Technology was second nature to me, yet when I had to spit out answers to questions which would decide my fate, I’d turned into a zombie, unable to process simple equations or even explain string theory, something I’d mastered at the age of ten. I’d panic, and my mental paralysis would get worse. Sometimes, I couldn’t remember my own name. As I’d reached critical meltdown levels, my buddy, who’d always sat behind me, would throw something at the back of my head, reminding me we’d had a conversation right before I’d come into the room about how I would test out and progress to the next level in the program. I’d had the hours in, the knowledge, yet when it came time to prove it, all my training had flown out of my mind, leaving my brain empty like a vacant house.
But he’d been right. When I realized everything still sat in my head, waiting to be extracted, I’d relax and kill the test, usually coming out with the best score in my rotation. Well, second best score. Tyler took no prisoners.
I could no more forget the skills I’d learned than how to draw air into my lungs, but it didn’t make it easy when you had to apply your knowledge in a life and death situation. Tyler had been wrong about that. Survival, I’d discovered and in quick order, wasn’t easy, and even a genius could struggle with it—or forget how to breathe.
For instance, book learning had little application when you were stressed and alone, without anyone to help.
As my island home vanished on the horizon and I realized I could end up floating out on the ocean for days, weeks, even months, I’d sat down and devised a plan, knowing if I didn’t, I’d die. The most important tasks were placed at the top, and I’d systematically crossed them off my list.
I had no time to mourn my lost home or Eli. I had too much shit to do, and pining away for the man who’d put me in this situation wouldn’t help me to survive. Rather, it hindered me.
So, I’d started with giant solar panels, which charged the hives and kept the bees in the air. Well, sort of. Without the Net, the entos’ previous source of power, they’d flown around like drunken pilots, dipping and spinning and pollinating half the blooms. I’d watched one go down in a tailspin, bent down, and picked it up from where it back-stroked by my feet. They would require an extra charge, an internal generator. I eyed the silica discs and smiled. Then like a demented child, I’d run to my shed and removed the slivers the bee used to lift its body into the air. With a micro screwdriver in hand and a little twist, I’d freed the bot of its wings.
The bee hopped around on my table while I gathered supplies. I walked by and caught the ento as it leapt off the side, setting it back on the surface. I grabbed a plastic pot and set it over the bee. “Stay.”
The pot rattled and moved six inches toward the edge. I sighed and set a spool of wire on top of the bee’s new prison. I ticked off the materials on my mental list, stopping when it came to the wings. Where? I blew out a breath and scratched my head. The existing wings wouldn’t lend themselves to solar conversion, and I’d only managed to acquire the large panels to power the water-condensators used as emergency backup by luck. They were here for one reason, should the towers go down, and from the shape of them, antiquated and decaying, it hadn’t taken a genius to know the field managers hadn’t anticipated it.
I’d found the ancient panels piled on a bottom shelf, covered with dust, long forgotten, perfect for activating the hives and powering the condensators so they produced potable water, but the material would be too heavy for the delicate wings with which I’d intended to replace. I’d tipped my head back and growled, and in doing so, I spied the self-healing fabric above, the man-made greenhouse which kept the rain off me and the salt spray from killing the crops. Soft like fabric when not charged, hard like glass when one applied a little energy. It proved to be a perfect substitute. I’d lifted the pot off my bee and watched it hop toward me. With my blade, I’d scratched subject one in its shiny copper body, metal mined from deep below the ocean floor.
The most important tool a person had access to at any given time was their mind, and as I stared at the mechanical bee, I seriously began to wonder if I’d lost mine. These things had killed more people than I cared to think about, and yet I’d planned to resurrect them by giving them an alternate, renewable energy source.
A pair of metal shears provided all I’d needed to cut the tiny wings from one of the panels on the thin photovoltaic dome covering my field. With nothing but time on my hands while I floated on the ocean, I converted the bees to solar power.
We had a love hate relationship, the bees and I. God knows I’d do anything not to rely on them, but I’d had no choice. Eli tossed me onto this raft and cut it free to float in the ocean. I’d do whatever I had to survive, even if it meant reviving an enemy I’d rather had left dead. Yes, I could’ve hand-pollinated the crops. But the bees were more efficient and it took all my energy just to survive, not to mention the exhaustion from the depression at finding myself alone in the world.
Eli had lied to me. My best friend had also lied to me. Faked his death. And then they’d both abandoned me when I needed them most. Hell, Eli didn’t just abandon me, he’d exiled me.
I threw a micro-wrench and screamed. Damn them! How could they have done this to me? I reached up and wiped a tear off my cheek, as though it would matter if it remained there or not. No one would see me cry, and obviously they hadn’t given a shit if I did. I’d sworn then that tear would be the last I’d shed for them.
I stared at my workbench. Later, I’d dwell on why they’d betrayed me. Now, I had to finish the task I’d started—converting the bees.
And whether I liked it or not, the entos could provide security and defense that I would lack in my new home, if and when I arrived. I had no clue what lay outside my island chain, and if Eli was to be believed, there were other civilizations, people who’d survived the Great War. However, they might not be friendly. I could’ve floated into a passive situation as easily as an aggressive one. Really, it amounted to a coin toss, of which I’d usually come out on the losing end.
Once I’d gotten the field running on solar energy, the humidity collectors creating potable water, and the dome fully operational, I’d turned to the bees. The solar charge, combined with the perpetual motion of their wings, which also generated energy, didn’t give them half the power they’d had before, and the shock that once would burn had become more of a painful deterrent. In numbers, they’d still be deadly, but more likely they’d stop a heart from the combined voltage, not turn people to ash.
I couldn’t say it disappointed me. I’d never get the smell of burning flesh out of my memory. And if scent was the strongest trigger of memories as psychologists claimed, I could count myself screwed with a lifetime full of nightmares I’d never be able to forget. As much as I’d despised the bees, they were as much a part of my circle of life as the floating land I’d called home. So, there I’d stood, putting one of the little monsters back together so they could run on a power source they could never be disconnected from. Go me.
The great thing about the dome was the high-tech flexibility of the material, meant to handle gale force winds and hailstones or birds dropping shells, fish—whatever. This made it an excellent component for the wings of my robites. It also had a self-healing property, flowing back together when charged and stiff as the silica wings they had before. Pull the power, and the fabric became like rubber. So I’d cut the juice, retracted the fabric covered titanium dome into the mat to access it, and got to work.
I’d found the most difficult portion of the job consisted of the long hours it took to weave the microscopic filament and meld it to the material, creating the same web-like pattern a real bee might have. Those tiny wires served a purpose, acting as a conduit for the charge and feeding the battery which operated the flapping motion, so rapid it couldn’t be seen with the naked eye. The solar didn’t charge the bee’s central generator. It had run the wings. The movement of the webbed panels created the energy supply for the generator I’d modified within the r
obite’s thorax. When I finished with the first ento, it had taken on the appearance of the actual insect and not the flying hair-brush they used to be called by the Sententians.
Nature always had the best designs and simply couldn’t be trumped. When in doubt, always mimic the natural world. Obviously my great-great-grandfather and I shared the same thoughts, because he’d created the little monsters in the first place.
Real looking or not, they were still dangerous. Nothing without a soul could be trusted, had long before become my mantra. A lesson I could not forget unless I wanted a repeat.
Between bee conversions, I’d had to monitor the floating field and the weather outside. Being unprepared for a storm could have dire consequences. In the sun, the dome opened by sensors set to engage the retractors when the inside reached a certain temperature. When overcast, the same sensors closed it up tight.
I’d rebuilt the hive’s motherboard, every circuit, every bit of it I’d condensed down to a wrist monitor, which also operated on one of my solar panels. I’d spent hours soldering while wearing micro-glasses, as the components I’d built couldn’t be seen with the naked eye, a trial and error process which consumed most of my days and nights.
When I wasn’t tweaking the technology, I’d either taken short naps or caught fish from the net I’d made from the rope used to stake the trees into the mats and tie plants to trellis to grow vertically.
I replayed every class I’d ever sat in. At the time I’d learned all the material I’d utilized, I’d been bored, not sure why I had to learn history or about defunct technologies. It didn’t take long to realize the once dismal classes might save my life, though I’d doubted my professors had survival on their minds when they’d insisted I learned it. More likely, they taught us to show how primitive the technologies of the past were and why we used what we had. According to the teachers, those same ancient technologies led to the downfall of man. We were lucky to be blessed with the Net.
“All hail the power net,” I spouted out and glanced around before I laughed. It wasn’t hard to see from the other side of a very bad situation; all the bullshit they’d taught us about our supreme power source, in reality, had been about lining pockets with credit and controlling people who’d become willing slaves to the mighty Net. Even when faced with starvation, our society had refused to let go of it. It had been designed to be brought down, and by the woman who’d descended from the man who’d built it.
Because of that, I’d gotten my energy from another source, and as I developed it, it had become clear why some ancient civilizations worshipped the sun. Like Archimedes, I’d used the radiant energy the sun produced to create a laser.
The light-magnifying lens had come from more of the dome’s fabric. I’d heated the thin flexible film and formed it into a convex shape before applying power. Secured to a metal ring to retain its disc-shape, and filled with water, it had become a magnifying lens, intensifying the radiant light into a singular beam. I then centered the beam over a case off of a hive, a metal box I’d stacked inside with iron trellis shelves every four inches from top to bottom. A fan crafted from the same photovoltaic panel I used for solar panels and bee wings circulated the air inside my mini dehydrator, speeding up the process and ensuring no moisture remained behind to spoil the fish, vegetables, or fruit.
All I’d done, I’d done with purpose. Leisure was a luxury. I had no time to relax and ponder where I might end up. I had to be ready for the day I’d made shore, and even though I’d worked almost non-stop, it never seemed like enough.
Everything had to be built from what I found on the floating field or in the maintenance shed. Lucky me, the bees were a technology which required a lot of the tools and parts I could use to build other things, and the field manager had kept the service shed well stocked with everything a hive-keeper would require to maintain the entos, should they realize they’d forgotten to bring a tool or part with them.
Questions constantly plagued me. Could I survive out there on my own? What dangers waited for me? I’d wondered if I could really prepare, or if all my work would be for nothing.
And then, one day I bumped into the coast of what used to be California, and I no longer had to ask.
August 4th, 2238, Sententia, still stuck inside the main tunnel
“They’ve located us,” Akoni said and stepped on the gas. “They haven’t radioed our location in yet, though there is a description of us and the vehicle registration on all communication channels. But, I can disable their coms as long as they are within range. It should gain us a measure of time to escape. What I want to know is how she knew, before we did.”
“My gut told me,” I said.
“Or you’re the spy I thought you were.”
“I’m not a spy. You’re the ones who kidnapped me.”
“Can we talk about this later?” Eli twisted in his seat and narrowed his eyes on the pursuing vehicle. “He’s grabbing his transmitter.”
The patrol vehicle swung in behind us, and I whipped around to look as our pursuers increased and we decreased speed, closing the scant distance. Closer. Closer. They’d hit us in seconds. “How close should they be?”
“Within a meter.” Our vehicle slowed more as Akoni stepped on the brake. “What is their approximate distance?”
“What are you doing? Go faster! They’re going to…” Crunch. The hover rammed into us, swerving back and forth as though they intended to pass and get in front of us. “Do something!” I gripped the back of my seat, my knuckles turning white. “Less than a meter! I thought you were an excellent pilot.” Yet he continued to slow.
“I am, unless I am jamming signals. Then I must slow down to acquire a radio signature,” Akoni said.
“I don’t care. Don’t do that again! They could’ve knocked us into traffic.”
“I had everything under control.”
“Had? They’re still chasing us. Had means you handled the matter. Whatever you did didn’t solve anything. Go faster. Get away from them.”
“Not necessary.”
“Yes it is! Hang on, they’re going to ram us again.” Bright lights beamed in our rear window, illuminating the cab. I braced for the impact, but instead of the jolt I’d expected, the pursuing vehicle’s headlamps snapped off and it came to a stop in the tunnel behind us. I whipped around in surprise. “You did more than jam their communications.”
“No. I jammed all communication inside and outside their transport, including that between the control panel and motherboard. All functions are deactivated indefinitely, so we should gain a few minutes. They were only able to get off a partial transmission.” Akoni swerved back into traffic. “But someone will stop to investigate. When they do, the soldiers will be able to report our registration number and call ahead to have troops intercept us. I advise we find another mode of transportation.”
I twisted around, eyeing the route before us. “How far to the end of the tunnel?”
“Forty minutes at this speed. Any faster and we will attract attention.”
Eli pointed to an exit tunnel on the left. “Get off here.”
“Why? What’s there?”
“Headquarters.” Eli turned to Akoni. “Do you think you could register one of the police vehicles as out on patrol?”
“Affirmative. I can even assign officer names as though they’re picking up extra rotations.”
“Good. Let’s go steal a police cruiser and go back to the tunnel.”
“From under their noses? No, Eli. That’s at the station. Every cop on the main island is in and out of the building.”
“And that’s why they won’t look there. Do you have another suggestion?”
I closed my eyes and rested my head back on the seat. “Yes. But you wouldn’t go that route because it isn’t dangerous and completely insane.”
We emerged from the tunnel and onto a preserve access road. A gate slid back, and we pulled through. In the distance, the city stood.
“We should ditch this veh
icle a distance from the station and go on foot.”
Akoni turned into the forest, driving in as deep as he could. He hit a switch, and the vehicle powered down.
I threw the door open and jumped out, taking several steps toward the road. My heart did a drum roll in my chest. My vision faded in and out. I spun around. “I can’t do this, Eli.”
“You can. We have to take the tunnel to the main base and the brain of the primary tower. It’s the best way to the island without being spotted.”
“Main base? There’s a main base too?”
He nodded, watching and waiting for me to digest the information he’d just fed me.
“Is anything real anymore?” I shoved my hand in my now purple and straight hair, fisting it, tears coming to my eyes. “No, I can’t do any of this. I’m not a criminal. I’m a hive programmer trying to live a normal life, or I was. But you destroyed everything. You with your secret tunnels, bases, and killer bees! I won’t do this anymore. I want my life back.”
“You know I can’t give it back, Iia.”
I looked up at him in tears. “Then you shouldn’t have taken it away. You didn’t even ask me—you forced this, all of this on me, and I’m just supposed to go along with your crazy plan without questioning any of it? No. No, I’m not doing it anymore.”
He strode up to me and pulled me into his arms. I’m sure he meant for it to offer comfort, but I felt trapped. I shoved him away. “Don’t.”
“We have to shut the towers down. It’s too late to go back.”
“If I turn myself in, explain what happened, the rebels kidnapped me and burned my chip—if I tell them, they will understand. They have to understand.”
“They won’t stop, not until you’re dead. The only way to survive this is to take down the towers, and then you can escape.”
“I don’t want to escape. Sententia is my home.” A tear splashed onto my cheek, and I dashed it away with the back of my hand. He spoke the truth, but I didn’t want to believe it. It was so much easier to swallow the lie I’d told myself, that my life could all go back to the way it had been. “No. I’m not doing this.” I sank to the ground and wrapped my arms around my knees. “I can’t.”
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