Cryo-Man (Cryo-Man series, #1) (38 page)

“Those wires wouldn’t work,” she says. “E realized a thinner wire was needed to connect to that area of the brain.”

“You don’t suppose asking Black-Dome for one would work, do you?”

“While you’re at it, request an upgrade to our accommodations,” Mom says, trying to make light of the situation. This time, I’m not in the mood to be amused.

“So I’m screwed.”

I lash out and strike the metal bars, causing the cement floor where it’s connected to crack. The noise echoes throughout the dungeon, causing an eruption of frightened cries and moans from the disturbed humans. I hit the bars again, creating even more havoc.

“Niko, don’t,” Mom says. “You have to calm down.”

“What can they possibly do?” I say.

An eruption of gunfire from deeper within the dungeon answers that question. At first, the shots cause even more cries, but the stomp of heavy footsteps brings a silence to all other noise.

“They’re coming,” Mom says.

“Let them come,” I say. “Let them
all
come. May as well get this over with.”

“Don’t say that,” she says. “We’re not doomed yet;
you’re
not doomed yet. I know where we can get a wire.”

“Where?”

The footsteps echo louder as they approach. Mom rushes to the corner of her cell, as far from the bars as she can get. I look all around for where she might get this mystery wire but all I see are two empty cells.

“Where?” I ask again.

Several robots appear just down the hallway, their guns drawn. One of the humans begins to smack the bars of his cell. Without hesitation, the robots fire. The sound of banging bars is replaced by human flesh smacking against the floor.

“Trust me,” Mom whispers.

“Because you’ve told me nothing but the truth?”

She looks hurt, but I don’t see her face much longer. She turns her head toward the corner, the worst attempt at hiding I’ve ever seen. But I follow her lead and rush to my corner as the robots approach. Their footsteps stop in front of my cell. I begin to turn to them but my eyes meet Mom’s and she shakes her head. For all I know, they’re about to shoot me in the back but I remain still, making sure to present no threat.

Long seconds tick by until I finally hear them walk away. Mom doesn’t budge until the pounding footsteps fade into the distance and the humans’ moaning starts again.

“Thank you for not doing anything foolish,” Mom says.

She appears genuinely relieved, though I’m starting to wonder whether I can read her at all.

“Are you going to tell me where this wire’s at?”

Mom lifts her hand and taps the back of her cracked dome.

“Right here,” she says. “You can have mine.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

In an instant, my anger is snuffed out. If I had any question about her sincerity, it’s answered by the unyielding look in her eyes. Though I want nothing more than to have my memories, this is one thing I won’t do to get them back.

              “Don’t be crazy,” I say. “I couldn’t let you do that. Keep all your wires while you can; keep your dome as long as you can. Obviously you can tell by my face that it’s not so smart to go through this world without a helmet.”

             
“It’ll be too tough to see through these cracks,” she says.

             
Before I have a chance to talk her out of doing something she’ll regret, Mom turns toward her cell wall. She lowers her head and smashes the splintered helmet into the concrete. The cracks grow larger as chunks of glass rain upon the floor. I shake my head but there’s no stopping her. She smashes her dome one… two… three more times until the rest of the broken glass is cleared away. The humans’ groaning begins again but only lasts a few seconds before the dungeon is back to silence.

             
Mom’s eyes remain closed.

             
“Are you okay?” I ask when she doesn’t move.

             
She finally nods. “It’s nice to hear the sound of your voice when it’s not muffled. Feeling the air on my face is nice, I just wish I could take a deep breath of it.” 

             
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I say weakly.

             
Mom opens her eyes and turns to me. Our eyes remain locked for several long seconds. Once again, I sense a familiar spark.

             
“That’s okay,” she says. “E didn’t do such a good job of cleaning the dome before putting it over my head. There’s been a smudge inside that’s been getting on my nerves for years.”

             
Mom reaches toward the back of her head. At first, I think she’s clearing away more broken glass, but then she begins to fiddle with the mass of wires running into the back of her skull.

             
“Wait, don’t,” I say in a panic. “What are you doing?”

             
“What do you think?”

             
“Don’t you need a more sanitary room or… I don’t know, something to make that safer?”

             
“Do you see any sanitary rooms around here?” Mom asks. “Just tell me when my fingers find the orange wire.”

             
She slowly rifles through the different colored wires. When she touches the orange one, I nod.

             
“But you could hurt yourself,” I say. “If you pull it out, won’t you forget me and this life? Won’t you forget how to connect the wire to me anyway?”

             
“I guess there’s a chance,” she says. “But that’s one we have to take. Besides, this wire only sparked memories from before I was woken at CIFPOL. Everything that’s happened since then – waking up, being with you, everything E taught me – shouldn’t be affected.”

             
“It’s not worth the risk,” I say. “I’ve already lost so much; I can’t lose you, too. I don’t want to be in this alone.”

She pauses, a small frown forming on her lips as she avoids my gaze.

“Did you lose anything after E connected the wire to your brain but took it out? Do you still remember everything that happened after E first woke you from the freeze? First showed you what he’d turned you into?”

I nod. She makes a valid point, but I still feel a deep-seeded hesitancy to let her accept those risks. Once again she reads my mind.

“Believe me, the idea of losing my memories…” she begins, stopping a moment to pull herself together. “It scares the hell out of me. It’s been… so hard to keep that part of myself from you. But I’ve seen how you struggled to get your memory back, how you would do anything to remember your sons. I’ve had my time with the past; it’s your turn now. I just hope having had my memories for so long in
this
life will help me keep them. I hope having you beside me will help me keep them.” She stops and shakes her head. “I won’t lose them, I won’t forget the people I loved, the people I
still
love. You deserve to remember, too.”

I nod, wanting nothing more than to experience what she has.

“Enjoy your memories,” she says.

She slowly pulls the wire from her head, her face twisting in discomfort. The moment the wire is out, I see a change in her eyes. They look duller, as if a light has suddenly dimmed, as if the fire of her life has been rubbed out. I know right away what’s happened and I feel awful. She remains still for several long seconds, her eyes unblinking, staring straight ahead. Somewhere deeper in the dungeons, someone moans loudly.

“Mom?” I ask softly. She doesn’t budge so I ask again, this time much louder. “Can you hear me? Mom?”

She slowly turns her eyes toward me, finally blinking. It’s almost like a zombie looks back at me.

“That’s… me?” she asks.

I nod. She nods too, but I can tell she doesn’t know for sure. She looks down at the orange wire in her hand and slowly removes the other end from her core.

“I never should’ve let you do that,” I say, shaking my head. “Do you remember where you are? Do you remember me?”

She glances around the cell before her eyes turn back to me. She looks me up and down, still wearing a blank expression.

“I know…” She blinks and a sparkle returns. “I know we should’ve run when I told you to.”

A small smile returns to her lips, a small hint of that sarcastic sense of humor. I don’t know whether to laugh or collapse with relief.

“Your memories?”

Her brow furrows, though it’s tough to tell since her face is already lined with so many wrinkles.

“I… it feels like they’re right there but…”

She stares into the distance before finally shaking her head. When she turns toward me, she looks confused again, blank.

“Did we know each other?”

“I never should’ve let you do this,” I say again, more to myself than her. “Yes, we knew each other. We first met at the Cryonics Institute five years ago. After I left, you tracked me down and saved me from – ”

“I’m not an idiot, I remember
that
,” she says and even makes her sighing sound. At the moment, it’s like music to my ears. “I also remember how to connect this wire for you. But there’s also a tree… and two men standing at my bedside. They’re each holding my hand, crying, telling me it’s okay to let go. And then I close my eyes and hear beeping…”

Mom has told me her final memory before, though never in such detail. Little had I known that she still had the
rest
of her memories before the end. Now, the look of confusion and frustration on her face is one I certainly understand. Hearing about her final moments makes me think of my own, makes me think that my mind might soon fill in the rest of the blanks. Still, seeing Mom struggle to think makes me feel guilty about what she sacrificed for me.

“The tree you’re thinking about happened just outside this prison, but the rest of it is the last memory from your human life. You remember how I could only recall the final moments from my old life?”

Mom slowly nods; I’m not sure she remembers, though I spoke about it ad nauseum during our time crossing the country.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get the rest of them back,” I say, trying to sound reassuring. “You said that being with me would help. And if we ever get out of this mess, I won’t ever leave your side again, not after what you’ve done for me.”

              Mom forces a smile as she looks at me, though her eyes seem to be somewhere else, some place or time far away from here.

             
“Something with a tree,” she says softly.

             
“That’s right, the big tree where we were just captured,” I say.

             
Mom nods. “Did I at least seem happy when I had my memories?”

             
I’m not sure how to answer. In all honesty, Mom seemed frustrated most of the time. I’d always assumed it was because she
didn’t
know her past but maybe her human life had been difficult, maybe she’s actually better off forgetting. Obviously, I can’t tell her the harsh truth. Instead, I smile and nod.

             
“Yes,” I say. “Definitely happy.”

             
Mom’s confusion melts away. She smiles, though it looks to be one of relief rather than happiness.

             
“Oh, good,” she says. Her voice sounds different than before. Older, tired, with less spunk. When she glances down at her hand, she almost looks surprised to see the length of orange wire. “I almost forgot. We better put this in you before the guards come back.”

             
“Are you sure you can do it?” I ask, though I know there’s no other option.

             
Mom nods. “I know what you’re thinking but there’s no need to worry. My mind from this world is still sharp. I still remember everything E taught me. Now get over here, turn around and kneel down. We don’t have a lot of time.”

             
I do as she says, backing up until I bump against the bars separating our two cells. I hear her hands clanging against the metal. I suddenly wish we were in a better place for this, at least one with decent lighting. I can barely see the dungeon beyond my cell so I have no idea how Mom – whose eyes are already old – possibly sees all that she needs.

             
“Don’t move,” she says.

             
“I hadn’t planned to,” I answer.

             
“Do you really think this is the best time for joking?”

             
I remain completely still as I feel a slight tugging at the wires connected to the back of my skull. The feeling of my brain being poked and prodded can be described in no other way than as strange pressure, intrusive. I want to ask her dozens of questions – the most important being whether she
really
knows what she’s doing – but now clearly isn’t the time to distract her. This becomes even more apparent when the world in front of my eyes goes completely black.

             
“What happened?” I say in a panic.

             
“Sorry, sorry,” she says. “Finger slipped near the cerebrum. There,
that
wire is adjusted now.”

             
My sight suddenly flickers back on. Despite my concerns, I say nothing and let her continue in relative silence. The pressure in my brain grows stronger until I feel certain something is going wrong. Then, it stops.

             
“Think I’ve got it now,” she says. “Yup, there we go. It’s in.”

             
I hear her take a step back. Excitedly, I jump to my feet, wondering what I’m supposed to feel, wondering if I’ll experience a change in any other system of my body. But everything feels the same. I close my eyes and concentrate on thinking, concentrate on the thought of my boys.

             
“Nothing,” I say, possibly the single most crushing word I can think at this moment.

             
“And
I’m
the senile one?” Mom asks. “We still have to connect the wire to your power source if you want a spark.”

             
She reaches her hands through the bars and tells me to turn again. She explains that she’s running the orange wire through the same protective tube as the rest of the wires connected to parts of my robot body. The task requires the utmost precision. Our pincer fingers aren’t exactly well suited for this type of thing. It shouldn’t be surprising that it takes a long time, but the wait is still agonizing. Every few seconds, I open my mouth to ask if she’s almost done but I remain quiet.

When I hear the humans’ moaning becoming increasingly louder, I don’t pay much attention, at least at first. But soon I can’t ignore it, especially once the noise is accompanied by the metallic clomping of approaching robot footsteps.

“They’re coming,” I whisper. “Hurry.”

“Trust me, this isn’t something you want to rush. Turn around.”

I do as she says and press my robotic torso against the cell bars. She continues to feed the wire through the tube leading to my core.

“Almost there,” she says. I crane my neck forward to get a better look at what she’s doing. “Don’t move for this part.”

The robots get closer, the moaning gets louder. Mom accesses the panel to my power system but doesn’t have time to insert the wire when the first robot appears. I expect it to attack or tell us to back apart but neither happens. In fact, the robot doesn’t even glance toward us. With its gun raised and ready, it marches forward, followed by a herd of nearly twenty limping humans.

The humans wear the same blue rags for clothes. They have the same long stringy hair and are covered with the same type of dirt and grime. Every man appears to be around the same age but it’s hard to determine what that age might be. Only one human glances in our direction. In the darkness, I only see his face a split second, but that’s long enough.