He opened the lid of the wicker basket and saw a pair of discarded socks. Perhaps there was no washerbot in this household. He folded his clothes and placed them neatly on the laundry basket. He could always have them sterilized when he returned to his own world.
If there was no washerbot, AC suspected this world would not have sonic shower heads either. The small basin had a spigot with two knobs. He twisted them and got hot and cold water, imaginatively labelled with H and C. This would not be sufficient. He turned to the large basin and there was the shower head. As he’d suspected, it dispensed water.
He took a deep breath. He’d have to stand in that basin beneath a spray of bacteria-infested water to clean his body. What a paradox. He reminded himself how tasty the deadly lasagna had been, and consuming it had not yet brought about his demise. He had no reason to believe that this archaic method of cleansing oneself would kill him immediately.
And then he saw the smiling bubble man on the side of the pink plastic bottle. He climbed into the basin and opened the bottle. The contents smelled wonderful. He read the smiling label: “Dissolve in running water.”
He read the bottle again. The words taunted him. How was it possible for one liquid to dissolve within another? Wouldn’t they mix and dilute each other? The experiment proved too interesting to resist. AC twisted the knobs and water began spewing out of the faucet. It disappeared immediately down the drain. Of course, he’d have to plug the drain before running the experiment or both liquids would escape.
AC pulled a lever, and warm water began to pool around his bare feet. AC tipped the pink bottle under the stream, but as he’d anticipated, it merely mixed into the water. AC decided to change one of the variables in his experiment to see if he could get the pink liquid to dissolve. He opened the knobs as far as they would go. Water rushed out of the faucet, and AC dumped the contents of the entire bottle into the swirling mass.
And then it happened. The pink liquid began to transform: It didn’t dissolve so much as expand. Within minutes, AC was lying in the warm bath, bubbles covering his body up to his chin. Bacteria had never felt so good.
He heard Mrs. Clark knocking on the door.
“Angus, AC, I left some clean clothes outside of the door for you. I’m going to take a quick shower, myself.”
“Thank you, Mother,” he called through the door. Apparently this world did have washerbots. “Oh! I forgot to record my observations.”
AC pulled his head out of the bubbles and reached for the recorder he’d left on the floor beside the wicker basket. It slipped out of his soapy hands and landed with a faint sizzle amidst the bubbles. AC groaned and fished for the tiny device. He pulled it dripping out of the tub and shook it. Ruined. He tossed it into the cat’s litter box on the opposite side of the room.
The drive to the ferry terminal had been long and exhausting. Mr. Clark had barely made it on time: The Clark van was the last vehicle to drive up the ramp before the car deck was locked for the journey across the Sound.
“Good thing we didn’t take the land route,” said Mr. Clark. “Open the window back there, would you, AC? This car needs some fresh air.”
Mrs. Clark was fussing around in the glove compartment. “I know I have some wet wipes in here somewhere. I’m not prepared for this. It’s been so long since you’ve gotten carsick, Angus.”
AC grasped his hands over his stomach and looked at the floor. He was curled in a fetal position in the back seat. He had been afraid that something like this would happen. First, a foodborne illness from the lasagna. Then, a water-based microbe from the bathtub. He hoped he’d be going back to his world soon. He’d need an entire suite of implants.
Their destination was on the opposite side of the Puget Sound. Mr. Clark had explained that driving over land, though possible, was not reasonable. A trip that would require eight hours on the road could be completed in under two hours if they simply sailed across the water.
“How far are we from the hospital?” asked AC.
“Hospital? What do you need a hospital for?” Mr. Clark rooted around on the floor for his smartphone. “My GPS says we’ll be there by six. If Angus helps, we should be able to get both tents and the kitchen shelter set up before dark while you cook dinner.”
AC gagged. The last thing he could think about was another meal.
“Here are some tissues, Angus honey. They’re not as good as wet wipes, but if you tip some of my water on them, you can clean up the ... um ... mess.”
Mrs. Clark handed back a small package of tissues from her purse and a metal drinking bottle.
“More water?” groaned Angus. “That’s what got me into this predicament.”
“Wipe the seat and the window, and then we’ll go upstairs. You can clean yourself up there.”
AC wiped the seat and stepped out of the car. He had never ridden on a ferry before. Such a vast expanse of open water would surely be seething with unknown organisms and deadly diseases. Mr. and Mrs. Clark had refused to listen to reason, however. Mrs. Clark had reminded him that he was a very strong swimmer, having been on the community swim team for a number of years. Mr. Clark had ignored him entirely while whistling along to the much too loudly played overture of Mozart’s Magic Flute.
The Clarks climbed the stairs from the car deck to the passenger galley. AC had stopped in the restroom to wash his face and dab at his shirt with a wet paper towel. After several splashes of cold water, he felt much better. He walked out of the bathroom and saw Mr. and Mrs. Clark sitting on a bench beside a window. Mrs. Clark caught his eye and waved at him.
He hurried over to them and sat beside Mrs. Clark. Mr. Clark was reading something on his smartphone.
“Come, sit beside the window.”
Mrs. Clark stood and moved to the aisle side, gently bumping AC toward the window. He clenched his hands tightly in his lap while he looked at the steel gray water far below.
“Don’t you love the ferry? I remember the first time we rode together,” she said. “You were two years old, and you jumped up and down laughing for the entire trip. You loved it!”
AC felt goosebumps walk up his back, over his neck, and into his scalp. His palms began to sweat. It was so far down to the water. The bacteria-laden water. And then he felt a low rumble beneath his feet.
“What? What is that?” he gasped.
Mrs. Clark looked at him curiously. “That’s the ferry pulling away from the dock, silly. Nothing to worry about.”
When he’d thought it couldn’t get any worse, the ferry was moving. He watched the land recede into the distance and gazed at the water beneath him. Expecting to see white caps where all kinds of unspeakable microbes were seething and roiling, he was astonished to see the dark water rolling placidly past. Mrs. Clark pointed out the homes built by the water’s edge, the small beaches, and watercraft tied up to private docks.
“If we go to the front of the ferry, we might be able to see the mountains on the other side,” she suggested.
Mr. Clark’s head poked up from his phone.
“Oh, are we moving? Great. I wonder if I can get better reception outside. Come on, Angus.”
“Where?” asked AC.
They were in the middle of the Sound. They’d have to swim, and AC didn’t know how. People in his world didn’t swim.
“On the front deck. Where’d you think?” Mr. Clark stood and walked toward the bow.
“I’ll wait here,” said Mrs. Clark. “It’s a bit chilly out there for me.”
AC stood and felt around in his pockets for his recorder before remembering he’d broken it. He felt apprehensive about standing outside in the open air, no windows or walls to protect him from the wild, but what was a scientific discovery without a little risk? He took a deep breath and wobbled toward the front of the boat, until he realized there was no wobbling. Walking on this ferry felt like walking on land. Reassured, he ran to catch up with Mr. Clark.
“After you,” said Mr. Clark.
The entire front
of the passenger deck was encased with windows. In the distance, AC could see land jutting into the Sound, small islands covered in evergreens, peninsulas populated with beach cottages, and everywhere seagulls and raindrops.
A few intrepid passengers stood outside grasping the railings around the top deck, their hair and coats buffeting in the wind. What was the point of this, thought AC, especially now that his recorder had broken. He couldn’t accurately record his findings.
As he turned around to go back to Mrs. Clark, an elderly woman said, “Excuse me, young man. May we pass?”
AC stood aside and watched two white-haired women, one walking with the assistance of a cane, venture through the doors. The woman who’d spoken to him held the arm of the woman with the cane. Together, they walked to the railing and looked out. He watched them for a while. They didn’t return. They stayed out there. One of the women tilted her head into the wind and laughed. The other woman followed her example, and they stood there together, laughing. No implants, only white hair and a cane. And laughing.
AC pushed open the glass door and marched outside. A blast of cold air threatened to push him back in, but Mr. Clark was right behind him. The door blew shut and there they were, AC and Mr. Clark; no walls, no windows, only air and railings separating them from the water.
Mr. Clark held his phone over his head and turned in circles. “No reception. Maybe up at the very front,” he said.
And that is how AC found himself clinging to the railing at the bow of the ferry, head pushed into the wind, yelling with the joy and exuberance that is only possible when you face your fears and survive.
17
The Hospital
“Help!” yelled Angus. “I’m being kidnapped! Help me!”
He looked for a door handle, but there was none. The vehicle, like everything else in this world, was made of that gray stuff—polymer.
“Handle!” he cried. “Door! Window!” His abductor got into the front seat and the car began to move.
“Stop! Let me out!” Angus flailed at the driver.
“Don’t distract me again. Are you trying to cause an accident?” asked a male voice. He flashed a badge.
“Are you a police officer?” asked Angus. “Am I under arrest?”
“Suit patrol,” said the man. “Why are you out without your biohazard suit? It’s deadly outside. There are mosquitoes everywhere.”
“I was walking to the hospital,” said Angus. “I wanted to visit a friend.”
“Well, that’s where I’m taking you now. You’ll have to be examined to make sure you didn’t get infected while you were wandering around out here. Medical regulations.”
The car sped silently to the hospital where orderlies outfitted in biohazard suits came running at Angus before he’d even stepped out of the car. They threw him on to a gurney, tied down his arms and legs, and wrapped a facemask over his nose and mouth.
“I guarantee you, I’m not sick,” came the muffled voice of Angus. “Why are you tying me down?”
“A safety precaution,” said one of the orderlies as he steered the gurney through the hospital hallways at top speed. “We can’t have you rolling off and hurting yourself.”
Angus watched the gray floor ripple in their wake. They reached the end of the hall, and a wall opened into a small cell. The orderly pushed the gurney inside and the door closed around Angus. The orderly remained on the other side.
“Hey, wait! Why are you shutting me in here?” yelled Angus. He tried to sit up, but he was securely fastened by gray strips and unable to move.
“Dude, chill. They’re only going to examine you. That’s how we do it here,” said the cockroach in Angus’s pocket. Angus had forgotten all about him.
“So what do I do now? How do I get out of here so I can see Ivy?”
The cockroach skittered out of Angus’s pocket and up his chest. Angus tried not to flinch when the cockroach ran at his face. He struggled to get out of his bindings and ward off the bug, but he was unable to move his arms.
“Stop!” yelled Angus. “I know you’re Billy, but you’re in such a gross body. Please don’t come any closer.” He squeezed his eyes shut.
“Dude, that’s cold,” said Billy, stopping mere inches from Angus’s chin. “You’re totally hurting my feelings.”
Angus opened his eyes. “Sorry. I apologize.”
“Hah! I was only kidding. I’m a cockroach after all. I even gross myself out. Talk about body odor. This exoskeleton stinks. Can you smell me up there?”
“Thankfully, no. But I am sorry you’re stuck in there. If it’s my Ivy in the hospital room, we’ll get you out of that body, I promise,” said Angus.
“Thanks for the apology, Dude. AC never apologizes—not for anything. He never once admitted he made a mistake before he stuck me in that jar.”
“Tell me one thing, Billy. How do I get out of this?” Angus tugged at the gray straps.
“The nurse will let you out. But if Ivy’s in quarantine, you won’t be able to visit her. I’ll have to go alone.”
“But you’re a bug. What good is that going to do?”
“I can get to her. You can’t. All I need to do is find her. She’ll do the rest. The Ivy I know will figure a way out. Meet us back at AC’s lab.”
The wall opened and a petite woman in a white suit wearing a facemask smiled at him, or he thought she did. He couldn’t see her mouth, but her blue eyes twinkled. The cockroach skittered off the gurney and shot out the door with remarkable speed; the nurse never even noticed the flash of brown exoskeleton.
She closed the door and juggled a small cube in her hand. “It says here you’re Angus Clark, known to family and friends as AC3.0. Is that right?”
“Sure,” he said.
“Looks like you were outside without a suit. Don’t you have a suit, honey? By law, your parents have to buy you one.”
“Would you untie me?” asked Angus. “My arms and legs are starting to fall asleep.”
“Oh, certainly, honey.”
The nurse reached into her lab coat and pulled out a small glass vial. She unscrewed the top of the bottle and squeezed the rubber at the end of the pipette to extract the liquid. She held the pipette over the gray strip around Angus’s left wrist and squeezed. A drop of blue color landed on the strip and sizzled.
“What is that? Acid?” shrieked Angus trying to tug his arm away. “Is that going to burn me?”
“Oh no, silly. Look.”
The nurse pushed up her glove and dropped the blue liquid on to the back of her hand. It rolled off harmlessly. “It’s only a little dye. I think we need another few drops.”
She squeezed the pipette again to dispense more dye on to the gray strip. A crease appeared in Angus’s binding before it disintegrated. The nurse dropped dye on Angus’s other bonds. He sat up and rubbed his wrists and ankles.
“Now lie back down so you don’t fall,” advised the nurse.
“I’m perfectly fine,” said Angus. “I can walk, you know.”
“Sorry, honey. That’s against hospital policy. Technically, you’re supposed to be in restraints throughout the visit. The hospital doesn’t want to be liable for injuries you may do to yourself by falling. Too many implant lawsuits, you know,” said the nurse. “Now tell me about the biohazard suit. Do you have one?”
Angus remembered the white suits and ventilators and he’d seen hanging in the closet at AC’s house. He answered, “Yes, Ma’am.”
“Why didn’t you wear it?”
Angus used the excuse that had served him so well in the past. “I forgot.”
The nurse shook her head and tapped notes into the cube. “Just like my son.” She smiled at him. “You’re about his age, too. Same age as those poor kids who got sick. They’re all upstairs at this hospital, you know—in a special ward.” Her blue eyes sparkled.
“One of them woke up today. The doctors are running tests on her right now so they can cure the other children. We have the best doctors in the state.
They updated my feet. Look.”
Angus peered over the gurney and saw instead of feet and ankles stuck into shoes, metallic cylinders attached to round rubber flanges. They gripped the floor like toilet plungers.
“I can stand for twelve hours straight without pain, and my feet don’t slip on wet surfaces,” she said proudly.
Cyborg adults, thought Angus. Weirdest world he’d been to yet.
“Now, hold still,” said the nurse. She placed the cube against Angus’s temple. She pursed her lips in concentration and then said, “Normal temperature.”
The cube glowed and she pointed it first into his left eye and then into his right. She made him say “Ahhh” and examined his throat, and then poked and prodded his abdomen, his chest, his back, and each of his knees with the cube.
“What is that?” asked Angus.
“My recorder? Haven’t you seen one of these? Don’t you use these to upload your assignments to the school infosphere? No? Well, all my observations are saved in here. This cube links with the central hospital infosphere.”
“Cool,” said Angus. “Wireless computing in the cloud?”
“Oh, honey. That’s such ancient technology,” said the nurse. “You must read a lot of history books.” The cube beeped, and the nurse looked at it. “According to the infosphere analysis, you’re perfectly fine. And your parents are here. You can go home.”
“How did they know I was here?” asked Angus.
“Your parents were informed of your whereabouts the moment the suit patrol officer scanned you on the street. That’s the man who brought you here: He patrols the streets enforcing the biohazard suit law. Now listen, you have one warning. Next time you neglect to wear your suit outdoors, your parents will have to pay a hefty fine.”
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