An elderly bald man leaned across the table toward her. "Dr. Atron", Chairman Brunt began uneasily. "This project of yours," he sighed. "The press has been giving us a hard time over it. They believe we are crossing some sort of distinction between human and machines." He paused and attempted a light hearted joke. "They think we're going to let computers take over the world like something out of a bad science fiction novel." Seeing his joke hadn't made the situation any easier on her, Brunt became serious again. "I understand you're moving on to the final stage but we need to reconsider our earlier decision before we cross the point of no return."

"You see Miss," a young, polished man said empathising Miss to the point of making it an insult. "We make cybernetic limbs, the odd mechanical stomach. Replacements for nonessential organs." Vice-chairman Trumen was the sort of man that initiated the feminist movement.

"With all respect Sir I think the stomach is quite essential to daily life." Gwen retorted in a respectful tone.

Trumen face reddened and he sat back in his expensive executive chair. "But we're not talking about a stomach, we are talking about the human brain. The essence of life itself."

He looked about ready to jump onto his favourite atheist bandwagon so Gwen shoved back her interrogation chair and strode up to the desk. Placing both hands firmly on the desk to indicate her standing on this issue. "It's a fully functional Cybernetic Active Neural Network. It doesn't have to replace the brain in its entirety but it can. It can benefit brain tumor patients, who lose a portion of their brain to cancer. The CANN can replace the damaged parts of their brain and let them lead a more active normal life. It's a revolution in standard medical practises. This could be the next bionic ear or pacemaker. You have to let me try."

Suddenly a crackling noise came from the speakerphone on the desk in front of her and a distorted voice issued forth. "The bottom line is wether it makes money or not."

One of the minor associates whined a question about their public image but the Voice wouldn't let her finish and interrupted harshly. For a moment there was total silence. Gwen quietly sunk back into her uncomfortable pine chair that had suddenly appeared inviting.

"Now as I see it we can't lose." Continued the Voice. "If Trumen is right and all that we are exists in the brain then our patients will be nothing more than flesh robots. We include a clause on the contract that if something goes wrong we get the bodies. We'll explain that we want to supposedly investigate what went wrong. In reality we'll be hiring them out as a cheap politically correct work force. The general appearance of the subjects will be changed of course so no one recognizes them......"

Gwen was finally beginning to understand what the Voice intended. It wanted Zombies, undead slaves taking the place of poor imiagrants working to feed their families. They would look engough like humans so the RAGE (against the machine) Activists wouldn't think machines were replacing humans when if every essence of the word they were. The Zombies wouldn't be targeted and ousted like the Mechnos of previous years. The company that made the Mechnos went out of business because in the end no one would hire them. They made people too uncomfortable, employees were distracted from their work and started making mistakes. The Mechnos ended up costing more in loss of production than what was saved in using them. The Zombies would solve all of the Mechnos problems. They wouldn't be distracting because it would seem normal to see humans working on menial tasks. No protests would occur because to the everyday eye they would be humans. It was a subvertion of everything she had worked so hard for. Of all the things that might have gone wrong she hadn't seen how her creation could be used for such evil purposes. Something had to be done. Her dream couldn't die like this.

Gwen was drawn out of her own private reverie by the sound of her name. "......Dr. Avalon believes and the soul is housed somewhere other than the brain then we will have, as she already mentioned, revolutionized the industry of organ replacement. So you see, either way we all stand to make a fortune." The Voice concluded.

Looking about the room Gwen could see the greedy looks that had arisen in the committee eyes they were no longer concerned with politics but with money. Trumen looked calculating as if he was going to try to get more than his fair share of the money. He might try to blackmail the Voice, if he actually knew who it was and the rumors of an Unknown head of the company weren't true. Although to Gwen they seemed true enough right now. Poor old Brunt looked like he had swallowed something bad but the greed slowly overwhelmed all other emotions. It appeared that Gwen was the only one with a strong enough sense of morality that it couldn't be bought by the prospect of billions.

The pause went on for an eternity, it was as if the Voice was letting its words sink in for full impact. After a time it considered long enough the Voice brought the meeting to an end. "So Dr. Frankenstein you have leave to choose your test subject. Happy hunting. Meeting adjourned."

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Gwen picked up a file from among the many covering her dining room table. She sighed then proceeded to leaf through it not really reading any of what she saw. After half a second she dropped it and rubbed her reddened eyes before bowing her head in exhaustion. The clock on the wall ticked past night and into morning. Still Gwen was no closer to a solution. Looking out her windows to the storm claiming the sky for it's own she sighed and lowered her head again.

She sighed and spoke to no one in particular. "This is hopeless. Any one of these people would do."

The slight mew of a black cat beneath the table distracted her. She leaned under the table and stratched him under his chin. Looking into his deep amber eyes she told him of her troubles. "Oh Mumpkins, I don't suppose you know what to do. I just don't know if I should do the operation at all. Is the world ready for it?" She sighed and stated the core of her current problem to the cat. "Even if I do....who do I perform it on?"

Sighing she went back to shuffling through papers. She knew there were no real answers to her questions. It was up to her. Everything was always up to her. She just couldn't come up with any solutions. How could she prevent the Voice from using her invention with his misguided morals. Yet how could she deny the injured healing.

The somewhat tattered black cat Mumpkins choose that exact moment to leap upon the table seeking Gwen's affections. Of course all he succeeded in doing was scattering papers far and wide before sliding of the table himself with another pile of papers. He was too much of a cat to fall on the floor though so he merely leaped mid-fall into the nearest chair. Meowing disdainfully at her inattention he tried to make it look as if he had planned it all along. Gwen at this point was swearing loudly and attempting to put her papers in some order before killing Mumpkins.

"Dammit why you go and do that Mumpsie!" In a fit of frustration Gwen grabbed a stack of papers and threw them at the table. "I know they were a mess but at least they were on the table!"

Mumpkins had recovered from his embarassment and grown interested in the papers again so he alighted the table, carefully this time. Then he proceeded to play with a tattered page at the bottom of a pile. Gwen started to move toward him arms outstretched. Carefully stalking him. Mumpkins of course ignored her.

Catching his claw in the staple of one, he yeowled. Jumping about like his tail was on fire, he attempted to dislodge it. Shocked at his wild behaviour Gwen backed off. Only to slip on some of the files she had thrown and land in a disconcerted heap on the floor. Mumpkins was of course otherwise occupied at this time and took no notice of his owners distress. Semi skidding about the table he finally succeeded in removing his claw. With a wild sort of life no paper should possess it flew from Mumpkins claws across the room to land on Gwen's unconcious head.

Mumpkins now relieved of his own stresses finally observed that his human was in some sort of state of disrepair. Curious as only a cat can be he prowled over to her and preceeded to sniff the situation out. Placing a paw delicatly err he was caught again on the file atop her head. He crouched down staring intently at her face. Tilting his head on one side he appeared to mimic her. Who could say what thoughts ran around in his head like so many mice as he lay there watching her. Prehaps he harboured some affection for this human who supplied his daily needs. Could it simply be that this had never occured before so he was simply naturaly curious. Reguardless of what was considered in that kitty head of his at one point he casually began to softly bat the side of her cheek. Seeing her eyelids flicker he raised himself and walked away statisfied that what was needed was done.

Suffering a momentary confusion that was a common result of running one's head into the floor. Gwen slowly raised her hand to her head in an automatic response to the pain. Only to find that her hand came into contact with paper instead of skin and hair. Pulling the paper of her head, she moaned as she sat up. Glancing at the sheet of paper in an effort to gain clarity. She read the words Victor Randald. Recalling her problems from earlier she thought "why not?" He was as good as any other and young as he was he might stand a better chance. Grabbing the handset of the phone from the coffee table. Gwen dialled the numbers necessary to make it happen.




So it was that Victor Randald was the first subject for total brain replacement surgery. Not that they were going to scoop out all his brains. Gwen and her team were just going to work with what was left. And that wasn't much. Victor's condition was caused by a case of mistaken identity. Some street gang had mistaken him for a bullseye. They shot him clean through the centre of his forhead. Remarkably he had survived somehow. With no family to speak of it was equally remarkable that the hospital had kept him alive. It seemed the doctors respected someone who had survived againist such circumstances. Gwen just hoped whatever luck he had would hold. Hold againist the trials of intensive surgery and the raging crowds that even now called for his death.

The surgery couldn't have gone any better. The neural receptors were placed in perfectly. Cybernetic systems integrated with his systems easily. It was surprising really that a operation on which so much rested could run so smoothly. Still the procedure couldn't be called a success until the Cerebral core was inserted and attached to what was left of Victor's brainstem. Gwen checked herself over making sure all was in order. She breathed deeply and nodded to her team. Then carefully picking up something that resembled a robot's bad hair do, she began to insert it into Victor's open cranium. Each of the neural fibres was delicately attached to a neural receptor and then tested to ensure communication between the two.

"The frontal lobe neural station is green and go." Technician Lumda called cheerfully tapping away at her computer station.

Another technician fiddled with computer for several seconds mumbling to himself. "Come on ....just a little more.." Gwen began to look anxiously in his direction. Lumba pulled herself out of her station and looked intently over his shoulder. Suddenly he smiled triumphantly, "Motor area responding."

A universal sigh of relief filled the room and some nurses laughed under the tension. Gwen and her colleagues proceeded building the CANN up from inside Victor's skull. With it they added mechanicals designed to build into the CANN and around it to fill some of the gaps. Soon he would have a fully functional brain but unfortunetly most of his memories were irevocably lost. What remained of the old Victor amoungst his tattered brain was to be seen. The Cerebral core was finally fully attached to the brainstem but they hadn't been able to find a way to test it without the possibility of damaging Victor. Instead Gwen would just have to wait. She pulled back from the operating table and let Dr. Johnson close up.

Changed from her operating smock, Gwen already felt much better. She knew it was merely a result of pushing Victor's fate from her mind. Not that it was likely to last long. Peering from her office window she watched the RAGE activists marching determinly below. The good doctor didn't really want to brave those crowds on her way to her car. They knew her face to well. Strange to think that they could be the only ones who could prevent Victor being a Zombie. Yet they would wish him dead first. The thought occured to Gwen that Victor might not thank her for the life she had given him.

Hearing a knock on her door she went to open it. Only to wish she hadn't. There pushing his way past her into her office was Trumen. Thinking of all the frustations and concerns of the day she addressed him prehaps a bit too vehemently.

"No need to get defensive," Trumen objected offesively. "Believe me I wouldn't come here if I need not." Pulling at his coat as he wiped off imaginary dirt, he continued, "Unfortunetly I do need to." He walked across the room and smiled at the protesters below. "There is to be a press conference with you, some other doctors, some concietious objectors and..." He paused momentarily delighting in what he knew was to come. "The patient." He hid a smile as the shock and anger pulsed on Gwen's face. Before she could complain he leaned close to Gwen the stench of his cigerette breath ingulfing her and said as if to a fellow conspirtor. "You know who wants to save some face. Just in case things go wrong." He lowered his voice. "I also happen to think he likes stiring trouble." Grinning wickedly as he left, Trumen bid her good day.

Irritated beyond normal human comprehension at Trumen. Gwen stormed through the hospital corridors. Reaching the roof of the tall build she walked to the edge. Gathering within in her all the anger and frustration she screamed at the clouds. It was part of her own special brand of therapy. Yelling away all her violent emoitions. Feeling exhausted Gwen slumped againist the side of the wall. How could she take Victor to the media? They would tear him apart. She didn?t even know if he would be in any state to talk. Hell, she didn?t even know if it worked. Yet somehow she didn't think the Voice would care. He probably just wanted to parade his creation. Pulling herself up from both her despair and the ground she re-entered the hospital intent on seeing Victor.

It had taken longer than she had expected to get through the security checks but it was worth it just to walk to his bedside. It was a typical hospital room. Bland white walls, non-descript furniture. Everything that was hygenic and yet also so inhuman. She supposed it served to remove doctors from the pain of their patients. They seemed more a part of the furniture in these surrounds. Victor himself looked more like the decor but somehow she couldn't dismiss him so easily. He was whiter than the bleached white of the sheets surrounding his frail body. Somehow the stark red of his remaining hair - she couldn't bear shaving it all - served to make him look more like a flickering candle. Just barely holding on to life before burning out.

Pulling out one of those white straight backed stiff chairs she sat down and prepared to wait things out. She had done all she could. Everything was in God's domain now. Should it be so that the brain haboured no essense that was human, no soul. Then all that had occured was a simple replacement of some damaged hardware. If all that was human was contained within the brain then Victor would either simply never wake. Or he would wake as the sort of souless monster that Trumen probably envisioned. Some time later she felt her eyes dropping and nearing sleep. Momentarily she wished for Mumpkins to hold but he wasn't the type of cat for that. Still she wished she had something to grasp. Reaching out in her drowsiness she clasped Victors strangly warm hand. With his current pallor one would have expected it to be ice cold. Feeling comforted and like she was doing something for him. She let exhaustion claim her.
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