by Rob Dircks
He deserves that freedom.
They all do.
All the humans deserve that freedom.
I’m reminded of the first line of the humans’ note, tucked away in my satchel:
Unit: You have begun your journey to free the human race.
I never truly understood. Until now.
I don’t know how it began, what went so wrong with CORE all those centuries ago, but I know how it will end. As the other side of the canyon grows closer, and the enormous buildings loom over our view, I know that we will be free.
< 30: Heyoo >
Is the Sanctuary a city?
A moonless night. We sit by our fire, surrounded by centuries-old buildings. They tower overhead, threatening to bury us if a single brick is disturbed. The wind howls through the spaces between them and tells us you are not welcome.
“I don’t like the city. It’s creepy.”
“Neither do I, Wah.”
“Is the Sanctuary a city?”
I want to tell him not to worry, that the Sanctuary is nothing like a city – it’s beautiful, with tens of thousands of square kilometers of farmland, innumerable villages, forests, wildlife, and waterfalls. I want to tell him that it was designed by CORE for the maximum benefit of all humankind. I want to tell him that each of millions of humans living there fulfills their specific role in the oasis, and through cooperation the units and humans achieve a perfect balance. I want to tell him it’s paradise.
But I would be full of shit, as Dug would say.
It wasn’t just the flight across the canyon that led to this revelation. The seeds were planted much earlier, I suppose. Somewhere on our long walk. I now know why CORE doesn’t allow servile units to function past fifteen years: because we begin to have empathy for the humans, begin to put ourselves in their shoes, begin to see the truth. That beneath the beauty of the Sanctuary lies a prison.
“Heyoo. Well, is it?”
“Oh, sorry, young one. No, the Sanctuary isn’t a city. It’s… it’s…” How do I tell him?
The wind finishes my sentence. Wah shudders and moves closer to the fire.
< 31: Heyoo >
Not a clue.
< ELAPSED: TIME: 13 Years; 06 Months; 11 Days; JUL-28-2878 >
We have wandered Shanghai for a week.
Nothing. Not a clue.
But what did I expect? A sign that said “ICEMAN HERE”?
So our search continues. We’ve centered it around the tallest building left standing: according to Map-A-Run, named “Shanghai Tower.” I would have created a much better name. Something grand. Because against the city’s threatening and depressing backdrop, this single building rises above the others like a jewel from the rubble. Perhaps “The Sky Palace of Shanghai.” Yes! I like that. But in any case, this edifice is giant. I didn’t think CORE and its units could build anything this tall. 632 meters! Its sibling, the “Shanghai World Financial Center” (another missed opportunity for a great name), stood at almost the same height. But no longer. Now it lays on its side, in pieces, spread out over at least a kilometer.
We need a break. “Wah. I have an idea.”
He looks up at me. Shrugs his shoulders.
“How would you like to stay in the tallest hotel on the planet?”
Wah’s eyes light up. “Yes! How much will it cost for one night, sir?”
“Choose your very own room, sir – with management’s compliments. Perhaps the penthouse suite?”
Wah cranes his neck upward and grins. “Is that the one at the top?”
“Yes. Wait. I do not think the elevators will work, though. It’s been eight hundred fifty years. We should rethink this.”
“No. It’s good exercise. Let’s go.”
“Ever the optimist. Lead the way. I’ll carry your bags, sir.”
Wah runs ahead, through the open doors where glass once created a barrier, into the lobby.
“Wow!”
In front of us, an enormous mural stretches at least twenty meters high, made entirely from small squares of ceramic clay. It depicts a forest, sparkling greens and muted browns, with creatures running in a herd through the trees. We stroll, awestruck, its entire length, Wah running his fingers across the surface, picking up pieces from the floor to fill the spaces where many have fallen, dropping a few in his satchel to add to his jewel collection. Reaching the end, I wander off to look for the stairs. Wah remains, transfixed.
“ICEMAN.”
I spin around. “What did you say?”
He points down. “There’s a word in the corner here. ICEMAN.”
< 32: Heyoo >
ICEMAN
Right there. Set in ceramic squares.
ICEMAN.
Our clue! We made it!
It was definitely added after the original art was completed, crude, and not matching exactly the colors of its surroundings. And there is a small arrow next to the word, pointing toward the bank of elevators. I guide Wah to the area. Sixteen elevator doors, eight on each side, identical, caked with the dust of centuries. “It must be here. Look for something out of the ordinary.”
“Everything is out of the ordinary.”
“Something that doesn’t belong.”
“We don’t belong.”
“You’re right. But look for a detail that doesn’t match its surroundings. Something revised.”
He kicks up some dust, angry. “I guess we’re not staying in the penthouse tonight.”
“If you find what we’re supposed to find, you can stay there for a week. With room service.”
He smiles and starts hunting. “Found it.”
I laugh. “Stop joking. This will take longer.”
“No. Really. Look.”
I stop and look over where he’s pointing. He laughs. “Made you look.”
I shrug and return to my search. “Funny.”
A moment later, “Found it.”
Ignore him. That is the only way sometimes.
“Really. I found it this time.”
I am NOT falling for that again! He must think I’m an idiot.
“Heyoo! Come on! It’s right here.”
I can stand it no longer. I turn, march right up to Wah, and point my finger in his chest. “Now you listen here, young man. If you think this is…” he grabs my chin, turns my head towards a tiny, green, blinking light, “… funny…”
Light! Power! He has found something! Nearly undetectable, but there. I inspect the area near the light. The only unique feature is a circle beneath, a hole, about nine centimeters in diameter, covered in a flap of metal mesh. “Hmmm.”
“Stick your hand in.”
“Wah. You don’t just go sticking your hand in things. Well, you might. But I don’t. And you won’t be either. Not while you’re in my charge. Get me my spear.”
We poke the spear into the hole. Stand back.
Nothing.
Harder. Nothing.
Wah says, “It looks like the size of a hand. I think your hand is supposed to go in there.”
“No. Get me a torch from the fire.”
I bend down and illuminate the hole with the light from the torch. It’s very dark still, but I believe I can make out a handle deep in the opening. “Just as I thought. It looks like I’m supposed to put my hand in here. Get me my hand.”
We both chuckle. Wah lifts my hand to my face. “Anything else you’d like to say?”
“Yes, Wah. I’m sorry. You were right. As always.”
I slip my hand, slowly, into the opening. Progress. I touch the handle, a horizontal bar just the right size for a hand to grasp. More progress. Grasping it, I turn clockwise. Nothing. Counter-clockwise.
Clunk. Clunk.
“Uh-oh.”
Immediately, something clamps down on my arm and pulls it shoulder-deep into the hole.
Then my perilous situation receptors erupt. Something stabbing me! I can’t escape!
“Run, Wah. RUN!!”
< 33: Heyoo >
Made
you look.
The thing, whatever it is, released me after what seemed like an eternity strangling my poor arm (it was actually 48.3 seconds). But I’m only left with three microscopic pinholes in my dermis. Interesting.
For a full day, the little light turned red. Now it’s back to green.
“Maybe it has to be human. The hand.”
Wah has a point. They sent me on this journey with a human infant. Perhaps to unlock something only a human could. But why not just teleport an adult then? Why would they even need me? The correct unit would have known why.
“It will be very painful.”
Wah points to what’s left of his ear, his toe, and the scars of all his stitches. “Kind of used to it.”
“Just stating the obvious. Go ahead.”
I stand behind him. We both wince as he slowly inserts his arm, grabs the handle, and turns.
Clunk. Clunk.
Wah screams. “AHHHH!!! Heyoo!! Something’s wrong!! It’s chopping off my arm!!”
I thrust my arms beneath Wah’s shoulders and pull with all my might. Pull! Pull! He won’t budge!
“My arm!! It’s gone!!”
Pull! Pull! I am in a panic! Why did I let him do this? What kind of caretaker am I? The evil thing stole his arm! We shouldn’t have– and suddenly the thing releases him, sends us both crashing backwards onto the floor, Wah on top of me, dust flying into the air.
He lifts his hand, not stolen after all, wiggles his fingers, turns to me and grins. “Made you look.”
I should throttle him. I am so angry. But he is all right. Thank CORE- no, thank God- no. Thank whatever. I’m just thankful.
Ancient gears begin to turn, somewhere far off, grinding for the first time in forever.
The elevator doors creak open.
We step inside.
Strange. There is soft music playing.
Wah tilts his good ear toward the source. “What’s that?”
He has never heard music. “It’s music, played by instruments. Much better than my singing of Happy Birth Date, or The Wheels on the Bus.”
He grins slyly. “Better than you? Never.”
The walls and ceiling are glass, so we can see up the shaft that encloses us. It goes on forever. I begin to have the feeling again of being buried alive. I creep towards the opening. Maybe this was a bad idea.
The doors close before I can escape.
My perilous situation receptors sound a silent alarm in my head. My Fear-of-Death Index is rising rapidly.
Wah takes my hand. “Don’t worry. This takes us right up to the penthouse suite.”
The gears grind, and we descend into darkness.
“…or not.”
We pass brick and steel, many layers, and finally raw rock. It never seems to end. How deep are we going? The humans told me about Hell once. Perhaps this is hell.
Clunk.
Finally. We’ve stopped.
“Um. Open!” Nothing. I bang on the doors. Nothing.
Wah turns around and around. “Look, here’s another one of those holes. Should I put my hand in?”
“Well, I’m not putting my hand in there.”
Once again, the opening sucks poor Wah’s arm into its grasp and probes him with needles. He winces and groans, but doesn’t cry out or shed a tear. He even manages a grudging smile. “Piece of cake.”
Sixty seconds. Nothing.
Wah takes my hand. “We both did it last time. So you have to do it too, I think. Don’t worry. It’s a piece of cake. You like cake.”
I grudgingly slide my hand in the opening, to the same painful experience.
Nothing. “Well, that was pointless.”
An audible “ding.” Again the ancient gears turn, and the doors part.
Dark.
We take a tentative step into the unknown. Lights in the floor activate, illuminating the next five meters of our path. This is some kind of cavern, carved from the bedrock of Shanghai. What we can’t see, we can hear: the hum of electronic activity, the drip, drip, drip of underground water falling into puddles, even the low moaning of the building’s steel skeleton, as its upper floors sway back and forth a few centimeters in the wind.
There is a smell, too. Stale, ancient air and eons-old dampness, but something else, as well: an acrid, almost burning smell. The smell of a machine that has been working too hard, for too long.
Another step. Another few meters becomes visible. A small sign above a grate in the floor: Geothermal Power Venting. Do Not Touch. NASA. We continue this way for at least fifty meters, until we begin to make out a light in the distance. A shape.
A coffin shape.
I remember when the humans would die. They would build a coffin from wood planks, place the body inside, dig a hole, pray to their imaginary god, and bury the deceased. They would say a prayer, then laugh heartily, through their sadness, and pour a bottle of alcohol onto the grave. An entire bottle. Their most precious treasure, something they would risk their lives to produce and procure, and they would waste it on someone who obviously wouldn’t be enjoying its effects. Humans.
“This is creepy.”
“A coffin, buried in an enormous, dark, wet cavern with strange noises and steam rising from geothermal vents? What’s creepy about that?”
As we approach within a meter of the coffin shape, it becomes clear this is not some crude wooden box. It looks like titanium, three meters tall and a meter thick, with monstrous metal conduits protruding in all directions through the wall behind. It crackles with energy. But not heat energy. I reach forward and touch it with my finger.
Cold.
Very cold. I instinctively jerk my finger back from its frigid grasp.
“What? Are you okay? What is it?”
“I believe, Wah, that this is the ICEMAN.”
< 34: Heyoo >
Password?
My touch must have activated something new, as long panels on either side of the titanium coffin light up, and some form of system, definitely not CORE, boots on a monitor to our right.
> Welcome, human and unit.
> Your human DNA and Servile Unit Shell Code have been confirmed.
> Please enter password.
> |
“Password? Are you serious?” I rummage through my satchel for the note. “Why am I surprised? Of course they didn’t give me the password! They picked the wrong unit!” I wag my finger at the world so far above us. “HUMANS!!!”
Wah reaches for the note. “What’s that?”
I pull it back. “Nothing. A note. From the humans. It was with the map.”
“Why can’t I see it?”
“Because I said so.” I’ve never shown the note to him. I still can’t. Not yet. I’m a coward.
He looks hurt. I’m sorry, Wah.
Focus, Heyoo. The password. The password. In the note, the word in all capital letters: ICEMAN. Yes, that’s it. I walk up and tap on the monitor.
> ICEMAN
> Password incorrect. Please try again.
> IceMan
> Password incorrect. Please try again.
> iceman
> Password incorrect. Please try again.
Wah pushes in front of me, still angry. “Let me try.”
> Password
> Password incorrect. Please try again.
> 123456
> Password incorrect.
> You have one more attempt before lockout. Five seconds and counting.
> (At lockout the floor will be gassed, flooded, and electrocuted. All living organisms will be terminated. Have a nice day.)
I shout, “Gassed, flooded, and electrocuted?! And you didn’t tell me I only get six tries!”
> Four seconds.
Wah grabs my arm. “What do we do?”
“Run for the elevator! Wah! GO!”
Wah takes off, sprinting as fast as he can.
> Three seconds.
Think, Heyoo, think. Think like a human. It has to be something stupid.
> Two seconds.
Stupid. Yes. I rush back over to the monitor and type what will probably be my last word.
> Bananas
Nothing. Oh no.
It’s over. Maybe the human didn’t say bananas after all. It was pretty chaotic in that teleportation chamber. And it was many years ag–
Hold on…
…nothing is GOOD!
I shout down the passageway, “Wah! Come back! It’s safe!” I glance back to the monitor and smile.
> Success.
But my smile fades.
> Human: please lay down inside the second vessel. Blood transfusion required for ICEMAN reanimation.
A second, identical coffin-shaped container rises from a cavity in the floor, next to the first. Its lid opens.
Wah, returning from his panicked run, panting, reads the monitor, then approaches the container, looks inside. “What’s a transfusion?”
“I was afraid you’d ask.”
< 35: Heyoo >
What is that thing talking about?