In the Lives of Puppets, page 26
“Seriously,” Rambo said. “This is really gross.”
Hap shoved the Coachman out of the way, setting Rambo on top of Nurse Ratched’s casing. “No t-talking,” he warned them.
“Hap?” Rambo asked.
“What.”
“I love you.”
Hap scowled at him. He turned to stalk away, but paused at the last second, face twisting. He turned back around again and bent over Rambo. Vic was stunned when he said, “I t-tolerate your existence.” He took one of Rambo’s pincers in his hand and moved it up and down.
“Whoa,” Rambo whispered as Hap let go. “Nurse Ratched, did you hear that? He loves me too!”
“Th-that’s not what I said.”
“It is. And you can’t take it back!”
“I am going to die in this box,” Nurse Ratched said.
Bernard stepped forward, extending an arm toward the screen. He tapped it once more, and the crate walls rose around Nurse Ratched and Rambo. The last Vic saw of them was Rambo waving frantically.
“Goodbye,” Vic said quietly as the lid closed over them.
Bernard motioned toward another crate set farther back. “This one is yours.”
“And it’ll allow for air to move freely through it?” the Coachman asked.
Bernard frowned. “Yes. As discussed. It’s meant for transporting florae and faunae.” He looked at Vic and Hap before his head spun toward the Coachman. “Why is that necessary? Are they transporting something alive?”
“What?” the Coachman said, sounding outraged. “I take umbrage with your tone, sir. I would never allow something so—”
“You look familiar,” Bernard said to Hap. “Have we met before?”
Hap lowered his head, his hood falling around his face. “N-no.”
“Hmm,” Bernard said. “Coachman, this better not come back on me.”
“Of course it won’t,” the Coachman said. “There is nothing to come back on you. I don’t know what’s going through that circle you call a head, but I am an upstanding citizen. Everything I do is aboveboard, and—”
“I don’t want to know any more,” Bernard said, turning to Hap. “Can you climb inside? If not, I can dismantle the crate for easier access.”
“It’s f-fine,” Hap muttered. He pulled his pack off as he climbed over the ledge of the crate, settling his back against the side. He slunk down, legs stretching until his feet were flat against the opposite side. He set his pack next to him as he wiggled down farther.
“Why did you go first?” Vic asked, suddenly unsure. The box was much smaller now that Hap was inside.
Hap stared up at him. “I’m b-bigger than you.”
“Heaven,” he heard Rambo warbling from the other crate. “I’m in heaven.”
“Maybe I should get my own crate.”
“Get inside,” Bernard said. “We’re running out of time.”
Vic sighed as he turned his pack around to his front. He pushed his helmet off his face as he climbed gingerly into the box, careful to avoid Hap.
“Ow,” Hap said when Vic stepped on his leg.
Vic stared down at him, spluttering apologies.
“That was a j-joke,” Hap said, and Vic swore he saw the curve of a smile, there and gone in a flash.
“You’re not funny,” Vic told him as he climbed the rest of the way into the box. “I don’t know who told you that, but they lied.”
“It was me!” Rambo shouted. “I told him that!”
“Be quiet,” Bernard said, slapping the top of the box.
“Okay!”
Vic settled down against Hap, his back to Hap’s front. He kept his legs inside of Hap’s. He was stiff, back arched until Hap wrapped an arm around his middle, pulling him flush against him. Hap’s mouth was near his ear when he said, “R-relax.”
“I’m trying.”
“T-try harder.”
Vic tipped his head back, resting it against Hap’s shoulder. It was a tight fit, Hap’s pack digging into his side, his own heavy against his stomach. He hoped it wouldn’t be long before they were out again. He was suddenly discovering he didn’t like such close proximity very much. It caused his head to swirl, his skin to feel itchy.
The Coachman stood above them next to the crate. “Bernard, a moment, if you please. I need to have a word with my friends in private.”
“You have one minute,” Bernard said. “I can’t give you any longer. Don’t make me regret this.” He stepped back away from the crates.
The Coachman knelt down next to the crate, arms resting on the side. Vic looked up at him. Hap gripped his sides, fingers digging in. It was almost grounding, and he wondered why he should feel as relieved as he did.
“My dear boy,” the Coachman said in a low voice. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Showing me the world isn’t as cold as I once thought.” He reached down and squeezed Vic’s hand.
Vic couldn’t speak past the burning in his throat. He nodded, squeezing the Coachman’s hand in return.
“I wish you well on your adventure,” the Coachman said as he pulled his hand away. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“Coachman,” Bernard said, a new urgency in his voice. “It’s time.”
“Yes,” the Coachman said, smiling down at them. “It is.”
He stood, and with a twitch of his mustache, stepped away out of sight.
Bernard appeared above them. He reached down and pulled the lid over them. Before he shut it completely, he said, “There’s a button. To your right. Do you see it?”
“Yes.”
“It will open the crate. Do not press it until you’re sure.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Just forget you ever saw me.”
And with that, he closed the lid. A moment later, Vic heard a beep and the box latched shut. A moment later, a tiny white bulb lit up near the top left of the crate, and cool air began to stream from vents along the sides. Vic sucked in a breath. It tasted faintly medicinal.
He closed his eyes, gripping his pack.
“It’s all r-right,” Hap muttered. “You are all r-right. There, th-there.”
Vic choked on a laugh. “Are you trying to make me feel better?”
“No. I’m trying to s-stop you from panicking and g-getting us caught.”
“Oh.”
“Is it w-working?”
“I don’t know.”
“S-stop moving.”
Vic did. He opened his eyes, and breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. Hap was a warm presence behind him, his hands still on Vic’s sides, fingers brushing against the metal of Vic’s battery vest. It was small. The crate was small. The crate was small, and they were trapped inside. Vic turned his head, looking for the button that Bernard had mentioned. He found it in the corner above their feet. All he would need to do is kick it, and the box would open. It would open, and they would be free. They could stand. They could breathe, because the air was growing thick inside. He gripped the pack tighter as he struggled for control. Bile rose in the back of his throat, acidic and hot.
And then Hap whispered, “Tell m-me.”
“Tell you what?” Vic gasped, shifting against Hap, feeling the slide of metal and skin and wood against his back. His helmet bumped the lid overhead. His thoughts were clouded, like a storm rumbling on the horizon.
“Tell m-me about the h-heart.”
Vic blinked rapidly as the clouds parted slightly, a thin sliver of sunlight poking through. “What do you mean?”
“Y-you’re making a n-new one, right?”
“Trying to,” he said, sinking down against Hap again. Hap let go of his sides, raising his arms until they wrapped around the front of Vic’s pack, holding them both in place. Vic was surrounded by him, could hear the gears turning in Hap’s chest, a low, pleasant hum.
“H-how d-does it start?”
“Wood,” Vic said, voice weak. “It starts with wood.”
“Okay. Why w-wood?”
“I . . . don’t know?”
“You d-do,” Hap said. “I know you d-do.”
Vic grunted when the crate shifted. He turned his face into his own arm, muffling his shout as the crate was lifted off the ground.
“Here,” Hap whispered. “I’m h-here. Focus on the s-sound of my v-voice. Let me hear y-yours, Vic. T-tell me about what you’re making.”
“Wood,” Vic said as the crate swung slowly, his stomach swooping. “It begins with wood.”
“Y-yes. Why?”
“It’s easier to mold. To fashion. It’s . . . old. The art of carving wood. It goes back thousands of years.”
He grunted when the crate shook as it was set down.
“K-keep going.”
And so he did.
CHAPTER 20
He startled awake when the crate jerked around them.
He gasped loudly, about to shout in warning, but a hand covered his mouth. “Quiet,” a voice warned in his ear.
Hap.
The crate.
The City of Electric Dreams.
Vic nodded against Hap’s hand, breathing in the scent of wood just under his nose on one of Hap’s fingers.
Vic listened. The sounds of heavy machinery moved around them. He didn’t hear voices, didn’t hear footsteps, or so he thought. He waited, back cramping, legs stiff. Minutes felt like hours.
Nothing happened.
Eventually, the sounds of machinery faded.
And they waited more, the Coachman’s warning ringing in his ears.
He was about to tell Hap that they should press the button when movement came from just outside the crate. He froze, sweat dripping down into his eyes.
The crate beeped above them as someone—something—tapped against the screen.
He felt Hap tense underneath him. The gears of his heart sped up.
The crate lid opened, the light outside the crate bright and harsh.
“See?” Rambo said, rising up the side of the crate on his hydraulic lift. “I told you this was the right one.”
Nurse Ratched appeared beside him, looking down at Vic and Hap. “You are correct. Enjoy the moment as I will never say that to you again.”
Vic stared up at them, dumbfounded.
“Aw,” Rambo said, his sensors flashing. “You two look comfy-cozy. Did you have a good trip? I did, even though Nurse Ratched wouldn’t let me sing to pass the time. Vic, you think I have a good voice, right? Nurse Ratched said when I sing, it sounds like the time she sent the squirrel to the farm when we were back home. Why would a squirrel be singing when it went to the farm? Was it happy?”
“Yes,” Nurse Ratched said. “It sang because it was very happy to go to the farm where it will live forever.” Behind Rambo, the words on her screen said DO YOU SEE WHAT I HAVE TO DEAL WITH?
Vic sat up, wincing as his back popped. “How did you get out? You were supposed to wait until we opened your crate.”
“We got bored,” Nurse Ratched said. “I was going to murder Rambo if we had to wait a moment longer. Since you believe murder is bad, I decided it was better that we got out and ran the risk of being seen.”
Rambo laughed. “You wouldn’t murder me. Right?” He lowered slightly on his lift. “Right?”
“Victor,” Nurse Ratched said. “If you are done sitting on top of Hap, I suggest you get out of the crate while this warehouse is empty.”
“I’m not sitting on top of Hap!”
“You are,” Rambo said, sounding confused. “We can see you. Why do you look out of breath? Were you exerting yourself inside the box? What were you do—oh. Oh. Gross. I mean, that sounds nice.”
Vic nearly fell as he stood abruptly. The only reason he stayed upright was because Hap pressed a hand against the small of his back. He managed to climb out of the crate with minimal injury, only bumping his left knee hard enough to send a spasm racing down his leg. “We weren’t doing that!”
“Doing wh-what?” Hap grunted as he stood up.
Nurse Ratched whipped her tentacle against his chest. “Respect boundaries. No means no. Consent is important. Victor, I have a program on safe sexual practices. I have never run it before, given that you are asexual. But, like most things, sexuality is a spectrum. You can be asexual and still have—”
Vic looked around wildly, hoping against hope that they would be discovered and captured, carted away and locked somewhere deep in the city so he wouldn’t have to continue the conversation. No such luck. They were alone. As Bernard had said, it appeared as if the warehouse was under construction, or perhaps renovation. There were scorch marks on the wall opposite them, black smears that spread down to the floor. It looked as if there’d been a fire at some point.
The warehouse was mostly empty. A few other crates sat near their own, their lids closed tight. The crate Nurse Ratched and Rambo had been in lay flat against the ground a few yards away.
“Victor?” Nurse Ratched asked. “Did you hear me? I offered to show you—”
“Is anyone else here?” Vic asked, refusing to look at Hap as he climbed out of the crate.
“No,” Nurse Ratched said. “While Rambo looked for your crate, I scanned the perimeter. There is movement outside of the warehouse, but nothing in here. We are alone.”
Vic turned in time to see Hap closing the lid to their crate. He lifted it and set it against the far wall, his hood falling back on his shoulders. He went to the other crate and tapped the screen, causing it to fold back up. Once done, he moved that one too.
“How far are we from Heaven?” Vic asked, looking back at Nurse Ratched.
Her screen filled with another map. Multiple squares appeared, which Vic knew meant buildings. A line ran from one square—the warehouse—and turned right, then left, then right once more before it ended at another square. “Approximately a mile. The Coachman provided me the best route in order to get to Heaven and stay out of sight. If he is correct and we do not run into any issues, we should arrive in twenty-six minutes. According to the Coachman, the Authority increases their patrols after dark. While night will provide us additional cover, the risk will be greater.”
“Suggestion?” Vic asked.
“We move now. Heaven is located in the lower quarters of the city. Per the Coachman, the lower quarters are not as well kept as the rest of the city. We will fit in so long as we do not draw attention to ourselves.” She turned toward Rambo. “Which means that you cannot roll off if you see another vacuum.”
“But—”
“We will leave you behind.”
“You would?” Rambo said. “Fine. I promise I won’t roll off if I see one of my relatives because you guys don’t care about my feelings.”
“That is correct,” Nurse Ratched said.
“Hey!”
Hap stood next to Vic as he studied the map on Nurse Ratched’s screen. “S-seems easy enough.”
“It does,” Nurse Ratched said. “Which is why we need to be careful. We are close to our goal. It would be a shame if we were caught now.”
“We can do this,” Vic said, looking toward what he thought was the front of the warehouse, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “What are the rules?”
“Stick together!” Rambo said.
“Run if we have to.”
“No dallying!”
“No drilling, though I will amend that proclamation should the need arise.”
“And a-above all else, b-be brave,” Hap said.
They all turned slowly to look at him.
He scowled. “What? That’s what you s-say.”
“Wow,” Rambo whispered fervently. “One of us! One of us!”
Hap rolled his eyes. “Shut up. I am n-not.”
He turned to head toward the door, but Vic stopped him by grabbing his arm. He looked down at Vic’s hand, then up at his face, asking a question without speaking.
Vic let his arm go, reaching up and pulling his hood back over his head. “One of us.”
Hap looked like he was about to argue but shook his head instead. Then he adjusted Vic’s helmet until it was no longer crooked. “There are w-worse th-things I c-can be.”
Vic grinned at him. It felt odd to be smiling at such a time, but he couldn’t stop it if he’d tried.
And wonder of all wonders, Hap smiled back. It was small, the edges twitching, but there.
“Oh boy,” Nurse Ratched said. “If I had known all it would take would be to lock the two of you in a small enclosed space, I would have done it ages ago.”
Vic stepped back, shaking his head. “Come on. It’s time to go to Heaven.”
They stopped in front of a door at what Nurse Ratched said was the front of the warehouse. Vic reached for the door handle, but Hap stopped him, motioning him to step to the side. “We d-don’t know what’s on the other s-side. Let me g-go first.”
Irritated, Vic said, “I can do it.”
“You are sweating,” Nurse Ratched said. “Your heart rate is elevated.”
He glanced back at her. “And?”
“Machines do not sweat,” she said. “Get yourself together, Victor. Let Hap go through first just to make sure it is safe.”
He wiped his brow. Sure enough, his hand came away wet. “It’s warm. I can’t just stop sweating. The disguise is heavy.”
Hap squinted at him. “You c-can’t turn off your l-leaking?”
“I—that’s not—no, I can’t just turn it off.”
“Wh-why not?”
“That’s not how it—Would you just go through the damn door?”
“It’s okay to be nervous and scared,” Rambo said, bumping against his leg. “Do you want me to leak with you? Give me a second. Wait for it. Wait for it. And . . . there.” A little dribble of oil spilled out onto the ground. “See? I’m just like you!”
“That is not sanitary,” Nurse Ratched said. “Victor, deep breaths. Rambo, stop being weird.”
“I don’t know how not to be weird,” Rambo said. “That’s like asking the birds to stop flying.”
Hap cracked open the door.
Vic stumbled back at the wave of sound that bowled over them. It was cacophonous, grating and harsh. Metal against metal. The shriek of sirens in the distance. Insistent beeping. Voices, though not speaking in words that Vic could understand. Light filled the open crack in the door, causing Vic to blink rapidly. Hap stuck his head out, hand still gripping the doorknob. Vic felt a hum vibrating up his legs to the rest of his body, causing his disguise to rattle against his frame. It was as if he was electrified.
