Messages from the Future: 2 Days to Assimilation

There’s a box from The Future sitting in our dining room.

On it are the words “Advanced Bionics”. The kind of company name you would expect to see in a William Gibson novel. Bland, kind of innocuous, obviously going to be responsible for turning you into a badass cyborg.

We picked it up from the doctor’s office on Monday, during the pre-cybernetic implantation appointment. There, they told us about possible side effects of the procedure. What kind of headaches were normal. What kind meant you should call the doctor now. What kind meant the implant had malfunctions and signalled your brain to kill all the meat humans.

Not so much the last one. At least not that they’ll admit. And even if my wife did become homicidal, they’re not giving her super-strength, or super-speed, or chain-guns in her arms. She’s not even supposed to lift the cat for a month after implantation.

What my wife is getting: a cybernetic implant to give her enhanced hearing (by her standards) with a range of situational modular add-ons.

The case of add-ons is so large that she’s not supposed to lift it for as long as she can’t lift the cat. It contains only the water-proof processor (or, as Deux Ex would say: the Neptune Device) and its accessories. The behind-the-ear processor (Stealth Mode) will come later, because Advanced Bionics is coming out with a smaller, sleeker, version soon. Not nanite based yet. Maybe the next version.

The suitcase of add-ons is for the Neptune Device alone. Sadly, there’s no long-distance hearing, or recording devices. But if this were an RPG, I would brag about character model options, about how many hundreds of color schemes and outfits you could unlock for your cyborg. You would pay extra for special color schemes beyond the base five. In fact, this is the case.

Once you select the correct module for the situation (Is this a water level? What dress sphere are you using?) the external processer transmits data directly to your brain via magnet. I can’t decide if this would get you rejected by jugallos or make you their god.

If you’d rather, you can synch the processor to bluetooth. Put another way: you can set up your phone to wirelessly beam sound to a magnet that will transmit it electronically DIRECTLY INTO YOUR BRAIN.

Or at least that’s how it will work when we’re done.

For now, the box sits in our dining room, full of electronics we’re not allowed to open. Because Advanced Bionics, as the evil mega-corp they obviously are, won’t take it back if you open it at home. It has to be opened by certified specialists, who surely aren’t planning on getting you hooked on “hearing”, to control your processor so only they can give you your “hearing” fix, making you a slave to Advanced Bionics. Just like that light on the processor, the one that indicates “power”, surely won’t switch from green to red when they activate the over-ride and send my cyborg wife on the aforementioned spree to kill all meat humans.

That probably won’t happen. So I’m just going to say it one more time: modular cybernetic enhancements.

The future called. It says I told you so.


About tim

I'm a guy whose wife is going through the process of getting a cochlear implant and writing about it. Because why not?
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5 Responses to Messages from the Future: 2 Days to Assimilation

  1. Caitlin says:

    That made me think of Erin’s love of Taco Bell hot sauce. 🙂

  2. Cris says:

    Erin will be in my thoughts and prayers Tuesday. Wishing her a speedy, uneventful recovery and an amazing activation!

  3. Cris says:

    Oh, I love you blog BTW!

  4. Katherine says:

    Brilliant blog entry on so many levels. And I’m wondering just how heavy your cat is…
    As a not yet activated implanted cyborg (switch on 20.02.2013), I could pick up our cats but we did try to keep them out of the recovery room for the first week — not easy as they like their laptime! Good luck with the recovery for both of you — think my husband needs the break now!

    • tim says:

      She’s not supposed to lift over 10 pounds for 4 weeks, according to the guy doing the procedure. Her shop cat is 20. He’s a lot of cat.

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