Autonoma- Gate 13 Read online

  I didn’t need the invitation Michael, it was pretty much impossible to miss the enormous, sleek, cubic star craft in front of us as the pod rotated.

  The letters on my visor scrambled faster.

  ‘W…E…:…C…#’, it read, the letters falling into a legible sentence.

  “We’re here!” Michael declared, his excitement again distorting my earpiece.

  As we were drawn into the ship, the light faded, and my visor went black.

  “Simulation complete. Welcome to the Autonoma Resort,” a computerized voice remarked.

  Chapter 1

  //Autonoma_13

  I put my gloves and visor back in their holder, feeding the thick metal wires back into the slot, and picked Michael’s up off the floor. I stretched across to put his away, as he placed his hands onto my back, leaning on me to get even more height from the seat as he bounced up and down.

  The doors opened and he clambered onto my back. I sighed, letting him scramble across, collected his ‘Dino Rock’, backpack from under his seat, and stepping into the aisle.

  I called Michael back, and as we neared the lockers beside the aisle, near the exit, one pulsated green as I drew nearer.

  “Welcome to the ride of your life,” a robotic voice chirped, as the lock released, another doing the same for my little brother.

  The door swung open, and I collected my slim, wireless headset from inside.

  Michael had his on by the time I shut the locker door.

  Hearing voices giggle behind me, I turned to see two girls cupping their hands over their mouths. Anyone would have thought they’d never seen a teenager with a ‘Dinos Rock’, backpack, designed for an eight-year-old, slung over one shoulder. I smiled politely.

  “For your safety, please put on your headset before you exit,” a woman’s voice remarked, as the door closed in front of us. I looked up at the screen. A computer-generated woman smiled back, and I put the headset on.

  Nothing changed. I was, still, waiting on the steps out, staring at a set of closed doors. I glanced back at the two girls, though they were pre-occupied checking themselves out in the reflection on each other’s visor, this time, there was a bubble above their heads. Liz and Candice, which I assumed were their names, next to a duck pout picture of each.

  I looked at Michael. His bubble had more info in it, telling me his name and he was on the shuttle. That’s super, in case I ever get confused about where the person stood next to me was, I could look at that brilliant and helpful bit of info.

  The doors opened and my little brother exploded out. I stepped down from the shuttle into a dim open space, following his bubble ahead, entering a tunnel encased in galaxies twisting and twirling in the breeze of the people passing by. I stepped closer to the side of the tunnel, and it was even more spectacular. I could see entire star systems and galaxies. Drawing my hand across the wall of multicolored lights, they felt cold, but not damp, almost like the breeze from an air conditioning unit. There was, however, something physical about them, like I could feel the particles between my fingertips. I had to know how they did this.

  I lifted the visor on my headset to inspect the wall. Nothing. Actual nothing. It was pitch black, everywhere. I couldn’t see the walls of the tunnel, I couldn’t see the shuttle, I couldn’t see anything.

  “For your safety, and to enhance your experience at Autonoma Resort, please do not remove your headset,” a voice chirped through the earpiece.

  Did I trust this place enough to let them guide me through total darkness? What if there was a misplaced flagstone? What if I fell?

  “For your safety, and to enhance--”

  Yeah, I heard you the first time.

  I lowered the visor and followed the two girls through the tunnel, neither of them showing any interest in the show taking place all around them.

  “For your safety, and to enhance your experience at Autonoma Resort, please follow the indicated arrows,” the voice remarked, as a series of green arrows illuminated on the floor ahead of me.

  Is this how it was going to be all day? Being bossed around by a disembodied voice?

  “For your safety, and to enhance--”

  I sighed as a video appeared, taking up a quarter of my visor. Stylized like a 50s color cartoon, a man waved with one hand while holding the other to his visor. He removed the goggles and marched like a zombie, as the background faded to a dark grey. A white cubic block in his path saw the cartoon man strike his legs against it. ‘DO NOT REMOVE YOUR VISOR’, the warning read, as he rubbed at his shins.

  He put his goggles back on, and the background turned to a jungle, the block transforming to an angry tiger. The man leapt backward in surprise. ‘AUTONOMA USES EXPERIENCE CUBES TO CREATE A REALISTIC EXPERIENCE’. The tiger took a swipe at the man, and he turned toward the camera, lifting his shirt to show the bloodied marks of the beast’s claws. ‘SIMULATIONS ARE NOT REAL’, the message read, the red stripes fading from his skin. ‘ABOVE ALL - REMEMBER TO ENJOY YOUR TIME HERE AT AUTONOMA RESORT’, the infotainment signed off, accompanied with the Autonoma logo. ‘AUTONOMA RESORT - THE RIDE OF YOUR LIFE’. The video cleared from my visor.

  ‘Michael - Lobby Entrance’, the bubble ahead told me, as I climbed the slope. Wouldn’t it have made more sense to have the shuttle bay at the same level? Or perhaps an escalator? This place was supposed to be the technological pinnacle of our time, of our generation, yet I could feel a real burn in my thighs.

  “Michael would like to chat,” the disembodied voice chanted, accompanied with the words scrolling across the bottom of my visor. “Say, OK, if you would like to proceed.”

  “OK,” I replied, with a sigh, eager to avoid further communication with the voice.

  “Hurry up,” my little brother pleaded, his words distorted as though he was jumping on the spot. “There’s someone here to meet us.”

  Meet us? Who could possibly be here to meet us?

  “Come on,” Michael begged.

  As I reached the top of the slope, I hunched over and stopped to catch my breath. I wasn’t made for walking, hiking or strolling, and without doubt, not running; it was more of a Michael thing.

  “Come on Alex, you have to meet him.”

  Him?

  “Greetings, Guest,” a voice loaded with old English quips and pleasantries declared. “I am a Human Emotional and Neurological Response Interface unit, but you can call me H.E.N.R.I.”

  I straightened up to inspect the curious looking bot.

  “Welcome to Autonoma Resort.”

  Hovering in front of me was what I could only describe as two thick, yellow discs, the size of dinner plates, with painted on eyes on the top disc, joined in the middle with ribbed, black plastic tubing, the kind they bury electrical cables into the ground with, topped with a glass dome, and a compass sticking out on a bracket at the base.

  “He’s our robot,” Michael giggled.

  “That is correct, Guest. I am here to accompany you throughout your time here at Autonoma Resort.”

  The pinnacle of technology advancement, that’s what the advert said. If Henri was the pinnacle, I’d hate to see entry level. It had a compass sticking out the side. Why would a hoverbot need a compass? Where was he going to go? Hiking? Sailing? Did he have a navigational chart? The bots on the advert were sleek, white orbs with lit eyes changing color and shape to indicate their mood. Henri’s eyes were painted on; and he smelled of old engine grease.

  “Come on, Alex!” my little brother pleaded, pulling on my arm toward the end of the tunnel. “You promised, you promised.”

  “OK, OK,” I replied, releasing his hand from my jacket, “fine. I’m coming.”

  I know I promised mom I would look after him, but did I want to spend the rest of the day being nagged by an eight-year-old and bossed about by some disembodied voice? I was surprised I hadn’t been told off for breathing yet.

  “Alex,” Michael gasped.

  Perhaps I spoke to soon, it sounded like they sucked the air ou
t of Michael.

  “You have to see this.”

  “I’m coming,” I mumbled, dragging my feet to the end of the tunnel, putting a little more effort into kicking the green arrows as I passed over them.

  “Weee…” Michael squealed, as he ran through the immense white light at the end.

  With my expectations dulled, I followed, stepping out into the lobby, and into the snow.

  Snow?

  I looked up.

  An old, stone, narrow bridge extended before me. Beneath us, skiers and snowboarders carved through the powder, and overhead, fluffy clouds sprinkled the landscape with fresh snow. To the left, chalets, bars and cafes glowed with an inviting warmth, nestled in the valley, while ahead of us in the distance, a grey castle sat at the foot of a large mountain. OK. This wasn’t what I expected at all.

  I reached out my hand and watched a single flake settle in my palm. I felt it tingle against my skin, but it didn’t melt. I bounced it on my palm and the breeze carried it away. I always thought a snowflake would melt in my hand, but this one hadn’t. I bent down and scooped up a handful of snow from the floor.

  “Eww,” Michael remarked, as he turned to face me, the naive expression of amazement wiped from his face. “What are you doing?”

  “I wanted to know what it felt like,” I replied, turning my palm over and watching the snow flitter away in the breeze.

  “You wanted to know what dinosaur poop felt like?”

  “Poop? What are you talking about?”

  “You just picked up dino poop,” he remarked, the giggles taking hold of him.

  “No, I picked up snow.”

  “Snow? There isn’t any snow. It’s dino poop.”

  “What is wrong with you? It’s clearly snow.”

  “Poop.”

  “No, snow.”

  “It’s poop. So there.”

  “No, it’s not! Henri, tell Michael that was not poop,” I demanded, my arm outstretched toward my little brother.

  The flying yellow tin can turned to face us, drawing close to my hand. If Henri were a dog, I’d say he was sniffing it, but being a hoverbot with painted on eyes and a compass, I’d say it was impossible.

  “Alex picked up poop,” Michael chanted, as Henri withdrew.

  “You are correct,” the bot remarked.

  “Who is correct? Me or Michael?”

  “You are both correct.”

  “How can we both be correct, you flying idiot.”

  Michael stopped and glared at me, as Henri appeared to stall and drop.

  “He is not a flying idiot!”

  “He must be. How can we both be right?”

  “Experience blocks,” the bot chirped.

  “What?”

  “Experience blocks. The Autonoma Resort operates using experience blocks. Configured to your visor, the blocks are a source of sound, humidity and air. Autonoma corrects, alters and manages each block independently to create a truly unique experience for each guest.”

  “That doesn’t answer the question, Henri.”

  “Based on a guest’s profile, the sights and sounds of the Autonoma Resort are altered to give you a unique experienced, based entirely on your wishes, likes and desires.”

  “Right?” I replied, with a skeptical tone.

  “Michael enjoys dinosaurs, his primary color of choice is green, and he has great interest in the Cretaceous period. Therefore, his Autonoma experience has been tailored to simulate an environment creating maximum efficiency.”

  “And mine is snow?” I asked, the initial wonder dissipating from my core.

  “That is correct, Guest.”

  “So, let me get this straight. Michael can see dinosaurs, and their, erm? poop. I get a bit of snow and some jingle bells?”

  “That is correct, Guest.”

  I sighed. “Fine, whatever. So, say over by that mountain--”

  “That’s not a mountain,” Michael rebuffed, “that’s a triceratops.”

  “OK, by that triceratops, is some kind of dino castle?”

  “It’s the gate into the next enclosure,” Michael remarked, excitement peppering his tone.

  “And either side of us? I’m guessing it’s not dinos on skis?”

  “It’s a herd of Gallimimus and Troodons, racing by,” my little brother explained. “Can’t you hear them?”

  “And we’re standing on?”

  “A fallen log.”

  Right, so Michael got to walk with creatures from some 140 million years ago, and I got a ski resort in the Alps. Wonderful.

  “I can recalibrate your experience, Guest. If you wish?”

  “No, it’s fine,” I replied with a sulk. “But stop calling me Guest. I don’t like it. Call me Alex.”

  “As you wish, Guest,” the bot chirped, resuming a scuttle toward the castle in the distance.

  “You guys carry on without me,” I declared, my enthusiasm waning, watching Michael run on ahead. “Perhaps I should just go home?”

  “What?” Henri remarked, breaking away from his otherwise prim and proper protocol. “You cannot. The schedule is strict. I have allotted time slots for your simulations. I have calculated dietary requirements. The itinerary has already been approved by the central control system. We cannot deviate from it.”

  “I can wait in the shuttle. I don’t think this place is meant for me.”

  “Autonoma was built for you,” Henri replied, as if I’d offended everything he had ever held dear. “You cannot leave. There are simulations and queue slots, things to do, things which must be done.”

  I could sense the flying tin can was getting flustered. It was not wise for a bot his age. He’d have a meltdown. Michael seemed quite attached to it too, and while it would be hilarious to watch the old thing explode, the aftermath of a distraught little brother, and the bill to pay, wasn’t worth it.

  “OK,” I replied, reside to letting yet another machine boss me around. “We’ll carry on.”

  “Wonderful,” Henri declared, his chirpy British butler persona restored. “We have so much to do.”

  I watched the old tin can hover off after my little brother, and I lumbered into a reluctant walk, following the green arrows as they highlight the route ahead. I hesitated to watch a snowboarder pass under the bridge as he carved a line around a young child on skis. To be fair, it was remarkable. I did wonder though, did dino poop and snow feel the same? How did Autonoma know which one to simulate as you touched it?

  “Come on, Alex,” Michael screamed into my ear.

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m coming.”

  “Your itinerary for the day is accessible on your visors,” Henri explained, his voice more soothing in my earpiece. “Our first simulation is ‘Flight of the Triathics’, after which we will move onto the next simulation; later we have a reservation in the food hall. At 12:07 it gets really interesting…”

  A sleek, white orb passed by in silence, at eye-level, followed by two enthusiastic children. I looked back as more groups followed, being led by more silent, white orbs. They looked like the hoverbots I saw on the advert. So, they did exist. Why did we end up with a H.E.N.R.I? I wondered if we could get him swapped, even if I had to pay for the upgrade. It must have been possible, I needed to find someone to ask. I wondered if I could ask Henri. Or was that cruel?

  “Come on, Alex,” Michael insisted. “Or have you stop to play in the poop?”

  “Yes Michael, I’ve stopped to roll in it,” I replied.

  “Ewwww.”

  I glanced up to the castle towering above me and looked back to the snowboarders carving through the snow, as children threw snowballs across their path.

  Dad would’ve liked it here. Computers were always his kind of thing. When he wasn’t at work, he was working in his shed, with soldering iron in hand.

  “Please follow the arrows,” Henri chimed into my earpiece, “we have strict protocols to follow.”

  Chapter 2

  Flight of the Triathics

  I lumbered f
orward as my little brother hopped on with leaps and skips, his info bubble bouncing ahead of me. Henri hovered behind him and neither seemed to care what I was doing, as long as I was keeping up.

  We followed a pass through the mountains as birds flew out of reach, riding the winds. Icy flags, atop long wooden poles, flicked back and forth, unable to flutter their frozen fabric. It wasn’t cold though. Even while my brain was trying to convince me otherwise, I didn’t feel the goose bumps on my neck or the shiver in my muscles.

  In the distance, around us, more snow-covered mountains filled the horizon, while ahead the path ended at the entrance to a cave. Cut from the large mountain, the cavernous entrance danced with red and green lights as I became aware of the light-hearted music playing in my earpiece, or perhaps it was always there? I couldn’t remember.

  ‘Flight of the Triathics’, lit up with a blue light, was carved into the rock above the entrance. As Michael and Henri followed the arrows into the cave, my little brother’s bubble updated to ‘Michael - Flight of the Triathics’.

  The lights extinguished. A roar, belonging to something big and fierce, echoed through the expanse, shaking the ground beneath my feet, flushing my face with hot air. The lights reignited. Michael looked back to me, his smile disturbed. I waved my hand forward to encourage him to continue.

  A drumbeat picked up the rhythm and I could sense we were nearing our destination. We passed through a small gap in the rock face, where two charred rocks look as though they collapsed onto one another, and emerged into a large room extending further into to distance than I could see.

  A growl rumbled through the space behind us, the sound of teeth clashing together and the cascade of dirt from the ceiling snatching my little brother’s attention. He reached for my hand.

  I snatched mine away. “You’re eight years old Michael, you don’t need to hold my hand.”

  He looked up at me, his eyes watering and his bottom lip quivering.

  The last green arrow faded as we stepped onto it, and I looked to Henri for guidance.

  “Please,” the bot responded, “take your seat.”

  Seat? On what?