Issue 13 - Ray Gun Revival

Conversion, by Shaun Farrell Pg.
sound so advanced to me.”
“What?” Gen asked.
“Nothin.”
A single light bulb hung from the center of
the storage room, spilling dim light that didn’t
reach the far corners. Storage crates made of
mesh plastic were stacked near the north wall.
Dust covered the floor. Grains of sand had slowly
filtered through a crack in the roof.
Tuck kicked at the dirt, enjoying the smell. It
made him feel alive.
He marched across the room to the door.
Activating the laser sight on the old L-20, he
gazed down the narrow scope into the dark hall.
He could kill their troops from here. He had the
advantage as long as he didn’t run out of bullets.
But the bodies would pile very high before that
happened.
Very high, indeed.
#
“What’s his problem?” Dixon asked. He
crouched next to Gen against the back wall.
Flapper danced in a circle directly under the
light bulb. He tapped his forehead with a knuckle
and murmured under his breath.
Lynda sang to Chloe somewhere in the
darkness.
Gen looked at Flapper. “He used to be NET.
The nans caught some kind of virus and screwed
him up before they winked out. I’ve been. . .
studying him, hoping to learn how his firewall
failed.”
“Not him,” Dixon said. He pointed at Tuck.
“Him. Marine Boy.”
“Oh.” Gen blushed. He was grateful for the
darkness. “He was an American soldier. Some
terrorists caught him and tortured him for years.
Locked him up in a closet for weeks at time so
he was practically bathing in his own wastes. By
the time he was released, most of the U.S. was
pro-nan. His wife had been injected and was an
important asset to NET. We all know what NET
programming does to a personality.”
“Yeah. Wipes it dry.”
Gen looked at his computer and continued to
punch in commands.
“Must be nice to have dirt on everyone,” Dixon
muttered.
“That was my job. Know who’s coming, who’s
going. Keep people safe.”
Dixon just snorted.
“Nanotechnology isn’t the real problem,” Gen
said, trying to sound casual.
Dixon nearly growled. “Could have fooled
me.”
“It’s the programming,” Gen insisted. “It’s NET,
the single most corrupt institution the planet has
ever known, hiding behind a fake religion to justify
its actions.” Gen realized he was nearly yelling.
Dixon grabbed Gen by the collar and pulled
him off the ground. The computer slipped from
Gen’s grasp, rattled on the floor.
“You should probably shut your mouth, old
man, and get back to work,” Dixon spit out
between clenched teeth.
Gen gasped, embarrassed at being manhandled
with such ease. “I’m not old!”
Dixon stopped, blinked. His eyes widened,
and he seemed to really see Gen for the first time.
Very slowly, he set Gen down.
“Just do your thing.” Dixon spun and stormed
out of the room. He bumped Tuck on the way,
ignored the Captain’s protests.
Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 13, January 01, 2007