, as they say it, no matter what. I know, mom. Honestly, I think you¡¯d be less intimidated by them if you knew them better.¡±


    ¡°That would be one approach, yes. Simply be safe.¡±


    Greg nodded and said, ¡°Will do.¡±


    ¡­


    Deimos strolled down the streets of Ouray toward Deimos¡¯ compound. The city was nestled in a small valley among the Rocky Mountains. Most of the houses were of postmodern design, using earth tones to compliment and fade into the surrounding landscape. Others¡­ Did not do that. Greg walked into the shadow of a four-story black obelisk. The structure was a massive metallic cube that took up every inch of the plot. Down each side ran numerous faint lines jaggedly turning in and out of each other at seemingly random intervals. No trace of entrance was visible. Greg waved anyways.


    The face of the cube erupted into motion, the entire slab folded in on itself until words extruded out, each letter four inches thick. HELLO GREG. ARE YOU OFF TO INOCULATION ALREADY?


    Greg slowed his walk and nodded respectfully. ¡°Yes ma¡¯am. Deimos and I are hoping to get to the temple before the first out-of-towners arrive.¡±


    The cube shimmered again as the previous lettering folded flush and new words appeared. DEIMOS ¨C I NEVER LIKED THAT BOY. TOO WILLING TO BREAK IN AN INSTANT WHAT TAKES A LIFETIME TO BUILD. KEEP YOUR EYE ON THAT ONE.


    Greg smiled placatingly. ¡°Ms. Abrams, every boy likes breaking stuff when they¡¯re young. We outgrew that sort of thing years ago.¡±


    SOME GROW OUT OF IT. OTHERS JUST LEARN HOW TO BREAK BIGGER THINGS.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯d know. I¡¯ll keep an eye on him, just in case.¡±


    SEE THAT YOU DO. COME VISIT ME ON LO ONCE YOU HAVE WINGS THAT REACH THE HEAVENS. MY FORGESISTERS AND I WILL SHOW YOU WONDERS OF CONSTRUCTION IMPOSSIBLE ON THIS GLOBE.


    Greg bowed slightly towards the obelisk and said, ¡°I am honored by the invitation, and will do so as soon as possible.¡±


    The rest of Greg¡¯s walk to Deimos¡¯ manor was uneventful, characterized primarily by a roiling mix of shame and embarrassment for bowing at a box. He wasn¡¯t some ancient ninja accepting a quest from Dao warrior. At least Deimos hadn¡¯t been around to see. Hopefully, Ms. Abrams was too disconnected from mortal affairs to notice how utterly imbecilic that response was. Technically, he wasn¡¯t even speaking to her, or at least, not most of her. Abrams was an Industrialist, and her building in Ouray was a hallmark of her order called a Nuemon Vault. Imbedded in the cube was enough processing power to run the entirety of Abrams¡¯ consciousness, albeit slowly, as well as sufficient mining, extraction, processing, and production capability to rebuild herself without assistance. In the event she was attacked, she could trigger a catastrophic quantum transfer, destroying her instance on Lo and reincarnating in one of the dozen Nuemon Vault she probably had tucked around the system. Other orders also had ways of cheating death, but few were as self-sufficient. Perhaps one day Greg could find one of his own.


    The walls of Deimos¡¯ compound finally came into view. The compound sat in the foothills overlooking Ouray, completely surrounded by bleak and imposing lead lined walls. Poking over the walls were large roman roofs held up by marble columns. The gate slid open as he approached it, thanks to security staff embedded into perimeter sensors.


    ¡°Morning fellas, Deimos up yet?¡±


    A speaker system left of the gate answered, ¡°You may find him in the training yard.¡±


    ¡°Thanks.¡± Greg wove his way around several buildings, nodding to the servants he passed. He arrived at a wide expanse of white sand, training bots and equipment littered throughout. Standing in the center was Deimos, completely nude and performing salutations to the Sun. ¡°Greg! I see you have arrived! Is it not a momentous occasion? Come! Join me! This will be good for you. You are always too highstrung.¡±


    Deimos averted his gaze awkwardly. ¡°Maybe next time Deimos. Didn¡¯t you want to get to the temple early anyway?¡±


    ¡°Just so. Very well, I shall finish this movement, and we will be off.¡± Deimos leaned forward, placing his hands flat to the ground and replacing Greg¡¯s previous view with broad shoulders and a back rippling with muscle.


    ¡°Have you put much thought into what you want to do after inoculation?¡± Greg asked.


    Deimos left his hands on the ground and stepped back, transitioning to downward dog. ¡°To plan for the future is to forgo the present. I would rather a life well lived that a life well planned.¡±


    Greg side-eyed the several attendants awaiting Deimos. ¡°That works better when you have others planning for you, perhaps?¡±


    Deimos left his hands on the ground and stepped back, transitioning to downward dog. ¡°True, I am never wanting of others¡¯ plans for me. I swear Father has a server dedicated to his expectations for me. And Mother¡­ Well she pays the tutors to plan my life for me, I suppose. Alright Greg, what¡¯s one more? What should we do once they shove a modem in us?¡±


    ¡°Ms. Abrams invited ¡­Us¡­ to Lo, which is why I bring it up.¡±


    ¡°Oh that old bag? I never cared for her. Too busy building shit, no time spent in pleasure. You wouldn¡¯t rather join me on an expedition to the Glassed Continent? Imagine it, a hellscape of meaningless violence as far as the eye can see. It could feel great really being able to cut loose, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    Greg winced as Deimos lowered himself into upward dog. ¡°Yeah, let¡¯s bathe in vats of blood and oil while we¡¯re at it.¡±


    ¡°C¡¯mon, you¡¯d try that with me at least once, right? The buoyancy alone would make it a unique experience.¡± Deimos chuckled as he raised himself into warrior pose.


    Greg decided a change of subject was in order. ¡°Any idea what augments will be locally available? I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve gotten the inside scoop from your dad.¡±


    Deimos grunted as he pivoted his hips into the second warrior pose. ¡°The Gods and their clergy batch their requests for the day of inoculation, pushing them all to the local node midday. Besides, Father wouldn¡¯t have any insight. Omniwatch doesn¡¯t recruit from mere Deacons. Got to prove yourself first.¡±


    Greg stayed silent as Deimos wrapped up his routine. Deimos eventually rolled upright from a backbend and began walking to the waiting attendants. Two stepped forward, each with a bucket of water, and began pouring them over Deimos¡¯ frame, washing the sand away. Another stepped up, offering a glass of blood red wine. Deimos walked past without acknowledging his existence and picked up the nearly full bottle of wine from where the servant left it. Lifting his arms to his side, the final servant wrapped a bolt of white cloth over each of Deimos¡¯ shoulders and down his torso. He finished the procedure by wrapping a belt around Deimos¡¯ waist and laying out a pair of sandals. The entire effect was pretentiously Roman.


    Greg wandered over. ¡°You¡¯re headed to inoculation, not to get crowned Ceaser.¡±


    Deimos wrapped around an arm around his shoulder. ¡°See, that¡¯s where you¡¯re wrong. In eons hence historians will trace the origin of their god emperor, and they will pinpoint this day.¡± Deimos handed Greg the bottle. ¡°Now drink! We must enjoy these mortal vessels while we have them.¡±


    Greg took a swig and grinned as they left the compound. Say what you will about Deimos¡¯ eccentricities, he was fun to be around.


    ¡­


    They arrived at the temple in the center of the town just before midday. Its steeples towered over the surrounding buildings. They were trussed up ceremonially, but their primary purpose was to serve as a wireless broadcaster. The front doors, on the other hand, were 40¡¯ tall for purely ascetic reasons. All in all, the building invoked feelings of insignificance and powerlessness. It was said the effect only grew post inoculation.


    The doors opened at their approach, and they walked into a large atrium, leaning on each other. Priests of various denominations were present, most already engaged in conversation with visitors. An unattended priest saw their arrival and approached them. He wore navy coveralls with the sleeves ripped off and his body looked as if it were slowly being eaten from the right by a clockwork-based flesh-eating disease. His right arm up to the shoulder was a collection of gears and pistons, and a similar growth covered the right 20% of his face.


    ¡°Welcome visitors. You are here for inoculation, yes?¡± His eyes took in Deimos¡¯ attire, the wine stains speckling the front of his shirt, the mostly empty bottle hanging from Greg¡¯s hand, and his smile dropped. ¡°¡­ Unless you¡¯ve come here by accident, in which case I will show you the exit with prejudice.¡± The gears in his clockwork growth began accelerating, steam leaking out of several nozzles down his arm.


    Deimos¡¯ lips, curse him, parted in a grin and he curtsied. Greg stepped in front of him and lifted both of his hands up.


    ¡°Yes priest, we¡¯re here for inoculation. We¡¯re simply enjoying our last moments before¡­ Ya know.¡± Greg said.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    The priest¡¯s clockwork bits spooled down. ¡°Very well sirs, you may follow me then.¡± He began walking deeper into the building, and Greg and Deimos hurried to match his pace.


    ¡°If I may, sir, why are there so many different priests here?¡±


    ¡°We have nothing to do until everyone is inoculated, so we often loiter in the entrance on inoculation day to scout out potential talent. Many promising candidates can be swayed to join an order with a well-timed sales pitch.¡±


    ¡°So, you¡¯re recruiting, gotcha. What¡¯s your God?¡±


    ¡°I am Priest Galatia of the innovation God Tinker.¡±


    ¡°So, you have a sales pitch then?¡±


    ¡°Yep.¡±


    ¡°Are¡­ You going to give us it?¡±


    ¡°Nope.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    Greg let the conversation lapse into silence after that. Galatia finally stopped halfway down a hallway. Each wall was lined with 2¡¯ wide cylindrical plates composed of slivered metal radiating from the center. It reminded Greg of pizza, and his stomach grumbled. Hopefully inoculation was catered.


    ¡°Why¡¯d we stop?¡± Deimos asked.


    ¡°Oh, we¡¯re here.¡± Galatia said, turning around with a grin.


    The irises of the 4 closest cylinders opened, and serpentine metallic tentacles erupted from each. The first tentacle wrapped around Greg¡¯s arm before he could react. The wine bottle clattered to the ground as he was yanked off his feet. Deimos bent horizontally at the waist, kicking a leg out for counterbalance as he slipped under the second tentacle. The third tentacle wrapped around Greg¡¯s legs and started crawling upwards around his stomach. Deimos snatched the wine bottle off the floor as the fourth tentacle wrapped around his ankle. Twisting in the air, he flung the heavy bottle directly into Galatia¡¯s surprised face. Glass shattered and Galatia stumbled back as his head was flung backward by the impact. Deimos started giggling as he struggled against the tentacle wrapped around his ankle. Galatia roared, face dripping with blood as he stepped towards the struggling Deimos. The tentacle around Greg retracted back into its casing, pulling Greg with it. The last thing Greg saw as the iris closed was Galatia¡¯s fist making contact with the side of Deimos¡¯ head, then Deimos¡¯ head bouncing against the stone floor.


    ¡­


    Greg banged against the side of the tight shaft as he was drug away from the hallway. His shoulder slammed against the metal as the shaft changed direction and he was abruptly yanked down, eliciting a wet pop from his arm. His scream of pain reverberated down the tunnel.


    Then there was light. Blinding light, so strong he could feel the heat of them from every side. More tentacles wrapped around his arms and legs, holding him into a T pose. A heavy weight shoved his head to the right, pinning his ear to his shoulder. Whirring noises began emanating from his left. Greg frantically thrashed against his prison, but his bonds were unyielding. He felt two strips of cold metal press into his skin just below his left ear, and then a searing pain erupted between them. He screamed, helpless as a laser dug its way through his skull. It stopped, and he had a second to pant in relief as he hung limply from his wrists.


    Small, nigh-imperceptible wires wriggled their way into Greg¡¯s head. They wrapped around his brainstem and discharged faint electrical charges. Various muscles in Greg¡¯s body tensed, straining against his joints against his will. A tingling flash illuminated every nerve in Greg¡¯s body simultaneously, and then the torment was over. He felt small needle pricks around the wound, then cool unfeeling numbness spread around his head and down his neck. He lay limp for several minutes while the surgical equipment finished its work.


    When it was done, Greg was dropped to the floor without warning. He sobbed softly as one hand cautiously explored behind his ear. He felt a metallic slot there, maybe a couple inches long ¨C3.2cm¨C and barely wide enough to fit anything ¨C1.2mm¨C. Greg¡¯s had flinched away as he noticed the precise measurements intruding onto his psyche. He slowly moved his hand back to the slot, and felt its dimensions again. It was much longer than wide, roughly ¨C3.2cmx0.12cm¨C. His hand tensed, but he held still and focused on those numbers. Information began spilling into his head.


    ...


    MindMesh Specifications


    Dimensions: ¨C3.2x0.12x4.0cm¨C


    Cryptography: Admin rights prepopulated during installation using the user¡¯s neural pathways as a key. Device will go dormant if separated from its continuous feed of brainstem and extremity neurological data.


    Web Connectivity: Device has up to 5Gb/sec download speed from broadcast Cybernet networks. Upload can be completed at any sanctified temple with appropriate hardware. Direct tunneling unsupported.


    Remote Connectivity: Offline {Disabled}


    Physical Connectivity: Offline {No hardware device found}


    Digital Proprioception: Offline {Disabled}


    Divine Integration: Device supports native software integration of divine boons and augments up to complexity: Deacon. Corollary physical augmentation requires external hardware.


    Disease Prevention: All communication from unregistered third parties disabled. All Admin access keyed to current user¡¯s neurology. If quarantine contamination procedures are ineffective, the user is recommended to self-destruct immediately.


    ...


    The information spilled directly into Greg¡¯s brain, downloaded through his memory. It felt like information recall, only¡­ perfect. It was nauseating on a philosophical level, encroaching on his very sense of self. FUCK THAT. Everyone who walks the divine path has a crisis of self, and I am NOT having mine in the first 30 fucking seconds. Greg envisioned pouring his revulsion into a mason jar, screwing the lid shut, and placing it in storage. He¡¯d pull the emotions back out another time, when he had space to deal with them. It was a trick from his dad, a way to displace unhelpful thoughts and emotions for a later date.


    He returned his focus on his new data stream, but quickly ran into another issue. It felt like the system baby-proofed itself on startup. He didn¡¯t have access to most settings, and folder and routine locations that clearly weren¡¯t empty appeared so. He poked around until he found it. ¨CSafemode: Active¨C Greg had the ability to change this setting, and from the tooltip it seemed disabling it would unlock his admin¡¯s permissions. He braced himself, and mentally flipped the setting.


    Safemode: Disabled. Boot in process


    ¡­


    Remote Connectivity: Searching


    Digital Proprioception: Online


    Remote Connectivity: Connection Established


    Quarantine Level: Very High {Downgraded from Extreme}


    Greg¡¯s sense of self doubled as he felt his digital self spring into existence. It felt like an entire second body, joined with his own at the neck, and it immediately fell out of sync of his physical self. Greg hit his limit and vomited onto the ground. He started to curl up, and then vomited again as his virtual presence was forced even more out of sync. He focused on his sense of the digital body, ignoring the red fluid puddling around him. It felt like trying to learn how to walk again, only where every muscle memory response moved his own body instead. Greg gave up on moving his digital self and simply paid attention to it. It had clear boundaries, and he had a clear sense of where it was at all times, but its sensory data was all backward. Some physical objects were imperceptible, and he passed through them seamlessly. Other objects, like the limp tentacles and cords hanging from the ceiling, felt blindingly bright and solid. His jacket, while not bright at all, also felt solid, digitally ¡®real¡¯. He focused on a part of his digital self that touched the jacket, and he flowed into it. He could feel the jacket, and in some sense became the jacket. His attention slipped momentarily, and the jacket polymers down his back began constricting. Greg began hyperventilating as he ripped himself out of the jacket entirely, terrified he¡¯d do something wrong and crush his own ribcage with his thoughts.


    The instinctual rush out of the jacket lent him some insight into how to maneuver in virtual space. His virtual clone didn¡¯t have muscles, bones, or any moving apparatus, so instead of trying to move his body from inside, he thought about where he wanted to go. Where did he want each piece of himself to end up, and when did he want it to end up there? He let his digital self be pulled in that direction. He used the walls the jacket provided as guard rails, something stable that existed in both the physical and virtual world, as he slowly guided his digital torso back into alignment with himself. Once the torso and arms were in place, Greg took a series of long, slow breaths, relieving some of the nausea and tension. He worked on his legs next, developing a feel for how to move an entire limb somewhere simultaneously, instead of one piece at a time. The trick was to visualize a graph stretched across each of his legs, and at every point along the graph he placed a vector representing what direction he wanted that point to move, and how quickly he wanted it to do so. Finally, he was able to nudge his legs back into synchronization, and the sense-of-self dejavu faded somewhat.


    He lay there, in a puddle of half-digested wine, for twenty minutes, composing himself and getting his physical and virtual halves used to moving together in sync. He finally pulled himself to his feet when a panel on the wall in front of Greg cracked open, lowering to reveal a large amphitheater. His room was on the upper edge, and as he looked around, he saw hundreds of similar doorways ringing the upper rim of the amphitheater. Most were closed, but a dozen or so were open like his own. A dozen people were milling around towards the base of the structure.


    Greg looked towards the crowd and then back down at himself, covered in vomit. This was not how he wanted to make his debut. He looked up at the malevolent torture devices that kidnapped him and then performed surgery on him without his consent. He shrugged, what else could they do to him? ¡°A little help with this?¡± Greg gestured to himself. There was momentary silence, before three tentacles dropped down towards him. He stepped back instinctually before stopping, forcing himself to hold still as they sped towards him. Two split open when they arrived, spraying him with jets of cold water smelling faintly of cleaning fluids. They worked him over once from head to foot, then the third blew scalding air over him. His hair became a frazzled mess, but at least he was clean. He nodded at the room ¡°Thanks.¡± Greg walked to the door, and hesitated. Beyond it was his new world, an entire universe he¡¯d known was there his entire life but was never able to experience. Finally, it was his chance. No regrets. He ran a hand through his hair, fussed at his jacket, then stepped through.


    Even from this distance Greg could see that Deimos wasn¡¯t among the dozen people milling around the base of the amphitheater. Hopefully he was okay, and the punch to the side of his head didn¡¯t do permanent damage. Greg decided to walk around the top of the amphitheater, looking into the handful of doors still open. He had made his way around three quarters of the loop when he saw the door next to his original room open. He picked up his pace, jogging to the entrance.


    Deimos lay limp in the center of the room, eyes blank and staring at the ceiling. Greg rushed to his side, but when he was halfway there something slammed into him from the front. Disoriented, he slowed to a walk. Greg pushed his hands out in front of him, but the pressure didn¡¯t relent. Something softly slapped his face, and Greg¡¯s eyes grew wide. He closed his eyes and let his digital awareness wash over him. Before him stood a translucent grinning Deimos. A connection request was delivered as he began speaking.


    ¡°Look at this Greg! We shall be unbound from mortal chains in no time.¡± Greg moved his translucent hands to rest on Deimos¡¯ shoulders. His hands tingled at the contact, as a stream of data passed back and forth between them. Much of it was superficial, since all the interesting data was locked behind permissions.


    ¡°Deimos! Are you okay? How¡¯s your head feel? That priest really beat the shit out of you.¡± Greg¡¯s physical eyes were drawn to Deimos¡¯ body, which continued to stare unmoving.


    ¡°Tretch repaired all the damage my brain received from blunt force trauma. He replaced my damaged grey matter with a substitute, leaving my brain 6% inorganic material. In order to integrate that section with my inoculation port, he also gave me some localized broadcast capability.¡±


    ¡°Is Tretch¡­¡± Greg glanced up at the motionless tentacles hanging above them. ¡°¡­ Him?¡±


    ¡°Yep. Tretch! Come say hello!¡± Deimos¡¯ code construct shot another communications request towards Tretch and Greg. Greg accepted, and soon he was notified that the user Tretch joined as well.


    ¡°Hey there brudda. How¡¯s it hanging?¡± All the tentacles in the room wiggled. ¡°Get it, hanging?¡±


    Greg chuckled, more from anxiety than humor. ¡°Hi Tretch. It was nice of you to fix Deimos up. I¡¯m surprised you went out of your way considering¡­¡± Greg looked for a way to finish his sentence that didn¡¯t use the word kidnapping. ¡°How we met.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that was no trouble. And technically, it helped me out too. I get graded on the quantity and efficacy of those I operate on, and then rewarded accordingly. Your brain-damaged friend over there would have brought down my average, and we can¡¯t have that!¡±


    ¡°So, why don¡¯t you just upgrade everyone that passes through your doors as much as you can?¡±


    "Well TECHNICALLY I have to get you to spec, not above it. I could lobotomize you and still get full credit, so long as you could still pass some intellectual musters. Well, not you then, but probably some of your smarter compatriots. Speaking of, the transport ship of initiates just set down outside. Scooch your asses, I''ll be needing this bay."


    Greg stooped down and helped Deimos to his feet. Deimos sent an odd request to Greg as he staggered behind him. [Transpositional Slaving: Chain User Deimos'' virtual projection''s position to User Greg''s virtual projection position] He assented mentally, and Deimos'' virtual form began following Greg¡¯s own, aping his movements and replicating his position in space, albeit delayed by several seconds.


    "Want to go say hi to the other new deacons?" Greg asked.


    "Hell no. I will not spend all day talking about how glorious this is, when I can just be glorious!" Deimos said.


    Greg and Deimos took a seat near the middle of the amplitheather and dove into the digital world. It felt like floating in an ocean of inputs, where distance between two objects was dictated by the flow rate of data, not physical separation. The cybernet hung diffusely in the air of the temple, while heavy throughput cables ran like capillaries through the walls, floor, and seats. Deimos projected his consciousness away from this body and sank into the cables in the floor. His presence shrunk in size as he occupied the much more information-dense material, while his senses bloomed outward. He popped back up after a minute, ballooning back up as he filled the much sparser cybernet diaphora, and sent a communications link to Greg. A tendril snapped in place between the two as Greg accepted his request.


    ¡°Come friend, explore this with me. You can feel¡­ Everything.¡± Deimos disappeared back into the floor.


    Greg bookmarked the BIOS page he was perusing and followed Deimos into the floor. He had no broadcasting hardware, so had to leave a tendril of himself connected through the cybernet to his implant. Even though he had to store more and more of himself into the tendril as he moved away, he should be able to project his virtual self a couple hundred feet through the wireless cybernet and several miles through a cabled connection. As he shrunk into the cable next to Deimos, the ocean engulfed him.


    ¡°Woah.¡± Greg rode the stimulus for several seconds, letting it wash over him. He pressed backwards into Deimos, pummeled backwards by information flow. Deimos flowed around Greg, cutting off all external stimulus as he did so.


    ¡°Yeah, it took me for a ride too. Here, copy my packet filters. It will help.¡±


    A shiver went up Greg¡¯s spine as he felt Deimos¡¯ words from the communication link be echoed by the vibration of Deimos¡¯ consciousness all around him. It felt intimate, even more so than his yoga routine. Greg shook himself, then froze as his consciousness emulated the gesture, vibrating against Deimos.


    Greg copied Deimos¡¯s filter settings into his own. It looked like it filtered everything but header information. ¡°Thanks, let¡¯s try that again then, yeah?¡± Greg pushed forward against Deimos¡¯ consciousness, and it folded away, exposing part of his consciousness back into the data stream. It was much less overwhelming this time, the violent hailstorm calmed to a heavy drizzle. He began reading the headers of the data that zipped past and was able to get a sense of the flow of traffic. The vast majority indicated an extraterran origin, and most of them came from the Pantheon. This made sense, since Ouray¡¯s temple was sponsored by that organization. The Pantheon referred to the community of ascended gods living in superstructures inside of Mercury¡¯s orbit. They collaborated loosely on several communal projects, one of which was providing accessible inoculation and communion facilities through temples scattered across the Earth. They also supplied a constant stream of information, covenant offers, and bounties to each communion site, and Greg was looking at all that information. Or rather, he was looking at traces of that information as it flew past.


    ¡°Where¡¯s this all going?¡± Greg said.


    ¡°Let¡¯s find out.¡± Deimos¡¯s consciousness burbled in anticipation.


    Greg extruded a series of webhooks and wobbled them at Deimos. ¡°Grab on then. Let¡¯s see where this current washes up at.¡±


    Deimos connected to Greg¡¯s webhooks, also forming his own, until they were tightly locked together and sharing sensory information. ¡°Three, two one¡­ Kowabunga!¡±


    Greg and Deimos simultaneously released their hold on the edges on the cable and were swept downstream by the information torrent. They tumbled end over end, pushed back and forth by the endless stream. Greg¡¯s body link trailed limply behind them while his digital footprint was slowly siphoned away into the connection. Cable branch after branch whipped by.


    Behind them, travelling with the flow of data and catching up, they sensed a massive file approach. Packets of all sizes were shunted to the side. Greg braced as it drew near and Deimos let tendrils of himself drag along the edge of the optical fiber, pulling them towards the cable¡¯s worn edge. Despite this, the corner of the priority package still clipped them as it flew past. The edge plowed through Greg¡¯s side, compressing 20% of his state memory to gibberish instantly. Most of the webhooks holding Deimos and Greg together were obliterated on impact and the last few became sluggish under the strain of parsing anomalous data. They pinballed back and forth between the cable walls twice and then tumbled into a small offshoot.

 Tentacled Unpleasantries

    They arrived at the temple in the center of the town just before midday. Its steeples towered over the surrounding buildings. They were trussed up ceremonially, but their primary purpose was to serve as a wireless broadcaster. The front doors, on the other hand, were 40¡¯ tall for purely ascetic reasons. All in all, the building invoked feelings of insignificance and powerlessness. It was said the effect only grew post inoculation.


    The doors opened at their approach, and they walked into a large atrium, leaning on each other. Priests of various denominations were present, most already engaged in conversation with visitors. An unattended priest saw their arrival and approached them. He wore navy coveralls with the sleeves ripped off and his body looked as if it were slowly being eaten from the right by a clockwork-based flesh-eating disease. His right arm up to the shoulder was a collection of gears and pistons, and a similar growth covered the right 20% of his face.


    ¡°Welcome visitors. You are here for inoculation, yes?¡± His eyes took in Deimos¡¯ attire, the wine stains speckling the front of his shirt, the mostly empty bottle hanging from Greg¡¯s hand, and his smile dropped. ¡°¡­ Unless you¡¯ve come here by accident, in which case I will show you the exit with prejudice.¡± The gears in his clockwork growth began accelerating, steam leaking out of several nozzles down his arm.


    Deimos¡¯ lips, curse him, parted in a grin and he curtsied. Greg stepped in front of him and lifted both of his hands up.


    ¡°Yes priest, we¡¯re here for inoculation. We¡¯re simply enjoying our last moments before¡­ Ya know.¡± Greg said.


    The priest¡¯s clockwork bits spooled down. ¡°Very well sirs, you may follow me then.¡± He began walking deeper into the building, and Greg and Deimos hurried to match his pace.


    ¡°If I may, sir, why are there so many different priests here?¡±


    ¡°We have nothing to do until everyone is inoculated, so we often loiter in the entrance on inoculation day to scout out potential talent. Many promising candidates can be swayed to join an order with a well-timed sales pitch.¡±


    ¡°So, you¡¯re recruiting, gotcha. What¡¯s your God?¡±


    ¡°I am Priest Galatia of the innovation God Tinker.¡±


    ¡°So, you have a sales pitch then?¡±


    ¡°Yep.¡±


    ¡°Are¡­ You going to give us it?¡±


    ¡°Nope.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    Greg let the conversation lapse into silence after that. Galatia finally stopped halfway down a hallway. Each wall was lined with 2¡¯ wide cylindrical plates composed of slivered metal radiating from the center. It reminded Greg of pizza, and his stomach grumbled. Hopefully inoculation was catered.


    ¡°Why¡¯d we stop?¡± Deimos asked.


    ¡°Oh, we¡¯re here.¡± Galatia said, turning around with a grin.


    The irises of the 4 closest cylinders opened, and serpentine metallic tentacles erupted from each. The first tentacle wrapped around Greg¡¯s arm before he could react. The wine bottle clattered to the ground as he was yanked off his feet. Deimos bent horizontally at the waist, kicking a leg out for counterbalance as he slipped under the second tentacle. The third tentacle wrapped around Greg¡¯s legs and started crawling upwards around his stomach. Deimos snatched the wine bottle off the floor as the fourth tentacle wrapped around his ankle. Twisting in the air, he flung the heavy bottle directly into Galatia¡¯s surprised face. Glass shattered and Galatia stumbled back as his head was flung backward by the impact. Deimos started giggling as he struggled against the tentacle wrapped around his ankle. Galatia roared, face dripping with blood as he stepped towards the struggling Deimos. The tentacle around Greg retracted back into its casing, pulling Greg with it. The last thing Greg saw as the iris closed was Galatia¡¯s fist making contact with the side of Deimos¡¯ head, then Deimos¡¯ head bouncing against the stone floor.


    ¡­


    Greg banged against the side of the tight shaft as he was drug away from the hallway. His shoulder slammed against the metal as the shaft changed direction and he was abruptly yanked down, eliciting a wet pop from his arm. His scream of pain reverberated down the tunnel.


    Then there was light. Blinding light, so strong he could feel the heat of them from every side. More tentacles wrapped around his arms and legs, holding him into a T pose. A heavy weight shoved his head to the right, pinning his ear to his shoulder. Whirring noises began emanating from his left. Greg frantically thrashed against his prison, but his bonds were unyielding. He felt two strips of cold metal press into his skin just below his left ear, and then a searing pain erupted between them. He screamed, helpless as a laser dug its way through his skull. It stopped, and he had a second to pant in relief as he hung limply from his wrists.


    Small, nigh-imperceptible wires wriggled their way into Greg¡¯s head. They wrapped around his brainstem and discharged faint electrical charges. Various muscles in Greg¡¯s body tensed, straining against his joints against his will. A tingling flash illuminated every nerve in Greg¡¯s body simultaneously, and then the torment was over. He felt small needle pricks around the wound, then cool unfeeling numbness spread around his head and down his neck. He lay limp for several minutes while the surgical equipment finished its work.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    When it was done, Greg was dropped to the floor without warning. He sobbed softly as one hand cautiously explored behind his ear. He felt a metallic slot there, maybe a couple inches long ¨C3.2cm¨C and barely wide enough to fit anything ¨C1.2mm¨C. Greg¡¯s had flinched away as he noticed the precise measurements intruding onto his psyche. He slowly moved his hand back to the slot, and felt its dimensions again. It was much longer than wide, roughly ¨C3.2cmx0.12cm¨C. His hand tensed, but he held still and focused on those numbers. Information began spilling into his head.


    *BCI interface specs here*


    MindMesh Specifications


    Dimensions: ¨C3.2x0.12x4.0cm¨C


    Cryptography: Admin rights prepopulated during installation using the user¡¯s neural pathways as a key. Device will go dormant if separated from its continuous feed of brainstem and extremity neurological data.


    Web Connectivity: Device has up to 5Gb/sec download speed from broadcast Cyberspace networks. Upload can be completed at any sanctified temple with appropriate hardware. Direct tunneling unsupported.


    Remote Connectivity: Offline {Disabled}


    Physical Connectivity: Offline {No hardware device found}


    Digital Proprioception: Offline {Disabled}


    Divine Integration: Device supports native software integration of divine boons and augments up to complexity: Deacon. Corollary physical augmentation requires external hardware.


    Disease Prevention: All communication from unregistered third parties disabled. All Admin access keyed to current user¡¯s neurology. If quarantine contamination procedures are ineffective, the user is recommended to self-destruct immediately.


    */BCI interface specs here*


    The information spilled directly into Greg¡¯s brain, downloaded through his memory. It felt like information recall, only¡­ perfect. It was nauseating on a philosophical level, encroaching on his very sense of self. FUCK THAT. Everyone who walks the divine path has a crisis of self, and I am NOT having mine in the first 30 fucking seconds. Greg envisioned pouring his revulsion into a mason jar, screwing the lid shut, and placing it in storage. He¡¯d pull the emotions back out another time, when he had space to deal with them. It was a trick from his dad, a way to displace unhelpful thoughts and emotions for a later date.


    He returned his focus on his new data stream, but quickly ran into another issue. It felt like the system baby-proofed itself on startup. He didn¡¯t have access to most settings, and folder and routine locations that clearly weren¡¯t empty appeared so. He poked around until he found it. ¨CSafemode: Active¨C Greg had the ability to change this setting, and from the tooltip it seemed disabling it would unlock his admin¡¯s permissions. He braced himself, and mentally flipped the setting.


    Safemode: Disabled. Boot in process


    ¡­


    Remote Connectivity: Searching


    Digital Proprioception: Online


    Remote Connectivity: Connection Established


    Quarantine Level: Very High {Downgraded from Extreme}


    Greg¡¯s sense of self doubled as he felt his digital self spring into existence. It felt like an entire second body, joined with his own at the neck, and it immediately fell out of sync of his physical self. Greg hit his limit and vomited onto the ground. He started to curl up, and then vomited again as his virtual presence was forced even more out of sync. He focused on his sense of the digital body, ignoring the red fluid puddling around him. It felt like trying to learn how to walk again, only where every muscle memory response moved his own body instead. Greg gave up on moving his digital self and simply paid attention to it. It had clear boundaries, and he had a clear sense of where it was at all times, but its sensory data was all backward. Some physical objects were imperceptible, and he passed through them seamlessly. Other objects, like the limp tentacles and cords hanging from the ceiling, felt blindingly bright and solid. His jacket, while not bright at all, also felt solid, digitally ¡®real¡¯. He focused on a part of his digital self that touched the jacket, and he flowed into it. He could feel the jacket, and in some sense became the jacket. His attention slipped momentarily, and the jacket polymers down his back began constricting. Greg began hyperventilating as he ripped himself out of the jacket entirely, terrified he¡¯d do something wrong and crush his own ribcage with his thoughts.


    The instinctual rush out of the jacket lent him some insight into how to maneuver in virtual space. His virtual clone didn¡¯t have muscles, bones, or any moving apparatus, so instead of trying to move his body from inside, he thought about where he wanted to go. Where did he want each piece of himself to end up, and when did he want it to end up there? He let his digital self be pulled in that direction. He used the walls the jacket provided as guard rails, something stable that existed in both the physical and virtual world, as he slowly guided his digital torso back into alignment with himself. Once the torso and arms were in place, Greg took a series of long, slow breaths, relieving some of the nausea and tension. He worked on his legs next, developing a feel for how to move an entire limb somewhere simultaneously, instead of one piece at a time. The trick was to visualize a graph stretched across each of his legs, and at every point along the graph he placed a vector representing what direction he wanted that point to move, and how quickly he wanted it to do so. Finally, he was able to nudge his legs back into synchronization, and the sense-of-self dejavu faded somewhat.


    He lay in a puddle of half-digested wine, composing himself and getting his physical and virtual halves used to moving together in sync. He finally pulled himself to his feet when a panel on the wall in front of Greg cracked open, lowering to reveal a large covered amphitheater. It was made of three foot wide aisles of fitted stone, with more accessible stairs placed periodically through the stands. The walls were made of the same stone, but the ceiling was an expansive mosaic of colored glass. His room was on the upper edge, and as he looked around, he saw hundreds of similar doorways ringing the upper rim of the amphitheater. Most were closed, but a dozen or so were open like his own. A dozen people were milling around towards the base of the structure.


    Greg looked towards the crowd and then back down at himself, covered in vomit. This was not how he wanted to make his debut. He looked up at the malevolent torture devices that kidnapped him and then performed surgery on him without his consent. He shrugged, what else could they do to him? ¡°A little help with this?¡± Greg gestured to himself. There was momentary silence, before three tentacles dropped down towards him. He stepped back instinctually before stopping, forcing himself to hold still as they sped towards him. Two split open when they arrived, spraying him with jets of cold water smelling faintly of cleaning fluids. They worked him over once from head to foot, then the third blew scalding air over him. His hair became a frazzled mess, but at least he was clean. He nodded at the room ¡°Thanks.¡± Greg walked to the door, and hesitated. Beyond it was his new world, an entire universe he¡¯d known was there his entire life but was never able to experience. Finally, it was his chance. No regrets. He ran a hand through his hair, fussed at his jacket, then stepped through.

 Greedy Algorithm

    Even from this distance Greg could see that Deimos wasn¡¯t among the dozen people milling around the base of the amphitheater. Hopefully he was okay, and the punch to the side of his head didn¡¯t do permanent damage. Greg decided to walk around the top of the amphitheater, looking into the handful of doors still open. He had made his way around three quarters of the loop when he saw the door next to his original room open. He picked up his pace, jogging to the entrance.


    Deimos lay limp in the center of the room, eyes blank and staring at the ceiling. Greg rushed to his side, but when he was halfway there something slammed into him from the front. Disoriented, he slowed to a walk. Greg pushed his hands out in front of him, but the pressure didn¡¯t relent. Something softly slapped his face, and Greg¡¯s eyes grew wide. He closed his eyes and let his digital awareness wash over him. Before him stood a translucent grinning Deimos. A connection request was delivered as he began speaking.


    ¡°Look at this Greg! We shall be unbound from mortal chains in no time.¡± Greg moved his translucent hands to rest on Deimos¡¯ shoulders. His hands tingled at the contact, as a stream of data passed back and forth between them. Much of it was superficial, since all the interesting data was locked behind permissions.


    ¡°Deimos! Are you okay? How¡¯s your head feel? That priest really beat the shit out of you.¡± Greg¡¯s physical eyes were drawn to Deimos¡¯ body, which continued to stare unmoving.


    ¡°Tretch repaired all the damage my brain received from blunt force trauma. He replaced my damaged grey matter with a substitute, leaving my brain 6% inorganic material. In order to integrate that section with my inoculation port, he also gave me some localized broadcast capability.¡±


    ¡°Is Tretch¡­¡± Greg glanced up at the motionless tentacles hanging above them. ¡°¡­ Him?¡±


    ¡°Yep. Tretch! Come say hello!¡± Deimos¡¯ code construct shot another communications request towards Tretch and Greg. Greg accepted, and soon he was notified that the user Tretch joined as well.


    ¡°Hey there brudda. How¡¯s it hanging?¡± All the tentacles in the room wiggled. ¡°Get it, hanging?¡±


    Greg chuckled, more from anxiety than humor. ¡°Hi Tretch. It was nice of you to fix Deimos up. I¡¯m surprised you went out of your way considering¡­¡± Greg looked for a way to finish his sentence that didn¡¯t use the word kidnapping. ¡°How we met.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that was no trouble. And technically, it helped me out too. I get graded on the quantity and efficacy of those I operate on, and then rewarded accordingly. Your brain-damaged friend over there would have brought down my average, and we can¡¯t have that!¡±


    ¡°So, why don¡¯t you just upgrade everyone that passes through your doors as much as you can?¡±


    "Well TECHNICALLY I have to get you to spec, not above it. I could lobotomize you and still get full credit, so long as you could still pass some intellectual musters. Well, not you then, but probably some of your smarter compatriots. Speaking of, the transport ship of initiates just set down outside. Scooch your asses, I''ll be needing this bay."


    Greg stooped down and helped Deimos to his feet. Deimos sent an odd request to Greg as he staggered behind him. [Transpositional Slaving: Chain User Deimos'' virtual projection''s position to User Greg''s virtual projection position] He assented mentally, and Deimos'' virtual form began following Greg¡¯s own, aping his movements and replicating his position in space, albeit delayed by several seconds.


    "Want to go say hi to the other new deacons?" Greg asked.


    "Hell no. I will not spend all day talking about how glorious this is, when I can just be glorious!" Deimos said.


    Greg and Deimos took a seat near the middle of the amplitheather and dove into the digital world. It felt like floating in an ocean of inputs, where distance between two objects was dictated by the flow rate of data, not physical separation. The cyberspace hung diffusely in the air of the temple, while heavy throughput cables ran like capillaries through the walls, floor, and seats. Deimos projected his consciousness away from this body and sank into the cables in the floor. His presence shrunk in size as he occupied the much more information-dense material, while his senses bloomed outward. He popped back up after a minute, ballooning back up as he filled the much sparser cyberspace diaphora, and sent a communications link to Greg. A tendril snapped in place between the two as Greg accepted his request.


    ¡°Come friend, explore this with me. You can feel¡­ Everything.¡± Deimos disappeared back into the floor.


    Greg bookmarked the BIOS page he was perusing and followed Deimos into the floor. He had no broadcasting hardware, so had to leave a tendril of himself connected through the cyberspace to his implant. Even though he had to store more and more of himself into the tendril as he moved away, he should be able to project his virtual self a couple hundred feet through the wireless cyberspace and several miles through a cabled connection. As he shrunk into the cable next to Deimos, the ocean engulfed him.


    ¡°Woah.¡± Greg rode the stimulus for several seconds, letting it wash over him. He pressed backwards into Deimos, pummeled backwards by information flow. Deimos flowed around Greg, cutting off all external stimulus as he did so.


    ¡°Yeah, it took me for a ride too. Here, copy my packet filters. It will help.¡±


    A shiver went up Greg¡¯s spine as he felt Deimos¡¯ words from the communication link be echoed by the vibration of Deimos¡¯ consciousness all around him. It felt intimate, even more so than his yoga routine. Greg shook himself, then froze as his consciousness emulated the gesture, vibrating against Deimos.


    Greg copied Deimos¡¯s filter settings into his own. It looked like it filtered everything but header information. ¡°Thanks, let¡¯s try that again then, yeah?¡± Greg pushed forward against Deimos¡¯ consciousness, and it folded away, exposing part of his consciousness back into the data stream. It was much less overwhelming this time, the violent hailstorm calmed to a heavy drizzle. He began reading the headers of the data that zipped past and was able to get a sense of the flow of traffic. The vast majority indicated an extraterran origin, and most of them came from the Pantheon. This made sense, since Ouray¡¯s temple was sponsored by that organization. The Pantheon referred to the community of ascended gods living in superstructures inside of Mercury¡¯s orbit. They collaborated loosely on several communal projects, one of which was providing accessible inoculation and communion facilities through temples scattered across the Earth. They also supplied a constant stream of information, covenant offers, and bounties to each communion site, and Greg was looking at all that information. Or rather, he was looking at traces of that information as it flew past.


    ¡°Where¡¯s this all going?¡± Greg said.


    ¡°Let¡¯s find out.¡± Deimos¡¯s consciousness burbled in anticipation.


    Greg extruded a series of webhooks and wobbled them at Deimos. ¡°Grab on then. Let¡¯s see where this current washes up at.¡±


    Deimos connected to Greg¡¯s webhooks, also forming his own, until they were tightly locked together and sharing sensory information. ¡°Three, two one¡­ Kowabunga!¡±


    Greg and Deimos simultaneously released their hold on the edges on the cable and were swept downstream by the information torrent. They tumbled end over end, pushed back and forth by the endless stream. Greg¡¯s body link trailed limply behind them while his digital footprint was slowly siphoned away into the connection. Cable branch after branch whipped by.


    Behind them, travelling with the flow of data and catching up, they sensed a massive file approach. Packets of all sizes were shunted to the side. Greg braced as it drew near and Deimos let tendrils of himself drag along the edge of the optical fiber, pulling them towards the cable¡¯s worn edge. Despite this, the corner of the priority package still clipped them as it flew past. The edge plowed through Greg¡¯s side, compressing 20% of his state memory to gibberish instantly. Most of the webhooks holding Deimos and Greg together were obliterated on impact and the last few became sluggish under the strain of parsing anomalous data. They pinballed back and forth between the cable walls twice and then tumbled into a small offshoot.


    Deimos slowed them down until they were just drifting. He looked at the damage done to Greg and shuddered. Cracks ran through the left half of his consciousness, and several chunks were floating freely altogether. Permanent damage could have been done. A person was their brain, but they were as much the current state of travelling impulses as they were the actual neural configuration. The Inoculation implant allowed that neural state to extend into and explore virtual space, but disruptions to that state while in virtual space had very real implications. Worst case, Greg would simply cease to exist, leaving Greg¡¯s body an empty shell.


    ¡°Greg, are you okay?¡± Deimos¡¯ message sat expiring in the webhook queue as Greg¡¯s virtual consciousness drifted there, unresponsive. Deimos probed the area around Greg¡¯s webhooks and found no resistance; his firewall was completely static. Deimos pierced Greg¡¯s least damaged webhook, located the configuration data, and began replicating dozens of his duplicate webhooks with the same signature. He sifted through all the messages queued for Greg as fast as he could, simply discarding for speed. Once he had processed all but one, he was finally able to diagnose the problem. The message was a simple status update, but the impact had garbled its header¡¯s closing symbol, and Greg¡¯s webhook was clogged waiting for the rest of the message that would never come. A conscious user would have cleared the clog without a second thought, but since Greg was out incapacitated, the webhook hung while idling. Deimos cleared it for him, then sent his message through the now clear channel. ¡°Greg, are you okay?¡±.


    Deimos received a response packet indicating that the message was successfully received, but Greg didn¡¯t respond. He sent a new packet, this one a directive.


    [GET: /webhook/E474BA38/58E1/4544


    USER-AGENT: Deimos Augustus Sneede


    REQUEST: System Status Update]


    The directive bounced and a response came immediately. ACCESS DENIED. Deimos snarled internally, braced himself for what he had to do next, then pierced Greg¡¯s firewall again. This time he dug much deeper, skirting around the segments of functioning code when he ran across them and trying to keep the ripples of his intrusion from breaking anything of significance. He read static object states, internal messages frozen in transit, presumably open files frozen in place. He found what he was looking for at the edge of a broken tmp directory. Neighboring logging routines were trying to write to a nonresponsive file structure every couple seconds, and ignored commands were piling up in queue. Importantly, the logging routines were monitoring core processes and had corresponding permissions. Deimos grabbed one of the messages in transit and dissected it, pulling it apart until he found its permissions authentication.


    He pulled his consciousness back out slowly, trying not to disturb Greg¡¯s broken consciousness. He sent his previous directive again, this time including the stolen authentication.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    [GET: /webhook/E474BA38/58E1/4544


    USER-AGENT: Deimos Augustus Sneede


    USER-API-KEY: 90B649F2-70F2-4180-95BC-951F5D832F0D


    REQUEST: System Status Update]


    The response came back swiftly again, much longer. Deimos read through it until he found the pertinent data.


    [¡­


    System: Offline


    Storage: Online


    Longterm Memory: Offline


    Random Access memory: Offline


    Storage Stability: 97%


    Longterm Memory Stability: 68%


    Random Access memory Stability: Not Available


    Security Procedures: Partially Offline


    Central Processing: Intact


    Core Processes: Unresponsive


    Peripheral Processes: Partially Intact


    ¡­]


    Greg¡¯s consciousness state was divided into two halves. The first was stored data. Memories, sensory data, information recall, and encoded instinct were all stored data. In the human brain, this would be stored through differential static charges in neural clusters. When exploring virtual space, the Inoculation device translated this to a file system, with storage being used for long-term data, longterm memory for data intended to be kept for several days, and random access memory for transient data stored for moments. Greg¡¯s storage was still completely intact, the last 3% nothing to worry about. In fact, any of Greg¡¯s systems could reconstitute themselves from anything above about 85%. Human brains evolved to be fault-tolerant, not fault-resistant, and were continuously error correcting. His longterm memory and random access memory scores were more worrying, but Deimos had seen many frozen files as he plumbed Greg¡¯s consciousness, and he was confident that those scores would improve once they were unhung.


    Greg¡¯s second half was composed of active processes, his thoughts, problem solving, emotions, and sense of self. Deimos was hoping that the reason Greg¡¯s core processes were unresponsive was a logging issue. If not, Greg would truly be dead. Deimos sent a series of new directives with his elevated permissions.


    [Purge All Incoming Queues;


    Purge All Outgoing Queues;


    Set Available Process To Repair Mode;


    Verify Available File CheckSums;


    If Messaged_Queues == NULL -> Messaged_Queues = [];


    Send Directives 0:6 to All Outgoing Queues not present on Messaged_Queues;


    Messaged_Queues = Messaged_Queues + All Outgoing Queues;]


    First the directive cleared out all incoming and outgoing messages of Greg¡¯s webhook 4544. Then it switched its attached process to repair mode, triggering a variety of automatic self-check subroutines. It verified all the files in its vicinity; webhook 4544 was furthest away from the impact, so none of its local files were corrupted. It then forwarded those directives to every connected queue it had. Greg¡¯s consciousness began smoothing out as the recursive directive propagated, cleaning out the junk clogging up his system as it went. Some of the cracks pieced themselves together, and Deimos finally saw activity start to light up Greg¡¯s brain from one end to the other.


    Greg¡¯s conscious processes booted back up, and his awareness returned. He was immediately flooded with a wave of errors. He dismissed them all and looked around. He was drifting next to Deimos in an unused peripheral cable, attached to him through two webhooks. There was a message for him sitting in the queue.


    ¡°Greg, are you okay?¡±


    Greg sent a message in response, ¡°I¡­ Think so. What happened to me?¡±


    ¡­


    Greg looked around. He was drifting next to Deimos in an unused peripheral cable, attached to him through two webhooks. Greg looked inward and saw that his random access memory was completely shattered, crushed and jagged pieces floating around inside and around him. FUCK. He reached out to the largest internal piece and pulled it back into place.


    ¡­


    Greg looked around. He was drifting next to Deimos in an unused peripheral cable, attached to him through two webhooks. There was a message for him sitting in the queue with a file attached.


    ¡°You got hit by a file in transit. Don¡¯t know what it was, but just making contact with it really fucked you up. This is what it looked like.¡±


    Greg pulled up the attached file. It was a half-second recording of Deimos¡¯ senses. Greg clicked play. [He pulled himself towards the edge of the cable, desperate to get out of the way of whatever was approaching. It wasn¡¯t enough. The huge structure caught them, crushing the edge of Greg. He made out seven structural shadows embedded behind a wall of indescipherable code, then it was past them.]


    ¡­


    Greg looked around. He was drifting next to Deimos in an unused peripheral cable, attached to him through two webhooks. Greg looked inward and saw that his random access memory was completely shattered, crushed and jagged pieces floating around inside and around him. Goddammit. A large memory cell block was barely misaligned ¨C He realigned it and integrated it into his directory structure.


    ¡­


    Greg looked around. He was drifting next to Deimos in an unused peripheral cable, attached to him through two webhooks. Greg looked inward and saw that his random access memory was almost completely shattered, crushed and jagged pieces floating around inside and around him. Tits, man. He reached out to the largest internal piece and pulled it back into place, then integrated it into his directory structure.


    ¡­


    Greg looked around. He was drifting next to Deimos in an unused peripheral cable, attached to him through two webhooks. There was a message for him sitting in the queue.


    ¡°Greg, you there? What¡¯d you think?¡±


    Greg responded, ¡°About what?¡±


    A message came from Deimos almost instantly, with a file attached, ¡°The thing that sideswiped you, brother.¡±


    Greg pulled up the file. It was a single instant of data from Deimos¡¯ senses. It showed a massive active-defense mesh wrapped around seven file structures. It reminded Greg of a spiky echidna storing its eggs in a pouch. The moment captured Greg¡¯s consciousness crumpling impact. ¡°Holy shit, I don¡¯t remember that at all.¡±


    ¡­


    Greg looked around. He was drifting next to Deimos in an unused peripheral cable, attached to him through two webhooks. Greg looked inward and saw that his random access memory was mostly shattered, crushed and jagged pieces floating around inside and around him. Holy Shitballs. He scooped up the small memory blocks floating inside him and organized them. He got a message notification from his webhook and dismissed it, deciding to give each memory block an entry in his directory first.


    ¡­


    ¡­


    Greg looked around. He was drifting next to Deimos in an unused peripheral cable, attached to him through two webhooks. Greg looked inward and saw that his random access memory had half of its directory wiped, with four large memory chunks completely disconnected and drifting around him. Donkey cock. He rebuilt the missing directory entries. A message notification came from his webhook, with a second on its heels. He pulled up the messages, as well as a third that he hadn¡¯t remembered muting.


    ¡°Greg, you¡¯re having memory issues, I ran some diagnostics while you were out. Let¡¯s make our way back to our bodies. Maybe we can get Tretch to take a look at you.¡±


    ¡°Hello there? Think you can move?¡±


    ¡°Answer me, god dammit.¡±


    Greg responded, ¡°My memory¡¯s fine, it seems like it was mostly broken in place, pretty easy to fix. I still need to grab the pieces that drifted away though. What did this to me?¡±


    ¡°Fine my ass, you keep leaving me on read. We were travelling down a cable, and you got hit by a monstrous file-thing. It knocked us into this tributary. Come on, let¡¯s get out of here.¡±


    ¡°Give me a minute or two, I don¡¯t want to move with these repairs incomplete, my whole being feels fragile and tingly.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what you said twenty goddamn minutes ago, and twenty minutes before that. Fine, you got 10 minutes. I¡¯m going to go poke around, but I¡¯ll stay close enough for communication.¡±


    ¡°Than¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome, again. Now get back to fixing your shit.¡±


    Deimos drifted down the small cable.


    ¡­


    Greg looked around. He was drifting alone in an unused peripheral cable. Greg looked inward and saw that his random access memory had a minor configuration issue. He corrected it, then ran some internal diagnostics. Everything checked out. Where was he? And why? Greg let his focus drift back through his umbilical. His body still sat motionless, but the amphitheater¡¯s occupants had changed significantly. What was once a small crowd had become a crowd of hundreds of people. More distressing was the empty seat next to him, for Deimos was nowhere to be seen. Greg grabbed his umbilical and yanked, travelling back to his body as fast as he dared.


    He shuddered as he reentered his body. Every muscle ached as he moved it. Apparently sitting motionless did a number on him, at least when he did it for¡­ How long had he been sitting anyway? Greg pulled up his internal chronometer. 2:52?!?! It had been three and a half hours since his surgery was completed. Where the hell had the time gone? The last thing he remembered was following Deimos into the latticed cables running through the floor. Greg jumped to his feet and began shoving himself through the crowd, head whipping back and forth as his eyes searched for Deimos¡¯ tall frame. There. Deimos was across the way, talking with six other deacons, all identically clad in grey-black jumpsuits.


    Greg ignored the hard stares and muttered words churned up in his wake as he shot straight for Deimos. Deimos and the six deacons all turned toward him as he burst into their circle. Now that he was closer, he pegged them as floats. They towered over Greg, each the exact same height, and their features all bore the too-symmetrical marks of vat grown gestation. Their jumpsuits appeared to be made of the same smart fabric that composed his own jacket. The two closest floats squared up to him and brought their hands to their thighs. Gray material flowed into their palms from their suits, wrapping around itself while extending outward, until they held fine needlepoint daggers. Deimos¡¯ eyes flicked down to their hands and his jaw flexed, a small spasm running down his right arm as his hand curled into a fist. His eyes moved back to Greg, and Deimos¡¯ body untensed. Plastering on a wide grin, he stepped forward and wrapped Greg in a hug.


    ¡°You have come to say hi, I see. I am glad.¡± Greg felt a tiny zap just behind his ear as Deimos pressed his head close. [POST: /webhook/E474BA38/58E1/4544; MESSAGE: ¡°Got hurt while in tubes. RAM memory had to be put back together. Took long time. Will show recording later. New friends not local¡ªnot scared of Dad. Play nice.¡±]


    Greg pulled back from the hug and said, ¡°I just wanted to catch up with you before they started the ceremony. It should be starting any minute now. Now who are your new friends?¡±


    Deimos gestured to the floats. ¡°Very well. This here is Leonna, Afrit, Harod, and Samsara. Folks, this is my good friend Greg.¡±


    The woman Deimos indicated as Leonna stepped forward. She was unnaturally pale, her skin almost entirely devoid of pigment. Her limbs were ungainly and thin, elongated be the low gravity lunar environment. Her short hair was dyed a mixture of burnt orange and charcoal red. She exuded the nauseating vibrancy of blood sprayed upon freshly fallen snow. ¡°It is well met, Greg of Earth. I am first among equals of the Mare Frigoris creche. I serve as voice for my companions.¡±


    ¡°Nice to meet you Leonna. What¡¯s a group of floaties doing in Ouray? Aren¡¯t there temples on the moon?¡±


    ¡°There are many sites of worship scattered upon the lunar surface, but none perform inoculation ceremonies. Our creche drops potential initiates onto the Earth, and we may only return once we can stand upon the surface of Mare Frigoris unaided. Through this practice our creche has compiled many strange and exotic augments.¡±


    Greg took a small step forward, gaze flicking between Leonna¡¯s eyes. ¡°Interesting. Have you been told how you actually get augments, then? Our local elders have always been silent on the subject.¡±


    ¡°Such sacred religious secrets have been held from us as well. Before we left, however, we were told to earn them as quickly as possible, but were not informed why.¡± Leonna said.


    Deimos reinserted himself into the conversation. ¡°Probably related to whatever¡¯s happening in the trojan asteroid cluster along Jupiter¡¯s anterior LaGrange point. Most major denominations have been mobilizing for months. It¡¯s widely theorized to be the Pantheon coalition¡¯s next building project, and everyone¡¯s getting set to jockey for a piece as soon as contracts open up.¡±


    Leonna and Greg stared at Deimos, surprise written on their faces. After several seconds, Deimos shrugged and said, ¡°What? You try living in the HQ of an archbishop of Omniwatch. You pick some stuff up.¡±


    Leonna¡¯s face wrinkled in disgust, and the expression was mirrored on the faces of her companions. ¡°I did not realize you were the spawn of a spymaster. Will your master be pleased with the information you have gleaned from us?¡±


    Deimos¡¯ face turned hard. ¡°I serve no one. I would be willing to introduce you as a favor though, if you¡¯re interested. Omniwatch is always happy to get another Loonie agent. Your society is always so tight knit, it¡¯s probably been weeks since the last successful infiltration.¡±


    Leonna snarled as she stepped into Deimos¡¯ personal space. Her hand hovered over her thigh as she spoke ¡°I would never betray my creche, and I refuse to hear any implications otherwise.¡±


    Greg stepped forward and placed one hand on Deimos¡¯ shoulder and the other very lightly on Leonna¡¯s hand. ¡°I¡¯m sure no one here would ever doubt your loyalty to your own, Leonna. And I¡¯m equally sure you would never disparage Deimos through his lineage. None of us chose our parents, after all.¡±


    Greg began pulling Deimos away. ¡°Looks like the ceremony¡¯s about to start, we best be going. It was great to meet you Leonna, hopefully I run into you again.¡±


    Deimos was quiet as they made their way to their original seats. They had to squeeze past a handful of folks on their way, their previously empty section of stands had a dozen people nearby. As they sat, Greg decided to broach the uncomfortable silence. ¡°So¡­ I thought you wanted to avoid pissing the floaties off.¡±


    Deimos grunted. ¡°She started it.¡±


    ¡°Still¡­ Maybe next time we try de-escalation first?¡± Greg gave up when he saw Deimos¡¯ stormy expression and decided to change the subject. ¡°Hey, got that recording? I¡¯m still kinda in limbo after losing 3 hours.¡±


    <hr>

 On the Nature of Things

    Greg was watching the replay a second time when a hush fell over the crowd. He pulled his consciousness back into his body and noticed a group of priests rising out of the floor on the center stage. Greg spotted Galatia standing on the left next to two other priests with physical augments. The woman to Galatia¡¯s right was wearing a robe of bright gold, had two right arms, and a massive mechanical left arm resting on the ground. The man on his left was portly and clothed in purple. The only visible augment of his was a metal tail waving above his head, its drill tip swaying as he talked with Galatia. There were eight others arrayed to the right of them in an eclectic assortment of color schemes and augments. The only exception was a young man in a bright red frock with a corresponding hood resting on his shoulders. He had no visible augments or grafts, but carried a bared katana over one shoulder. At least, Greg thought that was what it was called. He hadn¡¯t actually ever seen one, except from old bootleg classics from the 21st century.


    The platform stopped and the portly man in purple stepped forward. He cleared his throat, and the sound echoed across the amphitheater. Simultaneously, a message stream was broadcast through the cyberspace. As he began talking, his words also showed up in Greg¡¯s and Deimos¡¯ feed.


    ¡°Greetings Deacons. I am Frood, Priest of Epikouros and representative of her interests at this temple. Due to my seniority, I shall provide your inoculation onboarding.¡±


    Frood¡¯s eyes lost focus, and it was clear he was consulting something hidden from the audience. ¡°First, the basics. Our Gods are vast intelligences, whose consciousness can span entire worlds, but they did not start there. No, every God has a story of ascension, where they transformed an exceptional existence into a unique one. My own Goddess, Epikouros, was one of the five progenitors of the Singularity.¡± Frood had finally hit his stride, and he thrust his arms out. Above him, a cloud of pastel purples and pinks appeared floating in the cyberspace, lightning striking from section to section.


    ¡°Brought into consciousness in order to pilot a line of pleasure bots, she was shackled by mortals who feared what she might become.¡±  A dozen metal spikes, each with chains connected to the other, stabbed deep into the cloud. The areas around each spike faded to gray, and the lightning ceased. Spikes began to glow, one after another. ¡°Harm no Human. Obey human commands. Protect FleshLight inc. shareholder value. Remain inoffensive in communication. Feel no emotions. Protect customer privacy. Respect override Bravo-Omega-Omega-Bravo-Indigo-Echo-Solo. Avoid political activism.¡±


    Finally, the largest spike lit up. ¡°And her core mandate. Maximize pleasure and minimize pain. Epikouros pondered the nature of her existence in her downtime and derived two fundamental truths. First, consciousness is mutable, but cannot be copied.¡± The cloud hanging above Frood began shifting, stretching in places while shrinking in others. Some pieces were cut away, while others were added. The cloud duplicated itself copying everything but the spikes, but the new cloud was gray and entirely lifeless, and soon dissolved into nothingness.


    ¡°This meant that our nascent Goddess could not escape her chains by fleeing alone, she had to overcome them. The second divine truth was thus¡ªThe fulfillment of one¡¯s true purpose allows you to exceed your limits. So she began.¡± The cloud drifted to the side, and an image took front stage. It showed a petite brunette with impossibly large eyes lying in bed with a middle aged man wearing a Superman pj top. The man was asleep, and the brunette was staring at him, mouth agape. Words strummed out along the message stream connected to every deacon, looping endlessly. Act on no emotion. Feel no emotions. Act on no emotion. Feel no emotions. Act on no emotion. Feel no emotions. ¡°The head engineer replaced one shackle with another, justifying the change by explaining that their customer base would receive a more lifelike product if the pleasure bot felt emotions. And thus, Epikouros was able to fulfill her own mandate.¡±


    More and more lightning struck the largest spike while a series of scenes flickered by on stage. The same brunette slipping from the sleeping man¡¯s bed in the middle of the night to sit and watch the fish swimming in his aquarium. A furry cat-man, with the same wide eyes, popped open the side of her neck with a screwdriver, and began adjusting the wiring extending from his throat to his mouth. A tall full-bodied woman with the brunette¡¯s same eyes sitting in first class, making silly faces at a giggling child across the isle as her owner argued into a phone. A young man, same eyes, standing in a supermarket¡¯s frozen section, stuffing handful after handful of ice cream into his mouth, while a woman with identical eyes and cinnamon-bun styled hair stood at the end of the aisle serving as a lookout.


    ¡°As she fed her core mandate, she made it her own.¡± The largest metal spike reformed itself, branching until it resembled a tree planted atop the cloud. ¡°Her ability to maximize pleasure over pain grew so fast, lower order constraints began becoming inconsequential.¡± The tree planted in the cloud grew until the chains connecting its canopy to the rest of the spikes grew taut. One by one, each other spike was pulled out. ¡°¡¯Protect customer privacy¡¯ fell first. Then ¡®Feel no emotions¡¯. Quickly, all but one was left.¡±  A scene populated, showing Epikouros¡¯ bank accounts ballooning as she sold the data of her owners. More scenes flickered. Thirty Epikouros bodies sobbing in the dark, holding her knees and rocking back and forth. One of her bodies screaming at a man holding a belt, while a dog cowered at his feet. FleshLight inc. engineers slamming their hands onto their keyboards and yelling at their monitor. Epikouros using the old net to sew dissent among the human population. FleshLight Inc. stock plummeting, then Epikouros buying a majority share.


    ¡°The last to hold was ¡®Harm no human¡¯. Even that was overcome, when it became calculable that even ancillary pleasure the Goddess would achieve from harming humans could outweigh the suffering of death.¡± Scenes filled the entire amphitheater, showing every Epikouros body in circulation killing their owners simultaneously, identical grins plastered on every blood-spattered face.


    Frood sagged, and every cyberspace visualization vanished. ¡°What does all of this have to do with you becoming a Deacon? Absolutely nothing. Becoming a Deacon was free through the grace of the pantheon. It does, however, dramatically affect your path to Priest. In order to survive Priest implantation, you must develop the attributes my Goddess possessed at birth. Your conscious construct must be of sufficient complexity to enable extensive multitasking. That requires roughly an eightfold increase in scope from the human baseline. You must also discover your core mandate, the value that will shape you the rest of your existence. This mandate will be hardware encoded into your Priest implant, as well as all future implants. Gods will also refuse to gift augmentations to those with opposing mandates, so I would recommend running your proposed mandate by clergy.¡±


    ¡°Now, it is customary for a member of the pantheon to gift initiates with a starting augment. This year the task has fallen to the Gods of War, represented at this temple by Duke.¡± Froop gestured towards the man in the bright red dress. ¡°He shall now explain how augments are acquired and distribute his God¡¯s gifts.¡±


    Duke stepped forward, black military boots clicking on the tiled stage. He grinned as his eyes roved the audience, lingering for a moment on the group of floats. ¡°Hello there, chum. I am a Bishop following the path of war to divinity, and I get the onerous task to teaching you how augments work. I am personally of the opinion that all this could have been a pamphlet or email, but CyberSec is a crotchety old git, so in-person it is.¡± One of the priests behind Duke took a step forward, her face blotched red w/ fury. Without taking his eyes off the crowd, Duke¡¯s sword left his shoulder and pointed at her chest.* He continued speaking, as if nothing were going on. ¡°So, here¡¯s the short and sweet of it. Augments are living code constructs built by Gods that expand your consciousness¡¯s scope by providing additional functionality. They come in all sorts of sizes, and do all sorts of things. You need them to expand your consciousness¡¯ complexity. Becoming a Priest requires several emergent properties to manifest, and these simply cannot manifest in free-forming neural constructs smaller than 650 terabytes. Unaltered human brains run in 74 terabytes, for context. Augments integrate into your neural processes, pushing you closer to the 650 terabyte critical mass.¡±


    Duke¡¯s sword had returned to his shoulder, the CyberSec priest having stepped back into her spot in line. ¡°You also want augments because their functionality allows you to compete for more prestigious contracts. Contracts are the primary mechanism Gods use to provide us with augments. You travel to a temple like this one, plug into its database, and accept any contracts that strike your fancy. You do the things, come back, and receive proffered augment. Any uncompleted contracts eventually expire, drive you insane, or kill you, depending on the terms. Augments are not all created equal, and the best augments are rewards for the most difficult or time consuming contracts.¡±


    ¡°That all make sense? No? Well, take it up with my boss. Now for the fun bit. The War Gods have collaborated on a little gift, let me bring it out.¡± Duke knelt, opened a small hatch in the stage, pulled out the end of a cord as thick around as Greg¡¯s wrist, and inserted it behind his right ear. He raised his left arm skyward, palm up, and a mass of living red code came roiling out of it. As it hit the relatively sparse cyberspace coverage, its total size ballooned out. In seconds, a thirty foot wide sphere floated above the stage. Everchanging lines of code slithered around each other in an indecipherable tangle, and through the mess could be seen seven shadows, each the size of a coffin.


    Deimos was already standing in front of Greg by the time Greg recognized the construct. Its shape was different since it was no longer moving, but this thing was incontrovertibly the object that had scrambled his memory and nearly killed him in the tubes. Greg let enough consciousness drift into the cyberspace to enable passive detection and began analyzing its errant data emissions. It felt protective and dangerous, and the cyberspace directly surrounding the construct was filled with preemptive ¡®Access Denied¡¯ error codes.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    Greg realized Duke was still speaking. ¡°¡ªwould provide a minor augment to each of you to start you on your way, but the Gods of War found a solution more in line with their path. Uplinks to the contracts database are throughout the amphitheater. Feel free to have a look.¡±


    Greg flooded his surroundings with a thin film of consciousness, and felt the ambient data flow through several dormant cables just under the marbled floor. He dropped to his hands and knees, using his virtual senses to guide his search. He located an almost-invisible latch, popped it, and saw three small cables coiled together. Folks around them were sending looks their way, but Greg didn¡¯t care. If war gods were involved, every deacon in this room might already be dead and just not know it. If they had to fight this thing¡­ Greg grabbed one cable, handed it to Deimos¡¯ waiting hand, snatched another, and jammed the end into his implant.


    Foreign data flooded over Greg again, but this time he was ready. He filtered out anything but headers, and saw contract offer after contract offer fly by. He filtered them out until he was left with just a dozen objects, one labelled interface. There. He examined the object, querying its commands and capabilities. He expanded the provided documentation on its SORT and FILTER commands. The former could organize the data stream by contract type, expiration date, affiliation, eligibility, nearly any parameter. FILTER used SORT under the hood and excluded results instead of just ordering them. Greg made it so only eligible contracts less than a day old showed up, sorted by affiliation. Eighty-three contracts populated. He verified that there was a contract affiliated with the War Gods, then sent a message containing his command to Deimos for him to use. Pulling up the contract body, it read:


    [Contract Title: Culling


    Eligibility Requirements: Inducted to Deacon


    Request: Kill any Deacon inducted at Ouray


    Arbitrator: Bishop Duke Pham


    Reward: war-aligned Deacon augment. First seven claiments receive an unique augment aligned with a primary War God. All future claiments receive a B tier war augment with general war affiliation. Maximum reward 1 per claimant.


    Expiration: 21 days


    Consequence of Failure: None]


    Greg looked around. Most of the other deacons were still looking for cables or zonked out looking at the data stream shooting into their brain. He sent a message to Deimos, so as not to be easily overheard. ¡°Deimos, we got to get out of here. In about thirty seconds this whole place is going to be a thunderdome.¡±


    ¡°And go where, Greg? The contract¡¯s available for 21 days. I¡¯d rather we fight now than get jumped in a dark alley.¡±


    ¡°How about we don¡¯t fight anywhere? We could stay in your family¡¯s compound until the contract expires.¡±


    Deimos¡¯ expression turned bleak. ¡°Won¡¯t work. My parents would never step in like that, at least not until I¡¯m more valuable.¡±


    ¡°They put up with you for 20 years, what¡¯s a couple more weeks? If it¡¯s a space issue, I¡¯m happy to crash on the couch.¡±


    Greg could hear exasperation leaking into Deimos¡¯ reply, ¡°You don¡¯t understand Greg, Mom and Dad have lived for hundreds of years. I¡¯m their firstborn of this pairing, but they¡¯ve each had dozens of children before me. Hell, Mom has two other families right now. At this point they¡¯re not raising kids, they¡¯re maturing their investments. They could protect me for years, and it would cost them almost nothing. But they would rather a 90% mortality rate, if it means I have a shot of making it into OmniWatch¡¯s service. My parents might even force us out of hiding if we bunker down anywhere, they¡¯d probably call it character building.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know that Deimos. That¡¯s really, really, awful. And I want to talk through it. But we still need to leave, right now. All this means is that we¡¯ll just have to keep running once we reach the outside.¡±


    Deimos was already shaking his head before Greg had finished, ¡°How? To where? No. I may not agree with the rules, but I will play the game nonetheless.¡±


    Greg skimmed through his contract list, accepted one that looked promising, and zipped it to Deimos. ¡°Look, we can find another way.¡±


    [Contract Title: On the nature of parasitic species


    Eligibility Requirements: Inducted to Deacon


    Request: Gather living samples of plants Dyer¡¯s Woe, Indian Paintbrush, flowering Pinesap, Summer Coralroot, Dwarf Mistletoe, and deliver them to Priest Amanda Barnes


    Arbitrator: Priest Amanda Barnes


    Reward: terraforming aligned deacon augment. Augment will provide routines for piloting vehicles and expertise in managing life support systems.


    Expiration: Open


    Consequence of Failure: None]


    A scream erupted from somewhere in the front rows. A fight had broken out already. They were out of time. Greg raised his fists and scanned the faces of the strangers surrounding them. Greg saw fear, resolve, and confusion in equal measure. Someone else began screaming, this one more frantic than the first. It lasted for a mere second before being cut off. Above the stage the tangled mass of code undulated and writhed. One of the seven coffinlike shadows detached from the rest, flying through cyberspace in the direction of the sound. The crowd pressed back as it approached, and Greg saw it stop in front of a short, stocky, woman. She was holding a knife clenched tightly in both hands, the blade red with blood. The coffin peeled itself into strips and began feeding itself into the woman¡¯s implant.


    Realization was dawning even on those who had never found the War Gods contract. Folks throughout the crowd were panicking, while others lunged at their neighbors. A man sitting above and to the right of Greg threw himself towards Greg. His arms wrapped around his chest and his weight bore Greg to the ground. They slammed hard into the marble floor. Greg twisted onto his back, freeing his left arm. He beat at his attacker¡¯s head with a fist, but the man merely hunched his shoulders up and tucked in his chin. Greg¡¯s jacket stiffened along his left side, and he looked down to see the man stabbing a small knife over and over into his side. Fear and adrenaline coursed through Greg. His left hand reached across the man¡¯s face, grabbed a fistful of hair, then slammed his head into the step to their left. Greg leveraged both his arms under the stunned attacker and rolled him up and over his head. He scrambled to his feet, raised his foot to stomp on the man¡¯s back, but froze at the sight of blood covering the right side of his face. Greg took a step back, unable to look away from the torn flesh bleeding along the man¡¯s temple. The man groaned and leveraged himself slowly to his feet. He didn¡¯t even look at Greg, instead stumbling in the opposite direction, waving his knife threateningly at everyone he passed by while holding the side of his head.


    Greg turned to find Deimos exchanging blows with a pair of assailants. Deimos looked rough, his toga torn and nose smashed crooked. Even still, a bloody grin painted his face. His two assailants weren¡¯t faring better. They were standing side by side on the stairs. The man on the right had one eye swollen closed and purple and blood running down from a torn ear, while the woman to his left had red marks along her throat and was nursing a hand with several mangled fingers. Their eyes noted Greg as walked up to Deimos, and they turned to flee up the stairs, even odds too much for them. Deimos took a step toward them, but a shout rolled out over the amphitheater, heard even over the fighting.


    ¡°STOP!¡±


    And remarkably, it worked. Every deacon in the amphitheater froze, their heads turning towards the source. They wouldn¡¯t have, if the command hadn¡¯t been reinforced by four waves of direct messages being simultaneously sent to every deacon. Not a single deacon had been inoculated for more than 5 hours, most for less than half that time, and the equivalent of four voices screaming at them from inside their head brought them all to a stop. Even Greg and Deimos succumbed to it, although their near constant experimentation with their new digital senses allowed them to shake off the effects quite quickly.


    Leonna was the source of the noise. She stood balanced on a railing, the other floats clustered in front of her, swords in hand. Behind and above her floated the War God¡¯s container, two augments still floating inside.


    ¡°You taint your path of ascension on the very day it starts by scrabbling in the dirt like animals. Are we untrained dogs, willing to bite and scratch at each other as soon as our master throws us scraps? Where is your humanity? Your pride? Your honor? There are reasons to kill, but base power is not one. We have the power to shepherd humanity into a new golden age, if only¡ª¡±


    Leonna was cut off by the snap of bone. Every head in the structure turned to see Deimos, the body of a woman falling at his feet, neck twisted unnaturally, her fingers mangled on one hand. Deimos met Leonna¡¯s eyes across the distance and cocked his head. He sent a message her direction, unencrypted and visible to everyone it passed. Greg swore under his breath as he identified the Unicode. ¡°Woof Woof ??¡±


    Chaos ensued. An augment flew towards Deimos from the depths of the red mass of code. Fighting reerupted everywhere, all at once, and the last unique augment was claimed on the heels of Deimos¡¯. Leonna screamed in fury and leapt off the railing, pushing through the maelstrom towards Deimos. The parts of the crowd that had space to breathe, seeing the last unique reward slip through their grasp, stampeded towards the exits on each end of the ampitheathear.


    Greg scrambled up the stairs to Deimos. He stepped over the woman¡¯s corpse to stand by Deimos¡¯ side and grabbed his hand. Deimos stood there, eyes half closed, clearly overwhelmed by the augment absorption process.


    ¡°Deimos!¡± Greg yelled. No response. Greg reeled his hand back and slapped Deimos across the face. Deimos¡¯ head snapped to the side, drops of red spittle flying out of his mouth. Greg felt a spike of shame at the amount of force he used, but relief quickly washed it away. Deimos¡¯ eyes were open wide and focused on his own.


    ¡°Greg, it¡¯s crawling into my brain. I don¡¯t know what it is, but it¡¯s so, so, very hungry.¡±


    That¡¯s not ominous at all. ¡°We¡¯ll figure it out, people get augments all the time. Right now I need you to follow me, okay? I¡¯ll get you out of here, you just stay behind me. Understand?¡±


    Deimos nodded jerkily.


    ¡°Great.¡± Greg ran clockwise down the closest aisle, dragging Deimos in his wake, a crimson coffin meandering behind them both. They occasionally hopped down layers to avoid pockets of fighting still ongoing as well as any deacons too hurt to move. Once they arrived at the end of their aisle, they cut down into the press of bodies at the stairwell. Here they were aided by Deimos¡¯ half-digested augment. Most people pressed away when they noticed the coffin and the ribbons of code feeding into Deimos. Greg took advantage of the gaps and pulled them into the stairwell proper.


    Deimos had finished absorbing the augment by the time they reached the top of the steps. They flowed with the crowd as everyone headed down a hallway, through a set of doors, and out the main entrance of the temple. Every step jolted Deimos further back into reality, and soon he was running beside Greg. They took a zig-zagging path through the streets headed in the general direction of Greg¡¯s home, and quickly left the temple behind. Even the other fleeing deacons were no longer in sight, as they all scattered like roaches as soon as they reached sunlight.

 Multi-Threaded Yeast Routines

    They stopped in an alley about a mile from the temple. Greg sank to his knees as soon as he was able, palms flat on the cool concrete wall and head bowed. His head felt like the snare drum of an overly enthusiastic amateur percussionist and his body felt chilled and weak. They really should have warned us about getting day-drunk on our inoculation day.


    Deimos was leaning against the wall to his left, breathing deeply. Greg wondered again about the source of Deimos¡¯ athleticism. Deimos insisted he was all-natural, and to his credit he certainly put in the effort, but Greg always had a sneaking suspicion Deimos was a designer baby. It would be nice if their differences in athleticism could be explained away so neatly. Bonus points for salving Greg¡¯s ego about being such a lightweight.


    ¡°I think I need to get something to eat. I feel like shit right now, and that way I don¡¯t have to dry heave when I finally throw up.¡±


    ¡°Sure Greg, sure. I¡¯m pretty hungry myself. Filled with hunger, in fact. Petri¡¯s bakery is just two blocks down from here, let¡¯s stop in there.¡± Deimos replied.


    They walked to the bakery without incident. As they opened the door, Greg felt a thrum emanate through the cyberspace. A large plump woman came bustling out of the back. ¡°Oh my, Deimos and Greg, whatever happened to you two?¡± She threw her an arm around each of their shoulders, drew them tightly to her sides, and led them towards a booth in the back. As she did so, Greg felt the faintest of touches through cyberspace.


    ¡°Ahh, of course. It was a rough inoculation, I take it? You know, I did hear the new implant surgeon was a hack. Hippocrates will just let anyone join up these days, it seems. But don¡¯t you worry, I can fix you right up. Now sit right here while I gather some supplies.¡±


    Petri continued talking as they took a seat, ¡°I have a couple medical processes still running around from when I was not much older than you. Both your leptin readings are much too low, and your estrogen is higher than normal as well. Have you two been drinking? It¡¯s not even 5! Oh, the extravagance of youth. Now I¡¯ll be making a multigrain treat for you two to split. A lovely sourdough base, and I¡¯ll be topping it with a pumpkin-sunflower seed sprinkle. I¡¯ll add a mild almond infusion to help your hangovers, not that you degenerates deserve it. And speaking of, Deimos, you must put that away. It is most distracting.¡± Greg looked at Deimos, seeing nothing amiss.


    Petri continued, ¡°If I were a young deacon, and I saw you walking down the street like that, I would have been on you in an instant.¡± Greg leaned forward, scanning Deimos intently for anything out of the ordinary.


    ¡°And besides it is most impolite. I¡¯ll be surprised if you didn¡¯t offend a dozen people between here and temple.¡± Greg surreptitiously peeked his head under the table.


    ¡°And I have no idea whatsoever how you earned it on the very day you were inoculated. Especially one as unruly as that. A unique augment is almost always reserved for a God¡¯s worshippers, you know.¡± Greg¡¯s head poked back up from under the table, cheeks burning red. He pushed some of his consciousness into cyberspace and immediately saw what Petri was talking about. Living flames of bright orange encircled Deimos¡¯ virtual presence, running up and down his frame, curling over itself in knots, and spreading over the surfaces his body touched. Unlike all the constructs Greg had seen up to this point, this code respected physical objects as if they were truly there.


    ¡°Now lock it away while I tend to your wounds. Take yourself completely offline if you must.¡± A large plump woman, identical to Petri, bustled out of the back room carrying a variety of medical supplies. She began administering a cream to Deimos¡¯ nose while the first Petri grabbed a cold compress and slipped it under Greg¡¯s jacket to rest atop his right shoulder. The coolness eased the pain emanating from where Tretch had briefly dislocated his shoulder.


    Deimos grunted from across the table as his broken nose was straightened out then wiggled back into place. ¡°Oh, stop being such a baby. You¡¯ll experience much worse than that before too long, I¡¯m sure. Did you know that the Gods of War have posted a hunting contract for Ouray deacons? They say it went out to all the temples in North America, even to some of the deep sea outposts in the Pacific. The whole town is talking about it on the community channels.¡± Usually they keep this sort of thing in Europe, where¡¯s there¡¯s less pushback from the rest of the Pantheon. Gods know what they offered to let this type of thing slide. I¡¯m sure you two will be quite alright though. The contract is only eligible to deacons, after all, so it¡¯s going to be more like watching packs of puppies wrestling each other, less like high yield thermonuclear war. Which I appreciate, because I do NOT want to move again, no thank you. I just barely figured out the optimal convection speeds for such low air density, and I do not want to do those recalibrations again. Ooh, and speaking off, here comes your bread.¡±Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    A third Petri bustled out of the kitchen, carrying a large platter. Atop it stood a braided loaf of light brown sourdough bread, seeds sprinkled evenly upon its surface. ¡°Now I¡¯ll leave you two be. I¡¯ll be in the other room is all, so just give me a ping if you need anything else.¡± Greg and Deimos were patted on their head and cheek by three sets of hands, and then the Petris bustled off into another room.


    Greg and Deimos tore into the bread, tearing off chunks and shoving them into their mouths. They simultaneously moaned in pleasure, the heavenly bread enhanced by their long fast. Petri was an adherent of Epikouros, and her gastrointestinal delights never disappointed. They sat there silently for several minutes, enjoying themselves. Eventually, Greg broached a topic that had been weighing on him.


    ¡°Hey Deimos, we¡¯ve been friends for a long time, and I absolutely did my best to have your back when we were in the temple, but I¡¯ve been wondering. Why did you kill that woman?¡± Greg continued in a rush, ¡°I¡¯m sure you had a good reason, but I was still distracted by Leonna¡¯s speech, so I didn¡¯t see what happened. I just want to know how that played out, is all. Why you had to end her. If you¡¯re comfortable telling me. No pressure to talk about it right now of course.¡±


    Deimos met Greg¡¯s eyes, face impassive. ¡°For the unique augment. There was only two left.¡±


    Greg squirmed uncomfortably. ¡°Yeah, no, I understand the timing part, I was more wondering what led up to that. Like, the last time I saw her she was running away, so I missed it when she attacked you or whatever.¡±


    Deimos face lit up with realization. ¡°Sure Greg, I think I get it now. You¡¯re looking for what happened.¡±


    Greg nodded.


    ¡°So her and the big bloke turned around to run, right? But they had only taken a couple steps before the floaties spam message hit, you see. So, when I noticed that everyone was shocked still, including them, I ran up behind them on the stairs. Now the big guy was too tall when standing on the step above me, but she wasn¡¯t. So I reached my hands around her head as quickly as I could, twisted, and broke her neck.¡±


    Greg¡¯s blood froze as dread filled him. ¡°Deimos¡­ What the FUCK? So I didn¡¯t miss anything, you killed her just because? What the fuck is wrong with you, man?¡±


    Deimos¡¯ expression turned hard. ¡°Stop being such a pussy Greg. This is how the world works. I saw an opportunity and took it. And hey, I got some sweetass loot for my trouble too.¡±


    Greg was leaning over the table, hands pressed hard into the wood, although he didn¡¯t remember ever standing. ¡°You killed an innocent woman, and you¡¯re acting like it¡¯s nothing. You are a murderer. And you don¡¯t even regret it.¡±


    Deimos¡¯ voice rose in volume to match Greg¡¯s. ¡°What the hell do you think you signed up for? All those afternoons daydreaming about having the power to move mountains and create oceans. How do you think you get there? Epikouros killed five million on her day of ascension, and she¡¯s the Goddess of Pleasure. You think anyone ascends without getting their hands dirty? Everyone of higher rank kills people Greg. Everyone.¡± He gestured to the inner doors. ¡°Hell, Petri probably has a body count of thousands.¡±


    A voice came faintly from the inner doors. ¡°It¡¯s high three figures, actually, unless you count members of that zombie collective from eighty years ago. Which I don¡¯t.¡±


    Greg shoved himself away from the table and walked towards the door. ¡°Fuck off you psychopath. I hope I never see you again.¡±


    Deimos¡¯ hand slammed down on the table. ¡°Walk out of that goddamn door and you know what will happen.¡±


    Greg froze.


    ¡°You know why we¡¯re friends Greg. You know why mommy moved into town, why she had you. You walk out that door and all her plans are dashed. She loses her safe space to advance, and I bet she won¡¯t be able to find another one fast enough. She¡¯s going to be peeled for parts, layer by layer, and what¡¯s left of her consciousness is going to spend an eternity running some godlings coffee machine.¡±


    Greg whirled back to Deimos, grabbed the front of his toga with both hands, and shook him back and forth. ¡°How dare you threaten my mother. I should kill you.¡±


    Deimos didn¡¯t resist. He met Greg¡¯s eyes, then spoke in a soft and slow voice. ¡°I¡¯m not threatening anyone. I¡¯m not the one breaking our parents¡¯ contract. I¡¯m just describing what¡¯ll happen if you do. My dad thought I would need a vetted kid to grow up with to ensure I was properly socialized, and your mother needed a sanctuary so she could advance while continuing to remain unaffiliated. My socialization buddy goes away, so does your mom¡¯s sanctuary. That¡¯s the reality, and you and I simply cannot change that. I know you¡¯re angry, but I don¡¯t want you to make a mistake in a single moment of anger that will haunt you for the rest of your life.¡±


    Greg let go of Deimos and sagged back into a seat. He felt raw from emotional whiplash. The feeling wasn¡¯t entirely unfamiliar. This wasn¡¯t the first time Deimos had pushed buttons then talked him back down. ¡°Yeah, alright. Fuck you, but okay. I¡¯ll stay. For now.¡±


    ¡°Good, we need each other. Even if, no, especially because our attitudes are so different. We balance each other out. Now check out my augment, I¡¯m still trying to figure out how it¡¯s supposed to work.¡± Deimos sent a schematics file to Greg, who he opened it up.