The Body Electric - Special Edition

  “Ella,” Dad says again, and something twists in my stomach, something sickening. A whisper of doubt rises in my mind, but I push it down, my fingers seizing against Dad’s linen jacket, holding him tight, keeping him here.

  “What’s going on?” Tears are streaming down my face now. “You were dead, and now you’re not, and Akilah’s dead, and then she wasn’t.” A horrible fear enters my mind. “You’re not like her, are you? Do you remember me?” I giggle, a hysterical, bubbling sound. “Of course you remember me, you said my name. You’re real. You’re Dad.” I say the words for me as much as him.

  I search his eyes. “You’re alive.” Saying the words makes me—finally—accept them as true. Nothing else matters. With Dad back, he can cure Mom. He can help me solve this terrorism problem. He can fix everything.

  “Ella…”

  “Please!” I cry, “Say something other than my name!”

  “Ella.” Dad’s voice cuts through every other sound in the plaza. “Ella. You have to wake up.”

  twenty-two

  My eyes open blearily. I’m on a thin mattress in a small but richly decorated room that smells of musk and wood oil. I’m wearing all my clothes, even my shoes, but a knitted throw covers the lower half of my body.

  For a while I just lay there, staring at the taupe wall with heavy wooden accents. My father was there in front of me.

  But he wasn’t really.

  I… I hallucinated. That’s the only answer. I know he’s dead—I know he’s dead, but seeing Representative Belles with his family while I was thinking about Dad…

  …But it was so real.

  I could feel him. Touch him. I heard him. He was there.

  But he wasn’t.

  It all happened in my mind.

  I’m going crazy. My stomach twists and I curl up in the fetal position. I did this to myself. Those extra nanobots I injected into my body so I could help Mom with her reverie, the ones that gave me the ability to go into other people’s reveries…

  A person can only have so many nanobots in their system. Too many, and the body fails. The mind fails. Bot-brain… and death.

  I shut my eyes, and force myself to think the words slowly. I. Am. Going. Crazy.

  Only crazy people hallucinate like that.

  Only crazy people believe their hallucination is real.

  Oh, shit. I choke back a sob in this silent, unknown room. And then I wonder: what did I do? In my mind, I grabbed my father, I spoke to him. Did I just speak to the air? Did I grab a stranger? Is this a waiting room to a mental institution?

  And what if… what if I lose my mind more? What if I disintegrate into nothing? Or worse—what if I hallucinate with Mom around? What if I hurt her?

  I feel sick—physically sick, like I’m going to throw up. I feel as if my brain is turning to jelly, and there is nothing I can do but feel it leak into my blood, twist around my veins, and seep out of my skin. I swallow down the bile rising in my throat and squeeze my eyes shut. I can envision the microscopic nanobots in my body wiggling over my brain and crawling into the wrinkles. I grip the sides of my head, pulling my hair. A part of me wants to rip the skin open and claw my own flesh out.

  “Ella?” a female voice calls from the other side of the closed door.

  I sit up quickly, my legs tangling with the blanket as I swing them over the side of the bed. The door creaks open, and a young woman with deeply tan skin and wavy dark hair enters. She holds a tab-screen in one hand, idly tapping at it, and glances up to look at me in a bored way.

  “You okay?” she asks as if she doesn’t really care one way or another about the answer.

  I nod warily.

  “Ella Shepherd, right?”

  I don’t answer. The woman looks up from her screen. “We scanned your cuff,” she says.

  “Yeah,” I confirm.

  “You collapsed,” the woman says, eyes back on the screen. “The meds said you were dehydrated.”

  I glance at my cuff; everything seems perfectly normal. My health stats are fine.

  “The representative offered his office for you to recuperate,” the woman continues. She sounds exhausted from the effort of paying me any attention. “Your emergency contact has been reached, but—” She glances up at me, meeting my eyes directly, and for the first time I feel like her attention is entirely on me. “The representative wants to speak to you.”

  “Representative…?” I ask.

  “Representative Administrator Santiago Belles,” the aide says. “He’s on his way; he should be here in a few minutes.”

  “Why—?” I start, but she cuts me off.

  “He was nearby when you fell, and, after the meds scanned your cuff, vouched for you and requested that you be brought here to await your guardian’s arrival.”

  I blink rapidly. This is obviously a lie—while I was inside Representative Belles’s mind, he has no idea who I am. But if they scanned my cuff, they must have seen I’m an intern at Reverie Mental Spa, and Belles obviously recognized that. I can only guess what he wants from me.

  She turns and leaves, but doesn’t close the door behind her. Now that I have more context, I realize I’m in Triumph Towers—in the representative’s personal office. He must sleep here sometimes. I get up and follow to where the aide left. Representative Belle’s office is richly appointed and reeking of authority. It’s all steel and mahogany, a blend of modern and traditional. A heavy wooden door is on the other side of the room, and I hear the faint click of a lock as the aide traps me inside.

  My cuff buzzes and I glance at the screen. Ms. White.

  “I’m fine,” I say before she can say anything.

  “What happened?”

  “I’m fine,” I repeat. “I just got a little… dizzy. But, look, I’m in Representative Belles’s office. I’m going to snoop around, see what I can find.”

  “Be careful,” she says, and I cut the screen off.

  The representative’s aide said Belles would be here in a few minutes, and I’m not about to waste any of them. I rush behind his desk, scanning the surface for anything of importance, but it’s blandly empty. There’s a filing cabinet to the left (locked) and a drawer under the desk (also locked). I swipe my hand across the surface of the desk, and it glows as it boots up. The system’s not that different from the one we use at Reverie Mental Spa. A screen floats up from the surface, and the top of the desk illuminates a keyboard. A dozen or more holo-icons twirl across the top of the desk, but when I reach for them, they shake. Password protected.

  I glance at my cuff—I’ve already lost a minute. My mind races, and my fingers fly across the keyboard as I try to recall everything I ever learned in any of my interface system classes. I shut my eyes, hoping I can channel some of the representative’s thoughts from the reverie we shared.

  Beep!

  I open my eyes, and see that one of the holo-icons has come unlocked, glowing faintly green. I grab it, and it explodes across the surface of the desk.

  Folders. I flip through the tabs, trying to see anything that could possibly be important.

  My eyes grow wide.

  My father’s name. Right there, across the top of one of the folders.

  I snatch the holo-folder up, and its contents burst before me. Dozens of papers ranging from news clippings and vid files of Dad to memos from the labs to detailed scientific reports. I try to memorize everything before me, but there’s too much. I let my fingers slide over the documents, lingering on one near the top.

  Nanorobotics and Cyborg Control in Android Theory: Building a Brain Through Biology and Technology

  By: Dr. Philip K. Shepherd

  The prevailing theory is that androids simply cannot be equipped with individual thought. While this has proven true through countless tests, it is also true that in order for technology to become what we want it to be, we must alter our quest. Androids are currently ideal laborers and soldiers. They never tire, their work is typically more precise than humans’, and they have the
advantage of being virtually indestructible through a stronger internal system made of alloy metal rather than bone and flesh.

  Human beings have the advantage of individual thought, something that has never been successfully replicated. Androids have the advantage of superior physical strength. It’s the classic case of brains versus brawn.

  My scientific studies to date have always had the goal of a being with individual thought but also physical strength. I have failed to create an android with a human brain to achieve that end.

  Pain erupts behind my eyes—a blinding sort of migraine. I stagger back, my hand twitching, and the folder closes, the holo-icon dropping back to the desk’s surface. At that precise moment, I hear the click of the door’s lock. I swipe my hand over the surface of the desk, sending the interface program back into standby mode, and lunge around the desk and into the chair across from it.

  The door opens and Representative Belles steps in.

  “Hello, Ella,” he says, shutting the door behind him.

  I stand and extend my hand to the representative’s. As we exchange meaningless pleasantries, my heart is racing, my lungs gasping, my mind spinning, but I am confident that the representative sees nothing but my easy smile.

  twenty-three

  “Have you recovered?”

  The representative asks, his voice neutral.

  I’m not sure if it’s entirely true, but I say, “Yes.”

  “You gave the medics quite a scare. A young girl passing out in front of Triumph Towers.”

  “I’m sorry; I got, uh, dizzy.” I stare into his clear eyes. “Why did you bring me here? I could have waited for someone outside.”

  Representative Belles splays his hands palm-up on his desk, as if he’s offering me peace. “I saw from your cuff scan that you work as an intern at Reverie Mental Spa. Your last name is Shepherd; it wasn’t much of a leap to figure out you are Dr. Rose Shepherd’s daughter.”

  I wait, an eyebrow raised. He still hasn’t answered my question.

  “I recently did a reverie at the mental spa, my first. You can see why I might be… suspicious of someone from Reverie suddenly appearing before me.”

  “I can see you might be paranoid,” I say, mimicking his inflection.

  The representative snorts in laughter void of humor. “Perhaps I am. But it struck me as unusual, and I wanted to…” His voice trails off.

  “To what?” I demand. “Quiz me? Torture me like a spy? Look, I was just in the plaza. I got, uh, dizzy. That’s all. And besides,” I add, “if you’re so worried about spies, why did you leave me here in your office alone?”

  The representative smirks. “I have the highest security on my interface system.”

  I very carefully keep my face emotionless. Highest security my ass; I broke into it with my eyes literally closed.

  The representative hands me a glass of water from the bar near his desk. I hesitate; his paranoia is infecting me.

  “The medic said you collapsed from dehydration,” the representative says, watching me.

  I raise the glass to my lips and force myself to drink a few sips before continuing.

  “Thank you for not contacting my mother,” I say.

  The tension in the room crackles around us. “Dr. Rose Shepherd…” The representative sounds contemplative. “The scientist who invented reveries, who is dying of Hebb’s Disease.”

  I flinch at the way he says “dying,” as if it’s not important at all.

  The representative smiles, just the corners of his mouth lifting up before he hides it behind his steepled hands. “I have found it imperative to learn all I can about anyone I associate with,” he says finally. “And I have discovered that I cannot afford to trust anyone. Perhaps that has made me paranoid.”

  I shoot him my best incredulous look, but warning alarms are ringing in my head.

  “Your father…” the representative starts, and my head whips around to his. “He was a famous scientist too.”

  “Yes?” I say tentatively. “I—um—thank you for bringing me up here, but I should get home.”

  “Oh, please, have some more water first. For your dehydration.” He pushes the glass I set down closer to me. I take it, but do not drink this time.

  “Dr. Philip Shepherd,” the representative muses. “He worked with android sciences.”

  “And nanobots,” I say.

  Representative Belles nods. “I’ve been looking at his research. What I can find of it, I mean.”

  I place the glass of water back on the representative’s desk. I wish I’d had just five more minutes alone with his files.

  “He was a genius,” the representative says.

  “I like to think so.”

  “Oh, no, he absolutely was.” The representative casts me an appraising look. “I’d love to read more about him. Do you have any of his research at the mental spa? Perhaps I could come in one day for a reading.”

  I hide the smile growing on my lips. This isn’t the representative being kind and giving a girl who passed out a glass of water. No… this is an interview. This is a test. This is his feeble attempt to spy on me.

  “No,” I say simply, my confidence rising now that I see what this really is. “He didn’t. Much of his research was destroyed in the explosion. You know. The one that killed him.”

  I’m pleased to see that, despite the blasé way he spoke of my mother’s sickness, my reminder of my father’s death so bluntly unnerves the representative.

  “Probably for the best,” I continue. “PA Young warned me personally that terrorists were trying to find Dad’s research.”

  I watch him closely, but his face is utterly blank. “Are they?” he asks, obviously trying to lead me on.

  I nod emphatically. “I suppose you can turn any scientific study into some kind of weapon; that’s just human nature. Dad wanted his work to help people, cure illnesses. The terrorists think they can corrupt that, I guess. The government, of course, won’t allow that to happen.”

  The representative’s eyes slide away from mine. “Of course,” he mutters.

  I try my best to appear at least a little vapid. “They’re after my mother’s research too,” I say.

  Representative Belles’s eyes widen slightly, then he leans back in his chair, his face obscured by shadows. “Really?” he asks, his voice feigning disinterest.

  My hands curl into fists, but I keep my tone light. Best to make him think I’m nothing but a stupid little girl; men like him are easier to control that way. I try to look guileless and let the corners of my mouth drift up.

  “Do you know why the first lunar colony failed?” he asks finally.

  I shake my head, unsure of how the representative has leapt to this topic.

  The original lunar colony was located in the “Sea of Tranquility,” one of the dark spots on the moon’s surface, part of the right eye of the “man in the moon.” Covered in domes, the first colony was wiped out after an error, and the new colony—along with new domes—were built over the “Sea of Serenity.” The lunar base Akilah serves on is part of Serenitatis.

  “The colonists of Tranquilitatis had androids to aid them,” Representative Belles says. “The androids were the ones who built the colonial domes—they don’t need air to work, they’re robots after all—so they built the domes. But there was an error in the construction somewhere. The Tranquilitatis dome was failing, losing oxygen. The colonists had all moved in before they noticed the damage, and if it wasn’t fixed, they would all die.”

  “But they did all die,” I say.

  “The colonial leader ordered the androids to fix the dome as efficiently and quickly as possible. And they did.”

  I look at Representative Belles questioningly.

  “The androids realized that the seams of the dome around the base were contaminated with moon dust—it’s a really fine powder, and it had seeped between the seals. To fix the dome, the androids had to lift them up, clean out the seam at the base, and reseal the dome
s. The colonial leader had told them to fix it as quickly as possible, so the androids gathered around the base of the dome… and lifted it up.”

  I gape at the Representative. I’ve never heard any of this. The death of the Tranquilitatis colony was a blow—we had a week of mourning after the news reached Earth that the dome had failed. It happened when I was a kid, but I remember school being cancelled. It was the first time I really understood that bad things happened in the world; the first time I saw adults scared and upset. But while many news sources have questioned how the dome failed, no answer has been made public.

  “The androids lifted the dome for exactly eighteen minutes—the time it took for them to clear the moon dust away from the seal and reposition the dome. The average person can’t last more than a minute or two exposed to space. All the oxygen left the dome. The domes were also connected to the false gravity in the colony. All the colonists… they died, floating, choking on the vacuum of space.”

  I can just picture it—the colonists gasping for air, dying in space.

  “The decompression in the dome when the androids lifted it caused all the windows in the house to break, and anyone outside was sucked out onto the moon’s surface or thrown up to the roof of the dome. It was like a cyclone, whirling the bodies around. When the androids reattached the dome and the gravity kicked on, the bodies of those colonists dropped straight back down. The investigators who went to analyze the aftermath said there were dead people everywhere, in the strangest positions. Over roofs. In the hypo-hyrdro trees that had been planted. On the ground, in all kinds of weird positions. It had, literally, rained death.”

  Androids can only follow directions. They can perform simple tasks. But they can’t think. Science can do a lot. But it can’t make a brain. It can’t make something that thinks for itself. I know—I’ve studied the medical files. Mom’s disease lies inside her brain, the drifting synapses and the failing nerves. Any organ in the human body can be cloned—except a brain.