The autocab turned into a driveway and headed down a ramp into a massive garage. There were a couple of other cars ahead of us in the drop off lane. We inched forward while my mother continued to work. Finally, we came to a standstill and the curbside door opened silently.
“Thank you for riding. Your total is forty-three dollars, seventy-six cents charged to your account.”
The autocab’s computer seemed to have an almost impatient tone but I knew I must be imagining it. My mother tapped her specs and followed me out, pointing to a set of glass doors that slid open as we approached. Inside was a small lobby with two elevators. While we waited side by side for the elevator I fidgeted, feeling a pressure building inside me. The feeling welled up, rising through me until I suddenly found myself speaking.
“Mom. I feel like you aren’t talking to me. Like you’re avoiding talking to me. There’s something you’re holding back.”
She turned her head, her mouth open. “Tara. I--”
“You don’t have to say anything. It’s okay. It just came out.”
The elevator doors slid open and I strode inside then turned and leaned against the wall, wrapping my arms around myself.
“We’ll talk after your appointment,” she said.
I didn’t look at her. I just nodded and continued staring at the floor. I felt raw. Expressing emotion wasn’t something we did much in my family. Even just the few words I had spoken seemed somehow over the top. I knew intellectually that it wasn’t weird for parents and kids to talk about important things. I had seen Rosie do it with her mom. They were always hugging and having long talks. My parents were just different, self-contained.
After checking in, we sat awkwardly and waited. A couple of other parents were there waiting with their kids. One of the kids was about four years old. He had straight, thick blond hair in a bowl cut and was running around the waiting room pretending to be an airplane. He made a low, rumbling engine noise and occasional high pitched beeps--clearly in his own world. I watched him race around until, finally, a woman poked her head out of a door and called my name. She led us down a soft carpeted hallway with regularly spaced office doors on the right and occasional branching hallways to the left. I didn’t see any exam rooms. Just offices with desks and chairs. I was about to ask if we were in the right place when she stopped abruptly and gestured us into one of the offices--identical to the others we had passed. My mother stepped in and I followed. The woman entered after us and held out her hand to me.
“Good afternoon, Tara. I’m Dr. Gutierrez.” She was a tall woman, taller than me, with black hair in a braid. She stooped as she spoke, flexing her knees, getting her face close to mine and trying to make eye contact. It drove me crazy when adults did that. I hated making eye contact with people--it just felt weird and overly intimate. Just thinking about it made me flinch and freeze up. I leaned away and looked over at my mother. She had already seated herself facing the desk, hands in her lap and gaze fixed straight ahead.
“I thought I was here for a checkup,” I said, staring at the side of her face. She was still avoiding looking back at me.
“You are, Tara,” Dr. Gutierrez said, seating herself behind the desk. “A different kind of checkup, though. We’re just going to talk for a while. I want to find out about your emotional health.”
“A psychologist? Again?” I turned to my mother. “Mom. You told me this was a regular checkup! You lied to me.” The situation was outrageous. My parents had taken me to see a psychologist once before, when I was seven. It had not gone well, and they told me I didn’t have to go back. Now this.
“Your parents are worried about you, Tara. They want you to make friends and be happy. We’re going to just chat for a while, get to know each other. I’m going to ask your mother to leave now so we can speak without any reservations.”
I sat there, furiously moving my gaze back and forth between the two of them while Dr. Gutierrez spoke. My heart was racing and blood was pounding in my ears.
My mother stood up and finally looked at me. “Tara, please give Dr. Gutierrez a chance. We just want to see if there is anything we can do to help you be happier. I’m sorry I lied to you, but you wouldn’t have come otherwise.” She bent down and kissed the top of my head then left the room quickly, closing the door behind her. The spot where she had kissed me felt warm. It wasn’t a normal gesture.
I turned to the doctor. “Fine. Tell me what you want me to say,” I spat out, folding my arms over my chest.
She smiled back at me. It seemed like an insincere smile. Maybe fake. Her face was bent into the plains and shapes I associated with a smile but I wasn’t getting a happy relaxed vibe from her. She seemed tense actually and maybe a little afraid. Feeling her emotions made me tense and afraid.
“I don’t want you to say anything, Tara. I just want to ask you some questions. I would appreciate it if you would answer truthfully. So we can help you.”
It seemed pretty obvious that I wasn’t getting out of there without doing some talking so I nodded. “Okay. Fine. Ask.”
She nodded, pulled up something on her specs, then turned her eyes back to me. “Let’s begin with this. I’m going to make some statements and I want you to reply or react.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
“Wow, it’s really hot in here.”
I waited for her to continue but she didn’t say anything else. “Is a response required?” I asked. “You just said it’s hot.”
“A pro-social reaction would be to agree and then ask if we could adjust the thermostat.”
I nodded again, feeling dumb. What was she getting at?
She spent almost an hour questioning me and taking notes. She made more weird statements, asked a lot of questions about my childhood, my friends back in PacNW, my relationship with my parents and my sister, my hobbies and interests. Finally, she smiled her fake smile again and sat back in her chair. “That’s enough for now, Tara. Thank you for answering my questions. Your parents are in the office next door. I’m going to go meet with them, and we’ll be back for you soon. Please wait here.” She stood up.
“Wait. My dad is there too? What’s he doing here?”
“Just standard procedure, Tara. We like to speak with both parents when possible.”
I sat back and watched her leave. She closed the door behind her, and I heard a lock click. Did she just lock me in? I wondered. The whole situation was starting to freak me out. Why was my father there? He never took time off work. I put my ear to the wall but could only hear heavily muffled voices, not loud or clear enough to make out words. There was an intercom on the wall. I recognized the brand because it was the same as the ones in the classrooms at my old school. This one looked similar but newer. The maintenance man at my old school was not great with any kind of digital technology so he was always asking Ms. Jenkins, my technology teacher, to help out. The system needed to be reprogrammed because they had changed the numbering of the classrooms and Ms. Jenkins handed off the project to me and two other kids in the class. I knew, based on that experience, that you could call out to or listen in on any other intercom in the system if you knew the number and the passcode. I had seen the number of Dr. Gutierrez’s office on our way in. It was 512. So, the office next door was probably either 510 or 514, assuming odd numbers were on one side of the hallway and even on the other. The default passcode for the system at my old school was 9999. People never bothered to change default passwords. My father complained about it all the time. I decided to risk it. Holding my breath I punched 9999*510 into the keypad then pressed the listen button. A tired sounding voice droned out of the speaker. The default passcode worked!
“Charlie, I appreciate your knowledge of airplanes but would you please answer the question I asked?” This was followed by a vrooming engine sound and a high-pitched beep. It was the boy from the waiting room. It had to be the wrong office. “Give ’em hell, Charlie,” I whispered as I pressed the button to break the connection. Next I tried 9999*514. There wa
s silence for a moment, then I jumped at the sound of my father’s voice coming clearly through the speaker.
“Are you sure about this diagnosis? I know she has trouble making friends, and she’s not great in social situations, but she’s not so much different from me in that way.”
“We are very sure, Mr. Rivers.” It was a man’s voice I hadn’t heard before.
Then Dr. Gutierrez began speaking. “Yes. We would not be having this conversation otherwise. We have reviewed the footage of Tara at school, interacting with her teachers and classmates. We have reviewed her online social interactions and presence. We have data from your interviews and now from speaking with Tara herself. We feel very strongly that the diagnosis is accurate. If we had seen her when she was younger, we could have caught it earlier but, of course, you were in the Pacific Northwest cluster. Here, she would have had a full genetic workup early on. We would have known. Medical care in the rogue clusters is spotty.”
They had been watching me? Secretly recording my interactions with other people? What the hell was going on? I had a sick feeling in my stomach, and my heart was beating rapidly.
“And the treatment you are suggesting--please explain again,” my mother asked.
“It’s quite simple. We do a very small operation. A tiny neural implant is placed just inside the skull. This implant can read electrical activity and redirect suboptimal responses to more desired outcomes.”
“It seems so barbaric.”
“I assure you it is not. This is a proven treatment. It would not have been available to you before, but now that you are here and now that you are valued members of the Xia Yu family, we can help you with this sort of issue. We want your daughter to be able to fit into the culture of our corporation. We want her to be able to go to a good college, succeed, build a network of peers, and become a valued member of Xia Yu in her own right.”
“But won’t it...change her? Change her personality?” my mother asked.
“She will still be your daughter. Slowly, she will become more pro-social. She will seek out healthy, normal relationships. She will make eye contact. She will get better at understanding social cues. Her theory of mind or ability to understand how other people are feeling will improve. Yes, she may seem different, but it will help her be more adjusted and normal.”
I felt an icy chill creep down my spine as Dr. Gutierrez spoke. They wanted to put a computer chip in my head? I already had one in my arm. I guessed that was just the first step. Now they wanted to control my mind instead of just keeping tabs on my hydration and blood sugar levels. Why were my parents just sitting there? Why weren’t they saying no, walking out, slamming the door?
“What if we say no?” my father asked, sounding dismayed.
“The issue with the T-Ninety-One cat is serious. You did bring the cat with you?” It was the man speaking again.
“Yes, Mr. Rivers brought it,” Dr. Gutierrez said. “It’s in the conference room next door, powered down.”
“Good,” the man responded. “The authorities are willing to let it go as long as you give your consent to this treatment. Of course, the cat will have to be factory reset. The modifications your daughter made are unorthodox and possibly dangerous. She removed certain security measures meant to keep the cat from achieving complex emotional states. She actually transmitted the hacked firmware to two other T-Ninety-One owners. This therapy will make your daughter more positively aligned with social expectations. Of course, we will have to monitor her activities on an ongoing basis, but I do not think we will have to worry about her altering the firmware on her cat again once we start. She will be more interested in making friends and engaging in social activities.”
The chill continued to grow, freezing me in place. I was immobilized with panic. This was not good. They wanted to control my brain, change how I thought. Reset Xel so he wouldn’t even recognize me. Make me into a zombie with a computer implanted in my head. They wanted me to become a different person. Yes, I had always had trouble socializing. I had trouble caring about the stuff regular kids were into. I liked computer programming and old science fiction books. But my friend Rosie back home was proof that I wasn’t a total loser, wasn’t she? I just needed to meet people who were on my wavelength. I didn’t want to be like the regular kids. I liked who I was, even if I was a little weird.
I went to the door and tried the handle. It was locked. There was a keypad, but my chance of somehow guessing the code was pretty dismal. I needed to get out. I could still hear them speaking, talking about the operation, the recovery time, how much school I would have to miss. I went to the window. It was sealed. My panic was growing. I couldn’t let them do it to me. I would run away. Making the decision calmed me. I felt a fierce determination take over my body, guiding my actions. They would not catch me. Looking up, I saw a louvered vent in the ceiling. It looked like it covered an air duct for heating and cooling. Quickly, I pulled a chair over, stood on it, worked my fingers into the spaces between louvers, and yanked. The vent cover came free easily and hinged open, hanging to the side. Above it was a duct that looked large enough for me to climb into. I jumped down, grabbed my school backpack, quickly emptied out everything I wouldn’t need, then shoved it up into the vent. The next part would be tricky. I was not athletic or graceful. My body often felt completely out of phase with my brain. I didn’t have any other option at the moment, though, so I wrapped my fingers over the edge of the duct then jumped and pulled with my arms at the same time. Surprisingly, I managed to get my upper body into the duct then wriggle forward until I could pull my legs in too. It was tight, but I fit. I gave silent thanks for my skinniness. Most of the time I thought it made me look awkward, but it was a benefit in this situation. Wriggling back, I reached down and pulled the vent cover up, clicking it into place. Hopefully, it would take a while for them to realize how I had gotten out of the office. Now I had a decision to make. Try to get past where my parents and the doctors were talking so I could rescue Xel, or go the other way? Option two would get me out faster and give me a better chance of escaping, but I knew what I had to do.
It was very warm and dark up in the duct. It felt almost peaceful in a way. I could see light up ahead where the vent for the next office was. Farther on, I could see another patch of light that must be the vent for the conference room Dr. Gutierrez had mentioned. That was where I needed to get to, but I had to be silent. I wormed my way forward, holding my backpack up with my arms out in front of me so it wouldn’t drag on the metal of the duct. My progress was slow but I made it to the vent. I could see the top of my father’s head below. They were still talking.
“...gross motor skills may also improve.”
“Yes, she has always been a little clumsy.”
Clumsy! It was true, but I wasn’t going to let anything stop me. I kept moving, praying that they wouldn’t look up or hear me passing by. With a sigh of relief, I made it to the next vent. I pushed the vent cover, and it swung down on its hinge. Below, I could see an expanse of dark wood. It was a long table. Carefully, I eased my legs through the opening. The thought of dropping blindly down terrified me but I didn’t have any other options so I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth, and let myself slide out of the duct, holding my backpack to my chest. My feet hit the table below almost immediately, and I stumbled but kept my footing, dropping down to one knee. For a moment I just crouched there, eyes still closed. When I finally opened my eyes, I saw chairs around the table, a window looking out over a busy street, and, in the corner, a wooden box. I knew the box. I recognized the writing on the side in big red Chinese characters. It was the box Xel came in. My father must have gotten it out of my closet and packed Xel into it. I still couldn’t believe it. I closed the vent cover, scrambled off the table, and opened the box. He was there, laying on his side, eyes closed. I gasped. I knew he wasn’t dead. He was just powered down. But it was still hard to see him like that. I ran a hand over his head.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said and li
fted him out of the box.
Carefully, I lowered him into my backpack. He was heavy--maybe twenty-five or thirty pounds. He fit into the backpack just barely. Luckily, it was a gym day at school so I had my large bag. My gym clothes and sneakers were now scattered on the chair in Dr. Gutierrez’s office. I zipped the pack up, careful not to catch Xel’s whiskers. With a start, I realized I wouldn’t be going back to PVCSTEM that day. Maybe not ever. No more gym class. I had to escape first, though. Pulling the backpack on wasn’t easy, but I managed. Carrying it felt like giving my sister Zoie a piggy back ride.
The conference room door wasn’t locked. I opened it a crack and looked out. The hallway was empty. Across from the door was another hallway. Far away at the end, I saw a red EXIT sign. Now or never, I decided and headed for the sign at a brisk walk. When I was halfway down the corridor, a door opened ahead of me and a tall man in a white lab coat came out. I kept walking, keeping my head down, feeling pricks of nervous sweat on my forehead.
“Are you lost?”
I looked up, forcing myself to meet his eyes. “Yes--looking for the bathroom.” Crap! What a stupid thing to say! What if he points me back in the other direction?
“Keep going this way. It’s on the left just before you get to the end of the hallway.” He headed off up the corridor, not giving me another look.
I hurried off, too. When I got to the end, I looked back but he was out of sight. Just then an urgent message popped up on my specs. I swiped it away and turned my attention to the door. It was an emergency exit, but it didn’t appear to have an alarm, so I pushed through and found myself in a stairwell. I paused for a minute, thinking. If I ran for it now, they would find me in no time. I would be out on the sidewalk in Santa Monica in broad daylight. It would be better to find somewhere to hide in the hospital building and then escape at night. I longed to run down the stairs, burst through the doors at the bottom, and make a break for it. I had to force myself to be logical, though. I turned and headed up the steps.
The Place Inside the Storm Page 3