Saturday, January 4, 2014
Red cascades of data flicker rapidly through my right eye. They move with me as I turn my head, telling me where to go; I now have to turn right. I mechanically follow the instructions, getting closer to my destination.
My mission is clear: find artifact A2000 4356 7832, pick it up, bring it back home. As easy as that. Yet I have never been in this sector before; I must rely on the information that appears in my eye.
I listen to the metallic pounding of my heavy boots on the floor, echoing and fading away. My hand wanders over the touch pad in the beltmounted device at my side and I change the intensity of the rays.
Distant machines stamp out their never-changing beat. The hall I enter lies bathed in dim light.
Although the walls numb the senses with their icy greyness, I am not cold; it is warm in here, maybe 27° Celsius. A bead of sweat runs down my forehead into my eye. I feel a sudden sting, but I do not dare to wipe it away, afraid to lose sight of the thin red lines.
A man comes round the corner and stops in his tracks as he sees me. His mouth opens in disbelief. He certainly wasn’t expecting me—the cyborg—to appear here. ...
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(Image: Peter Taylor)