179Title: ALL OF HIM
Chapter 2: Don't forget to remember your name
"Zech." It was his name, but you'd never know that from the total lack of reaction he's giving me.
I need to remind him of who he was. Like restoring a document that you accidentally deleted to its original location. There's probably some kind of procedure for this.
/ZOMBCorp startup folder available / access files?/
Not now, allegra. I'm trying NOT to be reminded of what I've done to him.
/ZOMBcorp startup user information : begin_to ensure safety and efficiency in zomb operation, it is highly recommended that first-time users access the startup folder / users are solely responsible for any and all consequences resulting from failure to do so _end/
Yes, I know I should have installed the files at the Zomb facility while I was waiting. But how hard can this be? It's just the standard plug and play set-up, right?
/zomb installation status report: all configuration parameters are at default setting until modified by user/
I get it. This is the off-the-shelf, generic, non-personalised Zomb. I'll tinker with it later.
I sidestep allegra and focus on Zech – I can't bring myself to think of him as a Zomb. He is frozen in his half bow, expressionless. It seems that he's not privy to all my thought processes. That's a good thing; otherwise he'd be thinking that I'm hardly the most reassuring person to be the current decision-maker.
I try again. "Zech. That's your name."
"Name: term of reference to said unit. Input assimilated. Future responses to 'Zech' calibrated."
It's Zech's face I'm looking at, Zech's voice I'm hearing… but he talks exactly like allegra – that's allegra the FACE not Allegra the frustrated person trying not to have a migraine.
"You can modify my mode of oral communication to your preferences."
He heard that? Note to self: prioritise learning how to control broadcast of thoughts. I call his name again.
The response is instantaneous this time. "At your service, Mistress."
I cringe. "My name is Allegra, not Mistress."
"Default term of address is Mistress. Change?"
He intones the query with all the dull stability of the pavement that he is standing on, and about as much personality. A band of pressure is tightening around my head. This isn't right. This isn't the way things are supposed to turn out. I hate this.
There aren't many people around us – at this point in the daycycle, the majority of the citizens of First City are presumably 'occupied with socially constructive activities' as described by Central Administration. That's good for me. If I have to deal with a stream of staring passers-by in addition to this totally unasked-for ownership of a Zomb, I'd no doubt have a cogspace shutdown right here.
/ALERT: biological support system malfunction / level: caution / deploy nanobots?/
Yes, allegra, go ahead and fix this malfunctioning biological unit. I surrender. I can't do this without doping after all.
I can't even control my own reactions. Who put me in charge of another person? Wait, is a Zomb technically a person?
/query registered / accessing judicial database / please wait/
I stop the operation in its tracks and count down the submeasures while I deliberately breathe in and out deeply to help allegra's nanobots. I turn away from him. The uniform surfaces and colours of the surrounding buildings are nothing interesting to look at, but it beats being reminded of the stranger that Zech has become. Correction: that I've made him into.
The requisite number of submeasures pass. I can't actually feel the bots at work, but I'm experiencing the effects: the pressure band around my head is dissipating.
"Command timed out. Reverting to default term of address."
I manage not to get irritated by the fact that he still sounds like allegra, albeit using a male voice. At the very least, my head feels better, which is complemented with a mild endorphin-induced sense of wellbeing. Those endocrine nanobots have their uses.
"Zech, you will address me as Allegra." I say firmly.
"Change term of address. Confirm?"
If he had any less expression in his face or voice, he would merge into the wall behind him and I won't be able to distinguish him at all from the lifeless environment around us.
I manage to unclench my locked jaw muscles. "Yes. Now come." I start walking towards the apparel depot, a docile Zech at my heels.
Just before the entrance, I stop. He stops in lockstep, as if we'd practised this routine for days. I realise what he's doing – he's using what he can read of my thoughts to anticipate my movements, in order to synchronise his own movements with mine.
"We haven't decided what clothes to get you." I say aloud. I order my own clothes off-site and get them delivered, so this is actually my first visit to the actual physical depot. Now that I'm standing at the entrance of the building, the sheer size of the place is quite daunting. I probably need to activate my GPS to find my way back to the exit later.
"I am already in the default body covering," he tells me helpfully in his allegra-speak.
"Yes, and I don't like it. That's why we're here."
"Understood. We will proceed with the procurement of apparel to replace the default covering."
"Exactly. So if I have some idea of what you want, we can find it more quickly, right?"
He looks at me blankly. Not that he has been particularly expressive up to now, but this is a different kind of blankness, the kind you get on a display unit when the operating system is in suspended mode.
I know that something is not right, but what? What do I do now?
/query registered / accessing ZOMBCorp user guide / please wait/
Shut up, allegra.
I waver between actually giving in and opening those files, or asking him directly for the source of the problem.
After a while, he gives me the information himself. "Unable to process input."
I relax. Of course. I was too indirect – he's probably not able to handle implied meanings in default mode. "I meant, what kind of clothes do you like?"
"Unable to process input." After a while, he adds, "Source of problem: like."
I mentally kick myself. He's a Zomb now, he's had his personality suppressed. How would he know what he wants and likes?
"What did you use to wear before, then?" I ask desperately.
He appears to be thinking about my revised query. But I don't think it's working, and his next words confirm it.
"Input incomplete. Unable to infer reference for before."
I stare at him as if that would help me fix the situation. He's no longer expressionless, but the bewildered confusion that's taken over isn't much better.
"Before," I repeat stupidly, "Before, like, you know, in the past." Panic is slowly rising inside. So I'm not really thinking about my answers.
I know I'm the cause of his distress, but I don't know what to do.
"Past… can't access… what is before… before… what …" His eyes literally roll up in their sockets and he comes crashing down, muscles twitching.
I'm an idiot. Of course he can't access his past. It's in storage, neatly filed away under his Zomb serial number.
/ALERT: zomb operating system malfunction / level: critical/
I took everything from him. And now I'm about to kill him.
Suck.