Cryo-Man (Cryo-Man series, #1) (13 page)

“I don’t know how long I’ll last,” E says sadly. “What if you’re still up there when…” He stops and takes a deep breath.  “I finally have someone here with me after being alone for so long. I don’t want to be by myself when I…”

“You’re going to be fine, remember?” I say.

I mean this to be light-hearted but that’s impossible to discern from the robotic tone of my voice.

“You’re serious about going?” E asks nervously.

I nod. “And now that your remote is broken and you’ve set off the pulse, you have no way of stopping me.”

E turns and goes back to the pile of deactivated robots. At first, I’m worried he’ll extract one of their weapons and force me to stay. But he cracks open a robot’s head and spends a few minutes pulling out what appears to be a tiny chip.

“Then this should come in handy,” he says, brushing by me and into the sterile room (which now resembles a second garbage room with all the bullet holes in the walls and twisted, broken pieces of gurney on the floor). “Especially now that your dome is gone and I have access to your brain. Hopefully it works like I think it should.”

It never makes me feel good when ‘hopefully’ what he does to my brain will work. With no place for me to sit or lie, E has me kneel beneath the light (“That way you’ll have no table to break,” he says.). Once more I feel the strange, tugging sensation at the back of my head. I hope his hands aren’t shaking as much as usual.

“There, that should help you keep track of where you’re at and where you need to go,” E says as he finishes.

“How?” I ask.

“I’ve just upgraded you,” E says with a smile. “You now have a functioning GPS system in your brain. The GPS was busted on the robot I made you from but the chip from the newer model survived. Don’t worry, the tracking system is disengaged so Robotropolis won’t be able to track your movements.”

“GPS?” I ask.

“Global Positioning Satellite. The robots control the satellites; it’s another way they’ve dominated the humans. They didn’t have satellites when you were from?”

“Of course they did. And I’ve heard of GPS,” I say. “I’m just wondering how
I’m
supposed to use it.”

“I’m not totally certain but we’re about to find out,” E says. I feel the pull of wires at the back of my skull just before he fits the new dome over my head. It’s the same size as my first one, a little larger than the second; hopefully it’s more durable than both.

“Anything?” E asks.

“Like what?”

E frowns and fiddles with the wires again. I have no idea what he’s trying to do until all at once, I feel what can only be described as a rush of information surging into my brain. I wish it was memories from my former life but it’s more like a tidal wave of numbers.

“Thirty-six degrees, thirty-four minutes, eighteen seconds North by one-hundred twenty degrees, twenty-three minutes, six seconds West,” I say, the numbers rattling out of my mouth though I didn’t even know I was thinking them. E smiles, whether from installing the GPS correctly or seeing the shocked look on my face I don’t know. “Whoa, what does that mean?”

“Our coordinates, the latitude and longitude of our current position,” E says. “Mark them as Cryonics Institute.”

I’m about to ask how to do that but when I think of CIFPOL, the name suddenly attaches itself to the coordinates in my mind. To say I’m amazed would be an understatement.

“You’ll always know how to come home,” E says. “Now that I know you’re fully trustworthy, I think there’s another upgrade I should give you.”

“My memory?” I ask hopefully.

E shakes his head. “Weaponry. The newer assassin bots have blasters built directly into their arms. It wouldn’t take me long to switch them out.”

“No,” I say immediately. I don’t need to give the idea much thought to know I’m making the right decision. “I don’t plan on hurting anyone and like you said, the robots up there won’t view me as a threat.”

“It’s a brand-new world out there. The robots might be against you if they think you’re not one of them but I’m just as concerned that
humans
will view you as an enemy. By having human and robot parts, I hoped to make you an ally for either side of the war. But in hindsight, I might’ve done the exact opposite. A weapon would allow you to better protect yourself.”

E has given me more reason to be nervous. I’ve seen how vicious the robots can be so I wouldn’t exactly blame humans for thinking of me as an enemy. But if I happen to run into any of them – a remote possibility if what E tells me is true – I hope my head and words will be enough to convince them I’m not the bad guy. Pointing a gun at them would not help with that.

“I’m just looking for supplies, not getting into gunfights,” I say.

E clearly doesn’t like my answer but doesn’t argue it. “Are you sure I can’t talk you out of going?”

The thought of doing nothing while E withers away is worse than anything that can happen to me on the surface. I tell E that nothing will stop me and for once I’m glad my robotic voice masks the fear I’m feeling. I’m afraid that staying here, thinking about this decision, will cause me to second-guess myself so I tell E that I plan to leave right away. I expect him to try talking me out of it but instead he leads me down the hallway toward the stairwell.

“Don’t be a hero out there,” E says. “If you’re in trouble of any kind, run or hide. Rush back here right away but if this place seems compromised in any way, turn and get far away as fast as you can.”

The shattered stairwell doors barely remain hanging on their hinges, blown apart during the robot raid. I glance nervously at the broken elevator doors, expecting a robot to leap out any moment. But there’s no movement. I still see no sign of poisonous gas seeping into the facility, which gives me the smallest bit of hope. E follows me to the doors, the effort of so much walking causing him to wheeze. I can only assume he’s hurt worse than he says, making the timing of this mission even more imperative.

“Please go back to your room and rest,” I urge him. “I can find my way out from here.”

E nods. “It’s a good thing. If I escorted you up the stairs, I’d never make it back down.”

He smiles but begins to cough before he has the chance to chuckle. If I could’ve taken a deep breath, now would’ve been the time. As it is, I stand in front of the doors for a long moment, steeling myself for what lie ahead. But just before I take the first step out of the facility, E grabs my metallic arm.

“Be careful,” he says. “I’ve made too many weapons and robots of destruction to count during my life, but you’re by far my best accomplishment. I’m sorry if I made your life difficult by changing you into this, but I swear I did my best.”

E lets go of my arm to wipe tears from his eyes. This feels like a goodbye. I’m not sure whether to thank E for giving me a second chance at life or beg him to fight to stay alive. Either way, I can’t help feeling selfish because all I think about is that if E dies, the chance to get back my memories dies with him. I shake my head, not wanting to think of that right now.

              “I’ll be back soon,” I say. “And then it’ll be
my
turn to fix
you
.”

             
E nods and forces a grin. I push my way into the stairwell, ready to be ambushed by any robots guarding the exit. But I see no movement and hear no sound beyond the hollow clicking of my echoing footsteps. I look up and see the stairs that appear to go on forever. Like the facility hallway, the stairwell is only lit by a dim reddish glow, though some of the lighting is now out. It’s not exactly an inviting path – and I’m sure my heart would be pounding if I had one – but I only have to think of helping E to convince me to move.

             
I glance back toward the hallway one last time but E doesn’t see me wave. He’s already limping off in the opposite direction. Part of me hopes he’s going to rest but another part wonders if he’d ever wake up again. The longer I stand watching him – worrying – the less likely I am to leave. I turn and head for the first steps, leaping up nearly an entire flight.

             
My footsteps echo loudly so I proceed slower, more cautiously, listening for any sign that someone else – or some
thing
else – is on the stairs. I climb several more flights and at one point I’m plunged into total darkness. I see the soft red glow high above but that light barely reaches my eyes. A buzzing noise grows louder with every step I climb; my mind immediately conjures a fallen robot, shut down from the pulse but ready to activate and attack at the slightest hint of movement. Luckily, I discover the source: a loose emergency light bulb, which flickers back to life when I tap it.

             
I continue climbing steps, growing more anxious as I go. Common sense tells me to keep moving slow and steady, keep listening for suspicious sounds; panic tells me to start leaping flights of stairs. But E’s words of warning echo in my mind and I’m more afraid of tripping and cracking another dome than the threat of another assassin bot lurking in the shadows.

             
After the first dozen levels, I stop counting. The stairs seem to stretch forever, leaving me to wonder if they’ll ever end. The higher I climb, the more dust and debris litters the stairwell, the more the walls are crumbled. I don’t know if the explosion or the squadron of assassin bots caused this decay. Eventually, I discover parts of the stairs broken, some completely collapsed, others severely cracked. I proceed cautiously, trying to find solid footing before stepping with all of my weight.

             
I finally step on the wrong spot. A whole section of staircase falls away under my feet. If I’d had my old human body, there’s no doubt I would’ve plunged down, too. But my reflexes are beyond human speed and my hand shoots out to grab hold of the metal railing. The clang of my metallic hand grabbing the rail echoes loudly, at least until I hear the deep boom of the collapsed steps hitting several floors down.

I carefully pull myself up, listening with dread as the railing groans under protest of my weight. The railing begins to shift, slowly at first but quickly gaining momentum as my body hangs precariously above the red-dimmed abyss. With a greater sense of urgency – and much less caution about keeping the railing intact – I climb, spurred on by the sound of metal rivets popping out of place. The railing swings dangerously over the empty space, threatening to break off but somehow surviving to swing back the other way. Knowing my luck won’t last for a second swing, I jump off.

              I reach up and somehow grab the bottom step just above where the rest broke free. I no sooner pull myself to safety – quickly scrambling several steps higher – when the railing finally snaps off and plunges down. I try to watch where it lands but it’s quickly swallowed by darkness. It takes nearly a minute for the tiny, distant ping of its crash to reach my ears. I hope the crashing in the stairwell doesn’t frighten E too much.

             
I hurry up the rest of the stairs, leaping with careless abandon, determined not to find myself on the wrong end of another collapse. It seems to grow darker the higher I climb but then I realize the emergency lighting is being dimmed by dust hanging in the air. I’m so focused on the stairs and red haze that I forget to keep looking up to see how much farther I have to go.

             
I turn and nearly leap again, barely stopping myself in time, confused about where the next set of steps has gone. It takes a second to realize I’ve reached the top. My sense of urgency stops just as quickly. I stare at the walls surrounding me, all of which are intact yet decaying. But the door to the stairwell exit remains firmly on its hinges. The first part of my mission is nearly complete but I find myself hesitant to rush out into the new world.

             
“You can do this,” I whisper to myself, trying to steel my nerves, again wishing I had the ability to take a deep breath. “Stop standing around, E doesn’t have time for this.”

I reach for the door handle and slowly turn it, still not sure if I’m ready for what I’ll find out there. Sunlight streams into the stairwell, light so bright that I try to shield my eyes from its brilliance. I immediately feel a tingling of strength as my solar panels absorb the light, converting it to energy.
             

My eyes adjust quickly and I see I’m in the hallway of a building, one that appears normal and intact, leaving me to wonder if anything E told me about the catastrophe is true…

It takes a moment to realize the sun is way too bright for being inside. When I look up, it’s quickly apparent why. Though the small stretch of hallway in front of me is surprisingly well-preserved, the fact that there’s no ceiling proves I was wrong to doubt E. The sun shines directly inside, though a pile of rubble stretches higher outside both walls of the hallway. My footsteps are heavy enough so when I walk a few feet, smaller pieces of concrete debris trickle over the walls.

Still, it’s amazing to see the sun and clouds and sky; it’s even better that there’s no noticeable haze hanging in the air. But now’s not the time for gawking or sightseeing. I hurry down the hallway, turning a corner ten feet away to see my path completely blocked by debris. I considering climbing over the walls and rubble but then I see a tiny stream of light escaping the debris ahead. A small path has been dug through this section and I’m suddenly thankful for the squadron of assassin bots that made their way through here.

It’s a tight squeeze in some spots and for several minutes I’m plunged back into darkness, worried that tons of rubble above me could collapse at any moment. I have no idea how E found his way to the facility but I have even more respect for everything he endured to get there. Thinking of him is all the motivation I need to keep moving forward. I finally see light at the end of the debris path but I lose focus for just a moment, just enough time for the side of my body to slam against the rubble wall.

Small bits of debris rain down on me at first but larger chunks soon begin to fall as well. I try to speed up but space is tight and getting even tighter with every step I take. The clink of concrete hitting my glass dome sends waves of panic crashing through me; it’s not long before I hear a tiny crack. Even as I’m in the process of being buried alive, the first thing I think about is how angry E will be if I bust another dome.

I can’t move, it’s dark, I hear my dome creaking atop my head. If I were a normal human, I would’ve been crushed to death already. But I remind myself that I’m not normal, I’m not weak, I’m not going to die like this. I summon all the strength in my metallic body and burst up with my legs and arms.

Rubble flies off me, freeing me; light shines down upon me, giving me greater strength to fight my way out. As more broken concrete begins to slide down, I jump out of the debris hole and land atop the pile, scrambling away before I can slip back down. The hole I created quickly fills in but I don’t pay attention to what happens behind me. Instead, I stare forward, completely shell-shocked, awed and yet repulsed by what’s in front of me as far as I can see.

The Concrete Wasteland.

I always assumed E embellished the level of destruction but if anything, he downplayed the utter obliteration. The rubble I stand atop is nothing new, as it covers every square inch of land I see all around. I must be in the middle of what used to be a major metropolis; I don’t think a suburb or rural area would’ve had enough concrete to create such a mess. A dusty haze hangs in the air, through which I see the skeleton of one skyscraper leaning dangerously to the side, refusing to fall. Other parts of buildings still remain erect but nothing more than a few walls not much taller than a story or two.

I think of E again, think of his cross-country journey that ended in this place. I’m even more amazed of his tale of survival, of how he reached Concrete Wasteland and decided to keep walking into this devastation. How he found the entrance to CIFPOL I’ll never know; I no longer doubt that the soul of his beloved K must’ve helped him find the way. Even with the GPS functioning in my mind, it’s still hard to spot the small area of undisturbed hallway within this massive debris field. I could stand here and stare at the sea of broken concrete for hours but that won’t convince me that this mission was a good idea.

              I walk forward, careful with each movement I make. I’m too heavy to move lightly, which means I stomp down on trash or debris with every step. Rubble continuously shifts beneath me and traveling even a few feet is an adventure. To make matters worse, I don’t know which way to turn, which way to travel, where to start looking for the supplies that could save E’s life. I don’t see a single positive sign anywhere.

             
The silence is absolute and eerie. There are no chirping birds, no buzzing insects, no background sounds of life that a person normally takes for granted. My crunching footsteps are all I can hear.

             
“No wonder E hides underground,” I tell myself, stopping after a few minutes of aimless wandering. “He doesn’t want to see the devastation his girlfriend caused.”

             
Something E once told me suddenly pops in my mind and I consider the comment in a whole new light. He said he wouldn’t want to be turned into a robot because if he ever saw K again, there was no way she’d accept him. But after witnessing the effects of K’s bomb with my own eyes, there’s no way she could’ve survived
this
. And if E thinks otherwise, I have to wonder if the neurotoxin has affected his brain as much as the rest of his body.

             
Did I once live around here? Near the facility? My previous life may have been snuffed out hundreds of years ago – if not longer – but the idea of where I once lived being totally eradicated is extra depressing. I try not to dwell on that, especially since losing focus and failing my mission will ensure that I
never
learn about that past.

             
The pressure to succeed clouds my ability to think clearly, as I try desperately to figure out where to go. I’m afraid I’ll choose the wrong direction but then I remember the GPS installed in my brain. Obviously it can’t tell me where to find supplies but I suddenly realize how close I am to the western coastline. I head the opposite way, assuming there’ll be less destruction farther inland.

             
I traverse the rubble carefully, spending the next hour moving slowly. Despite my newfound strength and speed, I cover less than a mile. I’m able to track such movements just by thinking about my GPS. Though the destruction continues far into the distance, I begin to see the slightest signs of civilization. A small patch of rubble-free land shows pavement below, complete with a fire hydrant still intact. I climb down the piles of debris but once I’m at street level, I’m no closer to finding supplies. I approach the fire hydrant, at least hoping for a source of water. But when I turn the hyrdant’s five-sided cap with my bare hands, not a single drop emerges. Dejected, I leap atop the debris piles and continue on.

             
With no obvious places to find what I need, I stop at random to dig through debris, hoping to find anything of use. If E needed broken concrete to stay alive, we’d be in luck. But as it is, my search seems to be worthless, a complete waste of time. Every hour that passes reminds me of the time-crunch I’m facing, especially as the sun moves across the sky and I get farther from the facility. I don’t know how easy I expected this to be but the idea of being gone only a few hours and returning victoriously suddenly seems naïve.

             
I need to get farther away from the center of destruction. Traveling as slowly as I’ve gone will take forever so I pick up the pace, leaping from the top of one rubble pile to the next, crunching down on smaller pieces of concrete, reducing them to little more than dust. Never once do I lose my footing and I quickly gain confidence, running faster along the rubble than I thought possible. I move faster than any human could run on a flat surface; I don’t tire and though my energy slowly drains from my power core, the sun remains bright, keeping me fully functional.

             
I leap nearly a hundred feet at a time, skipping across the Wasteland that passes beneath me in a blur. The feeling is amazing, like a dream that doesn’t seem possible. Under a different set of circumstances, I would certainly relish this experience. But the utter annihilation of this area becomes more evident when I run – at full speed – for several hours without seeing an end to the rubble.

             
I nearly run right past a building without noticing. I take a final running leap and smash to a halt atop more rubble, which shatters and trembles beneath my metallic feet. Several hundred feet away, the building rises high into the sky, at least a few dozen stories. And while the first building I saw was nothing but a decaying skeleton of metal girders, this one appears mostly intact, at least from where I now stand. This is the first potential sign of life I’ve seen and if the building has survived this well, hopefully the same goes for any supplies stored inside.

             
I approach it slowly, afraid my footsteps alone could cause it to collapse. The silence here seems more noticeable. The whirring of my parts and crunching of my footsteps echo across the debris. A tingle of warning tickles the back of my mind, telling me to be careful. Even more significantly, I have a feeling I’m not alone. I should be relieved at the thought of someone else surviving but E’s warning to be careful of anyone and
everyone
continues to echo in my mind.

             
I stop and listen, looking all around for the slightest sign of movement, the tiniest clue that someone is – or has recently been – here. I hear the nearby trickle of tiny rocks shifting but I wonder if that’s a result of the debris I’ve stepped on. As I move closer to the building, I hear more rustling but still see nothing.

             
“Maybe rats scavenging,” I say aloud, hoping the sound of a voice will calm my growing anxiety. It doesn’t. Instead, the rustling comes to an abrupt halt, making me even more certain I’m not alone. “Hello?”

             
As I approach the building, it seems to grow taller and more ominous, though I know that’s my mind on overdrive. I look toward the upper floors and see a set of window blinds rattling slightly. The sight makes me freeze but when I watch the windows for any more movement, I see nothing. I consider turning back or looking elsewhere for supplies but this is the best – and only – lead I’ve found thus far. I don’t have two more hours to waste searching for another opportunity as promising as this one.

Though an empty building full of food and medicine would be ideal, I tell myself that finding humans inside wouldn’t be so bad either. They might be frightened of my robotic body at first but surely they’ll see my human head and come to their senses. If not, I can tell them my story and hopefully be accepted into their ranks. I just have to play things cool, earn their trust. If the humans possess – or know where to find – supplies, maybe I can offer them a place in CIFPOL’s underground shelter in exchange for helping E. I don’t want to use intimidation to get what I need but the idea of E dying will make me do anything I must to get what I need.

I suddenly hear rustling in the debris behind me. Could I have stumbled on a major human hideout without realizing? It’s not exactly like I scoped this place out before getting too close. I have an awful feeling like I’m surrounded but when I look around, I still see no sign of life. Still, the last thing I want is to be attacked from behind without having a chance to explain myself. Any human leaders that might be here will definitely be inside so that’s where I need to go.

I rush forward, covering the final hundred feet in a few small leaps. Up close, I see that the building isn’t in as good condition as it appears farther away. Windows on the lower floors are busted and huge cracks run along the bottom part of the building that sticks out of the rubble. I don’t want to imagine the damage done to the overall structure.

If I had any doubts that humans were inside, they’re answered as soon as I approach the building’s entrance. A large barricade – comprised of everything from busted furniture, to old refrigerators, to smaller pieces of debris able to be maneuvered by humans – blocks the path inside. I could disassemble the barricade piece by piece but I don’t have time. Instead, I force my way through, intending to shift it just enough to let me in. But I don’t realize my own strength and a single push causes the whole blockade to collapse in a deafening crash.

There goes my quiet, peaceful arrival. The debris outside the building is piled so high that I have to squeeze through the top of the entrance and leap to the floor below. My pounding footsteps kick up a cloud of dust and crush parts of the barricade that collapsed inside. I scan the lobby for any sign of humans but it takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness.

“I mean you no harm,” I call out right away, not wanting to take the chance of someone shooting first and asking questions later.

Even as I say the words, I hear my robotic voice and doubt it will soothe anyone afraid of a robot attack. Luckily, the lobby is empty, at least as far as I can tell. I think I’m in some sort of apartment building. The lobby is dirty and covered in dust but something on the far wall grabs my attention. I slowly walk toward a piece of art – a picturesque landscape of golden bundles of hay in a large field – that seems to be glowing. When I get closer, I see that the image doesn’t hang on the wall but appears to protrude from it, or rest on it, I can’t tell. Though my mind lost its general haze long ago, my brain still takes a moment to remember the word that describes what I’m looking at.

Hologram. They did not have this kind of thing in the world I came from. I’ve spent so long witnessing the destruction of the Robot Wars that I’ve given no thought to the advances I missed in the years since my death. To see this beautiful, forgotten hologram still surviving on a dirty wall makes me question what other wonders might be out there beyond the bomb’s blast zone.