Time to Expire

by Chris Ramos

  EXIT

  A small group had already gathered in the far east exit room. It was a huge gallery room, about forty feet across and twice that in length. The room echoed every sound, including the shuffling feet of the many refugees and their varying levels of conversations. Most were in a hushed whisper, trying to make sense of the commotion throughout their underground home. The lights were dim, slowly powering down, losing their glare at each passing moment. The secret to this room was the reinforced wall at the far end. It was covered floor to ceiling with cabinetry of all sizes and was the main supply room for the dining areas. Cole gathered the group of frightened family members together. Children were crying while the adults looked to the Father. He had always been the one to give them solace in their times of need, and he silently stood with his hand on Cole’s shoulder. Cole’s head was spinning. He could hear screams echoing down the halls, through the vents, only emphasized by the soft sobbing of those in the room with him.

  “The time has come. We are being forced from our home by those who do not understand us,” the Father began.

  “Is it true the Collectors have . . .” A frightened girl was having trouble finishing the sentence. “Is it true the Collectors have killed people here?”

  The Father looked to Cole with compassion, and as he opened his mouth to answer the concerned mother, a shrill scream echoed down the hallway and into the dark room they were huddled in. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that the Collectors were killing. The scream shook them to their core.

  Fear settled in.

  The Father burst into motion. He began spinning paintings on the wall in a complete circle, with small gears shifting and clicking in the walls. He opened various cabinets and threw small levers hidden under the floor panels. Cole couldn’t figure out what was happening until he saw the far wall began to shift upwards. It was only then he realized the cabinets didn’t run all the way to the ceiling, which left room for the wall of cabinets to move upwards, only about two feet, but it was enough. Cole felt the air pressurized through the new opening under the cabinets. There was clearly another space beyond.

  “This escape was devised expressly for this purpose. The opening should be large enough for any of you to slide under and through. It is not large enough for the Collectors to pursue.

  “You will be following Cole. Treat him as if you were talking to me. He is your Father now.” It was a resigning sentence. The Father turned his back on those in assembly.

  Cole couldn’t believe what he was hearing. These people had been with the Father for an untold number of years. Cole still had so much he wanted to talk to him about. He wanted to yell his own denial, but couldn’t find the breath. He locked eyes with the Father, and knew it was over. The dedication to these people, the families, everything. They tried to live a life away from LifeSpan, but the Movement just could not survive. Cole nodded. His shoulders slumped with responsibility, and he walked away from the Father.

  They began sliding residents of the failed Movement under the escape door to live another day. When Cole slid through after the last resident, he turned to help the Father through.

  Instead, the wall slammed shut with the Father remaining behind.

  “When can we stop running?” The question was called out for the fourth time.

  Cole knew he needed to answer those who were gathered with him. He tried to ignore their pleas, but they looked to him for guidance. They wanted him to save them all, but what could he do?

  Everyone dear to me is dead because of me. I am the plague, reborn.

  “I don’t know,” Cole answered quickly.

  “Where does this tunnel lead?”

  “Where is Sci Tym?”

  The questions kept coming.

  “I don’t know.”

  “How many of the group survived? I thought the Father was right behind us!” They increased in desperation.

  “I don’t know.” Cole stopped and faced the group.

  “When will the Collectors give up? When can they leave us alone?” they pleaded.

  “Never!” Cole screamed. “They will never stop. We are all going to be crushed. We don’t belong in this society, none of us. Things have changed. This world has changed to force us out.” Cole raised his hands in frustration and ran his fingers through his hair. “For all we know, this tunnel was never finished. We could all be trapped down here. Hopefully this opens to a miraculous freedom field, far away from here, out of LifeSpan’s reach. We can all pick berries and dance among the flowers! Is that what you want? Is that what you think? What do any of you really know anyway? You have been hiding from the real world for so long you forgot how to think straight. You look to me for answers. I’m afraid I have none for you.”

  Tym felt the rumble long before he heard footsteps. Something big was heading his way, and fast. Based on those attributes, he really didn’t want to be in its way. He was still about forty feet away from the Father’s room. The entrance was hidden. If he could only get inside . . . Should he risk it? Tym had a better idea. He was a Sci, after all.

  He jumped over to the nearest doorway. An old plasteel frame was barely holding the metal door in place. The room inside would be large enough, if Tym could fit through the opening.

  Note to self: you could lose a few pounds, Tym thought.

  He stood back from the frame, reached into his backpack and pulled out four metallic discs. Tym threw two discs onto the ceiling above him, where they adhered to the surface immediately. He tossed the other two discs onto the ground, about a foot from him. The discs glowed and connected wirelessly to each other. They projected light across to each other, flickering briefly and eventually settling on an exact image of the empty doorway he was facing.

  The rumbling grew louder, and Sci Tym jumped behind the projection as a group of Collectors rounded the corner. Tym could see through the screen, for his side was still translucent. However, when the Collectors stopped to peer down this new hall, the illusion held, reflecting back a digital copy of the dark surroundings.

  They stood there for many minutes, deciding which course to take. Tym nervously peered back, counting the men. Eight of them. Two teams, it would seem, as four had a faint red stripe running around their collars. Luckily, they turned back to the intercrossing hall and continued their original course. Only then did Tym notice they were dragging hardware pieces from a large cube, complete with tubing and hardwires.

  The last use for the cube was to help Cole die. The Collectors must have known its purpose, but how?

  Before he could think too deeply on the issue, they were almost out of his sight. Sci Tym knew they couldn’t see through the projection and began a crude dance, wiggling his fingers and mocking the retreating Collectors. It felt good to heckle their looting party. Luckily for Tym, he had developed this disc projector just last month to hide members of the Movement, like the Father.

  Unluckily for Tym, the Father was a lot thinner than he was.

  The trailing Collector gave a fleeting glance down the hallway, and noticed a khaki colored pocket, bobbing in the air.

  EPSILON

  As the gate closed behind the Father, twelve Collectors filed into the far east exit room. They scanned the area, expecting an ambush or at least a larger group of refugees. Instead, they faced a lone old man.

  The Father paced around the room, keeping distance from his deadly foes, while forcing himself not to look at the secret exit in the back of the room. If the Collectors noticed he was looking at the false wall, the escape would be for naught.

  Now that the whole of his fellow Movement members were safely out of earshot, the Father decided to reveal information long kept secret.

  “You, with the red around the eyes. I see you squinting as you stay behind, away from the lights. Their illumination bothers you. Epsilon, that is your name. What, may I ask, is your number?” The Father spoke in a soothing, matter-of-fact voice.

  The Collector was confused. He looked to his brothers for advice on
how to answer this inquisitive man.

  “Epsilon Fourteen,” he finally admitted.

  Sci Tym jumped back as the Collectors returned to his hallway, in full sprint.

  Maybe they dropped something, Tym thought.

  Immediately he pushed the thought out of his head and began calculating. Eight Collectors against one man. But this was Sci Tym, and the calculations flowed through the air, trajectories of targets, differences in their gait, the differing height of three that were taller than the others, the loose boots of one. There were approximately 12.3 seconds before they reached him. Plenty of time for a Sci of his talent.

  Tym unfastened the latch at his belt and ripped the whole of it from his person. He had built a safety mechanism into the back of each pocket, exclusively activated by his unique signature. Usually, Tym grabbed one or two pouches from his belt after some thought about their application, releasing the contents with a simply swipe of his finger along the belts inside. In this situation, with eight Collectors rushing him, Tym dragged his hand down the entire back of his belt, releasing the locks. He threw the belt over the screen.

  The Collectors could see movement from the edges of the screen. There was definitely someone behind this false wall. An enemy. He would be easily crushed under a sea of raging Collectors. Suddenly, flying in the air from behind the security screen came an assortment of trinkets. Jars, containers, pouches and beads rained down, spilling their contents onto the group.

  “Ah. Fourteen. Rather late in the batch. Did you know there were only twenty-one in your group? The problem with the eyes was eventually fixed, only for another issue to arise. You were a good batch. I was especially proud of my Epsilon line,” the Father explained.

  This made the Collectors pause. How could he know these details about their origin? How could anyone know those details?

  “You think we are impressed by your knowledge? We know your speech to be only a ruse. You lie to us so your friends may have a chance to escape,” a Collector, circling to the Father’s left side, called out.

  “While it is true my friends are running from you, the real truth is found within yourselves. You know me from the past. You know me in your heart, your programming,” the Father quietly replied.

  Indeed, the Collectors gave pause. He was familiar, from a dream. A dream they could not remember on their own, without the gentle coaxing of their parental architect.

  “We . . . killed you!” Epsilon Fourteen lowered his arms. “You burned.”

  “Yes, your suspicions are revealing my face to you. I am your Father. All of you are my children, my creations.”

  Tym pushed through the doorway and fell into the Father’s office, moments before the hallway erupted in a circus of effects from Tym’s belt.

  Electro-magnetic pulses deactivated the Collector’s billy clubs, as another bubble of techno goo bonded two Collectors together, before they were dissolved from a bouncing plastique ball of acid. The Collectors tried to kick the containers away, hoping to send the jars anywhere but at their feet. Some of the jars rolled. Others shattered when a boot hit them, releasing a chemical gas or a powerful bonding glue. Explosions splashed body parts down the corridor. Bright sunbursts stole their vision. Metal discs spun in lazy magnetic circles, emitting super-heated plasma blades, severing the feet from three more Collectors.

  A few Collectors were brave enough to reach for the pouches and attempt to toss them aside. Four Collectors suffocated when one of those late-blooming traps exploded, enveloping their bodies in a dense foam.

  Tym knew they would have their hands full in the hallway. He closed the door, and started looking through the room. From what he could tell, he was the only member of the Movement to visit this room since the Collector invasion. That was not very good news.

  Here he was, inside the Father’s most private of spaces, while everything around him crumbled. Was he really the only one left alive?

  Father, be safe, Sci Tym thought. We need you now more than ever.

  Tym could handle himself. It was everyone else he worried about.

  Focus. Just grab what you came for and get out of here, Tym reminded himself. And if I ever get out alive, I’m starting a new life with half the amount of food I eat now. Nothing but trouble, this bulky figure.

  Tym shuffled through the collected digiscreens on their planning table. There wouldn’t be any helpful information on the screens, and he was afraid to turn anything on right now. However, they were still too valuable to leave behind.

  He filled his bag with the Father’s journals, which contained locations of safe houses, meeting spots and a few decoding books for the Movement’s messages. At least he could keep this information from the wrong hands.

  Perhaps it was possible to rebuild at another site, with a new team.

  Sci Tym was brought out of his planning as a new light source grew from behind the plasteel desk. It pulsed and repeated, in succession. A pattern of light, signaling to the Father. Where was the signal’s origin?

  More importantly, from whom?

  Sci Tym knew the Father’s passcode. Luckily, he hadn’t changed the sequence, and the digiscreen opened. The screen shifted, pulling a stock image forth, and from the other side, Trina was emerging into view.

  “Trina?!” He knew it was her. He could never forget her.

  Before his image reflected onto her side, Tym angled the digiscreen to the floor, hiding her view of him.

  She started talking as soon as the sync was complete. She was speaking in a hushed tone. “Alexander. Your location has been compromised. They know. He knows. Please. If you are there, you have to leave.”

  Sci Tym wanted to look into the screen and tell Trina everything was all right. Which was only partially true. He did not know his fellow members’ fates. There was also a huge risk in revealing himself to her. This could be a trap.

  Could Trina be a double agent?

  “Father, please. I need to know you are safe. Why are you not responding?” Trina was crying; that much was obvious as her voice cracked. “I need to know Sci Tym is safe.”

  He snapped the screen up, looking deeply into his Trina.

  “I am here,” Sci Tym said.

  Trina was shocked and relieved in a mixed emotional display. She could barely speak, so Tym decided to jump right into the most burning question.

  “How did you learn about the Movement?” he asked.

  “I am sorry we never told you. I have been secretly working with the Father for many years now, Tym. It was the best way to keep my secret. We all know you are . . . passionate about your studies, and you would have worried for me.”

  “I worry for your safety even now as we are speaking to each other. Where are you?” Tym asked her.

  “I am safe from prying eyes, if that is your question. I wish I could tell you more, but LifeSpan knows where you are. You have to find the Father and get him to safety. You don’t have much—”

  “It’s already too late,” Tym interrupted. “I am afraid the Movement has scattered. Many have died from an invasion of Collectors to our home.”

  “Oh, Tym, we feared it would come to this.”

  “The Father was separated from me. I know which exit he was heading for—”

  “Tym, listen to me. LifeSpan has entered forbidden territory. Nimbus must be stopped.” Trina looked around, and leaned closer to the screen. “He has been absorbing the muscle memories and basic instincts of expirations for years. He wanted to become faster, stronger. That is why the Father tried to leave LifeSpan.”

  Tym knew this story. That’s why the Movement was formed, to have Nimbus answer for his crimes on a global trial.

  “Recently,” Trina began, “Nimbus went too far. He absorbed an entire personality. The very being of a human. And he wants to do it again. He is using the expiration technology for his own gain.”

  Now this was something Sci Tym did not know about.

  “Are you saying people are expiring and being absorbed?” Tym was r
aising his voice with every word, fighting to keep control. This was a grave crime against all of humanity. This went against every ethic of what the Scientific Community stood for.

  Humanity was not a pawn for one man to command at his leisure.

  “I will take him down. He will answer for his injustice,” Tym vowed.

  “I know just when you can. Listen carefully, Tym. Nimbus has been on his airship for almost a year. It’s time to land and resupply. I believe this is your moment. Get to the port if you want to make a difference.”

  “So, we take out Nimbus . . . Then what? He still has control over every living person on the planet!” Tym knew there would be a large void to fill if Nimbus was no longer sitting at the head of LifeSpan.

  “Luckily, I have a plan.” Trina smiled. He loved when she did that.

  The Collectors stopped surrounding him. The twelve of them were confused. They were searching their inner demons. Their memories flashed with intense training sessions and painful surgeries.

  Through it all, the Father was there, in their memories. He stood in the rooms, watched over them. He trained them on morals, following orders, the greater good for all of LifeSpan. He was there, in their minds. Deeply instrumental in their creation.

  “Epsilon . . . Bono malum superate,” the Father quietly stated. Those were the trigger words he placed in their programming long ago.

  Overcome evil with good.

  The four Epsilon Collectors turned to their brothers, awakened by their Father’s call to arms. They were not in control of their actions. Reaching out, they began an intense struggle within, and as their minds screamed out against this action, they grappled with the other, newer models in the room, fighting, choking, striking with their billy clubs. The Collector civil war raged instantly, as they defended themselves from brothers, teammates, and newfound enemies.