《Dim(5,5,5)》Chapter Sixteen – M.I.C.A.I.N

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I stood right next to the front door of the bus, waiting for the driver A.I to pull closer to the building. The ride had been dull, so I spent time thinking about the invasion I had suffered, and set up a sub-routine to temporarily shut me down if it ever happened again.

I gave a heads-up to the bus driver. "Now, just like we discussed.Pour out more smoke, to give me a little cover."

"Gotcha. Here goes!"

The city-bus, smoking like a locomotive, reversed to bump over the curb and up onto the lawn just left of the building. It pulled well up near the front door, which adjoined a cement drive between it and the next business. The buses back door creaked open, and I jumped out, using the bulk of the vehicle to cover my dash down the building's side drive toward the rear. Meantime, the civic A.I. ground his gears, and spun tires deep into the company lawn, as if seeking traction to escape back into the street. The oily smoke was getting thick and caustic-smelling by the time I hiked it down the access alley. Angry shouting, mixed with gagging, spilled out of the building's front, as a couple of toughs and a white-shirted worker crowded out to ogle the fuss. The A.I. managed to let off a few honks before bumping back out into the street, to head back towards the thoroughfare.

The shipping bay was closed at the rear, but a steel door beyond stood propped open with a chair. I rummaged though a trash bin in the back lot, extracting an old pizza box, which I dusted off. Putting my best "Hey it's a job" expression on, I stepped through it. As hoped, there wasn't anyone in sight, so I dropped the box and looked around. There were several examination tables, half assembled tissue knitters, and other medical-looking appurtenances jumbled about. A pile of documents drew my attention to a small desk jammed against the front wall of the production floor; next to a door that must lead to the front office and lobby area.

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For some reason, I know the building layout, and that very little had been done to set up anything beyond this factory floor area. I'm thinking the attack at the docks hadn't been a completely one sided data dump. Whatever mental backwash I had gained, I hadn't been able to organize yet. It was all just infesting my stacks, like bad programming. Once in a while, I'd access some swatch of it, and these drifting insights were the result.

Crossing over to the table, I looked at the pile of assembly diagrams, invoices and such that decorated it. A worn black notebook caught at the garbage in my head, so I snagged it up, and scanned it. Programming for an operation involving the tissue machines. Some shuffling had starting up behind the office door, so I scooted for the rear service exit. There was a shout, and a crack echoed through the room, just as I noticed my Waldo vibrate to an impact against its rear frame. Dammit, I thought, a new coat too.

An electric charge ran through the Waldo, and my optics went black. I fell over, and was almost shaken free of the jell pad in its head. I tried to call out on my net connection, but that virus thing started back up, so the timer routine I had rigged began to shut me down. Yeah, I blacked out.

I reinitialized to find myself strapped to one of the examining tables. The Waldo's motor control circuit was still out, but I was able to get the optics and sound back on. A bunch of walking lab coats buzzed around one of the knitters. On a side table next to it, was my now ruined trench coat, and the remains of the cube. I patched through on the net to Ritchie's office. As usual, no response. So I recorded what I saw to a video file, and left a note. One of the techs pressed a few buttons on the tissue knitter, which started up. The lanky form on the second table twitched a little, and the tech made another adjustment, then turned to look my way. Oh shit.

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