Cryo-Man (Cryo-Man series, #1) (7 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

My mind doesn’t hesitate to come up with the best word to describe E’s looks: grotesque.

I feel the tiny muscles in my face twitching at the horrific sight. At first, I wonder if malfunctioning wires in my brain cause me to grimace but I quickly realize my reaction isn’t involuntary. I concentrate on trying to keep straight-faced, difficult to accomplish when you’re trying not to react. As much as I want to turn away, I force my eyes to stay focused on E, to stare into his unnaturally red-devil eyes while avoiding the rest of his face.

“I used to be handsome,” E says. His pair of blackened, swollen flesh tubes that were once lips turn up into a hideous grin. “At least that’s what K used to tell me.”

“It’s not so bad,” I say. I can’t even keep the robotic tone of my voice from cracking as I blatantly lie.

E laughs, spittle forming at the sides of his mouth. He wipes it away, not that it makes much difference to his overall appearance. Most of his nose is gone; it looks like a monster bit it off. Huge lesions cover the majority of his face and the teeth he still has in his mouth are black and rotted. The color of his skin is the same putrid yellow as the whites of his eyes and the few patches of hair atop his head are long and wispy. If I look close enough, I can imagine him without the deformities, imagine that he could’ve had a normal face at one time.

But I can also imagine him being some other sort of being, too. At this moment, I don’t care what he is. He saved my life and for that I’m grateful.

“Is it killing you?” I ask.

E shrugs and waves off the question, as if telling me not to worry. He removes the rest of his shroud to show human clothes beneath. I see that his hands are just as callused and gruesome as his face. The sight fills me with dread but it’s not fear of the monster standing in front of me. E might downplay the severity of his condition but it’s clear his health is in serious trouble.

             
I don’t remember my childhood, don’t remember where I grew up or if I had siblings. But I suddenly feel like a panicked little boy who’s afraid his father is dying. I must not be able to hide the concern on my face because E also frowns; I wish he wouldn’t. Twisting his face into a frown only makes him look more deformed.

             
“Try not to worry so much,” he says. “I doubt much of the chemicals seeped all the way down here. I just wanted the dome on you as a precaution, to keep you as safe as I can. I’d hate for you to be stuck with
that
body and
my
face.”

             
E chuckles and for the first time since waking, I feel my cheek muscles rise, lifting my lips into a smile.

-
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I lay on the gurney again, looking up at the light in the facility’s sterile – well,
mostly
sterile – room. E stands next to me, just within my line of sight. He no longer wears the shroud but that doesn’t bother me. After a few hours, I’ve grown used to his physical distortions and barely notice his gruesome facial features. In fact, the more time I’ve spent looking at him, the less horrible I’ve felt about my own physical condition.

             
The gurney creaks beneath me. I can’t tell if I’m on it securely or if I’m about to fall off. I can’t feel anything on my body, a frustrating sensation of feeling totally disconnected from myself.

             
“I’ll try locating the part of your brain that controls your central nervous system,” E says. “If I can hook into it, I should be able to restore a semblance of feeling to your body.”

             
I’m not thrilled at the idea of having my brain probed but I don’t have any other option. The thought of tapping into my central nervous system makes me think of another part of me I desperately want revived.

             
“What about my long-term memory?” I ask. “Could you help me remember who I once was?”

             
E frowns. “The part of your brain that contains long-term memory can be very tricky, dangerous to invade. I’m not making any promises but maybe we can try something one day. For now, we need to take smaller steps, like testing the regeneration of your power source. Normally, it would still be hours before your power system was forced to go into shutdown mode. But if you do it sooner, it should let you recharge much sooner.”

             
E tells me to sit up. He opens a small portal at the middle of my metallic torso, a small opening among the dozens of tiny reflective panels that he explains are solar panels. Apparently, my energy systems are environmentally friendly. At first it’s hard to see this part of my body; the bulky dome doesn’t allow my neck the greatest mobility. But since the new glass dome is smaller than the first one I busted, I have a bit more maneuverability and quickly figure out how to move my mechanical neck enough to see my chest.

             
“See that little panel? Open it,” he tells me.

             
I’ve gotten used to bigger actions – walking, pushing open doors, grabbing larger objects – but smaller, delicate movements are tough. My claw-like fingers are bulky and I grasp clumsily at the tiny latch, trying to get a firm enough grip to open it, but not so firm that I rip it off. Frustration quickly sets in and I begin to grasp wildly. My fingers clamp down on one of the small solar panels and we both hear a crack.

“You need to be careful with those panels,” E warns. “It’s bad enough you’re only exposed to artificial light down here; natural sunlight works better. But you need to protect those panels unless you want to risk a serious decrease to your power supply and overall physical performance.”

The warning does nothing to ease my nerves or make the task easier. E better understands my need for a sense of touch and promises to research that right away. In the meantime, he opens the small latch for me and points to a tiny red button inside. Pushing it should be much easier but I hesitate to do so.

“What will it feel like to shut down?” I ask.

“I honestly don’t know,” E says. I can tell he’s nervous about it, too. He tries to force a comforting smile but it only reminds me how frighteningly pitiful he looks. “I imagine your vision will go black and your brain will stop working. It will probably feel like you’re in a dreamless sleep, very relaxing.”

The explanation does nothing to ease my mind.

“Is there a chance I won’t wake up? Or be turned back on or whatever?” I ask.

E places a hand on my shoulder. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you, I’ll be here the whole time.”

Strangely enough, I believe him and feel better. Without a need to say another word, I push the power button inside me.

“I’ll see you soon,” E says, his last few words fading down a deep, dark well.

Like a television being turned off, everything in my line of vision contracts into a tiny white dot in the center of my view before going completely black…
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The darkness doesn’t last long, though what I see doesn’t come through my real eyes as much as my mind’s eye. Still, that doesn’t make it look or feel any less real; actually, what I experience now feels less like a dream than my existence as a human/robot hybrid.

I see the young boy again, hear his laughter clearly, feel my own weakness clearly as I chase him around the house… one moment I’m happy, the next moment I’m on the floor, overcome with pain physically and sadness emotionally… I’m weak and clumsy as I reach for my cell phone… my vision fades as I stop at the name Katina… somewhere in my subconscious it strikes me as significant but I keep going until I find the entry labeled CIFPOL… I hand the phone to the boy…

He’s nervous, frightened, asks me if I’m going to Heaven now… my heart breaks for him but I’m proud to hear his voice strong on the phone, brave… my image of the boy’s face fades away as I hear a combination of a baby crying in the distant as well as my own voice reminding my son about the box…

The box…

My eyes snap open. The thought of this box is still on my mind until my eyesight fades back into focus. A freakish-looking man stands above me, smiling down through a mouthful of rotting teeth. It takes a moment to remember who he is, where I am, what has happened to me. When I realize this place is my new reality – that E is really with me while the little boy isn’t – a wave of melancholy crashes over me. I have an urge to reach into my robotic chest and press the shutdown button again.

“I told you it would work,” E says. “You’re fully recharged and it took less than an hour. Since your power supply wasn’t drained too much when you powered down, that recharge would’ve taken no more than a few minutes in natural light.”

“Should I go into natural light then? Try going to the surface?” I ask.

The relieved smile is wiped off E’s face as he shakes his head. “It’s too dangerous up there. Down here, we’re better hidden from assassin-bots, we’re better protected from poison still tainting the air and land. I want to make sure you stay safe.”

E steps away from the gurney; I’m afraid I’ve somehow insulted him. I carefully sit up.

“So?” E asks me, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. “What was shutdown like? Was I right?”

“It wasn’t just nothingness,” I say. “I dreamed about my memory, my
only
memory. There was a little boy and we were playing. I saw the name Katina on my phone and I was very concerned about some kind of a box, a very important box. It seemed important to me, all of it, especially the box. Do you know what that is?”

“I don’t,” E says shortly.

I don’t know what I’ve said to offend him but this memory feels too vital to simply forget. The way I spoke about the box with my final living breath must be meaningful. I close my eyes and concentrate, try to focus beyond the lone memory so I can grasp onto another. I just
know
my memories will be like a line of dominoes in my mind; if I can somehow knock down one, the rest should fall into place right behind. I think of the box, of the name Katina, of the little boy. I try desperately to remember them in any other context than the lone memory I have. But an impenetrable wall seems to be constructed around that single recollection, a wall so thick that I can’t break through or chip it away or even climb over…

E is my only chance to figure out more of who I once was and what I meant with my final words to the boy.

“Give any more thought to unlocking my long-term memory?” I ask.

“When did I have time to research
that
? You were only down for an hour and I was with you the whole time, like I said I’d be,” E says. “Besides, your central nervous system is what’s important now. If I were you, I’d give up on getting back your memory. I can’t take the risk of damaging the progress I’ve made on you; I don’t want to risk going back into your brain a third time.”

“A
third
time?” I ask.

E walks across the room and picks up a small piece of twisted metal I ripped off the room’s original metallic surgical table.

“Stand up,” he says, which I do.

He spins toward me and hurls the piece of metal. I see it more clearly than anything I’ve seen so far, every rotation it makes, every jagged edge. I don’t have time to move out of the way or even wonder why E would attack me. Instead instincts take over and my hand shoots up, snagging the piece of metal out of midair. At first I’m shocked by my reaction time and the sudden gracefulness of my movements. But it’s something
else
I feel that causes me to stare in awe at my metallic hook of a hand.

“I felt that,” I whisper. “In my hand… or hook or whatever this thing is. There was a slight tingling when I caught it.” I look down at the metal, a slight jolt passing through my pincer-like fingers every time I clench it. “I still feel the sensation of holding something.”

“Guess I found the right connection. I secured the wires and added more spark to your parietal lobe,” E says. “It should help with all your senses – sight and hearing, too – but you should find the biggest difference in your sense of touch. Hopefully that gives you a better sense of space in your surroundings.”

I toss the piece of metal from one hand to the other, snagging it out of the air each time. Suddenly, my clunky hook of a hand doesn’t seem so clumsy. And that’s not the only part of me that seems to have improved. I move my arms around, feeling much quicker than before. Obviously flesh and muscle are no longer a part of my body but I still feel strong, maybe stronger than ever. This is much different from how weak I seemed in my only memory. But a new worry comes to mind, one I’m surprised I hadn’t thought about before now.

“I feel amazing but what about the sickness that put me here in the first place? Do you think it could come back?” I ask.

E yawns. His eyes appear redder than usual, though I’m not sure if that’s from his neurotoxin sickness or merely a symptom of fatigue. I have no idea how long he’s gone without rest.