by Rob Dircks
He dives in, reaches us, pulls us to the trampoline, helps me on top, and together we retrieve Brick from the water.
With waves crashing over us, barely able to see through the sheets of rain, I begin chest compressions on her. Wah blows rescue breaths. Nothing. Chest compressions. Rescue breaths. Nothing.
“Brick! You are not allowed to die!”
Her chest rises.
She coughs.
Then turns to her side and vomits.
I have never been so happy to see someone vomit.
< 60: Heyoo >
The plan is sunk.
Wah holds up our sole remaining playing card. A four of spades. “Anybody up for B.S.? It’ll be a quick game.”
It’s been six days since the storm subsided. The ocean is calm, and the sky bright blue, smiling on us as if it hadn’t just taken everything we had to give: an eye, a left arm, an ankle, every food packet, the sails, the computers, our entire vessel – even Wah’s prized jewelry collection. Gone. All gone. Except for the Houston Astros baseball cap, and the ring around his neck. Somehow they survived. Too bad they’re not edible.
The catamaran’s trampoline survived as well. As luck would have it – this is what passes for luck now – the trampoline component, designed for emergency flotation, did its job admirably. Stable and large enough for the three of us. We have been able to catch a fish and two gulls, for Wah and Brick to eat. It is not enough – my two companions are becoming alarmingly thin. I’ve been using my remaining reactor power to desalinate water, boiling it using my dermis and collecting the condensate into three containers we were able to salvage.
About that remaining reactor power: two days. That’s all I have left at the current rate. I haven’t told either of them. Should I?
Brick takes the playing card from Wah, uses it to scratch beneath her makeshift cast. “I would offer to dance with you, but Heyoo broke my ankle.”
“I’m sorry, Brick. Next time I’ll take a minute or two to consider other options.”
She grins and sticks me in the ribs with her toe. Returns to looking south. She has been doing that for quite some time this morning, looking south and humming, scratching her itch. Yesterday she despaired angrily, rubbing her little metal box, pressing the third button over and over again, mumbling to herself. Today she is content, almost cheerful. Strange. Clearly in the last stages of her insanity. Death is not far.
The plan is sunk. What can any of us do? We are at the mercy of the sea. I still contain the CORE virus, of course, but it all looks fairly hopeless now. The remaining humans will have to regroup in another charge for freedom. Perhaps next time sooner than eight hundred fifty years. I wish them luck.
Well, at least I can solve one mystery before I go. “Brick. I have approximately two days left of power to desalinate water. That’s all. We have failed. So can I at least know: who were the ‘others’ anyway?”
She points to a speck on the south horizon. Her parched lips curl into a smile.
“Why don’t you ask them yourself?”
< 61: Heyoo >
The Cavalry
A vessel!
We are saved!
As it nears, it’s clear that this ship is identical to our own departed catamaran. I had suspected something like it – that the others meant some form of redundant backup. Smart humans.
I tap Brick’s little metal box. “I was wondering what that mysterious third button did.”
“The cavalry. Even if CORE picked up that transmission, it’ll just be teleporting units into the ocean. Good luck with that.”
The three of us are weak beyond description, but the sight of our saviors has unleashed the last reserves of our energy. Wah jumps up and down on the trampoline, thrusting his arms in the air, threatening to pitch us all into the sea. “Woo-HOO!”
Brick joins in, awkwardly, on one foot. I stand as well. We embrace. (As much as one can without both arms.) And a small wave bumps the raft, sending us overboard.
Wah splashes in the water, laughing, while Brick and I help each other stay afloat, chuckling, unable to keep our excitement contained.
“I’m swimming over to it!” Wah shouts, and doesn’t wait for permission. He paddles the remaining ten meters and hauls himself up the port hull’s ladder. Walks across the bridge, looking back and forth. Confused.
Now upon us, he leans down the steps above the ladder, helping us on board. “Brick. There’s no one here.”
She struggles to get on deck. Smiles weakly. “Not yet. Not yet. Below deck. The first addition to the others, the Revival Corps. Food first, though. I’ve got to put some pounds back on these bones before the transfusion.”
Transfusion? Of course. How could we expect another human to greet us without the lifeblood of a living donor to wake them? I peer down into the port cabin. Two coffin-shaped containers.
“I’ll do it,” I say.
Brick chuckles. “Um, there something you’re not telling me, Heyoo?”
“No. Of course not. I just…” I’m embarrassed. I don’t know why I said that. The sun has fried something in my brain. It thinks I’m more human than I actually am. Bad brain. Bad, bad brain.
And so, for the next week, as we inch closer to the west coast of “California,” Brick and Wah consume more than their share of food pastes – I’m not even sure if any will be left for our guest when he wakes up. But the two are looking well, in a way better than ever. Brick’s muscles, asleep for centuries, look now how they must have looked back before all this – firm and sinewy, like a hungry predator. And the sun has browned her skin. She looks so alive, out here on the water. So… beautiful.
Objectively speaking. For a human.
And Wah is back to growing. Nearly fourteen years old now, he stands taller than my shoulder. And any memory of fear from our narrow escape from death has been erased from his memory. As usual. I don’t know how he does that. Amazing. He’s back to loving the sea, playing games, exploring the computer and his digital-to-human brain interface. He lets me watch when he does this, and I see he’s being careful. Maps, information on CORE and the Sanctuary only. It will be helpful to us. He’s becoming a responsible young man.
I, on the other hand, am falling apart. The loss of the eye was terrible. The arm is even worse. I’m trying to adapt, but even basic functions are difficult. And the tether doesn’t help. In place of my reactor, which is now depleted, I am tethered to the catamaran’s solar array for power. I can move about, but have to constantly keep from tangling myself in the cable, or tripping over it. Annoying!
Muffled cries from below deck. I suspect they’re from our new companion, awakening from his slumber. I carefully make my way down to the cabin as the container’s lid hisses and releases. For the second – and hopefully last – time, I witness an eight hundred fifty year old human slump to the floor, urinate, defecate, and vomit all at once. Ewww.
He makes his first weak sounds. “…sorry… oh god… that’s disgusting.”
Brick laughs. “Been there. Done that.”
The moment this new human can support his own weight, he lumbers over to Brick, throwing his arms around her neck for support. Wipes his mouth. And kisses her.
Kisses her?
“…hi honey… i’m home.”
Our astonishment must be obvious, as Brick turns to us and grins. “Heyoo. My friend. And Wah. My huggy bear. This is Oscar. My husband.”
I blink. “Your… your…?”
< 62: Arch >
Can I stop hugging you now?
“….your… husband?”
Sarah laughs. “Unofficial, of course. And you know, Arch, part of me sincerely feels bad saying telling you about Ray. But mostly? Get over it. I loved you. Dearly. I loved the team. I love our son. Now I love Ray. That’s enough. The rest isn’t about us. Gotta move on. There’s a bigger love. Got it?”
It doesn’t help when she talks like this. Makes me fall even more. Her strength. Power. And who’s this fucking Ray guy anyway? I shou
ld tear him to shreds. Just some opportunist, swooping in after only thirteen or fourteen years… well, shit, that is a long time. I guess you wouldn’t call it ’swooping’ after a bunch of years like that. But still. What could he possibly have for her that she couldn’t get from the memory of me?
Wait, what kind of bullshit thought is that? How did I get so self important? It’s the fucking love thing, man, it messes with your head. Love, I mean you can’t just–
She coughs. “I said: got it?”
“Wait. No. I’m not ready for some kind of love triangle thing with you and–“
And Sarah interrupts me with louder laughter than I’ve ever heard. Even Ray lets out a snort, he can’t help it. And it might be my imagination, but I think I hear Em the unit snicker. Sarah won’t stop laughing, repeating the words “love triangle” over and over, bending over howling, until her sides hurt. And I know she’s right. She’s breaking my heart, right in front of Ray. Breaking it wide open. But she’s right, and I find myself chuckling – I just said the words “love triangle” in all seriousness – and now I’m crying, like a madman. And once it starts, boy, I’m just a mess. Thirteen years comes pouring out of me like a tsunami. Sarah, too, I think. I can’t tell whether all those tears are just from laughing, but she leans over to me and stretches out her arms. “Bring it in. Bring it in.”
And I lean in too, and she hugs me. Whispers in my ear. “I still love you, Arch. It’s different, but it’s there, okay?” I nod, and she continues. “But you gotta move with this, this thing is going to get big fast now, now that we know he’s alive, and you gotta not let your feelings get in the way. It’s not about us. Got it?”
I whisper back, through my painful little sobs. “Got it.”
“Good. Can I stop hugging you now?”
——
Okay, so the plan sounds good: blow the shit out of CORE.
Actually, at first it didn’t sound good to me at all. Humans have tried it lots of times before, at least a dozen over the centuries I’m told, and it never works. CORE is just too well protected, too deep, to just blow up. But most people thought the Iceman was a load of crap, a legend – maybe even planted by CORE just to mess with us – so they continued, generation after generation, to plot ways to freedom that included lots of big explosions and fire. And they failed.
But this time will be different. This time we blow the shit out of CORE, or as much as we can, while our son and the infected unit bring it their little present, some nasty virus, while no one’s paying attention. Big giant loud party out front, little secret business in the back room. Game over. Goodbye, CORE.
Makes sense. But I’ll admit it: I don’t like missing the real action. “So we’re just a distraction then. A big fireball of distraction.”
Sarah’s impatient. “No. We’re a distraction. You’ll be at the main event.”
“And how’s that?”
“Because you’ll be inside the CORE Perimeter, closer to CORE than anyone.”
“And how’s that?”
“Because we’re sending you back to prison.”
I chuckle. “That’s a good one.” But she’s not laughing, not even smiling. She’s dead serious.
It’s official: this plan sucks.
< 63: Arch >
Even worse than a monster
Em walks me down to the river, alone. I have my arms tied behind my back, and my ankles restrained, so I have to kind of hop along. I’m already a prisoner again.
But that’s not the worst part. I can’t stop thinking about what happened. Now I’m even worse than a monster.
I’m a machine.
Okay, that’s totally overstating it. I just have two circuit boards inside me. But they hurt. I keep running the conversation over and over again in my head from a week ago, it was the last conversation I’d probably have with Sarah…
She had taken my hand, right there in front of Ray. Good. Take that, Ray. She said, “We’ll report that you were spotted outside the village, and that we trapped you. And being good citizens, we gave you up. That’ll get you inside, and take a little heat off us, CORE thinking we’re obedient little children.”
“And once I’m inside?”
“Okay. This is the part we don’t know. We’ll all be waiting for our son and ICEMAN. Assuming they traveled by water, across an ocean called “Pacific,” it could be a couple of months, we don’t know, up to a year maybe.”
“Great. Hey Arch, just sit tight and get your ass brutally kicked daily for a year. We’ll be there eventually.”
She smiled. “Exactly.”
“Nice. And once they finally get there? How the hell am I supposed to help?”
“Good question. Remember the circuit board Lars used to boot the teleporter? I know it’s a long time ago.”
“Yeah. Poor fucking Lars.”
“Hey. Lars died getting us to this point. Don’t poor fucking Lars. Remember the feelings we talked about. Getting in the way. Come on.”
“Sorry. Go ahead.”
“We still have five boards in the cache. The programmers over in Quad One had rigged them to operate some basic security protocols. Just like the ones you had last time. Once you’re inside, you’ll be able to open doors, disable cameras and such. It’ll make it easier for you, our son and the unit to get close to CORE, close enough for a direct connection inside the firewall.”
“Yeah, sounds easy, I’ll just waltz right in with two circuit board– wait. No way. I know where this is headed. I am NOT shoving even one circuit board up my ass. And forget about two. Not even for you. This plan sucks more every minute. No. I’m out.”
She practically crushed my hand. “Listen to me, Arch. This is the last push, we’re all putting it to the wall. And don’t worry about your precious butt. We’re going to implant them into your calves. And give you ports. Tiny flaps. No scars. Well, not any more scars than you already have. They’ll never notice.”
“Great. I’ll be a fucking machine. Like Em over here.”
And here we are now, me and Em, standing at the river’s edge. It’s uncomfortable.
I make small talk. “Sorry about calling you a fucking machine. And about the rock thing. You know, the rock and your head. Bang bang.”
She rubs the spot where her artificial skin is missing, showing her skull underneath. I don’t know why. “It’s all right, Arch.”
“I have a question.”
“Please wait. I’m reporting you to CORE. Three more seconds… okay. A security unit should be here in eight minutes. Yes, your question.”
I scratch my left calf. Itchy as hell. “If we… do this. If it works… CORE will be gone. And… even the good units, serviles like you, are going to go with it.”
“Is that a question?”
“I don’t know. Let me put it this way: I had a friend, sort of, named Tenner. A unit. Another servile. Deleted by now for sure. First time I ever felt bad about a unit. Like I would’ve kept him around if I could.”
“Still not a question. Perhaps it would be easier if I posed one.”
“Yes. Yeah. Shoot.”
“Do you think humans and units can coexist in a future without CORE?”
I stomp my foot. “That’s it! That’s my question! Exactly. And?”
She looks up at the sky. “I don’t know.”
So we stand there in awkward silence for a few minutes, waiting for some sadistic security unit to gleefully haul my ass back to Happy Land. I feel like I’m going to throw up. Oh shit, here it comes down the path now.
I whisper, “Sarah… goodbye…” Christ, Arch, don’t cry. You’re pathetic.
Em taps my shoulder. “Oh, yes. One last thing. Before the security unit takes you. Sarah wanted me to give you this.”
She pulls my face down to hers.
And kisses me.
< 64: Heyoo >
Land ho!
< ELAPSED: TIME: 14 Years; 00 Months; 12 Days JAN-29-2879 >
“Land ho!”
T
hey let me shout it, eye patch and all, standing at the pulpit of the catamaran, like the captain of an ancient Caribbean ship. All I need, they tell me, is a saber and a peg leg.
We’ve made it. Land! (If I never sail again, that’ll be just fine.) And a beautiful day it is to find land, with a clear blue sky and a light northwest wind pushing us gently to our destination. To celebrate our arrival, Wah and I perform what they call a “jig” to the sounds of Oscar’s ancient accordion.
Brick tells us we are the pirates of the twenty-ninth century. Crossing an angry Pacific Ocean, alive and nearly intact. Arriving in what will soon be known as the New World. With a buried treasure on board, deep inside me, ready to deliver to CORE.
Of the thirty-one ships buried and resurrected in various locations around the Pacific Rim, nineteen have survived the centuries, weathered storms, technical difficulties, and bad luck, and converged here at the entrance to “San Francisco Bay.” For two weeks, almost daily, a new catamaran has joined our little fleet, responding automatically to the call of Brick’s last transmission of our location. If CORE has picked up that transmission, and likely it has, we haven’t seen another unit. Yet.
As each ship arrived, the most recent member of NASA’s international “Revival Corps” provided the blood transfusion to wake the next. It was, as expected, a mess every time, and after three of them I didn’t feel it necessary to watch. I don’t know how Brick stomached it.
So here it begins.
The first day of the history of the New World, with Wah as its forebear.
For Wah gave his lifeblood to Brick; Brick to Oscar; Oscar to Tim; Tim to Olive; Olive to Ness; Ness to Char; and on and on. The Revival Corps’ entire contingent, twenty-eight strong, quite literally has Wah’s blood flowing through their veins. He will be a father of sorts to the next generation of humans. The first free humans in eight hundred fifty years. I am proud.
