by Joseph Rhea
He placed one hand on the glass beside them. “We grab something heavy and jump out of this window, just like you said. When we get near the opening to the Core, I’ll suck water into my lungs and drown myself.”
“No,” she repeated, slightly louder.
“The interface hardware back home will detect the death of my Avatar and disconnect my brain from the interface. At that exact moment, you pull me into the opening.
“You will die.”
He pointed to his chest. “The Watchport beam will revive this body. I’ll become a living program, just like my father. I’ll have the power to beat Ceejer.”
She tried to pull away from him. “You’re as crazy as your father, and I won’t help you.”
“Maya.”
“I won’t help you kill yourself,” she yelled.
“You’re not getting it, Maya. The moment my brain disconnects from the interface, I won’t be here anymore. The person you will pull into the Watchport beam will not be me. It will just be a copy of me.”
She stood there, saying nothing, but he could see in her eyes that she had a thousand questions flashing through her mind.
“Ceejer tried to enter your father’s body when he was disconnected,” she said. “What is to stop him from trying the same thing with you?”
“This is different,” he assured her, hoping it was true. “I think Ceejer had to have some sort of physical contact with my father when he was disconnected, some way to upload his program into my father’s data stream.” He waved his hand around the room. “He’s not here.”
“I can see that,” she whispered.
“Besides, if we go back, if we surrender, Ceejer will do this to me anyway. Only then, he will either kill my real body when he tries to get out, or he will actually make it out, which is worse.”
“Worse than dying?” she asked.
“I’ll have a hostile program running inside my brain,” he reminded her. “Isn’t that worse than death?”
She looked around the room. “There has to be another way.”
“This will work,” he said.
“Even if it does, I’ll be left all alone here.”
“You’ll have my copy,” he said. “And if my copy is as good as the copy of my father, you’ll never know the difference.”
“I’ll know.”
“Maya,” he whispered, reaching out to her.
She looked into his eyes. “I’m not sure that I can do this, Alek. I’m not sure I can help you drown yourself.”
“Leave that to me,” he said as he hugged her. “You’re job is to get me to the Watchport opening and help revive me.”
Just then, the window panel on the far side of the room imploded and the sea came rushing in. In one swift motion, Alek grabbed her arm and then used all of his strength to shove a nearby desk toward the floor-to-ceiling window beside them.
When the window broke, there was a momentary backwashing of seawater, and he almost lost his grip on the desk. He closed his eyes against the rush of water and broken glass, but managed to keep his grip on both her hand and the desk. Then he felt the desk begin to fall which pulled them both out of the window and down toward the submerged city street.
o o o
In Maya’s later recollection, what happened next felt like it took a lifetime, even though it all occurred in less than five minutes—a few moments of time stretched beyond all reason.
It started with the sound of breaking glass. She barely managed to suck in a lungful of air before the ice-cold seawater hit her square in the face. After the initial rush of water passed, she forced herself to open her eyes. She was surprised how well she could see, but then remembered that seawater contained nearly the same concentration of salts and other trace minerals as human tears. A holdover from our origins in the sea, she reminded herself.
She saw the desk that Alek was holding onto begin to fall through the window opening. He almost lost his grip on her arm, but she did a quick scissor-kick and grabbed his pants leg with her free hand.
When they passed through the opening, she saw the submerged street below. It was only six stories down, less than 30 meters, but it looked much farther. As the weight of the desk pulled them down, she felt the pressure building on her inner ears. She released her grip on Alek’s leg, pinched her nose with her thumb and index finger, and blew hard. She heard a squeak as the air pushed down her Eustachian tubes to fill the space behind the tympani of her ears.
She realized that with one hand holding the desk and the other holding onto her forearm, Alek would not be able to equalize his own ears. She did a quick calculation and realized that with pressure doubling every ten meters, there would be almost triple the pressure at street level. Then she remembered that this was a submerged city, which meant that the pressure would depend on how deep the city was under water. In any case, his ears would not be able to withstand the pressure and would soon rupture.
By the time she had gone through all of this in her mind, they were halfway down the side of the building. A movement down the main street caught her eye, and when she looked in that direction, she realized that water pressure was the least of their worries.
She saw both Soldier machines swimming directly toward them. She started to panic, but then noticed that their movements were both erratic and inefficient. Luckily, the Soldier’s feet weren’t designed for swimming. They just might have time to make it to the Watchport opening before the Soldiers reached them.
When the desk finally hit the street, Alek released his death-grip on her arm. Now he can clear his ears, she thought, but then saw that he was not doing so. He was just floating there; eyes closed tight, one hand still clutching the desk.
He’s panicking, she thought. Afraid to move. He needs my help. When she grabbed his arm, he opened his eyes. At first, she saw the panic she believed he was feeling, but then saw something quite different—determination. He was trying to go through with it—trying to muster the willpower to inhale water into his lungs and die.
As both a lifelong swimmer and a student of human physiology, she knew of the mammalian instinct that caused newborn babies to hold their breath when submerged in water. It was one of the few instincts that humans possessed, and it was a strong one.
He shook his head and closed his eyes again. He’s struggling, she realized. Fighting to overcome his will to live. In less than a minute, the carbon dioxide content in his blood stream would reach a critical level, and then another, even more primitive part of his brain, would try to force him to take a breath.
At that point, the two opposing forces inside him would collide. That was when he would begin to panic. Moments later, the need to breathe would override his will to live, and compel him to take that fatal breath.
His body would go into convulsions then, as his diaphragm spasmed, trying to force the water out of his lungs. Since he was submerged, he would only suck in more water. With any luck, he would pass out at that point, sparing him any more agony.
His face began to tighten and he reached up with a free hand and pinched his nose; the first sign that carbon dioxide was beginning to build up in his blood. She saw his chest heaving, almost as if he were breathing. He was instinctively trying to suck up the last of the oxygen in his lungs.
As she watched him, she felt her own chest begin to tighten and realized that she was also running out of time. Then she remembered the Soldiers and glanced down the street. They were closer than before, but only slightly. She was relieved, but also surprised by their slow progress. Had it really only been a few minutes since they passed through the broken window above? Was time really moving so slowly?
She noticed that they were in the middle of the street, instead of at the base of the building from which they had jumped. They must’ve had a fair amount of forward velocity when they pushed through the window, which caused them to fall in an arc away from the building. When she looked toward the wall where she knew the Watchport opening was located, she saw that it was less
than ten meters away.
Without thinking, she grabbed his arm and tried to pull him toward the wall. At first, he came with her, but then stopped and broke free from her grasp. When she looked back at him, she saw that his eyes were wide open again and he was shaking his head slowly back and forth. His mouth shaped the word, “No.”
She was starting to feel desperate, and realized that soon she would have to make a decision herself—to stay and die, or go and live. If she didn’t make the decision herself, her lower brain would eventually take over and make it for her.
Alek seemed to see this in her eyes, because his face suddenly relaxed. He even smiled. His mouth then seemed to shape the words, “Goodbye,” just before he inhaled deeply.
Immediately, he began to cough and then his arms started failing wildly. She could almost hear him screaming in her mind. Before she could react, he shook one last time and then it was over.
His body floated silently before her. She was less than a meter away but she was afraid to touch him. He was dead and she didn’t want to feel his lifeless skin against hers. That would make it too real, she thought. That would force her to realize the truth of what had just happened.
Her body was completely out of oxygen then, and she almost decided to take a breath and join him. Then she remembered his final words to her. “You’re job is to get me to the Watchport opening and revive me.”
With a burst of raw energy, she grabbed his arm and began to swim toward the Watchport opening, scissor-kicking as hard as she could with her legs. In her peripheral vision, she saw that the Soldiers were very close— perhaps only a dozen meters behind her—but they were no longer of any concern. She had only one thought—reach the Watchport and save Alek.
She almost lost the fight against her lower brain’s imperative to breathe water, just as she reached the wall. It looked solid, and she was afraid that maybe she had chosen the wrong spot. With no time to spare, she swam directly at the wall and passed through.
When the blue light surrounded them, she could no longer take it. She breathed in deeply and then began to cough hard. It was air that filled her lungs, but it was pure and cold, and burned going down her throat.
When she finally stopped coughing, she crawled over to Alek and put her ear against his chest. There was no sound. She placed her fingers against the carotid artery in his neck, but felt no pulse.
She looked up at the blue light that surrounded them. “Fix him!” she yelled. She looked back down at Alek, but could see that nothing was changing. “You said this would work!” she yelled at him.
She quickly fell into her old swimmer’s training and began to perform cardio-pulmonary resuscitation. She cocked his head backward and pinched his nose closed with her right hand. She then opened his mouth, placed her lips against his, and blew hard.
When she had emptied her lungs into his, she released her mouth and turned her head to watch his chest fall. She felt his breath exhale against her ear, but knew that it was simply his diaphragm relaxing.
She repeated this cycle two more times, then placed her left palm against his chest just to the side of his solar plexus, and then pressed her right hand on top of her left. She pumped his chest repeatedly, putting her full weight into it. He was much larger than she was, so she wasn’t worried about breaking a rib.
After six quick pumps, she repeated the cycle: three breaths, six presses on the heart. Tears began to well up in her eyes, but she didn’t stop to wipe them. “Wake up, damn it!” she yelled. She repeated the cycle again and again, but even after several minutes, he showed no signs of life.
Finally, exhaustion overtook her and she collapsed in a heap across his chest. Unable to hold back the tears any longer, she cried long and hard. She had failed him, and in doing so, lost the love of her life—again.
TWENTY
Alek saw the glowing blue fog around him just starting to dissipate as he opened his eyes. For a moment, he pondered the idea that he had died, and that this was some strange form of afterlife. Then he noticed a heavy weight against his chest and looked down to see Maya’s head resting on top of him.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She turned her head to face him. “Alek!” she whispered, her voice hoarse and barely audible. “You’re alive.”
He sat up and looked into her eyes. She was completely dry—the Watchport beam had replaced her wet hair and clothing with pre-transport versions—but her face was soaked. She had been crying, he realized. Why?
Then he remembered. “Oh my God,” he said as he pulled her close and hugged her tightly. “You did it,” he whispered in her ear.
She pulled back slightly and looked him in the eyes. “How do you feel?” she asked.
He smiled at her. “I’m fine,” he said as he looked around. The blue fog had lifted completely and he saw that the Watchport was now empty. They were alone, lying in the center of the room, underneath the huge holographic image of the planet from which they had just escaped.
“I mean, did it work?” she asked. “I mean, are you…changed?”
He looked down at his hands. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I don’t feel any different.”
She glared at him. “You mean that you almost killed us both for nothing?”
“Maybe you revived me too quickly,” he said without thinking.
“What?” she almost yelled. “This is my fault now?”
“Shh,” he whispered, holding her shoulders to calm her down. “I’m sorry. I appreciate what you did—I really do.” He looked around the room again. “I guess we’ll have to think of something else.”
Her resolve broke at that moment and more tears welled up in her eyes. “Oh, Alek,” she said. “I can’t take much more of this.” She began to look frantic. “I thought I was strong, but this is too much. This is all too much.”
Before she could say any more, he pulled her close and kissed her. “Don’t give up,” he whispered. “After all that we’ve been through, we’re still alive and that has to count for something.” He looked around the room. “Somebody must be on our side.”
She wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Don’t tell me you’re getting religious on me,” she said with a half smile.
“You’re my religion,” he whispered, and then kissed her again.
A few moments later, they helped each other stand up and surveyed the inside of the Watchport. The door leading out of the building was blocked by what looked like the backside of one of the Soldiers. Something was going on outside, and he realized that it couldn’t be good.
“Let’s see what’s happening,” he whispered as they both crept silently toward the door. When they were within five meters, he dropped to the ground pulling her down with him. When she shook her head, silently asking what they were doing, he pointed out the door.
Between the legs of the Soldiers, he saw Javid lying on the ground next to the green woman he called Elsala. For some reason, she was no longer transparent, and neither of them was moving. Then he heard Ceejer’s voice shout, “Finish them off.”
“No!” Alek yelled without thinking.
Instantly, the Soldier blocking the door spun around to face them. Maya was glaring at him as they both rose to their feet.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he gripped Maya’s hand and walked cautiously toward the Soldier. It moved aside just as they reached the door and he saw the ring of Soldiers and the carnage in the center. Ceejer was on one side, standing near what looked like a makeshift throne.
“The prodigal son returns,” Ceejer said.
“You idiot!” his father yelled as he and Maya were brought into the circle. “Why on Earth would you come back here?”
“He came back because he is human,” Ceejer said as he approached. “Humans are emotional. Humans are imperfect. Humans are weak.”
“If we are so weak,” Alek said, “then why do you want to become one of us?”
Ceejer took a step closer to them. “Like everything else that has h
appened thus far,” he said, “it is only a step in my evolution. A step that is long overdue.”
“What do you mean?” Maya asked.
Ceejer looked Alek in the eyes. “The time has come for you to join your father.”
The words rang in Alek’s ears. “Maybe I already have,” he said as he closed his eyes and held out his hand. Picture it, he said to himself. Deletion gun. I’m holding it in my hands. He began to feel a tingling sensation in his hand as he tried to visualize the code in his head. I’m seeing it appear. I’m using it against Ceejer. When he opened his eyes, his outstretched hand was empty.
Ceejer had backed up a few steps, but when he saw that Alek had failed, he turned to Alek’s father. “He is as powerless and impotent as you are, Mathew.”
Alek glanced over and saw his father standing there, looking down at the ground, looking defeated. He turned back to face Ceejer but his short-lived confidence was shattered. “You won’t get away with this,” he said as he took a step backwards.
Ceejer turned and looked at Maya. “Where is your hero now? Where is your powerful code-maker?”
“Alek can write programs in his sleep,” she yelled.
Alek started to take another step backward but then stopped and looked back at Maya. “Thank you,” he said. He then turned to face Ceejer and held out his hand again. Instantly, a large gun-shaped object appeared in his open hand. It was heavier than he expected, and grabbed it with both hands before it dropped.
“What is this?” Ceejer yelled.
“The end of you,” Alek said. He sensed movement behind him and aimed the gun right at Ceejer’s face. “Anyone so much as flinches in my direction,” he called out, “and you die right now.” With a slight nod from Ceejer, the Soldier behind him stopped advancing.
“If you delete me, you will be trapped here forever,” Ceejer said.
Alek shook his head. “On the contrary. We are all trapped in here because the system thinks a THI is developing inside HomeSpace,” he said. “You are that program. Deleting you will release everyone trapped in Cyberdrome.”