Cryo-Man (Cryo-Man series, #1) (4 page)

             
“Please, just wait there, I’ll…” E calls out, pausing to catch his breath as he struggles to keep up. “I’ll help you get up.”

             
I want to yell that I don’t need his help but that would mean hearing the sound of my mechanical voice again. Instead, I jam both my hands into the cinderblock and pull myself up, moving so fast that I nearly pull down half the wall in the process. I take a few staggered steps along the slick floor, hoping to get the hang of it. Without thinking, I push my way through the doors, even as E calls out a final warning.

             
“I can explain everything if you just wait,” he says. “I promise this is going to look a lot worse than it really is.”

             
The sound of his voice fades as the doors swing shut behind me. The first thing I notice about the new room is the sheer size of it, cavernous, amazing compared to the smaller first room and tight confines of the hallway. There’s no fear of bumping into anything in here, as the room stretches farther than I can see at ground level
and
above. The enormity is enough to make me stop in my tracks, not so easy considering my size and clumsiness as well as the slick floor. And this isn’t simply water; it’s apparently cold enough in here to have turned the floor to slush and ice.

A bluish glow emanates from countless recessed tubes built into both sides of the wall, stretching as high and far as I can see. It’s clear from the even spacing and uniformed sizing that these holes were placed here on purpose and aren’t merely evidence of this place falling to pieces. Still, I can’t imagine the builders of this place meant for so much ice to cover the floor, or for so much water to drip from an unseen source above, or for several of the blue holes to be dimmer and emitting steam. I can’t
feel
how cold it is but within seconds of standing still and looking around, frost begins to creep across the cracked glass of my dome helmet, making it harder for me to see. I try to wipe away the spreading condensation but my pincer-like fingers smack hard against the glass and make the cracks worse.

No exits are in sight, nor are there any windows. I’ve never been in such a cavernous space and felt so claustrophobic. I’m sure my racing nerves and this damn helmet don’t help with that. Still, there has to be a way out of here. I can’t see the far end of the room, which is heavily steamed, but it must lead somewhere. I take a few careful steps in that direction, growing more anxious as I approach the foggy area. I glance into each hole I pass and see the same metal, frost-covered tubing in each one. Curiosity kicks in and I’m half-tempted to search one of the tubes to see what’s inside, to see what needs to be stored in such frigid conditions. But as I approach the nearest glowing hole in the wall, something stops me from getting too close, an invisible hand of warning and not just the frost spreading quicker over my glass dome. I have a bad feeling I don’t want to know what’s in there.

I push ahead, hoping the severe cold won’t affect my circuitry or cogs or whatever the hell I’m made out of. The silence in the room is eerie, only my whirring and clicking footsteps echoing louder than the hissing steam somewhere in front of me. I’m actually relieved to hear E’s voice echoing from behind.

“Please come back, Daddy,” he calls out. “At least stop, let me clean up and explain. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be taking a tour.”

I’m about to ask what he needs to clean up but when I try to stop moving, my weight and momentum take over. I slide across the icy floor, my robotic limbs flailing all over the place, desperately trying to maintain a fragile balance. I must resemble a baby giraffe walking across an icy pond. Just when it seems I might remain upright, the robotic feet slip out from under me and I crash down, cracking the ice and more of my helmet.

The glass shatters, clattering on the floor as I skid along the ice. Without the dome, my face finally feels the tingle of cold. I imagine it would sting my lungs to breathe this air but that’s only a guess since I no longer have the ability to take a breath. I end up crashing into another metal table, this one lost in clouds of steam. Not only do I knock it over, but whatever was sitting atop clatters to the floor. Several parts of the large object break and scatter, not to mention a folder full of papers that flutters down. But the new mess is hardly noticeable among the rest of the junk strewn about. No wonder E was so concerned with cleaning up around here; if the ice hadn’t tripped me up, I’m sure this other junk on the floor –

I stop cold and stare at the nearest object, something that’s staring back at me, unblinking. If I still had a heart, it would either be pounding on overdrive or stopped altogether. I don’t need to look at the rest of the junk to know they’re frozen body parts – arms, legs, feet, torsos – nor do I have to look at what fell off the metal table to realize it was an entire frozen body that smashed apart. This realization hits me suddenly, though it doesn’t take a genius to figure out since I’m staring directly into the eyes of a frozen human head.

CHAPTER FOUR

The worst part – as if my day could
get
any worse – is that this severed head isn’t the only one on the floor; the body I knocked over isn’t the only one that contributes to the mess of frozen flesh laying everywhere. And considering E’s earlier warning about the need to clean up, it’s obvious who’s responsible for causing this icy carnage.

A piece of paper flutters to a stop next to the head and finally gets me to look away. It’s some kind of medical chart with a photograph attached. The photo is of an attractive middle-aged woman with blond hair and dazzlingly blue eyes. The color of her eyes is the only thing that makes me consider connecting the dots between the picture and the head. The dead woman’s skin is now as blue as her eyes, her mouth agape in fear, her hair brittle and broken. It’s undeniably her but I still struggle to believe that she could be the same person.

I don’t want to look at any more of the human remains. I’m not sure I can still sleep or dream but I don’t need to give myself more ammo for future nightmares. I try to stand but fall several more times before eventually scrambling to my feet. I want to get the hell out of here but this part of the room is too foggy to see clearly and I can’t take the risk of stomping on any more icy bodies. So even though E is the last person I want to see, I follow the sound of his voice until I end up back in the section where the floors are clear of frosty corpses.

E stands there, on his feet but doubled over at the waist, his breathing coming in deep gasping gurgles.

“Did you do this to them?” I ask angrily.

E stands up straighter, his eyes widening with fear. He takes a careful step back and holds up his hands to calm me down. It doesn’t work.

“It’s not what you think,” he says. “Come with me, let me fit you with a new dome and I’ll explain.”

I shake my head, the motion causing me to wobble on the ice. E reaches out to help steady me but I’d rather fall than accept his hand. Somehow I manage to stay balanced.

“How can I possibly trust you? Especially after what you did to all those people,” I say.

The spot on his nose between the eye sockets creases. I’ve clearly offended him, which shouldn’t matter but for some reason leaves me with a pang of guilt.

“I was trying to
help
them, to save their lives,” E says, his voice laden with dignified annoyance, as if I have no right to question what’s going on here. “If I wanted you hurt, don’t you think it would’ve happened already? I thought you’d understand considering everything I’ve done to help you.”

             
“
Help
me? You turned me into a ro…” I stop, unable to finish
that
word. “Into
this!
”

             
E’s eyes narrow and he points to the floor defiantly.

             
“You’d prefer to be like them?”

             
Reluctantly, I look down at the frozen body parts and wonder what my icy head would look like beside them. Horrific things seem to be happening in this place – especially if my outcome is considered positive – but I don’t suppose death is better than becoming a ro-… becoming what I now am. I back away from the carnage and my feet hit another slippery patch. I begin to lose my footing again but E jumps in – regardless of our size difference – and somehow helps me stay on my feet.

             
“I’ll see if there’s something I can do to improve your balance, maybe harvest sturdier feet from the scrap pile,” E says.

             
I don’t like the sound of being assembled from scrap heaps but pointing that out won’t help anything. Instead, I obey E’s request to follow him out of the frozen room. He leads me back through the hallway, where awkward silence hangs heavy between us. The idea of smashing my way to answers no longer seems feasible so I’m embarrassed into silence despite all the questions I have. After what I’ve just seen, it’s probably better to sit back and wait for the whole story instead of trying to piece it together myself. Answers should come in time, though I’m not sure how much I want to learn anymore.

             
We head back toward the sterile room, stopping at one of the unmarked doors along the way. I wonder what’s behind the other doors but I don’t ask and E doesn’t offer that information.

             
“Think there should be some good stuff left if I search a little longer,” E says as he opens the door. “Guess you could say I was in a bit of a hurry picking this stuff out when I saw that you’d survived.”

             
At first, I think the room is a storage area for garbage; so much twisted metal is strewn about that I barely see the floor. Though E’s robes reach beyond his feet, he has no trouble climbing atop and over and through all the junk. It’s not until he pulls out his laser tool and starts going to town on a heap of metallic debris that I realize this isn’t merely garbage. They’re bodies, a realization that hits me nearly as hard as discovering the frozen corpses in the massive back room. But these bodies once belonged to robots.

             
Normally I’d feel nothing at the sight of so many deactivated – or in other cases, destroyed – machines. But recalling the image of myself in the mirror obviously gives me a different outlook. I stare more closely at the robots, notice that they’re of various designs and sizes. More importantly, I don’t spot any other fusion of human parts and robotic.

             
“I think these may work better for balance,” E calls out across the room, holding up a pair of metallic feet in triumph. The cavalier way he brandishes robot parts makes me wary about his concern for me, if he thinks of me as just another robot now. But considering the frozen bodies strewn about the other room, I guess E doesn’t have an abundance of compassion for
any
type of being.

             
“What happened to them all?” I ask.

             
E climbs back over the debris and stops in front of me. He gasps for breath, winded from the climb, the gurgling sound at the back of his throat more pronounced with fatigue. He’s much more interested in the parts he’s just harvested; he kneels by my legs and starts to inspect his handiwork before considering my question.

             
“I destroyed them.”

             
E compares the new parts with what’s already installed on me; he holds the feet next to mine the way a tailor might try to guess the size of a groom’s tuxedo. I look from the tiny man to the stacks of discarded robots, of which there must be several dozen. I can’t imagine him slowing down a robot let alone destroying one, but the nonchalant way he answers the questions leads me to believe he’s telling the truth.

             
“How?” I ask incredulously.

             
E finally looks up from the parts and sees me staring at the robots. He shrugs before starting to search the piles for the second replacement part. It doesn’t take him long to find what he needs.

             
“I exploited their weaknesses. I
should
know how, after all,” he adds cryptically. It sounds like there’s a lot
more to
that
story but he doesn’t continue to tell it. “Come on, we have plenty of time for tales. I want to get you fixed up so you don’t take any more spills.”

             
E sounds genuinely concerned, leaving me more confused about what to think of him. He hands me the robotic feet – which I clumsily clutch onto – while he carries the more delicate glass. He leads me back down the hallway. Now that my emotions have calmed, I try to look for more evidence of where I’m at but the busted sign is still the only clue. PRESERVATION OF LIFE stares back at me as I pass it and I feel a stirring in my memory, my brain trying to make some sort of connection. For some reason the acronym of POL stands out but I’m not sure why. Upon closer inspection of the wall, I see the faded outline of other letters that have fallen off. It’s only a few letters at first but my brain registers enough to put together one of the other words no longer intact: INSTITUTE.

             
“Everything okay? You don’t feel off balance again, do you?” E asks from down the hallway. I hadn’t realized I stopped to stare at the sign. I shake my head and continue to follow.

             
Once back in the sterile room, the floor crunches beneath our feet as we walk across the broken mirror glass. The room is a wreck, strewn with glass and rubble and crushed pieces of metal table. I’m embarrassed that I caused such a mess. I don’t remember my former life but I have a deep-seeded feeling that I wasn’t a confrontational or violent person.

             
“Sorry,” I say, the mechanical tone to my voice making the apology sound insincere.

             
E waves away the apology and starts trying to move the destroyed metal table. He grunts with the effort, barely shifting it a few inches. The table must be very heavy, which makes me feel worse for destroying it. E quickly tires and leans against it for support, trying to catch his breath. I still know so little about him but this isn’t the first time I’ve seen him struggle physically. I suddenly wonder how old or frail the man is under those robes.

             
I put the robot parts down – my new feet – and approach the table.

             
“Let me help,” I say.

             
E looks up at me and nods. I mean for us both to drag the table away but E steps back to let me push alone. I may have quickly gotten proficient in walking but this kind of fine motor skill is much more intimidating. I silently tell my arms to rise toward the broken table, I clamp my fingers around the twisted metal. I don’t know my own strength and end up crunching the metal even tighter in my grip. I push the heavy table, hoping to budge it a few inches. Instead, the table soars across the room and smashes into the wall, crushing it even further while causing tiny pieces of debris to crumble off the wall and ceiling.

“Sorry,” I say again.

E shakes his head; the smile has returned to his eyes.

“Nonsense,” he says. “Your model was designed to be faster and stronger than any other. I’m glad to see the robot didn’t suffer when I put your head on it.” He begins to walk out of the room when he stops. “And it should make rearranging the furniture much easier around here, yes?”

He laughs, hyena-like and slightly crazed, the effort launching him into a coughing fit. I should probably go with him, see if he needs help with whatever he’s getting, but I don’t mind having a moment to myself. I hold up my robotic arms and study myself closer, drink in the details of my metallic skeleton, thick plates covering my gears or circuits or wires or whatever comprises a robot. Looking down at my torso is much more difficult. I can’t move my head forward enough to see much. I suddenly wish I hadn’t busted that mirror. I see that most of my chest area is made up of smaller plates that are dark-blue and reflective. They’re outlined in metal but appear quite fragile, unlike the rest of my frame. When I stand beneath the room’s bright bulb, I actually feel my body absorbing the light, gaining strength. I’m not sure whether to like this feeling or be worried about it.

Moments later, E wheels in a gurney and positions it under the light. He pats it and motions me over.

“It might not be as big as the surgical table but it should do the trick,” he says.

I step forward apprehensively and clumsily sit atop the gurney. It begins to roll the moment I touch it but E holds it steady. When I lay down, I feel the gurney begin to sag, its metallic frame creaking in protest. But it holds my weight and E grabs the glass dome he took off one of the destroyed robots. I feel like we’re back to where we began, the shadow of his movements crossing in front of my eyes as he works behind my head. He carefully removes the broken glass that remains from my first dome before fitting me with the new one. I feel a strange pulling sensation at the back of my head; parts of my face twitch involuntarily.

“Sorry about that, just have to maneuver some of these wires to fit inside the dome,” E explains. “This one is a little smaller than the other.”

E fits the dome over my head and when it doesn’t quite fit, he pushes it down roughly. The way he lacks a delicate touch makes me certain he’s no doctor. He reminds me of a mechanic yanking at parts of a car, though I guess I’m no longer so different from a car. I don’t have a wealth of medical options at this point so I remain quiet and let him concentrate, especially as he works around my head. Several sparks fly and I can’t help but flinch. The gurney bows again and I nearly slide off.

“Don’t worry, I’m done here,” he says, his voice again muffled by the glass partition separating us. He shuffles around to my feet. “This shouldn’t hurt, at least I don’t think. Honestly that’s just an assumption; I’ve been wrong about a lot of things during this process. If you feel anything, let me know. Just make sure you don’t kick – I don’t think the table or I could survive that.”

I sit up enough to see him using the laser tool down by my feet. It’s not long before he pulls one off and tosses it aside. The sensation is strange; not exactly painful but something I can definitely sense. It’s like wearing a hat for so long that you get used to the feeling of having it on, only to pull it off and feel like something isn’t where it should be. A shiver runs down my spine, or at least that’s what my brain convinces me (though I know damn well that my spine no longer exists). I can’t take the silence any longer, can’t sit here quietly and watch him disassemble parts of me. I blurt out the first thing that pops in my mind.