“This isn’t what we were meant to do,” he whispered as he sat up. He watched the others flowing out of the sleeping box and into the dim light outside.
It was raining outside right now, and overcast.
The dream had a cloudy sky. It had been raining too. Had that been the ocean?
Standing up, he realized his insides felt sore. Absently his hand moved to his abdomen. Something had damaged him. He wondered if it was permanent.
Following the group, he stepped out towards the nutrition station and was given his daily ration. He peeked that the tooth was still there before slipping the dark cube of organic matter inside himself. Walking by he glared into the open end of the factory. The Master lay in his station with his eyes closed, connections to the equipment attached to his upper body.
Peeling his angry eyes away Seven-Eight gave his head a shake. Why was he in such a bad mood? Giving the Master such a glare would get him killed if he had been seen.
“How was your sleep?” Three-One said, pulling a shovel from the rack.
“Troubled…” Seven-Eight stated angrily, “What did you put in me?”
“For the record, you put it in yourself,” the older unit stated.
Seven-Eight looked at him, “You told me to. I trusted you. You almost got me killed.”
He turned away from the old unit and began walking to the far end of the field.
“What did you see?” Three-One whispered.
Seven-Eight turned, “A defective unit that tried to poison me.” His finger pointed accusatorily.
“Wait…” Three-One hustled to catch up and walk next to him.
“Go away. You are ruining things. Everything was simple before I got mixed up with your strange ideas.”
“But you saw something. Something from long before you were born.”
“Yes I did, and it frightened me. I can't get it out of my head.” Seven-Eight’s voice dropped to a dark whisper.
“I promise you; that is the last time you will dream. That’s all I promised. Remember that.”
“Remember… Remember us…”
“What?”
“That’s what the voice said… there’s more. I can almost remember it. It's just almost in my grasp.”
Three-One veered away, “Keep trying.”
Shaking his head Seven-Eight angrily shuffled on. He knew he would forgive his friend in time, but the fact that he had almost gotten killed still weighed on him. Driving the spear in he continued to pull up the little plants that were trying to grow. The water was washing away the ashes. The ashes that were hiding life.
He looked down, and the pile of ashes from the day before had used to covered the yellow flower were melting away in muddy rivers. Nothing he did was going to matter.
Thrusting the spear downwards, Seven-Eight cored the roots out of the plant and tossed them aside.
The rain was not helping his mood.
“Would you like some water?” came a friendly but hesitant voice.
She always snuck up on him. Turning his body to face her, he remembered how he was acting yesterday, “No. I’m fine.” He turned away.
“I doubt that. What Three-One gave you wasn’t fair.” Her gentle hand touched his back, and she walked around to his front, “The remembering isn’t for everyone. It’s not natural to peek into the memories of your parent.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, leaning on the spear.
She scrunched her face up, “I don’t understand it completely, but Three-One brought me the gray things one day. Told me that it would let me see things in my dreams. I knew he was trouble, but I took it anyhow. I'm not sure if I made the right choice, but it was my own.”
“What did you remember?”
“It was more understanding than a particular memory… Three-One says it is an old memory. One that is part of almost everyone. He has seen it too. The spheres, in our heads. They split when we get too old. We die.”
“I know that. I’m not a new unit.”
“I wasn't patronizing,” her hand touched his chest, “I remember why. I know why the Master uses us. Where more of us come from.”
“Where?” Seven-Eight leaned forward.
“The pieces that remain from the split are seeds. They are seeds for us. Some of the memories remain inside, and they are stored, locked away from us because they are from someone older. Some of the memories stay in the same piece and are carried again and again through person after person. That’s why we are born unique. It explains why some of us are good at some things, and others are not so good at them. It's why we dream. They are pieces of our family. Our lineage. We were never meant to see those things.”
A shadow passed over them, as a guard stood above the couple. Seven-Eight’s eyes turned upward to the towering black sentinel, “Move along. Back to work.” It said.
She smiled at him, patting him on the chest, “I will talk to you later tonight.”
He smiled at her and then turned to look up at the guard. It sauntered off, satisfied with disrupting an interaction between units.
Seven-Eight considered what she had said. Perhaps it was a memory of a long-dead family member. Someone who had served a more benevolent Master.
He stepped a few more paces and continued digging the life out from the wet ash.
Seven-Eight placed the tool back in the rack. Most of the rain had stopped, and his mood had improved through doing something useful. He had almost forgotten about the entire poisoning incident when Three-One jogged up next to him, “So, how was your day?”
“Quiet and uneventful,” Seven-Eight stated.
“Sounds boring,” Three-One retorted.
They walked inside the sleeping box and packed in. Seven-Eight noticed that there were many new replacement units. They were being guided by the others to take up space on the floor or against the wall. The new units didn’t know anything other than their designations they were barely able to communicate and eat.
“I heard you talked to your new mate today?”
“She is not my mate. I am a solo unit. The Master doesn’t allow partners. It confuses us.”
“Well, here she comes. Doesn’t she usually sleep in the other sleeping box?”
Seven-Eight’s insides spun. Why was she here? Were the two of them conspiring together to destroy his simple life? He looked around trying to find a way out of having her sleep next to him.
“Hello Spear,” she said, “Can I sleep next to you?”
Seven-Eight wondered if it would crush her if he told her that he wanted to be left alone, but in the end nodded and shuffled over to give her room.
She sat down and smiled at him, snuggling closer. Her hand rested on his chest again, and soon she was fast asleep. Seven-Eight looked at Three-One and glared.
Three-One Rolled his eyes and laughed quietly.
Still not tired Seven-Eight watched the others continue to pile into the room. There was little to no space left, and Seven-Eight tried to count the new additions. There were ten, including the apprentice he had been teaching a few days ago.
The Water Carrier shifted in closer.
He wondered if she was right. If they were all just recycled pieces of material from other units that meant then that pieces of Five-Nine had been used to make the new units. The new units around them were Five-Nine’s children.
Seven-Eight recalled the bitter, violent end she had gone through and wondered if any of these would remember that or dream of it. He hoped that Three-One wouldn’t put them through it. Seven-Eight was lucky enough to remember something good. Something worth all of that confusion and risk. If all of this was true, that meant that he carried with him a unique secret. A place where a new kind Master lived. Perhaps someplace where they all could live.
Seven-Eight looked down at the Water Carrier nestled in his arm. Her discipline collar shifted as she rolled her head. The scarred metal on her neck from the device showed how long it had been on her. Dark soot from past electrical arcing colored he
r neck.
No. There was no escape. It was better to live in the moment and take solace in the little joys. He smiled and held her close.
Chapter 9
“The factory must move to the east, to the top of the hill,” the Master pointed. His crooked finger was pointing down the small valley they had scoured clean of plant life. Only stones and ash remained amid the charcoal husks.
Seven-Eight shrugged, and took hold of the giant cables which the morning crew had laid out that morning. The move not the first time they had dragged the factory from one location to another. There had been at least five other moves while he had been alive, but this one was the only one where they had to drag the large, black cube up a hill.
Looking around, he realized why there had been a significant number of newly born units released to begin work over the last week.
“More hands for pulling the Master’s home,” Seven-Eight muttered.
Picking up the cable, Seven-Eight tightened his grip and helped the others bring up the tension.
“Begin!” came the command, and fifty units pulled as one. Legs drove into the packed earth, and the box ground its way slowly up the hill. Painfull grunting and groaning from the masses heralded the rise towards the crest. Over the better part of an hour, the box slid across the ash-covered ground.
Eventually, as the group stepped over the hill and started their descent, came the command, “Stop!”
Seven-Eight turned back and looked up the hill. The Master hovered in front of the doorway viewing the valley below. Seven-Eight wondered if he tugged just a little more, or incited the crowd to do so, would the box come crashing down. He imagined it tumbling, rolling as much as a cube could do.
Tossing his cable to the ground he snarled.
“Take it easy there; The Master's going to notice you if you keep that attitude up. It would be a worse day for all of us,” Three-One said. The older unit was bent at the waist exhausted, resting hands on ailing knees, and when he stood, the sound of grinding metal screeched from a damaged hip socket.
Seven-Eight looked at his friend. They hadn’t talked much since he poisoned him a few weeks ago. There had not been much to discuss. The old unit had gotten the answer he wanted.
“It looks like you're the one who needs to take it easy. That hip doesn’t sound right,” Seven-Eight replied. The anger bled out, replaced by kindness again.
“It's ruined. I’ve probably got another week or so before the guard's notice and recycle me. The joint is worn out. Too much heavy weight.”
“You could always make a run for it,” Seven-Eight whispered.
“I have a better plan,” Three-One said looking his friend in the eye.
“What’s that?”
“I’m just tired,” Three-One said weakly. He stood taller as he spoke and glared at the factory, “I can't run for it but I can't continue working like this.”
“That’s ridiculous. Stop talking like that,” Seven-Eight said, turning his friend and walking him away. The hip groaned with each step as they made some distance between them and the others.
“It’s not. Think about it. If I die, then I am free. Everyone gets recycled. I can be a part of the family. Be a piece of the others.”
“You can’t just quit. There are too many others depending on you. Losing you would crush them. Besides, this it isn’t the best life, but we get fed every day, and we have a reason to get up every morning. What if you do get recycled? What will happen? You won’t be able to experience any of the little joys.”
“Can you imagine?” he laughed, “What would happen if I didn’t have to scrape the green from the ground? What would you do without me?” Three-One began walking away.
“What do you mean?”Seven-Eight walked after him.
“Did I tell you what I remembered when I digested the gray? Did I ever tell you?”
“No…,” Seven-Eight said. He was taken aback by his friend's change in demeanor.
“I saw my lineage making pottery, and painting.”
“What?”
“Painting, drawing. Being creative. Even written language,” the bot threw his hands up and charged away in frustration.
Seven-Eight ran after him, checking over his shoulder for the ever watchful guards, “That’s forbidden. There is no writing. No learning. You’re going to get recycled for talking about this.”
“Maybe someone will get my attitude then,” he stopped, “Don't you get it? We live on as memories in others. Maybe we don’t die.”
“You have to stop talking like this. Lower your voice.”
Three-One stood silently, looking at the valley below.
Seven-Eight stood next to him, trying to decide what to say next.
“Do you see it?”
“What?”
“The gray blocks. They use to be homes. Places where the originals made things.”
“What?” Seven-Eight turned looking into the foliage below. Much of the bottom of the green carpet of the valley waved in the gentle breeze. The Master's fire would soon burn it out revealing the stones and relics underneath.
“They use to live here. Everywhere. You can see it if you look close enough. The originals had laid down wide trails, enough for transport machines to roll on. We have walked on those paths to get deep into the forests. We have all seen the graystone they used to build their cities. I have seen it up here!” Three-One tapped a temple with his fingers. His face conveyed sadness.
“Have you been using the gray mush again?”
“Yes," Three-One lowered his gaze to the ground.
“Stop. Please. It’s messing with your head. Making you dangerous,”
“Only to myself,” Three-One’s voice dropped as he looked at his hands.
“We use to wear an outer layer. It let us feel the world. Like our faces. I think we wore it all over our bodies.”
“Stop!” Seven-Eight grabbed his friend and shook him.
Three-One just looked up defeated, “They are going to come for me. What have I done to deserve recycling? I have a bad leg. They are going to notice soon.”
“We can get oil. Something to take the noise out. We can fix you,” Seven-Eight pleaded.
“With what? The factory? The Master holds all of the tools. He decides who lives or dies. Look at us. We wear these collars so he can control us. Abuse us.”
Three-One pushed his friend’s hands away and stormed down the hill a few steps towards the green. Seven-Eight watched him go, wondering if he would make a break for it into the trees.
“Is he okay?” the Water Carrier asked.
“He is fine. Just upset,” Seven-Eight stated, turning to his new friend.
She smiled at him and touched his arm, “Do you want some water?”
“Yes, that would be nice.” He opened his abdomen, and she poured some in from the cup.
“Can I sleep next to you tonight?”
He nodded and her impossible smile widened before she waved goodbye and searched for another unit to provide water.
Seven-Eight wondered how things had gotten so complicated. All he ever cared about was just digging and completing the tasks assigned by the Master. At this point, he was more worried more about everyone else.
Chapter 10
Seven-Eight cored another small plant with his spear at the base of a burned out tree. Pulling the metal pipe from the ground, he noticed the plant was more tenacious than usual. Shaking the of the long metal rod, he attempted to dislodge the matter but resorted to pulling it out with his fingers.
Taking advantage of the pause, he looked around. It had been a week since they last moved the factory and two weeks since his best friend had poisoned him. Almost everything had gone back to normal.
The others were working diligently, with heads down despite the warmth of the day. He looked up at the sun; it felt hot on his face. The gentle breeze rose as he looked around at the others again. He could see the water bringer coming to visit. She had been visiting far too often lately, but
he was happy for the affection.
Her face, still torn, continued to smile regardless of the damage. Seven-Eight always concentrated on the opposite corner of her soft mouth. He even had noticed lately that her eyes seemed to smile more than her lips. As he stood, leaning on his spear he watched her face turn from joy to horror. A shadow passed over him, and he turned just in time to watch the charred tree he was standing next to come crashing down. The pressure slammed him into the ground; his face felt like it was compressing more and more.
His free hand scraped for purchase on the dry charcoal of the wood, carving black furrows as he attempted to gain leverage.
“Spear!” she yelled to him. A hand touched his.
“Help!,” he called out, “It hurts!”
He heard her stand, and call out for help, her voice shaky and full of terror.
So this is how it ends, he thought to himself. This is not how he wanted to die!
“We're here. Spear, can you hear us?” came Three-One’s voice muffled through the wood. His unseen hands patted Seven-Eight’s.
There were some more quiet voices and shuffling feet kicked ash over the last bit of light. They were burying him. Just like he had done for 549. He flailed. He didn’t want to be trapped when the Master came to activate the discipline collar. Growling like a beast, he scraped and pressed with his free arm. The pressure let up from his face, and a multitude of hands pulled on him, dragging him from a crushing death. The log thundered into the depression he had made.
Three-One and the Water Carrier nervously laughed as they realized that their friend was alive.
Seven-Eight stood shakily, “That was close.”
Three-One handed him his spear. It had a slight bend in it.
“It looks like that saved your life. Are you hurt?” the Water Carrier asked.
“I think I am fine,” Seven-Eight’s hand came up to feel his head, and it collided with his face. Looking down he could see that his arm was bent.
Spear's Journey Page 4