Flesh can only go so far.
Arnon D’Bvaym
MORNING LIGHT STREAMED through the kitchen window, brightening the room with a cheery glow, mocking Cortex. He moped about the kitchen, shuffling through drawers and shelves in search of food, then deciding he didn’t want anything he found. He looked at 64Bit’s backpack, wondered why it was in the kitchen, then opened the fridge. The warm, wet scent of food that had begun decomposing rolled over Cortex; it seemed the fridge had gone out overnight. He slammed the door shut and stomped over to the table.
It wasn’t fair! Nothing was fair for kids. He didn’t want to be a kid. He bristled when the master said child. Cortex could do things. He collected and compiled data. That wasn’t something he usually messed up. And he didn’t break anything on purpose. It just happened . . . He knuckled his forehead as traitorous tears escaped down his cheeks. I’m not crying! He mentally shouted. I’m done crying! I don’t want to cry anymore.
Cortex envied 64Bit’s resolve. 64Bit never cried. How did he have the strength to do that? Cortex wished that he would never have to cry again. Maybe it had to do with how good of a technomancer 64Bit was. Whenever the master wanted something done, he went to 64Bit. He took time with 64Bit. Everything was about 64Bit.
Then Cortex looked over his shoulder at 64Bit’s backpack. There’s only going to be work in there, he thought. Yet something about the backpack felt magnetized, a north polarity to Cortex’s south.
“Cortex, I’ve revoked your computer privileges,” Cortex said, making his voice like a creaking door in parody of the master’s voice. “Because I’m mean and don’t want you to do anything. And then I’m going to die before you can apologize, before I can make you big and strong, just to spite you.” He stopped. No, I don’t mean that, he thought, ashamed. He went back to the fridge, grabbed some bread and cheese that looked salvageable, pocketed them, and walked out of the kitchen. In the hallway, he paused, then turned around.
The backpack was right there, sitting on a chair. If it had a face it would be staring him down, challenging him to look inside. Why did it keep distracting him?
It won’t hurt to peek, Cortex thought. He walked over and grabbed the backpack—its thick canvas felt rough on his skin. He began to unbutton the top flap, feeling his breath quicken as he did so. Why did his skin crawl as he opened the backpack, yet he felt so enticed? The feeling was similar to when he pilfered treats, but a hundred times stronger.
Cortex stopped at the last button. Should he?
He held the backpack flap in place. He hadn’t opened it far enough to know what was inside, but he could see something large and lumpy.
I can peek inside without opening it all the way, Cortex rationalized. He lifted the corner of the flap a little higher and, with a thought, activated a light from the glass port in his forehead. Its beam illuminated the innards of 64Bit’s backpack. He saw a bunch of fur that was matted, messy, and dirty. He was intrigued. Was it an animal skin? Strange. He unfastened the last button and grabbed the fur.
Cortex grunted as he lifted it, then grabbed the fur with a second hand—whatever it was, it was much heavier than he had expected. What did 64Bit bring home? Cortex asked himself. It felt like a rock wrapped in dirty animal fur. He turned it around in his hands and gasped.
He was holding a head.
It looked like a human head, but it wasn’t. Couldn’t be. Metal glinted from scratches in the head’s skin. Its eyes—though they looked almost exactly like normal, brown, human eyes—were flat and soulless. A mess of wires protruded from its severed neck. A rozie. Rather, a rozie’s head.
Cortex looked the head over carefully.
It was fascinating.
Cortex couldn’t imagine the detailed, complicated machinery, wiring, and craftmanship that would make a robotic head so eerily realistic, but it felt like a work of art; curious, he reached down to touch the wires protruding from its neck. At the touch of the control jack in his little finger, Cortex felt a small but painful snap! of energy between him and the head. He dropped the rozie head and scurried behind the kitchen table, knuckling his mouth.
Oh, I did it again, Cortex thought. Everything I touch . . .
Nothing happened. After a moment, Cortex thought, I should at least know what I did. He looked back, underneath the table, and saw the head. It lay sideways on the ground, facing him.
Its eyes focused on him and its jaw opened.
#
64BIT GROANED AND rolled onto his side. His night had been plagued with dreams of dead trees in the mountains attacking Fort, of rozies materializing from the forest and assaulting the settlement’s walls, and, in the middle of it all, 64Bit himself, shouting that he could help, and yet doing nothing.
“Just a dream . . . just a dream,” 64Bit muttered. The earlier vision had felt very different—more real, and more wakeful. The nightmares slowly faded as he rubbed the bags under his eyes and wondered how long he had been out.
A knock sounded on his door. 64Bit pushed himself to a sitting position and called up the time on his eye screens, then groaned again. He had slept through the whole night and part of the morning.
“64Bit! Someone is here for you! Visitors!” More knocking.
“Cortex,” 64Bit said, and rubbed the stubble on his head. He would need to shave this morning.
Visitors? Nix!
A panic of energy spiked through 64Bit. “Who is it?”
The bedroom door slid open. Cortex stood in the doorway, twisting a corner of his robe. “Hey, there’s some people at the door. Scouts, I think. One’s a tall, mean-looking guy—I think he’s from the council? They said that they needed to speak with you and the master.”
A group—the mean one must be Nix. Probably with Richard and Kayla. Even if those two are in trouble, they would know how to get to where the rozie head came from better than anyone else. “What did you tell them?”
Cortex began twisting his robe harder. “You told me to not let people know about the master, so I told them he was busy and not taking visitors right now, but you would be out soon. The mean man didn’t seem very happy about that. He told me to hurry you up. Something about not taking things seriously enough.”
64Bit exhaled long and slow. He jumped to his feet and pulled his crate desk apart to access the space for clothes within. “Cover for me.”
“What does that mean?”
64Bit pressed two fingers against his forehead, hard. “Tell them I have a few last items I need to prepare—things that had to wait for this morning.” He looked at the spare robes in his hands. “And get my backpack from the kitchen for me. Be subtle about it.”
“It’s not in the kitchen,” Cortex said, then froze. “I, uh, I put it away. I didn’t look inside. It was really heavy, though. I’ll go get it.” He ran away.
“Didn’t look inside,” 64Bit muttered. That was suspiciously specific. But he cast that concern aside as he fetched socks, undergarments, and his spare slippers, and mulled on lingering thoughts from the day before: his vision, the potential threat of rozies, his concerns about leaving the settlement and hiking with Richard and Kayla. He didn’t have any hope of keeping up with two trained, exercised scouts on a hike that would take more than an hour—let alone a day. At least his slippers were comfortable. Then 64Bit’s gaze became distant. “The head—do I tell Cortex?” It seemed easier not to tell Cortex—he was already withholding information from so many people—but it would be helpful to have Cortex dispose of the thing.
A knock at the door. 64Bit turned his head to see Cortex standing in the doorframe again, holding up 64Bit’s backpack.
“I—I lied,” Cortex said, turning red. “I did look inside. I was too scared to tell you. I’m sorry. There’s a head in there.”
64Bit pressed his lips together. On the one hand, now that Cortex knew about the head, that was one more person who might let the information slip out into the general settlement. On the other hand, it was clear that 64Bit could enlist Cortex’s help now.
Perhaps this was for the better—Cortex would have some responsibility, 64Bit would return having confirmed it was all just a false alarm, and the master would be awake by then.
64Bit almost laughed at his own blind optimism.
64Bit took the pack from Cortex and dropped it to the floor, then pulled the head out. Something seemed different about it. 64Bit examined the head closely, noticing from the corner of his vision that Cortex stiffened as he did so. “Huh,” he said.
Cortex reddened. A moment later words began pouring out. “I touched it, I’m sorry, I didn’t know if that was important, but I did touch it, and I closed its eyes, and that’s all that happened, nothing else.”
64Bit looked at the head long and hard, then shrugged. What did it matter that Cortex had touched the thing? Nothing would come of it. He rolled the head toward Cortex. “Take this to the incinerator and destroy it. Wait until after I’m gone—I don’t want to risk Nix seeing it and thinking he can start poking around. Can you do that?”
Immensely relieved, Cortex nodded, grabbed the head, and staggered from the room, holding it before him in both hands.
“Stop!” 64Bit said. Cortex froze, a guilty expression on his face, but 64Bit tossed him a towel. “If you’re carrying it out of here, keep that thing covered up.”
Nodding, Cortex wrapped the head and disappeared again.
64Bit dumped his spare clothes in his backpack and slung it on his shoulders. “They’ve been waiting far too long . . .” he whispered, but he couldn’t speak to Nix yet. He needed one more thing, to act on an idea that had begun forming the night before. If he was going to represent the master, and stand in as Fort’s guardian technomancer, then he needed a tool only a technomancer could use—something that might help him overcome his own limitations.
With pep in his step, 64Bit left his room and walked to the master’s. His excitement tempered a little when he saw the master in the same position as the night before. He knelt by the master’s side and placed a hand over his heart. “Oh Creator,” 64Bit began. “Please bless my master with swift recovery. Please bless Fort and its people that we will be safeguarded. Please give me the strength and the wisdom necessary to protect them, or at least hold on until the master is well.”
64Bit looked up. A beam of light had slipped through the window’s curtains and landed on the master’s face; his nose twitched. 64Bit imagined what the master was like when he was just over a decade younger, surviving in the wild world, working with Nix and others to establish Fort, patrolling to drive away rozies before the suppressors were built. In a sense, 64Bit was walking in his footsteps.
“I’ll make you proud,” 64Bit whispered, standing as he did so.
“Have you come to assist me in caring for the patient?”
64Bit turned and saw the medkit in its usual place against the wall, its holographic head gazing at him neutrally. Knowing that the master had made this machine himself, 64Bit wondered whom the woman represented in the medkit projection was. “What does he need?” 64Bit asked as he walked to the wall next to the master’s bed and removed a tiny panel, revealing a control port in the wall.
The medkit’s wheels popped out and it rolled over to the bed. “The patient will be in need of additional cleaning and changed bedsheets. I instructed the child how to place a bedpan and catheter, but such things will need cleaning and replacing. The patient is also in need of nutrients.” The medkit turned toward 64Bit. “I would also note that you are in need of exercise, though otherwise healthy. Medical practitioners are better able to overcome the mental and physical rigors of serving others when in strong physical condition. The assistance of the child last night was adequate—unpolished, but passable.”
“I’m not that out of shape,” 64Bit grumbled. He inserted his little finger into the wall and mentally sent the same passcode he had used to activate the medkit, then ejected his finger as the wall slowly slid inward, then sideways. “The child you are referring to—Cortex, in case you have forgotten his name—is at your disposal. Remind him as necessary.”
“Will there be more medical resources in there?” the medkit asked, moving toward the opening door. “I apologize for the need to ask, but with wireless functions down I do not have my—”
“Go away,” 64Bit said. The medkit obediently rolled back into its corner, its hologram shutting off as it did so.
The wall finished sliding open and a light turned on, revealing the master’s hidden collection.
64Bit slowly took in the small closet. The master had only shown it to him once, when he was twelve, but he remembered like it was yesterday. There were long metal rods with prongs at the end, knives with space in their hilts for particle batteries. There was a gun that, he had been told, fired electricity. There was also a thickly-padded robe and metal boots, both of which were far too large for him, and many thick sheaves of paper holding schematics and other information. 64Bit didn’t know what most of the items within did—the master’s stories were very cryptic. He was told they were all very sophisticated pieces of tech that should only be used when absolutely necessary, as most were irreplaceable.
In the center of it all, mounted on the wall and showing some tarnish from use, was the master’s staff. This was what 64Bit had come for.
64Bit extended his arm and ran his fingers over the smooth, dull metal of the staff. It was essentially a rod that tapered toward the bottom. A thrill ran through him as he touched it. The master always had a staff with him in the stories he shared from before he had established the wall suppressors—the weapon was critical in driving away rozies and keeping the settlement safe in the early days. If this was the master’s favored weapon, it would certainly do the job for 64Bit.
Plus, 64Bit felt that he must look really impressive holding it.
“But how does it work?” 64Bit asked himself. He examined the staff up and down at each end, hoping to see a port in it for manual control. He didn’t find an obvious one—if he couldn’t find a hidden one either, he hoped it would be easier for him to wirelessly connect with the staff than a Therexe Cube. Or perhaps it just automatically worked when a rozie was nearby?
“64Bit—woah! Cool!” 64Bit turned to see Cortex standing in the doorway, smiling widely. The boy briefly faced the master and placed a palm across from his heart, then turned to 64Bit again, his eyes alight. “That’s awesome! Where’d you get it?”
64Bit looked back and noticed that the master’s private closet had closed while he was ogling the staff. “It’s the master’s—it was under the bed. I need to borrow it while I travel.”
“You look like a real technomancer, like from the stories!” Cortex said, looking 64Bit up and down. 64Bit did his best to look himself over, staff in hand; he agreed with Cortex’s pronouncement.
“I think this will give my company some confidence,” 64Bit said loftily, staring forward seriously while holding the staff at a dramatic angle. “Those rozies will never know what hit them! Their dark masters will learn to fear this valley!”
“Yeah!” Cortex shouted, pumping his fist in the air.
64Bit twirled the staff and lost his grip but managed to catch it before it struck the floor. He set the butt of the staff on the ground and leaned against it. “You take care of the master while I’m gone—I’ve got things under control.”
“OK!” Cortex said, unable to keep still as he continued to look at 64Bit and the staff. 64Bit smiled—he was glad Cortex could share the excitement of this moment. Then he frowned when Cortex said, “Can I hold it?”
“Ah . . .” 64Bit couldn’t put words to why he felt hesitant.
“Please?” Cortex said. The boy’s eyes were opened wide.
“Fine. Just . . . a moment, no more. Then I need to go. I’ve really kept them waiting for too long. Nix and Richard . . .” 64Bit paused again, then handed Cortex the staff.
Cortex’s eyes lit up as he touched the staff. “Woah!” he exclaimed, looking the thing up and down. “That feels . . . wow! It’s like holding a hundred Therexe Cubes! No, it’s like holding lightning!” Cortex laughed and spun around, swishing the staff through the air as he did so. “Look at me, Bit!”
64Bit snatched the staff out of the air, then his eyes widened— something about the staff felt electric, alive, a feeling that wasn’t there when 64Bit alone had held the staff. Cortex held on to the staff a moment longer, then let go, and the feeling drained away. 64Bit pressed his lips together. “Well. That was fun.”
Still smiling, Cortex said, “Oh! I forgot to mention. The mean man—his name is Nix, he just told me. He was not happy to be waiting for so long.”
64Bit grimaced. He had already assumed that one of the scouts would be Nix, but it didn’t feel good to have that confirmed. He nodded, threw on his backpack, and walked out of the room. Just outside the door, 64Bit turned around briefly and said, “Take good care of him,” then ran down the hallway, slippered feet slapping against uneven wood.
In the kitchen, Nix stood straight, hands behind his back. He would have been the picture of self-control were his face not red. 64Bit rushed into the kitchen.
“Where’s the guardian technomancer?” Nix said, his steely glare making 64Bit itch.
“He’s unavailable—related to what was discussed in the council meeting yesterday.”
Nix glared down the hallway; for a moment 64Bit was afraid that the man would stalk toward the master’s bedroom and discover the truth, 64Bit’s protests be damned, but Nix just grunted and turned away. “The old man can’t avoid me forever.” Nix then leveled his gaze at 64Bit again, eyebrow raised. “It’s clear that something funny is going on here, and you and I know it. More bluntly, I would guess that the guardian has disappeared. I’d connect it to that strange power surge yesterday,” Nix waved his hand, “but the guardian works on his own clock and no one else’s, as much trouble as that makes for the mere mortals that have to trail in his wake, sink or swim. If we die in his absence, we’ll have done all we can—it’ll be on his head.”
An image of the master, glowing from the energy he had absorbed, flashed through 64Bit’s mind. No, 64Bit knew whose fault it actually was that the master was indisposed.
64Bit then realized that someone else was in the room with them, effectively cloaked by Nix’s mien. The man had curly hair, a thick beard, and rich, red-brown skin. He nodded at 64Bit and grinned.
Nix waved his hand toward the man. “This is Khalil. I trust him with my life, which is why I don’t care what I say in front of him. Besides, he can’t speak—he has no tongue, and he doesn’t write well.”
Khalil made a face that clearly bespoke disagreement and motioned with his hands vigorously. Nix motioned back. 64Bit realized they were speaking in sign and activated a data chip in his skull—a translation chip, installed to help him communicate with various Binary members on the master’s behalf via satellite link. The chip warmed slightly
—don’t care how they justify it, technomancers are basically magic, Nix signed. It’s frustrating as hell, but communication won’t be an issue. Any second now and he’ll respond to what we’re saying.
His expression reveals the understanding of an infant! Khalil responded.
“From the mouth of babes we will learn words of prophecy,” 64Bit said to Khalil.
Khalil smiled widely and spread his hands while shaking them—64Bit’s translation chip translated the gesture to applause. Khalil then looked at Nix. You speak too openly. He saw every rude thing you signed.
“I have already expressed every possible criticism of the guardian to his face. I have no reason to fear his acolyte.” Nix looked at 64Bit again. “That’s what you’re travelling with?” He turned back to Khalil. “Khalil, he’s unprepared, so I hope you’re ready to mother him. Judging by how empty his bag is, I’d guess he has a few useless items of clothing, no food, no water.” With that, Nix walked out the front door, stopping to look back over his shoulder as the door silently closed.
64Bit shifted on his feet. “My clothing isn’t useless,” he muttered.
Khalil slapped 64Bit’s shoulder in a friendly manner, then began signing energetically with one hand. It is good to meet someone who can understand me. I was very concerned about that, but Nix ignored my concerns, apparently with good reason. I can understand everyone, but very few understand me. I also think not talking has sharpened my eyes—I am very perceptive. You were nervous when Nix started talking about the guardian. I can see that you are still uncomfortable, so I will speak of this no more. 64Bit’s translation chip began to struggle as Khalil faced other directions to sign, rather than facing 64Bit directly. He smiled again and, facing 64Bit, signed, Ready to go into danger? then motioned at the staff.
“Yes . . . this is my . . . weapon of choice,” 64Bit said. “But it’s a last resort.”
Khalil responded with a thumbs-up. Yes, let us avoid fighting. Come, it is still early enough that I can hide you in my ride without anyone seeing you, so then we may be able to leave the settlement unnoticed. We can talk more in the forest. Khalil’s gestures were energetic and his expressions vibrant—it made 64Bit feel like he was watching a master storyteller at work.
“Your . . . ride?” 64Bit said.
Yes, Khalil signed, giving no further explanation. Do you have a back exit? I parked behind your home—it seemed out of sight.
64Bit nodded, then led Khalil down to the fork in the hallway, turned right, and knocked on the forge room door loudly with his staff before opening it, just in case Cortex was in there with the head. As they passed the forge, 64Bit noticed the towel- covered rozie head sitting on the floor. He shivered and hurried out the back door.
Outside squatted a large ATV. The machine, despite scrapes and dents, projected muscle as its engine purred warmly. Hooked up to its hitch was a short flatbed trailer with an open top, filled with random supplies held down by a net—water, food, field medicine, rope, and so forth. Khalil strutted over to the trailer and moved his hands as if he were showcasing the machine. She is beautiful, isn’t she? We will travel very quickly.
Despite himself, 64Bit smiled. “None of this is as I expected. Honestly, I thought Nix would arrive with Richard, since he’s been where we need to go, and that we would hike out. I like this much more.”
Khalil chuckled mischievously. Well, let’s see if you keep that attitude. He lowered the trailer’s gate, revealing a hollow within the supplies—just large enough for 64Bit to slip in—and motioned like he was ushering someone through a door. 64Bit stared at the dark, coffin-like space and groaned.
If we’re trying to keep everything below the radar, no one will think anything if I’m going on a supply run, Khalil explained.
“This is making me wonder how much I care about subtlety,” 64Bit said. He began crawling under the supplies, bumping his head and back against the wire cage that kept everything from collapsing in on him. He didn’t see Khalil respond, if he did. 64Bit noted with some relief that he had enough room to lie on his side comfortably, but he couldn’t sit up; he imagined the space would quickly become claustrophobic. 64Bit shifted on his back, trying to get comfortable on the hard trailer bed, with staff resting beside him.
As Khalil closed the trailer gate and drove away, 64Bit reminded himself that staying hidden was probably the smart move. Many Forters would remember the days when the guardian technomancer traveled with the scouts to drive away rozies. If any of them recognized 64Bit leaving the settlement with a scout, word would spread and stories would be spun.
A bump in the road bounced 64Bit up and back down onto the wooden trailer bed; he managed to hold his head up to keep it from getting knocked, and landed hard on his bottom instead. He rubbed his backside, feeling a bruise forming.
“I shouldn’t have gotten myself into this,” 64Bit muttered miserably. “I should have studied longer before trying that stupid battery. Well, goodbye, master; goodbye, Cortex. Let’s hope nothing happens.”
Copyright © 2023 by David Ludlow
Boo Ludlow 