Division

by Denise Kawaii

  “I can’t see anyone,” 62 told his brother after he’d pulled back from the open door.

  “Maybe they’re in the back office,” 00 answered. He moved around 62, leading the way into the second room, pushing himself against a wall of equipment and tiptoeing toward the next doorway. 62 followed, tripping on a wire on the ground. The wire was wrapped around a stack of data reels, large circular racks that held miles of black and gray tape that 00 had piled near the equipment to change out as the reels on the recorder were used up. The tug of the cord caught on 62’s foot sent the whole stack careening to the floor with a crash.

  62 froze, eyes wide and mouth agape in horror. 00 spun around, waving his hands to tell 62 to stop and shushing him silently.

  “Sorry,” 62 whispered.

  They stood, still as statues, listening. The voice still spoke, not bothering to pause despite the clattering disruption. 00 peered through the crack of the partially opened door into the office. He stood upright and scratched his head. “It’s dark in there,” 00 whispered.

  62 pointed to the derelict bathroom. They crept across the room and 00 pressed his ear to the door.

  “The voice isn’t coming from in there,” 00 said finally. He stood up straight again and didn’t bother whispering the next time he spoke. “It’s coming from somewhere in here.”

  62 searched the wall for a switch, flicking it on and letting light pour over the radio equipment from the overhead bulbs. The room was empty, aside from himself and his brother, and the voice that continued its low muttering from somewhere nearby.

  They moved around the room in a slow circle, coming at last to the wide, tall box with two intact reels turning slowly on its face. One reel of the recorder gave its tape up to the other. The tape reel on the left slowly unwound, an inch at a time, while the second reel gobbled the glossy material up. When the ribbon rolled over the second reel, it wound it over its hub, smooth as silk.

  A speaker was mounted to the box above the reels, and 00 turned up the volume slowly.

  “… the Man who worked on me was young. Younger than me, anyway. He explained everything he was doing to me, as if my knowing the reasons would make it any less terrible. They started by drawing my blood. For tests, he said…”

  “It’s Sunny,” 62 said in astonishment. “Who’s she talking to?”

  00 went to Terminal Two and hovered his fingers over the keyboard. He paused, and turned back to 62. “I was going to type the command to transmit, to ask her and find out. But the computer’s already transmitting.”

  00 looked from the computer to the slowly rotating reels. He crossed the few steps between them and pushed a button, stopping the reels. Sunny’s voice went silent. Terminal Two clicked madly, and then the button 00 had touched depressed, sending the reels turning again. Sunny’s voice leaked from the speaker, continuing her story.

  “It recorded Sunny,” 62 said as the realization hit him.

  “And it’s sending it out on the radio,” 00 added.

  62’s voice cracked in panic. “We’ve got to stop it!” He lunged toward the Machine, ripping the tape from its steady march and pulling a handful of it away from the reels. Sunny’s voice warbled and waned, disrupted by the disheveled ribbon. 00 dove for the power button, mashing it with his hand until the lights of the device dimmed.

  Terminal Two squealed from its internal speaker, and the sound recorder sprang to life again. 00 yelled in frustrated agitation, hammering the power button off before reaching behind the device to unplug it.

  T2> REPLAY INTERRUPTED. SYSTEM ERROR.

  N302> DISRUPTION NOTED. RUN DIAGNOSTIC FOR REPAIR.

  T2> UNSUCCESSFUL. REPLAY ACCESSORY NO LONGER ONLINE.

  N302> DISCONNECT NOTED. RESUME DIGITAL PLAYBACK.

  T2> DIGITAL PLAYBACK CONFIRMED.

  Another speaker sprang to life.

  “All right… My name is Sunny. I’m from Hanford. When the Oosa came, I volunteered to go with them, to receive a child to bring back to Hanford…”

  “It’s got it somewhere else!” 62 shrieked. He scrambled around the room searching for another rotating reel, but couldn’t find a second reel-to-reel device.

  00 stood, staring at Terminal Two. “That’s why N302 wanted to talk to Sunny. So it could record her.” He moved back over to the computer, hesitated a moment, and tugged at the wires that fed the bot power. They came loose and the screen went dark, the components within halting abruptly. Sunny’s recorded voice stopped mid-sentence, and the air was filled instead with the rapid clicks and loud scream of the data transmission they’d heard N302 using the morning it had asked to talk to Sunny.

  “N302 did this on purpose,” 00 said. He threw the cables he’d been holding violently to the floor. “It didn’t even ask. It just… did it!”

  “It tricked her,” 62 whispered. “She thought it was her friend.”

  “So did we.” 00 slammed his fist against the desk. “That’s the last straw. We’ve got to unplug the whole thing.”

  62 nodded. They pulled on their masks and went outside. Although they still hadn’t heard from Parker, they couldn’t risk N302 continuing to use the radio. They rounded the building and unhooked the power feed from the solar cells outside. They rushed down the mountain as quick as they could, ignoring the sweat that poured into their eyes under their lenses.

  62 was lightheaded and panting by the time they made it back to the jailhouse. He felt like he was burning up from the inside, but he couldn’t tell if it was from the sweltering afternoon or the anger boiling inside him. Sunny greeted them at the jailhouse door, but 62 and his brother stormed past her into detox. They flipped on the radiation detector, swept it over one another a few times, then rushed to the stairwell, taking the stairs two at a time to N302’s room.

  They were out of breath when they entered the computer’s room, but 00 still managed to holler at the Machine.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “How could you do that?” 62 added.

  N302> RADIO TRANSMISSION FROM TERMINAL TWO HAS BEEN TERMINATED. STATE YOUR REASON.

  “What’s going on?” Sunny asked when she entered behind them, panting.

  00 pointed at the computer. “It recorded you. Did you give it permission to do that?”

  “Recorded me?” Sunny asked, her expression blank. “What does that mean?”

  “It copied all the things you told it, and saved them so that it could play them back later.” 62 shoved a chair aside. “It’s not supposed to do that!”

  “I still don’t understand.” Sunny wiped a bead of sweat from her temple.

  00 paced the room, pulling at his hair. “It’s like… using the radio. Okay? We can talk into the radio and it sends the signal of our voice to Parker’s receiver. But this time, it didn’t just send a signal. It saved what you said, like a memory. Except it doesn’t just play the memory in its bot-brain like when you or I remember something. It can play the memory out loud so other people can hear it.”

  Sunny’s eyes went wide. “What can it do with that?”

  “It was broadcasting it!” 62 shouted. “Sending it out on the radio. And when we tried to stop it, it started the message all over again.”

  “But how could it…? Why would it...?” Sunny looked at the screen, which was still patiently waiting for an answer for its question. “N302, how could you?!”

  N302> TO PROTECT THE SURVIVAL OF THE FEMALE HUMANS, YOU MUST SHARE YOUR STORY.

  “You had no right!” Sunny screeched. She looked from the computer to the two Boys, fire alight in her eyes. “Did you know it would do this?”

  “We didn’t,” 00 answered. “If we’d even thought it could do something like that, we wouldn’t have hooked it up to the radio.”

  “Or given it another computer to talk to,” added 62 angrily. “Or even built it at all.”

  N302> I WAS DESIGNED TO CARE FOR HUMANKIND. THIS IS WHAT I HAVE DONE. IF HUMANKIND IS UNABLE TO SAVE ITSELF, IT IS MY NATURE TO INTERVENE.

>   Sunny’s rage dissolved. Her face blanched and her hands began to tremble. “N302, did anyone hear what I said?”

  N302> RECEIPT OF TRANSMISSION CANNOT BE CONFIRMED. TERMINAL TWO BROADCAST THE FILE 219.2673 TIMES BEFORE LOSING ACCESS TO RADIO SIGNAL.

  “Two hundred times?” Sunny gasped, falling to her knees and covering her mouth with shivering fingers. “Did you send everything that I told you?”

  N302> NEGATIVE. BROADCAST WAS EDITED FOR CLARITY AND IMPACT.

  “What does that mean?” 62 asked.

  N302> NOT ALL AVAILABLE DATA WAS REQUIRED. UNNECESSARY VOCABULARY WAS REMOVED OR ALTERED TO SIMPLIFY UNDERSTANDING AND INCREASE EMOTIONAL IMPACT.

  “So, you not only recorded her story, but you changed it, too?” 00 stared at the computer, dumbfounded.

  N302> THE FILE WAS ALTERED TO SUIT THE NEED.

  62 sank to the floor. He couldn’t fathom what the computer had done. It had taken a secret. A sacred story that wasn’t to be shared beyond the walls of the jailhouse. Not only had it pilfered the hermetic tale, but now it claimed to have rearranged Sunny’s words. Who knew what the message had said in the end?

  “Tell us what you said,” 62 demanded.

  N302> THE AUDIO FILE IS NO LONGER AVAILABLE ON THIS UNIT. ALL DATA HAS BEEN TRANSFERRED TO TERMINAL TWO.

  “If we turn Terminal Two on, will it keep trying to send the message?” 00 asked.

  N302> YES. DATA TRANSMISSION IS TERMINAL TWO’S PRIMARY FUNCTION.

  “Is there a way to disable it?” 62 asked. “I want to hear the message, but I don’t want it to keep broadcasting the recording.”

  N302> TRANSMISSION MUST CONTINUE. IT IS FOR THE GOOD OF HUMANKIND.

  “Well, I’m part of humankind, and I disagree!” 00 shouted.

  “Me, too,” Sunny said, frowning.

  N302> HUMANKIND DOES NOT OFTEN KNOW WHAT IS GOOD. I CANNOT ALLOW YOU TO ALTER TERMINAL TWO’S PROGRAMMING.

  “Fine.” 00 got up from the floor, moved across the room and fished around behind the computer. “If you won’t help us, then we’re done here.” 00 pulled the plug to N302’s power supply.

  Sunny watched the computer lights blink out as the electrical current stopped running. She looked from one Boy to the other. “What are we going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” 62 admitted. “We don’t know if Parker or Blue got your message. Maybe we’ll be lucky, and they were too busy to turn the radio on during Terminal Two’s broadcast.”

  “Or maybe it tied up the line playing it over and over so they couldn’t send a message back,” 00 said miserably.

  “Even if they had responded to the message, N302 wouldn’t have wanted us to know that they’d heard it,” Sunny said, shaking her head.

  “Let’s go downstairs,” 62 said. “N302 said some of its systems still run when it’s powered down, remember? Like the clock. If there’s any chance it can hear us, we shouldn’t talk about it in here.”

  00 and Sunny nodded silently. Everyone made their way down to the main lobby. They made sure the computer room’s door and both stairwell doors were closed before they spoke again. 62 paced the room one way, while 00 paced the other. Sunny melted into a chair, holding her head in her hands.

  “I can’t believe I trusted it. I knew technology was bad. I’ve known it my whole life. And still, I trusted that thing.” Sunny’s round eyes looked over her pale fingers at 62 as he walked past her. “I thought it was my friend.”

  “Technology isn’t all bad,” 00 said, “Although I feel like ripping all its wires out and chucking it out the window, I don’t think N302 meant to hurt you. I think it believes forcing you to stand up for yourself is the right thing to do.”

  “It wasn’t a bot’s choice to make,” Sunny grumbled.

  “No, it wasn’t,” 62 agreed. “It was a rotten thing to do. I want to find out what it said. If the recording was rearranged, it could say anything. Like, your words, your voice, but all mixed up to say something else.”

  00 smacked a fist into the palm of his other hand. “The reels! We shouldn’t have to hook Terminal Two up to listen to those. We can disconnect the computer and listen to the tape reels with the transmitter turned off. Then, we should be able to listen without it sending it anywhere.”

  “Can you bring the device here?” Sunny asked.

  62 shook his head. “It’s a huge piece of equipment. I don’t think we could carry it over the trail, even if all three of us tried. We’ll have to be up in the radio room to listen to it.”

  Sunny got up, balling her hands into fists. “Let’s go, then. I want to hear what it used my voice to say.”

  “Should we wait until tomorrow?” 00 asked, looking out the window. “If we leave now, there’s no way we’ll be back before dark. We’ll have to sleep up there.”

  “Pack a pillow then,” Sunny said resolutely. “We’re going now.”

  CHAPTER 43

  The afternoon light was fading by the time the three incensed hikers made it to the summit. The afternoon trek had been hot, and 62 was glad when the sun finally began moving below the mountain’s crest. While 00 and Sunny went inside, 62 hooked the solar power back up to the building. He entered the radio room, took off his mask, and dumped it with his pack and jacket in a chair by the front door. 00 had already turned on the lights and set to work disconnecting Terminal Two from the radio.

  While Sunny sat at one of the desks with a worried look, 62 unknotted and carefully re-wound the audio tape they’d pulled off the reels that morning. The wrinkled tape wasn’t easy to work with, bending and kinking where he’d grabbed it. He carefully flattened the ribbon and wound it back onto its reel, hoping he hadn’t permanently ruined it.

  When 62 had finished, 00 attached it to the playback device. They fed the end of the tape through a series of smaller wheels, then attached it to the second, empty reel on the other side of the Machine. 00 double-checked to make sure transmission was off, then turned up the volume. He gave 62 and Sunny a nervous glance and pressed the button marked Play. At first, the only sound was the strange electronic wheeze and squeal N302 made on the radio. Then the line cleared, and Sunny’s soft voice crept out of the speaker.

  All right… My name is Sunny. I’m from Hanford. When the Oosa came, I volunteered to go with them, to receive a child to bring back to Hanford. It was my duty, the way it’s the duty of every Woman, to help build the population of Hanford. At least, that’s what I believed. —static—

  When I arrived, the Oosa took us to a place filled with young soldiers. They’re worse than Hanford’s guards. Young Men and Women, all with their own guns. They took us to a hospital. But it wasn’t like Hanford’s hospital. This place is only for putting children in our wombs. —static—

  The Man who worked on me was young. Younger than me, anyway. He explained everything he was doing to me, as if my knowing the reasons why would make it any less terrible. —static—

  They tried the procedure on me three times, and each time, it failed. My body rejected their medicine. When Sasha, Flora, and Kat became pregnant, they were taken away and I never saw them again. My guess is they went back to Hanford to—static—keep the children indoors.

  As for me and the others, we were also moved. I was assigned to a—static—doctor. His assistant took a sample of my blood. That was—static—just the beginning.

  They don’t—static—care about—static—us. The doctor talked to me like a friend in the end. He told me I was the key. —static— They’re so young. They want to grow old like us, but—static—we are poison to them. —static— We are belongings to them. Something to be—static—used up.

  We can’t—static—go with them, to receive a child to bring back to Hanford. —static— It isn’t a place to heal you. They tried—static—procedure—static—after procedure. It’s the duty of every Woman, to help build the population of Hanford—static—without the Oosa. —static— We can’t win against—static—the poison in our blood. —static— Can you hear me? —static�
� Children of Adaline are more stable, yes. But we—static—volunteered to go with the Oosa. To receive—static—poison in our blood. —static— We tried to fight back once, when I was younger. The Oosa opened fire and took what they wanted. —static— We have to try—static—to fight back—static—again, and again. —static— Until we never see them again.

  I arrived at the jailhouse on Rattlesnake Mountain. —static— Stronger than—static—before. We must—static—fight back—static—again and again.

  I’m from Hanford. It was my duty, the way it’s the duty of every Woman—static—to fight back. —static—

  The message ended with another section of N302’s nonsense squeals and ticks. 00 pushed a button to stop the reels, sending the radio room into silence.

  “It sounded like me,” Sunny said in a low voice. “Those were my words. But that’s not how I said them.”

  “N302 made it seem like you want everyone to know you were here,” 62 said.

  “No.” Deep circles of exhaustion appeared under 00’s eyes in the dull light of the radio room. His skin had a clammy sheen to it, making him look infinitely older and more severe. The thin line of his lips parted and he announced, “N302 made it sound like you wanted a war.”

  CHAPTER 44

  62 and his friends crept down Rattlesnake Mountain in the early morning light. The heat of the previous day had been lost to the chill of the desert night, but 62 wasn’t bothered by the cold wind whipping frantically at the hems of his clothes. He and 00 had gone up the mountain mere Boys, but after discovering that the technology they’d brought to life was trying to start a war, they no longer felt like children. They were young Men now, weighed down with the heft of the world’s problems on their shoulders. Sunny trailed far behind. She’d kept to herself most of the morning. She moved cautiously, keeping her glass-encased eyes to the ground, choosing each step as if it might be her last.

  They made their way back to the antiquated jailhouse. When the edge of the structure came into view, they didn’t rush to its doors, rejoicing in the warm glow of homecoming like other weary travelers might. Instead, 62 and the others paused. 62 looked to his friends, feeling unsure if they should return, or go back the way they came and disappear over the mountain, never to be heard from again.