Free The Pattern Ship (The Pattern Universe) by Tobias Roote Page B

Human?”
    “My name is ‘Zeke,’ Human is my race, Zeke is my personal name.”
    “Thank you, Zeke. We had wondered if you had such a calling. You were not interacting with other humans so we had no opportunity to ascertain how you were called,” Ship explained by way of an apology.
    “If you need anything further please request it by calling my ‘name’.” The A.I. finished.
    Zeke could only nod his head in thanks, he was all out of speech for the moment.
    He walked to the wall and removed the remote control, then sat there and caught up with a world that he no longer seemed a part of. As he flitted through the channels there was nothing on any of them that interested him or that he could relate to.
    Somehow, the last few years of being on the streets coupled with his strange abduction by ‘The Maker’ and ’Ship’ had resulted in a massive dis-associative reaction in him. He no longer seemed to care.
    At least the scientists wouldn’t be wanting him any more. If he went home he might even be able to lead a normal life. Now there’s a thought.
    What would a normal life be for him now? A week, or so ago he had only wanted a job, a chance to improve his personal situation. Now, he felt as if those priorities had changed. Now, he wanted more, but as yet couldn’t identify the yearning inside.
    Zeke turned off the television, preferring the silence to the babble of the artificial life forms sitting as anchors to their news channels. He laughed, ‘artificial life forms’ as opposed to Ship’s artificial intelligence. Ship was a coming out a clear winner, he decided.
    Damn! He thought, an artificial intelligence that you could actually have a proper conversation with. Where on earth was he? Or a more speculatively, was he still on Earth?

    - 10 -
    Ferris sat at the head of the conference table. Around it sat fourteen lab-coated attendees who all remained quiet while he read through their summation a second time, then a third. He was not happy, he was used to getting what he wanted, always. This was telling him he was not getting what he wanted. This was not good. Not good at all.
    When he felt he had absorbed everything the single page of tightly typed script had to offer, he sighed for emphasis and looked up at his team.
    “Gentlemen, need I remind you that your grant is up for renewal next month.”
    He looked around the table at the scientists, all top of their fields and the exclusive property of the United States Military due to the nature of the work they carried out. All happy in their positions, well compensated for their lack of official recognition out in their respective fields.
    Nobody moved their heads, a nod or a shake would bring unwelcome attention on them, deciding it was best to keep a low profile until this particular ‘shit storm’ blew over.
    Ferris knew them well and could play them like a violin. He decided to wind the strings a little tighter. He understood their problems, but it was important to keep the whip cracking over their heads. It bred heightened efficiency. He also enjoyed the terror it caused amongst the weaker ones. Those he could control.
    “Now, this little report tells me that we have lost the subject and he no longer resides on this planet, or is shielded so well our best satellites cannot find him.” He scowled at them one by one, seeking them out looking for a weakness and determined to find it.
    “How is it we can track a mouse from fifty miles up with a wart on its head, yet you guys cannot seem to find one ‘Zeke Callaghan’ with an exotic radioactive isotope covering half of his head and infecting his whole body... Bloody Hell! A Boy Scout with a home-made Geiger counter could pick up that much radioactivity!”
    The ones nearest Ferris actually cringed at the mention of the subjects name and condition.
    Jansson, an older nuclear physicist whose appearance echoed that of an iconic picture of Einstein, had had enough of Ferris’s annoying bombastic nature and