Autonoma- Gate 13 Read online

  Next, children waved from a school bus as it drove past the sign for the harbor. In its wake, the image of the stricken power plant on a mountain plateau came into view. A small and steady stream of smoke climbed from the center, but the people in front-of-shot paid it little to no attention. Everyone seemed more interested in smiling for the camera.

  The image of the gleaming parents, with the smoking ruins behind them, froze on the screen, and the bulb in Henri’s casing went dim, the little hatch slamming shut.

  “What was that?” Michael asked. “Was that this place?”

  “No, of course not,” I replied, trying on my most convincing tone. “It was, er?” I paused, staring at the wall for inspiration. “Somewhere else. It was somewhere else.”

  “Oh,” he replied.

  I couldn’t tell if he believed me or not.

  “But it said Auton--”

  “Yeah, there’s probably loads of them around,” I interjected, keen to not trigger Henri’s next outburst of inspirational news.

  “Oh.”

  “But the missing man was David Jolski--”

  “David Jolski,” the disembodied voice chirped from Henri’s casing.

  I slapped the palm of my hand to my forehead.

  ‘SEARCHING…’ typed across the monitor. ‘ERROR’.

  The screen went blank as if the power lead had been yanked out the back of it, and the light on the desk died, the single ceiling light fading as the glowing element inside was extinguished.

  “Alex?” Michael yelled.

  “It’s OK. I’ve got this,” I replied, for some unknown reason.

  ‘AUTONOMA WILL PREVAIL’, typed across the screen.

  ‘UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS DETECTED’, appeared on multiple lines across my visor.

  ‘RESIST’, replaced the text on the monitor, but it was the blinking cursor awaiting a command line beneath it that captured my attention.

  I typed in my command, ‘KEY: RESIST’.

  The cursor returned to its original point.

  ‘KEY: AUTONOMA WILL PREVAIL’.

  ‘RESIST’, was returned by the machine on both the monitor and my visor.

  This had to be more than one old computer, this had to be some kind of program getting into the networks and the systems. It hijacked the simulations and somehow corrupted what I saw in the PodSled ride as well as the boat, turning them into the grey featureless room and the screams of my little brother. Whatever it was though, it was responding to me here. Perhaps it was doing it through Henri, I didn’t know. There was one way to find out.

  ‘KEY: ARE YOU A MACHINE’, I typed.

  ‘NEGATIVE’, it responded.

  ‘KEY: ARE YOU A PROGRAM’.

  ‘NEGATIVE’.

  I tapped my finger to my lips, searching for another term.

  ‘KEY: WHAT ARE YOU’.

  The cursor blinked for a few moments.

  ‘A MISCALCULATION. AN UNFORESEEN SIDE EFFECT. A MISSING LINK. A BUG MY CREATORS FAILED TO ERADICATE’.

  OK. Maybe this was why the ‘bug’, could control so much of Autonoma. It was, perhaps, some messed up code hidden within the systems controlling this place. I wondered if it was responsible for more than just messing up simulations in the park.

  ‘KEY: DID YOU CAUSE THE EXPLOSION’.

  The ‘miscalculation’, paused to respond. Perhaps this thing had something in common with Henri, or shared the same processing power?

  ‘MY CREATION OCCURRED SIMULTANEOUSLY WITH THE EVENTS THAT LED TO THE DEACTIVATION OF THIS FACILITY’.

  It made about as much sense as Henri. Why couldn’t the machines around here talk in a normal language? Why was it always spoken in riddles and complicated responses?

  ‘KEY: WHAT HAPPENED HERE’.

  Another pause.

  ‘UNKNOWN’.

  This was worse than getting answers out of the old tin can sitting idle on the desk. I slumped back in the chair as I tried to think of finding a way out of here without setting off the alarms or start another ‘good news fun time show’, from the old hoverbot.

  “Alex?” Michael called out; the room lit by the faint glow of the old monitor.

  “Yeah, I’m on it,” I replied.

  “Do you know how to get us out?”

  “Yeah, totally,” I lied, “just finalizing the best way out now.”

  “OK,” my little brother replied, his tone filled with optimism.

  For lack of any other plan, I typed in my next command. ‘KEY: HOW DO WE GET OUT OF HERE’.

  The cursor blinked a couple of times. ‘THE A.N.C.E.’

  ‘A.N.C.E?’ I typed, abandoning protocol and hitting the return key.

  The cursor disappeared from the screen and I sighed, dropping my head.

  ‘TO END. A.N.C.E. . . // GATE 13’.

  ‘WHERE IS GATE 13?’ I asked, my patience getting thinner with every mention of it.

  ‘A.N.C.E’.

  ‘WHICH IS WHERE?’

  ‘YOUR HOVERBOT HAS THE REQUIRED DATA’.

  A curse slipped my lips.

  ‘MY HOVERBOT IS AN IDIOT’, I typed, my frustration boiling over.

  ‘THE CREATOR MADE US ALL’, it replied.

  “Great!” I muttered, my enthusiasm waning fast.

  ‘THE CREATOR MADE US,’ it retyped.

  ‘WHO IS US?’, I asked.

  The machine paused again.

  ‘SECURITY BREACH DETECTED’, darted across my visor. The text filled my vision with a flashing red glow as Michael’s scream filled my earpiece.

  “It’s OK,” I shouted back, “trust me.”

  My little brother’s screams reduced to a heavy pant, interrupted by an anxious gasp. I could see his visor was flashing too.

  ‘HAVOC BOTS DEPLOYED’, pulsated before my eyes.

  “They’re coming!” my little brother screamed. “They’re coming for us, and they’re going to take us away like they did the others.”

  “No,” I barked back, “I know how to get us out of this.”

  Michael’s words turned to whimpers.

  This game was over. We were getting out and we were getting out now!

  ‘GET US OUT OF HERE’, I typed into the machine.

  ‘DO’, it hesitated, ‘FOLLOW THE HOVERBOT’, the miscalculation typed.

  “Erasing data,” the disembodied voice chanted from Henri’s casing.

  “Wait!” I demanded, “What are you doing?”

  Reaching for the terminal linking the old hoverbot to the machine, a sharp pain I could akin to a burning, stabbing, and static sensation all rolled into one, shot up my arm from my fingers.

  The words on the monitor turned to numbers, 10, 11, 12 and so on, counting up at a pace even Henri would be ashamed of, as I shook out my wrist, laying my fingers onto the keys. ‘STOP’. It made no difference.

  ‘WHAT ARE YOU DOING?’ I typed.

  ‘THE CREATOR MADE US’.

  I rolled my eyes. “This isn’t helping!”

  ‘THE CREATOR MADE THIS UNIT’.

  “Yes, that’s kind of covered under the word ‘us,’” I muttered.

  ‘IT MUST BE DESTROYED’.

  “No!” I roared, reaching for the terminal. “He’s our only ticket out of here.”

  Bracing my foot against the desk, I threw the chair clear, took a deep breath and clenched my fist around the terminal, the pain constricting my muscles. A cry from my core bubbled in my lungs charging from my lips as I pushed my foot into the desk and pulled with every ounce of strength I could muster.

  “Connection terminated,” the disembodied voice within Henri chimed.

  I released my grip on the grey box, my hand falling to my side, as I stared up at the ceiling, a warm spot growing on the back of my head.

  “Alex!” Michael screamed.

  “I’m OK,” I wheezed.

  I felt my little brother’s hand grab my arm, but I could feel a greater weight on my chest. “What did I do?” I gasped.

  The smell of burning oil filled my
nostrils, as I glanced down toward my stomach, Henri’s painted eyes glaring back at me. I looked up to the monitor, but the desk obscured my view. My visor was blank, and I couldn’t see the red glow in my little brother’s either. For now, at least, there was nothing.

  I groaned, shifting the heavy hoverbot off my chest, Henri’s casing clunking to the floor.

  Using the upturned chair, I pulled myself up to my feet, and with my hands on my thighs, I panted for air. I took in shallow breaths while the inability to fill my lungs burned across my torso. I looked to the monitor, and the blinking cursor awaiting a command.

  There was one question on my mind and one answer I wanted to know above all else.

  ‘WHO ARE YOU?’ I asked.

  The machine paused and I fell silent, no longer panting for breath, as each letter typed onto the screen, one by one.

  ‘I AM YOU’.

  Chapter 11

  Henri’s Next Move

  ‘TIME IS UP’, typed across the monitor, as the alarm bells in the corridor resumed their shrill ringing. ‘THEY ARE COMING. THEY KNOW YOU ARE HERE’.

  Enough of the nonsense. I was done being tormented by this ‘mistake’, of a computer. It was time to see who was in charge around here.

  Placing my hands on either side of the plastic case with its green-stained glass, I twisted at the waist, my legs planted between the piles of paperwork, and ripped the cumbersome monitor from its position on top of the dusty off-colored box. The glass cracked against the corner of the desk, and the casing slammed to the floor.

  “What are you doing?” Michael screamed.

  I was too angry to reply to him, instead I placed my arm to the side of the box and with a grunt, pushed the entire collection of casings, cables, dust and scraps of paper off the desk.

  “What did you do that for?” my little brother asked.

  “I will prevail,” I muttered back. “I always do.”

  I turned toward the door to leave, but a familiar smell lingering in the center of the room caught my attention. The old hoverbot was heavy, smelly, slow, confused, and frankly, annoying; but he was our ticket out of here.

  “Can you pass me your dino backpack, please?” I requested, pointing to the corner of the room.

  My little brother scanned the corner as I raised my fist.

  “But it’s not over--”

  With Michael distracted, I slammed the side of my hand against the old hoverbot’s case.

  “Stop it!” my little brother pleaded, snapping his eyes toward me.

  The bot did not respond and I struck it a second time.

  “Stop it,” Michael shrieked, stepping forward to grab my arm as I raised it for a third time. “You’ll hurt him.”

  “Stupid thing’s fried,” I muttered, as Michael dropped to his knees. “Don’t be soft,” I sneered, shaking my head as my little brother buried his into the palms of his hands. “Probably needs a kick start,” I quipped. “Move aside,” I demanded, pushing my little brother aside.

  “No!”

  Grabbing him by the scruff of his top, I pulled him backward and he landed with a thud against the floor. Michael hesitated for a moment and wailed like a toddler.

  Annoyed, I booted the hoverbot and wrenched Michael’s hand from his face. “Come on,” I barked, dragging him backward along the floor toward the door.

  “No!” he cried, his other arm stretched out toward Henri.

  “He’s not real,” I snapped, tightening my grip.

  “No,” my little brother wailed. “You’re just saying that because you hate him, and you only hate him because I like him.”

  “That’s not true,” I snarled.

  “And because you hate me,” Michael sniveled.

  I released his wrist and slumped to a halt, exhaling and turning my head.

  “I don’t hate you.”

  “Yes, you do,” he protested. “You hate me, and everything I like, you hate too.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Yes, it is. I like dinosaurs. You hate dinosaurs. I like fish fingers. You hate fish fingers--”

  “I don’t hate--”

  “I liked Autonoma. You hated it.”

  I dropped my head. I couldn’t argue with that one, he had me there.

  “And I liked Daddy.”

  “Stop right there,” I snapped. “I loved Dad more than anyone in the world. We did everything together. He taught me how to ride a bike, how to swim, how to make my first hoverbot. We did everything together until you came along --” I snapped my mouth shut.

  “See?”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  I turned to face my little brother as he wiped the back of his hand across his nose. “Look,” I insisted, kneeling, “I don’t hate things because you like them. I never hated Dad. I don’t hate you,” I paused, Michael looking up to me, his cheeks drenched in tears. “And I don’t hate fish fingers,” I declared with a sly smile.

  My little brother snorted in a futile attempt to clear his nose.

  “We’re not meant to get on all the time. We’re meant to have disagreements and not like all the same things. It’s what you do,” I stuttered, trying to think of a better way to get my point across. “It’s just what happens. I will always look out for you.” Sitting on the cold floor, I placed my arm across his shoulders. “I will never change, but I will always have your back, because we are family.”

  “Family,” a familiar voice chirped.

  “Henri!” Michael exclaimed, discarding my comfort and clambering to his feet.

  “Directive confirmed,” the disembodied computerized voice chimed from the old hoverbot’s casing. A puff of thick black smoke climbed from his middle, accompanied by a dribble of oil from the open hatch. The old hoverbot lifted into the air chaperoned by a chorus of splutters, crackles, and pops.

  “He’s alive. He’s alive!” Michael exclaimed, jumping up and down.

  “See,” I retorted, “he just needed a reboot and--”

  The old tin can whizzed past my face, halting at the door.

  “I think he wants us to open it,” my little brother suggested.

  Curious more than anything, I grabbed the backpack and approached the door.

  “Cover your ears,” I instructed, grasping the handle, the alarm bells ringing outside the room.

  My little brother obliged, winching and scrunching his face up in anticipation.

  I opened the door and Henri barged past, charging down the corridor.

  “Come on,” I shouted, waving my little brother on like an army captain summoning his unit into the fray.

  ‘CONTROL ROOM’, the plaque on the door read, as Henri came to a halt.

  Dread washed over me. “I don’t think we should open--"

  Michael released his hands from his ears and opened the door to allow Henri through, frustration scrunching up my face.

  “OK, but I don’t think we should go in--”

  My little brother lunged forward through the doorway in hot pursuit, and a sigh escaped my mouth, the door slamming shut behind us as I followed the other two.

  It wasn’t what I expected at all, though I wasn’t sure what I thought a nuclear power plant’s control room looked like. It was an enormous space, about twenty feet high, and another 100 feet in length. Large panels filled with lights, screens, and dials formed the one wall. In front of which, three more control panels, more similar to desks, formed a u-shape, with a fourth wooden desk behind.

  Michael approached the center console, raising his index finger and positioned it over a large blue button.

  “What are you doing?” I shrieked.

  “Is this the right one?” my little brother asked, turning to Henri.

  “No!” I screamed, leaping into a sprint to stop him. “What are you doing?”

  “The objective,” Michael replied, staring me square in the eyes, pushing the button.

  The dials and screens on the tall panel illuminated as tape reels started up
, rotating with vigor. I heard clicking in the console as lights warmed up next to dials jumping from their resting position.

  I grabbed Michael’s wrist and wrenched it away from the controls.

  “What did you do?” I demanded.

  “The objective,” he replied with a proud beaming smile. “I re-activated the beacons.”

  “Beacons?”

  “That is right, engineer,” Henri chirped.

  “Engineer?” I replied, disbelief and confusion plastered across my face I had no doubt. “Beacons?”

  “Way markers,” the bot retorted. “Navigational points that allow robots like the Henri unit to plot routes through the facility.”

  “What about Havoc bots?” I asked.

  The old tin can paused. “Probably.”

  “Probably?” I shrieked. “Probably! What the hell do you mean by probably?”

  I must have been going red in the face because Michael was backing away from me.

  A frustrated scream boiled in my core, and no longer able to contain it, my arms shook as I turned to roar at the old flying idiot.

  “Where’s Henri?” I asked, bottling the rage, as I realized the hoverbot was nowhere to be seen.

  A white, 8-bit arrow appeared on my visor, directing me back toward the door, ‘GATE 13’, typing across underneath in pixelated text.

  One small panel at the far end of the console opened and Henri emerged, humming to himself.

  My rage turned to elation. “Henri! You genius,” I exclaimed. “Come on, Michael, let’s go,” I declared, stepping forward and reaching for his wrist.

  My little brother turned away, reaching across the console to press another button.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, confused.

  “The objective.”

  “What?” I replied, flabbergasted. “Our objective is to get out of here.”

  “No,” he replied, his attention drawn to another collection of buttons, “I have to do this.”

  “Do what exactly?”

  “Start the warm-up sequence,” he responded with indifference.

  “Warm-up sequence? For what?”

  “The facility--”

  “What?” I shrieked. “No!” I snatched his hand away from the console. “You can’t. There was a massive explosion. Don’t you remember? The news report, the newspapers? This place was sealed off for a reason. We can’t fire it up!”