Biocide, page 13
part #2 of Adaline Series
62's hands stopped trying to rub the soreness out of his ankle. His eyes shifted away from Trainer's impatient gaze to the double doors shut tight behind him. The same doors where not long ago, Blue had been. Where light had shone down an unexplored hallway.
“I don't want to.”
The words came out on their own. Trainer looked as startled at the admission as 62 felt in voicing it. The other Boys made it around the track again, the pack leaders bounding over the hurdles. They each took awkward steps around the hurdle that still lay face-down on the track, casting sideways glances as they trotted past Trainer and 62 on their way to the next jump.
Trainer's face squished. His head turned sharply from left to right and a grunt escaped as he processed what 62 said. “What does want have to do with anything? You'll complete today's tasks.”
“No.” 62 rolled his weight onto his hip and got his good foot under him. He stood and straightened his clothes. He tested the twisted ankle. The pain was sharp. “If I walk on it, it'll hurt. It's not bad enough for medical, but it will be if I keep running. I'm going to sit for a while.”
The strained look on Trainer's face faded. It was replaced by frustration. His arm shot out, fingers clasped around 62's elbow. “You will get back on that track and do as I've said.”
A quick tug and 62's elbow slipped through the Man's grasp. “Why?”
Trainer's eyes went wide. “Because I told you to.”
62 turned to watch 1124621, one of the slower Boys jog past. Slower? He was running twenty seconds behind the leader, and that made him inferior. His form was perfect in almost every way as he detoured around 62. But because his left foot had a slight drag along the pavement at the start of each step, he'd never make it to the front of the pack. It was a slight variation on a perfect step. The drag created by thousands of steps made each day added up to him never being able to make it to the lead. An anomaly so slight, it was debilitating.
62 understood Trainer's increasingly rigid stance. The Man was trying to be perfect. To be seen as valuable, he needed to have perfect trainees. They all needed to meet the mark because some other Man or Machine said so. Trainer didn't have a choice. He had to make 62 run because it's what he was made to do. But that wasn't 62's fault. It was Adaline's fault. It was the gears that weren't supposed to stop grinding; systems designed not to fail. If 62 didn't get back in line, Trainer would have to answer for the error.
But 62 didn't have control over that. Trouble was going to come down on them both because he'd fallen in the first place. Trainer would have to explain the delay that had already happened. Justify the imperfection of a distracted Boy failing to clear a hurdle.
62 shook his head. “Sorry. I'm not running any more today.”
Trainer's hands balled into fists. His mouth gaped open and closed as 62 began to walk away. He pushed out gravelly words once he tempered his anger enough to speak. “If you walk away from this track, I won't help you when they come asking about you. I don't care what the others say. You aren't special. You're just another anomaly.”
62 shrugged. “I understand. You can't do anything else. But I can.” He turned away with a proud smirk and a sore ankle.
CHAPTER 32
The exhilaration of walking out of the arena was quickly replaced by panic. 62 wasn't sure what he'd expected to happen, but it wasn't this. The hallway was empty when he passed through the exit. No Transportation Aide waited to escort him back to the pods, and when he neared his cube the PTS was nowhere to be found. The common area was flooded with a quiet like he'd never heard before. No whirring fans in the overhead vents. No clicking of Machines passing through on their errands.
When he reached his pod, both the doors to it and his cube were open. The automatic door had slid shut behind him when he'd left for training earlier that cycle, he was sure of it. He crept toward the cube's open maw and stopped short when he saw feet resting lazily on the floor. The attached legs crossed somewhere around the corner, just out of sight. They were Man-sized and had an air of patient waiting even as they unfolded and recrossed into a more comfortable position. 62 held his breath and tried to decide whether to enter, or run.
“There's no point in loitering.” A calm voice called. “You may as well come in, I know you’re there.”
62's feet moved before he was ready. He passed the threshold and found the Man from Defense leaning back in a chair, studying his hands. The Man didn't look up when 62 entered. Despite the tight quarters, he didn't bother to tuck his legs under the hover chair. 62 stepped cautiously over them as he made his way toward the bed.
“What's going on?” 62 asked after settling onto the mattress. He looked for the Man's recording device but didn't see it anywhere in the room. That didn't mean it wasn't there.
“It's my understanding that you've finally made a decision.” The Man's voice was cool and even in a way that made 62 shudder.
“A decision about what?”
The Man's eyes wandered up from his cupped hands. “A decision about where you're going next.”
62's spoke slowly, carefully choosing his words. “I guess I did. I hit a hurdle in training and twisted my ankle bad.” He straightened his leg out in front of him as if the Man would be able to see the pain that throbbed under the skin. “I told Trainer I needed to sit for a while. I'll try again tomorrow.”
“That's not exactly how things work.” The Man's gaze drifted back down to his folded fingers. “We aren't designed to self-diagnose. If you don’t have a note from medical on file, then technically you're fit to jump a thousand hurdles. As far as your trainer is concerned, you’re engaging in some extreme laziness.”
“I've been hurt before. I know what I'm supposed to do to take care of myself.” 62 tried to sound confident. The throbbing of his ankle evaporated as a wave of anxious adrenaline pumped through his veins.
“You're right. About being hurt before; not about having the power to dictate your own treatment.” The Man leaned forward in his chair and raised an eyebrow. “If I understand your file correctly, you've been to Medical a few times, haven't you?”
The question sounded more like an accusation than an inquiry of concern. 62's tongue went dry and his mind went blank. He nodded in silence. His hands moved down to his ankle and he massaged it absently. The pain of the twist returned with new force. It was as if his leg was getting ready to leap off the bed, and his ankle was trying to communicate what a bad idea that would be.
“In fact, you've been to see the doctors with more frequency than any other Boy in your animation group.”
62's tongue worked itself loose and his voice croaked. “I have?”
The Man nodded, mimicking 62's wide-eyed nod a moment before. “Do you know why I think that is?”
“No.”
“I think someone's coaching you. Causing you to have accidents so that you can move around Adaline with more freedom than you're allowed. I think you've been helping them. They're just using you of course; but I think they've tricked you into feeling like they're helping you, too.”
For the first time during their conversation the Man's fingers flexed. His palms flattened and he held one out so that 62 could see what he'd been protecting. Lying scattered across the mature, pale skin were the brittle,
brown pieces of 62's grass. “1124562, I think you've been a very bad Boy.”
CHAPTER 33
“I can help you.” Although the words spoken were quiet, they sucked the air out of the cube. They echoed in 62's mind long after they were spoken. The Man continued to speak but his voice was drowned out by a rush of suffocating panic.
The Man turned his mouth into a smile. His cheeks plumped and lips curved in a way that would seem reassuring if it wasn't for the sharpness of his eyes. The false kindness was an expression of power that drained 62’s courage until a shiver ran down his spine and goosebumps speckled his arms. 62 watched, unblinking, as the Man pulled a small bag from a pocket. He unfolded the bag one-handed, careful not to drop the shreds of grass folded in his palm. 62 focused enough to read the word EVIDENCE as it fluttered on the front of the waving bag. The Man tipped the hand holding the grass into the bag and flicked the tiny fibers in. The bag made a sharp sound when the Man removed a long strip of protective plastic from the lip of it. He folded the top over to seal it, and then held the bag up to inspect the grass again through the two layers of sealed translucent plastic.
62 blinked back tears. “How?”
“How what?” The Man raised an eyebrow as if he'd already forgotten everything he'd just said.
“How can you help me?”
“It’s not just about me helping you. We can help each other.” The Man leaned forward and put a heavy hand on 62's arm. His hand was warm in a way that wasn't comfortable. The heat built until it burned. “We both need answers and we can work together to find them. You help me to find the dust loving idiot who brought this filth into Adaline, and I can protect you.”
62 pulled his arm away from the Man's grasp. He edged backward along the mattress until he rested against the cold wall. He imagined that he could feel the sensors scanning his skin through his clothes and shuddered. “Protect me from who?”
As if on cue, a Transportation Aide appeared in the still open doorway. It stood large in the opening, eyes flashing orange. “We are ready to move subject 1124562,” a mechanical voice ebbed from an unseen speaker.
The Man shook his head and raised a halting hand. “Not yet. I'm not done. Wait outside.” The Man waited for the Machine to turn away and nodded in its direction. “I can protect you from them.”
62's eyes drifted from the unnumbered Man to the Machine that waited just beyond the door frame. “Where are they taking me?”
“They want to take you to the other side of Adaline. It's not very pleasant there. Lots of Machines who try to get inside your head.” The Man pointed a finger to his temple and turned it in a small circle as if his hand was a drill probing for data. A dark and knowing look passed over the Man's face. “Oh, that's right. Your file says you've gone up the chute to the labs before. Although this time you won't be sent to the idealists on Level 2 that think they can reprogram erroneous little Boys. There's no coming back from where they're sending you.”
62's eyes bulged. He remembered vividly being in the small room. The straps that held him down to the table pulled at his arms and legs. The memory seemed so real that he could feel them digging into his skin. His breath became short and clipped. Nurses gazed over him while they explained to an evil doctor that the side effects of a reprogramming procedure would likely kill him. 71 had saved him then and found a way to bring 62 back to class with a new chip and a stronghold over his own thoughts. That all seemed so far away from where he sat now. 71 told him to help the Man who tucked the bag of evidence into the folds of his clothes.
“What do I have to do?” 62 didn't bother to whisper. If the Man hadn't recorded their conversation, the Machine outside surely had.
“Instead of going up the elevator with them, you can come down to Defense with me. It's safe there. Comfortable, even.” The Man leaned back in his chair, arms crossed as he looked around the cube. “Better than this place, anyway. I have authorization to push you straight into our advanced recruits team. After a trial period, you could be working with Men a generation ahead of you.”
“Working on what?” 62 leaned forward. The thought of a comfortable cube was much more enticing than another trip to the lab.
“Our focus is to find the criminals who steal from our people and corrupt their loyalty with rumors that there is an outside. They're like a virus. They spread fear and uncertainty to Boys and Men alike, weakening their logic enough to believe such a ludicrous fantasy.”
“I don't understand. You think the outside is a fantasy?” 62's eyes searched the Man's hands. “But what about the grass?”
The Man shrugged. His eyebrows scrunched and he raised empty hands in the air. “What grass?”
“The grass that...” 62 pointed at the Man's side pocket.
“If you agree to come with me,” the Man cut in, “then nobody will know that you had anything to do with grass. I have the authority to wipe your file. You come with me, and I can write a report that you found the illegal substance and reported it like a good Boy. I can say that you found it stuck in a vent. You help me find the outlaw that brought the contaminant into Adaline, and together we can create a future that is long and productive. But if you don't come with me right now,” he pointed out into the common area where a second transport unit now waited beside the first, “I'll let them bury you under every scrap of data in your file until there isn't a Man or Machine that can save you.”
“I don't know.” 62's eyes flicked from the Man to the bots beyond the door. He trembled, unsure what the right answer was. He knew that 71 would encourage him to work with Defense. But Blue was his friend, too. 62 trembled, mind racing.
“I think I know someone who can help you decide.” The Man stood up and moved toward the door. There was a murmur of voices in the common area and then the Man walked through the open threshold and disappeared.
A Boy 62's age entered the cube. His movements were smooth and controlled in a way that made 62 feel self-conscious of his own gangly arms and wobbling legs. The other Boy’s hair was cropped short. His expression was dark. He sat down in the hover chair across from 62's bed and stared at him.
“Do you know who I am?” The new Boy asked. His words were smooth and deliberate.
62 shook his head, his own mop of hair brushing across his forehead. The similarity between each of his brothers made all of them seem familiar and this Boy was no different. He had the same deep eyes and pale skin as the others. But the way this Boy carried himself was altogether different.
“I'm called Boy 1124999.”
CHAPTER 34
62 leaped off of the bed. His arms wrapped around 99's neck and his head rested on his brother's shoulder. Tears of joy spread across his cheeks. “You're here. Alive. I never thought I'd see you again.”
99's arms remained folded in his lap. His shoulders went rigid, a startled grunt the only response to 62's emotions. When he did move, 99 shifted backwards and loosened 62's grip. “Yes, I'm here. When Major asked me to assist in recruiting you, he didn't tell me I should expect such an extraordinary welcome.”
“Major?” 62's head turned and he gazed on the now closed door. “That's his title? He never told me who he was.” 62 took a step back from 99. His hand still rested on his brother's shoulders as he appraised him at arm's length. His voice dropped to a whisper. “You came to recruit me. You work for Defense?”
99 gave a nod. “I had an anomaly when I was younger. Some referred to it as a gift. But it made me feel different. It made me disobedient and wild. I was on a path that would have ruined my life. Much like the path you're on now.”
62 pulled his hand back. He sat down on the edge of the bed. He looked with sorrowful eyes at the emotionless face of the Boy who had once been his closest companion. “We were friends, but you didn't tell me about the dreams. I didn't find out until after they took you. I wish I'd known.”
99 raised a hand in the air and shook his head. “I only told one person. I only told him enough to get approval for cognitive repair. It’s been said that he encouraged me to explore the anomaly, but I don’t remember the particulars. Sometimes I wish I’d learned more about my curse. Maybe the Man who encouraged me would have had some answers. I can't remember him now.” 99 rubbed an invisible pain on his temple. “The doctors did their best to fix me. They were successful in clearing my memory, but the dreams remain. The Major saw my file before I was removed from C.A.T. and found a way for me to use my dreams to serve a greater purpose. A way to use my curse to help the Community.”
99 rose from the chair, standing at his full height. His square shoulders and jutting chin made him look older than 62, even though the Boys were the same age. 99 cast an emotionless glance down at 62 as he shrunk into his bed. “I was given a second chance, then. Now I've come to pass that chance on to you. Boy 1124562, if we were truly friends, come with me. Help me to set Adaline right. Together, we can make this world better for our brothers. And ourselves.”
In the first motion of friendship that 99 had made, he extended his right hand down toward 62. His fingers hovered in the air, waiting for 62 to make the next move. The two Boys looked into each other's eyes for a long while.
Blue was a good friend and would be hurt if 62 abandoned him. But 99 was more than that. Even if 99 didn't remember, 62 did. They were closer than friends. 99 was his brother, and he loved him above all else. 62 reached his hand up to meet 99's. Their palms met and fingers grasped in a firm handshake. While their skin melded in the warm clasp of agreement, 99's eyes brightened. For an instant, he looked like the same brother that had worried over 62 in the passageways of C.A.T.
CHAPTER 35
The railway platform felt crowded despite there being only one Man and two Boys queued for the next transport. Transportation Aides stood in tight formation around them, forming metal walls that 62 was too short to see past. The Machines' lights flashed yellow and green, processing data even though there was no movement on the platform aside from the inhale and exhale of their human companions.
“Where are we going?” 62's voice came too loud in the tight group.
Major looked away, gazing over a Transportation Aide. His eyes searched the empty tunnel to his left. 99 smiled slightly. “Home.”
The three didn’t exchange any more words. The air filled with the screeching sounds of wheels on rails. Metal clanged and the engine hissed as their transportation unit fought its way to a stop. The passengers boarded, the doors clamped shut, and the engine surged forward again.
62 lost his bearings as soon as they pulled away from the platform. He could feel the seat beneath him surge to the left. Moments later he braced himself as the vehicle stopped at another, much smaller, platform. The doors opened and 62 fell into line behind 99 as the group exited. This platform would have felt small had he been standing on it alone. With everyone else, they had to stand shoulder to shoulder, chest to back, and arm to metal in order to fit without having anyone topple over the edge. The group waited in uncomfortable silence for a long while until 62 heard the familiar sigh of metal doors sliding open somewhere out of view.
