A single joystick with a red button was on the floor, attached to a black box buried under more flaked paint and dust. The four switches on the top hadn’t moved for a long time, and the words ‘VIDEO COMPUTER SYSTEM’, were obscured. Wiping away the dirt would mean either kneeling on the floor or the comfy sofa, I decided against neither. Perhaps if I stayed on my feet, perhaps if I refused to interact, I could choose to not play along with whatever was going on inside my head. I backed away.
I looked to the single chair sitting alone in the corner of the room, facing me. That part they didn’t get right. I never had another chair in my room. I never had anyone ever visit me. I’d lock myself away for hours, playing on my games, forgetting everything they tried to teach me. When I wasn’t asleep, I was lost in a virtual world of asteroids and spaceships.
I scanned the remainder of the room to see what else had been stolen from my life. There was little else here, apart from the sheets of homework strewn across a desk. On the far wall, which would have been ahead of me if I were sitting in my chair, a large mirror occupied a large proportion of the wall, though that was wrong too. Most of what I did outside the games was a blur to me, but I think I’d remember my own reflection watching me.
Content I had at least answered the question of ‘what lies were behind the door’, though feeling no closer to finding ‘the Truth’, as the virus put it, I made my way out as a rustle of papers beneath my feet drew my attention. Collecting up the pages, I scanned over the words.
‘Subject still adamant it was an accident. More therapy required.’
The handwriting was different from the pages of Hartwick’s diary, and these reports were signed off with the letter ‘J’. This must have been the new guy she spoke of, the one Sulloman brought in after the power plant explosion, well, the first explosion that was.
‘I have to disconnect. They’re not like me, none of them are…
…I too fear we may never be able to bring Subject out of the virtual world again.’
“Where have you been?” Michael asked, his arms crossed with one hand tapping the elbow of his other arm as I returned to the corridor.
“I had to look,” I explained.
“Why?”
“I just had to.”
“But I thought you wanted to get out.”
“I do,” I replied, my eagerness to leave undeterred.
“Well, we’re not going to do that in a hurry if you keep stopping, are we?” he declared, turning back toward Henri waiting at the far end of the corridor.
“No, Mom,” I replied with a mocking tone.
A huff escaped my little brother marching off, doing the best ‘furious adult’, impression he could.
Following him along the corridor, a window thick with grime to the side offered me a glimpse of another room with a metal table, large overhead lamps on swivel arms, and a series of rusty tipped tools. A curtain, hung on one ring, draped across part of the table, though it did little to hide the dried, bloodied stain beneath it.
“Alex!” Michael shouted, flustered and irritated.
I glanced up to him standing by the last door at the end of the corridor, tapping his foot, glaring back at me, his impatience evident.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming.”
As Henri chatted away to himself, something about protocols, locks and permissions, I noted the pair of them had already opened the two gates and for fear of another scolding from my little brother, I broke into a gentle jog to catch up.
“Finally,” Michael lamented, rolling his eyes.
“Sorry,” I replied with heavy sarcasm.
“Henri’s going to let us in here,” my little brother declared with authority, “aren’t you Henri?”
“Protocol declares forms must be signed, submitted, approved and filed before I can grant entry to--”
“But you promised,” Michael moaned.
“I did?” the absent-minded bot replied.
“Yeah,” my little brother whined.
“OK,” the old hoverbot responded, as the click of the lock releasing echoed about us.
“Wait,” I demanded, “what the--”
“He promised,” Michael insisted.
“Yeah, OK,” I replied, bemused. “It’s just,” I stopped myself. What was the point in arguing anyway?
Michael pushed open the door, and Henri scuttled through first, as I followed them both inside.
“Turn the lights on,” my little brother demanded.
“Are you talking to me, or Henri?”
“Either of you. It doesn’t matter. I can’t see a thing,” he moaned.
Reaching around for a light switch, I scraped my fingers along the barren wall. The lights flicked on.
“As requested,” the old hoverbot declared, as I rolled my eyes.
The room, with no windows and no features except a single staircase leading to the floor above, was filled with a series of strange looking contraptions.
Michael ran through, following Henri, as one of the contraptions rolled forward toward me, a second and third moving in behind it.
“Wait,” I shouted, as my little brother disappeared into the crowd of machines forming around me, as the hum of each electric motor whirring echoed about the walls.
I pushed the nearest away, but instead it moved closer. A blurred face materialized at the top, fading away again. Stepping back, as more faces flashed and faded in lieu of the topmost part of each contraption, I cowered, shielding my eyes.
Voices boomed from the machines, chatting, shouting, and demanding action. In a cacophony of ‘Halt, restrain, stop, and begin’, I found myself curled on the floor, panting for air. Figures of men and women surrounded me with their pristine white lab coats emblazoned with blue embroidered ‘A.N.C.E.’ logos. I covered my face.
The room fell silent and I opened my eyes, as a figure stood over me, bent down with his face before mine. With stone cold eyes, he glared at me, opening his lips. “Welcome back, Subject A.”
Chapter 24
Welcome to the other A.N.C.E.
I panted for air as the face faded. The others had returned to their places at the side of the room and the floor between us, littered with flakes of paint, dust and pages torn from their folders, remained undisturbed; even the machine standing over me had left no trace. A narrow clearing formed by Henri, followed by the footprints of my little brother, were the only signs anything in this room had moved for decades.
Glancing behind, I noted my own footprints looked as though they had been dragged through the debris right to the point where I had dropped to my knees and crawled toward the machine. I furrowed my brow, trying to recall anything to make even the slightest bit of sense, drawing more disjointed memories and recollections.
“What does that mean?” I heard my little brother ask, the sound of his voice coming from the floor above.
I climbed to my feet, steadying myself against the immobile machine, and, readjusting the duffle bag, made my way up the narrow staircase. A flicker of lights drew my attention to the contraptions. I hesitated, waiting for any part of what was happening to me to make a glimmer of sense. Everything remained unmoved and silent. Discontented, I resumed my walk up the steps.
“Nuro, nura, nurol…” Michael stuttered.
“This is most improper,” Henri babbled on as I reached the top, my little brother staring at the words painted on the wall above.
“It says, welcome to the Autonoma Neurological Correctional Environment,” I explained.
“I know, I know,” he insisted, his eyes snapping to me as a scowl spread across his face. “I can read you know.”
“I know,” I replied.
“What does it mean, nuro-look-gee-kal?”
“Neurological? It means brain, I think,” I explained.
“What does correc-chu-nul mean?”
“To fix.”
“What does--”
“Place.”
“Oh,” he replied, the scowl turning to look of ut
ter confusion. “So, they did what here?”
“Made ill people better,” I declared, “I think.” The tone of uncertainty in my voice must have been evident, as my little brother raised an eyebrow. “Well, I don’t know. Why don’t you ask Henri?”
“I did ask Henri, and he hasn’t stopped talking nonsense since.”
We both turned toward the old hoverbot muttering to himself about protocols, forms and procedures.
“I could put him back in the bag,” I joked.
“No,” Michael protested.
“I mean he is heavy, but at least he was quiet in there,” I jested.
“No,” my little brother screamed.
“OK, OK, I won’t put the smelly, heavy, flies when it wants, hoverbot back in the bag.”
“Good,” Michael declared, folding his arms and pouting. “And call him by his name.”
“Fine,” I replied, rolling my eyes. “I won’t put Henri back in the bag where he belongs.”
“Better. Now how do we get out of the nuro-logi-cal-mal fixer place?” my little brother asked, looking about the room.
“Through that door, I guess,” I replied, pointing to the only door in the room.
“Nah,” he dismissed, “it’s locked, and Henri won’t unlock it.”
“Well, there must be some way out of here, there always is, right?” I asked with a sly smile toward my little brother, approaching the window on the wall opposite the door. Wiping the grime from the glass, I peered through to a barred stairwell and another door which appeared to lead to one of the balconies running above the tennis court.
“Can’t get through here,” I remarked, pointing to the rusted bars running across the other side of the glass, my eyes snapping to the window behind my little brother.
I wiped the dirt with my sleeve and peered at the small, rusty metal platform joining the side of the room to the balcony on this side. It looked unsteady and not well supported, but the lack of metal bars between us gave me options. I picked up the chair from the nearest control panel.
“Stand back,” I insisted, swinging the chair back and striking the glass. The chair bounced and I staggered backward.
Henri spun on the spot to face me. “What are you doing?” he demanded, his tone panicked and concerned.
“Getting out of here,” I replied, swinging the chair back.
“But this is unacceptable. You cannot--”
The old hoverbot moved to face me, scuttling into the path of the chair. Henri’s casing hit the glass, shattering it, and the old hoverbot flew out the window.
“You killed him!” Michael screamed.
“He’s fine,” I replied, putting the chair down.
Peering over the window frame, I saw Henri on the balcony, sparks discharging from the gash in the side of his casing.
“Yeah, he’s fine,” I declared, hoping my little brother would believe me.
“Get him back,” Michael insisted.
“Fine, wait here,” I moaned, sweeping the broken shards from the frame and climbing onto it.
With reluctance, I placed my foot onto the platform. It creaked, and I pulled my leg back to the window. There was no way it was going to hold my weight. Dropping the duffle bag from my shoulder, I threw it toward Henri. It landed with a clout on the old hoverbot and I winced. “Sorry,” I whispered.
The gap from the window frame to the railings of the balcony, I reckoned, was about six feet. it was not going to be easy, but if I could time it right, I could, probably, maybe make it. Taking a few short breaths, I placed the soles of my shoes against the wall beneath the window and rocked a few times to brace myself. With determination coursing through every muscle in my legs, I pushed off from the wall.
With the grace of a brick, I landed on the platform, face down. I felt it drop as the brackets holding it up tore from the wall. Leaping into a crouched position, I reached forward, ready to grab the railings of the balcony. With a desperate desire not to die a slow and painful death as I bleed out on the floor of this facility, I pushed off.
The platform creaked and groaned as the brackets released their hold. I knew I wouldn’t get a second chance. I reached forward as far as my fingers would allow, wrapping them around the metal bar at the bottom of the railing. The platform clattered with the floor below. I’d never had to support my own weight on one arm before, and it wasn’t working. My fingers peeled from the bar.
Swinging my weight to the side, I reached up with my free hand. Missed. I let my weight shift and swung again. My fingers brushed against the flaking green paint, and I tried a third attempt, grasping the rail with all my might. Panting to catch my breath, I readjusted my other hand and pulled myself up, muttering every curse word I could remember, the rusty bars digging into the tender underside of each finger and my wound.
I splayed out onto the concrete alongside the duffle bag and stared at the bottom of the balcony above.
“Did you get him?” Michael shouted, his face visible in the broken window frame.
“Yeah,” I whispered, a little too winded to raise my voice.
“What?” he shouted.
“Yeah,” I murmured.
“Did you get Henri?”
I sat up, coughed to clear my throat, nodded and raised my thumb.
“I’m coming over,” he declared, climbing out of the window.
“No!” I shrieked, attempting to jump to my feet, finding myself kneeling over the duffle bag, coughing up more of Autonoma’s stale air I’d inhaled since this morning. “Stay there!”
“But I--”
“Stay there. I barely made it across and what I stood on is down there,” I shouted, pointing to the platform splayed out across the floor.
“Oh,” he hesitated, glaring at the rusty metal. “OK.”
“I’ll get Henri to open the door from this side. You just stay there.”
“OK.”
Get Henri to open the door? What was I thinking? Maybe I could use him to batter down the door?
I opened the duffle bag and used it to collect up the old hoverbot.
“Is he OK?” Michael shouted across.
“Yeah, he’s fine. He’s just,” I paused, racking my brain for a less than ludicrous explanation, “he’s just sleeping.” I turned my face away, wincing at my own stupidity.
“Oh. OK.”
I raised an eyebrow. Did he buy that?
“Yeah, so I’ll take him over here and wake him up,” I shouted back. “OK?”
“OK.”
He did buy it!
“Are you there?” Michael shouted through the door.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m here. I’ll just wake Henri up and get you out.”
Opening the bag, I stared at the old hoverbot.
“At least he’s stopped sparking now,” I remarked.
“What did you say?”
“I said, I’ll just wake him now.”
“Oh, OK.”
Tipping Henri out onto the concrete floor, trying to make as little noise as possible, I glared through the gouge in the side of his casing, to the broken wire or two, and the dislodged battery ‘fix’, I’d made. I opened up the loose panel and reached in, trying not to scold myself on the hot metal. As I twisted the wires back together and reconnected the battery, I noted the ‘access card’, circuit board to the side.
I wondered if this was how Henri was getting access to the parts of Autonoma he was reluctant to let us walk into. I gave it a tug, but it was tangled with his ‘Navigation Card’, it looked almost as if the two were intertwined on purpose. An idea hit me.
Lifting the old hoverbot toward the door, using the duffle bag to shield the palms of my hand from the dissipating heat, I presented Henri. With the ‘access card’, near the interface, I jiggled the old hoverbot about a little to try and get the best contact. Nothing. I sighed and lowered the heavy old thing back to the floor. The interface beeped, switching from a red light to a green glow. The echo of the door unlatching resounded about the corridor.
“Still asleep then, is he?” Michael remarked with lashings of sarcasm, stepping beside me.
“Ah,” I responded, “so you didn’t buy the whole being asleep thing after all?”
“I’m not stupid.”
“Right.”
Ascending from the floor, the old hoverbot initiated his reorientation sequence, spinning until his compass read north.
“Well, at least I didn’t kill him,” I declared, watching Henri complete his dance.
Without uttering a word, the old hoverbot scuttled off down the corridor.
“Where’s he going?” my little brother shrieked.
“How should I know?” I replied, gathering the duffle bag as we both gave chase.
The old hoverbot came to a stop.
“What’s he doing?” Michael asked, skidding to a halt behind him.
Coming to a stop, I shrugged my shoulders.
The panel next to the door in front of us turned green, and the door opened an inch or two, though the old hoverbot did not move.
My little brother looked to me. “I think he’s waiting for us to open the door.”
“I don’t know why,” I remarked, “with a good shove, he’s perfectly suited for barging open doors.”
Michael glared at me with a raised eyebrow. “And that’s probably why he’s so confused. You need to look after him better. You’re hurting him.”
“I doubt that,” I responded, as my little brother reached forward to open the door.
“No, wait,” I declared, stepping in front of him. “I better do it.”
“Why?”
“Just because. Wait here.”
“But--”
“Wait here.”
Michael folded his arms and pouted, stamping his feet together. “Fine.”
“Thank you,” I responded, pushing it open as the rusty hinges protested, Henri barging past, almost colliding with the side of my face. “Don’t mind me,” I remarked with sarcasm. “You just carry on.”
The old hoverbot disappeared into the darkness of the dim room, and I closed the door to stop Michael from following.
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