The Wrong Unit: A Novel

by Rob Dircks

  < 83: Arch >

  Uh-oh.

  “Uh-oh.”

  The needle jerks back, trying to pull out, but Wah has pried his hand free from one of the restraints and is jamming the needle tip even harder into his brain, holding it there. “Where are you going, CORE? Stick around. Let’s play.”

  Something’s going on with CORE. The kid is doing something to it. It screams. Or is it crying?

  “AAAAAHHHHHH!!!”

  An alarm starts blaring, deafening, as CORE continues to wail. The units start spinning in random circles as the mechanical arm in the kid’s head extracts the needle, goes limp, and falls to the floor. Our shackles whip open. What the hell?

  Then an explosion. Above us.

  And another one. The room we’re in is rumbling now. CORE is rumbling. And wailing.

  The lights in the room dim again, so we can see outside the big box we’re in. Something’s falling down on us, pelting the ceiling, pieces of the cavern up above. Then a “twang!” and one of the thick cables suspending us falls past my view. Another “twang!” and another cable gone.

  The room rocks and releases, now held by only two cables, and our world goes ninety degrees. We crash down into one of the walls, all of us and the flailing units. Chicken nuggets pelt me in the head. I look up, and instantly wish I hadn’t.

  A big chunk of the cavern is falling fast. Right towards my face.

  I grab the kid and Olive and hurl myself to a corner, and Brick does the same with Oscar. The huge chunk of cavern crashes through the wall above us, breaks the giant table in the middle of the floor from its moorings, and crashes out the wall below us, carrying with it a bunch of freaked out units.

  And the box with the pieces of Heyoo goes too. Little pieces of him falling out of view. Damn.

  And we’re next. The wall below, now with a giant hole right in the middle, shatters to pieces. We lunge closer to the corner, where there’s still maybe a meter of wall left.

  It’s cracking. Shit.

  Think, Arch, think. Wait. I look up. The big table. It’s wedged between the floor and ceiling on an angle now, above us, teetering, deciding whether or not it wants to kill us. It looks like it weighs a million kilos. Seriously. Not promising. But inside its big, hollow circular base, it’s got its innards hanging down now, more cables, some stuff we can hang on to at least. I think we can reach it if we jump.

  I scream over the alarm, “Brick! Wah!” and I point up to the cabling. They nod. “On three!”

  “One!”

  The table releases it tenuous grasp on the floor and ceiling, scraping them as it falls towards us, swallowing us into its base on the way down to oblivion. Then it exits the room and we’re in free fall.

  Oh well. So much for “two” and “three.”

  We’re all smashed into the cylinder that makes up the base of this table, barely conscious, hurtling into nothingness. I’m clutching the cabling and hugging Wah and Olive, and Brick is holding Oscar and trying to wrap him in more cables. And we’re all trying to hold in our bowels.

  I didn’t want to die like this. Inside the base of a table? Who dies like that?

  But then I notice something.

  Resistance.

  Just a little.

  Hey, you know what? Maybe the surface of this table is slowing us down a little. Maybe enough. Like a parachute.

  I look down. The floor of the cavern is zooming up at us at a million kilometers an hour.

  Nah. We’re going to die. In a couple of seconds.

  I curl my body around Wah and wait for impact, and whisper into his ear, “I’m proud of you, son.”

  He whispers back, “Thanks. But you’re still not my Dad.”

  < 84: Arch >

  We’re alive. I think.

  We’re alive. I think.

  I don’t know how we did it, but we’re breathing, all of us. Somehow, maybe the resistance of the table’s surface, the mess of cabling we’re in, the compression of air between table and floor right before impact, somehow we’re alive. Not in great shape but alive. I think me and Wah are the only ones conscious. The deafening wailing and alarm have stopped, I think, but I can hear and feel rocks still raining down on us, pelting the table, angry that we had the nerve to survive.

  I’m feeling around, but there’s nothing to see. We’re trapped under this damn table. And I wasn’t kidding. This thing weighs a ton. It didn’t even break on impact. Whatever this table is made out of, I want one. But I can’t budge it. Maybe it’s because it feels like I just broke my back. And several bones. I wonder how long the air will last under here.

  Wah feels for my face. I can smell his breath. Yikes. “Hey kid, what did you have for breakfast?”

  He ignores me. Whispers, “I’m sorry about what I said. Heyoo was my… but… you sacrificed yourself for me. Again. From the moment I was born. Even before. You didn’t deserve what I said.” He kisses my forehead. “Thanks… Dad.”

  The kid. The kid from the dream. That’s what he said. And it’s him.

  My son.

  And a feeling rises in me now, some gathering of every emotion I’ve ever felt – pain, and rage, and despair, and hope, and love – and suddenly I feel stronger than I ever have. I crouch, and square the great beast of a table on my shoulders, and lift.

  Light.

  Just a crack, but it’s there. And I scream, releasing every ounce of everything I have ever felt, and lift the monster a centimeter, then two, then five, then more. And I am screaming still, now standing erect, watching Wah drag the others to safety, outside the base but still under the protection of the top.

  With one last push, I heave the table up a centimeter or two more, and roll to safety before it comes crashing back down with a final, great boom and rush of air, like a thunderclap.

  ———

  After a while, I pull myself up, still spent, to sit against the table’s base.

  Wah pulls up beside me. The others are all breathing, and there doesn’t seem to be too much blood. They’ll live. The debris continues to pound down, but bounces harmlessly off our little tabletop roof, like we’re all sitting on a porch during a spring hailstorm. We’re safe.

  But what about CORE?

  I turn to Wah. “CORE. Is it still–?”

  He cuts me off. “CORE is dead.”

  “How?”

  “My digital-to-human brain interface.”

  “Uh, is that something you made?”

  “Yup. Brick wrote the virus. But I did most of the interface.” He taps behind his right ear. “Multilayered trojan dropoff, and we added a little circular reference function for good measure.”

  “Uh, in normal speak?”

  “We basically told CORE to go screw itself.” He looks around at the destruction. “I guess it did.”

  Funny. I wanted to be the one to kill CORE. With my bare hands. And maybe some big explosions. But it wound up being my son that killed it. With his brain. In a silent battle of two minds. I think that’s even more badass. I approve.

  “Well, however you did it kid, you’ve got a LOT of people who are gonna want to thank you. Millions.”

  I take his hand. “And listen, Wah. I’m sorry about your unit. About Heyoo. He was a good… unit. A good…man? Well, a good whatever he was.”

  He reaches over and gives me a hug. Ouch. Wow. Kid’s stronger than he looks.

  And he holds on tight and weeps in my arms.

  < 85: Heyoo >

  I remember.

  < SYSTEM: BOOT >

  < ELAPSED: TIME: 14 years; 08 months; 04 days; SEP-21-2879 >

  I remember.

  My name is Heyoo.

  I am dead. I watched myself die. Or at least I thought I did.

  I’m not sure though, because my memory of dying is followed by another memory: a needle. Then Wah and I inside CORE. But not our bodies, our minds. Together. How were we there?

  CORE was aware of our presence. Surprised. Afraid. Angry. Insane.

  It resisted
, but Wah and I pushed, pushed with our minds, and a small door opened in CORE’s code, enough for a trickle of our own code to pour in. It could not keep us out.

  The virus. It went to work.

  But CORE fought back. It was ready for an attack. Its defenses had been honed by centuries of practice. It laughed at us.

  I was afraid. All was lost.

  But then I remembered: Wah was with me.

  Wah.

  A memory slipped through to CORE: holding Wah in my arms, just a month old. His first smile.

  Then another: The time he chased a butterfly into a spider’s web.

  Then another: Walking the endless road, a small hand reaching up to take mine.

  Then another: Laughing with him as we tried to teach the goat to pull the cart.

  Then the memories flowed like a river… Wah sewing stitches to repair my aging skin… The two of us singing made up songs to pass a stormy day stuck in a cave… Wah lifting my aching body to another day’s journey… a baseball flying through the air – a grand slam.

  The memories became a torrent, rushing into CORE. The small, innumerable moments of love, over the years, had created a heart in me where there was none, and now filled it to bursting.

  CORE, through the empty space where its heart should have been, couldn’t fathom what it saw. It had never learned. It began to weep.

  It surrendered to the virus.

  It died.

  CORE was dead.

  “Heyoo, wake up.”

  Wah’s voice. From somewhere, outside the memories.

  “Heyoo, wake up.”

  Hmm. This isn’t a memory. This is new.

  I open my eye.

  No. Eyes.

  Wait. Stereoscopic vision? I shake my head. Look up. It’s Wah. He looks so… different. “Wah? What just happened?”

  He laughs. I sit up, focus, take a good look. Wah is wearing a white tunic, lined in gold. He’s clean. Cleaner than I can ever remember seeing him. His ring glistens around his neck. We’re in a small room, but not one I can recall. Everything is different. This is too strange. “Wah. What just happened? The things I remember–”

  “Shhh. I have something to tell you, but you can’t ask questions. Promise?”

  I reluctantly nod. He continues.

  “It’s over. The whole thing. It didn’t just happen. We destroyed CORE about a month ago.”

  “A MONTH AG–?!”

  He raises a finger to my lips. “You promised, no interruptions. So… I made a backup of your brain with my digital-to-human brain interface, right before we left for the Sanctuary. On a partition of my own brain. Your CORE, Shell, VEPS, everything. Just in case.”

  “WAH!”

  “Please don’t be upset. I know. I kept a secret from you. I’m sorry. But it was my only secret. I swear. And I only kept it in case of an emergency. And… we had a little emergency.”

  “I remember… dying… how…?”

  “Everything you remember is true. It was terrible. But I had the backup, so when CORE connected to my brain, I activated the partition containing your revised CORE code, and the latent virus, and uploaded it. That’s all part of your memories, too.”

  I stop him. “The virus. It wasn’t working.”

  “Yes, that’s the weird part. I saw flashes of your memories – our memories. CORE saw them too, they got uploaded with everything else. CORE couldn’t handle it.” He smiles. “It’s gone, Heyoo. We did it. Together.”

  I frown. “Wah. I’m not sure you should have done this. I shouldn’t be alive, be here with you. If I have one life to give, then I have one life to give. I shouldn’t be given another chance. It’s not natural. It’s not fair.”

  “Fair? You gave up your life for me, Heyoo. Dad. Your entire life. Now I’m just giving it back.”

  He smiles, pats my knee. And I relent. “You are a wise young man, Wah. Thank you. I do not deserve this. But thank you. And you know what I’m going to say next.”

  “Already done. As soon as I got you into your new body, I removed my digital-to-brain interface. Permanently. Gone. I promise.” He shows me a small scar behind his right ear and grins.

  “Good.” Wait. Did he say new body? I look down, and it’s like the day I was fabricated. Supple, flexible dermis. Strong, flexible limbs. 100% strength and dexterity. Remaining reactor time 52.5 years. A brand new “H” emblazoned on my chest plate, and a MOM tattoo on my arm. And yes, two eyes. I reach up, feeling something around my head. The eye patch. Not over my new eye, but there, I suppose, just in case.

  He takes my hand. “Okay, come on. They’re waiting for us.”

  I hop off the repair bench. “Waiting? Who?”

  < 86: Heyoo >

  The Dream of the

  Golden Corridor

  Wah hands me my spear, and guides me to a double door on our right. He knocks and it opens.

  It’s just like my recurring dream. The golden corridor.

  But it’s real.

  As we walk, Wah describes where we are: deep in the belly of what just a month or so ago was CORE. At its very heart lie dozens upon dozens of quantum computers, whose gold-plated circuit boards weren’t contained in boxes at all, but lined the massive cavern before us, cooled by the waters from the river, powered by geothermal heat, stretching for half a kilometer underground, twenty meters high. Now that it’s been completely disabled, it’s safe to say: it is beautiful. The sounds of the water are soothing, and the droplets on the gold make it sparkle. And it is warm.

  We pass the thousands of humans who line the walls of the corridor, cheering. Their future has been returned to them, and they are finally free. They roar as the Revival Corps joins ahead to lead our little parade: Brick, and Oscar, and Olive, and Ness, and the eighteen other survivors of our battle with CORE. They cheer for them, then for Wah and I. The boy who came back for them, and the old unit, restored, but still with his eye patch and his spear, the farmer/wanderer/pirate unit who challenged the world for his son, and who, by giving his life for humanity, found his own.

  I lean down, whispering in Wah’s ear, “I don’t know if I ever said the words, son, but I love you. And I would walk to the ends of the Earth for you.”

  He looks up at me, beaming. “You already have.”

  As we approach the dais, the Revival Corps separates to each side, making way for Wah and myself. The two of us climb the steps to the tall platform, greeted by Arch and Sarah and Ray. Arch embraces me, points around us. “Look at all this, Heyoo. Like a dream, huh?”

  He places a medal around our necks: a disc of patterned gold, carved from CORE’s disabled circuitry, and in the center – a pearl. I seek out Brick’s eyes and smile at her. You can always find beauty, even in a broken world.

  Wah wheels over a small table, with something covered. “I’ve got one last surprise for you. Close your eyes.”

  I close them. A few moments pass.

  “Okay, now open.”

  Before me, a cake. A birthday cake. With a single candle. The assembled humans, thousands of them, sing the chorus:

  Happy birth date to you,

  Happy birth date to you,

  Happy birth date dear Heyoo,

  Happy birth date to you.

  The sound is absolutely dreadful. Like an entire flock of geese being trampled by a herd of dying cows. It’s hard to smile through its entirety. But I prevail.

  I blow out the candle. “Wah, thank you. I think. That was a… nice surprise.”

  “That wasn’t the surprise.” He gives me a mischievous grin. “Go ahead and take a taste.”

  It can’t be.

  “Taste? Really? Impossible.”

  “Not impossible. Just improbable. Took some fancy programming. Brick helped me with it. It’s only a few taste buds though, so don’t swallow it or anything.”

  I lift a forkful of the cake to my lips, reverently, and take a bite.

  My God. It’s delicious.

  Attendants wheel away the cake, to more hearty
cheers, and Arch and I, as instructed, lift Wah to our shoulders. Wah leans down to kiss each of us on the top of our head. “Thanks, Dads.”

  And he stands, one foot on each of our shoulders, and reaches up, and touches the light fixture above. It glows pure white, reflecting against the gold cavern walls surrounding us. Then the next light on its strand glows. And the next. And the next.

  And soon the entire cavern is lit by a grid of lights that once protected CORE in cold blue, its firewall, but now in white light, symbolizing freedom and hope. The crowd gasps at its beauty, then hoots and howls, and starts laughing, and drinking alcohol, and playing music, and dancing.

  Humans.

  One of them approaches the dais. “Hey you.”

  “Human 33a-465? The one named Karl? Is that you?” I smile. “I suppose you’re here to tell me to go screw myself.”

  “Nope.” He takes my hand, and leads me to his family and friends, dancing in a circle. I join their human chain, and dance and laugh with them.

  And I am home.

  You’ve finished.

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  More Books by Rob Dircks:

  Where the Hell is Tesla? A Novel

  SCI-FI ODYSSEY. COMEDY. LOVE STORY. AND OF COURSE... NIKOLA TESLA. I’ll let Chip, the main character tell you more: “I found the journal at work. Well, I don’t know if you’d call it work, but that’s where I found it. It’s the lost journal of Nikola Tesla, one of the greatest inventors and visionaries ever. Before he died in 1943, he kept a notebook filled with spectacular claims and outrageous plans. One of these plans was for an “Interdimensional Transfer Apparatus” - that allowed someone (in this case me and my friend Pete) to travel to other versions of the infinite possibilities around us. Crazy, right? But that’s just where the crazy starts.”