Upgrade - Artificial Muscles (2)
A shimmering glow enveloped the woman as she led me down to the lunar surface. My memories were still hazy. It felt like the last few years had evaporated entirely. Was I dreaming? Breathing freely in the vacuum of space with no suit suggested it couldn't be real.
[Don't think about anything.] She spoke as if reading my mind. I felt her delicate hand tighten around mine, fingers interlaced. Beyond the pleasant grip came consideration, bond, trust—sensations I shouldn't have been able to feel through touch alone. It was as if her emotions, converted to electric signals, were traveling across our skin.
Was this mystical experience possible only because it was a dream? Darkness surrounded us. On Earth, the moon lit the night even after sunset, but here, with no sun, there was nothing to take its place. At least the stars, densely packed like they might pour down, offered a firefly's flicker. With no light pollution or clouds, their light showered us uninterrupted.
[Much clearer than from Earth, right? I'd love to introduce you to the constellations as seen from the moon, but alas. My simulator only has NASA's public lunar surface data.] She sounded genuinely regretful.
[But the moon won't vanish. Someday we'll go up together and see the real thing.]
Craggy hills rose around us, painted in thick shadows like spilled ink. We strolled between them. But for the first stretch, my clumsy efforts were far from a romantic couple's walk—more like a dog owner out with their pet. Walking in one-sixth Earth's gravity wasn't easy. My soldier-honed physical prowess and balance backfired. Habits from explosions, gunfire, rough terrain—snapping back to center when balance faltered—had saved my life countless times on the battlefield. Now they turned me into a flailing mutt. Just when I thought I had it, my foot kicked empty air, and I flopped about pathetically. Each time, she watched with dignified amusement.
[Don't try to walk—or jump.] She moved with effortless grace. Leaning her balance slightly back, she propelled forward on tiptoes or heels, bouncing lightly. No vigorous leg swings like on Earth. Her long legs extended and retracted like a ballerina's—graceful, languid sweeps more like floating than striding.
[Remember the sensation of being pushed by fierce wind on a blustery day? Imagine that wind constantly at your legs, much stronger. Focus only on balance. Walking here isn't 'driving'—it's balancing.]
As a former soldier, I had another trait: absorbing an instructor's words faithfully. Her tone was refined yet strict, echoing a drill sergeant's. I adapted quickly, soon matching her stride shoulder to shoulder.
[Suddenly a quick learner. You prefer tough teaching?]Thump~ thump~. Now that I had it, she bounced a bit higher, as if compensating for being shorter. Endearingly cute.
I followed, sightseeing like a tourist, but as time passed, I realized this wasn't just a picnic.
[Flat enough, but the ground's too hard. Resources are too far off.] Leading me by the hand, she critiqued our path constantly.
[Here the subsurface is decent, but too many rocks and dust.] She was picky, scouting conditions meticulously. We rejected site after site until we reached a massive crater.
[Oh, building upward from the crater floor was discussed once. If it were 30% bigger, it'd be perfect.]
The stroll had turned into house hunting. She scoured spots for our future home base. When she found her favorite, she asked my opinion.
"Sorry. I got nothing."
My head felt impossibly heavy, memories and knowledge incomplete. Beyond feeling and expressing emotion, thinking was a chore.
"I want to say something helpful."
Was I always this stupid? Why won't my brain turn? I'm not this dumb. I wanted to share impressions, help her... but nothing came. This isn't me.
[Ah!] She startled at my state. Ripples spread through her glowing aura. Slender, luminous hands cupped my cheeks. Warmth bloomed, light scattering across my face. Everything blurred before my eyes.
[Don't think! Nothing! Forget I asked!]
But my mind was already racing. The question buried during our lunar picnic resurfaced.
"Who the hell are you?"
Her all-white form shuddered.
"Is that your real appearance?"
With each word, her glow surged. Beyond the ripples, something emerged—human skin. Pure white, breathtakingly smooth curves. Full breasts like a full moon thrust proudly; a navel dipped in a dizzying valley. Slim waist flaring to lush hips and flowing thighs. Her body was a symphony of perfect curves: swelling from the front, carving from the side, rising from behind, sculpted below. Too flawless for mere human flesh.
And familiar.
"I've seen you somewhere. Definitely."
Her fingertips alone weren't white—nails like a starry night sky, black yet gleaming mysteriously. I'd seen them too, through a cold screen: covering a refined smile, pointing in anger, hiding shyly, propped on her cheek in smug explanation, brushing ear locks, twirling a pen between index and middle finger, winding lustrous hair around a digit. That shine no ordinary person could pull off.
"Artemis."
My God! How could I forget Artemis?
Calling her name flooded everything back. The detailed artificial muscle procedure explanation. Walking to the glass tube. Chilled feet making me shiver. Preservation fluid rising as she guided me to deep sleep.
[Sleep well, Jinsu.]
Her final words as I submerged. Recalling her voice dissolved the space around me. A hole yawned open, sucking everything in—including me. Colors flashed—white, blue, green, black, yellow—like lightning through a tunnel. My consciousness rocketed back to reality.
Flicker.
I opened my eyes.
"...!"
Still immersed in the tube's fluid. Limbs looked normal—no visible difference from before. Not the chicken-flesh mess I'd glimpsed mid-procedure.
[Stay still.] Artemis said. Not from memory or dream—this was real Artemis, voice rising from my lower back to resonate in my brain, bypassing ears.
[Don't panic if you can't move. I've shut down most motor nerves. Thrashing now would shatter the tube. Unconscious twitches are a risk with enhanced bodies.]
I'd heard a military tale: a soldier post-muscle enhancement dreamed of soccer, kicked in reality, crushed his wife's spine—instant death. Urban legend or true, who knew.
[I'm speaking through the cable in your spine. You can reply the same way.]
A switch appeared in my spine line.
[Familiar, right?] Just like the accelerator implant. Conversation switch near the on/off. Focusing activated it—like fingering a radio in my mind, no hands needed.
'Artemis!'
[Quick adapter. Didn't expect success on first try.] Admiration in her tone.
[How's it feel?]
'Not bad, Artemis. Really you?'
Artemis huffed. [Hmph! It's me, you troublemaker! Know how many times you've stressed me out?] Peeved, but not angry.
[Pull you near consciousness—bam, you wake in reality! Just sedate you, and whoosh, down to the depths!] Only relief laced her voice.
[All while running the procedure! Caring for body and mind in top-grade surgery—exhausting. Only I could pull it off. A human doc? Dead on arrival.]
She had a point, but I felt slighted—her micromanaging was excessive. No doctor obsesses over a patient's subconscious under full anesthesia.
[And you! Forgot me?!]
No excuse there. Deflect.
'Why fuss over my subconscious? Wouldn't remember post-wake anyway.'
True enough. Vague childhood trauma glimpsed? Gone now. Just drifting in a dark lake, gazing at Earth and moon from space.
[...How could you.] Her excited tone sank.
'All done?'
I rolled my eyes, scanning what I could. Looked fine.
[More to go. Restart your halted immune system. Stay put—going out now is like an immunocompromised patient. You'd be a buffet for pathogens.]
Syncing mutated artificial muscles with immunity to prevent rejection.
[Bored? Say the word. I'll put you under. Prefer that, honestly.]
'Slept enough. Sick of it.'
She anticipated. [Then follow my moves. Baseline check on your new body.]
Meant for post-tube, but whatever.
'Can't even twitch a finger.'
[Obviously. I see your brain firing motor signals nonstop. Motors off, so futile.]
She showed a scan: white signal bursts from brain, blocked at the neck.
'Quit spectating my struggles. Untie me. Pinned like sleep paralysis in dreams and awake—frustrating as hell.'
[Releasing now. No sudden moves—tube could shatter. Don't want glass in your ass before testing the body. You're strong enough to rip apart most infected barehanded.]
Pass. As signals faded:
[Ready?]
'Good to go.'
She counted down from 5. At zero, an itchy tingle raced my nerves.
[Spread all ten fingers.]
Feather-light body obeyed.
[Thumb first, curl one by one.]
Two seconds later, I showed fisted hands.
She directed simple motions inside the tube: dizziness, numbness, pain, nausea, headache, pupil response checks. More tests than expected—time dragged, but welcome after the itch.
[Belated, but welcome back. To reality. To your new body.]
Scan vanished; her face filled the monitor. Satisfaction and joy—not just completion pride or celebration, but deeper.