Terminated (short story)-(sci-fi)
TERMINATED
read on Wattpad: http://www.wattpad.com/107906039-terminated
Present
Present
My hand reaches towards the air. I examine
it with a morbid curiosity, the skin smooth and uninterrupted, and the fingers
tapered to a chillingly perfect edge. Merely seconds ago my body felt like a
beautiful machine, a work of art shaped to functional perfection. Like it has
my entire life. Now it feels like lead. It feels like dull, lifeless metal.
I take a deep, shuddering breath, yet no
air enters my lungs. I feel no panic now. Instead, dull despair fills my veins
where I once thought blood ran hot and thick and alive. I let my hand drop, and
despair is replaced by an eerie calmness. The light fades from the world around
me, sounds fade out into nothingness.
“29485-B. Terminated.”
My head lolls to the side, then stills.
Past
I walk into the downtime room, taking a
seat neatly beside the one of my best friend’s. Her name is Sarah. The noisy
and familiar buzz of the room fills my ears and I take a deep breath. Sarah
nods politely to me.
“So Lily, what do you have next?” Jonas,
across from me, asks. It is routine now. It is a catalyst to most of our social
situations. Jane and Kate, also our regulars, sit next to Jonas and listen
attentively, resting their chins on their hands.
“Linguistics,” I answer automatically.
Jonas nods with a small smile on his face,
the same familiar, all knowing look in his eyes. “Understandable, of course,”
he replies, hands held clasped on the table. “As it is your specialty. I cannot
imagine you in Physical.”
I laugh and our table laughs, Sarah’s eyes
crinkling and Kate ducking her head slightly.
“We all know that is my specialty, Jonas,”
Kate stares at her arms, well built and chiseled. “And I will never dream of a
specialty in Linguistics. It is incomprehensible.”
Jane interrupts Kate by tapping the table
three times, clearing her throat.
“Did you hear who dropped yesterday?”
Jonas shifts uncomfortably, while Sarah
and Kate look down quickly. I stare intensely at the table, saying nothing.
Jane does not wait, only taps the table
again impatiently and speaks. “David. He didn’t show up for his specialty
today, with me.” She frowns, squeezing her chin. “It’s odd. Can you imagine if
it happened to any of us?”
Despite the table’s atmosphere, Jonas’
eyes flicker towards Jane. Sarah and Kate glance at each other. My breath is uneven
for a moment, then returns to normal.
“You speak such nonsense,” Jonas says coolly.
“It isn’t nonsense,” Jane shoots back, staring
at Jonas steadily until Jonas shakes his head slowly and looks away. Jane’s
gaze travels around the table. “It can happen to us, at any time.”
I stiffen and place my hands on my lap, watching
the both of them.
“No wonder you do so poorly in your
specialty. How many errors have you made in Mathematics since you started here?
Was it five?” Jonas shakes his head. “Despicable. If anyone here were to drop,
it would be you, Jane. We all know those who make errors are more likely to.”
Jane’s eyes widen, and she stands up. I
watch her walk away and violently slam her hand against the wall before walking
out.
I sigh and look towards Jonas. “Her
emotions are getting out of control lately. I hate to admit it, but you’re
right. Jane’s more likely to drop than any of us.”
Jonas stares at me strangely, eyes
glittering. “Of course I am right. Analytics, and making errors? Unimaginable. I
am not Jane, I can do what I am meant to do.”
They continue discussing mediocre subjects,
while I can’t help but let out a string of sentences out in a quiet whisper,
unheard by anyone but me, under my breath. Ten different languages, sixty
seconds. Relief floods me as I recite them perfectly. I can also do what I am
meant to do. Yet the feeling of being watched and judged remains, and I look
around cautiously before rejoining the conversation.
I sit in the Linguistics room with twenty
others. We all face the screens in front of us. Various complex sentences in various
languages float up on the screen, along with a simple instruction below the
sentence in red text. The instruction is the name of a different language. We
all translate with ease, sitting upright with our hands in our laps,
expressions calm.
The next exercise is more difficult. A
voice speaks out from the speakers, fluent languages from all over the world. I
stare at the red text on the screen. French. German. Chinese. Russian. English.
Latin. Sentences spill out from my mouth. Seconds, minutes, hours pass.
I utter out a word, and suddenly the
screen before me begins flashing. I look around, fingers fidgeting slightly on
my lap. The red text on the screen is replaced by giant, floating letters in
even more violent red: ERROR.
My breath hitches. Nobody around me pays
the least attention to me, their attention strained on the task before them.
I sit still, chills running up my spine as
the camera on the top of the screen flickers on and a light moves down my face,
scanning it. Data appears, foreign, on the screen. Seconds later the screen flickers
back to normal. Heart pounding, I continue with the tasks, digging my
fingernails into my palm.
How could I have made an error?
“I can’t believe it.” Sarah and I are
walking towards our dormitories. Sarah listens to me attentively, expression
neutral yet at the same time sympathetic. I keep speaking, hands flying as I
try to make sense of what happened. “Six years without a single error, why does
it happen now? I am perfect, aren’t I? I’m not Jane.”
Sarah stares at the polished white ground,
saying nothing for a moment.
“I’m sure it won’t happen again,” she
offers a few moments later. “Just be more careful next time.”
“It’s not about being careful, you know
that,” I reply. The weight on my chest feels like it’s hindering my ability to
breathe. I close my eyes for a second before opening them again, walking in
step with Sarah. “It’s more instinctive.”
Sarah shrugs. “Maybe you should stop
thinking about it. Go back to your dormitory, read your manual. At least that
is productive.”
“I suppose,” I agree reluctantly. I wave
goodbye to her as she nears her door, the polished, opaque glass sliding open
as she places her palm on the scanner next to it. I rub my eyes, willing my
breathing to steady as I take quick, methodical steps forward. Jane’s voice
rings in my ears. It can happen to any of us, any time. Her voice is replaced
by Jonas’. We all know those who make errors are more likely to. I shudder and
scan my hand on my dormitory door. It slides open and I face my room. There is
a single perfectly made bed, and a manual lying on the pillow. Simple, clean. I
perch on my bed and open the manual to page one.
I meet with the regulars the next morning
in the waiting room, ready for tests as we are every morning. Jane is slouched
against the wall, facing away from us, and Jonas glares steadily at her. I sigh
and turn to Sarah, who is explaining intricately to Kate how human surgery
works. Kate’s brows are furrowed, and she shakes her head every few seconds,
looking lost.
I move to Jane. She is still our regular,
after all.
Jane turns and nods to me. “I see you still
want to speak with me.”
I incline my head slightly. “Of course.”
My gaze flickers nervously around, but it is impossible to speak without being
heard. I lower my voice slightly. “I would like to know a bit more about
dropping.”
Jane raises an eyebrow and shakes her head.
“I have said too much already. It is scary, how sometimes I can do that. Say
things I’m not supposed to. I can’t help it when I do, but it feels so wrong afterwards.
Feelings wrong and out of place, like making an error.”
“It isn’t an error if I invite you to
speak about it,” I explain. By now our regulars have stopped talking and are
staring at the two of us.
“Don’t encourage her,” Sarah urges me not
unkindly.
I ignore Sarah this time and gesture
desperately with my hands. “Please, Jane.”
Jane closes her eyes and turns away from
me, and our regulars lose interest, even Jonas. They continue their
conversation. Yet as we file into the test hall, Jane whispers for me to meet
outside the dorm corridor after the day.
The tests are simple, much like what I do
in linguistics anyways. We sit in rows and rows, performing simple unique tasks,
all of which we have done so many times before.
I try to be more careful this time, and
relief floods me as I finish without making any other error. I join the regulars
as we file out of the room, chattering as we move to our next activity.
I stand next to the entrance of the dorm
corridor and meet Jane as the day ends. She lowers her head and beckons towards
me, and we walk to the side, lowering our voices. Others stream pass us towards
the dormitories in orderly lines, and Jane closes her eyes and takes a deep
breath.
“What do you want to know?”
“Anything,” I whisper hurriedly. “It just,
don’t you always feel a little bit uneasy? That whole dropping business, it’s
terrifying.”
“We’re not supposed to feel uneasy, or
worried. Terrified is even less appropriate,” Jane explains quickly, stiffening.
“I don’t know that much about dropping. I’ve just seen it happen many times. They
could just be walking to rec, or in the dormitory hallways, right behind us. And
the light just fades from their ways, without any warning. They drop to the
ground, and, and they just stop moving. Permanently.” Jane’s breathing rate
quickens until she’s almost gasping for breath, her eyes wide.
“I know what it looks like,” I say
impatiently. “But why does it happen?”
Jane shakes her head rapidly. “I don’t
know. All I realize is that there’s a pattern. Most of those who drop don’t
have such a great track record, and I just-I think I’m next. Any time now, and
I’ll be gone.”
“No,” I say immediately. “No, Jane. Don’t
say that.”
“Anyways,” she brushes it aside and looks at
the ground. “Sometimes I linger. After the bodies fall a while later bots come
to pick them up. Just haul the body and roll off past the restricted doors and
they’re gone. Nobody’s really supposed to talk about it. But the bodies are
important somehow, I know that. Nobody really knows what happens after that.”
I fiddle with my jacket and we stand in
silence for several moments. The hall around us rapidly empties as everyone
heads to their dormitories. Jane shifts uncomfortably, then meets my gaze with steely
eyes.
“Have you ever thought about something?” she
asks, voice trembling slightly.
I wait for her to continue.
“We’ve been here for so long a time. I
can’t even begin to come up with an accurate calculation of how long. And look
through your memories, Lily, can you recall anything but this place?”
I shrug. “Why is that strange?” I
question.
“I think there’s something really wrong,” Jane
concludes, running her hand down her face. “I got to go.”
I watch her run down the hallway without
looking back, my heart sinking.
I stare down at my own hands, and I wonder
how many errors away from dropping I am.
That night I lie silently on the smooth
bed in my dormitory. My hands are clasped across my stomach as I stare motionlessly
at the white, unbroken ceiling. Jane’s words resonate in my mind and while I
try to push them away, I spend most of the night not resting but thinking.
The next day I sit back in the rec room
with the regulars. Everybody is chatting merrily, even Jonas participates with
a less icy demeanor than usual. I clasp my hands together and place my elbows
on the table. Sarah is speaking once again with her slow, professional tone, gesturing
steadily with her hands as she explains foreign procedures to us. My mind
begins to wander, which is unusual. I attempt to pull it back, only to sweep my
gaze across the room, over the regulars’ heads. I wonder how many of us will
drop soon.
I rub my hands together as Sarah finishes
and looks at me expectantly.
The pit at my stomach and the slight
twitching of my fingers are both unusual sensations. I pay acute attention to
them as I give a brief rundown of the day. It occurs to me for the first time
that there isn’t any point. We do the same routine daily anyhow. It is
predictable, a cycle that keeps going but isn’t really going anywhere. They
nod, eyes focusing on me as I speak. Everything is a monotone, and when the bell
rings I find myself caught despondently in the crowd, the regulars out of sight
as my vision goes slightly out of focus. I shake my head and it’s gone, and I
continue down the hallway towards Linguistics.
It is a wonder that I am there when it
happens. Thankfully no more errors occurred from me in Linguistics, but there
is little time for relief.
I am walking down the corridors towards
the testing hall again, and that is when I see it happen. The regulars aren’t
with me, but I spot Jane ahead.
“Jane,” I call out and she turns around, a
wary smile on her face. She steps aside and waits for me to come up to her in
the crowd. “I’ve been thinking,” I begin. “You are right. About the memories,
about not being able to remember anything but here, and how strange everything
is, including the dropping. I mean, if we are here we must’ve come in here,
right? But I’ve been thinking and I can’t remember how I came to be here.”
She opens her mouth to speak, perhaps to validate
my words, perhaps to add her own thought, but before she can do so her head
jerks backwards. Her body stills in mid air for a moment, then stiffens. Jane
crumples to the ground before my feet, and in an instant the watery, lively glint
in her eyes vanishes into nothing, and her limbs fall limp beside her.
“Jane?” My voice falls, as if somehow I
don’t want anybody to hear. It doesn’t matter. Nobody pays attention, and the
stream of people dodge around us, heading apathetically towards the testing
hall. I drop to my knees, eyes widening. “Wake up, Jane.” I urge repeatedly, my
palms pressed firmly against the cold tile floor. My head spins and I clutch at
it, standing up and looking around. The hallway rapidly empties, and I still
stand there, staring down at the unmoving body.
Perhaps I have seen less people drop than others
have, perhaps it is because she is a regular, but I am unable to move from the
spot, unable to ignore this and move on like every other drop that occurs around
here. It becomes harder to breathe, and as I look around and take in the empty
room, I realize that I am making a grave error, possibly a fatal one. It is inconceivable
to miss a testing, and anyone walking has never skipped one. Ever. And here I
am, bending over a dropped, alone.
Hands shaking, I stare at the now closed
door towards the test hall and I run away from the body, ducking behind a
corner, hugging my legs. My breath comes in gasps of ever increasing
frequencies, and I stare at my hands, expecting any second to have the world
darken around me and my body crumple uncontrollably to the ground for not
leaving the body. It does not happen, and I let myself peer around the corner. Jane’s
body is still lying there limply, glassy eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling.
Something catches in my throat and I place my cold palm across my mouth.
Seconds crawl past, and what feels like an eternity later comes a soft whirring
noise. A small mechanical device rolls out from the vents and scans Jane’s body
before a light beam suspends it above the ground. The device and the body move
down the hall, and I get up to follow. It is almost instinct as I walk behind
the device, not hiding, just striding in plain sight. Whether the device cannot
sense me or just doesn’t acknowledge my presence, I do not know.
The device and the body reaches a
restricted door and the doors slide open. Without hesitation I step through the
doorway, wincing, as I expect pain, an alarm bell, for my legs to give way
suddenly underneath my body. But nothing happens.
The hallway now is different from where we
all reside. Instead of white and spotless, now it is made of a bumpy, jagged
gray material that is rough to the touch. Flickering lights periodically create
a dim white glow every few meters. Still, the device keeps moving, never
slowing, never speeding up, Jane’s body still suspended grotesquely and the
beam. It takes several minutes for it to reach the end of the hall, facing a
rigid doorway made of a shiny silver material. The doorway slides open and I
jog in after the machine and Jane’s body, only to freeze on the spot.
In front of me are rows and rows of bodies,
hanging from metallic hooks attached to the ceiling. Millions of color wires extend
from the bodies, curling around each other, connecting them to flickering
computer screens along the walls. My eyes scan the room, every part of me tense
and unmoving. I take in the bodies, their open chests displaying cords and wires
and chips inside, destroyed and burnt out. I take in the tags hanging from their
mouths, and I take in the bot lying Jane’s body on a sleek table. Knives extend
from above and run down the length of her chest. I force myself to move closer.
The machinery takes no notice as I watch in horror wires removed from Jane’s
chest, cut and severed, and a small chip, covered in a slimy liquid lifted out from
where her heart should be. The chip is moved towards a shelf where it is tucked
between millions of other identical ones. A tag is slipped and hooked onto her
lips and Jane’s body is hung up limply alongside what seems like endless rows
of similarly dissected and unmoving bodies. I move towards her and reach for
the tag on her lips.
PROTOTYPE 83578-T (J.A.N.E.)
MATHEMATICS CALCULATION ANDROID VERSION
3.6
STATUS: FAILED
-SELF AWARENESS
-UNCONTROLLABLE EMOTION
-CONSISTENT ERROR
TERMINATION TIME: 2:26 PM 18/07/14
I clap my hand against my mouth and shake
my head slowly, dropping the tag like it’s fiery acid.
“No,” I whisper quietly to the silent room.
The bodies stare, eyes wide and motionless, back at me. “No, we’re human. We’re
not this.” I take several steps backwards only to bump into another table. A
few files slip onto the floor. I stare at the pieces of paper and bend down. Various
complex diagrams and codes stare back at me. I grit my teeth, hands shaking,
and crunch the paper into a ball, throwing it across the room. It bumps into
the foot of a body I do not recognize and falls to the ground. I stare at the bodies
hanging around and take in their features. While their hair colors and eye
colors are different their features mirror each other, like each was carved
from the same body, with only a few accessories attached on to differ them. I
feel sick, head spinning, and I grab the edge of one of the tables to steady
myself. It is cold to the touch, jolting me back to my senses. I turn to run,
and I turn to the closed door, slamming my hand against it again and again but
it does not open.
I push my way through the hanging bodies,
but no matter how fast I go I can’t see the end of them. I grab my own hand in panic
and turn several times, only to back into the wall, biting my wrist to keep
myself silent.
Suddenly, a searing pain runs through my
head and my vision falters, flickers like static. I grab my forehead and slump
to the ground as I feel running spasms through my muscles. It suddenly becomes
impossible to hold myself upright, and I fall to the ground, gasping for air,
eyes trying to stare through the darkness that begins to grow in my vision.
An emotionless voice suddenly speaks in electronic
monotone. I clap my hand to my ear, where the sound seems to be coming from.
“Prototype 29485-B, L.I.L.Y., Translator
and Linguistics Android Version 4.8. Status: failed. Self awareness, uncontrollable
emotion, consistent error, discovering vital dangerous information. Status:
terminating. Time: 3:17 pm 18/07/14.”
“No,” I whisper out, chest pounding. I
once thought it was my heart. Now I know that there is nothing there but cold
wires and computer chips. “No, I’m human. I’m alive. I’m not this. I am a
human.”
My hand reaches
towards the air. I examine it with a morbid curiosity, the skin smooth and uninterrupted,
and the fingers tapered to a chillingly perfect edge. Merely seconds ago my
body felt like a beautiful machine, a work of art shaped to functional
perfection. Like it has my entire life. Now it feels like lead. It feels like
dull, lifeless metal.
I take a deep,
shuddering breath, yet no air enters my lungs. I feel no panic now. Instead,
dull despair fills my veins where I once thought blood once ran hot and thick
and alive. I let my hand drop, and despair is replaced by an eerie calmness. The
light fades from the world around me, sounds fade out into nothingness.
“29485-B.
Terminated.”
My head lolls to
the side, then stills.