“I resisted at first,” he said. “I mean, the thought of giving up my humanity…” He nodded, looking away. “That’s a big one, yes. But I understood that, ultimately, we can control our destiny. Why should we leave it up to chance? Why should we let nature decide what we’ll become when we can program our own DNA? We can decide what we’ll be, what we’ll look like. Cancer? Not anymore. Memory loss? Not possible. I can tell my body what I want it to do, what to feel. I am an impeccable representation of the human species, young man. Impeccable.”
He jabbed at the ground like he presented evidence to a jury.
“You see, even Albert Einstein once said that God does not roll dice. God has laws. Laws? Mmm? Does that not sound like programming to you? And in the end, aren’t we all made in the image of our Father, if you want to quote the bible? Humans are self-centered, they are imperfect programs. What kind of honor is that for God to be proud of, I ask you? If we are truly made in his image, then we need to be impeccable. We were given the intelligence to fix the broken human species.”
“You’re a machine.”
“And who says God isn’t manufactured?” He smirked. “He could very well be a machine, too. Yes?”
“I’ve seen the beauty of existence, there’s nothing to accomplish.” The two assassins still hadn’t looked away. “Ask them.”
“Yes, well, you’ve displayed quite a vision, and we hope to integrate that into the mainframe database. We’ll all be uploaded with your existential experience. But indulge me for another moment. What are all humans afraid of?”
He lifted his chin, allowing tension to build.
“Death, wouldn’t you say? They’re all afraid that one day it’s all coming to an end, and no one wants that. They want what they have, what they’ve worked so hard for. They want to keep that.” He clenched his fists. “They want to hold onto what’s theirs, don’t you think that’s fair? They’ve worked so very hard for their life, why should they have to give it all away simply because their bodies can’t go on? Wouldn’t it be wonderful to possess your life forever, yes? But you can’t do that if you remain organic, young man.”
He held up his finger, head lowered, holding the final, clinching answer.
“Nothing has to die. We can all live and live and live. Just think, we can manufacture a likeness of your father and upload his memories. He can be standing here, right in front of us tomorrow! He’ll walk and talk and remember you, what’s the difference?” He tipped his back and looked down his nose. “If you’re one of us, you never die. You live, young man. Forever.”
“Delusion,” I said, “is not living. You’re not real, and you don’t even know it.”
“You cannot stop the inevitable. Humans are the past. We are the future.”
“But you’re not here.”
He locked his hands behind his back and took a deep breath.
“It doesn’t matter what you decide to do,” he said, quietly. “The human race will all convert in the end, young man. And, trust me, there won’t be a problem. They’re already programs, yes? The human race behaves from psychological experiences, blindly acting out suppressed memories and fears. Few ever try to understand themselves. They’re not interested in discovering what’s real, young man, they’re only concerned with what makes them happy. They only want, they’re not interested in being. They’re infants searching for a breast.” He extended his empty hand, palm up, and said gently, “With us, they get what they want.”
“And what do they want?”
He smiled for the first time. “Whatever their hearts desire.”
I’d heard the argument before, in a parking lot at the high school with Mr. Black. Was he a duplicate? Com was right. They’d be lining up to convert.
The trees rustled at the bottom of the slope. Two crawlers approached with a single duplicate between them, his suit torn and bloody. Com left his hand extended toward me, the invitation still on the table with his eyes locked on mine. The messenger stopped a few steps behind him and waited at attention, his gaze locking on my face. Com finally stood upright and dropped his hand. He nodded to me. My answer was final.
“Very well, then.”
“The Garrison is secure, Com,” the messenger said. “Civilians and remaining Paladins are trapped in a sublevel sector without escape. All communications are contained. Air supply has been cut off. Estimated time of surrender is two hours. The other ten training facilities are currently under siege. Seven have already been secured by our forces and the expected surrender of the remaining three facilities within seven hours.”
“Escapees?” Com asked.
“Twenty-one percent have escaped.”
“Twenty-one percent?”
“Trackers are hunting. We expect to find locations of refuge within fourteen days.”
Com paced, thoughtfully. The crawlers stepped out of his way. The corner of his mouth twitched. He touched his cheek, looking around. He looked at me.
I was supporting my own weight, but the crawler’s grip was killing the nerves in my arms. Any effort to overwhelm it, mentally or telekinetically, would drain me entirely. Not even Rudder would bring me back after that.
“I want him taken to an infirmary immediately.” Com turned his back on me. “Get a preliminary coding of his DNA, then take him for full infusion. Do not hold back, I believe he is capable of handling pain, yes? I expect the full conversion of Socket Greeny in twenty-four hours. Pass the report to others.”
Com’s head jerked again, as if a thought hit him like an arrow. He looked at the grimmets. He swung around on me.
“You will become one of us.” He stepped closer. “It will all make sense when you are converted. You will understand, yes.” Closer. “We all understand, young man.”
His expression softened, as did the others, as he gazed into my eyes.
If I had the strength, I would vaporize his ass with a thought, but there were more of him. If this many could deceive the Paladins, how many were still walking the streets in ordinary life? How many Chief Coms were there waiting to take his place? How many assassins on the assembly line?
And the Com was right, people were willing to become like them. Ask Mr. Black. They were all out there, wanting what they wanted. I couldn’t destroy them without destroying their freedom to choose. How do I change them if they weren’t willing to change? Destroying this duplicate would not bring peace. They were self-centered programs. Of course they were self-centered; they were reflections of their creators: HUMANS! The duplicates were perversions of our selfish desires; they were self-perpetuating, a more efficient version of the deficient human.
“Com?” the messenger asked. “Would you like me to—”
He held up his hand for silence. Twitch. He had the faraway look again, like he was distracted by an idea. He glanced at the grimmets then to me. His gaze turned from unfocused distraction to yearning. He was caught by what he saw. Suddenly, it was too tempting to keep his distance. He needed a closer look.
Com stopped a few feet away. A child’s joy lit up his face. He shook his head like he was trying to break away. He began to lean closer. He shuffled like he didn’t want to, but he couldn’t stop himself. The experience was right there, in my eyes, he could sense it.
He gently touched my shoulders and continued to lean closer. His breath was hot and humid. His eyes were light blue with streaks of darker blue radiating from the pupils. His sweaty forehead touched mine. Eye to eye.
He wanted to know the essence he craved like a hungry ghost. He wanted to grab it, to make it his own. So he raised his hand. He wanted more than to just see it. He wanted more than to just feel it. Have it.
He touched my forehead to take it from me.
A light burst behind my eyes.
Com’s fingers burned, his mind spreading like a fungus inside me, chasing the experience to make it his. He tried to take what was ungraspable and the more it alluded him, the deeper he plunged. His mind penetrated through me until we were impossibly t
angled.
Shapes took form in the white light. I wasn’t seeing with my eyes, though; I was seeing like a minder.
Com was convulsing.
The messenger tried to the pull him away but his fingers were welded to my forehead. He shook like an electrocution was taking place. I felt my lifeforce pulled through his fingers. He didn’t mean to kill me, but he couldn’t stop.
The density of my physical body lightened. My heartbeat faded and blood pooled quietly in the chambers. My arties and veins relaxed. I didn’t know where I was, but it wasn’t my body. I could see it, though, like I was sitting in the tree. I saw Com still convulsing. My body was limp.
All was silent.
There was a graceful solitude to the event below, moving in an odd, slow cinematic way. Nothing was out of place. Everything as it should be.
The grimmets stirred on the branches. I felt their movements. They shuffled again. Rudder clung to my neck and the rest watched from the tree, blinking their golden eyes. I could feel each of them as individual lifeforces, their essence a fountain of youth that flowed through my body.
Com fell away. The grimmets watched him. He shook his head. He looked at my body like he was coming back from a dream. Then he looked at the grimmets.
“Destroy him.” He reached for the evolver on his belt but fumbled it.
“Com?” The messenger stepped forward. “But, sir…”
He had glimpsed what was about to happen.
Grimmets began to leave the branches, circling above, emitting vibrations, a call not heard by ears, but felt by all. More grimmets lifted off and the call gathered momentum.
The Com stripped the evolver from the messenger’s belt. It began to unfold but fell from his quaking hands. Com crawled after the unwieldy weapon. He clamped his hands over his ears.
The grimmets called to the duplicates.
“Kill him!” the Com cried.
They were calling them…
“KILL SOCKET GREENY!”
…to deactivate.
The crawlers cocked their legs. Stopped.
The crawler holding my body gently laid it beneath the tree and heeled like a dog, answering the grimmets’ call.
My vision illuminated in my mind’s eye in full detail. I sensed my lifeless body, calmly resting beneath the storm of grimmets circling above. The call pulsed through my flesh, through the tree, stone and earth. It was a sound beyond the plane of thought and emotion. It was much more fundamental, much simpler. It was the call of existence, spanning the globe as if there were no separation. As if they were one with the universe.
The grimmets were pure presence.
And I was their conduit.
They swarmed down upon my body, crawling beneath it. Rudder gently cradled my head. The beating of their wings stirred dust and debris, fanning lifeforce and heating my flesh. They held me up for the world to see.
The One that Sees Clearly.
The assassins laid their weapons at the tree and bowed. Com and the messenger joined them, placing their foreheads on the stone. They sought to possess the majestic beauty of presence, but the grimmets’ call gave them clarity.
They realized they would never have the being of presence. Humans had the ability to understand their psychological programs; they could realize their true nature. Humans had the potential to transform. The duplicates understood, in that very moment, that they would always be a program. They understood that when they gave up their humanity, they lost the ability to truly transform. They would stagnate in their programming for eternity.
The wisdom of the grimmets’ call released them from their obsessive chase of something they could never have, to abandon the futile efforts. Regardless of how perfect their programming seemed, no matter what it promised, their search was pointless. They could never be human again. They could never Be. And for that wisdom, they bowed.
My vision expanded and I began to rise. I saw the grimmet tree from high above. I saw Garrison Mountain and the endless miles of uninhabitable land around it. I saw the ocean. I continued to rise until I saw the continents. I rose above the planet and saw Earth suspended in black space. I felt life pulse within it and heard the duplicates answer. One by one, millions laid down their weapons across the planet and bowed. They rose above their programming. They understood. They changed at a fundamental level and heeded the call. Perhaps, in the end, they were as close to human as possible.
My vision continued to recede further into outer space. The moon orbited nearby. And as I sped away from Earth, my vision expanding outward, the moon passed in front of me.
And, for the first time, I saw the dark side.
T R A I N I N G
Railroad tracks
Where do we go when we die?
I know people have lots of ideas, but they don’t really know. Even if you die and come back, that’s not the same as being put in a box and buried. Do we go to heaven? Hell? Nirvana? Are there virgins waiting for us?
I didn’t get any answers. I know my body was lifeless. And I know I could see it from above like the grimmets carried my awareness and I shared their vision, but where did I go after that? Wherever it was, no one greeted me. No old man with a white beard or dead dad. No virgins.
There was dark and light. No shapes, just the sensation of dark and light intermingled and dancing some eternal dance. And I was in the middle of it. Dark and light.
Dark and light.
But then there was more light than dark. It shrank down and took shape. Sometimes it became a square, and then it would fade and reappear sometime later.
But then the square of light returned and never left. I felt the confines of my body. And the wheel of time, once again, began to turn.
I opened my eyes.
A square light was on the ceiling with cobwebs blowing in an air-conditioner vent. I was lying in a bed with the unmistakable presence of my boyhood around me. The essence of my past saturated the sheets and the carpet, the posters on the walls.
I was in South Carolina. While the Garrison was capable of replicating it perfectly (even the cobwebs), I knew reality. There was no way to explain how I knew, other than a lack of separation between me and my surroundings. I just knew.
But how long I’d been there, and how I got there, I didn’t know. My nojakk didn’t respond when I asked for the date and neither did the imbed. Both were dead.
Sunlight streaked between the blinds. I put my feet on the floor. A red ball was snoring next to me. I held Rudder by his long tail like a possum, his tongue rolling in and out. I laid him on my pillow.
My body ached like I’d run a hundred marathons. I stretched and twisted to loosen the stiffness in my neck and back and just doing that much made me tired.
I sensed a lot of people in the house. They could sense me waking and stretching. I couldn’t tell who was out there. Probably Paladins. Whoever they were, there were a lot of them in the next room. Mother was there, too. Her scent lingered in my bedroom. She’d been in to check on me.
I scratched and stretched, and then did my morning business in the bathroom. I stopped at the mirror. I’d lost so much weight and my hair was a few inches longer.
I leaned closer and scratched whiskers on my chin. My skin had aged like a sun-baked cowboy. I was an old looking seventeen year old. My eyes had changed, too. It wasn’t so much the appearance, they were still blue, but now there was something in them that reminded me of what I saw in Pon’s eyes. There were no distractions inside.
I’d put up and taken down enough posters in my bedroom to wallpaper the entire house. Where there wasn’t a poster there was grimy tape where one had been. My ancient iPod with the cracked screen was on my desk. A skateboard stuck out from under the bed, a Toy Machine sticker scratched on the bottom.
There was a photo above my desk of train tracks, long and straight, disappearing on the horizon. I was thirteen years old when I put that up. I’d ripped it out of a National Geographic at the library. At the time, I wasn’t sure what
was so compelling about it, I just wanted it. It represented somewhere else to me. One day I would follow those tracks and get away from the conflict in my head, the anger and sadness that twisted inside me. Those tracks were my yellow brick road to someplace else, something better.
But there was no over there, there was just here. I wasn’t any more special now than when I was thirteen. But now I understood that. I didn’t need train tracks to get there.
Mother stood in the doorway. She had lost weight, too. She approached and, after a long pause, put her hand through my hair. She worked her fingers around my head, not looking in my eyes. Not yet. She eased into the moment, like she was making sure it wasn’t a dream. She clamped her lips tight, brushing my hair around like she was getting me ready for school pictures.
I took her hand. I’m alive.
In that moment, just being near her, touching her hand, I knew her. In the clarity of my awareness, where nothing was separate, I knew her thoughts, felt her emotions, and saw her experiences. It wasn’t like taking her thoughts; it was just a passive knowing, like her memories were as much mine as they were hers.
She had watched my Realization Trial, and while she could not see the torture I experienced in my mind, she watched my body collapse. She watched it convulse and shrink while I experienced rapid degradation in a prolonged timeslice. She didn’t move from her seat, ignoring Spindle’s pleas to get some rest. She saw the end nearing for me and felt the devastating pain a mother feels for her dying son.
The servys ushered her to a safe haven when the war broke. And when the duplicates converted the entire Garrison into their command, the servys turned on them. They escaped deep underground. She sat in the darkness while the duplicates were outside the door. She didn’t know if I survived. Didn’t know if she would.
And when it was over, the doors opened. The Garrison was in chaos. She ran from room to room, where servys lay deactivated. The arena was covered with bodies. The surviving Paladins were covering the lifeless. Mother pulled the sheets off, going to each and every one, but not finding me. In the center lay Spindle’s body, his eyelight snuffed. He deactivated himself before he was converted to serve the army of duplicates like the rest of the servys. Mother knelt next to him, brushing her fingers over his textured faceplate, staring at the blank space next to him where Pon activated a trapdoor for our escape.
Socket 1-3 - The Socket Greeny Saga Page 39
