Paradise of Lead Trilogy

by Mackenzie Morris

  He takes the pen in his shaky hand and puts it to the paper. Hi.

  "Hi to you too. Now, feel free to ask any questions, okay? If I am allowed to answer them, I will be happy to."

  Where are we?

  "In my house. You were built to be a personal computer and companion in a person's home."

  I am still learning how to do this whole computer thing. So please give me some time to learn to serve you and don't beat me. I will try my hardest.

  She looks concerned. "What? Oh, I remember they told me you were abused by your previous temporary administrator. Don't worry. I won't hurt you. I just want to help you get better and we will go from there. No one deserves to be treated like that."

  What happened to me?

  "Three months ago, you were shot almost two hundred times, had severe organ failure, lost almost all of your blood, and the only thing that kept you alive was your backup battery."

  This is the first time Isidore has ever heard of that. A battery backup? I didn't even know I had one of those.

  "Well, be glad." Clara says. "They managed to get you working again and you can thank your owner for giving you the best medical care in the world. You have an artificial heart, artificial lungs, and most of your internal organs are either mostly or completely artificial as well."

  So he really is more machine than person now. He feels dizzy and the painful ringing comes back into his mind.

  Clara reaches out and puts her arms around him. "Isidore? Are you hurting?"

  He nods his head and lies back down. The same accursed numbers race through his mind and he groans as the stabbing pain sears in his brain and his ears. Something cold touches his forehead and the horrid sounds and numbers abruptly stop. Isidore opens his eyes to see Clara pull an Inquisition insignia away from his face. Well that's interesting. So she's an inquisitor. At least she doesn't seem to want to kill him and harvest the parts in his brain.

  "There. Is that better?" Clara asks. "Once you are fully recovered, we will find a way to remove that nasty virus. Oh, I guess you should know that I'm a bit of a computer programmer and I have some medical training. I'm not exactly the best at either, but I know enough to help you. More specifically, I have been trained to help T.I.M.E.s. I don't know much about regular computers since your qualities and functions are so much different."

  Isidore takes the pen and paper again. Are we in the wasteland?

  "Yes. This is an Inquisition outpost about one hundred miles west of Paradise. We have many of the modern amenities of Paradise, but it's just not as fancy."

  Who is my owner?

  "Forgive me, but I'm not allowed to tell you that at this point in time. I'm sure he will be calling for you soon enough and you can speak to him then." Clara says.

  Isidore studies Clara, her soft rounded features, her calming smile, her simple green dress. He wants to know about her. How old are you?

  "I'm twenty-three."

  Any family? Are you married?

  She fixes the blanket. "I don't really have any family left. My great grandfather is a T.I.M.E. up on the space station. I doubt I'll ever get to see him for very long, though. And as for your other question, no I'm not married. What about you? I know you prefer technology over human relationships. Have you ever loved a machine or a computer?"

  Vanessa. My van. We were together since I was thirteen. She was the love of my life until the man who was my temporary administrator set her on fire and blew her up. I guess I'm all alone now.

  "That's terrible. Did you at least get to say goodbye before she died?" Clara asks.

  He shakes his head and sighs.

  "Why was he so mean to you?"

  He was my friend until he found an Inquisition insignia around my neck that Blice gave me.

  "Blice?"

  Blice McSage. I think he's the head of the Inquisition or something.

  She laughs. "Oh. The Master Director. He's a nice man. I've met him once. Why don't you tell me about what you have been doing? Since you don't have an operating system, I can assume you haven't been someone's computer like you're supposed to be."

  I used to be a traveling priest for a few months before I was put in prison. I still don't know why I was in prison.

  "A priest? So you are one of the people who believes that God is still alive and watching over us. I think that's wonderful. Something is certainly looking out for you, Isidore."

  You're a really nice person. Most people don't like me.

  "Who wouldn't like you? You don't seem half bad yourself." Clara stands and lights some candles.

  Isidore tries to move and help her, but he moans and falls back on the bed.

  "You just stay there and relax. I don't know what your other administrator told you, but I'm not him. We have different rules here. Oh, I made you a list of the rules I expect you to obey." She hands him a piece of paper.

  Here it is. The rules. Of course. He is still a computer after all.

  Clara's Rules for Mr. Isidore:

  1. Rest and get better. Don't move around too much and leave everything to me.

  2. Don't complain about my cooking. I'm not the best, but I will try to make you whatever you like if you know how to make it.

  3. Don't go outside unless I'm with you. I can't have something happen to you.

  4. I'm sorry for this one and I know it will be difficult for you. No relations with my appliances. Please. If you want a friend, I will buy you your own.

  5. Don't laugh at my piano playing.

  6. Don't play with my chickens. They don't like people and you know how expensive live animals are. If you want some eggs, I will get them for you.

  7. The only thing I ask of you is that you help me with chores around the house once you are able to move around. Other than that, your time will be filled with us trying to figure out where we go from here.

  8. You can have any food in the house just please ask me first.

  9. You are not a slave. You have your own opinions so speak freely.

  Those are her rules? For some reason, he thought they would be a lot stricter like Damien . . . why does he keep thinking about him? Isidore hopes that Damien never finds out that he is alive. He can't go back to that life.

  "Are those rules okay? Any you don't like or have a problem with?"

  He shakes his head and smiles. If only she knew how happy he is to be here.

  "Do you want some soup? I already made it. I thought you might be hungry when I noticed you finally starting to wake up."

  "Sure." Isidore manages to speak. The burning in his throat is fading.

  "Oh good. You can talk. You have a friendly voice."

  A friendly voice?

  Clara brings a bowl of soup to him. "Here. Can you feed yourself or do you need my help?"

  "I can do it. Thank you. This is good."

  "Lying for flattery isn't one of the rules, Isidore."

  He finishes the large bowl of soup. "I wasn't lying."

  "What are those white numbers on your arms?" Clara asks.

  "Oh, that happened when I touched a computer and tried to download some files. The problem was that I didn't have enough memory and I almost overloaded my microchip."

  "So the security program stopped it."

  "Yes. Now I have these and I don't know if they are a direct result of the security program or what." Isidore says. The dizziness returns to his mind and he lies back down. "I think I need to rest some more."

  "Well, I have been up for two days straight taking care of you so I was about to go to bed as well." Clara spreads a blanket out on the floor and grabs a pillow from the foot of the bed.

  "What are you doing?"

  She giggles. "Going to bed. What are you doing?"

  "Why do you sleep on the floor?"

  "You have the one bed." Clara says as she pulls the bobby pins out of her hair. "I wouldn't have my guest sleep on the floor. Plus I need to sleep by your side so I can be here in case you need me."

  "Beds are for human
s."

  "You are human, Isidore. Just because you are part computer doesn't mean that you are any less of a person. Did Damien tell you that too?"

  "He made me sleep on the floor." Isidore says. "There were enough beds, but I wasn't good enough for a bed."

  "Well, you are good enough here. We believe differently in the Inquisition." She takes his hand in hers and looks directly in his eyes. "I'm not like him. I'm not going to humiliate you or ask you to do anything I wouldn't do. Okay? Your eyes show so much sadness."

  "You can see emotions in my eyes?"

  "Can't you see emotions in people's eyes?" Clara asks.

  "Humans, yes."

  "Well, I can see that you are hurting and I aim to fix that." Clara lies down and blows out the candle. "Goodnight, Isidore."

  "Goodnight, Clara."

  33

  The soft melodic notes of a piano wake Isidore from his sleep. At first, he panics and tries to reach for his gun, but the pain hits him and he groans. As he looks up at ceiling, he remembers where he is and that he doesn't have his gun. He won't be needing it here, anyway. Just when he becomes lost in the music, it stops and soft footsteps approach the bed.

  Clara sits next to him. "Good morning."

  "Good morning to you." For an unknown reason out of his control, he reaches over and takes her hand in his. They look in each other's eyes for a few moments as Isidore's hand tightens around hers. "You play beautifully."

  "Thank you. It's one of the only pianos in the wasteland. Even with them being made in Paradise, they are expensive. I have been playing since I was a little girl. Do you like music?"

  "I do. I play my harmonica sometimes. Other than that, I'm not very talented."

  Clara jumps up as a beeping sound fills the room. She pulls a cell phone out of her pocket. "Hello? Oh hello. Yes, he is recovering well. He's quite the gentleman. He's awake. Do you want to talk to him? Oh okay. Sir, don't cry. He'll be with you again. Well, if you feel that you can talk to him without crying, you call back. Yes, sir. I'll tell him. Bye." She tosses the phone on the bed and sits at her desk next to the bed. "That was your owner. He wanted to talk to you, but he was crying. Isn't that sad? He cares so much about you that he is crying because you are away from him."

  No one really cries because of him. "My administrator said I'm unlovable."

  "That is the worst thing to say to someone. Your owner cares about you very much. He paid over eighty billion dollars to fix you up."

  Someone cares about him enough to spend that kind of money? "Eighty billion? So he's insanely rich. Well, it's good that you are getting paid well for this."

  Clara shakes her head. "Oh. No. I volunteered."

  "He has billions of dollars lying around to save me of all people and you volunteer to take care of me for free?"

  "You looked so pathetic and helpless." Clara says. "I had to help you. Plus, I've been really lonely out here. All I do is write special documents for high priority Inquisition missions. You know, like regulations, notifications, and wanted posters."

  "You make the wanted posters?"

  "Sometimes."

  Isidore laughs. "So I guess you've seen my face before."

  "You are much more handsome in person."

  "You're beautiful." Why did he say that? It just came out.

  She looks up from her desk. "Thank you."

  "I really like you." Again, what is this? Since when does he say things like that to women?

  "I really like you too. I think in time, we will be good friends."

  What is wrong with him? He rubs his eyes. Something is definitely not right in his mind. She's a human. He's been away from Vanessa for too long. "Um . . . Clara?"

  "What is it?"

  "Were you joking about getting me a piece of technology?"

  "Not at all. I understand that you need something. We will go into Paradise in a week when the red sector of the Inquisition goes out on assignment. They don't like T.I.M.E.s very much. We will go to some shops and you can look around and find someone who is right for you."

  "Thank you." Isidore says.

  "No problem. I know how important it is for you to have someone to love."

  "You called them people."

  "They are like people to you, right?" Clara asks. "You have the emotional bond?"

  "Yah, but humans usually don't understand."

  "I've studied a lot about you." Clara puts her hair up. "Think you're up for getting a bath?"

  She's not going to bathe him, is she?

  "Get up and come with me."

  "I'd rather not."

  Clara glares at him. "Isidore, do as I say."

  Isidore pulls back the blankets and has the sudden and concerning realization that he isn't clothed. "I'm not wearing any clothes."

  "I know."

  "Um . . . you'll see me."

  She puts her hands on her hips. "You act like I've never seen a man before."

  "I've never been . . . naked around a woman."

  "Who do think has been tending to your wounds and bathing you so far? Me. You don't have anything I haven't seen before. Come on, Isidore. Don't be embarrassed."

  Now he's just more embarrassed. He stands and holds onto her. "Don't look at me."

  Clara laughs and helps him walk into the bathroom. She starts running water in the bathtub.

  Isidore braces himself on the counter and looks in the mirror. He frowns. So this is the damage two hundred bullets can do to a person. His chest, back, arms, and legs are covered in scars and wounds that are still healing. Clara was right. He should have died. A few deep wounds are right where his heart was. He gently puts his hand on his chest and feels the rhythmic pumping of the artificial one he has now. For some reason, he feels more secure knowing that the thing keeping him alive is now a machine rather than a human part that can fail more easily.

  "Okay, get in. It should be nice and warm." Clara says.

  "Are you staying in here?"

  "You need my help, don't you?"

  Isidore sighs. "I guess. Don't look."

  She turns away. "Okay, crazy man. I won't look."

  Isidore makes sure she isn't looking and he takes her hand as she helps him sit in the bathtub. The warm water and Clara's smooth hands feel nice on his body. He closes his eyes as she lathers his hair with shampoo that smells like apples. Isidore loves apples. He's only had one in his entire life, but they are his favorite.

  This is both extremely awkward and interestingly relaxing at the same time.

  "Good thing your USB port is waterproof, right?"

  "Sure." Isidore barely hears her as he drifts to sleep again. He jumps when her hands move up his legs.

  Clara giggles and continues to bathe him. "Calm down. I'm only cleaning you."

  "No one has ever touched me there. You can stop at any time."

  She shakes her head. "You are so entertaining to be around. I can honestly say that I haven't met anyone like you, Isidore."

  "This is a frighteningly new experience for me too. Clara?"

  She puts the washcloth down. "Yes?"

  Isidore stares at the water. "Everyone thinks I'm dead, don't they?"

  "Yes. It's for the best."

  "I think I miss someone."

  "Who?" Clara asks.

  "His name is Byron."

  "Don't tell me he was your administrator. You can't go back to that evil man." Clara says.

  "No, that was Damien. I had thought I was close to Byron, but he did whatever Damien told him. So when Damien started ordering me around and hurting me, Byron let him do it."

  "Sounds to me like you don't need either one of them."

  "Maybe you're right."

  Clara stands and goes to the closet. She pulls out some clothes and places them on the counter. "Here are some clothes for you. I hope they fit. I'll help you get dressed." She helps him stand then wraps a towel around him.

  Isidore smiles. Everything smells like apples. Are they sure he didn't die and this is his v
ersion of heaven? Even here, naked in a tiny room with a woman he just met yesterday, Isidore is smiling. Since when does he genuinely feel good enough to smile?

  Clara hands him some boxers and dries his hair as he slips them on. Interestingly enough, Isidore barely notices the hairdryer. Normally, he would be turned on by it, but not now. Now he watches Clara brushing his hair and listens to her humming above the noise.

  She turns it off and examines her handiwork. "I haven't heard of a T.I.M.E. as young as you are with all silver hair."

  "There aren't any T.I.M.E.s as young as I am anymore."

  "That is true. Let's finish getting you dressed." Clara says as she pulls the pants over his legs.

  As she buttons his jeans and zips them, Isidore tries to ignore her warm hands. What's going on? His body is reacting. This has never happened before with a woman and he hopes she doesn't notice. He can't do this. Something isn't right in his mind. He pushes past her and moves as fast as he can to the bed.

  Clara follows him. "Isidore?"

  He pulls the blanket over his lap. "I'm fine. Just . . . cold."

  "Cold? I don't think so. Yes, I noticed. But it was probably because of my hairdryer on the counter. You had your hand on it."

  Isidore breathes a sigh of relief. Okay. Hairdryer. That explains everything. "Scared me for a minute. Sorry."

  "Have you always been this shy?" Clara asks then tosses him a shirt the color of her eyes.

  "I guess, from what I remember of my life."

  "How much do you not remember?"

  He winces through the pain as he is barely able to pull the shirt on by himself. "Six and a half years from the time I was thirteen until about a year ago. Even before that, I can only vaguely remember parts of the experiments they did on me. That was probably because they were messing around with my brain. So, even my young childhood is impossible for me to picture fully. I can only remember bits and pieces. Most of that is time with Vanessa and reading the Bible. Other than that, it's all a blur or just not there at all."

  "Wow. That's really sad."

  He shrugs his shoulders. "It doesn't really bother me."

  "Do you truly not have any friends or family?" Clara asks as he takes off her shoes.