The Adaline Series Bundle 1 Read online

  The Man grinned, the curl of his lips barely visible in the dark shadows. “As I said, this is a room for my questions, Boy. Please keep yours to yourself. Are you quite sure this is your first time using your imagination?”

  62 lied again. “I don’t know what imagination is, Sir. I don’t think I have been given that device.”

  The Man leaned forward in his chair. His expression was supposed to look kind, but 62 could see that his friendliness wasn’t genuine. “But then where did the grass and fireworks display come from?”

  62 didn’t have to pretend to be baffled by the question and responded earnestly. “I’m sorry, Sir. I don’t know what grass or fireworks are.”

  The intense stare that 62 received in response to his answer made him worry that he had said something wrong. He fought the urge to expand on his answer, afraid that if he opened his mouth he would let loose some information that the stranger would use against him. 62’s muscles tightened as the tension in the room seemed to swell around him.

  62 started to think that maybe he could stand up from the chair, slap himself in the face and force himself to wake up. Dreams, after all, can’t really hurt the dreamer. But then he remembered that 71 was able to see into his dreams, and the teacher had said other Men could view his dreams also. 62 worried that if he showed he knew how to wake himself up, the Man would know he was lying about this being his first dream.

  “Are you quite sure that this is your first dream, and that you are not responsible for the grass or the fireworks?”

  62 jumped slightly as the question broke the silence, and then nodded.

  “Hmm. That is interesting. It's also a very good thing, for you.” The Man got up from his chair and it vanished. The tight walls began to expand outward, and the eerie light bulb expanded into a large bright light high above them.

  “This dream that you are having is an anomaly. It is not a normal function of your brain and could be a sign of being unwell. Good Boys do not dream. Do you understand?” The Man again tried to look friendly, but something in his eyes still frightened 62.

  “I want to be a good Boy.” 62 replied in the exact tone and rhythm that he had been taught as far back as he could remember. “Good Boys do not dream.”

  “If you continue to experience these anomalies, you are to report them to the nearest Nurse so that the issue may be corrected. Do you understand?” The Man put his hand on 62’s shoulder, mimicking the reassuring gesture that 71 used so frequently.

  62 fought a flinch of discomfort from being touched by the stranger and nodded. “Good Boys always report anomalies to their Nurse.”

  The strange Man leaned down until his eyes were level with 62’s. He let go of his mask of friendliness and spoke sharply. “If you experience this anomaly again and do not report it, you will be disciplined in any manner that I see fit. Believe me when I say that you do not want to experience my discipline. I will do things to you far worse than make you take a little nap in your cube.”

  62 couldn’t help but gasp. He already knew he did not want to ignore this Man’s warning.

  “Now, wake up.” A hole appeared in front of 62 and the Man pushed him into it.

  62 sat up, suddenly awake in the dark of his cube. He could hear his brothers still sleeping around him and glanced out into the empty hall. He panted and put his hand over his chest, which felt like it might burst open from the panicked racing of his heart.

  Somehow, he could hear the voice of the dream-Man echo through his mind. “And don’t tell anyone what you just saw.”

  CHAPTER 24

  IT HAD BEEN SEVERAL cycles since the strange Man entered his dream, but his warning still rang in 62’s ears. As his brothers slept, 62 lay awake, staring at the ceiling of his pod, once again afraid to fall asleep. He didn’t know what to do about the Man, or his dreams.

  The last few classes had passed by in a blur, with 62 spending most of his time trying to send signals to 71 that he needed help. He raised his hand often during class to try and ask the teacher questions that might catch his attention, but 71 never seemed to notice.

  When he couldn’t get the teacher’s attention, 62 decided to try and talk to 71 after class. No matter how quickly 62 sprung from his chair, the teacher seemed to vanish into the tunnels the second the bell rang. 62 felt that his teacher was avoiding him. The lack of attention was so severe that even some of the other Boys had noticed the change.

  “What did you do to make the teacher stop calling on you all of a sudden?” 99 asked as they were walking back to the pod after class.

  “I don’t know.” 62 shrugged and shook his head in confusion. “One cycle he tells me I did a good job making decisions solving those crazy tests, and then the next cycle it’s like I don't exist. I don’t know what I did.”

  “Well you’d better figure it out soon. Some of our brothers are starting to talk about you being bad or something.” 99 added before ducking into his cube, “Some of us are afraid you’re going to be disciplined soon.”

  Thinking back on the conversation later that night didn’t help 62 relax any, and he rolled over on the floor. He was so tired that his eyes burned and he could barely hold his eyelids open. He didn’t want to be disciplined; not by the Nurses and certainly not by the strange Man in his dream. Maybe he had been bad, and he just didn’t know it.

  He pressed the heel of his hands against his dry eyes and could almost feel the irises crack under the pressure. Releasing them, he blinked furiously before being overtaken by a yawn. If he could only stay awake one more night, maybe he could figure out what to do tomorrow...

  “Come back, brother.”

  62’s vision blurred. He saw two long, dark tunnels and then tiny slits before he was consumed by the darkness.

  “1124562, come back to sleep.”

  A face started to form in the darkness ahead of him. It was a copy of every Man 62 had ever encountered. Two brown eyes shown from under grey brows, and a beard started to form around the Man’s face.

  62’s eyes snapped open as he realized he had fallen asleep. He slapped his face and sat up in his cube, careful not to touch the sensors. He couldn’t believe he’d let himself fall asleep like that – or that a face had formed so quickly. But who was it? 62 hadn’t gone deep enough into the dream to tell if it was his teacher, the unfriendly stranger, or someone else.

  He shook his head to try to clear the drowsiness, but only succeeded in making himself light headed and dizzy. He lay down again to keep from falling against the wall of the cube, and held his eyelids open with his fingers.

  “Good Boys do not dream,” he mumbled.

  He yawned so deeply that his muscles shook beneath his tunic and his trembling fingers lost their grip on his eyelids. They snapped shut in an uncontrolled blink and it was all that 62 could do to pry them open again.

  “Good Boys do not dream,” he repeated.

  “Not all good Boys dream. But you do, and you’re a good Boy.”

  62 couldn’t tell where the voice he heard was coming from, and then realized that the words were ringing in his ears. “Come back, brother. Come back to your dreams.”

  “Good Boys do not dream!” 62 shouted, pushing the unknown voice from his head. He reached out and touched the sensor on the wall and waited for a Nurse to come to the door.

  “Boy 1124562, do you require assistance?”

  “Yes, Nurse.” 62 crawled over to the door and looked up at the Machine’s glowing blue eyes. “I am experiencing an anomaly.”

  CHAPTER 25

  THE SIGN ACROSS THE hall didn't have time to scroll through its data three times before 62 was brought out of his cube under the watchful gaze of Machines. The two Transportation Aids in charge of his removal were gentle with him as they laid him on a stiff board bolted to a push-cart. They waited for him to get comfortable before covering him up with a fresh blanket.

  Neither Aid spoke and 62 was too afraid to break the silence as they pushed him toward a wall in the tunnel. The seamles
s panel ahead of them split in two, a bright white light filling the cracks and creases of a hidden door. Two side panels slid open silently, allowing enough room for both Aids and the cart 62 lay on to pass easily into the secret hallway.

  62 stared up and counted the number of fluorescent lights on the narrow ceiling as the Aids pushed him. “One... Two... Three... Four...”

  Neither Aid responded to the sound of his voice. Both Machines kept their glowing eyes faced forward and continued pushing the gurney down the long, stark hallway.

  “Eleven... Twelve... Thirteen...”

  Large panels separated the fluorescent lights. 62 noticed they were made of a different material than the hard steel surfaces in C.A.T. The material appeared to have once been painted white, but the corners of each tile had become yellow with age. In some areas the ceiling had been discolored by large brown spots and they reminded 62 of an upside-down oil spill.

  “Twenty-eight, Twenty-nine, Thirty...”

  It seemed the hallway would never end. 62 counted all the way to one hundred and seven before losing track of the numbers. He craned his head to look around the Aid pushing the cart near his head and was amazed at how far away from the pods they had traveled. He turned again to look past the Aid pulling the gurney down at his feet and could only just barely make out a small metal door at the end of the hall. He glanced around and noticed that no other doors lined the walls of the hallway. Every once in a while a picture of a Machine, a group of Boys or a Man hung on the wall but otherwise the hallway was void of decoration.

  The trio reached the end of the hallway and the Aid near 62’s feet reached over to the right side of the metal door to push one of only two buttons on the wall. As its mechanical finger released the button, a green ring glowed around it and an arrow pointing toward the ceiling illuminated. The other button, mounted directly below it, remained unlit.

  62 looked up at the two Aids looming over him. They appeared to be waiting for something to happen. The green circle around the up arrow persisted, and there was no other change in the hallway. 62 raised his head up off of the cart to get a better view. They waited, and waited, and waited some more but nothing seemed to change.

  “I think the door is broken.” 62 looked up at one of the Aids, and then the other for a response. Neither Machine paid him any attention.

  He cautiously sat upright on the gurney, and leaned forward to get a better look at the door. As was typical in C.A.T., the door had no handle and appeared to sink into the wall with no way of pulling or pushing it open. 62 scooted toward the foot end of the cart, leaned carefully around the Travel Aid at the foot of the gurney and pressed the up arrow button again.

  Still nothing happened, aside from a tiny “click” that sounded in the panel as 62 pressed and depressed the round button. The green light stayed illuminated. He pressed it again, and then a moment later tapped it four or five times. When nothing happened, he pressed the button below it. The down arrow illuminated, a circle of red light surrounding it. Aside from the additional illumination of the second button, nothing else happened.

  “Call a repair Man to come and fix this thing. It’s broken.” 62 did his best to command the two Transportation Aids who seemed to not notice him. Bored and frustrated, 62 slid his legs off the gurney and considered dropping off the cart onto the floor.

  “Remain on your transportation device.” Both Aids spoke the direction in unison.

  “The door's broken. Nothing is happening. I’m going to see if I can fix the buttons.” 62’s toes reached out toward the floor.

  Instantly, one of the Transportation Aids grabbed at his shoulders, the other took his knees. They lifted him up, and placed him back onto the gurney. Their mechanical hands pushed him down until he was again lying flat, and one of them straightened the crumpled blanket and covered him with it again.

  “Please remain lying down for the duration of your transport. Keep your arms and legs inside the gurney at all times. Failure to obey may result in accidental injury.” The two voices spoke as one.

  The metal door ahead of them slid open and the two Aids pushed 62 through the opening into a small metal room. There was just enough space for the two Machines and the gurney in the little box. The door slid closed behind them.

  The Aid near 62’s head reached over to the panel on the right side of the door. Hundreds of tiny buttons filled the panel. The Machine pushed a button with the number “2” printed on it. A digital readout above the door illuminated the number “B32”.

  “Going up,” a small mechanical voice announced.

  A moment later the box began to move. The vertical movement was disorienting and 62 focused on the numbers flashing above the door to distract himself from the anxious fear creeping into his mind.

  “B32... B31... B30... B29...”

  The numbers flashed to B01, and then L1, and then rested at the number 2. The metallic door opened again with a screech.

  62 was pushed out of the little box and into another hallway. He began to think that maybe reporting his dream anomaly hadn’t been such a good idea.

  CHAPTER 26

  62 LAY ON A WHITE BED covered with a stiff plastic sheet. The room he had been taken to was simple. It was similar to the starkness of a cube aside from its large size and the presence of furniture. Not only was there room for the bed he now occupied, but also for three Nurses to stand a comfortable distance around him.

  Intimidated by his companions, 62 lay stiff and silent. The rise and fall of his breathing moved his torso enough to make the sheet below crackle. The Nurses stood unmoving and emotionless as if they, too, were waiting for something ominous to happen.

  After what seemed like several cycles, the blue metal door to his left opened. A Man strode through wearing a long white coat over his tunic; his attention firmly affixed to a large tablet in his hands. Without looking up the Man said, "Good cycle, Nurses."

  The three Nurses' eyes flashed blue and they responded, "Good cycle, Doctor."

  The Man set his tablet down on a thin white table in the far corner of the room, sat down on a simple white hover chair and propelled toward the bed. "And who do we have here?"

  62 immediately recognized the Man. The false smile, the short and meticulously groomed beard, and the cold look in his eyes was the same as the stranger from 62's dream. The Man didn't appear to recognize him.

  "This is Boy 1124562, Doctor." The Nurse to 62's left put its hand down on his arm and pressed it to the mattress.

  "Oh?" The doctor's eyes flashed with interest. He raised an eyebrow and leaned in to look at 62. "And what is the complaint?"

  "Anomaly of cognition." The Nurse to 62's right put its hand down on his other arm and pressed it to the mattress with force equal to its mate.

  "Voluntary surrender, or disciplinary action?" The doctor pulled a pair of white gloves over his thin hands, snapping the taut material against his skin. He leaned over 62’s head and pulled at the Boy’s eyelids to examine his eyes.

  "Voluntary. Approximately 0.26 cycles ago." The third Nurse placed both of its hands on 62's ankles, and pushed down as well.

  “Very good.” The doctor nodded his approval.

  62 was relieved when the doctor let go of his eyelids. The examination was far from complete though and soon the gloved hands were examining the contours of his hairline. The long fingers circled his temples, then pushed along his jaw line deep beneath the skin.

  “No signs of trauma to the brain. No swelling or abnormal growth beneath the skin.” The doctor pressed firmly against 62’s throat and the unusually strong but tender fingers touched every muscle and tendon all the way down to the Boy’s upper chest. “Vitals?”

  “Slightly elevated, likely due to stress.” The chest on the Nurse to 62’s right flashed bright blue and a screen showing various charts, graphs and a picture of a beating heart appeared.

  The doctor watched the Nurse’s display for a moment as his hands moved down and then back up each of 62’s arms. He moved h
is skilled hands down 62’s chest, touching every rib before pressing into the soft flesh of his abdomen.

  “Likelihood of recovery from the procedure to correct the anomaly?”

  “Unknown.” The Nurse to 62’s left turned on its display as well and text slowly scrolled across the screen. “Should the patient recover, likely side effects will be confusion, sustained retrograde and anterograde memory loss, muscle pain, broken bones, and mild cognitive damage.”

  “And should the patient not recover?” The doctor’s face twitched into a temporary smile.

  “An acceptable percentage of patients treated with Electroconvulsive therapy experience reoccurrence of anomalies, uncontrolled seizure, or death.” The Nurse at 62’s feet turned on a third screen which slowly scrolled through photographs of Boys in various states of medical distress.

  62 studied each of the screens as the doctor and Nurses carried out their conversation. His heart thumped hard against his chest and he could feel the sweat dripping from his forehead. He pulled his arms and legs under the force of the Nurse's hands and realized that there was no way to escape.

  “What are you going to do to me?” 62’s voice cracked.

  The doctor, intent on reviewing the screen displaying grisly photos of patients, did not look at 62 when he spoke. Matter-of-factly he replied, “We're going to attempt to repair you. Your central nervous system is malfunctioning when you enter rest state. We are going to pass a current of electricity through your brain; essentially reprogramming it to function in the manner it was intended.”

  “I don’t want electricity in my brain.” 62 had to look away from a picture of a Boy whose bones had broken through the skin in several places over his body. “I promise not to have anomalies any more.”

  The doctor laughed. “No one ever wants to find out what it’s like to be reset. I promise you; once the procedure is complete you won’t remember a thing.”