Limbo (The Last Humans Book 2) (8 page)

I
kick backward
, but the Guard dodges. I stomp on his foot, but the white spacesuit shoes must have steel toes, because he shows no sign that I hurt him. Instead, the Guard tightens his grip. My squirming doesn’t have any effect on him.

After struggling for a few seconds, I realize something rather odd. Though I haven’t taken a breath in at least thirty seconds, I’m handling the oxygen deprivation relatively well. In the IRES version of this fight, when the imaginary Guard choked me, my vision went white and I became faint almost immediately. Granted, that was a simulated experience and the Guard was using his hands, not this elbow grip, but given the game’s ultra-realism, I imagine the principle of choking someone to death would hold, and if so, I should be feeling what I felt then. Why isn’t it happening? Why do I feel relatively okay, with no signs that I’m about to pass out and die?

Then I remember the Respirocytes—the nano machines Phoe turned on inside my body. Naturally, when she returned my memory, she reactivated everything else, including that technology.

That must explain why I’m still okay, but without consulting Phoe, I have no idea how long I’ll last.

I’m not even sure if the Guard is blocking my air supply or the flow of blood to my brain. If it’s the latter, it might be bad. I can go a long time without air, but I’m less sure about having my blood flow restricted. The Respirocytes travel through my bloodstream, so even they can’t save me from blacking out if I stay in this position long enough—however long that is.

I formulate a quick plan.

Acting like someone who’s running out of energy, I lazily tug at the Guard’s forearm.

He keeps his hold on my neck.

I have no idea how long I’ve been in his grip or how much time it would take for a normal person to get so weak they’d stop fighting, but I hope the Guard doesn’t know those statistics either. It’s not something that’s useful in our violence-free society.

I slow my movements.

He doesn’t let go.

I let my body go slack, pretending to pass out.

The Guard keeps his hold on my neck.

My panic reaches new heights. If my bluff doesn’t work, he might stand here long enough to choke me to death—with or without the Respirocytes.

I fight the panic and the need to stiffen my body. I keep my limbs relaxed, the way someone who’s lost consciousness would.

Then I genuinely begin to feel faint, and with that, the panic returns with exponential intensity. In another second, I won’t be able to stand here, slack, pretending to be passed out. I’ll be forced to fight again.

The Guard loosens his grip and lowers me to the ground, careful not to drop me.

Through the slit in my eyelids, I spot the Stun Stick.

If I reach with my right hand, I might get it, but I’d give away my true condition. The problem is, he still has me in that chokehold.

I stall as the Guard lays me on my stomach and lets go of my neck.

Surreptitiously, I take a small inhale.

Though my lungs feel unsatisfyingly empty, I know I can rely on the Respirocyte technology to keep me oxygenated.

The Guard grabs my left arm and pulls it to the right.

I don’t fight him at first, but when I feel something click on my left wrist, I decide not to wait any longer. As swiftly as I can, I push up off the ground and leap for the Stun Stick.

Whatever the Guard snapped around my left wrist tightens painfully, and I realize I’m tethered to the Guard somehow. Reaching out with my free hand, I stretch my fingers to grasp the handle of the Stun Stick.

The Guard pulls on the thing tethering us together.

My left arm threatens to pop out of its socket, but my fingers close around the Stun Stick.

Swallowing a scream, I shove the Stun Stick into the Guard’s thigh and squeeze the button so hard the bones in my thumb crack.

The Guard slumps against me.

Sucking in a lungful of air, I turn around.

The thing on my left arm is some kind of handcuff, though instead of being made of metal, as depicted in ancient media, these are made of the same dull gray material as the Witch Prison’s walls. The Guard was holding on to the second cuff right up until I zapped him. I was lucky he never finished cuffing my right arm, or else I’d be toast.

I fiddle with the handcuff, but it doesn’t yield.

The ghostly Screen shows up in the air and tells me:
Gesture for it to open the way you would a door. Then do the same to the Guard’s helmet.

I gesture hysterically at the cuffs.

Both the cuff on my hand and its empty cousin open with a loud
click
.

Emboldened, I repeat the motion at the Guard’s helmet.

There’s a hollow
whoosh
sound, and a gap appears between the Guard’s helmet and the neckpiece of his white outfit.

As a precaution, I unload another Stun Stick charge into him. He doesn’t react.

Content with my victim’s passivity, I take off his helmet.

The man’s eyes are closed and his hawkish features are calm, as though he’s taking a nap. His hair is mostly black, with only the beginning of gray at his temples. Like the other Guards, he looks like a younger Elderly. I hope that’ll allow him to survive the boatload of Stun Stick zappings coming his way.

I put aside the helmet and work on taking off the rest of his suit.

Phoe’s plan, for all its craziness, is simple: to make sure no one recognizes me as I make my way to the Elderly section, I’ll dress as a Guard. It worked for Fiona and Jeremiah, so the same idea should work for me. The crazy part was the cursing-assisted Quietude, plus the actual act of getting the Guard to give up his suit.

When I finish with the man’s boots, I begin to undress instead of disappearing my clothes with a gesture, so I can leave the Guard dressed in something rather than naked.

Before I put on the Guard’s suit, I zap him with the Stick to make sure he stays knocked out.

I put on the helmet, and the world becomes dimmer but with a bunch of overlaying visualizations. This helmet has something like a Screen built into the visor. As cool as it is, I don’t dare play with it
,
at least not until I bring Phoe’s plan to its conclusion.

Haphazardly, I put my old clothes on the unconscious man. Then, using his handcuffs, I cuff his hands behind his back and make a ‘close’ gesture.

The restraints seem to stay put.

Now the hardest part begins. I drag the unconscious Elderly by his legs and pause every so often to zap him. I’m not sure if it’s from my adrenaline or the Respirocytes, but backtracking to my room isn’t as exhausting as I imagined.

When I get back to my designated Quietude room, I drag the Guard inside and thoughtfully put him on the bed. I zap him one last time, put the Stun Stick on my belt, and exit the room.

This is the last part of Phoe’s plan.

I make a door-closing gesture, and the door slams shut.

There’s a locking sound, then an unusual crunching noise. Phoe said she would jam the door once it was closed, so I assume that’s what the crunch was about.

The ghostly Screen comes to life and confirms that the door is jammed. It also informs me of where I should go to make sure I don’t run into any of ‘my fellow Guards.’

I run the whole way, which makes my trip
out
of the Prison last about a minute.

“Phoe?” I think as soon as I exit the final door. “Is this helmet preventing you from talking to me?”

“Not at all,” Phoe says, her voice coming from my right.

I turn and see her standing there, grinning as she looks me up and down.

“Your helmet isn’t attached,” she says and makes a closing motion with her hand.

I hear a click around my neck, and the controls in my visor really come to life.

A map of Oasis appears in my peripheral vision, as well as a million other inputs I don’t understand.

To top it off, the air smells different, ozone-like.

“That’s because you’re wearing an actual space suit.” Phoe’s voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere inside my helmet. “My guess is, a while back, the Elderly repurposed the spacesuits that came with the Ship. It makes sense. Unlike most other clothes in Oasis, these suits were manufactured on Earth and not via nano assembly, so no one ‘malicious,’ like you or I, can recreate one with a gesture. I guess they also figured it would be helpful for the police force to have a distinctive look, not to mention the many helpful functions of the suit.” Her grin widens. “These suits take care of the wearer’s bodily functions and needs so a Guard can focus on—”

“Yuck.” I wrinkle my nose. “You’re telling me the Guard used this suit as a bathroom?”

She looks thoughtful for a moment, then says, “I just examined the suit’s sensors. It’s as close to a sterile environment as it gets. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Okay,” I say, trying hard not to think about the suit as a toilet. “What now?”

“Walk toward the Adult section.” Phoe points in the direction of the pine forest. “Though my door-jamming trick worked, we don’t know how much time we have. If the Envoy is somehow keeping an eye on the Prison—”

“Didn’t you say I have to be the last person to take the Elderly Test? Isn’t that the only way to make sure no one notices its absence for a year?” I ask as I walk toward the forest. “It’s not evening yet.”

“This is why we’re taking our time getting there.” Phoe walks next to me with a cheerful spring in her step. “I was thinking we could wait in the forest by the Barrier on the Adult side of Oasis until sunset.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” I glance at her. “Even in this disguise, if we come across another Guard, they might ask me something, and I’d be screwed.”

“True,” Phoe says. “Which is why we should do our best not to run into any Guards. Fortunately, your nifty new suit has all sorts of sensors that can help us.” She makes a gesture, and I suddenly see the world in blue and red colors.

“That’s heat vision,” Phoe explains and returns my vision to normal. “In that mode, you can see people behind trees, long before they get the chance to see you.”

“Cool,” I think. “That
should
help.”

“Yep, it should, and there’s another thing I want to do,” Phoe says. “Something that will allow me to keep you safe, but I’m afraid you won’t like it.”

“My list of dislikes is growing, that’s for sure. What is it this time? I know you’ll tell me anyway. You just want me to want you to tell me.”

“Just keep an open mind, please,” she says with a slight pout.

“Fine, I will. Come out with it already.”

“Okay.” Phoe stops and looks at me. “I want to ride your body.”

M
y cheeks
and the tips of my ears get uncomfortably warm. I’ve seen enough ancient movies to understand that expression. Riding someone means—

“Great, now that your hormones are normalizing, you’re turning into a horndog.” Phoe puts her hands on her hips. “Whether I want intimacy has nothing to do with what I’m talking about. You’re thinking of the innuendo, but I’m speaking more literally. I want to ride your body the way I rode Jeremiah the other day, when I had him untie you.”

“You mean when he was moving like a puppet?” I subvocalize. My blush disappears as blood leaves my face. Instinctively, I increase my pace, as if trying to run away from Phoe.

“Perhaps that wasn’t the best reminder,” she says, hurrying to catch up with me. “Jeremiah was moving erratically because I hadn’t mastered the interface between the nanos and the neurons in the motor cortex, which made that episode a little unnerving. I have since been looking into perfecting that interface, as well as involving more brain regions, such as the cerebellum, parts of the frontal lobe, and the basal ganglia. I believe I can take over walking and running for you, and do it so smoothly it will be indistinguishable from your own behavior.”

I stop walking and consider this. Somehow the idea that I wouldn’t be moving in jerky motions makes me feel a bit better about this proposition.

“But why?” I think to myself and to Phoe. “Why do you want to control
my body like that?”

“When we get to the Testing facility, once you initiate the Test like every other VR session, your consciousness will not be present in your body. Given the tight security and the Envoy situation, I don’t want you standing there like a statue.”

“Hmm,” I think and resume walking. “I haven’t thought that far ahead. When you put it like that, it sounds like a good idea.”

“Yeah, and I promise it won’t feel unpleasant, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she says and also starts walking.

“If my mind is busy with VR, I won’t feel anything anyway,” I think.

“True, but I want to test it out while you’re present in your mind. You see, this isn’t just for VR. There are other interesting possibilities. For example, say I see you’re in danger. Right now, I’d have to tell you, which takes time. If I mastered this skill, and you gave me permission, I could move your body away from the danger on my own, which might save your life, but I need to make sure you’re okay with me doing this when you’re still conscious of it.”

I walk silently for a few minutes, considering her proposal. At the core, my reservations about this idea are irrational. I fear Phoe taking away my control, but that’s silly. If she wanted to do that, she would have. Instead, she’s asking for permission.

“Fear of technology is so ingrained in you that I can’t blame you for being wary.” Phoe’s tone is almost tender.

“Let’s try it,” I subvocalize firmly, mostly out of a sense of rebellion. I always want to do the opposite of what the Adults are trying to brainwash me to do.

“Okay,” Phoe thinks. “Ready?”

“Do it,” I think.

I keep walking.

Nothing happens for at least twenty steps.

“So?” Phoe says. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“What are you talking about? You didn’t do anything.” I examine my legs and arms and find that they’re completely under my control.

“I took control,” Phoe says. “First with every other step, and then all the steps between the eighth and the fifteenth.”

“You were walking for me some of the time? But I didn’t feel it.”

“Your brain must be trying to sustain the illusion of free will,” Phoe says thoughtfully. “I’ve read about that. It’s a form of confabulation.”

“Or it didn’t work,” I think, more to myself.

I stop.

“Why did you stop?” Phoe asks, her voice taunting, almost challenging.

I think back.

It was just one of those spur of the moment decisions. I wanted to stop, at least that’s how it felt.

“Except
I
made you stop.” Phoe holds her hand out to stop my objections and says, “How about this?”

My gloved hand smacks the visor of my helmet.

It’s a strange sensation, like maybe I wanted to do that, yet I’m beginning to doubt myself.

Then I notice I’m hopping on one foot.

“Okay, Phoe, I believe you. Please stop humiliating me,” I say, picturing what I would think if I ever saw a Guard hopping like this. Once my feet are planted firmly on the ground, I add, “This isn’t what I expected at all. If anything, it’s less scary than what I feared. I thought it would be like the Lens of Truth, like I’d be a spectator trapped outside my body.”

“I just read some literature on the subject, and I’m not that surprised by your reaction anymore. Willful control over muscles is a very strange thing for human beings. Studies have proven that certain actions and behaviors begin
before
people consciously realize they’re doing them. That is, muscle activity starts before individuals press the button indicating they feel like moving that muscle. Many actions happen on autopilot, like yanking a hand away from a hot object. I suspect that when I do something minor, like taking over your walk, your consciousness assumes you’re still in control. When it’s something you have no reason to do, then we get into interesting territory. Oh, and by the way, did you notice that as I was speaking, I was walking for you?”

I stop and think about whether I was consciously controlling my legs. It’s hard to say. Walking can be done quite mindlessly at times.

“All right, Phoe. If you wanted to make me feel comfortable with this process, you’re on the right track. What do you want to try next?”

“We should test this closer to the actual scenario I’m worried about, with your mind in VR and me controlling you,” Phoe says. “Why don’t you go into your man cave while I keep walking for you?”

Without hesitation, I make the requisite gesture, and the white tunnel takes me to my man cave.

Phoe is already standing there, between an old cannon and something that looks like a guillotine. She extends her palm and initiates a hologram-like image that shows me walking toward the forest in the real world.

“Your gait looks good,” she says, looking at the video feed.

She’s right. I look like a Guard who’s casually walking toward the forest. The movements aren’t jerky or too slow. The steps my body is taking under Phoe’s control are indistinguishable from my own.

“You know, it’s really odd that you’re here talking to me while you’re controlling my legs,” I tell Phoe.

“I don’t see why. I’m also monitoring Fiona and Jeremiah’s interviews, reading a bunch of books, researching whatever I can about the Test, getting the details of the egg hunt they’re having in the forest to make sure we don’t bump into anyone, and—”

“I get it,” I say, doing my best not to sound envious. “You can multitask.”

“I don’t actually have to multitask in the ‘doing many things at the same time’ sense. Given that I think much faster than human beings, I simply perform each task linearly. For example, I can finish a book in a fraction of a millisecond, then check in on the interviews, and all before your meat brain fires a single synapse. Of course, I also do multitask. There are multiple versions of me—”

“I don’t understand,” I say. “Are you actually here with me or not?” I walk over and touch her shoulder. Here, in the VR environment she’s created for me, I’m dressed in my Birth Day outfit of jeans and a t-shirt, not the Guard suit, and my bare hand feels her shoulder with no obstacles. She feels completely real—soft and warm to the touch.

“Of course I’m here,” Phoe says. “And before you insult me by asking, I can feel you touching my shoulder.”

“Phoe, I—”

“It’s okay, Theo,” she says, her blue eyes piercing mine. “You have the right to understand this. When I take this shape”—she runs the tips of her fingers down her body—“the thread of me you’re communicating with is not merely
pretending
to have this body. This part of me actually has a body or as close to that as possible in the given medium. In VR, this body you see is an emulation of a human one. Emulation is a process where I replicate something with as much detail as I can. In this form, I have neurons, dendrites, blood, a heart, nerves, hormones, as well as gut bacteria. If it’s possible to capture the totality of the human experience in a virtual way—and I believe that it
is
possible—then I have done so. So you see, at a minimum, this allows me to feel everything a human being can feel. It allows me to be here
with you, both in terms of sensations and emotions.”

I open my mouth to ask more questions, but she doesn’t give me a chance. “And yes,” she says, “I’m capable of more than just physical sensations. My emotions run much deeper and are more nuanced than a human being’s because I’m not limited to just this body—no matter how complex my emulated brain is. My capacity for compassion is higher, and my understanding of the world is richer.” She gives me a level look. “A question you need to ask yourself is: Are
you
capable of human emotions? I know you felt my shoulder with the tips of your fingers, and I know your oxytocin levels went up minutely when you touched me, but did it make you feel happy, the way a human being should feel when touching a friend? Or was your capacity to feel such things destroyed by years of Quietudes and the brain-tampering of the Oasis society?”

I stare at her uncomprehendingly. She doesn’t blink. She truly thinks she’s more human than I am—she, an AI.

“I am, though,” she says. “But you’ll get there. You’re on your way to being fully human too.”

And before I can reply, she stands on her tiptoes and kisses me.