“It is one of the methods we use to help speed your recovery from training. In addition to the ice bath, you will also find a heating pad in your bed, and an extra pill in your dinner that works as an anti-inflammatory aid. Your group will rest for the next cycle which will give your body time to recover.”
“You sure do talk a lot,” 62 mumbled, grabbing onto the door of his cube and using the framework to help support him.
“I have been told that before.” The PTS took advantage of 62's brief stop in the doorway and pressed a guiding hand on his back. Instantly the Machine's fingers began kneading 62's tense muscles. “So much tension.”
62 shrugged the PTS's hand off and hobbled over to the bath. Occupying the space where his bed had been, a giant bowl rested on the floor. It was filled with tiny freezing particles of ice, and a clear liquid. He dipped a finger in. “That's cold!”
“Yes, it is.”
“You expect me to put my whole body in there?” 62 looked up at the PTS with a frown.
“Yes.”
“What if I don't do it?” 62 crossed his arms in defiance.
“If you choose to not take advantage of the ice bath, then your body will not heal as well as the rest of the Boys in your group. This will likely result in your next training session going rather poorly as you are passed by your peers and ranked below standard expectation.”
“What do you care if I don't meet expectations?”
"Caring for your success is in my programming." The PTS tilted its head sympathetically.
"Of course it is." 62 rolled his eyes.
The PTS looked as deeply into 62's eyes as a projection on plastic could. It moved toward the cube door and poked its head through the opening. It looked left, then right, as if making sure no one was paying attention. When it turned back around, it gave 62 a mischievous look and winked.
“What was THAT?” 62 jumped in surprise, then hissed at the pain of a strained muscle bulging in his calf.
The PTS continued its industrial grin as it moved close enough to 62 to massage the muscle back into place on the back of 62's leg. “Just a mode of my programming, 62. I am here to make you feel comfortable. I've taken the liberty to tap into C.A.T. surveillance and download some of the more common body language from your previous teacher. Are you feeling more comfortable?”
62 shook his head.
“If there is anything that I can do to help you, just let me know.” The Machine pulled away, gave a curt nod, and left.
62 stared at the bath of ice. He shrugged off his clothes and got in as gently as he could. The ache in his body was replaced with a stinging chill so deep that he forgot the pain of running stairs. It only took a few seconds for his teeth to chatter and his skin to feel as if it were shrinking in on itself. “This is crazy.”
Getting out of the tub was harder than getting in. 62 had to be careful to balance so he wouldn't fall back into the ice. Once out, he pushed his trembling hand against the button on the wall and the entire tub sank into the floor. As he toweled off, his bed slid out of the side wall. He got dressed quickly and climbed under the covers. The heating pad that the PTS mentioned had already warmed the sheets. 62 moved the pad to rest under one of his knees. Although the training was a miserable series of events, lying in a toasty warm bed wasn't so bad. 62 rolled on his side. He allowed the exhaustion to overcome him and dropped into sleep.
CHAPTER 8
62 LAY IN BED ALL THE next cycle. The rest was welcome although he didn't sleep much. If he stayed very still he could almost forget the throbbing of his joints. Still exhausted on the third cycle, 62 fought to get his eyes open. He willed himself to get up and ready for another training session. Every inch of his body ached. When he exhaled a frustrated sigh, the breath caught short in his chest. Even breathing hurt.
“Good cycle, 62.” The PTS entered the cube, holding a stack of fresh clothes in one hand and a cold pack in the other. “Do you feel sufficiently rested?”
62 forced himself up onto the edge of the bed. “I guess.”
“Splendid.” The PTS laid the clothes and cold pack on the bed beside 62. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore.” 62 rolled his shoulders and pushed his arms out wide to stretch his back. One of the muscles screamed at the motion and he hissed from the spasm.
“I see. Each Boy is allotted one recovery cold pack per day. Please use it before it loses its chill.” A door in the Machine's cheek opened and a bright light scanned over 62's body. “I see that you are suffering inflammation in your knees, back and shoulders. This is due to insufficient stretching before strenuous activity. Please notify your trainer that you require additional warm-up prior to exercise.”
62 nodded, although he had no intention of telling Trainer anything.
“Training begins in seventeen minutes and twelve seconds. Do you require further assistance?”
“No, thank you.” 62 looked up at the PTS's holographic face. The Machine smiled back at him.
“You are most welcome. Have a good cycle.” The PTS winked again before exiting the cube.
62 stared at the pile of clothes for a minute. He'd been so amazed by their tight, stretchy fit the first time he'd put them on. The novelty of the slick fabric wore off quickly though. The padded joint areas were hot and the seams rubbed against his skin as he ran. 62 traced a finger along the hem and wished he could stay in his sleeping tunic a little while longer.
A rap on the door startled 62 from his thoughts. When he was just beginning to wonder why the door hadn't slid open, four loud knocks made him jump again. Babying sore legs, he gingerly rose from the bed and moved toward the entryway.
“Hello?” 62's voice cracked.
“Are you coming, or what?” 56's muffled shout leaked through the thick partition.
“Yeah, just a second.” 62 hurried out of his tunic and in his haste, knocked the clothes off the edge of the bed. When he got up, the change in weight on the mattress was enough to trigger the bed's auto-close function. The clothes were piled close enough to the edge of the mattress that they were knocked to the floor. But he watched helplessly as his ice-pack disappeared into the wall along with his sheets. Furious, he threw on the clean clothes and moved toward the door. It opened upon his arrival.
“We're going to be late,” 56 quipped.
“Not if we run.” 62 kept a straight face while 56 frowned. “I'm just kidding. We'll walk fast.”
“I don't know if that's really any better.” 56 began limping away from the cube.
Struggling against the pain in his legs to catch up to his brother, 62 looked longingly at the cold pack hanging over 56's shoulder. “I was going to ask if I could borrow your cold pack for a minute, but on second thought, it looks like you need it as bad as I do.”
56 touched a tender spot under the pack, then held it out to 62. “Why not? We can share. Didn't you get one?”
“My bed ate it.” 62 held the cold pack against his back. As he moved, 62's muscles felt a little bit looser. But with each knot that unwound, a new pain sprung up to replace it.
56 laughed. “That happened to my pants. I had to ask the PTS for another set.”
“Does it make faces when it talks to you?” 62 hopped a couple of steps down the hallway when his left leg seized.
“It rolls its eyes at me every time I say something sarcastic.” 56 rolled his own eyes. “What kinds of faces does it make when it talks to you?”
“It keeps winking at me. It's weird.” 62 tried to mimic the wink, but only succeeded in losing his focus mid-hop. He wobbled before landing against the door to the stadium. His side throbbed and he yelped with the shock of the door handle striking a rib.
“The PTS says it'll get better soon,” 56 offered as he reached out to support 62.
62 let out a bitter laugh. “I'm sure it does.”
The Boys made it down the stairs just in time. Trainer stood at the head of the group and cleared his throat as they mingled with the stragglers near the back.
>
“Good cycle.” Trainer's voice barely carried over them today. The stadium was bustling with dozens of other groups beginning their own sessions and his voice had to compete with their clamoring activities. “I see that everyone has shown up to train this cycle. That's good. But it isn't going to keep happening.”
As if on cue, a Boy in the next group over yelled out in pain. 62's group all looked on in horror as the Boy rolled around on the floor gripping his ankle. A PTS appeared from the shadows, scooping the howling Boy up into its arms and carrying him off the field.
“Injuries will happen. At first, they're going to happen frequently. Each and every one of you will be hurt. Your tendons will tear, your muscles will sprain and your bones will break. It's important to your sanity that you understand and accept this as a part of your training.” Trainer looked into the face of each of his charges before continuing on. “If at any time you feel too weak to keep going, you are allowed to tell your PTS. At that time, you will be given the opportunity to receive medical care appropriate for your injury. Once you recover, you will resume your training.”
The Boys each worried over their existing pains during Trainer's speech. 62 could tell by the strained expressions around him that he wasn't the only one considering telling the PTS he was too injured to continue.
“There's something else that I am required to tell you. If you reach a point where you take longer than expected to heal, or if you are injured beyond repair, you may be removed from T.A.S.K.” Trainer folded his toned arms against his bulging chest. Each muscle rippled beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.
“If you are removed from T.A.S.K., then whatever data has been compiled during your time here will be dumped from your chart. It won't matter how well you've done. Be aware of this, and take care of yourselves. Don't push your body further than you think it will go. Those who don't complete T.A.S.K. will never be strong. They will always be known as the weakest of the weak. The dust of Adaline.”
A vein pulsed in Trainer's neck as he spit on the floor. 62 recognized the expression of hate in the Man's face. He imagined that the Man was spitting on the Boys who had been pulled from T.A.S.K. in the past.
62 shifted and the stinging pain shot up his leg again. He wobbled on his one good leg and raised his hand. Trainer nodded at him. “If a Boy is removed from T.A.S.K., does he still get placed into a career?”
Trainer let out a strained laugh. “If a Boy leaves T.A.S.K. it's because he's too broken to do much of anything. If there's any career in Adaline that doesn't require some kind of physical ability, I've never heard of it. So, no. If you don't complete the level of training assigned to you, you won't find any career group that wants you.”
“Well, then what happens?” The other Boys in the group shifted their gaze uneasily from 62 to Trainer as he spit again.
“It doesn't matter what happens to them. They're failures. But we're better than that. We aren't going to have any failures, right?” Trainer's voice carried over the crowd. The Boys shook their heads in silence.
“Good. Now I imagine that you're all still sore from your first run, so today we're going to do something a little different.” Trainer bounced on the balls of his feet and shook out his arms and fingers. Each Boy began to bounce and wiggle in response. “Instead of making you copy the workout from our last cycle together, we're going to do the whole thing backwards.”
The Boys groaned as Trainer began sprinting in reverse toward the edge of the stadium. His surroundings memorized, Trainer sprang up the stairs without pausing to look behind him. 62 turned around and began his clumsy backwards shuffle. His body ached. He lost his balance every time he looked behind his feet to check his footing, and stumbled into Boys and other obstacles when he didn't. He was sure there was no way to make it through the cycle without getting hurt, but 62 kept climbing backwards up the stairs. He couldn't fail, no matter what.
CHAPTER 9
“CHOBHAM!” 71'S VOICE pealed frantically from the edge of 62's mind the second he fell asleep.
“I'm here. What's wrong?” 62 opened the door between them. The old Man barely waited for the opening to expand large enough for his body before pressing into the dream.
“I'm so glad you're here.” 71 rushed to 62 and wrapped his arms around him in a hug so tight that 62's ribs ached. “I thought maybe I was too late.”
62 could barely breathe. He squeaked out, “Too late for what?”
71 loosened his embrace, but didn't let the Boy go. Instead, he held 62 at arm’s length and looked into his eyes. 62 couldn't remember his teacher ever looking so serious. He felt a nervous flutter in his chest and was overcome by a wave of nausea.
“I think they know about the data swap.” 71 finally broke his gaze with 62 and looked for a place to sit. Finding none, he snapped his fingers and two chairs appeared.
62 stood frozen. “How could anyone know about it?”
“I should have known it wouldn't work. Why did I let 42 convince me it would work?” 71 buried his head in his hands. His long beard dropped to the floor between his knees. 62 thought that the beard looked like a dull gray plant sprouting up from the floor into his teacher's face. Suddenly a dozen green blades of poa pratensis threaded up through the strands of hair. 71 tried to pull back, but his beard was anchored to the floor. “Will you stop with that blasted imagination?”
62 blinked, and the poa pratensis vanished. “Sorry.”
“Here I am, worried that they are going to pull you. Take you off somewhere where I'll never know what happened to you. And all you can think to do is grow a topiary!”
“What's a topiary?”
71's features softened in an instant. “A topiary is the hypothetical growth of greenery through a framework to make a design. I saw a book about it once. The pages were filled with a wide variety of plants shaped to look like all manner of things. It was really quite fascinating. Poa pratensis isn't commonly used for this application, though. It doesn't have a firm stalk, and certainly doesn't grow densely enough for a proper form. You really should try it with something more vibrant. Something from the Rosa family, perhaps.”
62's face squished with confusion. “Is that something you're going to teach me about right now?”
“Of course not!” 71 got up from his chair just so that he could stomp his foot in frustration. “Why must you always get me so distracted? So much imagination in one little body. It's enough to drive an old Man mad.”
62 finally dropped into the chair beside him, folding his hands in his lap. After a moment, the flustered teacher did the same.
“Now, back to what I came to tell you. I was curious as to how you were doing in T.A.S.K. and so I used my personal Aide to pull your files. When I looked through them, I discovered that your PTS unit is already making note that you are performing more than eight percent higher than the data is reporting that you should be. Everything is off.”
“I don't understand. You told me to stay average. I've been making sure that no matter what, I stay in the middle of everyone. It's a lot harder than you'd think.”
“I don't understand it either. It's possible that the human form has been refined in some way since the days when I went through all this physical testing nonsense. Maybe your bones are lighter or your muscles are denser than the data in the chip is accounting for. Who knows what changes they might make between animation batches in the lab.” 71's beard bounced across his lap when he shook his head.
“What am I supposed to do?”
71 moved to the edge of his chair and leaned forward. His voice took on a quiet tone of conspiracy. “You've got to find a way to get yourself injured. It's the only way for us to buy some time. The longer you're in there, the more obvious the problem is. It's only a matter of time before the PTS alerts the Head Computer if it hasn't already.”
“The PTS. It's... Oh, no.” 62 gasped. He felt the color drain from his face.
“What is it, Boy?”
“My PTS has been watching you.”
The dream tilted wildly as both Boy and Man felt the weight of 62's words. Everything went dark for a moment and when the light reappeared, both bodies were suspended in the air. The smooth face of the PTS materialized over them. 62 pointed at the Machine's blank head and 71 looked up. A face appeared, projected from behind the glossy white skin of the Machine. A smile spread across the artificial face before it winked at them both.
The floor dissolved beneath 71 and he began to fall.
62 was shocked at his teacher's loss of concentration and frantically tried to imagine something to catch him. A hundred meters below, a bed formed that looked just like the one in 62's cube. The Boy willed the mattress to grow until it was dozens of times larger than a normal bed. 71 landed in the middle of the fluffy mound of sheets with a soft thud.
62 banished the PTS unit from his thoughts and drifted down to where 71 lay. The Man remained still, his eyes as blank as the new world that surrounded them. 62 pushed the bed to its normal size, and suddenly the pair were in a small room, the Man lying comfortably while the Boy sat on a hover chair beside him.
“What have I done?” 71 whispered.
62 held the Man's hand. “You were just trying to help me. Besides, I don't think the PTS is watching you all the time. Just enough to copy your body movements. Maybe it doesn't know you've read my files.”
“What do you mean?”
“It told me that it got into C.A.T. surveillance to download some of your body language. It's trying to make me feel more comfortable with it so I'll like it more.” 62 cringed at the thought of the Machine mimicking 71's varied affectations.
“How much data do you think it reviewed?” 71 propped himself up on one shoulder.
“It didn't say. Maybe it just downloaded one classroom lecture. It's started to wink a lot, like you do when you're talking. But, can't Machines review a bunch of data at once?”
71 nodded. “They can review all of it. Everything from our first breath forward, if they see a reason to. They don't usually, of course. We produce so much content that it would take a concentrated processing effort to do it. But if the Machine suspects us, we may be in more trouble than I thought.”
The Adaline Series Bundle 1 Page 22
