Cryo-Man (Cryo-Man series, #1) (35 page)

This feels like goodbye. If it is, I want to tell her so much. But both of us know there’s no time for lengthy heaps of gratitude. I step through the gate and stop in the small opening within the wall. It’s tighter inside that I thought, though anxiety might be making me feel claustrophobic.

Dozens of round, white sensors cover the walls of the tiny nook. I try to look at them closer but the explosion of blue light engulfs me, several bright rays sweeping up and down my body. This is no ordinary light. It moves slower over me than the other robots. I swear I feel a tingling over every part of my body – every system within my robotic frame – when the light passes. But it’s when the lights reach my head that I worry most. If they’re scanning for robotic parts, they won’t find anything up there. I’m just about to turn around and run when the lights suddenly click off.

A red light pops on in front of me, a single holographic word – RECYCLED – with an arrow pointing me to the left. The door slides open to Robotropolis. The first thing I think is how much bigger it seems once I’m inside the walls. The damaged robot limps along to the left, though that’s the opposite direction I want to go. Besides, I don’t want to imagine what it would be like for
me
to be recycled.

I take a few steps forward without turning one way or another. There’s so much to see in front of me – so many robots moving around, so many factories and buildings – but I can’t stop checking behind me. The gate door has gone back up since I entered but I watch it intently for the person – or robot – to come next.

Seconds turn into minutes. I don’t know how much longer I can wait. The compound is abuzz with activity but so far I’ve gone unnoticed. I don’t know if that will last much longer. The door finally opens and I can almost sense my heart pounding in anticipation…

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

“There’s no way I’m going left; I don’t like the idea of being recycled,” Mom says as she steps into Robotropolis. “What should we do?”

Relief washes over me and I nearly start laughing.

“We go to the right,” I say. “And hope to God the gate isn’t being monitored.”

I turn right and begin to limp away, still playing the part of damaged robot in case anyone sees us. I realize it’s not the greatest plan but it’s all we’ve got.

“Can you see the tree from here?” Mom asks.

“I don’t know… I haven’t looked for it yet,” I admit. “But if we go this way, we’ll get there eventually.”

Too many buildings block our view. These aren’t the first buildings we’ve seen in this new world but they’re in the best condition, by far. It’s strange to see something that looks like it came from the world we once knew. Still, the fact that we’re in a city without pavements or streets or cars is odd. It’s like the factories have been picked up from a civilized world and plopped down in the middle of an Old West town.

             
“Do we just… go there?” Mom asks.

             
I glance back at the closed gate. Even if we wanted to leave, it’s too late to go that way now. I nod.

             
“Follow me,” I say. “Walk like normal, like this is the way we’re supposed to go.”

             
I walk slowly enough so it doesn’t look like I’m rushing, but quickly enough so I don’t arouse suspicion. The ground rumbles with the footsteps of hundreds of robots but none turn in our direction, none race toward us even though we’ve defied our gate assignment. Still, every second that ticks by leaves me more anxious. My Heaven Box is closer than it’s ever been but I can’t help feeling a sense of dread as I near my ultimate destination.

             
High-pitched screaming interrupts us. Though the rest of the robots continue walking around as usual, I can’t help but stop and take a look. Mom bumps into me from behind.

             
“Keep going,” she urges me.

             
I walk slower as the piercing screams grow louder. A few hundred feet to our left, a small group of women are being led from one building to another. Upon closer inspection, the women appear to be younger than I originally thought, teenagers no older than sixteen. They’re all approximately the same height, have the same hair length, wear the same ratty clothing. I don’t have long to study them – especially since several robots push them along – but I see no distinguishable differences between the girls. Most of all, they all appear frightened.

             
“Where are they being taken?” I ask.

             
Mom doesn’t have time to respond before my question is answered for me. The robot leading the group suddenly stops in front of one of the smaller buildings. While everything in Robotropolis is painted a drab gray, the teenager females are led through a red door, the only splash of color I can see. That red door worries me.

             
“The other humans didn’t even react when the robots shot one of their own,” I say. “If they don’t fear death, there’s only one other thing I can imagine that would make those girls so frightened.”

             
Mom frowns and slowly nods.

             
“We’re much bigger than those robots pushing them around,” I say as the last of the girls are forced through the door.

             
“Whatever they’re being forced to do, I feel badly about,” she says. “But we can’t save them, not unless we want big trouble. Those girls aren’t our concern. We need to stay focused on reaching the tree.”

             
The red door closes and the screaming abruptly stops. It sickens me to abandon people in need. Not for the first time – and unfortunately, I doubt it’ll be for the last – I remind myself that this isn’t the same world I came from.

             
Within minutes, we reach the fringes of the city, passing the last few buildings. The amount of robots in this section has dwindled. On one hand, there are fewer enemies to catch on to what we’re doing; on the other hand, we stand out much more when there aren’t other robots to blend in with. I just hope the darkness of night provides us enough cover.

             
We reach the river after passing the footbridge. Across the water, lights glow within the mansion. The moon provides enough glow to see a dozen robots guarding the house’s perimeter. Mom and I rush past the bridge and follow the riverbank. The water sparkles under the moonlight and doesn’t look nearly as filthy as it does in the light of day. We still move undetected. Dread in the pit of my metallic gut finally becomes overwhelmed by excitement.

The leaning tree looms just ahead. I can no longer force myself to walk casually. I sprint the last few hundred feet, nearly tripping over the exposed gnarled roots. The old tree is clearly dead, its trunk split down the middle. I still can’t believe it remains upright, as if waiting for me to arrive. I splash through the water gathered around the sunken earth near the riverbank. Though my Heaven Box is somewhere beneath my feet, I look up. My mind suddenly – inexplicably – recalls how this tree once stood tall and proud, sunlight shining through its branches and onto my face, my heart filled with warmth and love…

“Right here,” Mom says, interrupting my swirls of memory.

She points to the ground a few feet to the right of exposed roots, about ten feet in front of where the tree once stood completely upright. Mom is certain of the box’s location but I don’t ask how she knows. Instead, I look at the ground, almost hesitant to start digging.

“How far down is it?” I ask.

“How should I know?” she says. “I imagine pretty deep so it would remain buried through the years.”

I get down on my knees and scoop a handful of dirt from the ground. Considering my strength and metallic pincers, digging is easy. My hands move so fast that they’re a blur; dirt flies all around as my desperation grows. I don’t tire but once I cut several feet into the ground, I sense my power supply draining from the effort. But nothing slows me down, not even once the dirt turns softer, thicker, muddier. By the time my fingers strike metal, I’m nearly up to my elbows in muddy glop.

“I found something,” I say excitedly.

I glance up at Mom, expecting her to look as hopeful as I feel. But she doesn’t even look at the massive hole I’ve dug. Instead, she stares into the distance, unblinking. I worry there’s trouble out there but I see nothing out of the usual, no robots racing toward us from within the city. Whatever she’s looking at, I clearly can’t see.

“You see something?”

Mom turns to look at me, her expression blank for a moment. She shakes her head.

“Just looking around. Not the best time to daydream, I know. You found it?”

I dig around the edges of the metal box, which are several feet wide. But each time I clear away mud, more seems to slide in its place. Finally, I shove both of my arms as far down as they’ll go and grab the box from underneath. Despite my incredible strength, I have trouble freeing it from its muddy tomb. If I’d been a mere human, it would’ve been impossible to lift.

I finally pull the metallic box free and gently place it on the ground a few feet beside the hole. The box remains covered in mud. I try to clean it off but my pincers aren’t so good at that kind of thing. Still, I clear enough away to expose a heavy clasp at the front of the box.

“Let’s just take it and go,” Mom says.

But my hand already moves toward the clasp. I try to release the clasp but can’t quite figure out how it works.

“I just want a peek,” I say.

“Fine,” she says, annoyed. “Then you need to flip the pair of latches on the side before the clasp will open.”

I do as she says and the Heaven Box’s top cracks open. If I still had a heart, I’m sure it would be pounding. But I soon see plenty of other cracks in the metal. The clasp crumbles once I open it. Some of the mud begins to wash away from the box as water escapes through cracks in the side.

“No,” Mom whispers.

I try to be gentle as I lift the lid but it still falls off the box. Water is filled to brim. I slowly shake my head, a wave of revulsion crashing through me. A photograph floats to the top. I try to pick it up but it’s little more than wet pulp at this point. For a brief moment, I see the image of a man who looks to be in his twenties or thirties. His eyes look familiar though the last time I saw them, they were on the face of a small boy I playfully chased around our house. The paper disintegrates when I try to lift it from the water.

I reach into the box but all I pull out is more wet pulp, more destroyed clues of my family’s existence. I want to keep searching but I know everything I touch will end up destroyed.

“No, no, no,” I say, fighting the urge to scream or yell or destroy something. “I
have
to be able to salvage something, there
has
to be something in here.”

A spotlight suddenly shines on us. I’d hoped to see better but this isn’t what I had in mind. I glance up to see bright lights coming from the city but I don’t care that we’re caught. I turn back toward the box and carefully tip it to one side, watching water pour out, taking with it the destroyed evidence of my family.

“Maybe the pictures can dry,” I say, clinging to a hope that’s quickly fading. “As long as I don’t touch anything.”

Pounding footsteps race toward us but I pay them little attention.

“We have to get out of here,” Mom says desperately. “Now!”

I shake my head. Mom tries to pull on my arm but I refuse to budge. She could pull my arm off and I wouldn’t go anywhere. The box is the only thing important to me now. I care about nothing else.

“This is my life,” I tell her. “I won’t have it ripped away from me again. This is the only way I can remember my sons, my little boys.”

“Please, you have to trust me,” she says. “I can fix your memory. I just need to insert a wire into a certain section of your brain. I have an extra in my bag of parts so come with me before it’s too late.”

I shake my head. The thought of getting my memory back would’ve sounded great before, but not now that the Heaven Box sits in front of me. Besides, I’m sure Mom isn’t beyond lying if it means escaping Robotropolis.

The pounding gets louder and the ground shakes beneath our feet. But when I speak, my voice is barely above a whisper.

“Seems like a convenient time to let me know that little skill of yours,” I say. “If by chance you
could
give my memories back, this box holds a lot more than what happened in just
my
past. This box is a glimpse into the rest of my family’s life. I can’t just abandon that, I can’t give up finding out what happened to them.”

“It’s just
stuff
and it’ll mean nothing if you die trying to protect it,” she says. “If you want to learn more about your family, I can tell you, I promise. Just come with me
now
!”

             
I shake my head, not looking away from the box as I do. I hear a new set of running footsteps but these ones belong to Mom as she runs away. I don’t blame her for leaving; in fact, I hope she escapes, I hope she gets far away from me. I don’t want her affected by my horrible luck.

             
With the army descending on me, I have precious few seconds to search. Gone is my plan to wait for the box’s contents to dry. Instead, I rifle through the wet mess, trying to find
anything
that hasn’t been totally ruined. Finally, my fingers find something larger than pictures, thicker than paper, something soft and fluffy. I slowly pull it out and hold it up to the moonlight.

It’s some kind of stuffed animal, gray, with four legs, a stubby tail and a missing eye. It’s dripping wet but still in one piece. The stuffed animal wasn’t in my only memory but I somehow know what its name is… or should I say
his
name.

             
“Mr. Hippo.”

             
For a moment, the fog in my mind begins to clear. I see Henry once again but this time we’re sprawled on his bed, playing with the stuffed animal. But before the memory returns, I hear a scream behind me, one that snaps me back to reality. The stuffed animal falls from my grasp as I turn around.

             
Mom tried to escape but didn’t make it far. Now I see her with both metallic arms pinned behind her back, a gun placed against the side of her glass dome. Behind her looms a robotic figure just as large as Mom and me. This robot also wears a glass dome but his is tinted heavily black.

             
“Move another inch and I’ll blow her head off,” the robotic voice says. “Her
human
head.”

“Who are you?” I ask. “
What
are you?”             

The black-domed robot takes a few steps forward into the moonlight, pushing Mom in front of him.

“I’m the same as you,” he says.