Program Erin

by Alex Fall

  "What are you doing?" I asked.

  We stared at each other for a second, then she turned around and ran away. She never said anything. That girl won't last long. Not on her own anyway. After disappearing, I examined the area she was standing in. The rummaging noises were coming from her searching through mine and Sharon's food pack. With some exertion, I lugged the pack back to my room, unconcerned with the girl that was searching through it.

  Sharon was stirring, but not awake. I began to prepare some pain killer before that happened. I couldn't find anything like a medicine pump in this place, so I'd have to do it manually. The thought of moving around was a downer. I want to lie in bed myself, after taking a shower and have a bowl of lemons waiting for me. Too bad this is reality...

  The girl was getting very restless. Before I settled down, I gave her a shot to kill the pain, then gave myself a little as well. Now I can rest...

  Imaginary sounds of screaming, shouting, and destruction kept tickling at my ears. I felt like I kept reliving the feel of melting through someone's flesh or breaking someone's bone. Violence pervaded my thoughts, disabling my ability to sleep. The nightmares were coming back.

  Upon sitting up, the noises stopped. I checked Sharon, who was still not awake. I need to sleep too. My stock of sedatives seemed to be nearing a low point, but I went ahead and took some. Minutes later, I was unconscious.

  "Back so soon?"

  I sat up in a hammock that was tied between two trees in Ilavoan. Fake Arty was munching on some cheeses while sitting on a blanket nearby. I shrugged and laid back down. Soon the soft musical tones of classical music permeated the air. We sat in silence for a bit, soaking in the weather, sounds, and smells.

  "Do you know why you have nightmares?" He asked out of the blue.

  "Traumatic flashes. You should know that as a figment."

  "Well yes, but I mean do you know what causes them to get worse?"

  "Can't I just enjoy some quiet in my dreams for once?"

  "Violence..."

  I opened my eyes just enough to see him standing over me with crossed arms, and no smile. He was serious for once.

  "Among other things," he added.

  "What does that even mean?" I asked listlessly.

  "You can figure it out. You're smart."

  "Bad things cause nightmares?"

  "YOU cause your own nightmares."

  I sat up, glaring into his unflinching eyes, and growled, "Is there a problem you're trying to discuss?"

  "I know this will be hard to hear but...you've got to get your violent temperament under control."

  I believe Fake Arty was expecting me to explode on him, but I remained still and glared at him. I felt my anger rise. "You want me to be less violent? And how the-"

  "Don't cuss."

  "-is that going to work? Am I supposed to just let the Benevolents have me? Am I supposed to bake cakes and give flowers to fix the world? Explain this to me because I don't see any other way!"

  It almost seemed as if Fake Arty was destined to say, 'That's because you're a program.' I could feel him wanting to say it, the look on his face suggested he was about to say it, and my anger was already rising as if he did say it. Yet... He never said anything. Fake Arty simply sighed and looked away.

  "I've got an idea. This may sound really strange, but will you hear me out at least?" He calmly replied after some silent time.

  I crossed my arms and stared him, offering no reply.

  "May I teach you how to play the cello?"

  "...what?"

  "I've noticed you seem to like the music that has the most stringed instrument sounds. I don't know if that's because you find it relaxing or not, but I thought-"

  "What's a cello?"

  Fake Arty began to say something but stopped upon hearing my question.

  "Wait, did you say instrument? I'm not learning an instrument. How can you even teach me if I don't know it to begin with? This is stupid."

  "Now now, all I asked is for you to hear me out." He looked around and approached the nearest tree, reached into a hole that was split into its trunk, and pulled out a case of some kind. He then returned to my hammock, set the case down and opened it, procuring some polished, specially designed, wooden thing with strings running down the length of it. It had a small peg on the bottom to stand up on, and a separate piece that looked like a rod holding tight some off white fibers.

  "What is that? How did you know that was there?" I asked.

  "Erin, it's a dream. Does anything in a dream need explanation?"

  Again, I stared with no reply.

  "And THIS is a cello!"

  He held the rod with the off white fibers out towards me. I stared at it and then at my figment to see how serious he was about this.

  "What do you expect me to do with this?" I asked.

  "To play a cello! That's called the bow, you use it to play the strings."

  "Oh no, I am NOT playing anything!"

  "Erin, please don't be like this. You're going to wake up soon, and then I won't be able to show this."

  "Fine by me, I'll be away from your absurdities."

  "Erin, please?" Fake Arty stepped into my view with an exaggerated sad face.

  "Why?"

  "I figured it would help distract you from stuff. I think you're really suited for it. A Bass is too deep to match your feisty personality, but the violin and viola are too high pitched to match your darker overtones. So, cello it is!...right?"

  I continued to stare at him in marginal annoyance, but he was using his demeanor to calm me down again. He didn't wait for my answer to slip the bow into my hand.

  With a sigh, I replied, "You know you're basically speaking a foreign language when you talk about instruments."

  "That's why I'm here to teach you! Scoot over," he said excitedly with a poke to my stomach.

  "Don't do that again..."

  He showed me where to hold my hands, how to sit, how to hold the bow. He had me touch the bow to the strings and glide it across them. A scratchy note sounded off. In a way, I was vastly surprised at how easy it was to make noise with this thing.

  "Push down a tad more."

  A pure note sounded off.

  "Go back and forth on that string."

  I moved the bow back and forth, listening as the sounds from my unskilled hands played out.

  "This is dumb," I said suddenly.

  "No no no! You're doing really good, don't give up so easily."

  The small remainder of my dream was spent being taught the cello.

  This dream is whack…

  She's still not awake. Sharon is still not awake. How?

  I rose from my bed, still groggy, pained, and cold. Her vitals still seem normal from what I can tell, but...these red marks on her arm. Dang it, she's having an allergic reaction to the anesthetic. She won't come out of it until I give her an antidote. I'm not sure I have one though. All the medicines in my bag don't come with an antidote, because I'm not allergic to anything in here. I didn't even consider that Sharon might be. I need an antidote!

  I started quickly searching all the medicine cabinets, checking whatever I found. Advil, ibuprofen, allergy tablets, pain tablets, bandages, wrappings, sheets, pillows, needles, pneumatic syringes, eye mappers, sprays in all shapes and sizes. Botches! After searching the umpteenth cabinet, I pulled the drawer out and slung it into the wall out of frustration. The subsequent pain had me stop breathing for a few seconds, which just irritated me more. I have to find something. Would benadryl work? Perhaps as a liquid form of diphenhydramine it might. Some naloxone and epinephrine would be helpful too. It would be extremely advantageous if I could find some DDH-4 halogen. This would be so much easier if I had my ship. Either way, that stuff has to be here!

  After searching a little more thoroughly through different medical areas and brewing some of my own concoctions, I readied an antidote and administered it into Sharon. And then, I waited.

  One minute...

  No
thing.

  Three minutes.

  Nothing...

  Five minutes...

  Movement. She's getting restless.

  Wait for it...

  It's been nine minutes and thirty seven seconds. Still no conscious action. Wait...more movement.

  Sharon suddenly rolled over to the edge of the bed and vomited. After coughing up the last bits, she threw herself onto her back and started moaning. I grabbed a pneumatic syringe and gave her another dose of painkiller.

  Her eyes opened, full of fear and confusion. "Sapphire? Erin?" She asked.

  "Right here."

  She clenched her teeth suddenly and drew a breath. "Where am I? What's... Ugh! My stomach! Why do I hurt so bad?!"

  "You've been burned. I had to knock you out to do surgery and you had an allergic reaction to the medicine. The pain in your stomach is-"

  "Surgery?!"

  "Listen to me. The pain in your stomach is from your reaction, or the antidote. Not sure which. It should go away soon, but you have to try eating something. That will speed it up."

  She let out a noise suggesting pain.

  "Here, eat."

  "No, I'll vomit."

  "Sharon, eat! Please!"

  Like an obedient, little Dweller servant, she grabbed the granola bar and forced it down despite her own discomfort. At first, it legitimately did look like she was just going to throw it up again. But several minutes later, she calmed down, and her pleas of pain lessened. Eventually, it calmed enough so that she was just sitting and rubbing at the bandage over her burns.

  "Don't mess with it. It has to stay there for another twenty-six more hours."

  "But it itches."

  "I know. That's the skin replacement doing it's job."

  "Skin replacement?" She asked in surprise.

  "Yeah...another Burn got to you. You're going to have a mark that looks like one of these," I said while pointing to an old scar on my face.

  Sharon simply looked down. She seemed sad...or drugged. Perhaps both.

  "You would have died from it if I didn't help," I said. "Either way, we're only staying here until those bandages come off. After that, we leave."

  "Okay," she mumbled.

  I reached into the pack and grabbed a candy bar called a Kit Kat. Tossing it to her, I added, "Don't be sad about the burn scar. At least you don't look like me."

  "That's not very comforting," she mumbled again.

  "Wow. Sarcasm from you?"

  "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!" She said in a forced voice. She was getting groggy really fast. The knockout drugs were still in her system after all.

  "It's fine. Don't worry about it....at least you'll have a neat story to tell."

  "I guess..."

  We lingered in the tunnels for only a day more, waiting for our bodies to heal. Sharon finally rose from bed, weak and still in need of pain medication. I was gradually weaning her off of it, but not so much that she felt uncomfortable. Didn't want her developing a dependence on that stuff.

  As soon as we were able, we embarked to leave the hub. The place was beginning to attract stragglers, both gangers and dwellers alike, so we left before anything bad happened.

  Helping Sharon along, we both dragged ourselves out by climbing out of the hole I had blown only days earlier. The sunlight was warm against my damaged skin, but the air was cooler. As we grew closer to street level, the air also turned from stagnant to alive. The smell of dirt, water, mold, food, flowers, and trees all mixed together, even though faint. Sounds livened up, and nearby a bird took to flight. I pulled myself over the edge of the hole, being careful to make sure it wouldn't collapse, then helped Sharon up. We actually both stood for a moment, simply adjusting to the openness. Nearby was an out of commission water purification plant. That might explain the tunnels.

  The two of us traveled the old roads slowly, avoiding Greaters and searching for a safe place. It came to my attention though, that we were being followed, once I heard the shout of fright from someone behind us. I held a hand out to halt Sharon, then silently told her to stay put. Producing a pistol I 'collected,' I turned back to investigate.

  "Don't break her," a voice carried. "She'll only be worth something if she's whole."

  "She looks worth it to me," a second voice picked up. I can take a guess at what I'm about to walk up on...

  Peeking around a building corner, I chanced upon two Gangers wrestling Howie's Dweller girl to the ground. Well...only one was wrestling, and based on the ease that he held her down, I concluded that he was a Brute.

  A bang pierced the air as the Brute fell back holding his shoulder. I stepped forward, switching my aim to the other one.

  "She's mine," I stated.

  The two looked at each other considering what to do.

  "Are you doctor?" I asked the uninjured one.

  "Uh...no."

  "Then I suggest you find one, because he," I said pointing at the Brute, "won't last long without it."

  Nothing else needed to be said.

  While still watching them scramble off, I turned to the girl, who was now on her knees.

  "Do you plan to run off again?"

  She gave no answer.

  "You can do what you like, doesn't matter to me. Just keep in mind how it turned out last time you ran..." I pocketed my pistol and returned to Sharon. Out the corner of my eye, I saw the teenage girl turn and run away yet again. Idiot.

  After trekking for quite some time, we found the disabled husk of a sky rig; a flying subspace structure intended to repair the super prewar carriers of old. It was permanently docked into its landing station, which was now also disabled and partially dismantled. Something told me to check it out.

  Upon approaching the access structure, I noticed the ingress hatch was closed and locked. I walked into the small, aged building and ascended the steps to the sturdy linking tunnel. It was terribly quiet. I came to the end of the walkway platform and stopped at the hatch, then I knocked. The heavy door was so solid, I was pretty sure someone would have to be right next to the other side to have heard it. I thought at first I could melt through it, but now common sense told me that course of action would be very painful for me to try. I returned to the top of the stairs to scan the area through the windows.

  "There's a ladder over there. Sharon do you think you can climb?"

  She shook her head no. Wonderful...

  The landing station was partly built into the ground to allow the sky rig to land and be at ground level despite it's oddly shaped underside. What that meant for me was that in order to reach the exterior ladder built into the side of the rig, I would need to jump over a deep concrete pit and catch a rung that was somewhere between ten to thirteen feet away from the edge. That might not be wise with all my injuries. Nonetheless, I have an idea. In my pack, I had my reacquired tote line. Pulling it out, I searched for anything that could serve as an anchor. The best I could find was a few chain links with a hook on one end, some kind of hitching chain, or at least part of one, hidden by the weeds growing over it. My tote line was basically an unbelievably stout, fifteen meter long cord that was wound up in a circular device. The device was a bit bigger than my hand, with small motors on the top and bottom of the winding component, and retractable handles on both sides and the bottom. The towing power was magnificent on this thing. I grabbed the tab and pulled the cord out some, tying it securely to the last link of the chain.

  Turning to Sharon, I said "Stay here."

  From there, I pulled out enough slack to sling the hook and chain onto the top of the access building. While I did land the chain on the building top several times successfully, it never hooked onto anything. After many attempts, the chain finally wrapped around or hooked something up top, but it sure took a while. I hope the clanging of me trying to do this doesn't attract anyone.

  I flicked the switch for the tote line to start retracting, then slipped my foot into the lower, horizontal handle. I used it as an assisted climb to the top of the acces
s structure, but even that hurt my foot. Something is not right with that limb...

  Once I got close enough, I unhooked the line and crossed on top of the tunnel I was just in moment ago. Using my chain and hook tool again, I caught the rungs of another ladder higher up the sky rig and performed another assisted climb. This is making way too much noise. Once at the top, I crossed the old station in search of an entry point until I clamored onto a wide, flat platform with a wall on the right side, perhaps one of the decks for small ships to land. There were two doors in the main body of the structure to the right, but both were sealed. However, a more interesting note was the missing floor paneling near the middle of this platform. I hooked my chain onto some grating, lowered the device down until I could step onto the handles, then slowly rode it down into the open floor while holding onto the tote line, Sharon watching until I was out of view.

  The room underneath looked spacious, probably because it was stripped bare. Golden sunlight beams shined through the dust, and the leaves that had collected in here crunched when I stepped on them. The metal floors felt cold against my bare feet, and like the rest of the rig, the doors were closed. But were they sealed?

  One door seemed to have a been removed from its hinges in the past, but there was something on the other side that kept it from budging. I peeked through the thin slot and saw nothing, but the smell...I faintly smelled food, peanuts specifically. My stomach growled at the idea of sustenance. Bah, distractions. Have to focus... The other doors were locked and much thinner than the outer ones, so I took a chance.

  My fingers met resistance on this door, but since I was already in the act of burning my fingers, I pressed on and melted through the locks. The molten metal sizzled a tad when it dripped on the floor and the door slowly swung open, yet I took a moment to lean against the wall and nurture my freshly burnt fingers. It hurt like dipping them in molten wax and made me tear up, but I bit my lip and continued on when I caught a whiff of peanuts. I passed through the open door, noting the change of scenery. In this room was a small collection of objects such as pots, pans, soap powder, assorted tools and parts, and a deflated kids swimming pool. Passing through, I wandered the confusing tunnels and rooms silently. Voices echoed in the lonely halls, distant and hushed. I hope Sharon is still alright...