Descending Road - ANGIE'S HURT by Dana W. Paxson

ANGIE’S HURT

1563 4D

Smoke from bodies gags me. I stagger back against the stone wall – the ceiling lights dim and brighten. One goes out.

“Tomas,” my warhelm says to me in my earpieces. Her voice sounds weird.

Angie, I mouth back at her, scanning the street filled with haze. Corpses lie like sacks everywhere. Beetles make little thrusts out from the cracks in the wall. The blood excites them.

“Tomas,” she says again. Her voice is lower now. “Got to tell you something.“

What? I look around for incoming trouble. Nothing.

“I’m coming apart. I’m breaking up.“

I feel the surface of my helm. It’s corrugated between glossy patches, in good shape down to a hairline crack that ends in a little burn hole. A microhit: beamshot must have gone in like a needle. Missed me, I guess.

You sound okay to me, I tell her.

“Feel where the hole is?“

“Yeah.”

“The shot disabled a bunch of deep circuits. I can’t… I don’t have…" Her voice trails off uncertainly. She sounds more like a man now.

What’s wrong? Do you still work? Now I’m watching for any movement anywhere at all.

“I’m not sure. I think so. Let me try something." A pause. “Yes.“

What did you do?

“I put a little extra orphin in your blood. Feel that?“

The warmth and peace hit me like a wall of joy. Oh, yes I do. More.

“No – that’s enough, because you don’t need it.“

Why did you give me that?

“To see if I could.“

Can you give me pyro?

“Sure I can. I can synthesize anything you want.“

The helms are just helms. This one looks old but cleaned-up – I took a good look when it was issued to me – but now it’s talking junk. You weren’t saying anything about all this before. Why now? Trying to get me back on pyro again? Anger boils up in me.

“Oh, no, Tomas, nothing like that. Before the fight I couldn’t have given you pyro or orphin or anything else that wasn’t part of the battle program. Now I can.“

Battle program? What’s that?

“It’s built into us. Every helm gets the battle program. It’s how we fix injuries, stop radiation damage, communicate with each other – how we protect you. All programming.“

So your program’s broken. Maybe I should trade you in.

“No, no, don’t do that!“

Why not? People trade in helms all the time.

“This is different.“

Because?

“Because I can tell you stuff nobody knows.“

Information: Thringe‘s theme. Why is that important? Why me? I reach up to loosen the strap.

“No, please, don’t take me off! Listen!“

I stare down the street. It’s way too quiet. Corpos, militia, rebels, bodies heaped everywhere. The stink reaches up my nose like a filthy claw. Does it matter who I was fighting?

“Tomas, listen." A man’s voice.

“Who are you? Where are you?” I bring my beamer up to ready, looking back and forth, trying to flatten away into the wall.

“No, Tomas. I’m still Angie, in your helm. It’s just – I can change. The damage, I guess." The voice sounded tentative, wondering, as if it had just seen an open door to freedom.

Head games. If you’re Angie, recite my chems.

She, or he, did.

Fine, so you’re Angie. So what?

“Tomas, I can tell you secrets now. Want to hear some?“

From a helm? You’re just a program. There’s a million like you.

“Not any more.“

I’m tired, and hungry, and so sick of the smell, and I need to piss. Maybe later. Work to do. I head slowly down the street, moving along the gentle slope that’ll take me down to Glaze Letter Circle. I’ve got to find the andro, or one of his friends.

“No, Tomas, I’ve got to tell you now, or else it’ll all go away, and no one will ever know. I’ll be dead in a few hours.“

Story List	SURPRISE ME	Author Page
USER SURVEY	PUZZLE ME	MAKE ELM MARK

HOVER Lucida Bright BARE	HOVER Lucida Bright FULL	HOVER Palatino Linotype BARE
HOVER Palatino Linotype FULL	HOVER Times New Roman BARE	HOVER Times New Roman FULL
PAD Arial BARE	PAD Arial FULL	PAD Lucida Bright BARE
PAD Lucida Bright FULL	PAD Times New Roman BARE	PAD Times New Roman FULL


	ANGIE’S HURT 1563 4D Smoke from bodies gags me. I stagger back against the stone wall – the ceiling lights dim and brighten. One goes out. “Tomas,” my warhelm says to me in my earpieces. Her voice sounds weird. Angie, I mouth back at her, scanning the street filled with haze. Corpses lie like sacks everywhere. Beetles make little thrusts out from the cracks in the wall. The blood excites them. “Tomas,” she says again. Her voice is lower now. “Got to tell you something.“ What? I look around for incoming trouble. Nothing. “I’m coming apart. I’m breaking up.“ I feel the surface of my helm. It’s corrugated between glossy patches, in good shape down to a hairline crack that ends in a little burn hole. A microhit: beamshot must have gone in like a needle. Missed me, I guess. You sound okay to me, I tell her. “Feel where the hole is?“ “Yeah.” “The shot disabled a bunch of deep circuits. I can’t… I don’t have…" Her voice trails off uncertainly. She sounds more like a man now. What’s wrong? Do you still work? Now I’m watching for any movement anywhere at all. “I’m not sure. I think so. Let me try something." A pause. “Yes.“ What did you do? “I put a little extra orphin in your blood. Feel that?“ The warmth and peace hit me like a wall of joy. Oh, yes I do. More. “No – that’s enough, because you don’t need it.“ Why did you give me that? “To see if I could.“ Can you give me pyro? “Sure I can. I can synthesize anything you want.“ The helms are just helms. This one looks old but cleaned-up – I took a good look when it was issued to me – but now it’s talking junk. You weren’t saying anything about all this before. Why now? Trying to get me back on pyro again? Anger boils up in me. “Oh, no, Tomas, nothing like that. Before the fight I couldn’t have given you pyro or orphin or anything else that wasn’t part of the battle program. Now I can.“ Battle program? What’s that? “It’s built into us. Every helm gets the battle program. It’s how we fix injuries, stop radiation damage, communicate with each other – how we protect you. All programming.“ So your program’s broken. Maybe I should trade you in. “No, no, don’t do that!“ Why not? People trade in helms all the time. “This is different.“ Because? “Because I can tell you stuff nobody knows.“ Information: Thringe‘s theme. Why is that important? Why me? I reach up to loosen the strap. “No, please, don’t take me off! Listen!“ I stare down the street. It’s way too quiet. Corpos, militia, rebels, bodies heaped everywhere. The stink reaches up my nose like a filthy claw. Does it matter who I was fighting? “Tomas, listen." A man’s voice. “Who are you? Where are you?” I bring my beamer up to ready, looking back and forth, trying to flatten away into the wall. “No, Tomas. I’m still Angie, in your helm. It’s just – I can change. The damage, I guess." The voice sounded tentative, wondering, as if it had just seen an open door to freedom. Head games. If you’re Angie, recite my chems. She, or he, did. Fine, so you’re Angie. So what? “Tomas, I can tell you secrets now. Want to hear some?“ From a helm? You’re just a program. There’s a million like you. “Not any more.“ I’m tired, and hungry, and so sick of the smell, and I need to piss. Maybe later. Work to do. I head slowly down the street, moving along the gentle slope that’ll take me down to Glaze Letter Circle. I’ve got to find the andro, or one of his friends. “No, Tomas, I’ve got to tell you now, or else it’ll all go away, and no one will ever know. I’ll be dead in a few hours.“