Caged (The Idyllic Series Book 1)

by Amy Johnson

  “What’s the hurry?” I get up, watching him dance from foot to foot with the control panel clutched to his chest. The bags under his eyes tell me he probably didn’t sleep long at all last night. I’ve known him to pour over his work before; it wouldn’t be new. Yet, there’s something in his face that speaks legions.

  Something’s different.

  “The Elders are meeting,” he says, grabbing my arm and jerking me towards the exit. In haste, I accidentally kick over my books and scatter them across the room. Linux doesn’t notice and continues. “I think I found something here that could change our lives.”

  My heart stops in that moment. Is this it? Has Linux found the answer? I jump up, throwing my blanket across the floor and nearly trip over my feet to follow him.

  Linux uses my navigational skills to get him back to the meeting place. No matter how many times I explain to him that the circle with a spiral in it means ‘meeting place,’ he can’t seem to get the symbols to stick in his thick skull. ‘House’ he remembers because it looks like a roofless building. Even ‘food’ he gets, but it annoys me to no end that he can’t use process of elimination or something to figure out which symbol is the meeting place.

  We come into the hall, and the Elders whisper to one another already. Cyrus is sitting with his hand on his chin. His brow furrows as he listens to the others talk.

  Linux clears his throat as we approach and holds the control panel out like it might blow up.

  “Alright,” Cyrus says, standing up. “I’m sorry to call a meeting so early in the morning. I know we have a lot to do, and this shouldn’t take long. Linux?”

  Linux nods, handing the green machine part to Emory. She wrinkles her nose at it, flips it over, and inspects it.

  “I spent all night analyzing that control panel,” Linux says, fixing his crooked glasses. Now, if he would just run a hand through his hair, he would look civil. “I wired it into the old desktop in my work area, and I read through the internal programming. It’s relatively simple, if you just know how to read it. Most of the programming is JavaScript, and with a little effort, I managed to break the language apart. The functions are deeply nested, and each has over a hundred different lines of code.”

  Listening to him gives me a headache. The rest of the Elders look just as lost as I feel. Linux must notice, because he’s staring at the ground, mouth moving with no sound coming out. His cheeks turn pink in panic as he struggles to find a way to communicate the sea of information to the Elders.

  “Linux, summarize.” I nudge him with my shoulder.

  “My point is,” he starts again, “it’s the same as the other panels we have collected. They all share a central program, and I think they link back the same central hub. I think the cybernetics are a massive star network.”

  The Elders just stare at him, still lost.

  “Like a bee hive?” I ask in an attempt to help. “The queen controls all the worker bees. If you destroy a queen bee, you basically shut down the entire hive.”

  “Exactly like that!” Linux says excitedly, pointing at me. “I think if I can hack into the central hub, I can shut down the branches of network.”

  He’s swinging his arms around in excitement, and his glasses nearly fall off his face again.

  Realization washes over the four Elders one by one. It hits Emory first in the form of a broad smile spreading across her face. Cyrus sits back in his seat, smirking and nodding, green eyes full of fire.

  “You’re telling me you can shut down every cyber on the continent through this?” Emory asks, waving the panel around. Linux snatches it back from her, holding it like an infant.

  “Yes,” he says, “theoretically.”

  Her face falls, and I hold my breath. I should have known it was too good to be true.

  “Theoretically?”

  “Well, there’s a part missing from the panel. A computer chip. This machine malfunctioned because it lost its programming chip. Without the chip, I can’t hack through the system.”

  “So, you need a chip,” Cyrus says, on the edge of his seat. “Where would you get that?”

  “From another cybernetic organism. It has to be taken from an original model cyber in full working condition,” Linux says.

  The Elders look at me, and I exhale loudly. I always get sent on the supply runs and dressed up to parade around the city. If someone needs to go back out, it’s going to be me.

  Over the years, I’ve grown to resent the Elders for always throwing me under the bus. At the same time, though, I understand their reasoning. Better that I go, knowing the most about the machines, than another unprepared Luddite. I learned the definition of sacrifice from my parents. Arguing with them seems pointless, especially when I’m willing to go.

  “I’m going to go ahead and volunteer, before you ask,” I say, crossing my arms. “This won’t be the first cyber I’ve attacked, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.”

  Cyrus sighs and bites his lip. “We send her out with a more capable team this time, though,” Cyrus stands up and walks over to me. “Last time was too close for comfort.”

  “How many people will you need?” Emory asks me.

  “Just one,” I say. “It has to be Linux. He can make sure the cyber is good enough. Anyone else would just be a liability. I won't take extra humans into danger this time.”

  Linux has turned a pale shade of green, staring at the dirty ground under his feet. He’s worth a million dollars for his brain alone, but he has all the courage of a bird. He goes along because he tires of my nagging.

  “Anything else you’ll need?”

  “New defense weapons. I used my grenade last time,” I say with a sigh, “and a new disguise. If we are going to be hunting a cyber, it needs to be in a place where they socialize, but we can still catch them alone. Our best bet is the residential area. We can start at one of the housing complexes and pick the best one.”

  Emory sighs, nodding her head slowly.

  She knows to believe me. My success rate on missions speaks for itself. Every time I step above ground, I come back. Sometimes, lives are lost, but the numbers have dropped in the past few years. I excel at mimicking their speech and mannerisms, but I’m strong and fast as well.

  If anyone can survive walking into a nest of cybers, it will be me. Together, Linux and I make the perfect team, brains and strength combined.

  “How soon can you leave?” Emory’s eyes focus on mine.

  “As soon as you get my materials together,” I answer, gazing back into her hazel eyes. The wrinkles around her eyes rise and fall when she blinks. Strands of gray hair fall over her face when she stands up.

  “I will pack your things. Cyrus will meet you back here in one hour,” she says, sweeping off towards the tunnels with Cyrus and the rest of the Elders at her heels.

  I glance over at Linux whose face is as white as the foam that the Artificials are made of. His eyes resemble moons, and his mouth is frozen in an upside down ‘U’.

  “You okay?” I ask as I cross my arms. Even if I feel as panicked as he is, I won’t let it overflow. His eyes cut towards me, looking past the end of his glasses. His pupils retract and expand again.

  “Okay? Am I okay?” he whispers but his face turns red. He stutters incoherently for a moment, waves his arms around in the air, then storms out of the room, still speaking in what sounds like gibberish.

  Alone in the room, I feel trapped by the four walls around me. When my mind is preoccupied, the small spaces that we live in don’t bother me, but in the emptiness, I’m harshly reminded that the walls might cave in at any moment. My breathing quickens; my hands begin to shake. I back towards the door. My chest rises and falls in quick, jagged movements. There is no escape.

  Stumbling towards the exit, I find myself breathless. I lean on the wall of the tunnel and clench my eyes closed as I count to ten out loud, sucking in air between numbers. Back against the cold concrete, I slide down into a kneeling position and tuck my head between my k
nees. The pressure I apply brings immense pain, but it chases away the panic building up like a hurricane in my chest.

  “ctv, Eden. You alright?”

  I jerk my head up at the sound of Cyrus’ voice. He kneels down in front of me with a backpack on his shoulder.

  “The walls caved in,” I whisper, breathless.

  Cyrus grabs my hand and pulls me up off the ground.

  “You counted to ten?”

  I nod.

  “You distracted yourself?”

  “With pain, yes.”

  His pale green eyes are laced with concern. I hug myself, letting him check me over.

  “Are you still nauseous?” he asks as he puts a cold hand on my forehead.

  Wordless, I shake my head.

  “Good. Are you sure about this? You’ve never been inside the apartment complexes before.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I say, reassuring myself as much as him.

  “But, Eden, you’re going in blind.”

  I swallow and consider my options. If I go, we might get a chip, and that could lead to Linux hacking into the main hub of the cybers. If I don’t, we will move tunnels in a few months, locate new warehouses to steal from, and map out a brand new system. The Luddites will keep on running, from the darkness of this wretched place to more nothingness.

  “Yes, I’m sure,” I finally say. “Trust me, Cyrus. I’ll make it home.”

  Cyrus nods. He jerks his head over his shoulder, and I follow close behind him away from the meeting place. We stop several times at intersections as he checks the directory.

  “There you are.”

  I frown at Linux’s whining voice.

  “Miss me?” I take the bag from Cyrus. Linux makes a face at me and turns away.

  “Are you ready?” my brother asks in a low tone.

  I nod.

  “You, Lin?” he asks in a louder tone, turning towards the boy. Linux has ditched his glasses and is dressed in a pair of clean white pants and a bright pink buttoned shirt.

  As the two of them talk, I pull my own disguise over my clothes and pull my hair into a high ponytail. This time, I’m in tight orange pants and a matching shirt.

  “Contacts?” I ask, holding up a small green box.

  “Yeah. Emory said it was probably best if you wore them, especially in the crowds of the residential area.”

  I make a face as the uncomfortable plastic contact lenses slide over my eyes. My normal blue eyes are now a dull brown. He’s right, though. In the streets, I can just avoid eye contact with the cybers. In the residential area, I am going to be conversing with the machines.

  “Thanks,” I mutter, blinking uncomfortably.

  Cyrus laughs and pats me on the shoulder.

  “Alright. This manhole will put you about a block away from the nearest housing center,” he says, his tone falling into seriousness. “You each have a new grenade in your bag. Please, be safe. If night falls and you haven’t gotten the chip, just come home. We will try again tomorrow.”

  I nod, gazing up at the dark hole above me.

  “Questions?” Cyrus asks.

  I grip the rungs of the ladder to answer his question and swing my body off the ground.

  “Okay, then. I will see you tonight,” he mumbles as I begin to climb, ready to get out of the tunnel again. He says something else, but it fades away under the scraping sound of me pushing the manhole cover aside. Cool morning air washes down over me, and I push myself up and out of the safe zone, once again surrounded by buildings.

  Chapter 3: Cornered

  Eden

  I help Linux out of the hole, pushing the lid back over it when he stumbles away.

  “Can you not walk?” I snap, standing upright again. My pants are covered in dirt and my head feels naked without the wig. Wind picks up strands of the high ponytail, tickling the back of my neck.

  “Not without my glasses,” Linux says, holding my elbow.

  “Why didn’t you just bring them?”

  “Have you ever seen a cyber wearing glasses? Plus, I did bring them. They’re in my pocket.”

  I close my mouth and sigh out of my nose.

  “Okay, then,” he snaps, his hand dropping. “Just don’t go too far away.”

  “I won’t, but how are you supposed to tell which cyber is the right one? That’s the entire reason I volunteered you to come.”

  I glance sideways at him as we break out into the open street, surrounded by cybernetics. The cars on the street creep by, bumper to bumper. Every flashing billboard advertises the Anthros with pictures of humans smiling as they sit by trees and benches in heterosexual pairs. They have arms around one another, perfect white teeth blending with their pale skin.

  In one particular picture, the male’s arm hovers centimeters away from the woman’s shoulder; her head tilts away from him. There’s an emptiness in their eyes, even with their giant smiles. The woman’s left wrist is exposed, and a metal cuff hangs loosely from her frail frame.

  I have to look away from the image, feeling the fear heat up in my stomach.

  “Did you hear me?” Linux asks in a low whisper. His cyber accent is pathetic, sounding more like a pubescent teenage boy.

  “No.” I look ahead. In the corner of my eye, Linux straightens himself. He stands taller than I do by almost a foot.

  “I said you’ll have to be my eyes. When we get there, just describe them to me. For now, I’ll follow the traffic cone that is your outfit.”

  I glare at him.

  “Stop,” I say through gritted teeth, “or I will leave you out here to get harvested.”

  He pales at the mention of harvesting, looking away. I regret the empty threat the moment it comes out, but I waste no time apologizing.

  The crowds grow sparse. Buildings shrink into the ground. The buildings of the working district had loomed like skyscrapers with sleek silver ribcages and mirror windows. The lights of that district fade out behind us like the music does. Here, the air hums with the electricity from the power grids under the asphalt and sizzles with the hiss of air conditioning units.

  The metallic buildings line each side of the sidewalk. Each bears a black letter, beginning with “A”, then “B”, then “C”, and onward until “Z”. The “A” Building stretches into the low hanging smog. Its head disappears into the impenetrable pollution. Cybernetics populate the sidewalks in front of the apartment buildings, chattering back and forth.

  I have no idea what to expect. No mission has ever given me reason to go inside the alphabetical buildings. They don’t hold weapons or necessities, and the cybernetics pack themselves inside like schools of fish. It’s not safe.

  Yet, standing in front of the A building, Linux holding my elbow with a sweaty hand, there’s no turning back. We can only hope to blend in and catch a cybernetic in their home alone.

  I take a deep breath and walk across the street to the automatic doors. They slide open at my approach, and cool air rolls over my feet. I brace myself for the unfamiliar.

  From what I’ve observed, cybernetics feel at least one distinct emotion: loneliness. Like humans and animals, they crave companionship in similar beings. They travel the streets in groups of two or more, and if they happen to be alone, they talk to other cybers through the communication devices.

  When my eyes adjust to the brilliant white light inside the building, I see cybernetics exhibiting this behavior. Small couches fill the room with round tables scattered in front of them. Machines sit on the plush, multicolored chairs, talking amongst themselves. Two different languages clash together, a disastrous blend of English and machine. I lose the snippets of English in the rest of the noise.

  From the books I’ve read, I know humans used to do the same thing. They gathered in restaurants, parks, and libraries to talk to one another. Some sat alone, immersed in their own work, staring at portable computers or devices called cell phones. Others found joy in the company of friends.

  From A People’s History, I know that as time prog
ressed, humans spent less time with one another in those precious face-to-face moments. They chose to ‘text’ one another, whatever that means, throwing out the familiar paper-scented aisles of the libraries and the rich fragrance of flowers in parks for e-books and electronic communication.

  So, when I look around the room, the parallels don’t surprise me. They’re modeled after us, I remind myself.

  Some machines do talk to one another, but even more stare intensely at devices of various sizes and shapes. They type on keyboards, press on screens, and scroll through notifications.

  None of them spare us a glance as we step to the side.

  I inspect the machines in the lobby, looking for one with outdated clothing and design, faded hair, and dull eyes.

  My search comes up empty. The machines scattered across the lobby are all modern models with skin lined in dark pigmented feather hairs and cheeks brushed with permanent rouge. The thicker, warmer skin hides the gears, pumps, and rods. With older models, you can sometimes see the machinery through their shallow skin coverings.

  “Any look promising?” Linux whispers down to me.

  A few cybernetics turn at his voice, giving me another sign that they’re anything but old models. I shake my head, glancing away from the lenses as the machines examine us.

  If the lobby doesn’t hold an answer, maybe upstairs will.

  Two doors stand on the wall opposite of the automatic ones we came in. The first is a set of sleek silver double doors that reflect the orange outfit I’m wearing like a distorted carnival mirror. The second is a black traditional door with a knob and the word “Stairs” painted on it in white. Considering I don’t know what’s behind the silver door, I choose the safe route, leading Linux towards the stairs.

  Once safe in the stairwell, I take his hand.

  “Stairs,” I whisper. “Be careful.”

  He nods, squinting down at his heavy black shoes. We ascend with record slow speed, one of his hands holding the wall and the other holding me. The first flight of stairs ends, giving way to another. He climbs this one more easily, smiling.