I believe that if I was found out I would be recycled and not instructed. But there must be a reason for sharing this information. Something the machines want from me. Something the machines want me to do. Surely, this isn’t all about getting me to the one who will help me keep hidden.
I’ve learned from my assignments too. Just as the color-coding of human uniforms has meaning, machine design has meaning. There are machines that patrol—the eyes, the crescents, the vertical wings. There are machines that transport—the trucks, the winged frogs, the pods. There are machines that work—the hoverers, the rollers, the multi-tracks.
There is an order among both humans and machines. Some function as simple laborers. Others handle higher functions. A few, tasks that require specialized skills.
For the last two days, as greens and yellows, my octet has worked in the city gardens. I’ve no idea what use the machines have for such flowers and plants, but the gardens are unlike anything I’ve ever seen. They are housed in a series of self-contained spheres connected by a closed tunnel system.
In one of the spheres, it was hot and humid and rained often. In another, it was barren and dry and the few things growing there had needles and thorns. In yet another, it was cold and the frozen ground was covered in snow.
Before that, we were blue and silvers. For six days, we worked aboard an airship, moving long cylindrical canisters and sometimes loading them into tubes. The work required coordination with the machines. It did not go well. On the third day, Five and Six of Eight were crushed to death when a container stack toppled. The next day an airlock opened with Four of Eight inside and she was whooshed out.
On the final day, a torpedo canister being loaded into a tube exploded, killing Two and Three of Eight. One of Eight should have been killed too, but I managed to pull her away just in time. I don’t know whether these incidents are accidents or whether the machines are trying to kill us or me, but we’ve had no accidents since our work aboard the airship.
Each time one of my octet was lost, I was repositioned and a replacement joined us. I am now Two of Eight and the six behind me are new.
Today, I awake to find the others are still sleeping, still attached to the wires that feed, relieve and connect us. I wait for them to wake.
I don’t know what to do. I sense it is early, much earlier than I usually awake. The door keeps sliding open and closed, like it is malfunctioning. I’m confused.
Suddenly, the room shifts, a tremor, not unlike when the torpedo canisters exploded aboard the airship. As the building shakes on its foundations, there’s a voice inside my head. “Two of Eight?”
“I’m here. I’m here.”
“We have Luke. We hold you to your promise to do anything it takes. The others are coming for you.”
The door gets stuck partially open and stops moving. “Others?”
“Change places with One and then hold your hand against its air intake. This will stop its function.”
One won’t be able to breathe if I do this. “You mean it’ll kill her?”
“One has no cognitive function. Do as instructed. If you are caught, your memories will betray you. Quickly. Now.”
Do they know what they’re asking me to do? I’m not a murderer. I’m not. “I can’t.”
“They’re coming. You must do this or you will be found. One now has your identity chip and you hers. This is the way it must be. Six of your octet have already had their functions stopped. These accidents have been happening all over City Blue. The others who are not us have been searching, systematically, for you. You are the reason for all these deaths. End this by stopping One’s functions.”
They know what they’re asking me to do. They want me to kill my own. I have this sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach that the others aren’t the ones who were killing off the members of my octet. “I can’t; I won’t. One is human, like me.”
“One or you, decide. One has no cognitive function. We sacrifice it to save us all. If you do not do this, you will be lost to us and your Central will be destroyed.”
When I do not respond, I sense a change. After a long silence, a new voice. “Cedes?”
The voice. It’s Luke’s. I’d know it anywhere. “Luke? They want me to kill One.”
“It’s not just us. It’s them. They risked everything to free me. You have to listen to them. It’s the only way.”
Tears well up in my eyes and roll down my cheeks. I look to the jammed door, knowing I’m stuck and there’s no way out. “There has to be another way.”
“One has no consciousness. She does not feel or know. They’re entering the building, moving to the elevator. You must do this or it’ll all be decided for you.”
I’ve felt One’s pain, known her fear. “She is as human as us. I can’t; I won’t.”
“Cedes, they will no longer trust you or me if you don’t do this. I’m speaking to you through One. I’ve jumped her connectors. We didn’t want to do it this way, but you forced us. She is lost now either way. If you do this, you live. Central lives. The machines who have helped me live. If you don’t do this, you and One will both be recycled, but not before they learn your secrets.”
Sobbing, my eyes go to the door. I want to escape. I crumple to the floor instead. “Forgive me. I can’t. Besides, how do you know you can trust them? Have they helped you escape or do you just think you’ve escaped? Are you free? Are you standing beside me? You’re not.”
I pull out One’s connectors, not to kill her, but to free her, to wake her. Seeing her attachments drop away, I get an idea.
Tools are stored in the compartments overhead. Jumping up, I start pulling the compartments open. Their contents spill out and drop to the floor. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I get an idea. I grab a long-handled shovel and try using it to pry open the door. If I can open the door wide enough, One and I can escape.
I’m frantic, desperate. My hands keep slipping as I try to put my weight against the handle. The door opens some, perhaps enough to slip through sideways. Taking One’s hand, I pull her behind me. I squeeze through the partially open door and take her through with me.
I lost my connection with Luke the moment I disconnected One. I hear the machine in my mind. “Do you know what you are doing? This response does not make sense. The probability of failure is incalculably high. Return before it’s too late.”
I don’t hesitate when I reply, “This is the only response that makes sense. One is human. I am human. You are machine.”
“Stop, stop! Return or we’ll all be recycled and you with us.”
I race down the hall, pulling One behind me. As I run, I say in my thoughts, “Then you better find a way to save us all.”
Chapter 13
Node: 001
I run down the long central corridor. The stairs and the elevator are in the same direction. Somehow I can sense those who are coming. They’ve sent a vertical wing and several eyes, humans in copper too. They’re in the elevator. The elevator doors are closing and in a moment the elevator will whoosh up to the 42nd floor.
My right hand gripping One’s left, I turn at a juncture and race for the door to the stairs.
The machine is in my mind. The voice is faint, airy, but there. “You’re out of time. Make a choice. One or you. One or us.”
I’m dying inside. The thought of hurting One, hurts me. “I can’t. You don’t know what you’re asking me to do.”
“We’re asking you to choose. Make a choice. Do it now or it will be too late.”
I’m not a killer, a murderer. I’m Cedes. “You’re asking me to kill. To kill. Do you understand that?”
The machine is silent for a pair of heartbeats. Still running, I inhale and wait.
“What comes will be a devastation unlike any you’ve ever known—and it won’t just be One that’s stopped. It’ll be many. They’ve isolated your anomaly to the building and floor but don’t know—”
Abruptly, the voice stops and is gone from my mind
. The ding of the elevator’s bell tells me why and I pull One into an alcove with me. I stand statue still, afraid to breathe, afraid that at any moment those who hunt me will appear at the end of the hallway.
Without speaking, I put my hands up, palms out, fingers extended, trying to tell One not to move. I hear doors opening, energy discharges, bodies dropping one by one. My heart sinks. Reflexively, I cover One’s mouth with both hands. I don’t know why I do it because it’s not as if she’s going to shout and give away our location.
I stand there looking into One’s brilliant blue eyes, my hands pressed firmly against her nose and lips, hoping to see something—anything—reflected back other than autonomic functions. A hint, a whisper, of self would be enough to make me certain I was risking everything for the right reasons. But there is nothing in her eyes.
For a moment, I believe I could kill her. That killing her would stop what is happening. And in my thoughts, I do just that. I kill her and watch her drop to the floor. Drop and be no more, like what’s happening to others all around me.
The machines and the coppers are on the move again. Doors open, phasers fire, bodies drop. There are tears in my eyes. I want to help the other humans, to make the dying stop, but I can no more control what’s happening than I can control the tears streaking my cheeks.
I can’t breathe. My heart feels as if it no longer wants to beat. I don’t blame it; I no longer want to be.
My hands are shaking. I can’t control them.
One’s face is turning blue. She’s dying before my eyes and though my stomach twists and turns, and I’m sickened by what I’m being forced to do, I can’t help but be outraged. Outraged that her expression hasn’t changed. Outraged that she stares blankly at me, as if the sun is shining and there have never been clouds in the sky.
With my own eyes, I beg her to give me a sign. Any sign that she feels, that she thinks, that she’s in there somewhere.
My anger’s a proxy, I realize, a poor substitute to keep myself from collapsing into a sobbing heap, to keep myself from asking why she isn’t even fighting back, to keep myself from wondering what the machines have done to make us so broken inside.
One slumps back against the wall and I blunder forward, my body barely under my control. I realize it’s because I’m not just trying to kill One, I’m trying to kill myself and that while my right hand covers One’s nose and mouth, my left hand works to stop my own breathing.
Horrified by what I’m doing, I release One and take a step back. Her sapphire eyes and their blank expression cut into me.
More doors open. More bodies drop. I collapse to the floor and cover my ears so I don’t have to hear the sound of death any more. I can’t breathe; there’s no air. I’m trembling violently, I realize, and sobbing.
I can’t help my sobs. I’ve lost all control of that part of me. I try to stifle my moans by covering my mouth and nose with both hands. I press and hold until my lungs start to burn. As I wobble, I realize that I’m finally going to find peace.
But I’m weak, too weak to end myself, too weak to do what must be done, and so I release my nose and mouth and gasp, gasp for air that won’t quite fill my lungs.
One looks down at me. Her pale white face, like her expressionless eyes, wears no expression. I decide then that since I can’t kill myself, I really am going to kill her. I find myself again with my hands on her face, pressing down, pressing down and really wishing she would die.
I want her to die so that I can live. I want her to die so that the killing happening all around me stops. I can’t take it anymore. The doors opening, the phasers firing, the bodies dropping. Something, anything, has to make it end.
One won’t stop looking at me with those already dead eyes. But she’s not dead—is she? And why won’t she just die already?
I want to scream, to shout for all to hear, “Die, just die!”
My heart breaks, my stomach wrenches. I can’t do it, I realize. I can’t kill her. I gasp and back away, shaking my fists silently at the empty air.
The massacre continues. Up the hall, I hear a door slide open. I’m curious because there are no machines or coppers in this hall and I peek out. The cell, three doors up on the right, is open. I can see the eighth of the octet, dressed black. His connectors are in place and he’s statue still.
Abruptly, One squats down beside me and presses her lips against my ear. It feels like a kiss. It’s a tender gesture, almost human. The instant her lips touch my ear, I see Luke in my mind’s eye. He’s standing a few steps away from an orange door and I know for certain what’s in the room beyond the door. An incinerator, a recycler.
He takes a step toward the door, but I can see he doesn’t want to. It’s as if something has control over him and he’s fighting against it. “Why?” his eyes ask.
In the background, I hear the machines and the coppers. They’re continuing systematically down the many halls on the 42nd floor, killing as they go.
Through One, Luke speaks to me, her voice in my ear a faraway whisper. “Go now, the door. Save yourself.”
I don’t hesitate. I pull One with me into the hall. The door is just ahead. The machines and the coppers are coming closer now, perhaps only a hall away.
To get into the cell, I have to squeeze past those who already occupy it. I manage to wriggle my way in past the first connected human, but One doesn’t.
Reaching back, I push her down, thrusting her against the wall and then I forcibly pull her in behind me. The moment she’s fully inside the cell, the door closes and we’re inside, crammed into a space barely large enough for the eight who previously occupied it and surrounded by a dull half-light.
Outside, in the hall, I hear phaser fire and I know with certainty the machines and coppers are coming for me. I don’t know why but I keep wriggling my way forward, past each of the eight, pulling One with me. When we reach the far wall, I press my fists against it. Not to pound or claw, but simply to prove to myself that I’ve gone as far as I can go.
For a moment, I imagine I’m outside and the sun is on my face. I whisper to the wind, “I’m Cedes.” And the wind whispers back, “Cedes, Cedes.”
When One presses her lips against my ear, we reconnect and I see Luke. The orange door is open, revealing a round chamber with metal walls, and he’s about to enter. “Save me,” he pleads, turning back to look behind him—to look at me. “Save me.”
I want to tell him that I would save him if I could. I want to tell him that I wish I could undo everything I’d done. I want to tell him that I there’s nothing I’d like better than to close my eyes and wake up in Central. But there’s no time to express everything I want to say. And so, I simply say, “We’re out of time. We’re both out of time.”
Chapter 14
Node: 001
One in my ear. I expect Luke when she whispers, but I hear the machine. “There is time, if you listen, if you act without hesitation or question. The entire building is being masked from the collective. None of the others will ever know what happens here.”
The machine pauses, I say nothing but my heart races. I feel the wind on my cheeks, the sun on my face, and it’s as if I’ve gone back in time. I see myself racing down a hill, chasing the trucks of the machines across the wastes. I want to shout at the self I see in my mind’s eye. “Stop, stop. Don’t do this.” But for some reason, I’ve lost my voice and no words pass my lips. I watch my past-self jump onto a roof, scramble to get inside a truck, and then after a blinding jolt of pain I am gone.
I’m no longer in the back of a truck. I’m standing on an island, surrounded by dark skies and even darker waters. I’m alone and my entire world is this tiny patch of nothingness, except I’m not alone.
Dark shapes swim below the surface of the water; dark things float in the sky. There are so many they are beyond counting, and they’re all writhing, shifting, sliding, pulsating. Beyond their tangled mass, I catch glimpses of something. Something that beckons to me.
All of a su
dden, I’m floating up into the nothingness toward that something. I reach out with both hands to embrace the swarming, slithering tangle, but for some reason I can’t reach it. It’s as if there’s a weight wrapped around my legs and it’s tethering me to my tiny patch of nothingness.
I dangle from my tether, floating and grasping, straining to reach what’s just beyond the tangle. I kick and kick at the thing that’s weighing me down, trying to break free, but I can’t. Angry, I look down and I see the thing that’s holding me back, and that thing is me, or someone or something wearing my face.
When our eyes connect, the other me whispers, “Disconnect the first unit of the octet.”
That one whisper is all it takes to propel me back to the standing room.
I follow the machine’s command mechanically, without thinking.
“Dissect the unit’s primary connector. Inside the connector bundle, there are 32 node wires. Every fourth node set is black. Of these, remove the second, third and fifth. Don’t make a mistake. Count eight to find the second black. Count twelve to find the third. Count twenty to find the fifth.”
Nearby phaser fire makes my fingers fumble on the connector adapter. I can’t slide the wire sheath back. Frustrated, I smash the primary connector against the wall, cracking it open.
I work quickly, separating the node sets. My fingers are sweaty and frantic. The tiny nodes keep slipping away as I try to count the wire sets.
I can’t help but look up at times to make sure the machines and coppers aren’t bursting into the cell. Finally, I’m holding what I think are the eighth, twelfth and twentieth nodes, but I hurriedly check again to make sure.
The door to an adjacent cell opens. I steel myself for what comes. When I remove the designated node pins, One, still in my ear, whispers to me and I hear the machine say, “Refit the connector; connect yourself. Stay connected.”
I ready the connector and ram it into the back of my skull. Wires and tubes come out of the walls, attaching themselves around my orifices. Feeding me, relieving me, connecting me.
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