

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
VIRUS VERSES
  by Lisa Morton
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       VIRUS... 1.  Venom... 2.  Path. A  morbid principle  or
       poisonous substance  produced in the body as the result
       of some  disease, esp.  one capable of being introduced
       into other  persons... 3.  fig. A moral or intellectual
       poison... 4.  Violent animosity;  virulence. 5. A self-
       replicating  program  introduced  into  a  computer  or
       computer network which affects normal operation and may
       prove destructive...
                    Online Oxford English Dictionary,  2012
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Journal Entry #247
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    Christ, here I am living in what is probably the most so-
fucking-phisticated voice-activated computer controlled environment
and security system ever designed, the works, and sitting in goddamn
candlelight. Worst part is the situation doesn't seem likely to change
in the near future. Since I lost one of the three roof solar panels,
the generators have got only enough juice to run the computers and the
security systems -- and that's it. No lights. No clocks. I can use the
microwave for a few minutes when I have to feed.

  So much for the ironclad maintenance contract I had with C&C. Put a
call in yesterday soon as the panel went down. Left it on auto-recall
all day. No answer. Today a daemon server brought it back as
disconnected. Another company victimized by hostile takeover. Yeah.
Right.

  Tried to find someone else to do it. Scanned the net (dodged one
new virus - latest variation on the old Anarkia strain) for a half-hour
before I found one company in the area, still operative. I told him my
location. Bastard said he'd consider coming out - with the nonexistent
US Army to back him up. Offered him 50 thousand, plus parts. He hung up.

  Fine. Was prepared for this. Got candles. Gas lamps. Even
bioluminescents.


Journal Entry #248
------------------

  I can wait out the animals.


Journal Entry #249
------------------

  Lost contact with the Tokyo market today. Doesn't look like
something as simple as a new virus in the system. Don't know whether
that means the trashers got the phone lines or goddamn Tokyo. When
this country went guess I knew the rest of the world would follow.
For a while, there was still money to be made. Now . . . at least
Australia's doing business.

  A few net reports coming in from the local newsfront. Looks
like the Ebola-G plague finally ran its course (final total: 62 mil.)
only to give rise to Ebola-H. E-H may be the latest mutant strain, but
I don't worry. It'll fry under my decontamination systems same as any
other bug.

  Downloaded a MPEG file of sufferers. E-H is another hemorrhagic
virus. Lots of blood. Saw a 14-year old trasher who had, had it for
20 hours. There was dark red blood pouring from his nose, mouth, ears,
even around his fingernails. He coughed it up until it bubbled out in
waves. Died drowning in his own fluids. Fucking trasher. Served him
right.

  Served him -- but doesn't fucking serve me. I will not go looking
like an exploded blood bag. I'm safe here. Enough food to last for
years. Water and air purifiers. Generator. The computers to keep me
alive.

  I will survive. I always have.


Journal Entry #253
------------------

  Germans reported cholera on the rise again. Cholera?  What a
fucking throwback. At least my vaccine investments should get a boost
from this.

  Financially I'm fine. Net assets holding high.

  Fuck. Who am I kidding. Looks fine . . . on a goddamn computer monitor.

  Truth is: I'm not fine. Bored and lonely and feel like putting
a fist through the wall . . . except there's no telling what I'd let in.


Journal Entry #254
------------------

  Took a day off. Didn't go into the business programs at all.
Instead, spent hours with Monique. Met at a bathhouse in Osaka.
First, she sponged me all over. Then she dried me off and blew me.
Fed me sushi. Rubbed some of that hot green mustard on herself and
dared me to lick it off. I did. She came like fucking bucking bronc.

  By the time I got out of the VR suit, i was drained. Actually wasted
enough water to take a shower. Cold.

  Gotta remember that Monique directory. Whoever designed it is --
was -- a fucking genius.


Journal Entry #256
------------------

  Woke up this morning. Tried to plug into Monique as usual.
She wasn't there. Nothing. Motherfucking shit. Ran a protection
program and sure enough . . . a virus. New strain of Hiroshima. If I
could get my hands on the hacker responsible I swear I'd rip their
arms off and inject a hypoful of E-H into the stumps. I tried looking
for backups hidden locations ANYTHING. Nothing. And no copy of my own.
I was so busy shooting-load I didn't think to download. Now Monique 
is gone forever.

  Tried an old VR orgy program off the net but it was corrupted
by another virus and froze just when some blonde was lowering herself
onto me. Ended up jerking off in the shower.

  Forgot to check accounts again today.

Journal Entry #257
------------------

  Trashers took out one of my outside vidcams this morning.
They cant get directly at it - it's ten feet up and encased in solid
plexi -- but one of them fired a paintball and now all I get off that
side is a red wash.

  They're gearing up for something. That's obvious. Can still see
them with the other cam. I think they want me too. There's four of them
dressed in ragged castoffs and handmade shit. One wears leggings worked
out of tire treads. One's got a vest made from cds wired together. They
all carry guns.

  Maybe I should be worried but I'm not. Fuck'em. They want what
I got. I know foods getting harder to find all the time out there in
the jungle but they'd have to get past my security first. And I don't
think they've got it in them. The one dressed in rubber's already
shaking and wiping his nose. Back of his hand comes away red every time.
If he's got what I think won't be long for his compadres either. Me, I'll
sit here tight, safe. Laugh when they raise scarlet fists and call me
names.

  Then maybe I'll get hard and come in the shower again.


Journal Entry #258
------------------

  The ones outside made their move today.

  It started when the one in rubber collapsed. His threadbare
"Revolting Cocks" t-shirt was drenched in blood. His skin where it wasn't
stained was white and fallen in as if there was nothing left beneath to
support it. The other three looked at him for a while then they started
arguing and finally took swings at each other. The one in the flag tunic
took a punch in the face and went down right into the puddled corpse. He
scrambled backwards frantic then fell on his ass trying to wipe his gory
hands. The other two laughed at him. When he got up he turned and ran.

  That left two. The CD vest and the girl with dreads spray painted
bright colors. They started conversing quietly together. Then I saw
something that bothered me just a little.

  Rainbow Dreads set down her backpack and pulled out a laptop
and started typing.

  Shouldn't have bothered me even that little. My system had been
set up by the best. No 16-year old trasher bitch was gonna get past
my ice. For God's sake the laptop was a fucking antique. Didn't even work
off voice commands. You had to type. Christ. If she got past my outside
gate--

  Later. The outside gate just slid open.

  I'm back. Jesus that was . . . I'm hyped like an overdose of Lightning.
Haven't felt so . . . alive in years. 

  What happened: after the gate opened the girl's partner covered the
entrance with a gun. Waiting. When nothing happened he turned and asked
her something. She typed a few more commands then nodded to him.

  He took a step in . ..and burned.

  She hadn't cracked the ice. Just the first outside shell around it. The
security system was still intact. When CD boy's foot connected with my
ground he took 50 thousand volts up the ass. He jerked for a few minutes
then fell over smoking. The girl gaped in disbelief. Her mouth hung open
for a while then she got up shoved the laptop into her backpack and
split. Not even so much as a goodbye. No vaunted trasher loyalty on
display here. 

  One problem . ..the asshole's corpse was blocking my gate, keeping it
open. 

  I'd have to move him.

  I have the equipment to go out of course. A state of the art
quarantine suit. Head to toe. Has its own air tanks. Completely safe.

  I hadn't been outside in nearly a year.

  But I didn't want to risk leaving the outer gate open. So
the suit went on. One last look at the vidcam screen and out I went.

  Deactivated the security. Opened the inner door. Edged down
the decontam hall. Unlocked that door and crossed the courtyard.
There he was at my feet.

  He didn't look dead. Not like the one I could see a few feet away
outside. That one looked like a used tampax somebody had thrown away.
This one was just . ..stiff.

  I started to drag him out . ..then saw his gun.

  It was old but well oiled and obviously cared for.  Big. Powerful
looking. I didn't know much about guns but thought this was an automatic.

  I wanted it.

  It was metal. Nothing organic. I could take it through decontam. It
should come clean. 

  Picked it up . ..and BANG someone was firing who wasn't me.

  It was the girl. Rainbow Dreads. She hadn't split after all. Had hidden
out waiting for me. 

  I raised my gun and pulled the trigger. The gun rocked and the girl
rolled. 

  Actually she exploded. The gun fired more than once. Maybe four or five
times. Fucker didn't just shoot -- it made holes. Big ones. Pieces of
little Rainbow Dreads were sprayed ten feet around her. Part of her face
and a few of the dreads were gone.  She looked even worse than the E-H
kid. 

  It was better than any VR sim.

Journal Entry #259
------------------

  Couldn't write any more yesterday. Exhausted. First time since Monique
was deleted that I've felt genuinely tired. Wasn't much more to say
anyway. I finished dragging the corpse outside. Went back through
decontam. Took an extra long time with the gun. Came back inside.
Stripped out of the suit and talked out yesterdays entry until I fell
asleep. 

  Spent the first part of today working to identify my new acquisition.
According to a collectors guide I downloaded its a 9 mm. VP70 with a
magazine that holds 18 rounds. I figured out how to release the clip and
pulled it out to see what I had left. Lucky number 13. It slid back in
and caught with a satisfying THUNK. Its 2 pounds feel good in my hand.
Reassuring. 

  Maybe the trashers have the right idea after all.

Journal Entry #260
------------------

  Fucking headache this morning. Don't get these too often, but woke up
with this mother. Painkillers did nothing even after I doubled the
dosage. I can barely speak to get this out right now it's so bad.

  No work today obviously. The gunmetal felt cool against my throbbing
temples. I rubbed it there with my finger on the trigger. I didn't worry
-- knew from experience how hard that trigger was to pull. 

Journal Entry #261
------------------

  Oh Christ, it wasn't just a headache.

  Woke up this morning with a fever. Almost 103. Had a sleep full of
fever dreams. Shots going off over and over and over. Shouting commands
at a computer garbled with incomprehensible symbols. Cruising the net
desperately for any sign of life. 

  Gave myself a shot of antibiotic but I don't think its done any good.
Still have the headache. The fever. Tried to eat but threw it back up two
hours later. There was a lot of red in it. 

  The fever makes me edgy, achy, weak but restless at the same time. Now
I'm laying on the floor below the main term screen. My voice saying this
sounds soft and choked. Something wets on my upper lip. Christ...just now
I ran my sleeve over it then saw the sleeve was bloody.

  Legs feel like water - like some stupid fucking newborn colt. But I'm
on my feet now going into the bathroom. To look. 

  Ha. Oh god. There it is.

  Blood. Everywhere. Coming out of my nose in two thin dribbles.
Squeezing around my teeth. Gums look like exploded intestines. Can't look
any more. But when I try to squeeze my eyes shut to block it out for a
moment they leak too. Little red trails joining the others. Making me
look like some tribal-scarred native or maniac fresh from the scene of
his crimes.

  Back in the work room. Unngghh - sorry, just fell to the floor.
Command: turn up the heat. Find me a doctor. Tell them to get here
FAST. They can have money. A lot. Millions. All of it if that's what
it takes. Just don't let this go all the way.

  Must've passed out for a while. Woke back up just now. Think it's maybe
two, three hours later. No response to my call for medical help.

  Can't move. Can only whisper this. Don't know whether the computer can
hear me or not. It can't talk back to me. It can't tell me. It can't talk
to me. Please talk to me. Say anything other than "Command?" or
"Executed" or "Error Message." Say you understand. Sympathize. Feel
sorry. Glad it's not you.  Bastard. 

  All I can see is red. All I can feel. All I hear is my own blood
rushing out of my head. What I taste. What I smell. The blood's coming
out through every pore in my skin now all over my body. I'm not even
human any more. Not an animal either. What am I now?  I used to be pale
and clean. Used to smell like expensive soaps and wear clothes that were
dry and smooth to the touch  Now they're soaked through with me. The soft
plastic flooring is sticky with me. It's all me and yet no longer myself.
I'm losing myself. My life. Seeping out of me like hot liquid from a
sponge wrung too tight.

  How did this happen?  There were sterilizations and cleansings and
quarantines. Maybe it came in with the computer. A computer virus.  The
ultimate deadly Michelangelo.

  But I think my computer is still working. I hope. No it must have come
in when I had to go out to clean up the trashers. They were all carrying
it. But no no NO!  I went through decontamination. Even took longer than
usual. My decontam systems will kill fucking anything. Put the gun
through decontam too...

  Oh Christ, I know. The gun.

  Yeah, I decontaminated it.  But I didn't do the fucking clip. I opened
it after I was inside. 

  The fucking bug rode in on the bullets.

  Jesus. If I could still laugh the irony would be rich.  One of the
world's last rich men in a fortress and killed by a magic bullet.

  The gun... I left it near the main terminal.  Only ten feet away.  If I
can just get there. Pull myself. Across the floor. It's slippery now
should be easier. Get the gun. Put it up against my head...

  I'll never make it. Even if I did wouldn't have enough strength left to
pull the trigger. Nothing for me but to...

[ERROR CODE - UNABLE TO TRANSCRIBE]

  Christ, so much blood but not much in me any more. Just talk to me.
Say something.  I just need...

[ERROR CODE]

  what
     will
        they
           find
              what
                 have
                    I
                    become
                         is
                          this
                             what
                                itwas allfor
                                           allthework
                                                    allthe
                                                         money^


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                               {DREAM}

Copyright 1995 Lisa Morton, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Lisa Morton's career as a screenwriter began in 1988 with the horror-
fantasy MEET THE HOLLOWHEADS (aka LIFE ON THE EDGE), and the fantasy
ADVENTURES IN DINOSAUR CITY. Her short fiction has appeared in DARK
VOICES 6: The Pan Book of Horror, The Mammoth Book of Frankenstein and
AFTER HOURS magazine. Later in 1995, her story "Love Eats" will appear
in the new hardcover anthology DARKER VOICES, and her chapbook THE
FREE WAY will be published by Fool's Press.
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