Dr. Identity by D. Harlan Wilson

Author:D. Harlan Wilson [Wilson, D. Harlan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Horror, Science Fiction, Fiction, General, Humorous, Robots, Doppelg'angers
ISBN: 9781933293325
Google: 0qWYGAAACAAJ
Amazon: 1933293322
Publisher: Raw Dog Screaming Press
Published: 2007-02-28T08:00:00+00:00

12

CRONENBERG CIRQUE – 3RD PERSON

Achtung 66.799’s jacks tried to pick another fight. They covered his skull like moon craters and ran the length of his scoliotic spine. His body vibrated in the torrent of their harangue.

The jacks barked at a meteorologist in Biospeak. The meteorologist, Bario Ackalacka, worked for Channel 10,443. This morning his bright-eyed ’gänger informed the Papanazi that the local government had conjured and dispersed an übertsunami that was scheduled to sweep through his neighborhood this afternoon and give it a moral cleansing, countering and quashing the wave of crime that had recently crashed there. Ackalacka was a tall, bronze, ripped up body engineer with a purple face that looked like a fist. He had on a thong and cowboy boots with spurs. An exoskeleton of veins encrusted his skin. Achtung 66.799 wondered if the meteorologist could understand Biospeak. He hoped not. He wasn’t armed. Not with muscle, not with hardware. Not even with Biospeak.

Served him right. He had bought the jacks from a street surgeon recommended by an underground talk show host. At first he was only going to have one jack installed. But they were dirt cheap and he decided to load up. Achtung 66.799’s identity demanded a multiplicity. So did his fashion sense. The street surgeon assured him they were no-nonsense implants. User-friendly and fully functional. But after installation the metallic rings that described their exteriors morphed into fleshy grey lips and their pistils became lizardlike tongues. They were sentient, too. Achtung 66.799 wondered if the surgeon had sold them to him because he didn’t like his looks, he wanted to play a joke on him, or he couldn’t get the things off of his hands. Probably all of the above.

He knew a few words of Biospeak, mostly obscenities, so he understood some of the hash his jacks slung out. Ackalacka didn’t seem to notice. He continued to sip his drink and slap the ass cheek of the android standing next to him at the bar. The music was the usual vintage cacophony of synthesizers, riffblitzes and metronomics, but it wasn’t turned up that loud. The meteorologist probably didn’t speak the language.

Achtung 66.799 tried to ignore his technology.

Failed.

He tried to reason with his technology.

Failed.

He tried poking and prodding his technology with a drink stirrer. That worked a little. His jacks’ hullabaloo grew louder and people started giving him dirty looks. But at least the hullabaloo was directed towards him now.

At one corner of the bar, a Guy Smiley impersonator spooned rabbit pellet pasta, Cronenberg Cirque’s specialty dish, into an oversized ersatz grin. Sidling up next to him, Achtung 66.799 stole a noodle from the Smiley’s plate. He found a dark corner and used the noodle to methodically beat his jacks into submission. Initially they got mad, threatening to turn inside out and eat him. Then they got tired and fell asleep. A series of soft, electric snores escaped the Papanazi’s body…

He had been following the plaquedemics when they ducked into Cronenberg Cirque. He had been following them all day, in fact, but still hadn’t retained a money shot.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.