Force

by A.R. Rivera

Ninety-Nine Problems But a Kid Ain’t One

  I’m barely surviving.

  I have nowhere to sleep and extremely limited supplies. I’m in a strange plane, in the last city filled with potential enemies surrounded by an ice desert. Now, I’ve got to worry about a half-starved, disabled orphan.

  On top of that, there is the ongoing danger of Daemon. Every minute he spends breathing is a minute too long. He’s aiding the threat of interdimensional collapse with his unchecked use of the stones. Every time he opens a gateway it weakens the wall that separates one universe from another.

  Eli compared it to holes in the ozone; punch too many and were all done for. The whole debacle is confusing. What would a hole in the wall between two planes look like? What are the signs? All I know is that it spells death. His pallor was gray as he explained. “It could mean extinction of all life in the known and unknown universes.”

  Everything. Gone.

  My imagination is in full sprint as the laundry list of problems grows.

  Eli wasn’t even sure the Demron suit would protect me, but it was the best he could do. What are the long term effects of radiation exposure besides cancer and death? Brain damage? Infertility? Will all my teeth fall out? Am I forgetting anything? Because when I’m stressed I forget stuff.

  Rather than farming another ulcer, I have to consider the only logical solution to the most immediate problem.

  I don’t have time to babysit—I have to track Daemon, who I’ve already lost once. I can’t have a kid tagging along for the ride. I destroyed my alternate family by trying to help them. I can justify helping Rocky. I can’t leave him alone, but I can’t take him with me.

  So that’s what I have to do: find a safe place for Rocky. Get out of this city and cross over again. Searching for the Threestone in the outer landscape would mean a major archeological dig—an impossible expedition in this tundra—and if there are no stones to worry about in this dimension, then there’s no reason to delay chasing Daemon.

  Rocky is knocked out. I watch his eyes move under the lids, wondering what he’s dreaming about. He doesn’t start and barely moves when I lift him from the ground to carry him toward the main archway of Citrina’s house. She seemed like a nice enough lady. She’ll see that he finds someone to care for him.

  “Alien.”

  In the grass knoll, half way to the stone path that leads to Citrina’s porch, I stop dead in my tracks. Because it’s the same voice, the one from the pilot android I left dead in the snow.

  “We have orders to take you to Doyen.”

  ‘We’ has me looking up. There are two shapes in the shadow under a nearby tree. One of them steps forward, and it is another android soldier with the same gray riot gear-like suit and helmet with opaque visor covering the nonexistent face.

  “Who is Doyen?”

  The second form steps forward; the android that looks exactly like the pilot from the Orb. Like my father. He answers, “Doyen is Highest Counselor and Savior of Neutopia.”

  I kind of love that these droids are so free with information. Adjusting Rocky, I pull him closer to my chest and ask, “What is Neutopia?”

  “We are standing in it. The last city.”

  “What if I don’t want to meet your High Counselor?”

  The android commander steps closer, touting a stiff posture. “Your desire to come willingly was not a matter of import. Doyen makes the orders and we all obey.”

  “What if I said, ‘you’ll have to kill me first’?”

  The droid with the helmet gives off a series of beeps and then the droid in charge speaks again.

  “Either condition is acceptable. Doyen did not specify. You must bring the infant.”

  “Will he—will the infant be safe?” I ask, gesturing to Rocky.

  “He is most safe with Doyen.”

  It’s not like I can fight them off or even set Rocky down fast enough to make a run for it. I’m wearing my heavy backpack and stashed the pouch with the stones inside when I was cleaning the kid. There’s no way I’d make it.

  “I guess I’ll go with you, then, seeing as I don’t feel like dying right now.”

  “Yes, Doyen is generous.”

  The sarcasm in my tone was as clear as the night sky, but apparently, the robots can’t compute.

  “He sounds like an asshole,” I want to respond, but instead follow in between the two droids as they lead me to climb inside the waiting Orb because they’re each holding a baton.

  This Orb is not like the last, on the inside at least. Outside, it’s the same mish-mash of reflective metal triangles pieced together to form a ten foot tall, floating bouncy ball of a spaceship. Inside, though, it’s not white. It’s furnished with the same benches and single chair, only everything is charcoal gray. And the front half of the vehicle looks like it’s made of glass. It’s transparent. I mean, I can see the outlines of wires, circuits and junction boxes, but I can also see the ground underneath them and the grass off to one side, and the houses on the other side of that.

  The engine must be whisper quiet because I don’t hear anything as the outside of the Orb begins spinning and we take off.

  So far, this world gets a ten out of ten on the suck-o-meter. I may not be strapped in on this trip, but I’ve got this feeling in my gut that my shitty situation from five minutes ago was the best part of this expedition.

  The droids haven’t taken my pack or tried to search me. All they’ve really said is that we have to go with them. But something isn’t right.

  “Is this a newer model?” I ask, ignoring the dread in my gut. If these guards will talk, I may as well see what I can find out.

  The android that looks like my father is sitting in the pilots’ chair. He turns his head around—just his head. His shoulders are unnaturally stationary—to face me. “Modify. The topic of your question is unclear.”

  Without rolling my eyes like I want to, I clarify. “I was referring to this mode of transportation. This spherical craft. Is this the newest model?”

  With his head still turned toward me at that neck breaking angle, the man-faced, robotic imposter answers. “This is the only model.” Then he spins his head back towards the front.

  I got a response. So... these robots follow orders. Maybe they weren’t ordered to be tight-lipped?

  “But I was in another one, once before, as I’m sure you know, and it was white, not black, and it wasn’t transparent.”

  “These vessels are designed to adapt to individual environments as a safeguard against Mole attacks.”

  Moles: Arlen’s people who were forced to live underground because the climate is too harsh to survive, not beady-eyed, furry creatures that don’t like the light. They were attacking one another—Outliers, or Moles, versus Breeders—long before I got here.

  I look out the side of the Orb and watch the world go by. The distant night sky is like black velvet. But here, inside this pocket of protection against the nuclear cold, there is light. And trees. Grass and warmth.

  Arlen said they use an atmospheric generator to keep the cold out and grow plants. I wonder why this is only area where it’s used; probably because they are fighting over resources—for control over the atmospheric generators that produce the resources which sustain life.

  This plane must lie on a slope because my circumstances keep rolling downhill. Rocky is sleeping soundly though and I wish I felt half as peaceful.

  We’ve entered another part of Neutopia. Composed of exceptionally clean buildings, around ten stories, showing no lights or windows, which makes me think they aren’t used as apartments. Each building is illuminated though I can’t see any streetlights.

  Then, we turn a corner and suddenly there is nothing but lights.

  The Orb follows the roadway, turning at a corner with a tall building, and then the lights are there—blinding, bright and unwelcome. Even turned down the radiance is intense. Squinting, I can clearly make out the images reflecting off the Orbs interior surface
s. Rampant, rapid, hyper-colors blinking images; as if someone has turned up the contrast on every electronic billboard in Times Square. Only this is one billboard coating the entire side of the building we’re passing.

  Tucking my head down, I check Rocky. He’s still sleeping on my lap. How can he sleep through this? Sure, it’s only light, but its high-noon bright.

  The driver snaps his head around to look at me. The move is unnaturally swift, a glaring reminder that he isn’t human. “The ads will cease upon departing the merchant boundary.”

  It gets worse before it gets better. As the Orb drifts down the street, more buildings light up. On both sides of the road, now, more and more ads for god-knows-what pop on like a strobe, disorienting me. The colors make me feel like I’m sitting stationary and falling at the same time. I want to puke.

  As promised, the light of the ads begins to taper. Soon, there aren’t any more. Behind us, the same buildings that were burning bright are now dark.

  On both sides of the road, running along the curb of the sidewalks, small blue lights are glowing. Just like the crazy advertisements on the buildings, these come on as we approach and shut off once we pass. What’s weird, though, is that there’s no break in the pattern of the lights: no more corners. No side streets or alleys. Just the one, long road we’re rolling over.

  The lone roadway is fixed with more plain buildings. These are much shorter than those in the previous area—the tallest being a mere five stories high. Following the road with my eye, I see that it leads to a lone building a mile or so ahead. It’s much taller and thinner than any other in sight, even from here. It’s pointed like a needle. A light at the spire shoots up into the night sky.

  “What is that?” I mutter softly—knowing that this has got to be where they’re taking us.

  “Lanthium Tower—our destination.”

  I’ve got a bad, bad feeling and reflexively pull the boy into my chest. “Why are you taking us there?”

  “Doyen’s orders.”

  Not good.

  These droids have shown little hostility though that doesn’t mean much. I should take full advantage and get all the information I can. Knowledge is the first line of defense, after all.

  “What will this Doyen do with Rocky?”

  The driver who looks way too much like my father turns again, giving that unsettling reminder that he is an android. “What is ‘Rocky’?”

  I gesture to the kid I’m holding. “This is Rocky.”

  The droids eyes flood with unnatural light for a second and then go dim. “‘Rocky,’ is a human infant. Male. Found insufficient for processing and tagged Refuse.”

  “Refuse? Like garbage?”

  The second droid, the one that’s been sitting just behind me like a piece of furniture this entire time, chooses this moment to respond in a human-like voice rather than a series of beeps and surprises the shit out of me.

  “Tagged Refuse: marked for disposal. You should not possess refuse. It is unhealthy.”

  After my heart rate slows down, I ask, “Why was he ‘tagged refuse?’”

  “He does not meet the required measure of intelligence or development. Doyen will see that he is properly replaced.”

  “Bull shit.” I challenge. This Doyen will have to go through me first.

  The droid beside me answers. “Bull: a male bovine, of the genus Bos, having sexual organs intact for reproduction purposes. Shit: feces, excrement. The act of defecating. Slang term, garbage. Vulgarity.”

  “Yes,” I say slowly, with pronounced sarcasm, “Now you’ve got it.” It’s like talking to a dictionary.

  The droids voice is monotone though he asks a question. “Got it?”

  “I’m the bull and you two are shit.”

  “Incorrect.” The android driver responds, this time swiveling his head back around in a complete one-eighty. “We are the tactical duo sent to carry out Doyen’s orders. You are not a bull, but a human male and trespasser. Lacking enhancements.” His eyes glow, shooting a light out like a laser beam that sweeps over me.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Your sexual organs are fully functional and intact. Sperm count is ideal for breeding. You will be of use as a Breeder.”

  Drawing my knees together, I shift Rocky to cover my lap. “Keep your scanners off my junk.”

  “Communication is insufficient. Explain.” The helmet-droid says.

  “My explanations are going straight to Doyen. You two are idiots.”

  “Idiot; utter fool or selfish—”

  “Shut up,” I growl.

  Neither droid responds.

  Rocky remains knocked out as the towering building looms closer, the glow taking on a bluish hue as we near it.

  Soon, we’re heading straight for a smooth, gray wall. But before I can get too nervous a tall black line appears and quickly widens into a square, a doorway opening. We’re heading into the building; an area similar to a parking garage. The low ceiling glows like the road outside, illuminating the immediate area and going dark once we pass by like the lights are on a sensor, only without visible lighting fixtures. It looks as if the light is coming from the material of the building though it looks like bare concrete.

  The top of the Orb transporter peels open like a can of sardines. Looking up, I’m stuck speechless as a clear tube appears overhead.

  I don’t like the look of it at all. Racing to my feet, me and Rocky step far over to one side and watch the droid with the helmet get sucked up into the tube.

  “What the hell?” I mumble, looking down at Rocky, wondering how he could sleep through all of this and double-checking that he’s still breathing.

  “This way.” The android driver says, standing near the open doorway of the craft. “Doyen is waiting.”

  This must be what walking the plank feels like, I think. Or the way a lamb feels the week before Passover. I don’t know anything about these people or their ways of dealing with ‘aliens,’ beyond dumping them outside the perimeter of the atmospheric generator, leaving them to freeze.

  And it’s not like I can run or fight my way out when I’m physically inferior and carrying a toddler.

  Just outside the Orb, I find the parking garage looks more like a house of pods, with dozens of Orb vehicles sitting in groups of three or four, each one attached to a post by way of a hose, like some sort of charging station.

  It’s quiet enough to hear the echoes of my footsteps as I follow the leader of the tactical trio sent to bring me in.

  I’ve thought of whipping out the stones more than a few times, but can’t bring myself to do it. Not while I’m holding Rocky.

  Besides, Eli said I shouldn’t be triggering gateways haphazardly. The way he explained it was by comparing the way astronauts use existing holes in the ozone— “windows”—to travel through rather than making new ones. He said keeping the number of places limited will limit the number of weak spots created by crossing over. I don’t know if he’s right, but I don’t want to find out the hard way.

  The network of halls we pass through makes me think that this place is constructed like a honeycomb. There are small, hexagonal shaped inlets throughout the corridors. Pretty much at every turn and I’ve lost track of the number of turns we’ve taken.

  It doesn’t help that every hallway looks the same. There are no maps or pictures or labels of any kind to differentiate one passage from another. I guess if you’re a robot with a calculator for a brain, you don’t need them.

  “Is Doyen like you?”

  “Insufficient. Explain.”

  Sighing, I ask again, “Is Doyen android or human?”

  “I am artifice and Doyen is organic.”

  “And he’s your boss?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who is Doyen’s boss?”

  “He holds supreme authority.”

  “So he’s the leader?”

  “Yes.”

  “What does he want with me?”

  Fin
ally, we’ve stop to panel in a wall. The droid presses an ungloved hand to it, which strikes me as odd. Does he have a microchip in his hand or did his maker give him fingerprints?

  A bright light flashes, like someone’s taking a picture of his open palm, and then a doorway appears in the plain wall. The door slides open, just like in Star Trek.

  I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.

  “Step inside.” The droid says.

  I look into the small, gray box of a room on the other side of the door that looks exactly like the rest of the building.

  “What will happen?”

  “You will travel up to see Doyen.”

  “This is an elevator?”

  “Yes.”

  He used the singular description ‘you’ rather than ‘we,’ so I have to ask, “Where will you go?”

  “To the dormitory.”

  “And what will you do there?”

  “Await new orders.”

  Since my first meeting in the snow with synthetic life forms I’ve tried not to think of the how peculiar it is that this android looks—not exactly like, but very close to—my father in his mid-thirties. But I’ve also been thinking about the letters my dad left me. The one that came taped to the box he left me mentioned how I am “in the middle of everything.”

  My father left the stones for me to find. To stop Daemon. But he was not the first of my family to find them. The fact that I’m interacting with an artificial being that looks like a blood relative cannot be mere coincidence.

  “Are you like, one of the people that’s been displaced?

  The droids paternal face is washed blank though he tilts his head. It’s weird talking to someone who doesn’t blink.

  “All commanding officers were bio-synthetically produced from one human male.” Righting his head, the bot squares his wide shoulders. “You must go. Doyen is waiting.”

  With that, he shoves me and Rocky into the tiny room. I trip forward and spin back around just in time to watch the door panel sink back into place. I don’t feel any movement, but my ears pop and Rocky startles awake with a low-pitched cry. His voice cracks and it’s as if I can feel his dry throat.

  Slipping my pack from my shoulders, I set it on the floor and squat with the sniffling kid to conduct a one-armed search for my water bottle. There isn’t much left inside so it’s quickly drained and Rocky resumes his lament—which grows from a whimper to a wail.

  “Shh... it’s alright, I’ve got you.” I soothe. Rocky stops long enough to look up at me with wounded puppy-dog eyes.

  “I’ve got you,” I repeat. “I’ve got you.”

  Repeating the phrase seems to calm him. Plus, I can’t think of anything else to say. I’m no good with kids, but I remember how I used to rock Carrie and toss that into the mix. Melding the I’ve-got-you’s with a rocking motion.

  The boy’s crying shudders to a halt. He wraps both of his short, string-bean arms around me and tucks his head into the crook of my neck as if ensuring that I won’t get away.

  I pat his back.

  The door of the gray elevator reappears and peels wide open.

  On the other side lies a large room unlike the rest of the building. For one, its carpeted, not blank cement like the halls I walked through. The rug is bright crimson red. The walls are pale, with opulent fixtures. Gilt-framed paintings of rolling hills and wildflowers, red farmhouses and spotted cows. Elaborate golden sconces illuminate the wall space in between. The furnishings are mismatched, looking more like those inside Citrina’s house. Thin pieces of metal framed chairs and a single sofa covered in plain white material that reminds me of a doctor’s office.

  There isn’t a person or android in sight when I step into the room. The shaft that brought us here closes and disappears, leaving a blank space in the wall behind me.

  There’s a wide window stretching along the furthest wall. Noting the sound of Rocky’s congested breathing has tapered, I assume he’s fallen back to sleep. Approaching the glass, looking down at a sprawling city reminds me of my home—it’s a bird’s-eye view of Los Angeles in blackout. At this height, I estimate we’re on the top floor of the building, just below the spire.

  “It’s a beautiful view.”

  The source of the voice comes from a man standing behind me on the other side of the vast room. He’s a few inches taller than me and twice my width, wearing a long roman-inspired robe of palest blue. He has waist length brown hair drawn back into a long braid. He’s clean shaven and smiling.

  “I see you brought the boy. How generous.” His hands rest at his rounded middle while his eyes grope my face.

  Keeping a tight grip on the boy hanging sleepily around my neck, I straighten. “Are you the one I’m here to see?”

  “I am Doyen. You may lay him down.” Doyen’s sweeping gesture plumes across the room—aiming at that uncomfortable looking rectangle that’s either an odd-shaped sofa or a weird couch, on the other side of the long room.

  “He’s fine right here. Thanks.”

  The man gives a little bow to his head, keeping his distance. I notice, though, he doesn’t take his eyes off me.

  “Why am I here?”

  Doyen has a round face with dark, deeply set eyes and a long nose. “Curious, aren’t you?” He says as if measuring me.

  “Yes. I’ve broken no laws.” Though I’m sure it’s a lie, I sound confident.

  “You have, though.” Doyen shifts his weight. “But we will get to that later. Right now, I require your cooperation in surrendering that boy.” He raises an arm, pointing sausage fingers at Rocky.

  My hold tightens reflexively. Protectively.

  “You will get him back. You have my word.”

  Just then, another robed figure enters the room from a doorway I can’t see. It’s a woman in a white cloak. She’s older looking with gray streaking her neat black hair. She’s got pale skin, a soft face and unnaturally bright eyes that accompany electronic life.

  “Another android?”

  Doyen nods. “I use them in the most important societal roles: as peace-keepers and caregivers.”

  Giving the droid beside him another once-over, I have to ask, “Which is this one?”

  Doyen’s mouth quirks to one side. “Answer him, Amora.”

  “I am a caregiver.” The female droid takes a step toward me, her eyes emitting a golden glow that sweeps from Rocky’s feet to his head, smoothly covering the length of his body for a full five seconds before dimming.

  “Oral health compromised. Malnourished. Dehydrated. Under developed. In need of care.” The sound of Amora’s voice is soft and nurturing. It’s the way a mother speaks her child’s name. There’s a whispered sweetness to it. She also keeps walking towards me.

  When her hands come up, I step back.

  She halts and looks back to Doyen. “Insubordinate response.”

  Doyen stays put, looking at me, but addressing his android helper. “It’s alright, Amora. This man is not from Neutopia. He doesn’t understand our ways.”

  “Yes.” I agree. “I find it difficult to trust people I don’t know.”

  Amora turns back to me. “I am artifice, containing more medical data than any single human. I am programmed to restore health.”

  “Set up an area in the open where our guest can watch.”

  The moment Doyen gives the command, Amora gets to work. Well, she puts me to work. “Set the child over there.” She points at the same plain padded bench set against one wall. “On his back. Try not to disturb him; it will be more efficient if he remains at rest during processing.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Inject Refuse with a supplement to cultivate his brain growth and body responses. Then, begin the method of rehydration. Refuse will feel much better by morning.”

  “Stop calling him that. His name is Rocky.”

  Though I don’t like the title, I understand that his needs are beyond my capacity. His little belly looks too r
ound for his tiny frame and it feels hard. So I do as Doyen says and let Amora help him.