Archived Parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six
Part Seven
Ernest had to look through the doorway twice. The room where he'd had his first cup of coffee now looked more like the alleyway behind the building. Except instead of being knee-deep in drifting Styrofoam, the room was littered with hundreds and hundreds of mangled books.
Ernest's knees buckled.
He knelt on the floor, picked up a torn page, and pressed its brittle pulpiness against his cheek. Then he sneezed and allowed the paper to flutter back down to the floor. He wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve and tried to figure out what to do, but the sight of all those historical documents so carelessly destroyed left him too stunned to even move.
He picked up the cover and front signature of one book, put it down, and then another. He touched book after book, each one precious, each one rendered useless by one pointless, wanton act of destruction.
Ernest's chest spasmed, and his eyes and nose began to run. The dust was obviously too much for him.
When his head stopped spinning, Ernest got his feet under him and stood. There was the precious cup he'd held, shattered in a dozen pieces, along with all the others that had shared the shelf with it. There was the velvet sofa, its fabric split, stuffing spilled forth like entrails.
He sagged against the wall and stared.
Eventually he could no longer make out the individual items that had been destroyed. The room seemed more like a scattering of gravel, or a patch of various weeds: a grouping of random things meshed into an amalgam. His eyes scanned the piles, the drifts, the stacks. And then they lit upon a door.
It was a narrow door, its wood the same color as the surrounding paneling. There was an old-time doorknob at waist level, and beneath it, an old-time lock.
Ernest fished the key from his pocket. He'd already found the lock that it opened. One key, one lock, wasn't that the way of it? Ernest scowled. What if it wasn't?
He stepped carefully through the drifts of paper and board and dried flakes of glue, and eventually made his way to the far door. He slid the key into the lock. It fit.
It turned.
Beyond the narrow, locked doorway was another set of stairs, only this one seemed different than the first. Its wooden risers were rough and unfinished, and even the walls seemed strange, bristling with rough wood slats and exposed nails.
Warm air that smelled of cellulose and time drifted down and caressed Ernest's damp face. The stairs creaked as Ernest climbed, and he held his sleeve over his mouth and nose to keep from sneezing again. Light streamed through a tiny window, illuminating dust motes that swirled in the air. Ernest stepped up to the small window, stood on his toes and peered outside.
"I guess it's true what they say: absence makes the heart grow fonder."
The voice tickled Ernest's ear. He felt the warmth of Will's body close behind his. "Who says that?"
"Oh, you know. Them."
Ernest turned. Will stepped back just enough to allow Ernest to turn around without rubbing up against him. Barely. Will had his typical smirk in place, but it faltered a bit when he looked at Ernest's eyes.
"What is it," said Ernest, "more crow's feet?"
"Not that I can see. Did you shunt in last night?"
"No. And I feel wretched."
Will thumbed some moisture from the corner of Ernest's eyes. "So that's why you've been crying."
"What? Don't be absurd." Ernest shouldered his way past Will and clasped his arms over his chest to stop from feeling his own face.
"Grew some backbone? Maybe you've got testosterone coursing through your veins now that your POD hasn't filtered everything out of you. You wear it well."
Ernest made a mental note to view a free feed on testosterone, though he was fairly certain Will was just mocking him. "What happened down there?" he said, so they could talk about something other than him.
Will glanced toward the stairway. "Where, my reading room? Oh, you know how authority is, eager to crush whatever it doesn't understand. If those bullies had any aptitude for reading, they would've become data clerks, not security ops."
Ernest felt Will's eyes on him but pretended not to notice, looking instead at the stacks of boxes and crates, and in the corner, a pile of cushions and blankets.
"So you found me," said Will. "Now what're you gonna do with me?"
Some sort of challenge. Will was smiling, smirking, whatever one would call it. But Ernest's head was spinning, and it was so hot in the dusty, slant-ceilinged room. He sat down carefully on an antique wooden chair. "Have you got a saline drip? I must be dehydrated."
Will frowned. "Not handy, no." He shrugged. "But if you wanna put your mouth to good use, there's plenty of water."
Water. By mouth. Ernest laughed, but it sounded nothing at all like the sounds he made when he was watching the free comedy feeds.
Will stood between Ernest's knees and looked down at him, and tucked a loose lock of hair behind his ear. He pressed the backs of his fingers to Ernest's cheek. "Y'know, I think you're right. Seriously. Have some water." He turned and opened a plastic cooler that was stacked among the boxes and crates, took out a pair of flasks. "Totally safe," he said, "reverse osmosis filtered and chilled to retard bacterial growth."
"Why is the water leaking through the flask?"
"It's not. That's condensation. Hot attic, cold flask."
Attic. Yes. That's why the ceiling was at odd angles and all the wood was bare. Will shoved a damp, cold flask into Ernest's hand and Ernest shivered.
"Wish I had a straw--sorry--but don't worry, I'll demo. And don't get flustered if you choke a little. We all do, until we get used to it."
"We?" said Ernest.
Will crouched between Ernest's knees. "Top screws off like so. Put it in your pocket for safe keeping. Press the lip of the flask against your mouth, tip your head back, hold your breath for a second and let just a little water into your mouth. If you fill your mouth up completely, you won't be able to swallow. Swallow it, then exhale through your nose."
Will tipped his head back and drank. Ernest watched the muscles in his throat work. A knob of hard tissue at the front of Will's larynx rose and fell. Ernest felt his own throat. A pair of tendons made a V-shaped hollow at the base, but aside from that, it was smooth. As he'd suspected.
"Okay," said Will. "Wanna give it a go?"
"I think I can wait until I get back to the POD."
Will grabbed Ernest's jaw and pulled his face to eye level. "Every time you shunt in, you're one day closer to death."
"Every day we live is one day closer to death, Will. And you've got it all turned around. PODs support life. It's their main purpose."
"Until you're past your prime. Then the biofuel cocktail changes."
Did it? If so, it was probably just an adjustment to meet specific geriatric needs. "Keep your water." Ernest pressed the flask into Will's hands. "I think I need to go shunt in. Right now."
The flask fell to the floor as Will ignored it and grabbed Ernest's hand instead. "Don't."
Ernest shook his head. "I have to. I can't think straight."
"People used to pay good credits for that feeling," he said. His laugh was as stilted as a free-feed actor's. "Seriously, kiddo. Just drink some water."
Ernest focused on Will. It was difficult. The sensation was similar to the caffeine rush, but slower--sickening in a different way. "No, it's no use. We're not like each other."
Will narrowed his eyes. "How can you say that? You're the first person I've been able to hold a conversation with since Matthew."
"I'm flattered." Ernest's vision was tunneling. He pulled a hand free and ran his fingertips over the bulge in Will's throat. So many things fit together in his mind: Will's posture. His sinewy body. The way he could drink water, just like he was born to do it. The fact that he obviously had no POD of his own. The shape of his larynx. "But wanting something doesn't make it true. I can wish all I want, but it won't turn me into a homo sapien."
Ernest nudged past Will and stood. He staggered toward the stairs.
"You'd be surprised," said Will quietly. But Ernest needed all his focus to keep from tumbling down the staircase as he made his way back to L0U15E.
*
Ernest opened his eyes. L0U15E's interior viscreen glowed gently at its lowest level. He felt clear-headed, but tired. His hair was in his eyes, as if he'd just collapsed in a random position. His left arm was shunted in. He finger-combed his hair back with his right hand and twisted it at the nape of his neck. "Good morning, Louise. Why are we horizontal?"
"Oh, Ernest. Don't ever do that again."
"Do what?"
The POD hummed. A holo of Ernest filled the viscreen, with a list of statistics scrolling over the top. Potassium elevated. White cell count elevated. Dehydrated. There was more--much more--but Ernest was too busy looking at the holo of his own neck to read it. He could see a gentle curve where Will had a lump. "Louise? Why did homo sapiens have bumps at the front of their throats?"
"No feeds until your health monitor checks on you."
Ernest scowled and wondered if he'd heard her right. "Did you say no?"
"Until your health monitor gives me the go-ahead."
L0U15E was programmed to only refuse those things that were a clear and present danger, and to soft-argue anything else. How could watching a feed on homo sapiens be dangerous? "Has someone altered your programming?"
"I'm in override mode."
"So...what? I'm not allowed to watch a feed because, why, I'm being punished?"
"Now, I wouldn't know about that, Ernest."
Ernest had read that senior citizens got crabby as they aged. He wondered how much leverage he could get out of that stereotype. "I want my feed."
"I told you. I can't play it."
"I want my feed," he said, slightly louder. "Put it on."
"I can't."
Damn it. "Holo zoom," he said. This time L0U15E did comply. The holo enlarged until Ernest stared at a life-sized 3-D image of his own face. Even though the holo's eyes were shut, Ernest had to admit that Will was right. He did have crow's feet.
Ernest sighed and searched for something interesting to look at while he was waiting for his health monitor to check him. His eyes noticed the datestamp floating above his holo. "Louise?"
"Yes, Ernest?"
"How long have I been inside the POD?"
"Five days, seventeen hours, thirty-five minutes, twelve seconds."
"Six days?" Ernest's heart pounded. He thrust his hands through his holo and pushed against the interior viscreen. "Louise, six days of my retirement are gone?"
"You shouldn't have let yourself get so dehydrated. What are you upset about? You used to stay in for weeks at a time."
"It's my retirement! And in two more weeks I'll be dead." Ernest would swear he felt something die inside himself at that very moment.
"Your heart rate and blood pressure are rising," said L0U15E. "If your health monitor notices, he'll probably order another week of sleep in your POD."
Ernest knuckled his eyes. They stung, and were leaking fluid again. "Please," he begged her. "Don't let him keep me locked inside. I'll shunt in every night, I swear I will. Please don't take my final days away from me."
"Well. I suppose a mild sedative would bring your readings into range so that he wouldn't notice anything unusual when he came by to check."
"Do whatever it takes." He was about to plead the case that with only two weeks left, every moment was precious. But then he reminded himself he was talking to a POD-mind, not a person. He'd need to appeal to L0U15E's programming, which was designed to keep him safe. At least, that was what he'd always been told. "I don't think it's healthy for me to be here. The sooner I get out, the sooner I can get back to some kind of routine."
"That's true."
"Just don't put me back to sleep," he said.
Ernest's forearm warmed as L0U15E adjusted the mix of chemicals that flowed into his shunt. His body relaxed, but his mind still reeled. What must Will be thinking of him--that he'd fled the moment he realized Will was a homo sapien? If anything, that knowledge only made Ernest's curiosity more intense.
When Ernest compared his interactions with Will--lively, stimulating, engaging--to those he had with his Deacon, or his health monitor, or with the store clerks who let him rifle through their shops without even a second glance, he began to wonder if evolution had misstepped.
Ernest's POD door opened, and the holo that had been facing him dissolved as the transmitters swung out of range. His health monitor, a third-decade man with dark skin and eyes and a W3 link blinking at his temple, peered into POD. "Light increase fifty percent," he said, and the POD's interior brightened.
Ernest's skin crawled at the thought of L0U15E responding to anyone else's commands.
The health monitor gave Ernest a quick visual scan while his link flashed red. "Why is it that you dehydrated if your POD is functioning correctly?"
Ernest felt his eyes go wide. Doe eyes. That's what Will would have called them. "I was exploring," he said. "I forgot to shunt in. I'm retired, you know. I've never been anywhere before." Playing dumb. He'd heard that expression too, on old-time feeds.
The health monitor opened a panel on Ernest's POD and accessed his readings. Ernest held his breath while the health monitor parsed data, and then realized it was probably distinctly unhelpful to do so, as failing to breathe would only increase the amount of carbon dioxide in his bloodstream.
Still, it was hard to breathe, hard to act normal, when the whim of a health monitor could easily mean another week trapped in his POD. Another week. Half a lifetime.
The monitor snapped the panel shut. "Right. I'll set your POD-mind for an alarm so you don't forget again. Door close."
The door shut. The latch clicked. L0U15E turned the POD upright, and then locked onto a magnetic strip. "Where should we go, Ernest?"
Anywhere but the Health Department. Ernest didn't say that aloud. He was too busy remembering how to breathe. "Downtown, I think."
"That coffee house again?"
Ernest considered lying to L0U15E, but what was the point? He would only be able to walk so far without sending his lactic acid levels skyrocketing.
Even so, it would be prudent to be sure no one was following him. Ernest docked L0U15E several blocks away from the coffee house and wove through the alleyways to the back door. All the way there, he'd terrorized himself with mental images of an unbreakable plastic door on the back of the building with a W3 link flashing at its latch, but the old-time wooden door with its old-time metal lock was still in place.
Ernest turned his key in the lock and went upstairs. The torn, damaged books were still piled as he'd last seen them on the reading room floor. The attic door was locked. Ernest unlocked it with a hand that shook so hard he almost dropped the key. He dashed up the attic stairs, heart pounding wildly. He looked around.
Will wasn't there.
Ernest sat on the top step and buried his face in his hands. There was nowhere Will actually needed to be. There was probably no record of him at the Health Department or the Labor Department. He was his own man, circulating among the ignorant scattering of homo consummatus as he tried to buy up PODs. He could be anywhere.
It was too difficult to search the city. Ernest was only one person. It would be much easier to forget about Will, to climb back inside his POD and tell L0U15E to give him a stronger dose of that sedative. Climbing inside the POD would be easy, at any rate. Forgetting about Will would be a different matter altogether.
Ernest opened the cooler. Three flasks of water remained, pressed against the back of the box. Either it meant that Will was coming back, or that a meager three flasks was negligible, maybe too cumbersome to carry. Ernest took a flask from the cooler and a mist formed over its surface. He watched the mist turn into tiny beads of condensation, then pressed the flask against his cheek. Will had touched that cheek with his fingertips. More than once. Ernest could remember at least three occasions where Will had caressed his face, and even more touches if he counted all the back-slapping and thigh-pressing.
He twisted open the flask and tucked the stopper into his pocket. He pressed the bottle to his mouth and tipped his head back.
Cold. Startlingly wet. Ernest's throat spasmed, and he panicked. He spat, and blotted his chin with the back of his hand.
It would be very easy indeed to climb back into the POD. That notion made him all the more determined.
Ernest tipped some more cold, wet, metallic-tasting water into his mouth and held it there, breathing carefully through his nose as he gathered his nerves. He clenched his fists, he held his breath, and he swallowed.
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