“Hanson’s fine. The public nursery has him working hard. He looks just like me in the eyes. It’s kind of crazy, actually.” I chuckled. “He has my wild imagination too. You should have heard the idea he told me about.” I proceeded to fill Marshal in on what books used to be.
“Well, I never would have guessed,” he said, his voice filled with wonder. “I wish there were still some around. I would have liked to read one.”
We turned down a side tunnel, both of us instinctively taking the long way back. Wanting to stretch this moment out. The spell would break soon enough.
“I’m worried about him though,” I admitted. “He’s so much like me. So independent. So different. He has a hard time conforming, though he tries his best to hide it.” With a heavy sigh, I continued. “You know, I almost was destroyed at birth. Or so my mother told me.”
Marshal’s step faltered for just a split second. He carried on forward. “Go on.”
“Hanna said after I was extracted, I showed enough key signs of independence and potential for physical strength that they were uncertain whether or not I would be a suitable addition to society.”
While it didn’t happen a lot—that a newborn was considered unviable after birth—we’d been told since youth that society deemed it cruel to raise a physically active child in a Machine-enriched culture, which strove to completely negate the need for physicality.
“I’m glad they kept you. And your brother too.” There was a thickness in his voice that made me suddenly too nervous to look at him.
We rounded the corner to Marshal’s pod and stopped in front of the door.
My heartbeat, which had been galloping along easily, suddenly took a sharp dip.
“So, what now?” I asked. The big question I’d been avoiding.
Where did we go from here? After all the information Kuno had given us, our paths were at a crucial spot. How could we possibly go through our days knowing what we knew but pretending like everything was fine?
Marshal sighed, scrubbing a hand across his face. “There’s only one thing left to do. We have to go up there.”
He couldn’t possibly mean what I thought he meant. “To the surface?” I asked, incredulous. It was one thing to know the truth. It was another to put ourselves in peril and risk Homelessness because of it. “That’s crazy. We can’t.”
“Why not?”
I pulled back, wrapping my arms around myself and leaning against a wall. “First off, we don’t have respirators.”
“Don’t need ’em. You heard what Kuno said—he didn’t find his until hours after going up there.”
“We’ll get caught.”
“Cally, we can’t ignore what he told us,” Marshal protested, irritation lacing his words. “There are people living on the surface! Or, at least, were. Aren’t you curious to see if they’re still there? If it’s possible for us to explore?”
Yes, a part of me cried out. But the other part was petrified. “But maybe that’s not the right thing to do right now,” I hedged.
“When’s that? When more things start breaking down with the Machine?” He was angry; his words lashed out at me. “How can you close your eyes and ignore what’s happening? We’ve been lied to! What else are they not telling us?”
“I know that!” I shouted back, shoving away from the wall. “I heard Kuno just as well as you did. I just don’t want to blindly jump into this without weighing all our choices. Maybe we can change stuff from the inside first—”
Marshal’s cheerless laugh interrupted me. “Yeah, because they listened to Kuno when he tried to tell them what he saw. You know as well as I do that won’t work.”
I turned my back to him, lips pinched, breathing through my flaring nostrils. “You don’t know everything.”
“I know being a coward isn’t going to fix anything.”
My jaw dropped. I shot him a glare over my shoulder, fury burning a hole in the pit of my stomach, and walked away.
“Cally, wait—”
“Leave me alone.” I turned the corner and headed to my pod, head high, heart racing. Knowing deep down in my heart that he was right. I was a coward. And right now I hated myself—and him—for it.
I spent the rest of the night awake in my chair, staring at the wall.
Chapter 9
“Early civilization was long weighed down and afflicted by the curse of emotions—anger, fear, even love. Fortunately, the Machine has eliminated the necessity of interpersonal interaction, thus drastically reducing strife and conflict. Anything you need, the Machine will provide. Enjoy it, and revel in the knowledge that you are a superior being above such base needs.” ~ The Book of the Machine
Hanna’s lecture was dull.
My day so far had been slow, painful. Once I realized late this morning that I wasn’t going to sleep, I’d spent hours sorting through hundreds of messages, seeking out ideas, anything to distract myself from the maelstrom of guilt and anger and frustration surging through me.
I’d also been avoiding Marshal, and he’d been avoiding me.
In that vein, I’d decided to listen to my mother talk, hoping it could help.
She offered a small polite smile to the screen as she continued. “And though this isn’t about fashion, a few hours ago I learned some interesting facts about the language of the ancients and had to share with you. Apparently, there were differences in linguistics, depending on the person’s region. So not everyone could universally understand each other, even within a particular land mass.”
A few assenting mumbles echoed at this statement. Though it wasn’t a large crowd, it was the same people I generally saw at her lectures.
I simply kept staring at the screen, willing myself to be more engaged. Even faking it was beyond my capabilities at this moment. It wasn’t the ideas I was bored with. Actually, thinking about the miscommunications that likely occurred due to language differences was fascinating.
But Hanna’s delivery was so flat and rote. After hearing Kuno’s impassioned speeches for the last several months, punctuated with hand movements and careful, weighted pauses, his emphasis on particularly fascinating phrases, I found it hard to be engaged in everyday lectures.
Plus, I couldn’t stop thinking about Marshal’s last words to me. Saying I was a coward. The sting of his judgment still stabbed my chest.
I stared blindly at the screen, Hanna’s speech bouncing right off me.
What was he doing right now? Was he thinking about me? Talking with Kuno? Deciding how he was going to explore the surface?
Panic thickened my tongue. I stood, suppressing a nervous shudder. If Marshal got in trouble for illegal actions, I’d never forgive myself for abandoning him. He was my best friend in spite of our recent fight. I should be there for him, not focusing on my own near-crippling fears.
Though I burned with the urge to disconnect from my mother’s talk and reach out to Marshal, to mend this issue, it took everything I had within me to calmly sit down and look like I was paying attention to the rest of the lecture. I already knew my mother was going to ask me what I thought. And I had to continue this façade for now.
A round of applause rang out. Finally, it was over.
“Thank you all for attending, and make sure to let me know if you have questions or new ideas regarding ancient fashion. All praise the Machine.” With that, my mother disconnected from everyone but me. Just as I knew she would. “Cally, I’m glad to see you managed to attend the lecture today.” Even when praising me, her voice dripped with censure.
I fought the urge to roll my eyes, a childish gesture that would be scathingly commented upon. She couldn’t see my emotion, but the action would speak volumes about how irritated I was feeling right now. “It seemed like an interesting topic.”
She sniffed. “So, I hear you visited Hanson yesterday. His instructor mentioned she’s having concerns about his behavior. And yours.”
Here it comes. I steel ed my nerves and strove to keep my tone civil; fatigue and
stress had worn me down to the point though that I was unable to let her sniping remark go without addressing it. “Hanson looked like he was performing well when I was there. You would be proud of him. He’s intelligent.”
She gave a dismissive wave. “He’ll be fine. Yes, he has a strong will, but he’s still eager to please his elders and fit in.” She paused, taking a drink of water. “But you, I’m more concerned about right now. You’ve been showing signs of…dissatisfaction. Did you look in the Book to see what it recommended?”
I remembered the medical patch I’d put on then ripped off. Not that I was going to tell her about that. “Everything is fine. I’m just tired.” And I was. My eyelids were drooping. My bones ached. I needed to sleep.
“Cally…” She cleared her throat and in a lower tone continued, “You need to be careful.”
A chill skittered up my spine, momentarily pulling me out of my sleep-hazed slump. “Why?” Did she know about my running, the talks with Kuno?
“When an infant is a borderline case, that child is—well, the Committee often keeps a close eye on those who might create complications within the functionality of our society. I think I’ve mentioned that to you before.” She put her water down and leaned forward until her face was taking up nearly the entire screen. “You’re being monitored, Cally. You’ve shown too many signs lately because of your lack of self-control and flagrant disregard for our rules.”
I inhaled, exhaled, suppressing the urge for my stomach to upload its contents. Her words confirmed all my fears. “What can they do to me?” I asked, trying to keep the edge of panic from seeping through. Could they make me Homeless just for being different? They’d threatened Kuno with it before.
Would I be treated the same way?
All my suppressed frustrations boiled out into my words as I kept speaking. “My whole life, I’ve followed the rules and attended lectures and shared ideas.” I stood, pointing at the screen. “I’ve done everything you and the Committee and everyone else has asked me to. And it’s never good enough.” Something was breaking inside me, rupturing forth, ripping me apart with its rawness. A tear slipped down my cheeks and I swiped at it. “I’m never good enough. And I don’t understand why when I try so, so hard.”
My mother’s face didn’t change on the screen, but I could sense a difference in her instantly with her sharp intake of breath. I’d never talked back to her, not once, though I’d done so in my head a number of times.
What was wrong with me? Why was I so emotive, so unable to regulate myself anymore? Was this a side effect of my extreme fatigue? Or did opening the door to my emotions mean I was now susceptible to these scary mood swings? Was this what I had to look forward to—more frustration and need and self-loathing and loneliness?
“I don’t even know what to make of you anymore,” she finally said. The words were clipped and there was an underlying fringe of pity. “But I can’t continue interacting with someone who is so dangerous to everything I believe in. I have to go now. Please don’t contact me again. All praise the Machine.”
The screen went black.
I stood there, staring at the screen for several minutes, shock making my body rigid as stone. Everything had gone so wrong, so fast.
I was being watched.
My mother didn’t want to communicate with me anymore.
Kuno’s journey to the surface, threats of Homelessness, dissatisfaction, Marshal’s disappointment in me—it swirled in my gut.
“Bed, please,” I managed to say as I turned on isolation.
It slipped out of the wall.
I collapsed on it and cried myself to sleep.
* * *
I woke up, my head throbbing, my eyes swollen. A glance at the time showed me it was midafternoon. I’d slept through lunch.
Not sure I could eat right now anyway. Shaking off the last vestiges of sleep, I cleansed myself, slipped into clean clothes and turned off isolation. A handful of messages awaited me.
That was…odd. I wondered why I had so little. Perhaps Balan had been telling others about my unusual and drastic behavior. I would suspect my mother of talking, but I’d bet she wanted to fully dissociate herself from me.
I should be more upset by the withdrawal of others, but to be honest, I was relieved to get some space from the constant pressure of performing.
I flipped through, responding to some, deleting others.
Nothing from Marshal.
The unease returned, slipping under my skin like an old friend. I hated that he was upset with me, that he’d called me a coward and made me feel like this. And yet, I’d made myself feel this way too. It wasn’t fair to solely blame him for it.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I beckoned him. He didn’t respond.
“Marshal, we need to sort this out. Please call me.” I hung up, looked around. Paced the room, hands clutched behind my back. I needed to get out of here. If I sat here and waited for him to call me back, I’d go out of my mind with impatience.
Kuno’s amazing, horrible story from last night popped up in my mind, of him walking along the railways just below the surface and finding ventilation shafts. Maybe I could check them out for myself. It was time for me to be brave, to explore and not just rely upon what I was told.
Besides, I couldn’t get in trouble or be reported to the Committee if no one could see me or if I wasn’t plugged into the Machine. That terrific, terrifying rebellious streak in my heart told me to take the risk.
I moved with purpose toward the door then out into the blackness of the tunnels. I wasn’t exactly certain where I’d go from here except up; I’d never investigated the railways before, as I never had a reason to. I knew they were an underground transport system, mostly used to move parts, though from what I understood, people used to travel in it as well.
Part of me thought about going to Marshal to ask if he wanted to come. But I needed to do this alone. To come to terms with it in my own way.
The tunnels were empty. No big surprise there. I took time as I walked to study the walls, listening carefully for sounds of any approaching people. Smoothed out of rough brown-black rock, the surface was polished to a shine. I stretched my arm out and slid my fingertips across the wall.
How could someone not want to experience these kinds of sensations? The glossy, cool bite under my fingers. Given my current emotional state, I could kind of understand the impulse to do away with emotions. But staying in your pod, touching nothing but your chair, your screen, your food and liquid…how was that enough?
I ached for so much more. I wanted to feel it all.
A sigh slipped from my mouth. I dropped my arm and made my way to the lift. “Please take me to the railway level,” I said.
It rose, smoothly moving up the many layers of our colony. The ride was whisper quiet, as usual. It almost made me forget about the oddness of the food, the music. Maybe things weren’t as bad as Kuno thought they were. He was prone to errors at times, just like the rest of us were, right?
The lies I told myself sometimes astounded even me.
I stepped off the lift, shuffling my way down the narrow left side of the eerily silent railway level. Several rows of dull metal tracks ran along the center of the tunnel, and the soft glow of the Machine’s lights didn’t reach everywhere. It was dark. A little creepy.
A heavy dripping sound right in front of me jarred me. I jumped, pressing my hand to my chest, a futile attempt to steady my heart. There was liquid seeping from a spot on the ceiling, plopping down in staggered splats into a shimmering puddle.
I peered down at it, barely able to discern the rippling edges of my face reflected on the dim surface. I’d never seen pools of water before, outside of glimpses during my trips over the ocean on the air-ship. Why was there one here? If there were a problem with the ceiling, wouldn’t the repair mechanism have fixed it by now?
The thought of those white worms Kuno had described, slithering and twisting their way to this spot, destroying anything
that interfered with their task, turned my stomach. I left the puddle and pressed on, not wanting to encounter the worms. There was no sound except the gentle thud of my feet on the ground.
This strip of floor wasn’t as prettily tiled as the air-ship’s white, elegant platform. It was smooth, but not shiny. Just a few rows of simple tan-colored tiles, stretching as far ahead of me as I could see. The walls were tiled too.
With the tracks on my immediate right, I moved along, looking for places with black shadows that might have veiled entrances to the surface. According to Kuno, there were ventilation shafts throughout. But I imagined there were other tunnels as well—perhaps some that carved deep holes so machinery could be moved in and out. Or brought food and supplies.
What had it been like for those early people? On the cusp of creating the Machine, eager to prove dominion over nature.
As children, we were taught our history, told how noble those early engineers and scientists had been who’d bravely struggled against hardship to forge a new way of life. The surface had been riddled with war, hate, murder—an overwhelmingly horrible place to live. Nature grew toxic from poisons, from archaic technologies.
So our founding society had banded together and created the Machine, moved underground, established our culture, focused on peace and preservation and developing our sophisticated aspects, suppressing those that had led to so much destruction on the surface.
There. I stopped in my place and swallowed, my heart slamming against my chest. There was a possible dark spot, right on the other side of the rails. After sucking in a quick breath, I looked up and down the tracks.
Nothing was coming.
I scurried over, careful not to touch the rows of live metal, and made it to the slender strip of ground on the other side. With trembling hands I pressed against the fist-wide black gap in the tiles, at level with my stomach. There was some give around the hole; it felt like it was rotten. This could be one of the shafts I was looking for.
What should I do? I wanted to press it until it gave way.
Ten Days Page 7
