Cryo-Man (Cryo-Man series, #1) (23 page)

My eyes snap open and focus on trees. I’m fully recharged but when I try to move I can’t. The memory of my uncontrolled dash through 37’s forest comes to mind and I assume I’m still somewhere in the middle of the woods. But when I focus beyond the nearby trees, I see that the sun is shining down through a large structure, one that looks like an oversized bowl holding rows of crumbling seats.

Half of the sports stadium has collapsed at the far end but I spot a set of faded yellow goalposts somehow still standing among the trees that have sprung up at field level. A large tunnel beyond the trees is guarded by a row of robots and I spot several more blocking other entrances to the field. I wish I could control my neck to see more of what’s around me.

“Look who’s finally awake,” a voice booms over the public address system, echoing louder than thunder. Anyone within miles must be able to hear. “Now we can finally begin.”

37 could be anywhere but when my body suddenly shifts and I turn to the side, I see that he’s much closer than expected. He’s also not alone.

Microphone in hand, 37 stands in the front row of seats, no more than twenty or thirty yards away. He’s flanked by about a dozen humans. Those closest to 37 don’t appear particularly happy and some – including the attractive middle-aged woman seated directly next to him – look downright bored. But a few men at the ends of the row watch intently, their grimy faces curled up in sneers.

“Time to see how well my human robot truly works,” 37 says excitedly. “I haven’t had the chance to play any fun games for a long time.”

             
“I’m not a robot, I’m a man,” I cry out, hoping to talk sense into 37 or those around him before something rash happens. “I have a family, I’m just trying to get to my son!”

             
My plea gets the attention of the other humans. The grimy men at the end perk up and join 37 in laughing. Unfortunately, it’s not the reaction I was hoping for. But the woman next to the old man, as well as the teenage girl beside her, suddenly lean forward in their seats.

             
“Everyone has an excuse, though this is the first I’ve heard from a robot,” 37 says. “Regardless, you entered my land illegally. Now you must pay like the others, no exceptions.”

             
“Please,” I beg. “I mean you no harm, I mean your people and your robots no harm. I didn’t know about your territory or I never would’ve entered. I don’t know a lot about this world, I’m not even from this time so I beg that you’ll – ”

             
“Enough!” 37 yells, his scream reverberating so loudly across the open stadium that the people sitting next to him recoil in fear. “You’ll be treated no differently than any other trespasser. If you fight well, you’ll survive.”

              I glance toward the robots standing guard around the stadium, wondering which of them I’ll have to fight. They’re all smaller than I am and many appear run-down, scorch marks dotting their dented hulls, some even missing body parts. As a whole, they’re not nearly as threatening as the assassin bots I fought at CIFPOL. Still, they have one major advantage that I don’t.

             
“How do you expect me to fight if I can’t even move?”

             
“Other robots are programmed to listen to me. Your brain can’t do that alone – and I can’t free you without freeing the others – so therefore you’ll have to accept my help. Your other choice is to accept death. Which will it be?”

             
His offer echoes across the stadium, the words hanging heavy in the air long after he’s done saying them. When I hesitate to answer, 37 pushes buttons on the remote and makes me approach his seating area. The rest of the humans are now sufficiently interested.

             
“Do you not answer me when I ask you a question, man-bot?” 37 growls.

             
“I’m like a living video game to you?” I ask.

             
The men stop laughing and the women recoil against their seats, their eyes going wide. They all slowly turn to 37, who stares at me, stone-faced. He lowers the microphone before speaking again.

             
“I don’t know what this video game is that you mention,” 37 says slowly. “And who’s to say you should be considered
living
? You’re a
robot
; at best you can be considered functioning, though that doesn’t need to last much longer.”

             
“Yes, I would like your help,” I say.

             
37 smiles and the tension among the crowd eases. The old man raises the microphone to his lips.

             
“Then it’s time to have some fun,” 37 says.

             
“Who will you have me fight?”

             
“Leave that to me,” 37 says.

             
37 turns me around so I have a better view of the robot guards. I wait for one to step forward but I begin to move before they do. I walk toward the small thicket of trees in the middle of the sports field. I keep my eyes peeled for the first sign of an opponent but it’s the tree directly in my path that I’m more concerned with.

             
“Turn me left!” I call out.

             
At the last second I turn but not before my metallic shoulder bumps into the tree, causing it to tilt to the side. 37 turns me around so I can see him and the humans through the trees.

             
“See?” the old man’s voice booms throughout the stadium. “I knew we could work together. That’s the only way you’ll survive.”

             
I feel helpless, weak. The utter lack of control over my body makes me want to scream in frustration.

             
“Please, I just want to learn about my sons,” I call out, “about what happened to them during their lives. You don’t need to do this, you can show mercy.”

             
The smile disappears form 37’s face. I see him focus on the remote in his hand and a moment later, my body turns. He steers me into another tree. When I smack into it, I don’t know what gets shaken more, the tree or my brain. Somewhere I hear 37’s laughter, joined by the other humans.

“What are you doing?” I call out.

This must be his form of punishing me. But then 37 has me raise my arm and grab the tree’s trunk.

“I’m getting your opponent,” 37 says. “He keeps hiding on us, like climbing a tree is
really
going to avoid this fight. Come out, pathetic human.”

A few rowdier humans begin to hoot and holler from the stands. I look up at the tree, sensing movement and hearing rustling in the leaves above. I spot the blur of a person speeding toward me. At first I think he’s falling until I see him in attack position, sharpened stick in hand, ready to strike. I try to react, try to get out of the way; if I had control of my body, this human would have no chance to reach me. But I still can’t budge and 37 apparently can’t see what I can and he doesn’t react quickly enough.

The human slashes at me with the crude weapon. My only small bit of luck is that he mistimed his jump and failed to hit me in the head or face. But that doesn’t mean his weapon totally missed the mark. I feel a quick tug at the back of my head and hear a snap. I know right away that one of my wires has been severed. I can still hear, I can still see, I can still feel the soft breeze against the skin of my face. Most importantly, I can still remember my lone memory, still remember reading about my wife and sons and the Heaven Box. But something feels different in my mind, a vacancy I don’t have time to figure out right now.

37 moves me forward and has me swing an arm. 37’s reaction time is slow and the human – a dirty, scrawny man with blood on his face and fear in his eyes – easily dives out of the way. He pops back up to his feet and is about to run away when his eyes lock with mine. He wears the same confused expression that other humans do when first seeing my head atop a robot body.

“Please, I don’t want to fight you,” I say.

I’m sure the human words spoken by my robotic voice does nothing to clarify things for him. Keeping his sharpened stick raised, the man circles around me until he has a clear view of 37. Robots stationed near the front row spectators suddenly shift into tighter formation in front of 37. I realize the robot guards are stationed here to keep anyone from getting
out
of the stadium rather than getting in.

“What the hell do you expect me to do with that thing?” the human yells.

“I already explained the rules after you were captured,” 37 says, sighing. “You were caught trespassing within my territory. Even worse, you tried fighting back and by doing so allowed the rest of your human companions to escape. But I am fair, I am merciful, I am willing to give you the chance to live and go free. Like I told you before, all you have to do is defeat and destroy one of my robots –
this
robot.”

The man turns back to me. For a moment, his eyes soften and the muscles in his arms relax, his sharpened stick lowering a few inches. But he takes a deep breath and the glint in his eyes again turns murderous.

“Don’t listen to him,” I plead. “You’re better than this. I may look like a robot but I’m a man, same as you.”

The man seems to consider this but 37 doesn’t let him think too long.

“Does he
look
the same as you? Does he
look
like a human?
I
have more in common with humans than he does,” 37 says. “I also have food if you win. After my robots captured you earlier, I shot a deer. If you fight and win, you can eat all the meat you want and then be off on your merry way. If you don’t fight, you die right here, right now.”

For good measure, 37 makes me take a few steps forward and raises my arms threateningly.

“No, please, I just need to get to my Heaven Box,” I plead with the stranger, my words contradicting my bodily movements. “I just need to get to… to…”

I try to think of the coordinates but my mind draws a blank. The man doesn’t give me another moment to think of them.

“I don’t know who you are or
what
you are but I got two little girls out there, too,” he says.

He rushes toward me and leaps, his spear raised, undoubtedly aiming for my power core. Lucky for me, 37 anticipated the move. I suddenly jerk backward, jumping so high that my body hits one of the tree branches. Leaves whip my face as I plunge back to the ground.

“Sorry, still getting used to the controls,” 37 calls out.

The old psychopath laughs, even as the man takes aim with his spear and hurls it toward me. It’s a strong throw, speeding straight toward my midsection. I’m afraid 37’s slow reaction time will be the death of me but my arm swings out at the last second, swatting the stick away, breaking it in half.

“That’s more like it,” 37 says.

Thankfully he only has me walk toward the human, whose eyes have gone wide. The man is frozen in fear, watching as I stomp toward him.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I tell him. “But I can’t stop him. Don’t just stand there!”

The man turns to run. 37 begins to boo and is immediately joined by the others in the crowd.

“This fight started with such promise, too,” 37 says disappointedly.

I stomp after the man, who tries to run fast though I easily keep pace. He also realizes this and heads for the nearest tree. Although there are no low branches, the man leaps and quickly climbs using his feet and hands. It’s impressive to see, clearly not the first tree he’s scaled. But no human in the world could stand a chance against me, at least when someone like 37 controls what I do.

I leap and grab the man’s leg, easily pulling him down. The man somehow lands on his feet and immediately takes a swing at me, punching me in the face. Luckily, I’m so tall that most of his strength has waned by the time his fist meets my face. Still, it’s an unpleasant feeling so I’m glad when 37 raises my arm to block the next strike.

The man’s hand busts against my metallic arm. I hear the crunch of bones, followed immediately by his howl of pain. My other hand shoots out and snatches the man by his throat, picking him up as though he was merely a rag doll. His face begins to turn red, his eyes bulging from their sockets. He gasps for breath. I’m not sure how long a person can stay conscious like this.

37 walks me slowly back toward the crowd, holding up the human like he’s a trophy I’ve won.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell him. “This isn’t me, I don’t want to do this.”

“Then… don’t,” the man gasps. “Let me go. I have kids… trying to help save our city…”

“You’re Tyler?” I ask, remembering the band of humans that spoke about the brave man’s sacrifice.

“How did you…you…”

His eyes slowly roll into the back of his head.

“He’s running out of oxygen, just let him go,” I tell 37 once we’re in front of him. “I’ll do whatever you want,
be
whatever you want me to be.”

“You’ll do that anyway,” 37 says, holding up the remote as a reminder. Still, he turns to the people on either side of him. “What do you think? Anyone want to spare him?”

“Never,” says one of the grimy men.

“Mercy is for the weak,” another adds.

“We can’t get soft on trespassers now,” a third says.

The woman and teenage girl are back to looking bored.

“I’m hungry,” the teenager says, as if she has not a care in the world that a man’s life is being drained in front of her. She can’t be more than thirteen or fourteen years old; I wonder what kind of awful upbringing she’s endured to make her so ambivalent to what’s happening in front of her.

“Maybe we could let him go,” a tiny voice finally says.

The teenage girl rolls her eyes and the rest of the humans turn toward a young man sitting alone in the second row. I hadn’t even noticed him before now but when our eyes meet, he quickly turns away.

“You
always
say that,” 37 says with annoyance. “And I always say no. Why change now? For the crime of trespassing, I sentence this human to death.”

“No… please…” the man gasps.

“Let him go,” I say more firmly. “You’ve proven your point.”

The other humans gasp. Even the teenage girl appears interested, as she looks from 37 to me and back again. Silence hangs in the air, only interrupted by the quiet wheeze of the human’s labored breathing.

37 looks angry at first but then his expression softens. He even smiles genially, though I don’t miss the crazed glimmer in his eyes.

“Not sure I’m going to like a robot that can talk back,” he finally says.

“Never thought I’d see the day when a robot left you at a loss for words,” says the woman next to 37.

37 turns to her and chuckles, though his eyes tell a different story. Without warning, he lashes out and strikes her with the back of his hand. She falls out of her seat. The teenage girl – undoubtedly the woman’s daughter – looks down at her mother but does not react further. The woman rubs the side of her face.

“Just have the freakish man-bot kill him already and get it over with,” the woman snaps as she rubs her jaw.

37 gazes down at her and begins to call her every foul name in the book. Though I keep my eyes focused on what happens in the stands, I focus my mind on the hand that holds the human. I fight against the invisible signal overtaking the ability to control myself, I concentrate on sending the simplest command to ease my grip. I feel the slightest movement in my fingers and the man’s labored breathing instantly eases.

As 37 continues to berate the woman, I whisper to the man.

“If I let you go, run away.”

“Run where?” the man gasps quietly. “The place is surrounded.”