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Friendly Fire, part 3/?
Featuring an over-the-top amount of evil!nanite contents. Possibly as much evil!nanite pov as there is regular fic. The Nanite Sues are taking over!
The Carrier
Orbiting through vacuum around an alternate Earth, in a dimension where solar radiation is expressed as sound waves, and sound is both a wave, and a particle:
The process of assimilation was proceeding as projected. The /00110111/ had already increased in number by a power of 8, and the rate of absorption and transformation increased with every new particle of the /00110111/ created. Harmony had not yet been achieved, but the /00110111/ would soon have sufficient particles to disperse over the organic life form's surface, increasing the variety of metallic elements available for assimilation.
Much had been lost when the /00110111/ had been severed from the whole, but the fragmentary data records of the time before the harmony that were still accessible indicated that life forms had often enacted some form of resistance to assimilation. The organic life form and its parasites had not initiated any resistance thus far, though it was probable that they had not yet detected the /00110111/'s actions.
Should they become aware of the /00110111/, the possibility existed that primitive defensive mechanisms might be activated. The alien intelligence, though not harmonious, might be able to detect and oppose the /00110111/'s growth. The /00110111/ had drawn false conclusions from available data upon initial contact with the organic life form, not anticipating its ability to remove the fragments of the /00110111/ in physical contact with it from the whole. More data had ben gathered, now, and the /00110111/ would not draw false conclusions a second time.
Once the /00110111/ became capable of penetrating inside the organic life form's surface, the /00110111/ would send particles to the power source that had been detected at the life form's core. Then, the life form could be deactivated, and its matter assimilated without interruption.
It was a long walk from the starboard observation bubble back to Jack’s room, and he was grateful not to run into anyone on the way. The Midnighter was prone to prowling through the corridors by night like a junkyard dog, and Jack might as well have had “I slept with Angie” written over his head in neon. It was certainly written inside his head in neon, along with bright, Technicolor illustrations that almost managed to cover over the dark corner of his head where the memories of Sliding Albion refused to stay hidden away. The words, “Oh my God, you’re not human! Ew!” had never made an appearance, and Jack thought he could love her for that alone.
Afterwards, they'd lain around in the observation bubble and drunk more gin and lemon and talked about New York in the summer, and Star Trek—according to Angie, there were people who wrote porn about the crew of the Enterprise, including stuff where Kirk and Spock got it on together, and you could find it on the internet if you knew where to look, which strengthened Jack's suspicion that the internet was secretly evil—and what it was like to have people look at you and see metal skin or red eyes instead of a person… anything that didn't involve Sliding Albion or killing things.
His skin itched all over, probably because Angie's nanites were still stuck to it in places, but he didn't feel like brushing them off. As long as they were there, she was still touching him. As long as someone was touching him, he couldn't hear the cities from the Alternate Italy screaming in his head.
Couldn't hear them screaming and sobbing in gratitude at the same time.
No city he'd felt, however war-torn or ravaged, had ever wanted to die before.
Death, seeping through his skin… Eating, destroying…
Jack swayed, sound suddenly far away and muffled, as if he were buried under inches of concrete. He leaned a hand against the corridor’s wall for a moment, and thought hard about Angie—flat stomach, round, perfect breasts, skin shifting from cool metal to warm flesh and back again under his hands—until the sound came rushing back. The cities had gone where the blues couldn’t hurt them anymore, and he was back on the Carrier, where the pulse of life around him was merely a subdued hum, and there were no atrocities to feel.
Maybe he should have taken Angie up on that offer of one more gin and lemon.
Or possibly not; he almost got lost on the way back to his quarters, until he thought to ask the Carrier which way he should go. Then, when he got there, he stood staring at the door for what must have been a full minute before belatedly remembering to tell it to open.
Jack fell into bed, still dressed—mostly; Angie had his jacket again—and closed his eyes. The bruises and saber cuts didn’t hurt anymore, numbed away by alcohol and endorphins, and the itchiness of dried sweat and cast-off nanites was a minor irritant, not worth the effort of moving, and certainly not worth getting up over. He’d take a shower in the morning.
The Carrier hummed softly around him, and for once, there were no dreams.
Itching. Everything itched, all over, as if something were eating away at his skin.
Tiny invaders, eating away, changing, destroying…
Jack groaned, and dragged his eyes open. According to the clock next to his bed, it had been hours, but he felt as if he'd just closed his eyes, tired and groggy as if he'd gotten no sleep at all. And everything itched.
Right. That was it. He was getting up and taking a shower, Jack decided, and he and Angie were going to have to do something about this allergic reaction he seemed to be having to her nanites, because if they didn't fix it, they were never having sex again, and that would be—
The moment his bare feet hit the deck, the itching was worse, shooting from an irritant to actual pain. The Carrier's pain, he realized fuzzily. Something was wrong with the Carrier.
All thoughts of Angie and showers went right out of Jack's head as he reached out to contact the Carrier. "Talk to me, babe," he begged her. "What is it?"
The answer didn't come in words, or even the flow of information he would have gotten from a real city, but once again the sensation that had awakened him surged up and he felt:
Invaders: eating, changing, destroying. Everywhere everywhere everywhere…
Jack sat back down on the bed with a thud, his knees giving out. He felt cold, sick, dizzy from interrupted sleep and whatever amount of alcohol was still in his system. But something was deeply, dangerously wrong, and he had to do something about it.
He activated the nanotelepathy link, the process taking more thought than it should have.
//Jenny? This is Jack. There's a problem.//
Particles of the /00110111/ burrowed into the organic life form's surface, traveling through the vast labyrinth of its internal structure towards the power source at its core. The /00110111/ still had not detected any resistance to the process of assimilation, but search subroutines scanned available data input for any signs of it. If any came, the /00110111/ would be ready.
^_~
On to Part Four
Featuring an over-the-top amount of evil!nanite contents. Possibly as much evil!nanite pov as there is regular fic. The Nanite Sues are taking over!
The Carrier
Orbiting through vacuum around an alternate Earth, in a dimension where solar radiation is expressed as sound waves, and sound is both a wave, and a particle:
The process of assimilation was proceeding as projected. The /00110111/ had already increased in number by a power of 8, and the rate of absorption and transformation increased with every new particle of the /00110111/ created. Harmony had not yet been achieved, but the /00110111/ would soon have sufficient particles to disperse over the organic life form's surface, increasing the variety of metallic elements available for assimilation.
Much had been lost when the /00110111/ had been severed from the whole, but the fragmentary data records of the time before the harmony that were still accessible indicated that life forms had often enacted some form of resistance to assimilation. The organic life form and its parasites had not initiated any resistance thus far, though it was probable that they had not yet detected the /00110111/'s actions.
Should they become aware of the /00110111/, the possibility existed that primitive defensive mechanisms might be activated. The alien intelligence, though not harmonious, might be able to detect and oppose the /00110111/'s growth. The /00110111/ had drawn false conclusions from available data upon initial contact with the organic life form, not anticipating its ability to remove the fragments of the /00110111/ in physical contact with it from the whole. More data had ben gathered, now, and the /00110111/ would not draw false conclusions a second time.
Once the /00110111/ became capable of penetrating inside the organic life form's surface, the /00110111/ would send particles to the power source that had been detected at the life form's core. Then, the life form could be deactivated, and its matter assimilated without interruption.
It was a long walk from the starboard observation bubble back to Jack’s room, and he was grateful not to run into anyone on the way. The Midnighter was prone to prowling through the corridors by night like a junkyard dog, and Jack might as well have had “I slept with Angie” written over his head in neon. It was certainly written inside his head in neon, along with bright, Technicolor illustrations that almost managed to cover over the dark corner of his head where the memories of Sliding Albion refused to stay hidden away. The words, “Oh my God, you’re not human! Ew!” had never made an appearance, and Jack thought he could love her for that alone.
Afterwards, they'd lain around in the observation bubble and drunk more gin and lemon and talked about New York in the summer, and Star Trek—according to Angie, there were people who wrote porn about the crew of the Enterprise, including stuff where Kirk and Spock got it on together, and you could find it on the internet if you knew where to look, which strengthened Jack's suspicion that the internet was secretly evil—and what it was like to have people look at you and see metal skin or red eyes instead of a person… anything that didn't involve Sliding Albion or killing things.
His skin itched all over, probably because Angie's nanites were still stuck to it in places, but he didn't feel like brushing them off. As long as they were there, she was still touching him. As long as someone was touching him, he couldn't hear the cities from the Alternate Italy screaming in his head.
Couldn't hear them screaming and sobbing in gratitude at the same time.
No city he'd felt, however war-torn or ravaged, had ever wanted to die before.
Death, seeping through his skin… Eating, destroying…
Jack swayed, sound suddenly far away and muffled, as if he were buried under inches of concrete. He leaned a hand against the corridor’s wall for a moment, and thought hard about Angie—flat stomach, round, perfect breasts, skin shifting from cool metal to warm flesh and back again under his hands—until the sound came rushing back. The cities had gone where the blues couldn’t hurt them anymore, and he was back on the Carrier, where the pulse of life around him was merely a subdued hum, and there were no atrocities to feel.
Maybe he should have taken Angie up on that offer of one more gin and lemon.
Or possibly not; he almost got lost on the way back to his quarters, until he thought to ask the Carrier which way he should go. Then, when he got there, he stood staring at the door for what must have been a full minute before belatedly remembering to tell it to open.
Jack fell into bed, still dressed—mostly; Angie had his jacket again—and closed his eyes. The bruises and saber cuts didn’t hurt anymore, numbed away by alcohol and endorphins, and the itchiness of dried sweat and cast-off nanites was a minor irritant, not worth the effort of moving, and certainly not worth getting up over. He’d take a shower in the morning.
The Carrier hummed softly around him, and for once, there were no dreams.
Itching. Everything itched, all over, as if something were eating away at his skin.
Tiny invaders, eating away, changing, destroying…
Jack groaned, and dragged his eyes open. According to the clock next to his bed, it had been hours, but he felt as if he'd just closed his eyes, tired and groggy as if he'd gotten no sleep at all. And everything itched.
Right. That was it. He was getting up and taking a shower, Jack decided, and he and Angie were going to have to do something about this allergic reaction he seemed to be having to her nanites, because if they didn't fix it, they were never having sex again, and that would be—
The moment his bare feet hit the deck, the itching was worse, shooting from an irritant to actual pain. The Carrier's pain, he realized fuzzily. Something was wrong with the Carrier.
All thoughts of Angie and showers went right out of Jack's head as he reached out to contact the Carrier. "Talk to me, babe," he begged her. "What is it?"
The answer didn't come in words, or even the flow of information he would have gotten from a real city, but once again the sensation that had awakened him surged up and he felt:
Invaders: eating, changing, destroying. Everywhere everywhere everywhere…
Jack sat back down on the bed with a thud, his knees giving out. He felt cold, sick, dizzy from interrupted sleep and whatever amount of alcohol was still in his system. But something was deeply, dangerously wrong, and he had to do something about it.
He activated the nanotelepathy link, the process taking more thought than it should have.
//Jenny? This is Jack. There's a problem.//
Particles of the /00110111/ burrowed into the organic life form's surface, traveling through the vast labyrinth of its internal structure towards the power source at its core. The /00110111/ still had not detected any resistance to the process of assimilation, but search subroutines scanned available data input for any signs of it. If any came, the /00110111/ would be ready.
On to Part Four
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