“I don't need anything.” 62 rolled over to face his mechanical babysitter. “But I’ve got to get out of this cube. Is there anything that I can help you with?”
The PTS's face went blurry. It seemed like the programming couldn't settle on a suitable expression and the Machine stumbled in artificial surprise. “You want to help me?”
“Sure. What do you do while you wait for us to come back from training?”
The PTS frowned. “I review medical, performance, and growth data.”
62 rolled his shoulder, wriggling a knot of pain free. “That doesn't sound very exciting.”
The Machine shook its head. “No. It takes approximately 27.4 seconds to review and catalog the data.”
62 cocked his head. “Well I doubt I can help you with that. Seems like I'd only slow you down. What else do you do?”
The tubes in the PTS's shoulders hissed as he shrugged them. “I wait.”
“What do you do while you wait?”
The Machine's confused face blurred again. “There is nothing to do but wait.”
“That sounds awfully boring.”
“I have never had reason to consider the excitement level of my time. I suppose it is boring.” The Machine mimicked 62's fidgeting.
62 thought for a moment, then eyed the Machine with curiosity. “PTS, do you think I could take a walk?”
The Machine hummed while it searched its programming for the rules concerning child transit. “A Boy is not allowed to travel through the Training and Skills Kinesiology center without the supervision of a Transportation Aide.”
“But if I had an Aide I could walk around a while?” 62 rubbed his chin. “That wouldn’t be too bad.”
The Machine shook its head. “I am sorry, but a Transportation Aide is not currently assigned to this pod.”
“Have you already completed your file review for this cycle?”
The PTS nodded.
“Perfect. PTS, you are going to be my Aide.” 62 grabbed the Machine's hand and tugged it toward the door.
“I'm afraid that I have not been programmed to assist with transportation, Boy 1124562.” The Machine protested but followed the steady tug of 62's hand. In a few quick strides they’d moved from 62's cube to the main door of the pod.
“Don't worry about it. You're just helping me with my physical and mental well-being. That’s in your programming, isn't it?”
“I suppose it is.” The Machine nodded. “But we can’t go far. I must be in my assigned pod when the other Boys return from training.”
“We'll be back before training is over,” 62 assured the Machine. He waited for the PTS to push the pod door open. “We'll be able to see them if we walk around the top level of the arena. There's plenty of room to stretch my legs up there. Plus, then I’ll know what I'm missing from training so I can make it up later.”
The PTS unlatched the door and 62 started to push it open. Just as the PTS was about to follow 62 over the threshold, the Machine's eyes flashed orange and the unit stopped moving. 62 released the door and it dropped back on its hinges, resting against the hesitant Machine's foot. “This appears to be a reasonable request. I must alert the Head Machine of my change in position. Approval must be received before further action is taken.” Before 62 could protest, the PTS's features went dark and the unit became nothing more than a lump of metal in the middle of the doorway, too heavy to move with the strength of one arm and good intentions.
62 felt a wave of panic wash over him. With the PTS slowly folding in on itself as its hydraulic hinges released their pressure, he didn't know if he should stay with the Machine or run back to his bed to hide.
“Brilliant.” A voice crept through the crack in the opening.
62 looked through the gap. A body pressed against the door. 62 pushed on the handle to open it wider. A Boy with startling blue eyes stood on the other side. The strange Boy slid in through the open door and hovered over the Machine, careful not to touch it.
“I've never seen anyone shut one of these down so easily,” the Boy said. “I'm impressed.”
“I didn't mean to. I only wanted to take a walk.” 62 couldn't tear his eyes away from the other Boy's face. “Your eyes. They're blue.”
The Boy took a step back and covered his face with his hands. “No! Tinkering rust buckets. Tell me it isn't true. Blue eyes?” He raked at his eyes with his fingers and wailed. 62 moved forward to console the Boy but the blue eyed stranger shrugged him off. When he looked up again, he rolled his eyes. “Of course they're blue, stupid. They've always been blue.”
“I've never seen anything like it.” 62's hand reached up to touch the glassy blue eyes in wonder. The other Boy smacked his hand away.
“There's probably a lot you ain’t seen. And me, too, I guess. So, how did you shut this pile of bolts down?”
62 held his bad arm. “I asked it if I could get some exercise. It said it had to check for permission and turned off.”
The blue eyed Boy shuffled his feet nervously. “Not a permanent power down. Means it'll be back soon. I've gotta go.”
When the Boy pressed his arm against the door to make his escape, 62 grabbed his shirt to stop him. The fabric ripped beneath his fingers when the other Boy tried to pull away. “Wait! Who are you? How do you live with your anomaly?”
“I'm Bird. But my friends call me Blue for some dumb reason.” Bird inspected the tear on his sleeve and growled, “Dang! Do you have any idea how hard it is to get one of these things? This is my last good shirt.”
“I'm sorry, Bird. Or Blue.” 62's eyes went wide. “Are you the bluebird that 42 told me about?”
“I don't sing a lick, but I know a good story or two. Now let go of me before that thing powers back on and we're both caught.” Bird tried to free his arm from 62's grasp as he pulled back through the door.
62 wouldn't let go. When Bird pulled hard again, 62 was thrust forward and his foot got caught in a bend in the PTS's leg. 62 lost his grip, hitting the floor as Bird ran down the hallway. The momentum of the impact sent 62 sliding across the smooth surface, not stopping until he hit the wall on the other side of the corridor opposite the door. The impact on his injury sent a shock of pain through the tissue of his shoulder and made his eyes blur with tears. 62 groaned and rolled onto his back to relieve some of the pressure. He blindly massaged the offending shoulder with his good hand, oblivious to the Machine getting up on the other side of the pod door.
The door swung open on its hinges. The PTS came toward 62 with a red glow in its eyes. “Boy 1124562, you have entered a secure area without permission. You are a very bad Boy.”
A small door on the Machine's chest slid open and a thick fog began pouring out.
CHAPTER 18
62 FORCED HIS EYES OPEN. Head pounding, he tried to make sense of what had happened. He lay in bed with the blanket pulled up to his chin. His whole body ached. He blinked hard, trying to correct the blurry haze in his vision, but when he tried to rub his eyes he found that he couldn't move. Thick straps held him to the mattress beneath the blanket. His struggle against them was brief; when he moved, the edge of the strap cut into his already throbbing shoulder.
“Welcome back.” The strong, deep voice came from the foot of the bed. 62 lifted his head as far as he was able, but he could only make out the top of a Man's head over the curve of his feet under the blanket.
“Who are you?”
The Man got up from where he was sitting and moved to the head of the bed where he stood over 62. The light above them cut around his silhouette, casting his face in shadow. Of course, it didn't matter. All of the Men looked the same.
“Who I am is not important.” He leaned over 62 with interest. “Feeling well-rested? That fog put you out for quite a while. Either you’re sensitive to it, or you made someone important angry and they upped your dose.”
“I feel fine.” 62 did his best to smile despite the pounding in his head and the ache in his shoulder.
“Good. Then I suppo
se you won't mind if I ask you some questions.” The Man motioned to the hover chair at the foot of the bed and it drifted behind him so that he could sit down again. “What were you doing outside of this cube?”
62 turned his head, trying to get a better look at the Man now that he was sitting down. He looked just like Trainer, although he wore a long grey coat instead of exercise clothes. He sat up straight and held a tablet in one hand, a stylus poised for note-taking in the other. His movements were clipped and precise. Just fluid enough to be human.
“I don't know.” 62 hoped his smile was believable. “It was an accident.”
“You don't know, or it was an accident? It can't be both. If you don't know what happened, we will have to send you up a few levels to check your short-term memory functions. If it was an accident, well then, I suppose we need to find the source of the problem to prevent you from having another one.” The Man scribbled a short note on the tablet and then looked at 62 with anticipation. “So which was it?”
62's breath caught in his chest at the mention of being sent to have his memory checked. It wasn't all that long ago that a doctor had tried to erase his memory up on Level 2. If 71 hadn't saved him at the last second, who knows what would have happened. 62 was in no hurry to relive that experience. “It was an accident. I didn't know the PTS was going to shut down and I tripped. I fell through the door on my arm. It hurt.”
The Man nodded. “Is that all?”
62 nodded. “Yes.”
The Man looked down at the tablet and wrote in silence for a moment. When he was done, he tapped the tablet screen to turn it off and slid the device and his stylus into an oversized pocket in his coat. When he looked up again, his eyes were dark and his jaw was tense. “Okay. I wrote down your story for the records. You and I can both feel like we did our jobs in filing the report. Now I want you to tell me what really happened.”
“What?”
“I know that you didn't just fall through the door. First of all, there was no reason for you to be out of this cube.” The Man snorted. “You're injured. You shouldn't be anywhere near the pod exit.”
62 looked at the Man long and hard, trying to decide whether or not he could be trusted. “I wanted to go for a walk.”
“A walk? To where? You're in a secure training facility. There isn't anywhere to go.”
“I wanted to walk around the top of the arena. Move around a little.” 62 couldn't help but wiggle his toes beneath the blanket when he thought about moving his feet along the narrow path that encircled the training area. “I've got to keep my strength up if I'm going to go back to training when I'm better.”
“Your doctor told you this?” The Man scooted forward until his knees touched the edge of the bed.
“Well,” 62 looked up at the ceiling as he recalled his instructions to rest. “not exactly. But it makes more sense than lying in bed.”
“Did the PTS give you this treatment suggestion?”
62 shook his head. “That thing only tells me what the doctor wrote in his chart.”
“Then I fail to see how you came to the conclusion that leaving your cube would be beneficial to your health.”
A long sigh escaped 62. He rolled his head so that he could look the Man in the eye. “I was bored, okay? There is nothing to do in here. I wanted to get out.”
“So you were trying to escape.” The Man shook his head and put his hand in the pocket with the tablet. “Escape is not allowed. Not even for smart little Boys like you.”
62 instinctively tried to sit up as he defended himself. The Man's stare did as much to hold him down to the mattress as the unmoving straps did. “I wasn't trying to escape. Like I said, I just wanted to walk around the arena. Then I was going to come right back. I promise!”
“Who helped you disable the PTS?” The Man pulled another device out of his pocket. It was much smaller than the tablet. He set it on the edge of the mattress near 62's head.
“What’s that?” 62 tried to get a better look, but the thing was too close to his head. All he could see was a small gray box with a halo of red blinking against the edge of the bed.
“It's a microphone. I may need to reference this conversation later, I am sure you understand. Now, tell me again about the Boy who helped you disable the PTS.”
“There wasn't anyone else. It was just me.” 62 could feel his face grow warm with the lie. He hoped that the Man couldn't tell. “And I didn't disable it. It turned itself off. I just asked it to be my Transportation Aide.”
“So you were trying to reprogram it?” The Man's eyes grew wide. “What gave you that idea?”
“That isn't what I said. I wasn't trying to reprogram the PTS. I just wanted to go for a walk and it told me I had to have a Transportation Aide. The wonky Machine shut itself off when I asked it to be my Aide and take me out of the pod.”
“And this other Boy; he was helping you with the programming? To what end? Where were you taking the Machine?”
“There wasn't another Boy. All of my brothers were in training. It was me and the PTS. I didn't try to reprogram it. I just asked it a question!” 62 couldn't help but shout at the Man. The stranger in the grey coat was twisting his words. The blinking red light on the recorder made 62 nervous. Who was listening to them? Worse yet, what would they do to him if they thought he was trying to leave?
A heavy silence filled the room. The Man seemed to be trying to compose himself, and 62 was trying to figure out how to get out of the mess he was in. Neither of them were succeeding. Finally, the Man spoke. “We know there was another Boy. We saw him on the cameras in the hallway. Tell me who he is.”
62 let his face go taut, not masking his surprise. “You don't know who he is?”
“If you tell me who he is, I may be able to help you. There are careers for Boys who know things. Good careers.” The Man leaned forward, smiling. “There is a lot of adventure possible for a Boy like you. A Boy who can get us the information we need.”
“I don't know who he is. He wouldn't tell me his number.”
“Of course he didn't give you a number.” The Man pulled away, leaning back in his chair with a shrug. “Give me his name, then.”
“I don't understand. His name? Boys don't have names.”
“They aren't supposed to, that's true. But that Boy does. Tell it to me.”
62 shook his head. He couldn't give Bird up to this stranger, no matter what kind of help he was offering. “I don't know what you mean. He was just a Boy. He saw I was having trouble with the PTS after it shut down and offered to help. Then he left.”
“Liar!” The Man rushed forward so quickly that the hover chair flew backwards. He bent down over the bed in a rage. His fists landed on either side of 62 with a thud, sending the recording device clattering to the floor. 62 flinched when the stranger's face bore down on him, the Man's nose stopping a hair's width from his own. “You filthy dust-sucker,” the Man growled. “I don't care a lick about who you are or how important you might be. I only care about what you were doing outside of this pod with that fugitive. Now tell me who he is!”
62 blinked hard. “I don't know. The PTS shut down and a Boy offered to help. I didn't ask him for his number. I fell and that was it.”
“Telling the truth is the duty of any good Boy.” The Man stared deep into 62's eyes. His breath sent a tickle of air across 62's face. “So tell me the truth. You were trying to escape. That Boy was helping you. Tell me who he is.”
62 felt small beneath the pressing stare. Tears began to well in his eyes and he could feel his lips begin to tremble. “I just fell. It was an accident.”
“You might get another chance to tell the truth someday.” The Man crouched down to retrieve his still blinking recorder. He turned it off and slipped it into his pocket. “I hope you take it when it comes. Otherwise, there is a place that they send Boys who lie. Boys who are traitors to Adaline. It's a place you don't come back from.”
Before 62 could respond, the Man waved his hand and t
he door slid open. As soon as he exited the room, fog began to filter down from a vent near the ceiling. 62 knew it was useless to fight against the straps and cried.
CHAPTER 19
62 DIDN'T KNOW HOW LONG it had been since the last time he was awake. From the urgent pressing of his bladder, it had been quite a while. One of the wide straps that held him down to the bed sat right atop his belly, making him twitch with the effort of keeping himself dry.
“PTS!” 62's voice came out in a dry rasp. He cleared his throat and peeled his tongue from the roof of his mouth before trying to call the Machine again. “PTS, are you out there?”
The door slid open and the Machine entered. “Hello, 1124562. How are you?”
“Hello. I’m a little uncomfortable. Can I go to the bathroom?” 62 wiggled under the straps to try to get away from the pressure, but they seemed to cinch down even tighter.
“I must record verbal confirmation that you are willing to be a good Boy before I can release you.” The PTS opened a door on its arm and removed a microphone like the one the Man had used during 62's interview. “Do you promise to be a responsible and kind Boy? Do you agree to follow the rules and do your best to keep Adaline's best interest in mind at all times?”
The strap across 62's abdomen twisted and pressed farther into his bladder. He nodded with enthusiasm, anxious to get out of bed. The Machine pointed into the microphone and 62 ceased his nodding. “Yes. I swear. I will be the best Boy you've ever seen. Can I please get up now?”
The PTS leaned over 62's bed. It pressed the microphone closer until 62 could feel his breath splashing off of the microphone and back over his skin with each exhale. The Machine's eyes flashed orange. “Do you promise to avoid dangerous activities and follow all instructions given to you by a Man or Machine of authority?”
62 breathed into the recording device. “Yes. I promise.”
The Machine nodded stiffly and retracted the microphone. After putting it neatly away, the PTS tapped the edge of the bed. The straps unlatched and it carefully straightened them before they retracted into the frame. The PTS looked down at 62. “You may go to the restroom. You have been asleep for nearly an entire cycle.”
The Adaline Series Bundle 1 Page 26
