Data Acquisition

The doctor gestured with a frail hand toward a chair placed opposite his. I sat, as ordered, as he continued.

“You see, I am—rather, the both of us, in a sense—are dying,” he began, slowly standing, “and I believe that I’ve found a way, around that inconvenience.”

I watched him cross the room, move his hand toward the light panel. A clear hypothesis as to the nature of this visit had not yet been resolved. Insufficient data.

The lightbulbs flickered on just before the disruptor bolts erupted from the back of the chair, piercing artificial skin—no vital centers destroyed, yet approximately sixty percent of functions incapacitated—new hypotheses forming.

“Like I said, my dear friend, we’re dying. I wish I had more time to explain, but in short, I believe that my mind will make a fine addition to that very, able, body of yours.”

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