The Incision of Being Read online

  The human called Robert caught Skink in his lanky arms.

  “What’s wrong?” Annalease asked.

  Orvil took a step forward, the truck swaying under his weight. Annalease also took a step forward, blocking the view of Skink and Robert as she pointed the Overrider at Orvil.

  “When will you take me—”

  “Shutdown all motor functions and sensory inputs,” Annalease said.

  Spoken by Skink, 2330, 15Nov2667:

  “You’re not supposed to be awake.”

  Orvil straightened his legs by twenty degrees and bent his neck to compensate for the roof’s low stature. The only difference between himself and the other mechanthrop was their metallic makeup. Orvil even set his visual sensors to latent.

  A dynamic strum of heartbeats flooded Orvil’s auditory sensors. The quicker the thump, the closer the human. Salamander’s heart punched Orvil’s back with the force of a motor piston reaching its limits. From the front, Skink’s rattled like a tremoring case of loose locknuts. Next to Skink was Annalease, her heart elevated to the low hum of a hoist lifting a piece of heavy machinery. And Robert’s…steady as the conveyor lines back at Mechciety.

  “It’s okay, Skink,” Annalease said. “He’s turned off.”

  Boots clumped against wood as Salamander walked past Orvil. “Things were just getting exciting. Skink was about to turn herself inside out with fear.”

  “Shut up,” Skink said. “It was talking.”

  Her remark quickened the heartbeats of everyone but Robert.

  “What did it say?” Annalease asked.

  “It asked why we call it a mechanthrop,” Salamander said.

  “Was that here or back at the storage facility?” Annalease asked.

  “Um…what?” Salamander’s heart sped up, and his breathing quickened.

  They consume air like we consume oil, but the turnover rate is much quicker, Orvil’s teacher had explained. It enters, circulates their inner hoses, and then is exhaled as an altered form of gas consumed by the environment. They have a symbiotic relationship with nature.

  “We’re wasting time,” Robert said, his voice a slow drawl, like his heartbeat.

  “Did you use the term ‘mechanthrop’ here in the truck, after we’d loaded the Gold?” Annalease asked.

  “Yes, here,” Salamander said.

  “I don’t like it,” Robert said. “We should do a clean wipe. And get the hell out of public view.”

  “No wipes until we’ve found out if he’s the one or not,” Annalease said.

  Everyone’s heart slowed at her words. “Awake,” she said. The truck pitched left as the other familia—the Silver—came online. “Orders as follows: you’re to keep equal footing and pace behind me always. Mute all audible outputs. Do not respond to any sensory inputs. Understood?”

  No movement. No sound. And then the footsteps of Annalease as she approached Orvil. “Awake.”

  Orvil reengaged his visual sensors and copied the Silver’s posture and pose, hunching down while straightening his head. The task complete, he broadened his field of view to include Annalease, standing in front of him with squinted eyes.

  “Apply same settings of the mechanthrop I spoke to a moment ago. Understood?” she said.

  “I do not understand,” Orvil said. “Who are you and why am I here?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me.” Her tone of voice had changed to match Skink’s after the tiny human had fallen backwards out of the truck. And Salamander’s, when he told Skink to stop “messing” with Orvil.

  Spoken by Salamander, 2327, 15Nov2267:

  “If it’s not the one we’ve been waiting for, I think Annalease will lose her mind.”

  “Orders as follows,” Annalease said. “You’re to keep equal footing and pace behind me always. Mute all audible outputs. Do not respond to any sensory inputs. Understood?”

  Orvil remained silent.

  “Well, that answers that,” Robert said.

  “I’m sorry,” came the voice of Skink.

  “Nothing changes,” Annalease said. “We have two more for the roster.” She opened the cabinet mounted on the wall and dressed Orvil in a trench coat. Next, she pulled a black hat over Orvil’s head. “We’re going below. Salamander, you got the truck?”

  “Consider it done.”

  Annalease led the Silver and Orvil down the truck’s extendable ramp to a sewer manhole. There was a car parked on the far side of the manhole to further conceal their movements. A building—an abode, Orvil recalled—stood at their back side. It had glass squares built into its walls, just like the simulations at Mechciety.

  They can’t hear each other, like we can, Orvil’s teacher had explained. The air is a barrier for their thoughts.

  Something in the air, perhaps, considering that Orvil had yet to hear a single word from the Silver, and it seemed the Silver couldn’t hear Orvil, either. Something Annalease did to him. Took away his autonomy to hear and communicate.

  The Silver removed the manhole cover and followed Skink into the tunnels. Next was Annalease. Orvil prepared to descend after them, but Robert blocked his way. Everything about Robert was dark: brown hair, brown eyes, and brown beard that puffed out to cover most of his face, and a dark shirt and pants that hugged his wiry body. His exterior clock ticked away seconds as he stood silently.

  Robert raised his low-velocity projectile weapon and aimed it at Orvil’s head. “It’s loaded with shock-cartridges. You ever see what happens to a toaster dropped in a tub of water? That’s your brain in a few seconds.”

  Orvil kept his eyes forward and his posture static.

  “You hear me?” Robert flipped his weapon around and jammed its stock into Orvil’s face.

  Orvil kept his eyes forward, his posture static.

  Robert nodded, whispering under his breath, “Dammit.” He stepped aside. Orvil descended the ladder.

  The odor of water mixed with feces and damp concrete registered in Orvil’s processing centers. He heard dripping, splashing, and the echo of words rebounding off walls. On either side of the stream were ledges wide enough to walk on. Everyone except Skink was on the ledge; she had fallen in and was reaching for Annalease’s hand.

  “We need to get you some better-fitting clothes,” Annalease said. “Salamander, remind me the next time we’re out for requisitions.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Salamander called down from above.

  “Thanks, Mama,” Skink said.

  “She’s regressed to the Mama and Papa phase, huh?” Robert said.

  Salamander closed the manhole cover overhead.

  Orvil got the urge to pose a few questions: where were they going; why’d they travel to an underground tunnel that reeks of excrement; what were the creatures swimming in the water; and when were they going to escort Orvil to his transport pod inbound for High Society?

  He needed answers, but he couldn’t speak. If he did, they would know he’s “the one.” Or not the one, depending on which way they expected him to answer their odd questions. And what about the Silver? Could he be hidden within his own cone of silence? The notion was possible. Even probable, since it was the first thing Orvil did. But I was taking cues from the Silver. Did he have a “mechanthrop” to imitate when first arriving?

  So many questions, and no voice.

  Orvil considered switching his processes to low-power mode, but he decided against it. If Robert threatened him again, Orvil wouldn’t be able to gauge the weapon’s trigger mechanism or calculate the sincerity of Robert’s threat. Orvil kept his processes fully powered and his audible outputs disengaged.

  They traveled a lengthy straightway of the tunnel—twenty minutes worth—before making a right at the T-junction. After that came more tunnels, more oily-smelling aquatic animals, and then more of the same.

  An hour after they had begun their descent, the group came upon a large hole in the wall. It looked like a window but without the glass or frame. Annalease lifted Skink into the hole and then stepp
ed aside, allowing the others to enter ahead of her.

  She blocked Orvil’s way when it was his turn. “Disable visual sensors.”

  Orvil dimmed his optical inputs and waited for Annalease to allow passage. She didn’t. She only looked at him. Scrutinized him, her mouth tightening as she leaned closer to Orvil. Unsatisfied with her findings, she stood on the ledge of the wall’s hole and stared at Orvil, her height only an inch below his.

  Up close, her soft vulnerable flesh showed the defects in its evolutionary makeup. A thin scar ran along her forehead, just below her hair line, and small craters littered her cheek and a portion of her neck. Humans were said to be prone to injury, and they even had an involuntary reaction to something called pain.

  “You’re not the first mechanthrop I’ve taken under my care,” Annalease said, her gel-like optical sensors inches away from Orvil’s. “It seems with each new generation, your competence for survival in our society drops.” Her eyes roved up, down, and traversed the breadth of Orvil’s torso. She breathed the air, her small body expanding. “I know you can see me.”

  A small spike of voltage in Orvil’s circuits caused his fingers to shudder. Annalease glanced down, smiling. “Disable visual sensors, please.”

  Orvil did, turning the outside world dark. He heard a quick exhale as Annalease turned around. Her boots clopped on the concrete floor, getting farther away.

  Orvil emitted a continuous high-pitched frequency from the sonar mechanisms built in his extremities. The sounds reverberated off the walls to paint a picture of his surroundings, and he listened for their return to gauge the dimensions of the hole in the wall. Stepping through, his sonar registered an abundance of multi-figured objects spanning a room much bigger than the tunnels.

  A group of soft-fleshed beings were gathered around a heat source to Orvil’s right. To Orvil’s left was a piece of cloth, the gaps around its draping leading into another room. Straight ahead stood an object Orvil had never encountered; a pattern of crisscrossed metal bars in the form of a large square.

  Nowhere could Orvil sense the shape of a transport ship. “Annalease, I must speak with you,” he said.

  The fleshy beings gathered around the heat source quieted down. Their silence amplified the sound of hearts beating, lungs breathing, mouths coughing. And then Robert, his voice colder than metal, said, “And just like that our destined leader assumes his role of authority. You seem disgruntled, Annalease. Is something wrong?”

  “Shut your mouth,” Skink said.

  “Don’t forget who made you,” Robert said. “I can always reverse your transformation.”

  “Please people, don’t scare away our new guests before they’ve had time to acclimate,” Annalease said.

  A thin blade tapped Orvil’s chest. “Follow my footsteps,” Robert said, leading Orvil deeper into the room.

  “It would take death itself to scare us away,” a voice drifted from the heat source in the corner. Orvil focused his sonar. The unidentified human was built like Skink but had a smaller head. A head proportional to the rest of her body. “I mean, that’s the only thing they’re offering above ground,” the Skink-like human said, her voice growing giddy.

  “Then you have nothing to worry about,” Annalease said. “We preserve life. Cultivate it so that those living in higher status will take notice of our progress. We will rise to unforeseen heights. That is the reason you are here. That is the end goal of the training we can provide. So, shall we begin the questionnaires?”

  “What about them?” another unidentified voice said. “Why are mechanthrops here? Aren’t they part of the problem?”

  “Would you not study your enemy before meeting them on the field?” Annalease said.

  The stretch of Orvil’s sonar shrunk to a perforated square. The crisscross pattern he had picked up earlier was now all around him. Something in his processing centers registered the new surrounding as a threat and he had no choice but to enable his optical inputs.

  Metal bars caged him. He backpedaled and rotated his torso, putting what was behind in front, and collided with the Silver mechanthrop, toppling them both. Robert, passing through the metal door of the cage, whirled around.

  “I’m not supposed to be here,” Orvil shouted, charging the exit.

  Robert lifted his low-velocity weapon and snapped off a shot. The projectile latched onto Orvil’s midsection. The bite of an electrical shock rippled through his chassis. His legs malfunctioned. His vision fizzled. He fell upon the floor with enough force to crack the concrete.

  By the time Orvil’s processing centers returned to normal function, the door had been closed and locked. A subtle buzzing adhered to the metal bars.

  “I doubt he’s the harbinger,” Robert said. “But he is different.”

  Annalease, along with the rest of the unidentified humans, stood on the other side of the cage, watching Orvil. Most of them looked scared, wide-eyed with shrunken postures. Even Robert’s tall, thin, yet muscular frame, shivered. They all looked so vulnerable.

  “I’ll start the interviews,” Annalease said. “Come on, people, we have a lot of work to do.” She clapped her hands, getting everyone’s attention, and motioned them toward the curtain. As they funneled into the other room, she turned around and whispered, “Stop testing us and help,” before winking and joining the others.

  Chapter 4

  The daily wanderings of Annalease’s mind seemed to be growing worse with time. Her once crystallized foresight, capable of envisioning multiple non-linear scenarios in the future, had deteriorated so much it was difficult to focus on a single task in the present. Questions like what if and when will had frosted her judgment and presented doubt.

  And then the Gold arrived.

  Something about him…taller than the rest and built with a denser alloy, coupled with the fact that gold didn’t rust. One that will never fade, never buckle… Words spoken so long ago Annalease couldn’t be sure they weren’t a manifestation of her imagination.

  “I recommend we take two for now,” Robert said, nodding at the recruit portfolios set on the table. “This guy, Davis Sprout. He came from the A77s. High stamina with the ability to keep calm when things get busy.”

  Annalease considered the other three candidates: An air purifier repairwoman, small in stature but limber as a cat, and with an inclination for repairing mechanical components; a wildlife photographer, average build, plain looks, and a proclivity for patience; and a farmer whose abilities could certainly pacify the hunger of Annalease and her crew, but whose lack of limb—lost in a harvesting incident—disqualified him.

  “The soldier would be good, but what if he defects?” Annalease asked.

  “We’ll see it coming long before he does,” Robert said. He pointed at the farmer’s folder. “We don’t have the resources for a replacement arm, so he’s out.”

  “I agree,” Annalease said, and tossed the folder into the wastebasket. “The repairwoman is small. Good for confined spaces.”

  “We already have small,” Robert said. “I think it’s smarter to have a full-bodied, eagle-eyed young man to add to the roster.”

  “Okay, the soldier and photographer it is,” Annalease said. She gathered the appropriate portfolios and handed them to Robert. “I’ll send the repairwoman to Liam. I’m sure he’ll have room for her.”

  Robert checked his watch. “You want me to take care of the farmer after you leave?”

  “No.” Annalease approached her scant wardrobe; casual wear, business attire, hunting and military fatigues. Everything outdated and forever tainted with the scent of sewage. She took the hunting clothes. “I have a plan that will help the cause.”

  Robert smiled. A face with no mouth would had been more natural. “Keys for the holding area?”

  “For what?” Annalease pulled off her jeans and shirt.

  “The Gold.” Robert lifted his eyes. “The damaged copper is showing no signs of improvement. I’m thinking it’s time to decommission.”

&n
bsp; Annalease tucked in the hem of her hunting shirt and faced the wardrobe. “The Gold’s not ready.”

  “We gave him the same interview as the others and got the same answers.”

  “Well then I’m not ready.”

  “Let’s take a peek under the hood.”

  “No, Robert, and that’s final.” Annalease retrieved her hunting rifle from the chest next to her desk. She slung it over her shoulder, then packed her laptop in a satchel. “It’s been close to a decade. Waiting a few more days isn’t going to make a big difference.”

  Robert gave the stack of portfolios a light slap. “Fine. Just don’t let the idea of a lost prophet unravel you.” He turned for the common room.

  “I’m fine. Oh, and Robert…”

  “What?”

  “I changed my mind about the soldier. We’re only taking the photographer.”

  Robert pulled on his beard and sighed as he left the room.

  Don’t let the idea of a lost prophet unravel you… Annalease scoffed at the words. Who was he—always itching or obsessively checking his watch—to accuse anyone of becoming unraveled?

  Annalease was the furthest thing from loose screws. Her mind wandered, sure, but didn’t everybody’s? It didn’t used to. Shut up.

  She picked up her satchel and made for the common room. “Skink, I need you to deliver these two to the Defunct checkpoint,” Annalease said, gesturing at the repairwoman and soldier. She addressed to the photographer next. “You’re going to stay behind and answer a few more questions with Robert.”

  “I’m not going with you?” Skink asked.

  “What did I just say? Get the blindfolds and take them to Liam. Now.”

  Skink retrieved two bandanas from the top drawer of the dresser next to the holding cell. Everyone watched her in silence. A tiny person with a big head that walked with a stuttering gait, even Annalease found herself unable to avert her gaze. Why do I feel guilty when watching her walk like that? Annalease wondered. Why do humans feel pain?

  “Come on, we’ll get started,” Robert said. “No, this way.” He led the photographer through the draped curtains and into the operating room.