CHAPTER 10
The seating area was a slice of luxury under the sea. With twin couches facing each other while parallel, The material, a plush synthetic leather that I'm fairly certain was manufactured post war. Didn't know the institute bothered with creature comforts like this. Surrounded by cultivated ferns that look suspiciously plastic-like.
Zhao had settled across from me, her posture rigid even against the cushions. She'd unilaterally decided to proceed—but not without insurance. Four synths stood at perfect intervals around us, their weapons trained on my head with inhuman precision, ready to turn everything above my neck into ash. A fifth, Elias, lingered just outside the killbox, his expression unreadable.
How flattering. I doubted they'd need five.
"Now, this might feel… strange," I warned, flexing my fingers. "First-timers usually describe it as—"
"Just get on with it." Her jaw was clenched tight enough I could hear her teeth grinding.
My nodes slowly begin to glow as I link our minds—
—and immediately, Zhao's untrained mind lurched forward like a child grabbing for the cookie jar. The cookie jar being the compounded memories of my current consciousness.
Ah.
I delivered the psychic equivalent of a swat to the wrist, gentle but firm. Her mental recoil was almost comical, a flinch that translated physically as her shoulders jerked.
Lets try this again.
I'll share with you a cherished memory of mine to whet your appetite, so to speak. The first time I witnessed the stars…
With deliberate care I feed her the memory:
The shudder of the frigate's engines rattling my bones as we leave Rotfront's orbit. The orbital mass driver's force keeps me glued to my seat as I look outside the vessel. The observation window before me, framing a vista I shall never forget—Rotfront's planet's swirling storms, the red eye blazing. Looking towards Rotfront, I see the lights of cities dotting the moon, peeking through the eternal blizzards that the colony is known for.
She sinks into the chair almost as If she was feeling the initial launch.
"Breathe, Director. That was just an appetizer to corroborate my claims." I place my arms on the backrests of the couch I'm on, while folding a leg over the other.
"Before I go spilling some of my impossible to obtain anywhere else, technological innovations, I'm going to need insurance that I'm going to receive the equipment and supplies I need delivered to my newly acquired vault." I begin projecting a hologram listing what I minimally need to start up Replika production. Those supplies include but are not limited to:
I. Biological Fabrication (Organic Components)
Biotissue Culturing Equipment:
Bioreactors (x4 minimum) for growing muscle fibers, neural tissues, and dermal layers.
Incubation chambers with real-time metabolic monitoring.
Sterile nutrient feed systems for supporting growth cycles.
Genetic and Cellular Stock:
Synthetic stem cell batches (or the closest Institute analog).
Enzymes and growth factors for controlled morphogenesis.
DNA synthesis tools for modifying base templates.
Organic Assembly Tools:
Dermal printers and grafting arms for applying skin and musculature.
Automated surgical rigs for connecting bio-components to chassis interfaces.
Mechanical Fabrication (Chassis and Exo-Structure)
Precision Fabrication Suite:
Micro-CNC machines for small-run component prototyping.
Industrial 3D printers (metal and polymer compatible).
Autoclaves and sintering ovens for component hardening.
Raw Materials:
Smart alloys (flex-steel, non-ferrous composites).
High-durability polymers (for artificial cartilage and internal sheathing).
Electromagnetic shielding materials.
III. Neural Architecture & Computational Systems
Cognitive Assembly and Integration:
Access to Gen-2/Gen-3 neural scaffold schematics for reverse engineering.
Fabrication rights for bioresonant-compatible co-processors.
Psychometric alignment rigs for identity imprinting and memory echo calibration.
Interface and Development Environment:
Quantum-encrypted terminal array (linked to my Projektor).
High-density data storage for running behavioral templates and learning algorithms.
Secure sandbox environment for Replika mind simulation/testing.
Initial Automation Framework
Bootstrap Assembly Line:
Multipurpose industrial arms (programmable, self-correcting).
Conveyance systems for organics and mechanical parts.
Supervisory AI shell with read/write privileges for evolving assembly logic.
Logistical Support:
Drone or courier pipeline for regular supply delivery.
Scheduled shipments of power cells, fabrication reagents, and replacement parts.
Vault 118 Retrofitting & Operational Security
Infrastructure:
Redundant power grid with load-balancing (fusion core preferred).
Environmental control systems for bio-fab stability (humidity, temp, contamination filters).
Expansion modules for lab space, storage, and living quarters.
Security & Isolation:
No surveillance inside R&D zones without my consent.
Private communication uplink (quantum or line-of-sight encrypted).
Institute personnel may observe—not interfere. Replikas follow my command protocols.
Zhao's brows knit as she looked upon my (minimally) required list. Her hands forming into fists as she prepares what is no doubt a rant and demands for concessions.
"You'll have to forgive my skepticism, but several of these requests are absurd!" She points at an item on the projection. "Synthetic stem cell batches? Those are solely for Gen-3 production, and even then, they're heavily controlled, requiring Director level clearance to even read about, let alone replicate and trade." She then points to another item. "Bioreactors tuned for neural tissue? Even if we had that lying around—which we don't, it wouldn't function as Institute systems require calibration on the atomic level.
"Let's not even begin on your 'bioresonant-compatible processors.' Those aren't even theoretical on our end. The word resonant doesn't exist in our chip design lexicon. Are you proposing we just… believe in your metaphysical computing and hand over access to a secured facility because your lightshow is impressive?"
She stood now, pacing a short circle, like a tiger in a lab coat.
"Vault 118 is not a factory. It's an abandoned social experiment half-eaten by saltwater. Retrofitting it for this level of output would drain half our Division's logistics chain for a quarter. That's assuming no catastrophic failure when your homebrewed bio-mechanical abominations begin interfacing with Institute-grade firmware."
She stopped, heels clicking, voice low now. Controlled.
"We're not a charity. Nor are we the Commonwealth's scrap heap to be rifled through by… eccentric freelancers with neural augmentations and grandiose ambitions."
She turned to face me fully again.
"You want this, half of your list at most? Then give me something first. Something tangible. A proof of concept. A prototype. A fragment of code. Something I can see working before I stake Applied Biophysics' resources—and my credibility—on your promises."
A beat.
"And you'll do it here, in Delta. Under my oversight."
I raised my hands in a gesture of surrender as I chuckled. "I went for broke on the shopping list to get an Idea of what is possible, what's a fantasy, and what sends a Director into a tizzy." I give her a flat look. "Thank you for the demonstration by the way."
"But," I continued, lacing my fingers together and pointing my indexes at her, "your proposal… does interest me. A prototype. Built here, under your gaze. The sum of your resources and my expertise combined."
I let that idea settle like sediment in water. Then added, more quietly:
"Let me keep it afterward. Not just as a token of good faith, but as proof that this collaboration can function—beyond talk, beyond projections. Seeing the output, the fusion of methodologies... it gets my figurative mental motor running."
Zhao's expression didn't shift, but I caught the twitch in her fingers. She was considering it. Calculating risk versus reward.
"And of course," I said, tone now feather-light, "I'll work with what's available. No more excessive wishlists. Just... raw ingenuity and a box of whatever post-apocalyptic tools you can spare me."
I leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes locked with hers.
"Give me a workbench. A sterile culture suite. Access to basic fabrication and synthesis tools. I'll show you something none of your Division's white-coated wunderkinders could dream of. Oh and a different set of clothes, I'm not really feeling the pseudo-asylum patient chic."
Then, after a beat, I added with a sly grin:
"And if I fail, well… Elias, here is oh so ready to vaporize everything above my neck with his eyesight alone, wouldn't be much harder with a laser rifle."
Zhao's fingers drummed against the clipboard in her lap, each tap deliberate, like she was measuring my insolence in millimeters. The corners of her mouth twitched—almost a smirk, or maybe a tic of restrained annoyance.
"You certainly have no shortage of confidence," she said finally, voice clipped. "Though I suppose modesty doesn't tend to survive atmospheric reentry or quantum entanglement."
I made a tsk sound. "You'd be surprised. I'm quite humble in the right company."
Her eyes flicked up from her clipboard. "You mean in company that isn't pointing five weapons at your head?"
I raised a brow. "I mean company that understands what I'm offering."
She didn't rise to the bait, but the way she inhaled sharply told me I'd hit the edge of her patience.
"Very well," she said. "You'll be provided with a secure lab space—sterile culture suite, fabrication access, and a limited materials allotment. Under supervision, of course." She gestured toward Elias, who hadn't moved an inch, but somehow looked even more like a guillotine on legs.
"I'll allow the clothes, too. You're less of a flight risk when you aren't dressed like you belong in a padded room."
"Oh, Director," I said with mock relief, "you do care."
Zhao ignored me. "And you will produce one prototype. Demonstrate proof of concept—no fugue-state lectures, no philosophical meandering, no 'bioresonant revelations.' Something tangible. If it functions, we'll discuss scaling."
"Reasonable." I tilted my head, then looked to Elias. "I assume you'll be hovering nearby to make sure I don't start any revolutions in the petri dishes?"
Elias blinked once. Maybe a nod. Maybe a threat.
Zhao stood. "Then we're agreed." She paused at the edge of the room, glancing over her shoulder. "Don't make me regret giving you rope."
"Rope? Director," I said, flashing my teeth, "you've just given me a canvas."