by Brian Craft
“No secret. I don’t know. My memory isn’t what it should be. I can feel the holes. But we’re all different. Our minds are all built a little different,” she drifts off. “I guess my mind just likes to resist.”
“We need to get out of here,” he says.
“No shit. Are we back there again?” GL says, batting it back. “You’re the Hive man. Think of something brilliant.”
Orion has no answers. But the idea of escape rings true. Freedom. It's not tangible, so it doesn't require a time or a thing. It's a feeling that can't be stolen from him and in the newly forming vacuum of his mind, the feelings seem more real as it stretches to fill the cracks and voids he knows are there now. His freedom never really seemed like a necessity before. But have someone try to take away and you realize that you want it more than anything.
He fogs the glass with his breath, and in the vapor, he smudges his finger across it to write the word ‘FREE.’ He admires it for a beat before fogging a little more area. The last of the foggy vapor uncovers something else smudged there from before. It’s a copy of the word ‘FREE.”
Orion looks surprised to see that there’s more on the glass and continues to force his breath onto it, the foggy vapor uncovering more and more. Little lines that recount the number of days, same as day one, but as he keeps going he sees dozens of marks and it gives him a paranoid moment of pause.
“They’re all yours,” GL informs him.
“We’ve had this conversation before?” he asks.
“Yes.”
Orion is almost afraid to ask. Staring at the foggy glass, he asks, “How many times?”
GL replies, “Does it matter?”
The look on Orion’s face is of surrender. Surrender to the present moment, the expectations of anything else dissipating away like the fog on the glass, leaving clarity behind. Oddly, he looks more in command of himself. Not drifting or hopeful, but determined. His acceptance of this moment releases him, and his mind is able to find its clarity. Don’t look for a past that isn’t there, he thinks, and you will be free of it. He says, “Burroughs wants to build a utopia.”
“Fuck him,” GL spits. “That damn Hivebeam is bad enough. Imagine what he wants to do next.”
Orion continues, “It does a lot of good, too, right? He wants everyone to be peaceful and calm.”
"You mean dull and conformed," GL pushes back. "I know the story. I lived those years when things were weird and scarce. So did you. But ever since they got control, they inched it forward on us one good intention after another. Fear is a great motivator. They aren't going to stop." She gets even more serious to add, "Your freedom, and my freedom, and everyone's freedom starts or ends here in this hellhole."
Orion thinks for a long time before he says, “How are you able to keep your memories?”
“The scratches,” she tells him. “Something new with something old. Bring the old memory forward and attach it to something new.”
“How?” he asks.
“That cut on your knuckle. Fresh, right?” Her words direct his attention to his hand. “Stare at it with all your focus, and then remember something specific that you never want to forget.”
Orion pokes the wound. “That simple?”
“Well it ain’t no Mind Mastery, but you gotta make do with what you got,” GL states.
He plants his fingertips over hers at the corners of the little clear window she’s creating. He traces the imaginary lines connecting her fingers and making the box. “What about this?” he asks.
"I had day where everything was closing in on me," GL says. "I don't know how many days I had like that, but Burroughs loves to keep pushing my buttons. One day, I felt blank, and I pressed my hands against the glass, just to feel anchored to something." She thinks for a second, then, "It felt smooth and cool. I thought about the glass. Or more like, I thought about what glass was to me. So I could see outside and look at the world. Clear." She pulls her fingers away, and the window fills in with black. Then it appears again a second later, and she says at the same time, "Clear."
“Clear,” Orion repeats.
“Get it?” she asks.
He thinks hard, then says, “Not really.”
“Me either,” she replies. “Maybe I thought about how I wanted it to be.”
“Like…free,” Orion tries a lighthearted attempt at humor. Then the front of his cell clears and bright light floods in from the chamber outside. He looks back to GL, but the window is gone. It’s still their secret. At least, that’s what he hopes.
Plummer stands in the doorway staring at him. “Come on, Orion,” he demands.
Orion rises slowly. Maybe even a little slower than he can, if only to push Plummer’s buttons. For all his lost memories, he does recall Plummer coming to his door day after day, always the same routine. Orion steps into the chamber, bright light forcing him to squint.
Plummer instructs him, “Follow the way-finder. Always follow the way-finder.”
Orion’s eyes struggle to adjust, and he’s having a hard time locating the red way-finder that is always embedded in the wall telling him where to go. Then he sees it, except that it’s not embedded in the wall, it’s floating a few inches off the wall into the chamber. He follows it and sees it runs along the corridor and turns the corner, never touching the wall.
Orion glances nonchalantly over to Plummer whose patience appears to be waning. Orion says nothing about the way-finder, hoping secretly that this isn’t some trick they are playing on him. Hoping he’s simply tired. Either way, he’s getting tired of this.
…
Eleven-year-old Orion sits at a little workstation in a room full of hundreds of children hunched over similar workstations. Embedded in the surface in front of him, a touchscreen display exhibits a series of images, graphics, and words. They go by quickly and Orion responds with equal quickness, touching the display and tallying a positive each time. It’s an aptitude test silently examining his mind and, at the same time, attempting to shape it, which is also a test.
A little girl in the next workstation seems on the verge of tears. She’s not even continuing with her test now, and one of the adult moderators comes to remove her. Seeing her ushered away, Orion purposely refuses to finish his test. The moderator drags him out, too.
There’s a bright flash that engulfs the scene, then Orion is surrounded in a hallway by several boys, each looking at him with fear and disgust. Orion stands protectively in front of the little girl removed from the testing room with him.
Another bright flash wipes out the scene, and Orion is running. Down a narrow hallway and out of the building to hide behind a low stonewall out of sight of anyone inside the building. He gazes at the clear blue sky, his mind allowed to drift free, and he smiles. Seconds later, several security guards close in on him, and he stands frozen on the edge of tears.
Flash, and he's sitting all alone in a small room with a single overhead fluorescent light, barely able to illuminate the space. The drab artificial light intensifies the room’s scarcity, making it seem even drabber. No pictures on the putty-grey walls or color anywhere other than the padded brown vinyl exam table he’s sitting on. The cast shadows in the corners of the room seem like ominous clouds closing in around him. He’s fighting to keep his look of anger and defiance, but he knows that he’s alone and his will to fight is waning. He is a ward of the state, and whether he wants it or not they are going to shape him into something they can use. He is a resource to them. And if not that, then he will be a liability, removed like the other children who don’t pass the test.
The door unlocks with an echoing snap and swings open. A woman dressed much like a Hive tech steps into the doorway, but no farther. Orion tenderly reaches for her hand, willing to go along, but she doesn’t extend hers. Her face is cold and uncaring. She is there to do a job and that’s all. There will be no touching, no contact. He will only comply.
A brilliant flash immerses the scene before Orion can take a step. Then he’s s
eated in a chair, a bit like his Hivemind chair, only more rudimentary. His young body doesn’t even fill the length of it. The room is bathed in ethereal half-light and a droning hum echoes throughout. A tech lowers a mechanical arm to directly above his head.
The tech nods approval to young Orion and, suddenly, a beam of white light projects into his forehead.
CHAPTER 14
Blazing mid-day sunlight floods all sides of the frosted glass elevator, blinding Orion. He can sense its speedy rise, and he reaches for the wall to steady himself until his eyes can adjust.
The clear, cylindrical elevator shaft shoots straight up the center of the skyscraper, and as Orion’s eyes adjust, he realizes it seems to be floating in space with no building walls around him. The sunlight diffusing on the frosted elevator surrounds him in a sort of unearthly glow. His imagination delights with the idea that this must be what it feels like to ascend to the heavens.
The elevator stops abruptly, and the doors roll open around it. He realizes he’s alone, no Plummer. No escort at all. He steps from the elevator onto the rooftop of the Center for Mind Mastery.
The building is unfinished as he can see the floors below him still receiving the façade covering that hasn’t reached this high yet. Tiny robot drones swarm by the hundreds up and down the tower. The height is unbelievable, and the view of the metropolis around him is better than anything he’s ever seen.
He steps to the edge to get a better look. Gazing across the landscape of endless buildings, everything looks perfectly ordered. Clockwork movement with everything meshing together like a finely-honed set of gears specially fit with each counterpart.
Everything is perfect. The color is perfect. The temperature is perfect. The world is without a doubt, perfect. And through it all is an intricately detailed, bright white, pulsing artery, the Hivebeam. It delivers information and feedback to everything and every person in the metropolis. It’s a utopian vision that has been planned, constructed, and metered to astonishing perfection.
It’s a curious thought.
“Evolution erases the weak in order to advance.” Doctor Burroughs voice echoes from behind Orion.
Orion doesn’t turn from the view. He answers, “You’re crazy to think I’d give up my mind.”
Burroughs voice cuts in, saying, “I think you underestimate the gravity of your situation.” Burroughs appears next to him, the sunlight glaring around him forces Orion to squint. “Why do you insist on thinking like an island when you can become a world?”
“This is prison,” Orion counters. “I was willing to go along with you because I believed…” He trails off, unable to finish his thought. But perhaps it’s a good thing. He has to remember he’s playing the game now. Whether he likes it or not, he has to be careful with his thoughts.
“I want you to let go, Orion,” Burroughs says, pressing him. “The system is in a precarious position. It needs control. And I need your help.”
“This is still a free world,” Orion states. “We have the right to decide what we are. You can’t force control on us.”
Burroughs laughs at Orion’s statement, stomping on him with a sense of irony. “It’s that singular deviance that makes you perfect for me. Your spirit to step outside of the acceptable, to listen to no one but your own will. Turn that around and you can control anything. Beyond consequence, above judgment, to hold whatever you want.” Burroughs seems like he’s describing the perfect crime, one that he is dying to commit. “The system can be perfect, Orion. And you are the golden key. Only a choice away from a seamless connection that will raise you up on high, above all and infuse you with insight beyond your dreams.”
He’s an intoxicating mind, one with the ability to paint a picture of utopia for people. With his intellect behind him, and the achievements as proof, so many follow him blindly. And he expects that obedience now.
“You can’t force me,” Orion states, breaking the doctor’s spell.
Burroughs hand cuts through the sunlit glare around them and plucks a single hair from Orion's head. He holds it for Orion to see. Pinching the ends, he pulls very carefully, slowly stretching the hair to its limit. "I can force this to stretch," Burroughs calmly states. "But it will deform. And eventually, break."
“You should have left it in my head,” Orion counters.
“Then it needs to be tame,” Burroughs says. His leading tone suggests it’s more like a question than a statement.
Orion looks over the metropolis. Nothing has changed. The sun is in exactly the same spot. The shadows carved around the buildings haven’t grown a bit. All the movement below seems oddly similar to moments ago. Something tells him that this is not entirely what he thinks it is.
Burroughs interrupts to draw him back. "I have to move forward. I need your mind." Seeing that he has Orion's attention again, he continues, "I will be disappointed if, in the process, your mind becomes useless. To us both." Burroughs snaps the hair and lets go with a bit of dramatic flair.
The hair falls toward the ground until a whiff of breeze lilts in and carries it away. Orion tries to track it, but everything around him becomes intensely bright.
The beams creating the neuro-web above Orion’s exam room helmet flutter slightly, disconnect from each other, and form different connections. Holograms that correspond with the view of the city around him on the 180-degree display also flutter. The buildings seem to reorder.
“One step can offer you a way to help yourself, and everyone else,” Burroughs whispers to him.
“I want out,” Orion replies.
“You wanted to know how to save yourself.” Burroughs steps around in front of him. “You have to follow me,” he says while circling Orion. “Unravel your mind and make it new. Fear is what you’re afraid of, and fear is the key. A shadowy paradox that keeps us all locked away from each other.” He seductively weaves his words into Orion’s mind. “Find the thread, pinch the tips, and pull it.”
Memories from Orion’s mind move in fragments all over the room. Burroughs studies them like close circuit cameras into Orion’s mind. “Walk me back. Show me the night of your arrest.”
The room transforms, Orion jogging the hallways of his home building.
“Why are you showing me this?” Orion demands.
“This is your memory,” Burroughs casually states. “You’re showing it to me. They show me the fears at the heart of what controls you.”
Helmet beams flash, and the hallways dissolve and disappear.
Orion orders, “Something happened. What did you take?”
“There must have been police.” Burroughs leads him with the statement, and the room reflects Orion’s memory approaching his arrest. Police lights reflect off city buildings as Orion runs down a street.
Orion digs his thumbnail into his forefinger, his hand shakes as he strains to cause pain. The helmet beams flutter, and the room images freeze a little.
Burroughs pauses, the unexpected flutter in the image surprised him. He reconfigures the thousands of beams to concentrate them into five thicker beams, still boring through Orion’s helmet and into his brain, then into his memory. The images fade, and the room turns pale blue.
Burroughs doesn’t miss a beat before continuing. “You never broke the law before. That must have been scary. Walk me back to what planted that seed in your mind.”
“No!” shouts Orion. He knows where that proposal leads. “Leave that alone! I don’t want to go there.” He struggles against his restraints. He’s anchored. He can’t escape this moment but knows he can’t go any farther.
The video in front of him warps into the maglev train, racing through the city. A whispering voice echoes through the room. “Can you hear it?” A fractal hologram of Fray appears. He’s a poor memory and without detail. But his face is crystal clear.
Orion closes his eyes, diving into the solitude of his own mind. Fighting to insolate himself against the world that Burroughs is unraveling in front of them. The room images fade as Orion disenga
ges.
Burroughs reconfigures the beams again into three thicker beams. He smiles as the view inside maglev clarifies with Orion’s memory. Then the memory Orion wants to keep hidden more than any appears on the screen: Iris.
Her beautiful green eyes fill the entire wall, larger than life. The power of those emerald eyes reflects the prominence, and Burroughs knows it. A hologram image appears in conjunction with the eyes. Iris’s hand uncovers the purple flower.
“Interesting flower,” the doctor says. A devious grin spreads across his face as he narrows in on Iris. Burroughs works the controls, and the image of Iris fades but reforms immediately.
Orion’s face scrunches into intense concentration. He digs his thumbnail into his forefinger until blood flows. He must remember this. He must remember Iris.
Burroughs quickly works the controls and concentrates the three remaining beams into one intensely thick stream that resembles the Hivebeam itself. The irresistible force.
Iris and the flower begin to shrink and recede into the video wall. Orion clenches his teeth, resisting. Then he realizes he’s going the wrong direction. ‘Clear,’ his conversation with GL pops into his mind. The little window.
‘Clear.’
Burroughs gleefully watches as Orion’s expression releases its tension, his muscles relax and he sinks into the padding on the chair. His balled fists open and he extends his fingers slowly, as if feeling the weight of the air. Then without warning, the thick glowing beam flutters. The images freeze. Orion finally exhales, and a pulse of energy surges from him, through the beam, and into the ceiling where it’s connected.
The entire room powers down and goes dark. All the lights gone, the instrument panels terminate. Then suddenly the current surges again, and the building powers back on.
Burroughs stumbles back, staring at Orion in disbelief. What he witnessed is more than a breakthrough, it is a monumental shift in everything. Something so powerful that Burroughs isn't sure what to do. The uncertainty of not knowing the answer to what's going to come next literally throws him off balance so hard that he falls against the controls. The expression on his face is a mix of fear and amazement as he beholds Orion remaining perfectly calm in the chair. But his fingers outstretched as if connected to some invisible source.