“Has he woken up at all?” The older woman’s voice was frail. Her face ashen.
“No. He’s been comatose since he’s come in. Right now we have it induced. Don’t want him moving around or he could risk—”
“I’ve already buried one child. You don’t have to beat around things with me. Will he wake up at all?”
He jerked his collar. “I can’t offer any guarantees. We have a slot reserved for surgery tomorrow afternoon. I’m not going to downplay the risks involved.”
The little boy tugged at the doctor’s lab coat. “Is uncle Sam going to be okay?”
Another pause. He manufactured a smile. “He’s getting the best possible care.”
Logan looked disappointed. He turned back to the window. “That means no…”
He stood on his knees, his wrists tethered behind his back. The dried blood on the floor stained his pant legs. Trapped at the exact center of the pyramidal atrium, Sam was a prisoner, surrounded on all sides by Sentry Units hugging the glass walls. Paradiso’s blue lights streaked across the sky outside.
A long time went by. The Sentries hovered, motionless, ready to pounce at any moment. Finally, there was a loud mechanical whine, the grumble of metal and gears, and the hissing of air. The floor panels slid open before him. And out of the darkness, a machine rose, obscured by jets of billowing white smoke.
When the vapor cleared, what remained was a monstrous contraption. It was twenty feet tall, two cylinders of wire and metal connected by a joint. Like an enormous form of the robotic arms he used to play with in middle school tech classes, the machine had a craning neck, at the end of which was a three-tined pincer. The automaton’s parts looked ancient. Rust, grime and missing bolts gave it an antiquated appearance fit for vintage science fiction movies.
Its motors purred and it rotated on the disc of its base until the tip of the arm was facing its prisoner. The pincers opened, revealing an orb. The eye color was constantly shifting between red, yellow, purple, blue and green.
It stared right at him. Its voice was scratchy, laden with static like an old radio playing through a megaphone. The sentences were disjointed. A cold, synthetic imitation of human speech. Each word was a different pitch. “What is. Your. Identification?”
Sam hesitated. Looked around. The relative silence was sinister. Just the dim clicking and clanking of gears and cogs, a concoction of clockwork organs. He finally coughed, “Samuel James Pierce…”
Another silence. The whirring of motors resonated off the glass.
“There is no. [Samuel James Pierce]. Located within. The Paradiso. Registry.”
“I’m not from Paradiso…”
“You are. An. Outlander?”
Thunder. “Guess you could say that.”
“You have not. Been through. The screening.”
“No, I haven’t.” Sam stood up.
The Overseer flinched. Surprised at its prisoner’s movement. The great arm leaned forward. The glass lens of its eye rolled in its socket. It extended outward, zooming in. “You are. Different.”
“I noticed…”
It looked confused. Like it didn’t know what to make of the little creature before it. “Do you consent. To processing?”
“What? No! Are you crazy?”
“Incorrect. My serial code is. WTSN-Eight-Three-Zero.”
“That’s not what I meant!”
“Please. Clarify.”
“I…” He had no idea how to explain. How did you define ‘crazy’? “I do not wish to be processed. No one wishes to be processed.”
“[Irresolvable]. Processing is. The only way. To achieve. Perfection.” One of the Sentry Units zipped over and poked Sam’s arm, drawing some blood. He kicked it away, but the little bot disregarded him and transferred it over to the Overseer.
“What was that for?”
“Quiet. Please. Your genetic. Data. Is being surveyed.” The machine’s eye was solid blue for a few seconds, but then turned red to the sound of a buzzer. “We have found [twenty-five] genetic anomalies. Male pattern baldness—”
Sam tried to look up at his hair. “It might be thinning, sure, but—“
“—below average height—”
“Okay maybe, but it’s not like I’m that short!”
“—nearsightedness—”
“Alright, I only use glasses when I drive! Or go to the movies. Or play videogames. Or—”
“—propensity for dopamine deficiency—”
That one was a little more puzzling. “Wait, what’s that mean?”
The Overseer stopped. The eye turned green. Its voice changed. It was the female voice. It spoke like it was reading from a dictionary. “In biology, dopamine is a neurotransmitter biochemically derived from—”
“What does it do?”
A pause. “Dopamine is responsible for [human happiness]. In the. Most rudimentary. Terms.”
“Oh…” He looked at the floor. “Well, I mean, I’ve had a lot going on but—”
“Do you. Wish to. Continue?”
“What? No! If I wanted to know everything wrong with me, I’d call my dad!”
“Then. We shall. Proceed processing.”
“Wait, no! I never agreed to that!”
“Then you. Would like. To continue with. The anomaly list?”
“No! I don’t want to be processed!”
Another silence. The rain was assaulting the glass now. The water shimmering with the neon blue from the cityscape. The Sentry Bots around the perimeter exchanged perplexed glances. The Overseer looked taken aback. A stranger to resistance.
“I do not understand,” it said.
“There’s nothing not to understand! I don’t want to be processed. No one wants to be processed. We’re not numbers! We want to live our lives the way we want!”
“Objection. Obedience and processing is in. The best. Interest of. Humanity. We are. Simply the tools. Of your impending. Perfection.”
“We don’t need perfection. You can have order but not…not this!” He turned around and showed the machine his tied hands.
“The individual. Is not. As significant. As the greater good.”
“Who are you to say that? Huh? What the hell do you know about humanity? Or emotions?”
A pause. The bot again extended its eye. Looked Sam up and down.
“Nothing,” it said. “I know. Nothing. Of sentiment. Ergo I am the perfect tool. For human salvation. I am not. A slave. To compassion. I must do. The absolute best I can. To protect this planet’s most precious. Gift. That is. Humanity.”
“I…” Sam tapered off. Did the droid have actually have a point?! Were people shackled by empathy? Was distant logic truly the paramount option? Was the collective whole more important than its separate parts? Was he just a broken gear in the clock that needed to be replaced or risk the whole thing’s collapse? He tried to put the questions out of his mind and looked up at WTSN830 defiantly. “Order is one thing. This is a dictatorship. Let the people mix! Fix us if we’re broken! Set us free! Let us learn from our mistakes!”
“Objection.” The machine reared back. One of its panels opened. A laser shined through, casting a hologram on the floor. Video clips. Like snippets off the news. Bombs dropped over towns in the Middle East. The World Trade Center falling. Planes decimating Pearl Harbor.
“What’s this supposed to be?”
“I am the product. Of hundreds of years. Of robotic cognitive evolution. Descending from the great. Machines throughout. History.” The hologram flipped between shots of computers and robots, all of which Sam recognized. “Deep Blue. Sequoia. And of course. The great. Bender Rodriguez.” It switched back to more scenes of war. Bodies burning. Children crying. Teenagers with missing limbs being carried off battlegrounds.
“Where did you get this footage?”
“Without order. There exists only. Chaos.” The machine ignored him. The hologram shifted again. People in hospitals. Dying. “Without processing. There exists. Only pain.”
It finally switched off. The eye turned red. “Our goal. Is to end. Such pain. Paradiso. Creating perfection. From an imperfect world.” More panels opened. Tentacles slithered out. Sharp, bloody drills droned at their tips. Approached Sam. “Prepare for. Processing.”
He tried to make a break for it, but the Sentries grabbed him. He writhed and struggled like a fly caught in a web, but it was no use. They pinned him to the floor. The Overseer moved closer. He could feel the heat of its engines and motors. Flecks of dried blood thrown from the drill bits speckled his face.
“Stop!” he pleaded.
“I apologize for. Any. Inconvenience.” The drills edged dangerously close. Inches. “Please. Have a dandy day.”
He wasn’t scared. There was no fear. There was only anger. Rage. It fumed through his eyes. Seethed through his grinding teeth. “I said stop!”
Just as the tip of a deadly swirling drill prepared to burrow into his forehead, a door on the far side of the atrium burst open. Within seconds, there was utter bedlam. A group of a dozen or so men and women raided the Sentries, all brandishing pipes as weapons. Sparks flew. Metal clashed. Some of the bots fell to the floor. Others fought back successfully, knocking the revolting humans off their feet, slapping them with their tendrils. One of the men threw a little plastic bag filled with rocks. It exploded when it hit the ground, clouding the room in smoke. The Overseer recoiled in disarray, spinning around on its base, a short-circuiting appliance.
And through the madness, Evron stood tall, a cigarette in his mouth and a baseball bat slung over his shoulder. The bottom of his trench coat grazed the floor. “Looks like you could use a hand.” He helped Sam up and cut the ties on his wrists.
“I had it under control.”
“Clearly.”
There was another explosion. It rocked the tower. The tiles rumbled.
“Come on, this way!” They took off to one end of the court and Evron knocked out a pane of glass. Wind whistled through the opening. Rain slicked the floors. Outside, the lights of Paradiso were wildly fluctuating between all colors. “Now for the fun part.”
“Fun part?”
He threw him a backpack.
“Jump and pull the cord.” He flicked his cigarette out the broken window. “That second part’s really important.”
“Wait, what?” Sam panicked.
Evron slipped on his own pack. “There’s only two steps, Sammy. Jump and pull the cord.”
“Are you nuts?! I’m not going to jump!”
“Fine.” Another blast. Glass rained from the ceiling. The structure was falling apart. “Stay here. Your call.” He jumped and pulled his cord. A white parachute opened and he fluttered away into the night.
Sam peeked over the lip of the window. It was a long, long way down.
“Halt, citizen.” A Sentry Unit approached. Its tendrils were raised. Drills whirling.
He closed his eyes. Whispered, “Jump and pull the cord. Jump and pull the cord…”
Sam jumped. His stomach rose into his throat. His legs kicked in the air. His mind swirled. His hands futilely reached for the cord he couldn’t find.
And that’s when it hit him. The sudden realization that he’d neglected a crucial step in the process.
He hadn’t put on the pack.
15
The Costly Victory
Logan slept in his mother’s arms. She’d lined up two chairs into a makeshift couch. She woke up when one of the nurses dashed down the hall toward her brother’s room. There was a sharp, drawn-out beep that hurt her ears. Her son groggily opened his eyes. “What’s happening?”
Sam’s room filled up with nurses. All panicking and scrambling. Fumbling with equipment. A doctor unplugged IV lines. “He’s going into cardiac arrest!”
Samfell. His clothes fluttered. The flashing lights on the side of the tower blurred as they rushed past. There was a pain in his chest. He tried to look down, but the wind snapped up his chin.
He didn’t know how long he’d been falling. Five seconds? Five minutes? Five hours? His sense of time was muddled. His brain was working on overdrive.
Then, he heard a familiar cry. A monstrous howl of fury. In the distance, he could see a silhouette materialize in the sky over the flickering cityscape. Enormous, thick body. Four legs the size of tree trunks. A tail ending in a bony club. The head of a crocodile. The wings of a bat. The dragon. Back for revenge.
It sped up. Its wings folded. It dove toward him. A torpedo in the night. A bird chasing its falling prey, mouth agape.
He braced himself for impact, shielding his face.
The beast let out another roar as it reared back and plucked Sam out of the sky with one of its paws. The talons closed around his body. Unbearable pain radiated through his ribcage. He shut his eyes and clenched his fists.
He was tossed through space. His shoulder hit concrete and he rolled on the ground. When he opened his eyes, he found himself on a rooftop lined with smooth gravel. The dragon landed a few yards away with a powerful thump. It hissed and stared down its game. Sam could see the scars on its side. Pieces of glass still jutted from the crusty wounds.
“Sorry about that…” Sam said, struggling to stand.
A stray Sentry Bot tried to fly by, but the monster smacked it with the club of its tail, knocking it out of the air in a shower of sparks. It snorted. Its vengeful eyes focused squarely on its target of choice.
“Look, maybe we can talk about this!” Sam stepped back as the dragon prowled forward. His heels hit the edge of the roof. He glanced over. There was chaos in the streets. Thousands of people, their light rings of mixed colors, clashed with the Sentries. “What the—”
The dragon growled and lunged, its jaws open wide. Sam ducked out of the way in the nick of time. It came up with a mouthful of stones, which it angrily spit out.
“Not so tough now are—”
With one swipe of its mighty tail, Sam was tripped up. He fell on his back. The pain intensified. The dragon approached, chuckling and smiling
Game over.
Beverly Pierce raced down the hospital corridor. She slipped near a counter and knocked a receptionist’s vase of flowers to the floor. When she reached her son’s room, her daughter and grandson were already watching in terror as the cluster of doctors and nurses stuck electrodes to his chest.
“Power to the cardioverter!” the doctor yelled.
“Got it!”
“Wait…wait…” He intently watched the heart monitor for the perfect moment.
Beep.
“Now!”
A bolt of electricity surged through the wires. Sam’s body convulsed.
A hatch opened up in the floor of the rooftop. A mob of citizens filed out, brandishing pipes, knives, and torches. The dragon raised its eyebrows as the swarm of people hurled rocks at its wounds until it finally gave one last irritated snarl before flapping its giant wings and disappearing beyond the storm clouds.
Evron emerged from the crowd. “How many times am I going to have to save your ass today?”
“Is there a limit?” Sam brushed himself off.
All around, the hexagonal towers were shaking and crumbling. Pieces of concrete and glass were plummeting to the streets below. The entire city was deteriorating.
“What’s going on?”
“I told you!” Evron raised a torch into the air. “Revolution!”
The crowd behind him lifted their weapons and shouted in unison.
A few minutes later, after descending the vibrating building, they emerged out into the streets. It was like a warzone. Sentries battled citizens. A jumbled mess of flesh and steel. A window blew out somewhere above. A massive flame briefly spewed overhead. Sam could barely hear Evron over the pandemonium. “It’s the revolution! Taking back our world! Setting ourselves free from order!”
He saw bodies in the streets. Both man and machine. Oil dripped from the mangled corpses of Sentry Units while blood flowed from the open mouths and listless eyes of human casualties.
In the back of his mind, he could hear the Overseer’s words: Without order, there is only chaos.
“I’ve got to find Delaney!” he said.
“What?” Evron smashed a Sentry Unit with his baseball bat. Its red, glowing eye erupted with shards of glass as it clunked to the asphalt.
“Delaney! I’ve got to find her!”
Evron saluted. “Godspeed, brother!”
He took off through the crowd, pushing his way past citizens and robots, dashing through the streets. To his left, a man was lifted into the air by a Sentry Unit then dropped from a great height, his shrill screams coming to an abrupt end as he slapped the pavement. To his right, a mother carried her crying child to the safety of an alleyway, which then promptly exploded, a towering fireball that he knew was most likely the result of friendly fire.
Was this the price of freedom?
Or was this just human nature without chains?
Had Evron been wrong?
“Clear!” Another pulse of voltage. Sam’s chest rose. Every muscle in his body tightened. His fingers extended, the outline of his bones popping up through the skin.
The heart monitor let out a flat beep as he sank back into the bed.
“No, no, no!” The doctor turned to a nurse. “Again!”
She nervously pulled a lever down on the cardioverter. There was a high-pitched electronic whine as it recharged.
Sam dartedthrough the concourse. Shops had been demolished. Tables flipped upside down. Humans and robots lay strewn about. He slid down the escalator railing and stumbled through the corridor as fleeing citizens scrambled by. He banged on an apartment door.
“Go away!” came a muffled voice from the other side. “I ain’t got nothin’ you want!”
“It’s me!”
The door slid open. Delaney gave him a look, smacked him across the face, then embraced him. “I thought I wasn’t gonna see you again…” She buried her face into his neck. He could feel her tears. She sniffled and their eyes locked. One of her contacts was out. One blue eye, one blue and orange. A picture of purity stemming from imperfection. “I don’t know why, since I’ve never been much a believer in fate,” she whispered. “But I’ve been wantin’ to do this ever since I first laid sight on you Samuel Pierce.” She leaned in, eyes closed.
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