Death Trap (7 page)
“Correct,” he said, sounding pleased. “It may feel strange at first, sending brain impulses in this way. Don't panic if it takes you some time to figure this out. Now, tell me when and how you disengage your mind from the robot controls.”
My chin was driving me crazy. “If I see any object about to strike the robot's computer drive or if I feel the robot begin to fall or otherwise get close to danger, in my mind I shout
Stop!
The combination of throat and neck muscle movement from my brain impulses, plus the sound of that one single word, triggers the computer drive to disengage me instantly, and my brain awareness returns to my body here on the bed.”
“Excellent,” Rawling said. “Remember, this afternoon is just a test run back and forth in this laboratory. Nothing fancy or dangerous. Right?”
“Right.”
“You know the blindfold is here to protect your real eyes from visual distractions. I also need to make sure your real ears can't hear anything. Any questions before I put the headphones on?”
“Just one,” I said.
“Yes?”
“Could you please, please scratch under my chin?”
In motionless darkness and silence, I had no sense of time. I knew Rawling would need to download the virtual-reality program into the robot's computer drive. But I couldn't guess exactly when this might happen.
As I waited, I pictured the robot. Its lower body was much like my wheelchair. Instead of a pair of legs, an axle connected two wheels. Just like a wheelchair, it turned by moving one wheel forward while the other remained motionless or moved backward. I knew I could handle direction changes easily. After all, in my real body, the use of spinning wheels was the only way I'd ever moved through the dome.
The robot's upper body was a short, thick hollow pole that stuck through the axle, with a heavy weight to counterbalance the arms and head. Within this weight was the battery that powered the robot, with wires running up inside the hollow pole.
At the upper end of the pole was a crosspiece to which arms were attached. They were able to swing freely without hitting the wheels. Like the rest of the robot, the arms and hands were made of titanium and jointed like human arms, with one difference. All the joints swiveled. The hands, elbows, and shoulder joints of the robot could rotate in a full circle as well as move up and down. The hands, too, were like human hands, but with only three fingers and a thumb instead of four fingers and a thumb.
Four video lenses at the top of the pole served as eyes. One faced forward, one backward, and one to each side.
Three tiny microphones, attached to the underside of the video lenses, played the role of ears, taking sound in. A speaker on the underside of the video lens that faced forward produced sound. This was the speaker that would allow me to make my voice heard.
The computer drive of the robot was well protected within the hollow titanium pole that served as the robot's upper body. Since it was mounted on shock absorbers, the robot could fall 10 feet without shaking the computer drive. It had a short antenna plug-in at the back of the pole to give and take X-ray signals.
I felt my heart beating fast in suspense. When was it going to happen? When was the computer drive going to be ready? What would it be like? Would it work?
It seemed I waited forever in the darkness and silence of the blindfold and soundproof headphones.
I was just about to open my mouth and ask Rawling if there was a problem.
Then it happened. I began to fall off a high, invisible cliff into a deep, invisible hole. I kept falling and falling and falling. â¦
“Tyce! Tyce! Tyce!”
In the blackness, my name echoed weirdly around me, as if I were trapped in a metal barrel.
“Tyce! Tyce! Tyce!” My name was so loud, it hurt.
I lifted my hands to my head to cover my ears. That movement seemed to rip the darkness off my eyes. I saw three blurry pairs of titanium hands waving wildly.
“Not so loud,” I complained. Except my words came out slow and deep and warbly.
The three pairs of hands still waved wildly.
Then I realized I saw three pairs because I was using three eyesâthe video lenses on each side and the forward lens.
I blinked a few times and concentrated straight ahead. Much better. Now it was only one pair of wildly waving hands.
“Tyce!”
“Not so loud,” I complained again in my robot voice.
I stared at my hands. Oops. My video lens zoomed in too close. A giant titanium knuckle filled my view.
I zoomed back. I saw the wall and bed and my body strapped on the bed. Weird!
My hands still waved. Finally I managed to get the focus right. Then I asked myself why I was doing something dumb like watching my hands work. Was I a little baby who had never seen fingers move before?
I thought about dropping my hands to my side and letting them rest there. Instantly, they moved where I wanted. This was great!
“Tyce!” It was Rawling. He had moved directly in front of me. My front lens saw his stomach.
Up, I mentally commanded myself.
The video lens tilted up.
I saw his face looking down on me. Blinking a few times to focus better, I saw his nose hairs. Too close. I backed out a bit. Then it was just right.
“You're too loud!” I said.
“It's not me,” he said. “I'm whispering. You must be trying to hear too hard. Those speakers can pick up the sound of a feather landing on a floor. I'm turning them down.”
I thought of listening less hard. The volume of his voice dropped. This was really fun.
“Rawling,” I said, focusing on speaking properly. My voice became more normal. “How are you?”
“This is unbelievable,” he said excitedly. “It's you in there!”
I blocked out my front view and switched to a side lens. It showed my body on the bed again. I zoomed in close. My chest rose and fell as the body breathed.
“Yes,” I said, “it's me in here.”
I kept watching the bed. It was very strange. That was my body on the bed, but it wasn't my body. My brain was working, controlling a robot's body. Very, very strange.
I switched to the rear video lens, then the other side, and then the front again. In a blur, it showed the back wall, the side wall, and Rawling's face.
Big mistake. Going in a circle that fast made me dizzy. I wouldn't do that again.
“Can you move?” Rawling asked.
In my mind, I pictured shoving back in my wheelchair.
Both robot wheels responded instantly. In a flash, I was going backward. Too fast!
Without thinking, I switched to the rear video lens.
The back wall was approaching too quickly.
Stop,
I commanded the wheels.
Stop!
In that instant, I fell into blackness again. Off that high, invisible cliff into that deep, invisible hole.
Just like that, I was back in my body. I felt the straps against my stomach and chest. I felt my itchy chin. And I heard a loud crash.
“Tyce!” Rawling shouted. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” I said from the bed. I'd forgotten the stop command would disengage me from the computer drive. “But how's our robot?”
Hello again, journal. I feel like a person in a cave who has just found enough gold to make him rich for the rest of his life, then watches as the cave entrance gets covered by a landslide. What good is the gold going to do then?
For me, the experiment with the robot was the best thing that ever happened to me. I had freedom for the first time in my life.
Rawling spent the rest of the afternoon with me. The robot wasn't damaged from smashing into the back wall, so we put it through dozens of trial runs. Each time I got a little better at using it. All the years in virtual-reality training have paid off for us.
I rested my fingers, thinking about what I'd write next.
The robot is amazing. It has heat sensors that detect infrared, so I can see in total darkness. The video lenses' telescoping is so powerful that I can recognize a person's face from five miles away. I can also zoom in close on something nearby and look at it as if using a microscope.
I can amplify hearing and pick up sounds at higher and lower levels than human hearing. The titanium has fibers wired into it that let me feel dust falling on it, if I want to concentrate on that miniscule of a level. It lets me speak easily, just as if I were using a microphone.
It can't smell or taste, but one of the fingers is wired to perform material testing. All I need are a couple specks of the material, and this finger will heat up, burn the material, and analyze the contents.
It's strong too. The titanium hands can grip a steel bar and bend it.
Did I mention it's fast? Those wheels will move three times faster than any human can sprint.
I love this robot. I can hardly wait to get back into it tomorrow.
All of this is the good news, just like finding gold.
The bad news is that we are one day closer to the dome running short of oxygen.
I finally have my freedom. And now I might lose it.
But worseâway worseâis the scary thought that Mom has volunteered to leave the dome so others can survive. I can't handle it. Life seems so unfair. I keep telling myself that somehow the solar panels will be fixed before tomorrow at noon.
Because that's when 20 people must get sent onto the surface of the planet to die.
The next day, two hours before the deadline to have the solar panels fixed, Director Steven called another general meeting. It took me and Rawling away from our experiments with the robot.
All of usâdirector, dome techies, scientists, and meâmet at the assembly area. Still in my wired jumpsuit, I sat near the front, since I wouldn't be able to see over anyone in my wheelchair.
This assembly was different than the others. Normally, Director Steven stood alone at the front on a small platform when he spoke. This time, the dome's five security guards, armed with stun guns, stood beside him. The guards were big men, their muscles like slabs of rock beneath their jumpsuits. In all the years of the Mars Project, they'd never been required to do actual police work. Today they looked very stern and serious.
Parked at the side were both of the dome's platform buggies. I fought tears since they were here for only one reason: to take my mom away.
She stood beside me. For once, I didn't care what other people thought. I reached out and held her hand. “Please don't go,” I said. “Please.”
“I love you, Tyce.” She spoke quietly, but there was a tear in her eye. “Never forget that.”
“Please don'tâ”
Director Steven began to speak, cutting me off. All the people behind me stopped their murmuring and shifting.
“I would say good morning,” Director Steven said grimly, “but this is not a good morning. The final deadline approaches, and we've found no solution for the loss of oxygen. All seals to the dome have been checked. We're not leaking oxygen. We've taken apart the solar panels again and again, and we cannot determine why they fail to produce enough electricity to maintain oxygen levels. I now face the most difficult moment I've ever faced as director of the Mars Project.”
He stopped to draw a breath. “These platform buggies will take some of us away from the dome. All radio contact between the platform buggies and the dome will cease. Those on the platform buggies will not be coming back. They will be heroes, making possible not only the lives of those who remain but moving the Mars Project forward. As you know, it's critical to keep it on schedule, because each extra year it takes to get the planet ready is an extra year that millions will starve on an overpopulated Earth. Because of that, the few who leave today will not only save the 180 who remain behind but the lives of millions of others. Those who leave on these platform buggies will be remembered for their sacrifice for as long as mankind exists.”
He looked at Mom and smiled sadly, then addressed the rest of the crowd. “As you know, we've had a few volunteers agree to leave the dome. However, we'll need to remove at least 20 people for there to be enough oxygen for the others to survive until the ship arrives. For that reason, I've drawn names.”
Immediate angry shouting rose like thunder around me.
Director Steven put up his arms in a request for quiet. It took several minutes.
He spoke again. His face appeared weary, unlike the cocky director who such a short time ago had insisted I leave his office. “Do any of you see another way? We cannot permit everyone to die. Better a few should die than all of us.”
More shouting. Again he raised his arms. This time it took even longer for him to be able to speak.
“Understand two things. First, the security guards have been instructed to enforce this order. Their guns are set on stun. If your name is drawn, and you refuse to go, you'll be placed on the platform buggy by force. Please don't make this more difficult on all of us.”
The shouting grew even louder and longer. Now it didn't make a difference that Director Steven held his hands high and pleaded for silence.
Finally he stepped down from the platform and headed toward one of the platform buggies. In the roar of the shouting, he climbed the buggy's ladder. When he reached the deck and turned around to face us below, the shouting stopped as people tried to figure out why he was there.
“Second,” he said, “my own name is on top of the list. I will not ask anyone to do anything I cannot do myself.”
These words were greeted with shock. Director Steven had volunteered. How could anyone else refuse if his or her name was drawn?
Mom stepped forward.
“No!” I cried. “Don't go!”
She turned around. Tears ran down her face, but she smiled. “Tyce, more than anything I want you to choose to believe in Godâto realize that life beyond the body is more important than anything else, and that, with God waiting in heaven for you, you don't have to fear death.”
