by A I Knowles
Well, not for long. The reminder makes my stomach twist, and I regret eating so quickly. I turn the shower on as hot as it will go, and step into the glass walls, turning to let the spray beat against my shoulders. The heat fogs the glass and I reach out to press my palm against the blue-tinged transparency. My action leaves a handprint in the mist which is soon filled in by more droplets. Just like me. Here for a while, then I’ll be gone, and nobody will remember me for long. I have no illusions any of the girls will miss me, except maybe Linea. And she only has four months until her Process.
I shudder and force the thoughts from my mind. Fighting through the fatigue that weighs down my limbs, I scrub shampoo through my hair and use the loofah until my skin is red and sore. Ever since waking in the infirmary, I’ve smelled of antiseptic and bleach. The acrid tang of the cleaners hangs in the back of my throat until I feel like I’ll never be rid of it.
Finally satisfied I’m not going to get any cleaner, I step out of the shower and get dressed in the uniform which sits on the counter. I don’t bother fixing my hair. I have five days to live...what’s the point of taking the effort?
***
School drags on with my mind distracted by the constant ache in my neck. Teacher prods me many times when I forget to do my work and end up staring off into space. After the fifth time, I slam my stylus down. “What’s the point?”
“Excuse me?” Computer or not, she sure sounds offended.
“My Process is in five days. Once it’s over, I’ll have a lifetime to learn all this. Why does it matter if I write one more essay, or solve a few dozen more math problems?”
“It is best if children keep to a routine whenever possible. You will have enough change once you go through the Process. The headmistress wanted to keep your life as close to normal as possible until you are put in your android body.”
“Why?”
Teacher is silent for a long time. I wonder if she’s telling on me. “Because the headmistress says so.”
“But why does she say so?”
She definitely sounds miffed now, as if this is something she doesn’t want to admit. “The headmistress doesn’t make me privy to her internal thoughts, Alyss. Now please concentrate on the lesson.”
I pick my stylus up and throw it across the little room, where it hits the wall and clatters to the floor. “No. I’m done.” I stand, wavering when dizziness washes over me. I walk over to the door.
Beep-beep. “I’m sorry, Alyss, but it’s not time for you to leave.”
“Let me out!”
“I’m sorry, I can’t do that.” her voice has gone cold, expressionless.
I reach out and knock on the door. Nothing happens, except for it beeping at me again. Rage and fear flood through me, and I lift both fists to pound on the glass. “Let me out! Let...me...out!” each word is punctuated by a kick at the door, which doesn’t even have the decency to crack. I spin around and face the screen, which still displays the paragraph of my essay on the Society’s beginnings. Rather, what the Society has told me of its beginnings. Or is that all a lie, too?
“Alyss, please return to your chair so we may continue.”
“No!” Screaming in wordless anger that is rapidly turning to panic, I throw my shoulder against the door. It shudders, but holds. “No! No! No…” I sink to the ground, sobbing, clutching the throbbing wound in my neck. “Let me out!”
“I can’t do that, Alyss.” Teacher’s cool voice only deepens my panic. This is a nightmare. I must be asleep. This can’t possibly be real.
When I pull my hand away from my neck, I’m assaulted by another wave of dizziness at the sight of the red which stains it. “Teacher…” darkness is flooding my vision. “Help…”
Sliding to the floor, I find myself face-first on the cold, gray tiles. I can’t move, but somehow I don’t lose consciousness. I can see the floor, the feet of my desk and chair, and the stylus in the corner. An alarm blares, and within seconds, the door hisses open and someone grabs me by the arms. My eyes roll closed and I don’t have the strength to open them. Someone is carrying me...two someones. One has my shoulders and one has my feet. Boots pound on the floor, and I can hear the faintest of mechanical whirs. By the rate of the footsteps, we must be moving quickly. My hair is caught on something, and it hurts. My emotions have gone numb, overwhelmed by the weakness and the pain in my body.
After a moment I’m laid on a bed and my eyes open just enough to see my surroundings. The Medbot hums over, arms extended above my body. It chitters to itself, and I hear voices somewhere. People are whispering, talking about me. Is that the headmistress? The security guards?
Warmth and numbness touch my wound, and the pain begins to fade. I gasp in relief, feeling as if I’m taking my first deep breath of the day. I’m still weak...so weak. Am I dying already? Is this how it’s going to end? It would be the ultimate irony if I died before I even reached the Process, deep inside the walls of what’s supposed to be the safest place in the world.
The headmistress’s face appears in my field of vision. “It’s alright, Alyss. It seems a shard of your implant was left in your skin and it’s caused an infection.”
No. That’s not right. The Medbots have sophisticated imaging equipment. They would have noticed. There’s no way they missed that, no way I have an infection. This is wrong. All wrong.
I can barely see, but I feel her pat my hand. “It’s okay, Alyss. It’s all going to be okay.
No. It’s not.
“We’re preparing to take you for your Process now. There’s no sense in waiting. Just hang on, Alyss. It will all be better soon. Things will be better. You’ll love living as an HA. Just wait and see. It will be okay.”
No it won’t! Inside my head I’m screaming, but it’s like I’m paralyzed. I can’t move, can’t even blink my eyes. They are half-open, just enough for me to see a little of my surroundings through the black haze of my eyelashes. Please! Stop!
There’s a click behind my head, and the bed starts to move. Someone is walking beside me, I can’t see who. I can hear the Medbot whir, the thump of boots on the floor. I try to speak, but only manage a whimper. How can I be fully conscious but unable to move? I may not know much about infections, but I’ve never heard of any of them causing paralysis. Poisons, yes…
Poison. Did they poison me? But why? The longer the bed rolls down the corridor with the blurry ceiling passing overhead, the more sure I am. The dizziness has passed, and my mind is as clear as ever. I feel like a butterfly trapped in a glass, fluttering against the sides of an unyielding and transparent prison. I can see the world, feel it, hear it...but not reach it.
The light changes, and I think we’re in the mess hall. It will be empty now; the girls will still be in their school rooms.
Linea. My one friend, the only person in the whole world who seems to genuinely care about me. Well, beside the one who almost killed me, and is the reason I’m in this predicament. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.
Tears form in my eyes and leak from the corners of my eyelids. The headmistress chuckles and wipes them away with a finger. “None of that, Alyss. Everything is going to be fine.”
Does she really think that? Is she programmed to think that her progenitor is still part of her? Does she really believe what she’s saying, or is it all lines the Society has fed her and she’s so used to saying them that she can’t turn it off? Can a machine even do that? Can a machine forget?
Panicked speculations on android emotional capabilities are driven from my head as we pass into the corridor that leads to the administration rooms...and the exit to outside. The ceiling speeds by, not even hesitating at the end of the corridor as the door whooshes open. The sound of wheels changes to something more metallic, and the ceiling gets further away.
I’m going outside. I’m really going outside. I can’t help a thrill as we move toward the door. I’ve never been outside, except for the exercise yard. I long to feel the sun on my face, the breeze against my skin.
One last time.
The bed jolts to a halt, and the doors rattle. I manage to turn my head slightly. The headmistress’ blond head nods at me and she smiles. “It’s alright. Just unlocking the doors.”
I manage to make my lips part, but all that escapes is a whimper. She must misunderstand me, because she grasps my hand in what’s probably meant to be a comforting manner. Two shadows pass, probably the guards, and the bed resumes its motion.
With a suddenness that blinds me, we pass from dim light to full sun. I can’t close my eyes, and they water in protest of the increase in illumination. The wheels rattle louder and the boots thump with a different pitch. The bed goes over a bump, and a shadow approaches my feet. I put all of my effort into opening my eyes, trying to discern my surroundings.
The headmistress pats my hand one last time. “I’ll see you in a little while, Alyss. It’s going to be alright.” She moves away, and I can’t help missing her presence. At least she’s familiar, if not exactly safe. The bed bumps again, and the sunlight is gone. I’m in something dark.
Doors slam shut behind me, and the darkness whirs into life. With a jolt, we’re in motion again.
Chapter 5: Rescue
I have no idea how much time has passed in this vehicle. I don’t even know what sort of vehicle it is. I haven’t been outside the compound since I was brought there as a toddler, so I’ve never ridden in anything like this within my memory. I know cars and trucks were phased out, to be replaced with ones that use the magnets in the roads to hover just off the surface. It’s a much safer and quicker way to travel than using the vehicles, which were equipped with rubber tires...at least that’s what I’ve been told.
My unhelpful brain repeats a section of a school lesson. September 5th, 2125. The day the last autonomous vehicle was destroyed, and all cars became computer-driven. It was also the last day any person was involved in a vehicle accident caused by human error.
Is that because there were no more accidents, or because there were no more humans? Even in my panic, I manage a tiny bit of amusement at my own gallows humor. How far is the Process? How long has it been?
With monumental effort, I manage to close my eyes, then open them again, this time all the way. After waiting for the wave of weakness to pass, I summon all my strength and push my head over to one side. There’s a window, but it’s made of frosted glass. All I can see is faint light, no details of the world outside. What little light there is illuminates a space not much wider than the bed. The left wall is covered with what look like translucent drawers. The right, which holds the window, is bare and white.
My wound sends a sharp pain down into my shoulder with the movement. It’s enough to convince me to lie still until the place has stopped spinning and the pain has receded. As soon as I’m able, I move again. This time I bend my arm at the elbow and try to bring it up. I manage to see the tips of my fingers in my peripheral vision before my muscles give out and the arm falls back down onto the sheets.
The vehicle shudders as if it’s gone over a bump. I flinch as the sudden movement sends a spasm of pain down my shoulder. Another bump, this one accompanied by a grinding noise. Are we slowing down?
We’re slowing down. No, not yet. I’m not ready yet. Gasping in a breath, I pull from my deepest reserves of strength, and force my bad shoulder up, continuing the movement until my momentum pulls me over and I roll off of the bed.
I scream in pain when I hit the floor. Blinding, the agony sears through my shoulder and my neck. Drops of blood patter on my arm and the textured metal beneath me.
There’s some kind of commotion outside the vehicle, then another bump. This time it’s definitely slowing. It’s also shuddering. There’s a thud beneath the floor, and a deafening screech, then the floor shudders as if the entire contraption will shake into pieces. I can’t suppress another cry as my shoulder is jolted around mercilessly.
Then, with the horrific sound of metal on metal, the vehicle rumbles to a stop. Something’s not right. I may not know much about vehicles, but I know they aren’t supposed to make these kind of noises.
Something bangs on the back door. Then again. It sounds like someone is pounding the door with a fist or a rock. There’s a screech, and the door opens just a crack. I feel around with my hands, trying to find something, anything I can use as a weapon. It’s pure instinct, considering I was already going to my death. It’s not like this new threat can kill me any deader.
Hands reach in and yank the door further open. I crawl backward, but my arms collapse and I fall on my back. Pain flares in my neck and I clutch at it as the wound tears and begins to bleed in earnest.
“Hey. It’s alright.” Someone is leaning over me. A man with dark, short-cropped hair and a gaunt face looks down at me. His hands reach out, and I’m too weak to resist. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.” Despite his thinness, he pulls me into his arms and cradles me against his chest. He stands with a grunt, and walks semi-crouched to the end of the vehicle, where he hops down. He breaks into a limping trot. I can’t see where he’s going with my face squashed to his chest and my head spinning. I give in to the dizziness and bury my face in his threadbare shirt, just trying to stay awake. He smells of mint and some other scent I can’t identify. It’s like the tree in the yard, but sharper, wilder.
The man steps up, and I open my eyes to find us in another vehicle. This one is much larger, and there’s at least ten people in the space. Two more men reach out and close the doors. The man holding me walks over to one side and lowers me onto a hard cot that feels as if it’s bolted to the floor. He pulls a thick belt from the sides of the cot and buckles it over my abdomen, then runs the two steps to the other side of the vehicle, and straps himself onto one of a row of plastic seats which protrude from the wall. Other men and women take their places to either side, each one pulling a harness around their shoulders and buckling it over their hips.
With a lurch, the truck goes into motion. Nobody talks, and their faces are all tense. I’m glad nobody’s expecting me to speak, because I have no idea what I’d say. My head feels fuzzy and numb, and not entirely convinced this isn’t part of yet another plot to secure my death. Another part of me vaguely wonders if these people have something to do with the voice in my implant...the voice which nearly killed me while professing to try and save my life.
I’m tired...so tired. I want nothing more than to pass out again, to wake up in my own bed at home in the compound. I want to be the Alyss I was a week ago, in the days before my world turned upside down. I close my eyes, hoping I’ll open them to find everything back to normal.
***
When the slowing rumble of the giant vehicle wakes me up moments later, none of my hopes have come to fruition. I’m still lying here, strapped to this uncomfortable cot that’s stained and nearly the color of the tree in the compound. The fabric smells of urine and worse. The spot next to my eye is patched with something that’s not any cleaner than the original material.
I flinch as something thunks beneath the vehicle and the clatter of released harness buckles on metal fills the space. The quiet turns into chaos as ten people, evenly divided between men and women, rise from their seats and scramble around each other in the decelerating vehicle, gathering up backpacks and boxes. They’re all dressed poorly, in faded clothing that’s obviously seen better days. Some of it even has holes. It seems scandalous to my eyes, which are used to ankle-length skirts and blouses buttoned to the neck.
The man who pulled me from The Society’s vehicle kneels next to the cot. “You ready?”
“Ready for what?”
He grins, and the expression lights up his entire face. “Life, what else?” He reaches over to release the belt holding me in place, then gathers me into his arms again.
“Put me down. I can walk.” It’s humiliating to be carried, especially since he hasn’t bothered to gather my skirt around my legs, and from the breeze on the back of my thighs, I’m quite sure my butt is exposed to the world.
He snorts. “Like hell you can.” He lines up behind the rest of his companions, who all wait gathered near the back doors, their hands hanging on to anything solid within reach as the vehicle lurches toward a stop.
As soon as we’re stationary, the people all break into excited chatter, and the doors are thrown open. They jump down with the thud of boots and shoes on the ground. The man holding me drops down, making me gasp as the motion jars my neck. The sunlight is too bright. I can’t see anything around me, and I bury my face in his shirt to stop the ache in my eyes.
“Sorry.” He raises his voice loud enough that I can feel the rumble in his chest. “Hey! Can I get a gurney?”
