Caged (The Idyllic Series Book 1)

by Amy Johnson

  On the electronic screen, a yellow star marks where I stand--feet from the entrance to the park. The domes line the left side of the park--five in a neat row. Behind the domes, a building labeled ‘Holding’ sits. The aerial view shows that it’s shaped like an elongated ‘u’ with the open end facing the arches of the gateway.

  I scan the two-dimensional map, searching for anything other than exhibits. I find a rest area, an Artificial charging station, a parking lot, and a building labeled ‘Assembly’.

  The last one rings a bell. Yet, it happens to be at the back of the park, as far away from where I stand as possible while still being on the Anthros grounds.

  The challenge of getting to the assembly building brings another issue to mind.

  I’m defenseless.

  If the Artificials are out patrolling, I hold no weapons to defend myself.

  Glancing around, my eyes fall on a metal signpost that splits at the top, forming an upside down ‘w.’ Perfect. I grip it with both hands, jerking it out of the ground. Then, I duck back into the shadows of the buildings, holding the post against my chest like a shield.

  An Artificial zips by overhead, not even sparing me a glance as I press myself up against the Exotic Skin exhibit dome. My heart races in my ears; my eyes dart back and forth along the path. Every breath of wind lifts up the hairs on the back of my neck and my knuckles turn white against the black metal post.

  That answers my question. The Artificials do patrol the Anthros at night.

  Two cybers walk past, wearing the same white uniform that my attendant wears. Their faces are painted with bright make-up, though, glittering blue and green eyeliner framing their mechanical pupils. The female has soft pink cheeks and two-toned hair, while the male has pale blue lips that make him look like a corpse.

  The dramatic appearance of the cybernetics has always confused me. They want to be more human-like, but they dress like aliens. No human beings would paint their faces with unnatural colors and attract unwanted attention. Why would someone want to hide their natural face under layers of color? The body of the human that they stole was perfect before they harvested it. All they’ve done is disgraced it.

  My conversation with Knox rushes back to mind.

  Not all cybernetics wear dramatic makeup and brightly colored clothes. I’ve seen machines in neutral colors--faces bare and clean. Did they choose to look that way, or was it preprogrammed into them? If the former is an option, then could some cybernetics choose to act differently as well?

  I push the thoughts away. The task at hand demands my full attention. I can worry about the machines having ethics and freedom of choice later.

  Neither of the cybers notice me crouching behind a low hedge, digging my toes into the soft, very real grass. They came from a tall building ahead where slick steel climbs towards the smog overhead. The sides of the building are seamless and reflect the Anthros like mirrors. A fountain lifts out of the ground in front of it, and brilliant white lights illuminate the multiple streams of water.

  I check the area, rise up, and step over the bush into the open. Here, the concrete feels smooth under my feet. It’s cold to the touch and damp from the fountain. I edge around toward the double doors and gaze at the water.

  The river that supplies our water is dingy brown, polluted by the cybers. In the dome, the water is tinted unnatural blue. I’ve never seen water this purified--littered with bubbles and glittering like the glass windows overhead.

  If there was more time, I would stand there, watch the droplets fall out of the sky, and memorize the way the ripples run away from the place they land. Yet, time presses on my back like gloved hands and edges my sore feet toward the assembly building.

  Like every door so far, the two panes of glass slide open as I approach, revealing a sprawling, white lobby. I give the fountain one last glance, taking a cautious step forward on the balls of my feet. The glass slides shut behind me, emitting a loud click as it locks.

  The room before me is completely empty, save a single row of chairs and what looks like a very flat computer screen or a miniature billboard mounted on the wall. Its surface is matte--seemingly soft to the touch. Yet, I think twice about grabbing it.

  I’ve learned my lesson about testing the boundaries of my curiosity.

  So, instead of experiencing every surface in the room with my sense of touch, I walk along the perimeter, hands flat at my sides.

  No Artificials.

  No cybernetics.

  No service machines.

  It’s as if the entire building is asleep.

  Across the room, a black sign has been hung with a long column of names and a parallel column of numbers. I trace them with my finger. It reminds me of the symbols we paint on the walls in the Underground. I read it aloud, listening to my voice echo around the walls.

  “Lobby, 1. Holding, 2. Assembly, 3.”

  I scrunch up my nose, turning to the solid metal doors beside the directory. When I imagine the assembly process, I see factories filled with service machines. A chill spreads over my exposed skin at the thought of it being a personal, one-on-one process, and I reach out to steady myself on the wall.

  At my touch, the wall sinks in. I jump back just as the metal doors slide open and reveal a small silver room.

  It looks like a steel box with a handrail around the outer edge. The ceiling has one round light bulb and the floor is black and white marble tile. There’s a small crack between the floor of the box and the solid linoleum of the lobby.

  I kneel down and peer through the crack. Yet, the darkness proves too thick. The smell of oil drifts up, making me scoot back.

  What is this thing?

  Curiosity wins, and I place one foot in the box to test my weight. Nothing moves; so, I take a full step in. Spinning around to face the doors, I notice a column of buttons, all lit with green rings.

  After the doors shut, I force myself to stare at the buttons.

  If my mind wanders for even a second, the walls will close in. Just thinking about it makes my breathing become uneven. My hands start to shake, so I press my shoulder against the nearest wall.

  The numbers must be the three floors. Under those, two more buttons shine. One features two arrows pointing towards one another. The other has two arrows pointing in opposite directions. I couldn’t care less what those two mean.

  I stab at the ‘2’ button, clenching my eyes shut against the panic attack I feel coming.

  My stomach drops out as my body is pulled upward. I grip the rail with both hands, resting my forehead against the solid wall. When the box dings, I throw myself out into the open air and gasp for breath.

  Unlike the lobby, this room is dark. I stand still, waiting for the automatic lights to come on, but they don’t. So, I feel around for a switch. Nothing.

  “Lights, on,” I say, wondering if they are voice activated.

  Nothing.

  So, I walk around the room, waiting as my eyes adjust to the thick darkness.

  As I walk, the color drains out of my face, breeding horror in my stomach. I breathe in and out of my mouth, fighting the tears welling up in my eyes.

  To my left, three rooms sit. Within each, a bed is centered. On top of each bed, a human is chained, or what’s left of them, rather.

  In the first room, the girl’s back has been opened up to reveal intricate blue and yellow wiring and a ribcage reinforced with metal. Her beating heart is exposed, but the arteries leading to it have been replaced by clear, plastic tubing. Her head has been shaved, and the skull lies open. Bright lights blink where her brain should have been. A long cord stretches from the base of her neck to an outlet on the wall.

  I recognize her brown hair and tanned, light brown skin.

  It’s Baylee, and she’s mid-operation.

  The floor swims under me, and I kneel down to prevent myself from falling over. One hand on the ground, I wipe my soaked cheeks with the other.

  After the two of them were killed, the machines took the
m to the testing cells. Their screams knotted in with the braids of desperate yelling, sobbing, and screaming. I heard them through the walls, and I couldn’t do anything about it.

  How much did they go through before being brought to their assembly?

  More importantly, why was I chosen for breeding and not them?

  Sure, my eyes glow with an unrivaled blue, and I hold the strength and vitality of any seventeen year old who has fought to survive all her life. But Baylee was strong, too. She walked with a limp from a leg injury she sustained when she was small, but I can’t think of anything wrong with her. She was always nice and helpful, a little quiet, but otherwise sweet.

  Though, I can’t think of anything incredible about her outward appearance.

  I have to keep going. I can’t save everyone. My heartbeat rises as I push myself up off the ground, shoulders shaking as I cry even harder. If I hadn’t asked for volunteers on my mission, she wouldn’t be here. Maybe if I had gone on my own, she would be safe in the Underground, eating lumpy soup and laughing with Christian.

  I should be in that room. That should be me, not her.

  Did my parents sit in this room at one point? Were they laid out like animals ready to be dissected, opened up like the Anthros gate? Did the cybernetics delicately replace each vein with plastic tubing? Did they reinforce their hearts with metal caging, thread wires in and out of their muscles, and replace bone with hydraulics?

  Of course they did.

  My knees buckle, and I tumble back to the floor again.

  “Oh, God,” I whisper, clenching my eyes shut.

  This can’t keep happening. I have to stop this.

  I crawl towards the door, refusing to look in the other rooms. Inside the box again, I push the last button, ‘3,’ sitting back on my knees as it rises up.

  The doors slide open and the bright room comes into view.

  At first, I wonder if I’ve stepped back inside the prep room. A long metal table sits in the middle of the sterile room, lined with a thin white sheet of paper. Service machines sleep around the table, aiming their drills, screwdrivers and hands towards the now empty table.

  Drawers line one wall, labeled with one-word names.

  Coils.

  Wires.

  Fuses.

  Batteries.

  Hydraulics.

  Irises.

  I scan the room as quickly as I can read, jogging until I’ve reached the very last column of drawers.

  Computer panels.

  I pull the drawer open and find what looks like hundreds of the green and gold squares.

  “Bingo,” I whisper, taking several out and turning towards the door once again.

  I can’t wait to see Linux’s face when I come back with more than one computer chip. We’ll sit around his workroom and he’ll talk for hours about things I don’t understand. Code will line the screens; his fingers will move so fast across the keyboards that it will seem like they’re floating.

  Cyrus will hug me, ruffle up my hair, and lift me off the ground. He might tell me he’s proud of me or that he missed me.

  Maybe even the cook will come to welcome me back, complaining about how much work I missed.

  I press the wall one last time and wait for the metal doors to open. The button flashes red, and the familiar ear-splitting alarm fills the room.

  I cover my ears with my hands and slam an open palm against the button again. The door remains closed no matter how many times I hit it.

  The alarm reaches record volume, making the metal table vibrate behind me.

  I’m trapped again.

  This can’t be happening.

  I jog to the back of the room and glance out the window at the fountain below. Artificials cover the front lawn, weapons drawn and pointed toward the front of the assembly building. I search for another exit, but the alarm drills through my ears and makes my vision burst with flashes of white light.

  The beep of the metal box opening its doors forces me to turn back around, but instead of being greeted by an empty room, two unnaturally tall figures step out, casting long shadows on the white tile.

  “What are you doing way up here, cutie?” Zwei asks, tilting her head to one side as she smiles at me.

  I hold the computer panel tight against my chest and take off at a sprint in an effort to get past her before the doors shut again. Eins reaches out, grabs a handful of my hair, and throws me down onto the cold floor. The back of my head hits the tile and I gasp for breath.

  “Too late for that, Eden,” Eins whispers as he kneels down over me.

  I push up on my elbows and scoot away from him.

  The panel falls to the floor and I reach for it.

  His hand wraps around my wrist, jerking me back towards him again.

  “Why would you come here? Why didn’t you run when you had the chance? You might have actually gotten away.”

  His voice sounds bored, an emotion which plays out in the way his mouth pokes out and his eyes stare at me. The mechanics in his face are motionless until he blinks, resulting in a dozen minute gears turning in mechanical unison.

  I glance at the computer panel, inches away from my hand.

  “Is that it? You came here for that?”

  He grabs the panel ands holds it flat in his palm. In the bright light, it glitters, reflecting a blend of white, red, and silver. Eins smiles and the gears in his face whir. In one swift motion, he crushes the panel in his palm and shattered plastic rains down on the floor.

  He grabs my upper arm, jerking me to my feet. I drop limp, but the extra weight doesn’t phase him. Instead, he wrenches my shoulder up until I’m forced to regain footing or hurt myself.

  “Zwei, give me the switch,” he says through gritted teeth. Zwei bounces forward, pulling the black box out of her pocket.

  I jerk away from him, but his fingers clamp down tighter on my arm. Tears well up in my eyes again. My lashes are still wet from the sight on the second floor.

  Eins twists me around and throws me at Zwei’s feet. She kneels down behind me, placing a hand on my shoulder.

  “Bad girl, little Mensch,” she whispers, her blonde hair falling over my shoulder. In my ear, I hear the humming of her hydraulic fingers as they tap a pattern on my skin. Goosebumps spread over my neck and down my arms and I swallow hard, looking up at Eins.

  He steps over the pile of plastic from the panel, towering over me.

  “We gave you time,” Eins says, and the smell of lubricant assaults my senses. The room goes quiet as he plays with the switch, eyes never leaving me. My own heartbeat pounds in my ears until I feel it in my fingertips.

  “We even gave you space,” he continues. “Zwei wanted to visit you so badly while you were on exhibit, didn’t you?”

  Zwei hums in agreement and tucks my hair behind my ear, grazing down my neck with an icy finger.

  “I’ll give you one more chance, 23, because I’m feeling extra forgiving today. Aren’t I kind?”

  Zwei plants her free hand on the top of my hand and forces me to nod.

  “Since you seem so resistant to tell us about your parents, Zwei and I think we have an even better question. Subject 23, tell me, where can we find the other Luddites?”

  I set my jaw in place and meet his eyes.

  A long minute passes between us, neither one speaking. His chest rises; a vein in the shallow skin of his forehead pulsates along with his heartbeat.

  That means he has a working heart, unlike other cybernetics.

  When a human is harvested, most of their vital organs are destroyed. Lungs become storage space. Intestines are removed to make room for the machinery. The heart remains, reinforced with steel and strong plastics, to charge the battery that powers the cyber. Usually, though, the organ is so contained that it’s impossible to hear it beating. Without the need for blood, plastic tubing replaces the veins, becoming a lubrication and cooling system.

  Cybernetics don’t have heartbeats visible to the human eye.

 
“No?” Eins says, shrugging. “Your decision.”

  Then, his thumb falls onto the button, and electricity lights up my body. I clench my eyes closed and dig my fingernails into my palms. I’ve grown somewhat used to the pain, but the smell of burning hair is inescapable.

  “Come on, Eins, darling,” Zwei says. “I want to see her cry.”

  The pain intensifies, and light dances behind my eyes. Ringing erupts in my ears, causing a dull pain to spread through my head. My body begins to shake; millions of needles dance across my skin. For a moment, I’m numb, and then everything starts waking up again.

  Regardless of how tightly I close my eyes, the tears do come, pouring down my cheeks. I gasp for breath, bringing my hands up to grab handfuls of my hair. My entire body is on fire, boiling in a pot of water. I’m engulfed in ice at the same time. The burning and sharp stabs of pain come in intervals.

  I slip out of Zwei’s grasp, lying on my side on the floor.

  Her laughter rings out, high pitched and childish.

  “That’s enough, Eins. You don’t want to permanently damage our prize,” she says, wiping my tears away with a thumb.

  The pain stops as quickly as it started, leaving a hum in my ears.

  “Since you won’t help us in this pathetic human body, maybe we will just have to add you to our einzigartigen family,” Eins says as he grabs a handful of my hair and pulls me to my feet. “You won’t be able to resist once you’re one of us.”

  “Would you like me to schedule her assembly procedure?” Zwei asks, opening the metal doors to reveal the small room. Eins drags me in and presses me against the back wall.

  “Yes.”

  “Date set. Her procedure is one week from today, first thing in the morning.”

  I look at my own reflection in the slick surface and watch the tears tip over the edge of my lashes and tumble down my cheeks.

  I clench my eyes closed and rest my forehead against the wall.

  Baylee appears in the darkness of my mind, bent forward, motionless. Her eyes were amber, alive, and awake last time I saw them. Are they metal now?

  If I give up now, that could be Linux next. His body is too fragile to be opened like that. If they opened his skull, no machine would see the beauty of his brain or the intelligence in every curve and fiber. They would be blind to his sarcastic nature, replacing it with zeros and ones, lines of jacketed wire, and sterilized steel. They’d steal his memories, good and bad combined.