The Incision of Being, page 8
One thing at a time, she told herself. Get the Gold back first, and then we’ll straighten things out with Liam during our next meeting.
Chapter 8
They form tribes proportional to the amount of available resources. More food, water, and shelter likens to a bigger roster. Cut in half any of these resources, and the tribe will suddenly find parts of itself expendable.
The human called Annalease had left with most of her tribe fifteen minutes ago. Orvil could hear their footsteps tapping against the moist concrete of the sewer passageways. Now and then there’d be a splash followed by laughter—source identified as Skink—and subsequently a reprimand—identified as Annalease. Robert, the least talkative of the group, mostly spat, scoffed, or groaned.
Orvil continued to crank his lever until he heard Annalease’s tribe make their first turn in the sewer line. His overseer, Salamander—the human named Eagle was present as well, although noncommittal as his consciousness remained absent—ceased his ramblings the moment Orvil stopped cranking.
Salamander stood from the bench near the portable heater and watched Orvil with knitted brows. As it became clearer that Orvil would not resume his task of generating electricity, Salamander popped his head through the hole in the wall leading into the sewer. He returned moments later, nibbling his bottom lip.
“We will not be self-contained,” Orvil said, straightening his posture so that the lever lingered by his waist. He positioned himself between the two coppers and reached out to either side, grabbing hold of the chains connected to their levers. His arms were thrust forward, but he hung on, halting both cranks.
“Let go,” Salamander said, taking a step forward. He raised his rifle. “Now.”
“You can’t keep us in here,” Orvil said.
Salamander hissed through gritted teeth. He had stopped his advance and now turned to Eagle, but his colleague’s gaze remained hazy.
Orvil had placed himself between the coppers to not only disrupt the generation of power, but to gauge Eagle’s level of awareness. The newest member of the tribe, dressed in his normal flannel and jeans, with the addition of a red beanie in place of gauze wrapping, Eagle hadn’t moved an inch since the others left. That changed when Orvil approached the coppers, and Eagle traced his movement with a pistol.
“I want you to shoot me,” Orvil said.
Salamander’s green eyes shined with excitement. “You don’t think I will?”
“When you do, I’ll resume control of the mechanthrops and the first thing I’ll have them do is rip your arms off.” Orvil made his tone of voice mimic that of Robert’s—dead of any inflections.
“And then we’ll shoot them, too,” Salamander said. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then lowered one hand from his rifle. He displayed the Overrider a moment later. “Let go before I order them to subdue you.”
“First, there’s no we, only you. Your friend hasn’t responded to anything you’ve said in the past twenty minutes. He hasn’t moved or shown signs of sentience.”
Salamander glanced at Eagle, who hadn’t given the slightest reaction to Orvil’s accusation.
“Second, if you order the coppers to subdue me, you still won’t have anyone cranking the levers to keep the cage charged.” Orvil gave Salamander a few moments to process his words. “But if you let us out, we won’t harm you.”
Along with studying the humane method of negotiations, Orvil had been internalizing the subtle cues of the Harbingers’ body language. Salamander had a habit of keeping his feet close together when threatened, scared, or intimidated. Following Orvil’s offer of freedom for nonviolence, Salamander had nearly clicked his heels before backtracking to take cover behind Eagle, opting to use his mute friend as a human shield.
“I promise,” Orvil said, remembering how effective the word had been when uttered by Annalease to Robert. The two had been arguing whether Annalease’s evolution as a human was putting them in jeopardy. She had reassured Robert that she wasn’t falling victim to emotional decision making and if need be, she could obliterate everyone in this sewer for the greater cause. That was her promise.
The word didn’t have the same effect on Salamander. He remained crouched behind Eagle with his weapon at the ready. Now and then he’d glance at the exit leading to the sewer, perhaps contemplating a plan to avoid the confrontation altogether.
Orvil shuffled through his audio recordings and played a file of Robert’s: “If any two of them stop generating power, you hop on here. Got it?”
Before Salamander could respond, Orvil played the next sequenced audio file: “I’ll put Eagle on it.” The words were spoken by Salamander himself, not more than forty minutes prior. They carried enough weight to make Salamander shake his head and take a seat.
“You’ve been recording us?” he asked.
Orvil played another sequence, spoken by Robert: “Long as those bars stay energized. Turn off the lights and use a flashlight if you need to conserve power.”
“Eagle, get on the crank,” Salamander said. Then cursed at the ground as his buddy stood silently. Salamander got up and began cranking.
“How long will you be able to keep at it?” Orvil asked.
“Long as I need to. What about you?” he said, glancing down at Orvil’s feet, which were slowly slipping out from under him.
Orvil released the chains and repositioned himself, the coppers getting a few cranks in before he clamped down again. “I may lose traction, but you’ll lose energy. Burn out just like the batteries feeding the cage. You’ll have no fight left in you, no way of stopping my coppers from shredding you and Eagle to pieces.”
“They’ll be back long before any of that happens.”
Orvil had previously recorded the tribe’s travel time through the sewers to the exit far south. It was consistent with a variance of fifteen minutes. The label on the battery pack electrifying the cage stated an eighteen-hour charge. At least, that was the battery’s capacity when leaving the factory. And the disconnect on the wall read 10,000 volts, 30 watts.
Two lights in the area, both illuminated, and a laptop were also draining the battery. Even so, Orvil’s calculations led to the conclusion that yes, the tribe would be back before the battery pack had expended its charge.
Orvil searched his database for relevant recordings and found words spoken by Skink: “It just feels off-balance, you know? Like if the right side of your body was packed with muscle, but the left side was spaghetti-skinny. Like that, except it’s my top half. Well, more like my tippy-top.”
“Yeah, that makes sense,” Salamander replied. “Doesn’t it get annoying, since you’re always looking up at people?”
“Eh, in the beginning, I guess. It felt like there was an invisible hand pulling me backwards, and at any moment I could fall. But I got used to it. Plus, I can fit through small spaces. You taller organisms have to bend every time you enter or exit the tunnels. There’s going to be a price to pay for that when you’re older. ‘Least that’s what Robert said.”
“Growing old,” Salamander said with a scoff. “Such a weird concept.”
“Tell me about it.”
The audio file distracted Salamander enough to slow his cranking, and, smirking, he averted his gaze. The reaction did nothing to resolve Orvil’s predicament, but it did prove that Salamander was receptive.
Orvil skimmed over more files. He played a recording of Robert that dated back only a couple of weeks: “Your grip is loosening. The trajectory of your transformation is in danger of transcending safety parameters.”
“We are not in danger,” Annalease said, her voice monotone, each syllable touched in equal increments. “We never were, and never will be. My transference rate is well below fifty percent. I am in complete control of myself.”
“You sound desperate. Unsure,” Robert said. “What of Salamander? And Skink? They’ve acclimated even quicker than we had. What if Salamander decides he wants to go back to the fishing docks? He misses the sway of the ship or the smell of the ocean?”
“He won’t.”
“But if he does…”
“I won’t let him.”
“Meaning…”
“Yes, I’d obliterate him first,” Annalease said, her words an entanglement of barbed wire wrapped around frustration. “The same goes for Skink, and you, and me.”
“Okay. Good.”
Salamander had stopped cranking his lever. He took a seat on the bench. Then got off the bench, brandished his weapon, and took a seat again. He didn’t smile, frown, or clench his teeth. His breathing had slowed, but his heart had quickened. Orvil heard it thumping in his chest faster than the tapping of his index finger against the stock of his weapon. At once he ceased tapping and glared at Orvil.
“It’s fake,” he said. “You’ve been recording our voices. Learning our language. And now you’re fabricating past conversations that never happened. You see,” he said to Eagle as he tapped a finger against his own head. “Deep-learning AI gets craftier with each generation.”
Orvil sifted through every audio file recorded in his database since arriving at the transport facility. The phenomena of deep learning, as Salamander had phrased it, afforded Orvil a few truths about humans:
They enjoyed choices.
They formed hierarchical tribes and stayed true to their position.
A risk to their personal health voided truth #2.
Orvil played a recording spoken by Salamander: “The sky is like a black tablecloth covered in salt.”
“Mmm, I miss salt,” Skink said. “Can we grab some the next time we make a food run?”
“Sure,” Salamander said between laughs. “So, the sky is a black tablecloth and I’m floating above it, like the ceiling is the floor, and I’ve fallen and can’t get up because I don’t know what’s up or down. And everything is shaking, like an earthquake, except in slow-mo. It’s like I’m watching a movie of my own life at half the playback speed.”
“I’m beginning to understand why you were rejected,” Skink said.
“Har har, very funny. You never have those dreams?”
“Nope, I don’t dream. And you shouldn’t, either.”
“You now understand your dreams,” Orvil said. “Robert’s greatest fear has already manifested in your head.”
“You have no idea what’s in my head,” Salamander said. “Your recordings prove nothing. Fabricated or not, we’re a family, and you’re the outcast. More than an outcast, you’re a prisoner.”
“I’m a Gold. I’m the Gold,” Orvil said. “Neither of us care, nor believe, but that doesn’t matter to Annalease. And you need to pay attention better.”
Orvil played one more recording. If this didn’t work, he’d throw a copper into the electrified bars, wait for the mechanthrop to get up, and then taunt the copper into throwing Orvil into the bars. They’d be at a disadvantage, slowed in their recovery from the electrical shocks, and Salamander or Eagle would open fire and slow them even further…but Orvil would have control of the coppers for at least a few moments, and they’d break out.
He played the audio file: “How do the boots fit?” Annalease asked.
“Like shrimp in a net,” Salamander said.
“Please, never again,” Skink said.
“I second that,” Annalease said.
A slight pause, followed by Salamander saying, “What? It’s in my blood.”
“Okay okay, enough of the jokes,” Annalease said.
Orvil resituated his grip and repositioned his stance. “She was dead serious, Salamander,” he said. “From her conversation with Robert, to the warning she gave you. Release us, tell Annalease that Eagle shot me and gave me control of the mechanthrops. He won’t deny it. Robert botched his operation.”
Salamander got off the bench, picked up his rifle, and glanced at Eagle. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not hiding a lie you’ll just use against me later. I don’t hide things from my family.” He approached the cage. “Okay, so maybe I had a dream about being on a boat, looking up at the stars. I didn’t know what it was at the time, but now I do. At least I think I do.” He checked the chamber of his rifle. “Now that I know, I’m going to tell her. We don’t hide truths from each other. We don’t plot against each other.”
Orvil released the cranks as Salamander raised his weapon.
“If I let you out, who’s to say you won’t break my ribcage or shatter my skull?” Salamander asked.
“I promise I won’t,” Orvil said.
Salamander shook his head. His face flushed red and veins pulsed at his temples. Robert had many times exhibited similar features when becoming frustrated.
“I don’t trust you,” Salamander said. “You’ve been testing me for the past fifteen minutes. Now it’s my turn. So, how do I know you won’t break my ribcage or shatter my skull?”
Orvil internally replayed audio and visual files of the past fifteen minutes, along with his own interior ruminations. Salamander’s most salient concerns included the continuation of generated power, the authenticity of Orvil’s audio files, and the safety of his own wellbeing. Promising the continuation of energy was impossible—Orvil’s integrity was currently under scrutiny. And Salamander’s wellbeing was a product of whether he cooperated or not, a choice strictly reliant on a demonstration of Orvil’s integrity.
An impossible loop, Orvil concluded after several reiterations of the same problem-solving sequence. The only logical thing to do was infuriate Salamander to the point he’d pull the trigger. Orvil would go down, but at least he’d have two primed mechanthrops ready to pounce, and the probability of a successful escape would be higher than his earlier plan to have the mechanthrop throw him against the bars…
“I won’t harm you because it harms me,” Orvil said. “Same as these bars. I can’t bring myself to touch them. Self-detriment goes against my programming.”
Salamander cocked his head. “It truly hurt when you smacked Annalease, didn’t it? That means you’re programmed to feel pain…” He lowered his weapon, pulled the Overrider from his back pocket, and aimed it at the coppers. “Cease motor function and disable audio outputs. Follow the Gold wherever he goes. Do not, under any circumstance, harm humans.”
Salamander disconnected the power feeding the cage, and Orvil stepped out with the coppers. An invisible hammer bashed Orvil’s chest. The impact sent vibrations to every extremity. Orvil fell to the ground, howling the tune of a revving engine.
“Neutralizing potential threats,” a copper said.
The sound of a grunt and something cracking preceded the visual of Eagle flying across the room, his body colliding with the cement wall.
“Rally on my position,” Orvil said, calling back the coppers before they could catch Salamander, fleeing into the sewer tunnels. “Passive engagements. Follow me. Communicate the location and threat level of dangers discerned along the way.”
“Affirmative,” the coppers responded in unison.
Orvil led them into the tunnels, headed north. He’d use his internal map drawn by motion sensors to backtrack to the facility holding his transport pod. Envisioning the pod’s spacious interior, Orvil decided to bring the coppers with him to High Society.
Chapter 9
The Human Productions facility had many rooms, each playing a unique role in the creation of human life. Most were roped off from the public. But some, the incubation room in particular, drew sizeable crowds during visiting hours.
Along the room’s lengthy wall were massive, egg-shaped vats that touched ceiling to floor. Within each “egg” were batches containing fifty to a thousand human babies. The embryos floated around in a pinkish liquid like gel in a lava lamp, converging together to form hazy blobs before dispersing again.
Gathered at the base of an egg in its later trimesters were scientists, doctors, researchers, and shareholders; professionals from various growth industries here to tour the facility. An opportunity, as Ernest saw it, to piggyback and gain some spectators and potential grants for his own regrowth experiment.
“An addition,” Ernest had said to the tour coordinator. “Something to entertain the early birds as they wait for the main event.”
“I’ll have to check and make sure your presence isn’t a breach of contract for the company, and also run the idea past a couple people, but I’m sure we can work something out.”
“We’d really appreciate it over here at EGL,” Ernest said, and confirmed to the tour guide that yes, Ernest was the son of Erin and Felix Emerson. Indeed, the family had endured a terrible sequence of unfortunate events, but, of course, were pushing through it. A brilliant scientist Felix was, and surely still is…just a shame. “I did, in fact, cut off my own legs,” Ernest said, urging his voice to remain steady. “I believe in thorough experimentation.”
“I’ve heard a lot about it, but,” the tour coordinator whistled, “that’d be really something to see in person. Let me tug on a few strings, and I’ll get back to you.”
The date was set. Ernest would be allotted ten minutes before the facility’s tour to present his experimental processes and findings.
He got to work preparing the presentation. First, a plastic folding table with a nice EGL cloth taken from the executive meeting room. Second, brochures explicating the entire process of the regrowth program with detailed images of every animal involved in the genome splice: everything from the deep-sea squid that could detach its own arm as a diversion tactic and regrow it later, to the deer that could regenerate battered and damaged antlers. Accompanying the brochure would be a 3D-imagery projector that produced a time-lapse of each creature’s restoration process.
“Please tell me that’s it,” Kevin said.
“We’re attempting to win additional support,” Ernest said. “As an ambassador for The Building Blocks of Yesterday, and my sponsor, I thought you’d be more interested in gaining a few more endorsements.”
