The Transportation Aide did not spring to life. It didn't even turn on. “Aide, I require assistance. Our transport has stopped moving.” The only response was the small red light pulsing slowly from the Machine.
62 moved his fingers along the edge of the gurney. He couldn't move much, but he was sure that he'd be able to reach a sensor. They were everywhere. The strap held his wrist tight and he could feel the edge of the thick plastic push into his bones. His fingers were too short and he was too disoriented to find a sensor in the dark.
Something scraped the wall. The squeal of metal on metal rang in 62's ears and this time he knew the sound was real. Something was moving outside. The door shuddered and a blaze of light entered the car through the doorway as it opened. A Machine gripped the heavy metal door. It was about the size of a Man, but it had floodlights mounted to its head. 62 tried to see exactly what kind of Machine it was, but his eyelids forced themselves closed against the pain of the light.
“Please, help me.” 62 whimpered. “I am a good Boy. I was injured in T.A.S.K. and I'm being transported to go see a doctor.”
The Machine picked something up and put it into the car. Then it pulled itself in. It approached 62 in silence until it gazed down on him from behind the bright lights it carried with it. The heat of the lamps washed over him, drying up the panicked sweat in 62's clothes. His body pressed down into the mattress, nowhere else to go to escape the oppressive intruder.
“I just need a doctor,” 62 whispered.
“Well, then, a doctor you shall have.” The voice startled 62. It hadn't come from the Machine. A Man appeared at the foot of the bed. He held an arm out toward the Machine and grunted. “Holy dust, you stupid Nurse. Do you think you've got those things bright enough? How about we turn down the lights now that we've found our friend.”
The Nurse turned its head, and the floodlights turned with it. 62's vision was overwhelmed with colorful spots when he blinked. Beyond the sparks of color in his eyes, he could just make out the shape of the Man slapping his hands against the Nurse's face.
“I said dim the lights!” The harshness of the light dropped to a gentle glow. “Much better."
62 lay frozen on the gurney. The spots in his sight were fading. The Nurse was emitting some low ambient light and now the Man was digging through a Maintenance bag propped up on the foot of the bed. Shadows masked his face. The Man muttered to himself as he fumbled through his tools, then yelped with glee when he found what he was looking for.
“Are you here to fix the Transportation Aide?” The Nurse with the headlamp produced a tray from its chest and the Man began to line it with tools from the bag. 62 swallowed hard, “Or are you here for me?”
The Man turned toward 62. The light caught the edge of his cheek and illuminated the tip of his nose. The way the light and shadow swirled across his face made the Man's grin look wild. “I'm here for you, of course.”
“Please, I have been a good Boy.” 62 cried. “Please don't hurt me.”
“Oh, 62. It's not going to hurt. At least, not any more than it did before. I mean, there will be a widened potential for error with the system down, but I've fixed these things so many times that I can practically do it with my eyes closed.”
62 blinked, forcing the tears out of his eyes so that he could see again. “Like before?”
“Yes.” The Man turned back to the Nurse. “Now, you beast. Do you think you could turn yourself into an overhead lamp?”
“Of course, Doctor.” The Nurse nodded and reached spindly arms up to the lamps. A whirring sound vibrated in the air. The Machine detached the top of its head and held it up high. With the light source moved, the space around them looked more normal. Shadows were still cast along the edges of the lamp, but the rest of the rail car looked more familiar.
62's eyes went wide. “42, it's you!” A wave of relief washed over him, and he let go of the breath he'd been holding.
42 put his hands on his hips and turned around to look at the Boy. “Well, of course it's me. Who did you think I was?”
“I don't know.” 62 grinned. “Some Maintenance Man with a scary Nurse who was going to cut me up, I guess.”
“Well, I am going to cut you up.” 42 held his thumb and index finger out about an inch apart. “Just a little.”
CHAPTER 13
WHAT HAD ONCE BEEN an empty railway car was now a temporary doctor's office. The Nurse that 42 was working with carried an array of equipment. Once it detached 42's lab gear it looked almost normal. The only thing that looked odd about it was that it still had the top of its head removed. Its arms suspended the Machine's dome from the ceiling to cast light on the room.
62 still lay on the gurney, although the straps were unclasped so he was able to move. He watched Doctor 42 as he rushed around the space and tried to get a grasp on what was happening. “So, where are we?”
42 waved his hand in the air. “We're in the transport tunnels. I'd tell you more, but you have no use for the conspiracy that brought us here. And really, our location doesn't matter. We can't be easily tracked down here. Especially with the power out.”
“The electricity stopped?” 62 looked at the Transportation Aide that still sat in the corner. Its red light had stopped blinking. “I didn't know it could do that.”
“Well, of course it can. All it takes to stop an electric current is to break its connection. It can happen for any number of reasons. Faulty equipment, the right combination of cut lines. If you sever the system, the electricity has no road to travel.”
62 took a deep breath. “But don't we need it to live?”
“Well, yes. The electricity makes all the difference. It's what runs the Machines, the ventilators, the feeding system, the dust-flushing toilets. If the power is out long enough, all the resources will get used up, and we won't be able to survive. Electricity is our life force.”
“How long do you think we can live without it?” 62 looked out of the train car into the darkness.
“A handful of cycles at best. Those trapped in their cubes or classrooms would run out of oxygen first. Everyone else would starve.”
62's eyes darted back to the doctor. “What's the longest the electricity has been out before?”
42 kept digging through his bag. “Well, that depends on who you ask. The main power plant has, on occasion, been down for dozens of cycles at a time. You'd never know it though, because the back-up plants keep things going.” 42 picked up a tiny vial and held it up to the light. “Ah, there you are.”
“So why aren't the back-ups working now?”
42 laughed. “Well, it appears that they've been compromised. At least one system has disappeared altogether. There is a rumor going around the labs that the Others took it right out from under Defense's noses.”
“The Others?” 62 inched forward on the gurney. The doctor tipped the vial and a tiny chip fell out onto the tray below. 62 recognized it. “Are you replacing my chip again?”
42 nodded. “You're being upgraded. I can't believe I didn't think of this in my earlier research. When I designed the chip you have now, I simply programmed it to output data from another host's prerecorded data set.” 42 peered over his tools at the Boy, “You know, from the doctor on Level 2.”
62 nodded.
“Well, I'd never even thought about integrating a basic Artificial Intelligence program to filter between live data and programmed expectations.” The doctor flailed his hands in the air. “It was so obvious! All I had to do was have it analyze the type of activity you are doing, output your status as normal in real time, and then have the A.I. simply filter the data output for the archives. Whoever is reviewing your data won't know that it's been altered unless they happen to be monitoring you in the moment, and then try look up the same data set at a later time.”
“But wouldn't the Head Machine figure that out?” 62 flinched when the doctor picked up his scalpel and waved it in the air excitedly.
“The process is so quick, it won't even regist
er as a blip on the records. The new program replaces your active data so beautifully that there won't be a single trace of the changes.” 42 pushed the hair away from the nape of 62's neck and pressed the scalpel against the skin where he knew the old chip lay. “This is going to hurt a bit.”
The blade was sharp. Although 62 could feel the cut, the pain didn't register until the scalpel was pulled away. It was hard to resist the urge to flinch. The chip was small, but he could feel it grate against the underside of his skin as it was being removed. The doctor loaded the new chip into a syringe, pressed the needle into 62's neck, and the installation was done. 42 reached his hand back toward the Nurse. “Antiseptic, please.”
“Here, Doctor.” The Nurse extended its hand and one of its fingers detached. The digit fell into the doctor's outstretched hand.
“Your Nurse keeps falling apart.” 62 winced as the pressure on his neck changed with the doctor's movements.
“I've made a few improvements.” The doctor held the robotic finger over 62's cut and a drop of wet cream touched his skin. “I've integrated the most important pieces of my lab into the Machine’s body. Makes doing house-calls a lot easier than it used to be.”
“I thought you weren't supposed to leave your lab?”
The doctor laughed. “I'm not. The only time I can go to my patients is when I'm certain no one knows I'm missing.” 42 replaced the Machine's finger. “Nurse, how long until Adaline is back online?”
“Fifty-three minutes, forty-five seconds.” The Machine flexed its hand and then began putting 42's tools away.
“Just enough time to get back before life returns to normal. We timed this perfectly. Now, to get you back onto your gurney so that you can go see a doctor for that arm.” 42 gestured for 62 to lay down.
“Why can't you just fix it?” 62 looked from the Nurse to the Transportation Aide. “And how is your Nurse helping you if the other Machines are offline?”
The doctor began the process of strapping 62 down. “Well, I can't fix your arm because I'm not supposed to be here. When you get to where you're going, you've got to arrive in the condition they expect you to be in. And as for this guy,” he reached over and tapped the arm of the busy Nurse, “he’s been outfitted with a hidden reserve battery. This Nurse can run an extra ten cycles after the last standard Nurse loses power.”
“Nine cycles, 23 hours and 58 minutes.” The Nurse chirped. “Due to battery degradation.”
Doctor 42 beamed, “Of course. I forgot to calculate the battery degradation. How silly of me.” He winked at 62 and tightened another strap.
62 watched the doctor and Nurse pack up the last of their tools. He didn't want 42 to leave. “Hey, you said that you can only visit patients when you know it's safe. How did you know the electricity was going to turn off, and where to find me?”
Doctor 42 placed the headlamp back on the Nurse. The shift in the lighting made the peaks of his features glow and the valleys turn dark. His smile became warped in the shadows, like a nightmare creeping out of the darkness. “There's an expression that 71 uses from time to time that goes, 'A little bluebird told me.' ”
The Nurse followed Doctor 42 out of the car. The Machine started to pull the door closed, causing beams of light to weave in and out of the rail car. Just before the door sealed shut, the doctor's silhouette turned back. “I hope you heal quickly and rise to the top of your class now that your chip isn't holding you back.”
“Hey, wait,” 62 tried to catch his friend's attention. The door shut the rest of the way and 62 was engulfed in darkness. He shouted, “What's a bluebird?”
He strained to hear the doctor's answer, but couldn't make out the sound of a reply through the steel walls and heavy door. 62 listened for any indication that his friend was still nearby, but the rogue medical team had already left.
CHAPTER 14
62 FIDGETED. ONCE THE power returned, the tram pushed him through the dark to a medical hub. The Transportation Aide moved the gurney along brightly lit hallways and passed information silently to the Nurses that appeared at the end of a long corridor. Every bump, turn and clip of the gurney sent pain bursting through his shoulder. He was glad when the Nurses moved him to an exam room where he knew he wouldn't be jostled.
A hissing sound sprung up around a crease in the wall, which slid open into a wide doorway. A young Man arrived with two Nurses in tow. “Patient appears to have dislocated his left shoulder,” one of the Machines chirped.
The Man's long white coat flapped behind him as he threw himself down on a stool. The hover mechanics faltered for a brief moment, dipping down a few inches before it adjusted its calculations to hold his weight. Without uttering a word he began to unfasten the ties holding 62's injured arm in place.
“That hurts,” 62 hissed through clenched teeth.
“It's going to.” The doctor's reply was curt and didn't leave much of an invitation for further discussion. The Man pulled the sling off and gestured to one of the Nurses. “Clamp him, please.”
The Nurse moved to the other side of the gurney. It placed its hands on his chest and pressed 62 down until he lay flat on his back again. Then it leaned its arms down on his torso until he wasn't sure he'd be able to breathe. “Patient is secure,” it announced.
The doctor spun in his chair and waved the second Nurse over. “Repair the dislocation,” he commanded. As the Nurse grasped 62's arm, the young doctor turned his back on them and covered his ears.
62 didn't have to wonder why the doctor had his eyes averted and ears covered for very long. The scream that erupted from his throat was long and piercing. The pain that he felt as the Nurses pulled and stretched his arm, and the terrible pop of his shoulder reuniting with its socket was unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. The tendons strained, the muscle throbbed, and then in an instant the procedure was over.
The Man turned back around and touched the offending shoulder. His face hovered over 62, the doctor looking into his eyes for the first time since he'd arrived. “Better, yes?”
Tears splashed against 62's face as he nodded. He wasn't sure if he really did feel better, but he wasn't interested in having the Nurses give his arm another tug. He croaked, “Thank you.”
“No need to thank me. The credit goes to the Nurses, as always.” The doctor's lab coat slid off of one of his narrow shoulders as he shrugged. The Man slouched back down onto his stool and pushed himself across the room to give the Nurses more room to work. “I'm only here to direct treatment.”
The Nurses took turns helping 62 sit upright, resting his affected arm in a new sling. They attached the rigging to a band that wrapped around his chest. “You're the doctor though,” 62 said to the Man who now rested casually against a supply cabinet.
“Hardly. Medical Trainee is more like it.”
“What does that mean?” One of the Nurses stuck 62's shoulder with a needle. A warm sensation flooded his arm. The pain began to subside.
“I'm practicing to become a doctor.” The Man grinned. “You're my first live patient.”
62 tried to gauge if the Man was joking. Like most of the Men in Adaline, this one didn't seem to have a knack for humor. “Can I tell you something?”
“Sure.” The Man pushed off of the cabinet, gliding across the room on his hover stool.
“Maybe the next time you take care of someone, you could introduce yourself first. Tell them what is wrong and what you're going to do to fix it.” 62 took a deep breath when the Nurses returned to their stations at the far corners of the room. Each Nurse docked itself into the wall and went into sleep mode. With their processes silenced, they simply blended in with the rest of the medical equipment.
“Why would I do that?” The Man looked at 62 with irritation.
“It makes people feel better.”
The medical student frowned. “But don't you feel better now than when you came in?”
62 wiggled his shoulders a little. Pain throbbed through him, but it was nothing like what he'd exper
ienced before the dislocation was repaired. “I suppose so, but–”
“Well then I've done my job. Now, keep your arm from moving for the next fourteen cycles. Once the time is up, you can start taking your sling off during training hours. At that point, your Physical Therapy Unit will provide you with approved exercises to help you regain range of motion and muscle tone. In twenty-eight cycles you should be able to stop using the sling completely, although you'll want to keep your injury in mind as you return to full activity.” The Man picked up a tablet and wrote notes as he spoke, entering the prescribed instructions into 62's file. Once the tapping ceased, he looked up from the tablet. “Any questions?”
“What's your number?” 62 gave as friendly a smile as he could.
The Man shook his head. “I hardly see the relevance.”
“I want to know who you are. That way if I see you again, I'll be able to say hello.”
“I doubt we will cross paths again, unless you injure yourself when there isn't medical staff available to repair you. If it matters so much to you though, I'm 574524.”
“Nice to meet you, 574524. I'm 1124562.”
“Yes, I saw that on your chart.” He looked at 62 with suspicion. “Your chart has a lot more notes than the sample charts I've been reading in med training. Do all the Boys have so much medical history?”
62 shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe.”
“I think you'd better take better care of yourself, 1124562.”
“I'm trying.”
CHAPTER 15
WHEN 62 RETURNED TO the pod the PTS reminded him that he was unfit to participate in any physical training. Now, 62 stood at the door of his cube and stared through the window at the other Boys as they left. He yearned to go with them and let loose a heavy sigh when the last of his brothers disappeared through the door that led to the arena.
There was nothing to do but rest. 62 lay down in bed, pulled the covers over his head and shut his eyes against the bright light that filtered through the fabric. If he couldn't exercise his body, at least he could exercise his imagination.
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