Cryo-Man (Cryo-Man series, #1) (10 page)

“Come on, now’s not the time to be queasy,” E says. “You’ll need to learn these things. Besides, the wires are no different than what’s in the back of
your
head.”

I wish I could take a deep breath. I turn to look at the woman’s brain, if only to satisfy E so he can get back to work. Parts of the lasered skull dangle off the back of the head but the rest of the brain isn’t so bad to look at. E points out the parts in worse shape. Several holes are noticeable and E imagines the old woman’s dementia must’ve been very advanced.

“No medicine is going to cure that,” he says sadly.

He finishes clipping the last of the wires in place before laying the woman’s head near the top of the robot’s shoulders.

“Aren’t you going to secure her to the robot better than that?” I ask.

If he’d attached my head the same way, it would’ve rolled off the first time I tried turning it.

“Don’t know if I need to waste my time,” E says cryptically. “May as well try turning her on anyway. Here’s the moment of truth.”

He opens the control system in the robot’s torso and flips the switch to activate the power supply. A light glows within the robot’s chest and for a moment, I’m hopeful I won’t be the only humanoid robot. Several long, tense moments pass where nothing happens, at least nothing besides E continuing to slowly shake his head.

              “What happened to the robot’s leg?” E asks out of the blue.

             
“Oh,” I say, the question momentarily surprising me. “I had a little accident trying to get the body free from the scrap heap. I was in a rush to get back and the leg became stuck within the – ”

             
The old woman’s face twitches, so minor at first that I might’ve thought my mind was playing tricks on me had E not turned to look, too. E holds his breath for a moment, the same reaction I’d have if I could actually breathe. The woman’s face twitches a second time and I see a flash of hope on E’s grotesque face. I nearly ask what’s going to happen next but remember we’ve already covered that subject; E is just as clueless as I am. So we watch together, in silence, for what feels like forever but is probably just a minute or two. Hope quickly turns to anguish as time ticks away without another reaction.

             
E begins to shake his head again.

             
“Just give her more time,” I say. “Something else is going to happen, she’s going to wake up.”

             
But the meaning of those words sounds as hollow as the robotic voice saying them. A spark suddenly flashes within her brain, quickly followed by two more. I want to hope that’s a good sign – a spark of life – but I know deep down that’s not the case. The power core in the robot’s chest begins to glow much brighter and E rushes to shut it down. Sparks stop snapping in the woman’s head; her face twitches no longer.

             
“I’m… I’m sorry,” I say.

             
E shakes his head, his expression stone-faced beneath the numerous lesions and deformities. Though he says nothing, I can tell he’s upset; if I had any doubts, the way he yanks wires out of the skull – sending tiny bits of frozen brain matter onto the floor – is proof of that. E’s lack of compassion is disturbing and I’m left to wonder again about a past that could’ve made him so callous.

             
“It’s not your fault,” he says. “You just never get used to failing, even on cases that are hopeless.”

             
E turns and storms away. I consider following but giving him a few minutes might be the better idea. I pick up the old woman’s slowly-thawing body from the floor and place it back inside the failing cryo-chamber. The chamber is still cold enough to frost my glass dome but once the body thaws, I’ll be glad this helmet blocks out all smells. After I gently add the head with the body – careful not to lose any more pieces of the skull or brain – I reach for the old woman’s chart and flip it open. I see a picture of her and nearly begin reading when I stop. I can’t do it, I can’t learn more about her when I might be to blame for her death. If I hadn’t wasted so much time convincing E to let her stay a full-bodied human, she might be standing next to me now, stronger than ever with a new robotic body…

             
I shove the chart back in its rack and turn to leave the cryo-room. Despite my grief, I immediately notice a change in the way my body moves. I’m trying to rush but don’t move nearly as fast as before. Do I need to recharge? Or will shutting down with broken panels stop me from ever waking again?

             
I roam the hallways until I find E in the supply room. He holds an open can of food – some kind of meat that wouldn’t have looked appetizing even when I
had
a stomach – but barely eats any of it before hurling it across the room, knocking over a neat stack of empty cans. I watch in nervous silence as E explodes into another coughing fit, the longest one yet, leaving a strand of bloody phlegm lining the corners of his mouth.

             
“Are you okay?” I ask, stepping forward to offer help though there’s nothing I can actually do.

             
E wipes the blood away and turns his back to me, waving away my offer.

“I’m fine,” he says between coughs, which last nearly a minute before finally calming. “I’m sorry for my outburst. I’ve lost so many people for so long. At first it ate away at me but it happened so often that I forgot the pain, the frustration. Once I saved you, I never thought I’d have to go through that feeling again. It’s foolish, I know, especially since that woman was
not
a good candidate to survive, regardless of the way I treated her.”

As disappointing as it was to lose the old woman, watching E cough up so much blood is even more troubling.

“Will any of the medicine in the cabinet help you?” I ask.

E looks at the cabinet and shrugs dismissively. “I doubt there’s a cure anywhere in the world for neurotoxin poisoning but there’s certainly not one here or anywhere else close by. I’m sure the anti-cancerous medication I take helps with some of the effects but nature will eventually take its course on my body. That’s why I need to teach you these things.”

“Do you have long?” I ask nervously.

E finally turns to look at me. His eyes appear sad even as he forces a smile to his swollen lips.

“Of
course
I have a long time,” he says. “I’m starting to think you worry too much. I should’ve programmed your brain to relax more.”

“You can do that?” I ask.

E chuckles, causing another small line of blood to dribble from his mouth. “If I could, I would’ve programmed a sense of humor in you because you certainly don’t understand mine. And to think that
I
was the one raised around robots with limited human interaction.”

I’m still not buying what he says. He can tell I’m still upset because he loses the smile.

“Look, now that I have you in my life, I’m not alone anymore. I have a reason to live so I plan on hanging around longer than I wanted to before, mostly so I can keep making repairs when you break yourself,” E says.

I nod and look down at the few cracked panels on my torso.

“You can fix them?” I ask.

E steps closer to examine the damage. For once, he
nods
his head.

“I should be able to find some panels that’ll fit,” he says. “But I mean it: you need to be more careful. We’re running low on parts, especially if we’re going to try converting anyone else. Let’s check the scrap heap.”

We head toward the robot room when I suddenly remember being in there last time.

“I doubt it matters but when I was retrieving that robot body from the pile, some of the others shifted beneath me. I don’t know if I hit something – well, I
know
I bumped into some of the others but I didn’t do it on purpose – ”

E stops. “Didn’t do
what
on purpose? Tell me what happened.”

He suddenly turns serious and I feel like a chastised child.

“A red light began to flicker on one of the robots,” I say.

E’s eyes go wide with fear. His reaction is worse than if he’d just become angry. He hurries toward the room, moving faster than I’ve seen him yet. He coughs as he runs but that doesn’t slow him down.

“Did the robot reactivate?” he calls back to me.

“I… I don’t know, I don’t think so,” I say nervously. “How would I know?”

“Did it
shoot
at you?”

“N… no, they can
do
that?”

“They’re called
assassin
bots for a reason,” E snaps as he reaches the door. He stops and puts his ear to it, listening for a long moment.

“It should be okay,” I say. “They didn’t shoot at me. I didn’t even see a weapon.”

“I’d much rather deal with weapons than the
other
thing it might be,” E says.

He throws open the door and rushes inside before I ask what’s worse than being shot at. E quickly locates the blinking red light within the pile of metal and gets to work clearing a path. I stand in the doorway and remain quiet. I’m still not sure what I’ve done but I know enough not to interrupt him.

“Damn, just what I thought,” E mutters. “It’s been what? Thirty minutes? An hour since the blinking started?”

I don’t know if he’s talking to me or himself but I don’t answer either way. He takes out his trusty laser tool and gets to work. In less than a minute, he removes a large section from the blinking robot and begins to yank out wires. He finally pulls the correct one and the blinking light goes out. His shoulders slump and he remains kneeling atop the pile for several minutes, breathing deeply.

“What did I do?” I finally ask.

E shakes his head. “It’s not your fault. I should’ve brought the old woman here instead of having you move the robots. Besides, I thought I disabled all their tricks. I can only blame myself for this.”

“What was it?” I ask again.

E turns and looks at me. “Some sort of signal; probably a tracking device, too. It’s a good bet the robots know what happened to their assassins and know where to find me.”

I’m not sure which of my emotions is worse: guilt or dread.

“Should we leave before they find us?” I ask.

E doesn’t even consider that option before shaking his head. He turns back to the broken robots and begins working on removing solar panels.

“As you can see, plenty of them have stumbled upon the facility before,” E says. “They didn’t destroy me then and they won’t now. Besides, I doubt they’ll spend any more of their time in the Concrete Wasteland.”

E doesn’t sound very convincing. Once he removes a few solar panels, he leads me back toward the sterile room.

“Are you sure we’re okay here? Aren’t the assassin bots dangerous?” I ask.

“I know what I’m doing,” he says, pulling a small remote from his pocket. “This will stop them if they’re foolish enough to waste more robots by sending them here. I say let them do their worst.”

I move slower and slower, barely able to keep up with E’s pace. My mind doesn’t feel tired – in fact, it races faster than ever – but my body’s power supply diminishes quickly. E smiles again.

“And considering the way you keep breaking, it might not be such a bad idea to get more spare parts.”

“But what if the remote doesn’t work? Aren’t you worried they’ll destroy this place? Destroy us?”

“No,” E says confidently. “If the worst happens and the remote doesn’t stop them all, I’ll have to surprise them with my
other
secret weapon: you.”

I’m not sure I like the sound of that. E can see the displeasure on my face. He explains that the robots will leave me alone, regardless of my human head.

“They won’t register you as an enemy, at least not at first,” he says. “The robots are designed to avoid turning on each other. They have heartbeat sensors to detect – and then eliminate – humans. Since you have no heart to register, you can be standing right in front of the entrance to the stairwell and they’d walk right by you.”

“Then what? You want me to fight them?”

“No,” E says. “I want you to protect yourself, protect our home, protect the rest of the cryonically frozen humans. You’ve barely scratched the surface of your strength and speed and fighting ability. But I assure you, your intelligence makes you far more dangerous than any robot ever invented. If the time for fighting ever comes – which I doubt it will – I promise you’ll relish a good fight with these tin cans.”

E speaks of my ability with such passion that I don’t think he’s sugarcoating it to make me feel better. All I need to think about is the splintered door of the cryo-room to realize the kind of power I possess.

              “I will protect you, too,” I say. “It’s the least I can do.”

             
E opens his mouth to talk but no words come out. Instead, he nods and I see his eyes gloss over with moisture. The first few words he says are spoken with a cracked voice that doesn’t have anything to do with his sickness.

             
“Thank you, I know you will,” he says. “But that’s not something to worry about now. The robots are probably busy regrouping to fight off the human resistance. For now, let’s focus on getting you fixed. I think it would be best to shut you down while I replace your solar panels; it’ll stop your core from draining too much power and give you time for another full recharge.”

             
I nod. “Whatever you think is best.”

             
I lay on the gurney, which squeals under the weight of my metallic frame. I don’t expect the gurney to last much longer but it somehow remains standing as E reaches for the latch to open my torso. I’m no longer nervous at the prospect of being powered down; at this point, my trust in E is total.

             
“When you’re back up, you’ll be strong as ever,” E says. He reaches for my power button but stops before pushing it. “If you somehow manage to break yourself again, you’ll have to look for a robot to fight so we have enough parts to keep you powered.”

             
E chuckles. It’s the last sound I hear before he pushes the power button and my vision fades out…

-
              -              -              -              -              -              -              -              -              -              -              -             

             
I’m chasing the boy again… his laughter fills the air and fills my heart with love… I force myself to keep playing even as I grow light-headed and short of breath… I’m on the floor, the boy standing above me, worried… he asks me about Heaven as I hand him the phone to call CIFPOL… I whisper with my final words… “Tell Mommy to remember the box”… my vision goes black and I hear the word ‘box’ echo over and over in my mind…

             
A blast of silvery white light explodes in front of me and the familiar scene with the young boy fades. I’m suddenly in another room; somehow I know it’s part of the same house as before. Toys are strewn about the floor and a bed is covered with the sheets of a famous cartoon character. Lying atop those sheets is the boy, whose arms are wrapped around a stuffed hippopotamus. The hippo looks like it’s been through the ringer; several long stitches of string dangle off it and one of its eyes is gone. But the boy still hugs it anyway, still loves it with all his heart.

             
I hear crying nearby but footsteps rush toward the sound so I’m not concerned. I’m more focused on the young boy, who slides over on the bed and pats the empty spot beside him. I smile at his imitation of what I do whenever he wakes before sunrise and runs into my room. I lie next to him and proceed to read a book to him about a strange young boy who discovers that he’s really a Christmas elf.

             
Usually, the boy is riveted by the book, forcing his eyes to stay open well beyond his bedtime. But now he seems distracted, fidgety. He keeps looking up at me instead of the book. It doesn’t help that we hear the crying followed by the soothing hum of a lullaby.

             
“Where will you go when you get
really
sick?” he finally asks.

             
I consider telling him about the Cryonics Institute but he’s only four years old. I’m not sure he’s old enough to understand what it means. I don’t want to get his hopes up of ever seeing me again; for that matter, I don’t want to get my
own
hopes up since CIFPOL has no guarantee for success or even an approximate timetable when I might be brought back to life.

             
“Well, I’ll drift off to sleep and go to a place called Heaven,” I say gently. I hope it’s enough to satisfy the boy but that’s never the case with him.

             
“What’s Heaven?” he asks.

             
“It’s a real great place where all good people go when it’s time for them to leave this world,” I say. “In Heaven, there’s no more pain, no more sadness; I think it’ll be a pretty awesome place.”

             
I try to sound upbeat but the boy’s bottom lip turns down in a frown and begins to quiver. He’s usually so happy and energetic; it breaks my heart to see tears welling in his eyes.

             
“I don’t want you to leave,” he says as tears stream down his face. “Won’t you miss me?”

             
The pain I feel in my heart is worse than anything my illness inflicts on me. I open my mouth to respond but already feel a lump rising in the back of my throat. I swallow hard and take a deep breath before talking, though the first word I try to say still makes my voice crack.

             
“I will miss you more than anything else in the world,” I say, meaning those words with all of my heart.

             
“Then
why
are you going?” he asks, a hint of anger joining the sadness in his voice.

             
“Trust me, buddy, I don’t want to,” I say. “But Daddy is very sick.”

             
“When I get sick, Mommy brings me to the doctor and if I’m good, she lets me get a new toy,” the boy says.

             
Talking about toys at least gets him to calm down. I pick up his grubby old hippo and hold it high above him.

             
“You get too many new toys, do you know that?” I ask. “You play with them for five minutes but always go back to Mr. Hippo.”

             
I tickle the boy with one hand while I use my other to make the stuffed animal attack. His giggles fill the room as he pulls the toy from my grasp. Before he can start fighting back, I pull him into a tight embrace and kiss the top of his head.

             
“I promise we’ll be together one day,” I say. “But until then, I’ll always be watching over you. I’ll always be in your heart.”

             
His laughter stops immediately. I wonder if I should’ve just dropped the subject for now.

             
“But I want to see you and talk to you and give you presents like you always give me,” the boy says.

             
“That’s why Mommy and I came up with an idea so you’ll always feel close to me,” I explain. “Mommy has a very special box; it’s a… a Heaven Box.”

             
The boy inches away and looks up at me, his eyes wide and full of interest.

             
“What’s a Heaven Box?”

             
I tell the boy that his mother and I bought a large metal box, which will be a conduit for him to communicate with me when I’m gone. Every time he wants to tell me something or show me something, he can write it down or take a video and put it in the box; every time he wants to give me something he can put it in the box; he can take a picture of every major moment of his life and put it in the box.

             
“As long as you put it in the box, I promise I’ll see it,” I tell him.

             
“From Heaven?”

             
I nod. There’s much more to the plan but now isn’t the time for that explanation. When the time is right, his mother will tell him everything. My own tears begin to well at the thought of not seeing him when he’s old enough to handle such information. As it is now, he looks up at me with a pouting lower lip.

             
“Can I go to Heaven with you so you can always see me?” he asks.

             
I shake my head. “Mommy would miss you
way
too much. Besides, I’ll need you to be the man of the house and help take care of her.”

             
The boy tucks his lip back in and nods bravely.

             
“Then I’ll put Mr. Hippo in the Heaven Box first so you’ll always remember me,” he says. “Here, you can have him now.”

             
He hands his beloved hippo to me. I want to tell him no – tell him to keep his favorite toy – but the sincerity on his face makes me feel like it would be an insult to deny him.

             
“Are you sure?” I ask as I accept it.

             
The boy nods at first but never takes his eyes off Mr. Hippo. I can almost see the wheels turning in his head. I hold the toy out to him and he takes it back.

             
“Maybe I’ll just keep him for now,” the boy says. “You aren’t in Heaven yet and I’ll put lots of
other
good stuff in the box for you.”

             
“I’ll look forward to opening it,” I say, pulling him in for another tight squeeze.

             
And I mean every word I say. I certainly don’t look forward to dying but it’s hard not to think about the moment in the distant future when I’ll have a chance to open the –

-
              -              -              -              -              -              -              -              -              -              -              -             

             
The memory stops and the boy’s room fades away as I return to consciousness. My eyes are slow to open but when they do, I see the reflection of light off the glass dome inches in front of me. It takes a moment to realize I’m lying in a bed but not
the bed from my memory…

             
From my
new
memory. In the first seconds after waking, details of that memory are still within reach, fuzzy but still visible through the light fog in my mind. But the more desperately I try to remember the details – details I
know
to be important to who I am and where I came from – the quicker they slip through my grasp. I close my eyes from the light and try to hold onto what I just experienced. But the images and words and people I just saw disappear until only a single thought remains.

             
“Heaven Box,” I say.

             
I open my eyes as E steps between the light and my dome. I’m glad to see him but disappointed at the same time; I’d much rather be living in the dream of my past.