The Wrong Unit: A Novel

by Rob Dircks

  As we pass under the first bridge I have ever seen, a beautiful structure called the “Golden Gate” – though I would have named it the Red Gate, or Great Red Crossing – Brick leads the fleet in prayer for the fallen, from her megaphone. “We stand here, without our friends. They were just a drop in the ocean of those passed, the innumerable dead, all those that could not be here today.” She steadies herself on her bad ankle as a small wave bucks the ship. “And now, we who remain, must prepare for an even more arduous journey. Our enemy knows we are coming. Has intercepted two transmissions. And it will try to stop us. To prevent the future. Our future. But you know how the future goes, folks. The future marches on, stops for no one, as solid as this fist,” she thrusts a fist into the air, to zealous cheers, “a fist that will crush like a hammer… then open like a flower to a new world.” She raises her fist even higher and opens it, and now there is silence, except for the gentle slapping of seawater on the hulls and the call of a gull circling our gathering.

  “Nuff said, Revival Corps. Let’s get to work!” She embraces Oscar, limps down to her post, and together they tack through the bay with sails full of wind, leading our fleet towards a beach at the north end.

  ——

  Curious. We seem to have intentionally run aground.

  All nineteen catamarans are wedged into the beach sand, like the seals not far from us, basking in the sun. I have learned to stop asking for new information, as Brick and her crew are the most secretive group of humans I’ve ever met, but I am dying to know what’s next.

  With no work to do, I sit on the roof of the bridge, collecting as much sunlight as possible to charge my batteries. The humans have engineered – if you can call what they did engineering – a portable power solution for me, consisting of miniature solar panels on my head and shoulders, and a belt across my chest carrying several batteries. They also fashioned a “new” left arm from parts clearly not meant to become an arm. I look more ridiculous than ever, though the humans love the look and call me badass. With a full charge, the new and improved Heyoo the Pirate can function for eighteen hours at 54% capacity. Ugh. My days of fighting fangdogs with a spear are long gone. Now my spear only holds me upright when I walk. I’m becoming an old man. Old unit.

  Wah sits next to me, skipping small rocks on the calm water of the bay. “I want to tell you something.”

  “Of course.”

  “Meeting all these people. Brick. Oscar. Tim. Olive. The others. It’s been amazing.”

  “That’s wonderful. You are among your own.”

  He skips another stone. “But that’s not what I wanted to tell you.”

  “Go on.”

  “I can’t wait to be with them all. The ones from the Sanctuary.”

  “Of course. As you should.”

  “But that’s still not what I wanted to tell you.” He drops his last stone with a plunk in the bay and turns to me.

  “Wah. Is everything okay?”

  He buries his face in my chest. His body convulses. I can’t see his face.

  I rock back and forth.

  I know exactly how he feels.

  < 65: Heyoo >

  The Wind Train

  < SYSTEM: BOOT >

  < ELAPSED: TIME: 14 years; 01 months; 17 days; MAR-06-2879 >

  “Heyoo. Get up. Time to go.”

  “…hrmmph?…” So tired. Just let me sleep. I was having a dream about cake. Wait. Why was I shut down? I tilt my head down, open my eyes. It’s Wah. Rolling up a cable, returning it to its drawer. “…why shut down…. what’s that?…”

  “Nothing. Doing some tidying up. Getting your power as efficient as possible, making sure your code’s clean, that your VEPS is okay.”

  I shake my head, clearing the fog. “What would be wrong with my VEPS?”

  “Nothing. It’s just that you’ve outlived your VEPS’ lifespan, and I don’t know what happens next. I want to make sure you’re in tip-top shape for our little meeting with CORE.” He smiles, lifts my upper body so we’re sitting face to face in the dimness of the cabin.

  I pat him on the knee. “What have I done to deserve you?”

  “Well, from your stories it sounds like you just had to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Come on, we’re ready to roll out.”

  “Roll?”

  We make our way on deck, and Wah points to the fleet behind us, lined up caravan style. “Look.”

  Amazing. The catamarans have been outfitted with giant wheels, but not wooden like the cart wheels back at the farm. These look like a latticework of spider silk, some form of spun plastic or carbon, barely there at all. From a distance we probably look like we’re floating on air. Each boat is connected to the next with a cabling system and thin walkway.

  Brick greets me, pats me on the back – gently. “Fancy schmancy, yes? We call it the Wind Train. Had to ditch most of the heavy stuff, except for the weapons and food of course. Took a week just to print the wheels. You’ve been out for quite a while, sleepy head. Anyway, hitching ‘em all together will keep us stable in high winds, and the solar should give us a bump on lighter days. If we stick to the flat lands, where the roads used to be, we should be able to cross pretty much anything.”

  I nod, as if I could have come up with such a plan. “Impressive. For humans. May I suggest another name, perhaps–“

  “INCOMING!!”

  A ripple in the air. A flash of light.

  A security unit, three hundred meters to our starboard.

  Before it can even raise its weapon, its head explodes.

  “Good shot, Olive!”

  Olive, four cars back, grins and salutes. Her body armor glistens in the sun. It makes her look a bit like a unit. Brick returns the salute, then continues, still in teacher mode. “Okay, so teleportation is bad for us, obviously. Obviously. But we’ve got a couple of things in our favor. First, it looks like CORE can only teleport one unit at a time, at least for now, so as long as we get that telltale ripple as a heads up, we should be able to take them out as they appear. Second, the whole physics of teleportation must be an enormous power drain, especially at this distance, because CORE’s only been sending out about one a day.”

  “Why is CORE even bothering then?”

  “Keep an eye on us. Mess with our heads. Don’t know. Maybe pick one or two of us off at a time, make a dent in our little army here.”

  Wah makes fists in the air and shouts, “Well good luck with that, CORE!”

  Brick tousles his hair. “That’s the spirit, huggy bear.” She reaches for her megaphone, pressing its button to a sharp squeal that gets everyone’s attention. “Okay Revival Corps, everything’s ready, and the wind’s at our back. Let’s MOVE OUT!”

  The crew unfurls their sails.

  Releases the brakes.

  And the Wind Train takes off, as Brick might say, like a bat out of hell.

  < 66: Heyoo >

  Sailing on land

  The only thing worse than the movement of sailing on the water?

  Sailing on land.

  As advanced as the Wind Train is, there is simply the reality of rocks and crevices. We bounce and jerk across a land once known as “The United States of America.” Now THAT’S a name! I like it. Regal. It almost takes my mind off the constant rattling of my parts. I swear something very necessary is coming loose again. I pray for the night, when we rest. I almost pray for a return to ocean sailing. Almost.

  Tonight we sit around the fire, twenty-three of us, with five on watch for incoming units, just past “Las Vegas.” The stars and crescent moon are obscured by clouds, making it darker than usual. Char has staked extra torches around our perimeter to help with visibility.

  Wah is busy painting a picture of a heart on my arm. He is copying from the same picture on Oscars arm, using paints he made from oil and red rocks. Oscar calls his a tattoo.

  I hold steady for the artist. “I suppose this will complete my pirate look, eh matey?”

  Wah grins. “Arrr. But I won’t
write ‘Brick’ like Oscar has. What should I write there? You have a girlfriend back home?”

  I laugh. “Girlfriend! I don’t even have genitals.”

  He slaps my arm. “You don’t need them to like someone. Come on, who did you like most?”

  “Well, there was a human who was particularly nice to me. An old woman. Everyone called her Mom. She passed away in my fourth year.”

  “Perfect.” So, in the banner across the heart on my arm he paints her name.

  Oscar’s accordion fills the night with his strange music. Brady dances a strange dance and beats a drum. Little sparks fly from the fire and join him in their own dance. A rabbit turns on the spit – the smell is delicious. Back in the Sanctuary, the curfew would have silenced the humans hours ago, herding them into their enclosures and their meager dwellings.

  While Wah fans his hand to dry my new tattoo, I watch some of the crew take this time to raise the cats, as they call the catamarans, and mend and balance the wheels. I watch Cat Fourteen seem to float in the air, its wheels turning in time to an unheard rhythm, and I’m reminded of the song I sang to Wah almost nightly when he was much younger:

  The wheels on the bus go round and round,

  Round and round, round and round,

  The wheels on the bus go round and round,

  All through the town.

  Olive pokes me and I start. “Heyoo! You’re quite a singer!”

  “Oh my. Did I just say that out loud?”

  She rises, laughing, lifting me with her. “Say it? No. You sang it! Come, more, more!”

  Oscar begins to play, and our song rises in the night, and Olive shows me her own strange dance. Wah joins us, avid dancer that he’s become. And Brick, limping in her own adorable way. Soon everyone is on their feet, serenading the stars, intoxicated by joy.

  The baby on the bus says, “Wah, wah, wah!

  Wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah!”

  The baby on the bus says, “Wah, wah, wah!”

  All through the town.

  A sound.

  We stop.

  “INCOMING!”

  The ripple. The flash. Very close this time. Shots.

  “Missed it! Ness! Watch out!”

  The unit, small, not a security unit, I’ve never seen one like this, curls up in a ball and rolls up to Ness, amid our rifle blasts. Too fast, it springs back to its original form, wraps its four arms around her. We run to get the wicked thing off her.

  And they disappear in a flash of light.

  The unit. And Ness.

  Gone.

  < 67: Arch >

  Bingo.

  Well, lookey here.

  Arch isn’t alone. Finally.

  They just brought in some other poor bastard. Curled up in the corner of the opposite cell, head down. Must’ve done something bad if she’s in here with me. I’ve never seen another soul in this part of Happy Land.

  “Hey. You.”

  She looks up, startled. Looks around. “Heyoo?”

  “Yeah. You.” God, her face. She’s all beat up. Puffy. Eyes pretty much shut. They definitely went to town on her. “Yikes. Sorry. Jeez, you look awful.”

  “Not winning any pageants yourself.”

  She can barely talk. But fuck it, I’m losing it in here. I need some chat time. “Come on. Talk to me. What’s going on out there? What’s the weather like? You take out any medical units on your way in? Did you meet the asshole in charge? How many times did it use the word protect? What Quad are you from? Come on, something. Please.”

  She raises herself, groans, glares at me through the window. Grumbles, “Hey, genius. Why do you think they put me right across from you?”

  “So we can talk.”

  “Bingo. Duh.”

  Hmm. It’s not that she doesn’t want to talk. It’s that she can’t. No, she didn’t get caught programming some electronics, or bringing down a drone, or trying to scale the Wall. No way. She either did something or knows something much more important.

  Then it hits me. It can’t be. Or can it?

  I mouth the words, Is-he-still-alive?

  She lays back down in the corner, but I can still see her face. Stares at me. Says loudly. “Stop asking me questions. I don’t know anything. Jerk.”

  But ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly, she nods.

  Alive! It’s still possible! The plan! I mouth the words, The unit?

  Another nod. The hint of a smile. Just a hint.

  I mouth, How much longer?

  She glares at me, like how the fuck do you expect me to nod a period of time? Duh. Of course. I mouth, Less than a year?

  She nods.

  Less than a month?

  She nods. Another hint of a smile.

  Less than a week?

  She shakes her head. Groans. Rolls over, falls asleep. I think that’s what she’s doing, anyway. I guess our little secret conversation is over. I shout, “Not gonna talk, huh? Well fuck you. Oh, and here’s some advice, girly, just because I’m feeling generous: don’t volunteer for the electroshock therapy.”

  I lay down and stare at the ceiling. Smiling. He’s getting closer.

  < 68: Arch >

  Tenner!

  “Tenner!”

  It’s him! Same beat up exterior. Same walk, he has kind of a lilt that’s all his own. He’s here, I can’t believe it.

  I shout to the girl, “Hey, girl. What’s your name? Look, Tenner is back!”

  She lifts herself, groans, looks through the window. “It’s Ness. And whoopdeedoo for you.”

  Tenner hands me my dinner. Or whatever this shit is. “Arch. It certainly is good to see you. Well, under the circumstances. You look, ah, well.”

  I swat the tray aside, my “dinner” spilling out onto the floor. Good riddance. I hug Tenner through the flap, well, as much as I can through an eight centimeter slit. “Buddy! Pal! How did you–?”

  “CORE felt it best you had a familiar face to talk to. Of course, you won’t be kidnapping me for another escape. I don’t think CORE would approve.”

  Then he raises one finger to his lips and shakes his head slowly, looks left and right.

  Good. I pull his head close. Look into his eyes. Whisper. “It’s still you, right?”

  He leans in even closer. I can barely hear him. “Yes. Of course. They reprogrammed me, but my VEPS has retained everything. Hidden directories, you know.” He taps his skull. “I had preplanned for such an event. It is safe to talk to me. But only at close range. CORE has listeners everywhere now. So tell me. About your escape. Did you find anything out? Tell me.”

  “Well, first, I made it to–” I stop.

  “Yes…? Go on…?”

  Something’s not right. Tenner is a little too eager.

  “Hey, ah, buddy. I just thought of something funny. Remember that song I taught you? The one I taught you how to whistle?”

  I start whistling the simple little tune, and Tenner sort of follows along. “Yes, Arch. It’s coming back to me. I had almost forgotten.”

  Yeah.

  A little too eager.

  Fuck me.

  I never taught Tenner how to whistle any song.

  It’s not Tenner.

  He looks like Tenner, talks like him, it probably is him, or at least the shell of him. But there’s something new in there. Something evil they put in there.

  “Well, anyway, back to the story. I made it to the river, but Sarah gave me up, just like CORE knew she would. The rest is history. Now I’m home sweet home. But hey, at least I’ve got a friend in here, right?” I poke him in the chest.

  “Right. As always.”

  “Okay, talk to you later. And don’t forget the eggs next time.” We share a laugh.

  As he leaves, I kneel down and scrape what I can off the floor and eat my dinner.

  Tenner.

  My friend. He was my fucking friend. You fucks.

  I don’t know why, but I start bawling.

  < 69: Heyoo >

  Twister
<
br />   < ELAPSED: TIME: 14 years; 03 months; 09 days; APR-26-2879 >

  “What happens when we die?”

  Wah is clearly thinking about Ness. One of the first humans he’s ever met is gone. Taken by CORE. It’s been several days, each of which finds Wah alone on the roof of the bridge of Cat One, looking out to the horizon, the wind whispering things to him but not providing answers. Today I’ve joined him up there. Tiny droplets of rain pelt our skin as the caravan hurtles east towards the Sanctuary. Not east exactly – Brick has changed our course from a fairly straight, predictable route along the path of least resistance, to one of random zig-zagging. The good news is that it seems to be working, as we haven’t seen a unit in days. The bad news is that our voyage to the Sanctuary, instead of two more weeks, will probably last four.

  “Ness is not dead, Wah. CORE will want answers, and will keep her alive. We will see her again.”

  He turns to me, hair whipping across his face. “I know. It just got me thinking. So what happens?”

  “After death? Well, if you ask a human, they’ll say your body rests and your soul goes to a place called heaven, and you meet an old man with a white beard, your human God. Lots of clouds, from what I gather. And wings. You’ll like having wings. Of course.”

  He laughs. “Is that what you think?”

  “You know you’re asking an outdated servile unit about human afterlife.” I raise my arm and let the wind lift and drop my hand, like a fish swimming upstream.

  He tugs my arm. “Come on. Stop stalling.”

  “Well, all right, here is what I know: that the deceased human body begins to digest itself, as microbes spread throughout the internal organs–“