The Block

by Ben Oliver

  “We can go back into Purgatory,” I say. “Let’s go back in.”

  And as I say it, I can’t remember why we left in the first place.

  “No,” Malachai grunts.

  “But we’re safe in there,” I say, trying and failing to pull him toward the chamber.

  “No!” he screams. “That place is evil.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask. “It’s sanctuary.”

  And now it’s Malachai’s turn to grab me. He has more strength than I thought possible for a young man in agony who has just been released from a cryochamber. “We need to get away from this place.”

  “You’re crazy,” I tell him as he pulls me along. “You don’t need to suffer like this. None of us have to suffer anymore.”

  “Luka, think about your friends, think about the people who have been with you through all of this. Think about Akimi, about Pander, think about Pod and Kina.”

  Once again the synapses are firing in my bewildered brain. Yes, we had to get out, we had to get out quickly.

  “There was something wrong with that place, wasn’t there?” I ask.

  And finally, Malachai lets go. He lies on his back, breathing heavily. He nods his head. “Yes, there was something very wrong with that place. Right now I’m still too messed up to figure out what it was, but we can’t go back.”

  “We need to hold on to thoughts of our friends until it passes, don’t we?” I ask, my voice still that wistful, preoccupied way it had been inside Purgatory.

  “Yes,” Malachai replies, the pain of his extracted eyes causing his voice to come out in growling barks, “hold on to your happy thoughts.”

  We lie there in the silence. I begin to repeat the names of my friends over and over so I don’t forget why I left the place that seems so wonderful to me now. “Pander, Pod, Akimi, Igby, Wren, Kina.”

  I repeat this over and over, forcing my mind to stay on course, to not be swayed into thinking about my room on the sixteenth floor, or the band playing beautiful music, or all my friends in there.

  “Pander, Pod, Akimi, Igby, Wren, K—” But I’m cut off this time by the sound of a cryochamber opening.

  I swivel around on the cold ground to see the liquid draining away from a chamber seven or eight down from my own. The glass spins and a figure falls to the floor. I watch as the form breathes heavily and slowly recovers from Safe-Death. Finally, the person stands and begins to slowly shuffle toward me on shaking legs. As he steps into the light, I see that it is Etcetera Price.

  “Mr. Bannister, Mr. Kane”—he is different from his avatar, even older, not as warm or charming—“you left so suddenly.”

  His voice judders with the cold, and yet is still commanding.

  “Pander, Pod … Wren … Kina,” I say, trying not to be distracted by the doctor.

  “There must have been some misunderstanding,” Dr. Price says, hobbling a step closer. “You were safe inside.”

  “Pander … Kina … Kina …”

  “Luka, why don’t we put Mr. Bannister back into his cryochamber, and then you and I can return to Purgatory together?”

  “Something was wrong with that place,” I tell him.

  “No, Mr. Kane, Purgatory is how we beat Happy.”

  “Purgatory is how we beat Happy,” I repeat, confused.

  “We beat Happy by doing nothing at all.”

  “That’s how we beat Happy,” I say.

  “Come back, Luka. You and Malachai, you can be with your friends again.”

  “Yes,” I say, and I begin to stand up. “I can be with my friends again.”

  As I begin to push myself up to standing, I feel Malachai’s hand grab my wrist.

  “Don’t listen to him, Luka.”

  “Come now, Mr. Bannister,” Etcetera Price says, his voice so warm and calming. “It’s not safe out here.”

  “We know it’s not safe,” Malachai rasps, “but we’re not like you, we’re not weak, we’re not too terrified to fight.”

  “Come back inside and we can discuss this in Purgatory.”

  “No!” Malachai yells. “You drugged us; you drugged everyone in there. You’re a creep and a criminal and we’re not coming back with you. In fact, we’re going to get everyone out!”

  He drugged us, I think. The acknowledgment of that is enough to free a part of my mind and I find some clarity.

  “You drugged us,” I repeat.

  “That’s quite an accusation you two have leveled at me. I can tell you that it’s not true.”

  “We’re not going back there,” Malachai says. “We’re not … We’re …” And then the blood loss and pain cause him to pass out, his head hitting hard against the floor.

  “A shame,” the doctor says, pulling a small USW pistol from the pocket of his jacket and aiming it at Malachai. “I didn’t want to do this, but if you won’t come back willingly, I can’t risk you destroying everything I’ve built. I guess you two were unlucky enough to be in the ten percent who die upon exiting Safe-Death.”

  I stare at the barrel of the gun, too weak to run, too confused to think of a way out.

  I hear the whipping of the air as the round comes toward me, and I flinch, waiting for the impact.

  But the sound was not a USW round coming toward me; it was Apple-Moth zipping past.

  “Bad man!” the drone screams as it flies directly into Dr. Price’s face, covering his eyes. I blink in confusion. How is this possible? I powered the drone down before entering Safe-Death!

  No time to think. I grab Malachai by the legs and pull him behind a row of cryochambers. I turn in time to see Dr. Price grabbing Apple-Moth and flinging the small companion drone across the room. One of the tiny drone’s rotor blades is damaged and it can no longer fly. I see the words SELF-REPAIR MODE projected a few inches above its body in red lights.

  I move quickly away from Malachai, trying to draw the doctor’s attention away from him. I dash across the aisle and dive behind the opposite row of cryochambers and I can feel the USW rounds vibrating the air around me as I hit the ground and roll away.

  “I don’t understand,” I call out from my hiding place. “What happened to you? Didn’t you use to fight against Happy?”

  “I did,” the echoing reply comes back, “but now there’s no point.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask.

  “I have calculated the odds of victory for the remaining humans. Do you want to know what your chances of success are?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I call as I begin to move slowly around the back of the chambers. “It won’t change anything.”

  “There was a time,” Dr. Price says, his voice closer now, “when I was just like you. But the painful truth is, good doesn’t always win. I will sit out the war; I won’t let any more of my friends die.”

  I crouch and run along the space behind the cryochambers, stepping over wires as I go. “That’s something else I don’t understand,” I call out, coming to a stop behind Day’s cylinder. “Why would you want to live in Purgatory? Unable to feel anything, surrounded by drugged people who can barely think for themselves.”

  “At least I’m surrounded by friends,” the doctor says. “It’s better than being lonely.”

  “But they’re not your friends, not really.”

  “They used to be,” Dr. Price replies, “but they started dying. Every mission they went on, every attempt to defeat Happy, more and more of them died. I couldn’t bear it any longer, not after Midway Park.”

  “So, you drugged them?”

  “Not at first. I tried to convince them that hiding away and enjoying the time we had left was perhaps the better option.”

  “It’s not, though, don’t you see that? Even if there’s a one percent chance we can beat Happy, we have to try.”

  “Zero point seven percent,” the doctor replies.

  I didn’t think it possible, but I suddenly feel even colder than before. “What did you say?”

  “There is a zero point seven percent
chance that Happy can be defeated, and every second of every day, Happy is working to bring that number down.”

  “How do you know that?” I ask.

  “There are other artificial intelligence programs. They are not as advanced as Happy, but they can run simulations and scenarios, they can calculate odds based on resources, run algorithms that predict outcomes.”

  “Zero point seven,” I repeat, and the drug that still lingers in my body suddenly seems stronger. I feel like giving in to its power once again.

  Pander, Igby, Molly, Malachai, Pod, Akimi, Kina.

  “I don’t care,” I say. “I won’t give up. You could tell me there’s no chance at all, that it’s completely futile—I’ll still fight. Drugging people, forcing them into hiding against their will? You’re a monster.”

  “So, you’ll fight no matter what?” Dr. Price asks.

  “Yes,” I reply, trying to catch a glimpse of him as I move slowly around the backs of the cryochambers.

  Keep stalling, I think. Just keep buying time until you see an opportunity.

  “And you’ll convince others to fight?” Dr. Price calls out.

  “Yes,” I reply.

  “Then, Luka, I put it to you that you are the monster. You are willing to lure people to their deaths on the dishonest promise of victory! You are willing to offer false hope to those who have none! You would lead an army of children to their graves to satisfy your own need to believe that the outcome will be anything but destruction.”

  “That’s not true,” I say.

  “Oh, but it is!” Dr. Price yells. “It is, Luka. Now, I will give you one last opportunity to come back to Purgatory with me. I will up your dosage and you can live out the remainder of your days in bliss.”

  I lean against the tall glass tube and close my eyes. “I’m not the monster here,” I say. “If all my friends, my family, told me they no longer wanted to fight, I’d let them go, but I would let them make the decision of their own free will. You take free will away and force people to conform to your way of thinking because, what? You don’t want to be lonely? You’ve lost your mind.”

  I hear the doctor laugh quietly. “Then you have made your decision,” he says. “Which of these people do you care for the most?” he asks.

  I open my eyes, feeling adrenaline whoosh into my body, and lean around to get a look at the doctor.

  He walks slowly up the aisle between the rows of chambers and then stops at the man I had been dancing with earlier.

  “How about Alix?” he asks, pointing his USW pistol at the glass. “How about we cut short his time in Purgatory?”

  I feel my heart thumping in my chest as I watch, unsure of what to do. And then the smile grows on Dr. Price’s face.

  “No, no, no, not Alix,” he says, moving over to Shion’s cryochamber. “How about this old clone?”

  He won’t do it. He won’t do it, I think.

  “Do you know why I selected people like your sister to be my sentries? It’s because they’re addicts. Disgusting beings, really, but they can be relied upon to return to Purgatory—after all, it’s where the drugs are.”

  He places the barrel of the gun against the glass.

  “Wait!” I call, and step out of my hiding place. “Don’t do it. I’ll do what you want, just don’t kill Shion.”

  “Get back in the chamber,” he says, aiming the gun at me now.

  “I feel sorry for you,” I say.

  “I know you do, because that’s the kind of person you are.”

  I shake my head and move back toward the chamber that will take me away to Purgatory. My mind will be doped until I can’t remember a thing. I’ll be a placid, docile shell of myself, awaiting oblivion.

  I step into the chamber and turn to look at Dr. Price.

  “Now, press the button. Your friend and I will join you in a min—”

  “What’s going on?” Molly’s voice reverberates through the arcade.

  I turn my head to see Molly leading Pander, Igby, Dr. Ortega, and Kina into the arcade.

  “Holy fucking hell!” Igby exclaims. “This is Safe-Death! This is the Missing!”

  “Molly,” I call. “He’s drugging every—”

  Before I can finish, Dr. Price has aimed the USW pistol at me and fired. The round hits my shoulder, and once again I feel the pulse enter my body and distort the muscle and bone within. I hear Kina cry out—in the corner of my eye I watch Dr. Ortega hold her back, pulling her into the shadow of the doorway with Pander and Igby.

  I fall back and slump down into the tube. Before Dr. Price can fire again, Molly fires three shots from her own weapon into him.

  The sound of the chaos fades away and all that’s left is the strangely calming sound of the bubbles in each of the active cryochambers rushing forever upward.

  Molly walks over to the slumped figure of Dr. Price and looks down at him.

  “Why did you shoot my brother?” she asks, aiming her gun at his chest.

  “Molly,” he gasps, his left arm and both legs in tatters, “my favorite survivor.”

  “Why did you shoot my brother?” she asks, more venom in her voice this time.

  “This hurts so much, Molly, I’m in so much pain. Get me back into Purgatory—we can talk about it inside, where I won’t have to feel this agony.”

  “Answer the question,” she replies, lowering the barrel of the USW rifle until it’s resting against the center of his rib cage.

  “It was a misunderstanding.”

  I can feel the pain in my shoulder begin to subside, hear sounds of clicking bone and fusing skin. I sit up.

  “It was no misunderstanding,” I say. “He’s been drugging all the inhabitants of Purgatory for a long time. That’s why no one wants to leave.”

  “Why would you do something like that?” Molly asks.

  “Don’t listen to him, Molly, listen to me,” Price says. “Don’t you want to go back inside? Back to where your friends are? Back to sanctuary?”

  “I … I …” she stammers, a look of uncertainty in her eyes. “No, not if Luka says it’s not safe.”

  “But, Molly, think about how dangerous it is to be out here in the real world. Think about the refuge of—”

  “Shut up,” Molly snaps. “Stop trying to manipulate me and tell me what’s going on.”

  Dr. Price’s eyes begin darting around the room, his facade of composure slipping. “Fine, just go, just leave. You don’t have to come back into Purgatory with me, just let me live out the rest of my days in peace.”

  “No,” I say, stepping out of the chamber, “not until you let everyone else inside decide if they want to stay of their own free will.”

  “Don’t you realize,” the doctor asks, “these people don’t know what’s good for them. I’m saving them!”

  “You don’t get to decide,” I tell him, my shoulder slipping back into its newly re-formed socket.

  “So, hold up,” Pander says, “this guy is full-blown crazy, right?”

  I ignore Pander and step out of the cryochamber. “It’s over, Dr. Price.”

  He clenches his jaw, and tears form in his eyes. “But I’ll be alone.”

  “You’re already alone,” I reply.

  The old doctor lies on the floor and begins to cry. For a moment I feel sad for him.

  “I don’t accept,” he mutters.

  “What did you say?” Molly asks.

  “I said, I do not accept.”

  The doctor’s hand moves quickly; he grabs the USW pistol from the floor and begins firing at the chambers that surround us. The glass shatters and the emaciated corpses within slump forward.

  He manages to hit three, including Shion’s chamber, by the time Molly pulls the trigger.

  The gun falls from the doctor’s hand, and before he dies, his eyes meet Dr. Ortega’s. I watch an odd expression flit across his face—shock or recognition?—and then he falls back, dead.

  I glance at Dr. Ortega as she tries to hide the look of fear on her face. />
  “Yo, what the fuck is going on?” Igby asks, breaking the silence.

  I push aside my doubts about Dr. Ortega—for now. “Molly, can we get them out of Purgatory and back into their bodies?” I ask, pointing to the collapsed corpses half inside the destroyed chambers.

  But Molly doesn’t have time to answer before the red light above the arcade’s door comes on, followed by the old tablet computer with the words MOSQUITOES APPROACHING.

  “Apple-Moth,” I call, looking toward the downed drone, the words SELF-REPAIR MODE still flashing over its body. “No,” I whisper, knowing that the only way to hide from the approaching Mosquitoes is back inside Purgatory. But if we all go in, we might not come out.

  Shion is completely free of her tank and lies on the floor. Dr. Ortega is kneeling next to her, eyes fixed on Shion’s stone-white face—Kina’s at her side. Igby’s frozen by the door, head bowed, like the shock has nailed him to the spot, and Pander moves around the arcade, looking for … a way out? A cache of weapons to fight off the impending army of Alts? I don’t know.

  “The Mosquitoes are coming,” Molly says. “We have to get back to Purgatory.”

  “We can’t,” I tell her. “We don’t know how to stop the drug. We might never get out.”

  “We’ve got three minutes, maybe less,” says Molly.

  I try to think faster, my eyes skimming over the tubes and wires snaking across the room and into a huge central console. “Igby,” I call. He lifts his bowed head to look at me. “If Dr. Price was drugging everyone in Purgatory, the drug must be somewhere in here, right? Feeding out from the computer thing?” I point at the console.

  Igby seems to snap out of it. He looks around and nods. “All right,” he says, “I can fix that. I think I can fix that.”

  “Great, that’s great,” I say. “If you could do it in like two minutes, that would be great.”

  “Sure, no problem,” he replies, and moves off toward one of the cryochambers to take a look at it.

  I run over to Shion, Kina, and Dr. Ortega.

  “I can’t do anything,” says the doctor. “There’s no blood in her body … It’s … it’s …”

  “I know,” I say, staring down at my deceased friend.