*RING RING RING*
Greg’s eyes snapped open. He reached over and fumbled with the alarm clock till it fell silent, and he snuggled back into his soft bed. His body had 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 Priest, with enough endowments to ascend to Bishop soon. 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 Bishop. Until then, she fulfilled all obligations her mandates 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 a couple HR mandates she was still in the process of wearing down, 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…” Suz trailed off, head tilted towards the floor. Eventually she continued, “You could go to the inoculation alone, son.”
“Wouldn’t that kind of circumvent the whole point of settling here?”
“Today you will be inoculated, and legally able to make your own choices. If you choose to walk away, the contract will be annulled, but no one will be held personally liable.”
“Mom, I don’t mind being Deimos’ friend. He’s fine, really. And if it helps you out, all the better.”
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Suz sighed, shame hidden by the robotic timbre of her voice, “Alright. Simply be safe.”
Greg nodded and said, “Will do.”
Greg 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 – 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.